#dean x y/n

[spnlvr1511]

undress me, caress me. (i jus want u to fck me.)

cr: glenackles on insta★

꒷꒦︶꒷꒦︶ ๋ ࣭ ⭑꒷꒦

[wvyik]

signed, sealed, seduced. d.w. ⋆˚࿔

dean winchester x fem! reader

ᰔ summary: she’s high-maintenance, deadly, and doesn’t take shit from anyone; especially not from dean. but when their worlds collide, the hunt becomes personal… and a whole lot more complicated.

⤿ warnings: mdni!! explicit content, (i couldn’t help myself) tons of sexual tension, mild explicit content, cursing, dirty jokes, fluff + filth combo, (because why settle for one?), some light violence, a sprinkle of possessiveness, lots of playful banter, reader is so bela talbot coded, frenemies to lovers.

⤿ notes: thank you anon for the request!! im happy to oblige, such an awesome idea btw >ᴗ< think mr. & mrs. smith meets supernatural with just a pinch of unholy sexual frustration.

The first time you ever met Dean Winchester, he tried to shoot you.

In his defense, you had just scammed a warlock out of a cursed amulet that he’d been trying to track for three weeks. In your defense? He was being a little bitch about it.

“You stole it,” he’d growled, all puffed chest and righteous fury.

You’d just smiled, blood-red lipstick flawless, one perfectly arched brow lifting. “I acquired it. Stole is such a blue-collar word.”

He hated you instantly.

They say hate is just the other side of passion. Dean’s starting to believe it. Every time you roll your eyes, every time you sass him, every time you bend over in that tight little pencil skirt that definitely wasn’t accidental— he gets closer to just snapping and pinning you to a wall.

And you know it.

You flirt like it’s war. Batting your lashes just to watch him sweat. Dropping dirty little one-liners that leave him choking on air.

“So serious, Dean. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying not to get hard.”

He whips his head toward you. “Jesus Christ.”

“Oh relax,” you hum, leaning your head back against the seat. “I’m not gonna jump you. You’re not my type.”

He scoffs. “Good.”

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “I like men who at least pretend they don’t want me. It’s more fun when they break.”

You’re a ghost in the hunter world. No last name. No phone number. Just rumors and red lipstick. You’ve sold hex bags to demons and then double-crossed them for hunters. You flirted your way through vampire nests and stole angel blades from under Heaven’s nose. Nobody knows whose side you’re really on.

That’s your whole thing.

Dean hates that it turns him on.

The job takes you to Louisiana. Swamps, heat, and the kind of cursed object no sane hunter touches without gloves, prayers, and a last will and testament.

It’s an old Creole relic. An amulet that traps souls in a loop of violent death. You’ve seen it before. Once. You didn’t walk away clean.

Dean doesn’t ask about it.

You don’t offer.

Instead, you two ride down in the Impala, sniping at each other the whole way. He complains about your luggage (“We’re not staying at the goddamn Ritz!”) and you call his music “sad divorced dad anthems.”

But underneath the sarcasm, something’s shifting. You catch him looking at you longer. Laughing under his breath at your jokes. And when you fall asleep in the car, head resting against the window, he doesn’t say anything. Just glances at you, once, and turns the music down.

The house is cursed, because of course it is. Two people already dead, one missing, and a sulfur trail leading straight to the basement.

You go in first. Dean protests, obviously.

“You’re not bulletproof, you know.”

You glance over your shoulder, smirking. “Neither are you. But I look better while risking my life.”

He doesn’t argue.

Not out loud, anyway.

Inside, the air is heavy. Thick with bad energy. The kind that sticks to your skin. Dean’s right behind you, flashlight sweeping, gun drawn. You’re holding a small dagger you stole got from a Haitian priest once. Dean always makes fun of it— until it saves both your lives.

Which it does.

Twice.

“You okay?” he breathes after the second time, chest heaving.

You glance at your bleeding shoulder and shrug. “Ruined another blouse. Guess you’ll have to buy me a new one.”

He glares at you, then rips part of his flannel and presses it to the wound. “Stop joking.”

You blink. His hands are warm. His voice is serious. “You could’ve died,” he mutters.

You smile, softer now. “So could you.”

His eyes flick up to meet yours. And for once, there’s no banter. No sarcasm.

Just that look.

That goddamn look.

The one you’ve seen flicker in motel rooms and over diner coffee, in the lull between hunts. The one he always hides before it can mean anything.

This time, he doesn’t hide it.

He brushes your hair back, careful of the blood. And you let him.

You defeat the cursed object together; barely. It shatters in a flash of flame and screams, and when it’s over, you’re both on the floor, breathless, singed, bleeding.

You laugh.

Dean groans.

“You’re the worst,” he says.

“I’m the best thing that ever happened to you.”

He opens his mouth to argue, but stops. Because he’s realizing you might be right.

Next thing you know, the air in the motel room is heavy. You’ve both cleaned up—sort of. You’re in a silk robe now, blood rinsed from your skin but not from your memory. Dean’s wearing an old band tee with a rip near the collar and sweatpants, barefoot, jaw still clenched. He hasn’t looked at you since the kiss.

You don’t know if that’s a good sign.

You sit across from him at the little table between the beds, picking at your nail polish, pretending you’re not waiting for him to say something. Anything.

“You could’ve died today,” he finally mutters.

“You already said that.”

He looks up, eyes sharp. “You didn’t react the first time either.”

You shrug. “I didn’t feel like getting all misty-eyed about it while covered in ghost goo.”

Dean leans forward, elbows on the table, and you swear— his gaze softens. Just for a second.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

Your stomach flips. Violently.

And now you’re just… staring at him. He’s not looking away. He’s not covering it with sarcasm or barking an insult or making some gruff joke about how everyone dies in this line of work, sweetheart. He’s just sitting there, looking at you like losing you would gut him.

You don’t do emotions. Not like this. Not in daylight. So you smirk, instead. “God, you’re being so clingy.”

Dean chuckles under his breath, but it’s not amused. It’s devastated.

“Don’t,” he says. “Don’t do that thing where you pretend this doesn’t matter.”

You open your mouth to toss something clever back, but nothing comes. Because it does matter. And you both know it.

So instead, you get up.

Walk over.

Slide into his lap like it’s nothing.

But it’s everything.

His hands automatically grip your hips. His breath catches.

And you whisper, “I don’t want to lose you either.”

It’s the softest he’s ever seen you. And he looks at you like he’s memorizing it — like this might be the only time he gets to see you with your guard down.

Then he presses his forehead to yours. You sit there for a long time, just breathing each other in. Not kissing. Not speaking. Just holding.

The line between friends and lovers? It’s already blurred. Hell, it’s obliterated.

You slide your hand up the back of his neck. His breath hitches. Your fingers tangle in his hair.

“I’m not gonna run anymore,” you whisper. “So stop looking at me like I’m gonna disappear.”

Dean exhales shakily.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Like he’s drowning and you’re the only thing keeping him afloat. His hands grip your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers. You sink into him like he’s home.

It’s not neat. It’s not soft.

It’s messy.

Years of denial crash in one second— teeth, tongues, groans swallowed into skin. You push him back further against the mattress and climb over him, still straddling his lap, your hands yanking at his shirt like you’ve waited lifetimes to touch him without consequence.

Dean flips you, presses you into the mattress, mouth hot on your neck.

“Should’ve done this the second I met you,” he mutters into your skin, voice wrecked.

“You were too busy pretending I annoyed you.”

“You did annoy me.” He grins against your collarbone. “Still do.”

You moan when his hands slide under your robe. “Shut up and take it off.”

Dean’s hands are on you; rough, urgent. His fingers digging into your waist, your body pressed flush against his. His breath is ragged, hot on your neck. You’re both trembling, not from the cold but from something deeper, more raw.

You gasp as his lips meet yours again, his mouth is hard against yours, like he’s trying to consume you. And you’re not exactly pulling away either.

Your hands are on his chest, pushing his shirt off, nails scraping against his skin, making him groan low and deep in his throat.

“You sure about this?” he growls, his hands sliding up your thighs, his grip firm and possessive. His lips move down your neck, kissing and biting, and you can’t stop the shiver that races through you.

“I’ve been sure since the first time I laid eyes on you, Winchester,” you breathe out, your voice shaky but bold. The words feel like they’ve been building up for months, desperate to spill out.

Dean’s hands slide lower, just shy of where you need him. “Yeah? Then why’d you keep running from me?”

You’re not sure if it’s the heat, the pressure, or the way he looks at you with that fire in his eyes, but you snap, your patience snapping like a rubber band. You rip his belt off, hands shaking but determined.

“Don’t pretend you don’t want this too,” you snap, before kissing him hard again, all teeth and tongue, pushing your body against his, aligning the two of you in one swift motion.

Dean’s breath hitches in his throat, a low growl escaping his lips as he finally lets you have control. His hands are on your hips, guiding you, the pressure between your legs sending an electrifying jolt through your entire body.

The world outside the room disappears. There’s nothing but the sound of your heavy breathing, the slick slide of skin on skin, and the rhythm you’re both setting— raw, frantic, desperate.

His voice breaks as he pulls you closer, his lips pressing against your ear. “God, you feel so good, baby. So fucking good.”

You don’t hold back. The tension, the need, it’s been bubbling beneath the surface, and now, it’s exploding. You move against him, your body finding its rhythm with his, chasing that overwhelming heat, that burn that has nothing to do with the hunt, with monsters. It’s just the two of you now, tangled in sheets, no masks, no pretenses.

Dean groans as you shift, his hands gripping your hips tighter. “Fuck,” he mutters. “Should’ve had you like this from the start.”

You smile, teeth grazing his jawline as you pull back just enough to look him in the eye, your breath uneven. “Took you long enough to catch up.”

“You feel so good,” he mutters between kisses. “Damn, you feel better than I imagined.” His voice is low, strained, the heat in his tone like fire. “Always knew this was gonna happen… didn’t realize it’d be this fucking good.”

Your movements become faster, rougher, and Dean matches you, his hands gripping your hips harder as he takes control of the rhythm. The sounds of skin slapping against skin, the soft, breathy moans you both can’t hold back, fill the room. And you can feel his eyes on you, burning with an intensity that sends a wild thrill straight through your core.

His name is a whisper on your lips as you both fall into it. That final, explosive moment when you can’t tell where you begin and he ends. It’s pure, intense, all-consuming.

And when you both finally collapse into the bed, gasping for air, sweaty and wrecked, there’s no question.

You’re not just two people sharing a night anymore.

You’re tangled up in something deeper.

Something that’s not going to fade in the morning.

After, you’re tangled in the sheets, your head on his chest, his hand lazily tracing patterns across your bare back.

“You’re mine now, huh?” he murmurs, voice all husky and smug and soft.

You hum. “I was starting to think you’d never ask...”

Dean kisses the top of your head. “We’re really doing this?”

You look up at him. “Yeah. We are.”

Dean’s face breaks into a grin, clearly amused, but his eyes flicker with that intense, familiar heat. “You sure you’re ready for all this, sweetheart?” He motions to himself dramatically. “I’m a lot.”

You pause, staring at him, before letting out a mock gasp. “Oh no. Does that mean I’m gonna have to be the one saving you next time?”

Dean laughs, the sound rich and full of life. “Baby, the only thing you’ll be saving is my dignity— if there’s any left after last night.. And maybe if you get lucky a few monsters along the way.”

“Oh, right. I forgot.” You give him a wink, running your fingers through his hair. “Guess I’ll just have to keep you out of trouble, huh?”

Dean leans in, catching your lips in a kiss that’s lighter than before but still packed with that unmistakable Dean Winchester intensity. “You’re my trouble now, sweetheart.”

And for the first time, it feels like everything’s exactly as it should be.

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tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡

[maddie0101]

𖤐 bad idea

— based off of THIS request. I hope you like it nonny ! ❤︎

𖤐 summary: one night at a bar, the tension between you and dean explodes into a heated kiss. when he hesitates, concerned about the age gap, you don’t back down.

𖤐 warnings: age gap (but reader is in her 20s), slight angst, lots of kissing, dean finally caves, fluff?

𖤐 word count: 1.6k

𖤐 note: this is my first age gap fic, so be gentle with me. It’s not usually my forte, but I tried the best I could :)

The moment your lips touched his, Dean’s mind went blank.

His hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and for a split second, it felt like everything he’d been trying to suppress, the way his chest tightened every time you smiled, the way he couldn’t stop thinking about the soft laugh that escaped your lips—came flooding to the surface.

You kissed him like you knew this was inevitable.

Like you’d been waiting for it just as much as he had, even though neither of you had ever dared to admit it. Your lips were soft, but insistent, and Dean couldn’t stop himself from responding, deepening the kiss.

He slid his other hand to your waist, tugging you toward him, the scent of whiskey and something sweet wrapping around him like a fog.

You felt so damn right.

But then, like a bucket of ice water to the face, reality slammed into him. He pulled back, breaking the kiss with a sharp breath. His chest heaved as he stared at you, wide-eyed, mouth still tingling from the contact. He cursed under his breath, running a hand through his hair.

“We can’t do this,” Dean said, voice strained.

You blinked up at him, breathless, eyes a little hazy but still steady. “What?”

He clenched his jaw, staring at the empty space between you. “You’re too young.”

You tilted your head, blinking like he’d just slapped you. “What? Dean, I’m in my mid-twenties.”

He shook his head, frustration curling deep in his gut. “You don’t get it.”

“I do get it,” you said, voice barely above a whisper. “But you don’t get me.”

Dean couldn’t even look at you, hands gripping the edge of the table like he could keep himself from falling into whatever this was if he just held on tight enough. “People are going to talk, sweetheart. We’re not some—”

“I don’t care.” Your voice was steady now, unwavering. “I don’t care about anyone else, Dean. This isn’t about them.”

He inhaled sharply, finally meeting your gaze. There was no hesitation in your eyes, no doubt in your expression.

And that scared the hell out of him.

“I know exactly what I’m doing, and I know exactly what I want.” You said confidently.

Dean only shook his head again, the weight of it pressing on him, but you weren’t backing down.

And God help him, neither was he.

He stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back, but you reached out, catching his wrist before he could step away. “Don’t pull this shit, Dean,” you said, voice sharp but still soft around the edges. “I’m not some girl you can just—”

“I’m not trying to treat you like that,” he bit out. “I’m trying to protect you.”

You were quiet for a beat, then stood up as well, closing the gap between you until there was barely an inch of air left between you. “I’m not some fragile little thing, Dean. You don’t have to protect me from this.”

Dean let out a rough laugh, the kind that didn’t reach his eyes. “You don’t get it, okay? I’m not a good guy, and I’m not the kind of guy who deserves to be—”

“Shut up.” Your hand was on his chest before he even realized what was happening, and before he could protest, you kissed him again.

This time, it wasn’t as soft. It was harder. More desperate. More sure. You needed him to understand.And when you pulled back, Dean was panting. “Goddammit.”

But you only smiled, your lips swollen, eyes dark with something Dean couldn’t quite place. “You’re not the one I’m afraid of, Dean,” you whispered. “And I’m not the one who’s going to walk away from this.”

His heart thudded in his chest, and for the first time since this whole thing started, Dean realized…he didn’t want to walk away either.

He stood frozen, still feeling the imprint of your kiss on his lips, the way your fingers had gripped his shirt as you pulled him closer. His chest was tight, his thoughts scattered like broken glass. The weight of your words hung in the air, thick and heavy.

You weren’t afraid. You weren’t going anywhere. And that terrified him more than anything.

“Dammit,” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face. He could feel the heat of you still radiating off him, and the last thing he wanted was for this to go any further. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

“I know exactly what I’m asking for,” you replied, stepping closer, your voice low but determined. “I’m not some innocent kid, Dean. I’m not some naive little girl who needs to be saved from herself.”

Dean clenched his jaw, his body tense, but you didn’t back down. You never did.

He wanted to look away, to convince himself this was just a bad idea, but when his eyes met yours, he saw something that made it impossible to look anywhere else. Something raw—something real.

Your fingers brushed the side of his face, and his breath hitched. “You don’t get it,” he said again, the words coming out more quietly now, like a confession. “I’m not the guy for you.”

“You’re wrong,” you said softly, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “You’re exactly who I want.”

Dean’s heart hammered in his chest, his mind spiraling, but he couldn’t look away. You were standing there, so damn close, like you had all the answers. He shook his head, as if trying to shake off the intensity. “I’m older than you, I’ve done things—”

“I’m not a kid,” you interrupted, your voice low but firm. “You’re acting like I can’t handle it. Like I don’t know what I want.”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, exhaling through his nose, trying to steady himself. He could feel the tension winding tighter with each passing second, and all he could think about was how easy it would be to just give in. He was standing on the edge of a line he wasn’t sure he could cross.

You looked at him, eyes softening, and before he knew it, you stepped closer, your hand resting on his chest. "I want you, Dean. All of you. I don't care what anyone thinks or says. l only want you.”

For a second, Dean just stared at you, feeling the weight of your words settle deep in his chest. He had spent so much time pushing this away, convincing himself it wasn’t right, convincing himself he was doing the right thing by holding back.

But it felt like his entire body was screaming at him to stop thinking, to stop being so damn careful, to just feel. And when you reached up, your fingers brushing the side of his neck, he finally gave in.

He kissed you again, but this time it was different. There was no hesitation. No guilt. Just pure, unfiltered need. It was deep and slow, a promise of everything neither of you had said aloud yet.

His hands were on your waist, pulling you closer, feeling the warmth of your body against his, and for a moment, all the noise, all the doubts, all the fears faded away. It was just you and him, tangled up in something neither of you had been brave enough to touch until now.

Dean’s lips left yours briefly, and his breath was heavy, chest rising and falling beneath the weight of whatever had just shifted between you. His hand slipped from your waist to your back, holding you close like he needed to make sure you weren’t going anywhere.

For a few heartbeats, there was no more hesitation. No more argument. Just the quiet hum of the world outside, muffled by the heat of the moment.

He met your eyes, and for the first time, he didn’t look like he was holding himself back. He exhaled slowly, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “I… I don’t know what the hell this is,” he murmured, his voice raw. “But I want to give it a shot, if you do.”

Your pulse quickened, the rush of excitement and relief coursing through you as you let out a soft laugh. The tension that had been building up between the two of you felt like it had finally snapped, the knot unraveled with one simple admission.

You weren’t in this alone anymore. “You really want to give it a shot?” you asked, breathless, a smile tugging at your lips.

Dean’s gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “You’re right. This…it’s something I don’t wanna walk away from.”

You didn’t hesitate, not for a second. You stepped in closer, tilting your head slightly, your lips brushing over his. “Then let’s not.”

And with that, you kissed him again. This time, it wasn’t just about proving something or testing the waters—it was more. It was real.

Dean kissed you back, his hands roaming down to your hips, pulling you even closer, until your bodies were pressed tightly together, and you both knew this was no longer just a kiss—it was the beginning of something more.

When you finally pulled back, your eyes were locked in an intense gaze, breaths still uneven from the kiss. Dean’s lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, and the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

Dean reached out and gently cupped your face in his hands, leaning in for one last kiss, slow and steady, like he was savoring it. When he pulled away, he nodded toward the door, his gaze flickering to the Impala parked just outside. “You wanna get out of here?”

You didn’t even need to think about it. “Lead the way, old man,” you smirked, taking his hand in yours as you both headed toward the door.

author’s note:

I hope this was okay, nonny? I don’t usually write age gap fics but I tried my best. ❤︎ if you’d like anything more specific please feel free to shoot me another! I’m sorry this took a bit! I should have more requests out sometime this week!

— requests are open.ᐟᅟplease read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224 @cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the list <3)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

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[doctorbitchcrxft]

Heaven and Hell | Supernatural Series Rewrite | Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Warnings: canon violence, canon gore, ANNNGGSSSTTTTT, name-calling, mentions of self-hate, depression, anxiety, all the things. all of 'em.

Word Count: 4935

A/N: I will never forgive them for not giving us tatted-up Dean. I would literally sell my left leg for that to exist.

Mobile Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Masterlist

Supernatural Series Rewrite Playlist

“(Y/N),” Uriel ordered, eyes icy. 

Your stomach dropped. 

“Kill.”

All eyes in the room turned to you. 

“What?” you breathed out. 

“Remember what we talked about?” Uriel taunted, referring to the threats he’d made to you. “Kill.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Dean butted in. “Okay, I know she's wiretapping your angel chats or whatever, but it's no reason to gank her.”

“Don't worry. I'll make her be gentle,” Uriel smirked, nodding at you.

“You're some heartless sons of bitches, you know that?” Dean snarled. 

Castiel spoke up. “As a matter of fact, we are. And?”

“And?” Sam scoffed. “Anna's an innocent girl.”

“She is far from innocent,” Castiel argued. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” questioned Sam. 

Uriel was quickly losing patience. “It means she's worse than this abomination you've been screwing. (Y/N)?”

“(Y/N), no,” Dean begged, eyes flashing to yours. 

You were terrified, unsure of what to do. You didn’t want to hurt Anna, but you didn’t want to find out what happened to Dean or Sam if you didn’t listen.

“Who's gonna stop her? You two? Or this demon whore?” Uriel spat. He threw Ruby against a wall with his powers, and Dean attacked him. 

“Dean, no!” you pleaded, trying to pull Uriel off Dean. 

Uriel snarled, “I’ve been waiting for this.” With little regard to you, he punched Dean across the face. 

Suddenly, a bright light engulfed the room. When it cleared, Castiel and Uriel were gone. 

“What the fuck?” Dean cursed, standing hesitantly. He helped you to your feet while Ruby tended to Sam. “Anna. Anna!” He headed into the back room where Anna was on the ground, covered in her own blood.

The concern he was showing her was slightly worrying you. 

“Are they— are they gone?” she breathed out.

“Did you kill them?” he asked. 

Anna was sitting next to a sigil drawn in her blood. “No. I sent them away; far away.”

“You want to tell me how?” Dean pressed. 

“That just popped in my head.” She nodded at the sigil. “I don't know how I did it. I just did it.”

Your skepticism of Anna was growing by the minute. Maybe Uriel was right. Maybe you should kill her. 

****

Thankfully, the Winchesters shared your skepticism. Still, they thought it best to put Anna in Bobby’s panic room. You sat with Sam researching Anna while Dean put her in the warded room. 

“How’s the car?” Dean asked. 

“I got her,” you replied. “She’s fine. Where’s Bobby?”

“Uh, The Dominican. He said we break anything, we buy it,” Dean answered. 

“He working a job?” questioned Sam.

“God, I hope so. Otherwise, he's at hedonism in a banana hammock and a trucker cap.”

Sam grimaced. “Now that's seared in my brain.”

“Alright, what’d you find on Anna?” Dean asked, leaning over the back of your chair. 

“Uh, not much,” you answered. “Her parents were Rich and Amy Milton: a deacon and a housewife.”

“Riveting.”

“Exactly,” you nodded.

“But there is something here in the report,” Sam added. “Turns out, this latest psych episode wasn't her first.”

“No?” 

“When she was two and a half, she'd get hysterical any time her dad got close. She was convinced that he wasn't her real daddy.”

“Who was? The plumber, hmm? A little snaking the pipes?” Dean smirked deviously.

“Dude, you're confusing reality with porn again,” Sam deadpanned.

“Look, Anna didn't say. She just kept repeating that this real father of hers was mad. Very mad; like wanted-to-kill-her mad.”

“Kind of heavy for a two-year-old,” the older brother noted. 

“Well, she saw a kid's shrink, got better, and grew up normal.”

“Until now. So, what's she hiding?” you asked. 

“Why don't you just ask me to my face?”

You rolled your eyes, keeping your back to Anna who’d obviously just walked into the room. 

“Nice job watching her,” Dean told Ruby.

“I am watching her.”

“No, you're right, Anna,” said Sam. “Is there anything you want to tell us?”

“About what?” she asked innocently. 

“The angels said you were guilty of something. Why would they say that?”

“You tell me. Tell me why my life has been leveled; why my parents are dead. I don't know. I swear. I would give anything to know,” she replied. 

You stared her down. “Tell me why I don’t believe you.”

“Maybe because you’re buddy-buddy with someone who wants me dead,” she stated. 

“And I’m close to wanting you dead, too,” you snapped. “So give me some real answers.”

“Okay!” Sam tried to break up the tension. “(Y/N), take a lap.”

“Happily.”

****

Almost an hour later, Dean was leading a psychic named Pamela into Bobby’s house. She’d helped the boys identify Castiel, and her eyes had been burned out as a result. “We’re here!” the older brother called down into the basement you were hiding in. 

“Pamela, hey!” Sam said, standing from his chair. “It’s me; it’s Sam.”

Pamela felt her way over to the younger Winchester. “Sam, is that you?”

“I’m right here,” he told her. 

“Oh. Know how I can tell?” She grabbed his ass. “That perky little ass of yours. You could bounce a nickel off that thing. Of course I know it's you, grumpy. Same way I know that's a demon, and that poor girl's Anna, and that you've been eyeing my rack.”

Sam began to stammer. 

“Don't sweat it, kiddo. I still got more senses than most,” she snickered. Then, she turned toward you. “Oh, (Y/N).” She slowly made her way over to you, and you held your hand out for her to grab. Despite your attempts to steady her, you yourself were trembling. “Shh, darlin’, it’s okay.” 

Your bottom lip trembled. The last time you’d met a psychic, she’d revealed family secrets to Sam and Dean. There was a lot more this one could reveal now.

“Sweet girl,” she said quietly, “those angels are dicks. Forgive yourself.”

Tears sprang to your eyes, but you fought hard to keep them at bay. 

The woman turned back to Anna. “Hey, Anna. How are you? I'm Pamela.”

“Hi,” the redhead replied. 

“Dean told me what's been going on. I'm excited to help,” the psychic smiled.

“Oh. That's nice of you.”

“Oh, well, not really. Any chance I can dick over an angel, I'm taking it.”

You snorted. 

“Why?” Anna asked. 

“They stole something from me,” she replied, taking off her glasses, referring to her white eyes. “Demon-y, I know. But they're just plastic. Good for business. Makes me look extra-psychic, don't you think?” She laughed. “Now, how about you tell me what your deal is, hmm? Don't you worry.”

After several stress-inducing minutes, Anna sat up from the hypnotic state Pamela put her in. 

“I’m an angel,” the girl revealed. “Don't be afraid, I'm not like the others.”

“I don't find that very reassuring,” Ruby responded. 

“Neither do I,” murmured Pamela. 

“So, Castiel, Uriel— they’re the ones that came for me?” Anna asked. 

Sam piped up, “You know them?”

“We were kind of in the same foxhole,” she answered.

“So, what, were they like your bosses or something?” Dean questioned. 

“Try the other way around.”

“Look at you,” you mocked. 

Pamela spoke up next. “But now, they want to kill you?”

“Orders are orders. I'm sure I have a death sentence on my head.” 

“Care to explain?” you sneered. 

“I disobeyed. Which, for us, is about the worst thing you can do. I fell.”

You nodded, clicking your tongue. “You became human.”

“Wait a minute. I don't understand. So, angels can just become human?” asked Sam.

“It kind of hurts,” Anna replied. “Try cutting your kidney out with a butter knife. That kind of hurt. I ripped out my grace.”

Dean snorted. “Come again?”

“My grace. It's…” she trailed off, searching for the words, “energy. Hacked it out and fell. My mother, Amy, couldn't get pregnant. Always called me her little miracle. She had no idea how right she was.”

“So, you just forgot that you were god's little Power Ranger?” Dean remarked. 

“The older I got, the longer I was human, yeah,” she explained. 

Ruby chimed in, “I don't think you all appreciate how completely screwed we are.”

“Ruby's right. Heaven wants me dead.”

“And Hell just wants her. A flesh-and-blood angel that you can question, torture: that bleeds. Sister, you're the Stanley Cup. And sooner or later, Heaven or Hell, they're gonna find you,” Ruby told her. 

“I know. And that's why I'm gonna get it back,” Anna said vaguely.

“What? Your grace?” you asked. 

She nodded. 

You scoffed, shaking your head and turning away. 

“You can do that?” Dean asked her. 

“If I can find it.”

“So, what, you're just gonna take some divine bong hit, and, shazam, you're Roma Downey?”

The angel shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Alright. I like this plan. So, where's this grace of yours?” Dean asked. 

“Wait, you do?” you scoffed.

Anna spoke over you. “Lost track. I was falling about ten-thousand miles per hour at the time.”

“Wait. You mean falling, like, literally?” Sam questioned, seeming to have realized something. 

You couldn’t even be bothered to focus on what they were talking about and strode out of the room. 

Needing some solace, you went out to the junkyard and sat on top of one of the cars in the middle of the lot. You looked up at the stars, taking in the beautiful and peaceful night sky. You missed when life felt like that: beautiful and peaceful. 

“Hey, (Y/N)!” Pamela called. 

You turned over your shoulder to see Pamela, helped by Dean, heading over toward you. “Uh, hey,” you said, turning forward again. 

“C’mon, talk to momma,” Pam urged you, coming up beside you. Dean stood off to the side with his hands in his pockets. You tried your best to ignore the fact that he was even there. 

“No offense, Pam, but I don’t really know you,” you said.

“Dean, sweetheart, give us just a second, okay?” He nodded, going to stand by his car. When she couldn’t hear his boots on the gravel anymore, she said, “You’re right. But I know you.”

“So, what, you can see into my mind’s eye?” you joked. 

The woman laughed softly. “I can. And I can see what’s troubling you. And I won’t say it out loud if you don’t want me to.”

“I appreciate that,” you told her dejectedly. 

You knew she could tell by your tone you didn’t believe her. “You’re shouldering all this responsibility,” she said. “But it’s not yours to shoulder alone, alright?”

Tears welled up again. “It is,” you argued. “I can’t— They’ll never forgive me.”

“Who won’t?” she asked. “Sam and Dean? Please, those two teddy bears love you.”

Your bottom lip trembled. “I appreciate you trying to help.”

“But?”

“But I’m too far gone.”

****

You watched Anna and Dean from afar as they sat on top of the Impala’s trunk. It hurt your heart a bit given that was what the two of you did when you had your serious talks. 

Rationally, you knew your jealousy wasn’t based in reality. You didn’t think he trusted her, and he wasn’t the kind of person who would cheat on his partner. Still, it hurt to watch the two of them together while your relationship with him felt so strained. 

Sam walked up beside you. “Hey.”

“Hey,” you said. Neither of you looked at each other.

“I’m sorry,” Sam told you.

“I’m sorry, too,” you replied. 

He sighed. “I know you know more about Dean’s time in Hell than you’re letting on. And I let that get under my skin.”

“Sam,” you started, “trust me when I say you don’t wanna know.” 

You saw him nod and look at the ground out of the corner of your eye. “Uriel’s got you fucked up, man.”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “I know.” 

“And I know what he told you to do.”

Your heart nearly stopped. You took a moment to steady yourself before saying, “How?”

“C’mon, (Y/N),” he said. “You’re my best friend. Things have been… different, but I still know you.” Tension hung thick in the air while you waited for Sam’s next words. “He told you to kill me if I used my powers again, didn’t he?”

You nodded.

You heard him draw in a breath. “Are you going to?”

You hesitated. 

Sam scoffed.

“It’s not like I want to, Sam,” you stated evenly, still staring out at Dean and Anna. “If I don’t do what Uriel says, he’s gonna make me torture Dean.”

All function in Sam’s body stopped; you could almost feel it even though you still weren’t looking at him. “What?” he breathed out.

“Why do you think I do anything he says?” you laughed through the lump welling up in your throat.

“Does Dean know?” Sam questioned.

You shook your head.

“(Y/N/N), we gotta tell him—”

“No, Sam, we don’t have to do anything,” you cut him off, turning toward him for the first time. “He’s got too much on his fuckin’ plate right now. I won’t do that to him.”

“Don’t you think he could maybe… take away some of the guilt you’re feeling?” he suggested.

You turned away again. “No. It’d only make it worse.”

****

Sam brought you back inside to show you what he’d found; a tree had popped up in an empty clearing within a week in Union, Kentucky. He theorized that’s where Anna’s grace was, and Anna agreed.

However, her grace wasn’t there.

You, Anna, Ruby, and the Winchesters headed into an abandoned barn beyond the tree. 

“We still got the hex bags. I say we head back to the panic room,” Dean suggested.

Ruby scoffed. “What, forever?”

“I'm just thinking out loud!”

“Oh, you call that thinking?”

You squeezed the bridge of your nose, a pounding headache forming. 

“Hey!” Sam protested. “Hey, hey, hey. Stop it.”

“Anna's grace is gone,” Ruby stated, clearly ignoring him. “You understand? She can't angel up. She can't protect us. We can't fight Heaven and Hell. One side, maybe, but not both. Not at once.”

“Um… guys? The angels are talking again.”

The four of you waited for Anna to explain. 

“It's weird; like a recording, a loop. It says, ‘Dean Winchester gives us Anna by midnight, or…’ “ she cut herself off. 

“Or what?” you asked. 

“ ‘Or we hurl him back to damnation.’ “

“Alright, time’s up, sister,” you said, grabbing her by the arm and dragging her outside. 

“(Y/N), (Y/N), wait!” Dean grunted, stomping after you. 

Anna tried to wriggle away. “(Y/N), let me go! You’re hurting me!” 

“Uriel!” you called. 

Dean clapped a hand over your mouth, your surprise giving Anna the opportunity to get away from you. You shook him off you and spun around with your eyes burning in anger. “The fuck, Dean?!” 

“The hell is wrong with you?!” he shouted. 

“Me?” you argued. “What’s wrong with you?! Do you want to go back?”

“No, but I’m not gonna send some girl to her death off-rip!” he scoffed. 

You rolled your eyes, turning away from him. 

“What?” he probed, seeing you had something more on your mind. “(Y/N), what?!”

“Nothing, I just find your protectiveness of her really interesting.” You licked your teeth, quirking a brow. 

Dean scoffed and shook his head. “Seriously?” he nearly deadpanned. “You’re pulling that card?”

You furrowed your brows. “It’s not a card, Dean, I can see it! If fucking her is worth going to Hell for, then, by all means.” You threw your hands up in Anna’s direction, noticing that Sam, Ruby, and the angel had all backed away from you and Dean. 

“Where is this coming from? Is this really the time to pick a fight?” he asked. 

You closed your eyes, frowning. “You’re right. Let me go waste my fucking time researching how to kill and angel or a demon with no knife and take on multiple at once. All over one bitch.” You stormed away in complete fury. 

Anna tried to say something to you as you passed. You wheeled around to her and got in her face. “You say one more fucking thing to me, and you’re gone, you got it? I will get Uriel down here so fucking fast, it’ll make your head spin.”

****

You took a machete out to the surrounding woods and just hacked at as many trees as you possibly could. You stood in the center of a ring of six, almost like you were staging a battle, and swung at each with all your might. 

Then, you sat down against one of the trees you’d hacked at. You closed your eyes and rested your head against the bark of the tree. Then, you heard talking a little ways off from you. It was just barely there, but you heard enough murmurings to get your attention. As you crept closer, you felt your blood begin to boil. 

“A little scared, I guess,” the voice you identified as Anna’s was saying. “So, um... Dean... I just wanted to thank you.”

You were close enough now that you were a tree trunk’s distance away from the two figures standing near the Impala.

“For what?” he asked. 

“Everything. You guys— you didn't have to help me—”

Dean cut her off. “Hey, let's can the ‘thanks for trying’ speech, y’know? Participation trophies suck ass.”

She sighed. “I don't know. Maybe I don't deserve to be saved.”

“Don’t talk like that,” Dean told her. 

“I disobeyed. Lucifer disobeyed. It's our murder one, and I knew it. Maybe I got to pay.”

“Yeah, well, we've all done things we got to pay for,” he said, his voice carrying a weight. 

“I got to tell you something. You're not gonna like it.”

“Okay. what?”

“About a week ago, I heard the angels talking,” she started. “About you. What you did in Hell. Dean, I know. It wasn't your fault. You should forgive yourself.”

“Anna, I don't w-want to, uh... I don't want to... I can't talk about that,” Dean stammered. You knew him well enough to know he was keeping tears at bay.

“I know. But when you can, you have people that want to help,” she said. “You are not alone. That's all I'm trying to say.” 

Then, you heard something that nearly had you slitting her throat. She kissed him. Your Dean. 

Thankfully, you didn’t need to reveal yourself. 

“Whoa,” Deans said. “Uh, Anna, you’re great, and all, but (Y/N)’s my girl.”

Despite everything, he still called you that. That made you incredibly grateful, and you were angry at yourself for doubting him. 

“Oh, uh,” she said, “I’m sorry. I just thought— I mean, you never denied being attracted to me when she said something about it earlier.”

“Yeah, I know,” he replied. “And I should have.”

Anna clicked her tongue. “Guess I misread things, then.”

A silence followed. 

“I’m sorry,” she finally told him. Then, you heard leaves crunching as she walked away and back toward the barn where Ruby and Sam were preparing for war. 

When she was far enough away, you walked out from behind your tree, apparently scaring the hell out of Dean.

“Jesus, (Y/N),” he said when he saw you. “You scared the crap outta me.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Need to go change your drawers?”

He snorted. “I think I’ll be good.”

An almost awkward silence passed between the two of you. 

“Guess you heard all that, huh?” he asked. 

You nodded.

“I’m sorry,” Dean said. 

“I’m sorry, too,” you replied. 

Dean shoved his hands in his pockets. “What’s goin’ on with us, sweetheart?”

You felt both hurt and warmth from his familiar nickname. “It’s not you, Dee, it’s me.” Your lip trembled. 

“Then, talk to me. Tell me what’s going on,” he begged. 

“I can’t.”

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me,” Dean probed. “We can’t fix us if you don’t tell me.” “He wants me to kill Sam,” you finally said. 

Dean froze. “What?”

“If Sam uses his powers again, Uriel wants me to kill him,” you told him. “And, Dean, I can’t promise you that I won’t if he does.”

Dean furrowed his brow. “What, why?”

“Because you know what he will make me do to you if I don’t listen,” you reminded him. 

“You realize if you… kill Sam, I will never forgive you, right?” Dean said in complete disbelief.

“It’s not like I want to! But I will not put you through what I’m capable of. I won’t do it.” 

He took a moment to think but finally nodded. “Okay.” You cocked your head to the side. “Okay?”

“We’ll find a way out. He won’t use ‘em again, I promise,” he told you. 

You nodded. “Okay.” The relief he was bringing to you made you feel safe enough to let it all out. Tears started flowing freely, and Dean brought you into his chest. “I don’t wanna have to hurt him, Dean,” you hiccuped. “He’s my best friend. And— And I don’t want you to hate me if Uriel makes me hurt him.”

“Hey, let’s not even go there, alright?” Dean said. “We’re not even gonna consider that possibility.” 

You nodded against his chest and sniffed. You looked up at him, eyes still shining as you tried to collect yourself. 

Almost as if spellbound, he said, “You are so beautiful.”

Immediately, you wound your arms around his neck and kissed him. He reciprocated the action, tugging your waist closer to him and biting your lower lip. 

You pulled on his hair with one hand and slid your other down his chest. Then, you slipped your fingers between his belted jeans and stomach, making him suck in a sharp breath. 

“Backseat?” he asked you. 

“Backseat.” 

Every time you and Dean had sex, it was an out-of-this-world experience. He always made you feel like you were the only person in the world that mattered to him. Each roll of his hips, each kiss down your neck conveyed everything his words couldn’t. He completely worshipped you; not just your body. Everything in the way he treated you told you he loved you from the inside out. 

You tried to give him that same love. He was your everything, and you wanted him to feel that, too. Despite the storm going on inside you, he was the one thing you were completely sure of. He was the one person you enjoyed fighting with. You’d rather fight with him than love anyone else. Dean Winchester was it for you, and you hoped the way you held him to your chest while he slept conveyed that. 

Soon, your breathing began to match his, the way you stroked his hair slowed, and you drifted off to sleep as well. 

****

When you and Dean woke up, he seemed a lot more stressed than he had been the night before. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked him. 

He shook his head. “Just a bad dream.”

“I’m sorry,” you told him. 

He sat up between your legs and tugged on a fresh shirt from his duffel bag. “It’s fine.” At your concerned look, Dean rubbed the inside of your bare thigh to reassure you. “It’s fine, I’m good.”

The two of you went inside the barn to see if Sam had found anything interesting through the night. 

“I don't know, man,” Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. 

“So, nothing, then, I’m guessing,” you said. 

He shook his head. “Where's Ruby?”

“Hey, she's your Hell buddy.” Dean took a swig of his flask. 

“Little early for that, isn't it?” Anna laughed, the sound of her voice making your blood boil. 

“It's two a.m. somewhere,” Dean replied, voice distant.

“You okay?” she asked him. 

“He’s fine,” you snapped. 

Then, the doors flew open. 

“Hello, Anna,” Castiel said, voice as gravelly as ever. “It's good to see you.”

“How? How did you find us?” Sam asked, confused and startled.

“Dean?”

Dean turned to Anna. “I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Sam asked. 

“Because they gave him a choice. They either kill me or kill her,” Anna explained, nodding at you. “I know how their minds work.” She looked up at Dean, who couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. “You did the best you could. I forgive you.” Then, she stepped forward. “Okay. No more tricks. No more running. I'm ready.”

“I'm sorry,” said Castiel. 

The angel shook her head. “No, you're not; not really. You don't know the feeling.”

He shrugged. “Still, we have a history. It's just—”

“Orders are orders, I know.” She drew in a breath. “Just make it quick.”

Then, a bleeding Ruby appeared with a demon and Alastair. “Don't you touch a hair on that poor girl's head,” the latter sneered. 

“How dare you come in this room, you pussing sore?” Uriel growled. 

Alastair chuckled darkly. “Name-calling. That hurt my feelings, you sanctimonious, fanatical prick.” 

“Turn around and walk away now,” Castiel ordered.

“Sure,” the demon shrugged. “Just give us the girl. We'll make sure she gets punished good and proper.”

“You know who we are and what we will do. I won't say it again. Leave now, or we lay you to waste.” 

“Think I'll take my chances.”

You couldn’t hold yourself back anymore. You drew one of your knives from your jacket and threw it at Alastair. He caught it easily, chuckling. Then, all Hell broke loose. Castiel attacked Alastair, Uriel exorcised the other demon, and you stood back near Sam. 

Then, Alastair tried to exorcise Castiel. Dean reacted by picking up a crowbar and hitting him over the head with it. 

Alastair turned around slowly. “Dean, Dean, Dean... I am so disappointed. You had such promise.”

Your attention was quickly taken away from Dean and the demon by Anna rushing Uriel. She smashed the pendant from around his neck on the ground, and a brilliant white light began to flow into her mouth. “Shut your eyes,” she said, quietly at first. “Shut your eyes! Shut your eyes!”

You cowered into Sam’s side, the two of you shielding each other with your jackets. When it seemed the light had gone away, you reopened your eyes. Uriel, Castiel, and Ruby’s knife were all that remained of the battle. 

“Well, what are you guys waiting for? Go get Anna. Unless, of course, you're scared,” Dean taunted. 

“This isn’t over,” Uriel said.

“Oh, it looks over to me, junkless,” your partner retorted. 

Castiel and Uriel disappeared. 

“You okay?” Sam asked Ruby. 

She shook her head. “Not so much.”

“What took you so long to get here?”

“Sorry I'm late with the demon delivery. I was only being tortured,” she scoffed. 

You shook your head, smiling slightly. Of course, the Winchesters had a bigger plan all along. 

“I got to hand it to you, Sammy. Bringing them all together all at once; angels and demons. It was a damn good plan,” Dean told his little brother. 

The brunet shrugged. “Yeah, well, when you got Godzilla and Mothra on your ass, best to get out of their way and let them fight.”

You rolled your eyes. “Now you’re just bragging.”

“So, I guess she's some big-time angel now, huh? She must be happy; wherever she is.”

“I doubt it,” you murmured. 

****

When all was said and done, you and the boys were off again. 

About four hours into your drive, Dean pulled off to the side of the road for a bit of reprieve. 

Sam took the opportunity to get a beer out of the trunk, and the three of you sat on the hood of the car together. 

“I can’t believe we made it out of there,” Dean said. 

“Again,” you snorted. You reached across Dean to clink your beer against Sam’s. 

Dean broke the momentary silence. “I know you heard him.”

Sam cocked his head to the side. “Who?”

“Alastair. What he said... about how I had promise.”

You stared down at the pavement in front of you knowing exactly where this conversation was heading. 

“I heard him,” Sam nodded solemnly.

“You’re not curious?”

“Dean, I'm damn curious. But you're not talking about Hell, and I'm not pushing.”

Your partner took a deep breath. “It wasn't four months, you know.”

“What?”

“It was four months up here, but down there…” Dean trailed off. “I don't know. Time's different. It was more like forty years.”

“My god,” Sam murmured. 

“They, uh... “ Dean choked out. “They sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you— until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly, I would be whole again; like magic. Just so they could start all over. And Alastair, at the end of every day— every one— he would come over. And he would make me an offer.” You could hear him holding back sobs. “To take me off the rack if I put souls on; if I started the torturing. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines.” He paused, taking in a shuddering breath. “For thirty years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't. And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart. I lost count of how many souls. The— the things that I did to them.”

“Dean,” Sam tried. “Dean, look, you held out for thirty years. That's longer than anyone would have.”

The older Winchester couldn’t hold back his tears anymore. “How I feel— This— Inside me— I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy. I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing.”

Series Rewrite Taglist: @polireader @brightlilith @atcamillanorrman @jrizzelle @insomnia-bookworm @procrastination20 @mrs-nesmith @djs8891 @tiggytaylor @staple-your-mouth @jesstherebel @rach5ive @strawberrykiwisdogog @bruhidkjustwannaread @mxltifxnd0m @sunshine-on-marz @big-ol-boat @mgchaser @capncrankle @chervbs @simpingdeadcharacters @nesnejwritings @stillhere197 @tearsforhan @take-it-on-the-run @iloveyou2mia @maxinehufflepuffprincess @ohgeehowdigethere @seninjakitey @berarenado @s0urw00lf @princessleahorgana @quarterhorse19 @isla-finke-blog @silverdoragon @karacaroldanvers @gayandfairycore @examishbookwyrm @star-yawnznn @real-sharena-h @fandomloverrr @metalmonki @onlyangel-444 @yu-winchester @benniwiththefanni @daisychaingirl @immagods @missmieux @yoongi-holland @littledebbieinabigworld

[scarletqueenx]

PLEASE, DON'T LEAVE ME

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: It was your last hunt. But in the middle of the fight with the vampires you ended up getting hurt. Now, you and Dean would learn some news that would change your future together.

Word Count: 1252

Tags/Warnings: mentions of blood and death

A/N: Wrote this in a half hour, I hope you like it.

You knew how stupid it was. God, you'd promised yourself you'd never fall in love with another hunter. And yet, here you were. Bleeding out in the backseat of the one person who had given you a reason to live, to keep fighting.

Dean Winchester was driving his beloved Impala as fast as he could. Hands tense clenching the steering wheel, green eyes crystallized with tears of fear and frustration, blood and sweat streaming down his forehead.

"Stay with me, baby. Don't even think about closing your eyes." His voice sounded broken. Full of feelings he normally hid away from the world beneath his tough exterior.

A muffled gasp left your lips in an attempt to reassure him.

The world was spinning around you. And the pain in your body was so unbearable that your head had decided to ignore it completely. You felt like you were outside your body. You were screaming for being able to say something, to feel something.

"Sammy. Keep her awake."

Dean's voice became more demanding and desperate as he watched your eyelids start to close.

Stay awake. You were screaming to yourself. You have to keep fighting. After all you've been through, you have to keep fighting.

You were supposed to stop hunting. That little nest of vampires was supposed to be your last hunt. A sweet goodbye to the life you'd lived the past years.

You were supposed to live. To breathe one more day, to see the sun rise and the birds sing. To feel the wind on your skin without the pressure of having to save the world.

You were supposed to find the courage to tell Dean what you had promised yourself to never feel again.

You didn't know when exactly you arrived at the hospital. Sam had been trying to keep you conscious the entire ride. Your heart was still beating and your eyes were struggling to stay open, but your mind was far from present inside of Baby.

You did feel Sam's strong arms carry you from the car to the emergency room of that hospital, though. The neon lights and the smell of antiseptic bringing you back to some sense of consciousness.

You felt Dean's hands caress your face and the comfortable gurney embrace you as several people asked him to let them work.

Dean wanted to stay with you. He couldn't leave you alone. Part of him knew that if he wasn't by your side, you might forget to stay alive.

You didn't.

You could feel his presence with you. Hear his voice in your head despite the irritating sound of the machines that kept you alive.

Despite him not being in the same room as you.

Whatever they gave you took the pain away from every inch of your body. Your mind, though fuzzy and groggy, was finally able to focus on thinking once again.

Your hand trembled as you tried to lift it. However, someone grabbed it and set it back down on the gurney, asking you to stay still in the sweetest voice you'd ever heard.

“Baby.”

You whispered almost to yourself.

Your vision cleared slightly then, recognizing the confused expression of the woman beside you.

“Baby.”

You repeated in a hoarse voice.

She tried to tell you not to speak, to rest your voice and save your strength. But you insisted.

“Baby.”

This time your voice rose a little higher above a whisper. Hoarse, tired and barely audible. But the woman understood you.

You knew she had understood you because her face changed drastically all of a sudden before another person walked into the room.

Your hand trembled again as you brought it to your lower belly. Praying that the life inside you was still there.

Dean couldn't keep still. He tried to sit in the waiting room next to his brother, but his legs bounced nervously. Then he tried to go outside to get some air, as Sam had advised him to do. But his feet couldn't even take a step out of that hospital. As if stepping out of that building meant leaving you.

He tried everything.

Even praying.

He prayed for Jack and for Castiel. Desperate that one of them would come back to save you. To take him in your place.

That's when, out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the woman who had taken you in. Her face was serious and her stride determined, but her look... Her look was what scared him the most.

“She's stable.” The sweetest voice he'd ever heard—just behind yours —left her lips.

Dean felt the air rush back into his lungs, his heart beat again, his dreams and desires becoming more than just that, and more like reality once again.

"She just got out of surgery. The doctors have repaired the damage and closed the wound in her abdomen without complications. She'll need rest, but she'll be fine."

Dean didn't know how or whom he should thank. Inexplicably his body wanted to wrap that woman in the world's biggest hug.

But what he wanted most of all was to see you and thank you for fighting.

“Oh.”

The woman spoke up again. This time with a faint, tender smile peeking through her lips.

“The baby is healthy and strong.”

Before Dean could fully comprehend her words, Sam shifted beside him. Breathing with relief and joy as his eyes watched his brother in awe.

You and Dean had started sleeping together after a rough hunt. It was a little mutual agreement between the two of you to release pent-up energy. No strings attached. No relationships. No love.

It was a stupid thing to do.

But that agreement had had the best possible outcome. Especially now that your future no longer looked black and full of death and pain.

You were pregnant. You were going to have a baby together.

“The baby?” Dean stuttered, barely able to pronounce the word. No matter how many times he'd used it before to refer to you or his prized car.

The woman nodded with a smile and a gleam of happiness in her eyes. She knew—after Dean had grabbed your hand and begged to stay by your side—that he had to be the baby's father.

“Can I...?” Dean coughed nervously. “Can I see them?”

“She hasn't stopped asking about you since she woke up.” The woman said as she nodded.

With a sheepish smile on his lips, mixed with the tears—now of happiness—that were pooling in his eyes, Dean sighed in relief and took a deep breath before following her up to your room.

Your eyes lit up as you watched him walk in. It was as if life had come back to you. Your skin was no longer pale, the blood was gone from your face and your hand reached for him.

Dean didn't hesitate to move closer, intertwining your fingers and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I love you.” The words came out of his mouth without thought. He felt it, though. Damn right he did. You were his whole world, his reason to live, his future.

As his forehead rested against yours, tears of happiness streamed down your cheeks as your lips turned into a smile.

“I love you.” You said back. Because he was your whole world, your reason to live, your future.

Dean squeezed your hand lovingly while his other hand rested on your lower belly. His nose brushed yours. Your breaths mixing and your lips just a few inches apart.

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[aroselaine]

Laine's Fic Recs <3

Hey guys school has been crazy busy so I decided to put together a list of some of my favorite supernatural fic recs to hold you off:) but I promise I'm still working on the new castiel fic from my poll (wing/gracekink! won😉)

* indicates smut

Castiel:

Last night on Earth* - by hollybell51 Don't bet on it * - by hollybell51 Out of the Blue* - by sp-oops Upturned Lips * - by dirtysupernaturalimagines Teach Me* - by jessybarns

Dean Winchester:

Where Do You End - by godmadeaterribleerror "this one's on me"* - by bluemerakis Teach Me* - by jessybarns still got the blues* - by bejewledinterludes Sexy F*cking Nerd* - by whimsyfinny Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester* - by luvergirl777

Gabriel:

Third Time's a Charm*- by The_White_Rabbit42 (on ao3) Even if Saving You Sends Me to Heaven* - by 12TimeTraveler (on ao3) Masterlist* - by gabrielxreader A/N - recs will be regularly updated :)

A/N - If any of the authors of these fics are uncomfortable with their work being included in this post, please message me and I will take it down <3

[aylacavebear]

Bloodlines & Fate Chapter 11

Being Touched should have been a blessing—a mark of honor in your lineage, celebrated by your pack since childhood. But to you, it's always made you feel like an outsider, never really fitting in anywhere. Yeah, you had your best friend Jess, but for you, something always felt like it was missing. The land your pack runs on during the full moons brings you a sense of peace you don't fully understand, at first.

Paring: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader/You

Word Count: 9410

Warning: Angst, Fluff, Dean getting memories, Reader taking care of Dean, Longing.

A/N: Professor Robert Zimmerman is based off of The Doctor from Star Trek Voyager, as I absolutely love that character. Alaric Saltzman is from The Vampire Diaries.

A/N: It's my first attempt with an A/B/O fic, be gentle, please. I hope you like it. Not sure how many chapters this will be yet.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 11

The change came like a storm. Bones cracked, muscles twisted, fur rushed over skin. But none of it mattered. None of it was strange. None of it hurt. This was right. This was how things were meant to be.

But… his human was silent. Gone.

For the first time, the wolf was alone in the mind. No arguing, no resistance, no voice controlling what they did. Just the wind in his fur, the earth beneath his paws, the steady rhythm of his own breath. The pack ran with him, their voices lifting in song, echoing through the night.

He should have felt free. Should have reveled in the primal joy of running with his pack, in the unity thrumming through their bond. Instead, there was an ache. Deep and gnawing. A weight pressing against his ribs that had nothing to do with the moon above.

Something was missing. Someone.

The pull was there. Faint, but unbreakable. A thread winding through his ribs, tightening with every step. It tugged at his chest, drawing him away from the others. None followed. They had learned to give Dean his space when he needed it, unaware that Dean was nothing more than a distant hum in the back of the mind. Sleeping.

His paws carried him across the land, through the trees of the forest, the ferns of the underbrush, and the shifting shadows. His focus was elsewhere. Without his human’s doubts clouding his senses, his instincts were sharpened, more demanding than ever. The pull grew stronger, relentless, pulling him away, pulling him toward—

Her.

There was no scent trail to follow. No song to guide him. Nothing tangible to explain why every fiber of his being strained onward. 

Only her.

Finally, he stopped.

A fence loomed just beyond the trees, a divider of two lands, two packs. She was on the other side. Somewhere beyond his reach.

The wolf lingered in the shadows, ears twitching, nose lifting, searching for a scent he knew he wouldn’t find. He walked through the trees, keeping the fence to his right as he explored. The forest was dense, but he followed that thread. The pull to her, wherever she was on the other side.

He knew she was over there. He didn’t feel threatened. No need for aggression or possessiveness. This felt different—like there was no threat he’d lose her to another alpha. 

When he came to a place where the moonlight pierced the canopy, spilling over the earth below, he stopped. Lowered onto his haunches, settling into the shadows of the forest.

The sight before him was both familiar and unknown, beautiful yet unsettling in a way he couldn’t name. A towering, half-rotted tree stump stood more than twenty feet away, remnants of its ancient form stretching high into the night. Around it, tufts of grass, ferns, and delicate flowers blanketed the forest floor, untouched and thriving. But it was more than that. More than the way the earth cradled this place, sheltering it like something sacred.

It was a feeling. 

Like something would happen here. Like something was meant to happen here. He didn’t know why—only that this place was where he was supposed to be.

His paws shifted against the dirt, ears flicking as he breathed deep, but there was no scent other than the forest. No sign that she had ever been here. Still, his instincts whispered that she would come. Someday. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not for many moons. But she would find this place. Find him. And when she did, he would be waiting.

A breeze whispered through the trees, stirring the flowers, making them sway as if they, too, were waiting. The moonlight shifted through the canopy above, casting shadows that stretched and danced before retreating once more. 

His ear twitched at the distant sound of howls. His pack sang, but he wasn’t in the mood. Not tonight. He wanted to be by her side. Let her know she wasn’t alone. That she had him.

But she did not call to him.

She did not come.

The moon dipped lower in the sky, marking the approach of morning. He lowered his head, the weight in his chest twisted, sharp and aching. With one last glance toward the land beyond the fence, he rose to his paws and turned away, making the long trek back to his pack. 

He kept his longing buried deep, hidden from his scent. His pack couldn’t know where he’d gone. It was forbidden, even if that was where she was.

—----------------------------

Dean woke with a start. His heart pounded against his chest, breath coming in short, ragged bursts, sweat cooling on his skin. The remnants of his dream clung to him like fog, thick and disorienting, refusing to let go. For a moment, he wasn’t quite sure where he was. His vision was still blurry and unfocused, the dark room around him unfamiliar, his mind caught somewhere between the past and the present. 

Then, warmth.

The soft press of a body against his. The steady rise and fall of your breath. And your scent—deep, grounding—flooded his senses, wrenching him back to reality before his instincts could take over.

His muscles remained taut, tension coiled in his shoulders, but he forced himself to breathe. Slow. Deep. His wolf stirred uneasily within him, a low, uncertain hum in the back of his mind, but he ignored it, shifting instead, pressing closer to you.

His nose brushed the crown of your head as he inhaled, letting the familiarity of you settle him. It felt easier this morning, the way it soothed him.

“Mmm… you okay, Dean?” you murmured. 

Your voice was thick with sleep, and the lazy way you nuzzled deeper against him made his chest tighten. You didn’t open your eyes, but something felt… off.

He exhaled shakily, his arm tightening around you, his body trembling slightly from his dream. “Yeah. I’m okay,” he breathed, but his voice was hoarse, like the words barely made it out. His muscles still hadn’t fully relaxed. His mind still felt… foggy. 

And his wolf? His wolf felt just as disoriented.

You stirred slightly, blinking up at him, taking him in—the dampness of sweat on his skin, the faint tremor in his limbs, the underlying unrest radiating from him in waves. “Dean, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, your eyes searching his face as if the answer was hidden there somewhere.

He swallowed, averting his gaze. The words caught in his throat, something he wouldn’t—couldn’t—share with anyone. Your expression softened. “Hey,” you coaxed gently, reaching up to cup his cheek, your thumb stroking soothing circles over his skin. “Talk to me.” 

He stayed quiet for a long moment, jaw tight. It all sounded stupid in his head—like a child afraid of a nightmare. He was a grown man. An Alpha. Dreams shouldn’t be affecting him like this. “Just a bad dream,”  he muttered, still not meeting your eyes.

You studied him, searching his face, before letting out a quiet sigh.

“Dean,” you murmured, voice steady but impossibly soft. “When you claim me, I’m gonna need you, and your wolf with what I’m going to go through. Please… let me be here for the two of you.”

Dean grumbled something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch before he buried his nose in the crook of your neck. So, you did the only thing you could do at the moment. You held him close, letting him take whatever time he needed, hoping he would talk to you.

That was when you noticed your claim mark on him. You leaned a little closer, soothing it over with your tongue, sending a shiver through his body. His grip on you firmed, just a little tighter—like if he held on long enough, he wouldn’t have to say the words aloud.

For several long moments, that was how the two of you stayed—him nuzzling into your neck, you soothing his mark with your tongue. You could feel the tension slowly ease from his body, the way it had trembled before finally stopped, and with a slow exhale against your skin, he relaxed.

“It’s stupid,” he mumbled, voice rough against your skin.

You nuzzled your cheek against his as you began purring softly, a different sort of instinct taking over. “If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid. That makes it important to me,” you told him gently.

Why does she always seem to know just what to say? Even with his wolf tangled in unease, it still huffed in amusement, ‘She’s our mate.’ 

He was still reluctant, but he finally pulled away, resting his head on the pillow as the morning light slowly peeked its way through the window. “It was a dream, but it was like a memory,” he mumbled, his voice quiet, rough—like a child still shaken from a nightmare he couldn’t quite shake.

You had prepared for this. A week before you’d even brought up claiming him, you’d gone to Professor Saltzman, needing answers. He’d explained how important memories would surface in dreams, while everything else would come to Dean while he was awake, slipping into his thoughts like echoes of a life he hadn’t lived—at least, not until now. Then there was the aftercare. 

You needed to make sure he processed the dream, that he didn’t shove it down like something insignificant. He had to feel it. Work through it. Beyond that, there were the physical symptoms—making sure to keep him hydrated and well-fed was the easy part. It was the rarer symptoms you were worried about. There was the possibility that Dean would be too dizzy or light-headed to be able to walk around much. Or that being too far away from you, the source of your scent, could make him anxious or uneasy. And the headaches, which you had a bottle of Excedrine waiting in the bathroom cabinet.

Dean’s voice pulled you from your thoughts as he started recounting the dream, his words slow and measured. Luckily, he added how things felt—not just what he saw, but the way it settled into him, heavy and lingering. His gaze stayed on the ceiling, but his arm never left you, holding you close like he needed the contact to stay grounded. Absentmindedly, he lifted his other hand, rubbing his temple as a dull throb took root behind his eyes.

You felt it—not physically, but in a way that had no real words. It was like sensing a shift in the wind, or the way you could tell rain was coming before it fell. It was just there. 

“Lemme get you something for that,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his cheek before slipping out of bed. Dean watched you go, brow furrowed like he wasn’t even sure what you meant—until you were gone, and the weight in his head became more noticeable.

His focus shifted to the sight of you, the sway of your hips as you disappeared into the bathroom. Catching sight of you in the mirror, his lips parted, tongue swiping over them instinctively as his gaze lingered. Your hair still mussed from sleep, bare skin bathed in the soft lighting from the bathroom, the soft ease in the way you moved.

The way you were just doing things, taking care of him. Dean’s lips quirked into that familiar boyish grin. He hadn’t even told you his head hurt, but now you were pressing two pills with a glass of water into his hands with that sweet, soft smile on your lips.

At least he took them without an argument while you stood by the side of the bed, almost like a mother hen. He was far more distracted by the way you stood there, utterly unbothered by his gaze roaming over you. But then, the heat of his gaze crawled over your skin, sending a flush to your cheeks—a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the morning sun.

Dean couldn’t help himself. You were beautiful—beyond just the way you looked, beyond anything that words could pin down. You were his. And for the first time in his life, his wolf felt the exact same thing he did, no conflict, no pull in different directions, but together. 

It was good. God, it was good. 

But it was disorienting as hell.

You caught it, even in the faintest flicker—the way his eyelids dipped for a split second, uncontrolled. His eyes glossed over before he blinked hard, trying to push through it, leaning heavier against the headboard. He still didn’t look right, or feel right. 

Then came the small shake of his head, the slight furrow of his brows as if he was trying to clear away a fog he didn’t understand. That was it. That was the sign you’d been watching for. You exhaled a quiet sigh.

“I was worried about that happening,” you told him with a frown, slipping on a shirt, then a pair of shorts. “Stay here. Don’t get out of bed. I’m gonna go make you something to eat.”

And just like that, you were gone.

Dean let his head fall back, eyes shutting against the dull throb behind them. His vision pulsed in and out of focus, the headache settling like a weighted fog. He ran a hand through his hair, wishing he’d read more of the files back at Saltzman’s office. He’d known there would be an adjustment period, but this? This was worse than any hangover he’d ever had.

Then, his wolf whined. 

The sound hit him sharp and sudden—so sudden that for a second, he wasn’t sure if it had been in his head or if it had actually— 

“What’s wrong?” Your voice cut through the haze, laced with something sharp and worried as you hovered in the doorway. And then you were at his side, sitting on the bed, hands skimming over him like you expected to find something wrong. 

Had the sounds actually come out? Dean blinked up at you, brow knitting. “Uh… headache, and I feel a little dizzy, but it’s not so bad now.” He hesitated before adding, “Why?”

You frowned, gaze searching his, but didn’t answer him right away. You hadn’t even been gone long—barely long enough to pull a few things from the fridge—when that whine had hit you. It pierced something in your chest, knotting and twisting at your gut so badly you had gripped your stomach. But looking at him now? He looked okay. 

Still, you weren’t taking any chances. “Let’s get you in at least some boxers,” you said, already moving, finding them among the scattered clothes. “Then I’ll help you get downstairs. If it’s what I think it is, I’ll need to stay close to you.”

Dean’s confusion didn’t fade, and he swore his wolf seemed just as lost. “Care to share?” he asked just as you handed him the fabric.

As he slipped them on, you explained everything Saltzam had told you—about the symptoms, the adjustment period, the way his body and mind would be catching up with the bond over the next several days, maybe even a full week.

By the time you finished, Dean was already making a mental note to text Sam. If he was gonna be stuck like this for a while, at your cabin, he was gonna need a few more things.

Getting him downstairs was slow work. Between the walls, the railing on the stairs, and you, he managed, though the dizziness flared every time he wasn’t touching something solid. You felt it too—the faint, restless pull anytime there was space between you. You hated seeing him unsteady like this, but he wasn’t fighting you. He was trusting you.

By the time you settled him into a chair, pulled close to the stove for easy access, Dean was quiet. Too quiet. His mind was still buzzing with what you’d told him. But his wolf? 

His wolf was purring.

Purring with pride, with something warm and deep and wholly content. You’d researched this. You’d prepared, for him. You were taking care of him, of them. 

Dean was floored. Speechless. And utterly in awe of you. 

You handed him a cup of hot coffee, giving him that small, reassuring smile. “I like hearing you purr,” you murmured, going back to the task of making him breakfast.

He nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d taken, not even realizing the sound wasn’t just in his head, as he now questioned the whine from earlier. “Did… did that uh… that whine… Was that why, you uh… you came back?” Dean asked hesitantly, more focused on the cup in his hand than on you.

You hummed softly, cracking eggs into the pan, the scent of butter and bacon already filling the kitchen. “Yeah,” you admitted, glancing over to him. “It felt like someone punched me in the chest and stabbed me in the stomach at the same time.”

Dean frowned, running his thumb over the rim of his coffee mug. That didn’t sit right with him—not because he doubted you, but because the idea of his wolf projecting emotions outside himself, loud enough for you to not only hear them, but feel it, was a whole new level of strange. He’d spent his entire life with his wolf as something internal, instinctive. But this? It was like the damn thing had a voice now.

Another soft rumble slipped from his throat, and he stiffened. You turned fully toward him this time, head tilting, a knowing gleam in your eyes. “Dean.”

“What?” he grumbled, shifting in his seat.

“You’re purring again.” Heat crept up his neck, but he couldn’t even bring himself to deny it. He just shook his head, muttering, “God, this is weird.” He let out a huff, rubbing the back of his neck, but the sound didn’t stop—not entirely. It settled in his chest, deep and steady. The way his wolf’s emotions mixed with his own, he understood it. 

You grinned, setting two plates down at the table. Over-easy eggs, thick slices of bacon, toast with butter. Simple, but comforting. “I know it feels weird, but it’s normal. I promise. And, I like hearing it.” You then helped him move to sit at the table, keeping him steady with your hand on his chest, his arm over your shoulders.

Once settled, Dean picked up his fork, but before he dug in, something flashed through his mind—familiar yet distant, like a memory stirring from the depths of his wolf.

It wasn’t clear at first. Just warmth. The feeling of something solid and comforting. Then came the scent of old leather and firewood, the weight of a thick blanket pulled over his shoulders. He must’ve been young, maybe six or seven, curled up on the couch after sneaking out to watch the pack elders talk. He’d drifted off before he got caught, only to wake up to Bobby pressing a cup of hot cocoa into his hands with a gruff, “You got ears for a reason, boy—use ‘em next time.”

Dean blinked, the memory dissolving like mist, but something about it lingered. The phantom weight of the blanket still clung to his shoulders, and for half a second, he could swear he smelled old leather and firewood, warm and grounding. That same warmth settled in his chest as he took a bite of food, the taste grounding him.

“You okay?” you asked softly, studying him.

“Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “Just… remembering stuff.” “If you want to talk about anything, I’m here,” you offered with a reassuring smile.

You sat beside him, letting him have the space to process while still staying close to him. Dean took another bite, savoring the simple meal, feeling the way it soothed something raw inside him. He’d had breakfast a thousand times before, but this? Sitting here, with you, his wolf right there at the surface, with him? It was dizzying.

The rest of the morning passed in a slow, easy rhythm. After eating, you took care of clean up while he drank another cup of coffee, mostly just watching you. Memories from his wolf came and went, the fog in his mind still there, but as long as you were close, it never got overwhelming.

You guided him to the couch once the kitchen was clean, setting him up with a cup of water before pulling a blanket over him. When they came, you stayed close to him, almost able to feel that something was just a little off, even if you couldn’t see his face with how the two of you were cuddling. Hours passed like that—quiet conversation, the occasional purr slipping past his lips or rumbling in his chest. It was the quiet whines when you had to walk into another room for something that always felt the same—that ache in your chest, the twist in your gut, and the need to go comfort them. 

It wasn’t the same feeling you would have if you were normal. If you were normal, it would have been a mutual claiming the night before. You shook the thought away, forcing yourself to focus on the moment. This was how it had to be. How it was meant to be. Even if something inside you ached for more.

Every so often, another memory surfaced—a childhood run through the trees with Sam at his side, the feel of John’s firm hand on his shoulder as he taught him about cars, the warmth of Mary’s voice singing softly when he was sick. Some of them he shared with you as your fingers absentmindedly teased through his hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

Each one felt clearer, sharper than before. Like the bond was untangling parts of himself he hadn’t fully understood. All while weaving them together in an entirely new way.

And through it all, you were there. His rock. His peace. His home.

By the time late afternoon rolled around, Dean wasn’t just getting used to it—he was settling into it. The way his wolf’s memories surfaced—the images, feelings, and scents—playing through his mind as if they were his own. And in a way, they were his. At least his wolf felt content within him. Emotions and thoughts weaving together as Dean got back pieces of his life he hadn’t realized he missed.

He’d almost forgotten to call his brother with everything going on. The two of you laughed, finding out he was just next door, hanging out with Jess in her cabin. Sam took down the list of things Dean had asked him to pick up, letting him know he’d stop by later on that evening to drop them off.

Dean yawned halfway through another movie, shifting against you so his head rested on your thigh, his body stretching out along the couch. It was just after noon, the sun high in the sky, but here, in the quiet sanctuary of your cabin, time felt slower—softer. Before he even realized it, sleep took him under, your scent wrapping around him like a lullaby.

—------------------------

Another full moon. Another shift. 

Six months after presentation, his wolf had full control. This was his time. Almost ten hours where he existed unchained—where the body and mind were fully his own. 

Tonight, though, the air was different. Charged. 

He didn’t linger with his pack. Tonight, he made a beeline straight for that place. His paws kicking up damp earth as he raced toward the place that called to him—had been calling to him for months. His heart pounded harder the closer he got, anticipation coursing hot through his veins. 

Then, he was there.

But still, he remained in the shadows, watching. He’d come here nearly every night of the full moon, but hadn’t always stayed. Tonight though? Tonight, something was different. 

A scent—so faint, like a whisper through the trees, but unmistakable. Her. She was closer.

His muscles coiled, every instinct screaming at him to move, to close the distance. But his paws were rooted to the earth, as if some unseen force held him back.

Then, he heard it. 

She was singing.

The sound hit him like a strike to the chest. Raw. Aching. Beautiful. She was in human form—he could tell with how the notes resinated off the forest, speaking a language she didn’t understand. 

But he did.

Loneliness. Longing. The deep, unwavering love she had for her pack. But there was so much more. Her love for her best friend. Then, there was the pain of never feeling her wolf. 

He not only heard it, he felt it.

If he could have cried, he would have. Instead, he stood there, helpless, every instinct warring against the barriers between them. He wanted to find a way past that damned fence, to reach her, to tell her she wasn’t alone.

But he couldn’t. And then, her song faded into the night. He tilted his head to the moon, answering her in the only way he could, with a howl of his own. “I’m here. You’re not alone.”

But she wouldn’t understand, and that was the most heartbreaking part of it all. 

His ears twitched, listening, straining for any sign of her. But all he heard was the soft crunch of footsteps retreating into the woods.

She had left.

The next two nights were the same, but after that, over the next year, there was nothing. 

He spent his days fighting with his human, desperate, frustrated. He couldn’t make him understand, not when all he could push through the barrier between them were fractured emotions. But gods, he tried.He wanted nothing to do with other omegas. They weren’t her. Not like his human did.

He couldn’t make his human understand. She was out there, so damned close yet so far away. It was infuriating. His anger, frustration, and helplessness—it all bled into his human, spilling out in fists and arguments at school.

Then, on a night when he thought he might go mad from the silence—

Her song filled the air again.

It hit him like a tidal wave. Her scent moved with it, twining through the air, sinking deep into his bones. Rain-soaked earth. Vanilla. Something purely, unmistakably hers. Cinnamon.

A purr rumbled through his chest before he could stop it.

And again, he answered, his howl splitting the night. “You’re not alone. I’m here.” 

But again, only silence followed. Only the soft sound of her footsteps as she walked away from wherever she’d been hiding among the trees.

Four years. Four long, grueling years of silence. Some full moons, he went to that spot and sang a sad song for only the moon. Others, he ran with his pack, trying to lose himself in the rhythm, pushing away the ache that never eased. The tension between him and his human worsened after each full moon. 

His ears twitched. The sounds of the forest were always the same—an owl in the distance, creatures scurrying through the underbrush, the faint rustling of leaves. But then, a new sound. Footsteps. Soft, careful, deliberate. His head snapped up, eyes locking onto that ancient stump in the clearing.

Then, her song rang into the night. 

That melody from what felt like a lifetime ago. The sound of her voice hit him like a lightning strike, sinking deep into his bones. She was here, in the place he had been drawn to since his first shift. So close.

And like he’d done every time before, he howled his reply. “You’re not alone. I’m here.”

Like before, he waited to hear the retreat of her footsteps, but they never came. Instead, they moved closer, his entire body tensing with anticipation. It was the breeze that came from her direction, bringing her scent with it. Rain-soaked earth, vanilla, and something entirely her. Cinnamon. It was stronger. She was closer.

She wasn’t leaving. 

He rose to his feet, staying in the shadows, watching where the sound of her footsteps came from. Slowly, she came into view, half-lit by the moon. He swallowed hard. Even in her human form, she was breathtaking.

When she spoke, the sound was as beautiful as her song, but her words confused him. All he could do was whimper, a quiet plea. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to be near her. If only he could make her understand.

But, she stayed, even came closer. 

Tentatively, he moved, matching her steps, unable to look away as she emerged fully into the moonlight. And there, beneath her skin, he saw her, locked away within her, like his human within him.

Her wolf. 

Like a ghost walking in tandem, or a double exposure photograph, her wolf walked with her—black as the midnight sky, eyes as deep and dark as the ocean. 

She was his everything.

—---------------------

Dean had been whimpering in his sleep. You weren’t entirely sure how to soothe him, so you just kept running your fingers through his hair, down his shoulder, over his arm. Slow, steady strokes, hoping the touch would ground him. His breath hitched, his brow furrowing, muscles tensing beneath your fingertips.

What was he dreaming about?

His hand twitched where it rested on your knee, then lifted slightly, pawing the air like he was reaching for something—or someone. His lips parted, a soft, broken sound escaping before he finally stilled, his breathing evening out again.

You exhaled, relaxing back against the cushion of the couch, fingers still idly tracing over his arm. The movie had long since faded into the background, nothing more than distant noise. Your focus was entirely on him—on the slow rise and fall of his chest, the way his features softened in his sleep. 

Your eyes drifted to the mark on his neck, still healing from when you’d claimed him the night before. A small smile to your lips. That bond—the one that tethered him to you—was what was allowing this. Letting him become one with his wolf, rather than just something to fight with in his head.

Then, with a quiet inhale, Dean stirred. His fingers brushing against your skin, a soft, unconscious touch. Slowly, heavy-lidded eyes blinked open, green still clouded with sleep but searching, flickering over your face like he was seeing you for the first time. There was something different in his gaze.

Something deeper. Something that stole your breath from your lungs.

His lips parted like he was about to say something, but he hesitated, his brows knitting together slightly. He just looked at you, a quiet intensity in his gaze, like he was trying to fit words to something too vast, too consuming to be spoken aloud.

He’d been speechless that first day nearly three months ago. But now? After that dream—after seeing you through his wolf’s eyes—language felt almost meaningless.

So, he didn’t try. He just moved, shifting upright before pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around you like he needed you closer, needed you real. His breath was warm against your hair when he finally whispered, “I love you.”

The words were thick with emotion, not nearly enough to contain the weight of everything inside him, but it was all he had.

You stilled, fingers curling slightly where they had rested against his back. He’d never said that before. It wasn’t just the words. The weight behind them held something deeper.

The words settled over you, sinking in slowly, a warmth unfurling in your chest that you weren’t sure how to name. For a moment, you didn’t know what to say.

But then, you pulled back just enough to look at him, taking in the way his gaze searched yours, the faint crease in his brow like he was bracing himself. Your lips parted, breath hitching slightly before you finally managed, “Dean…”

The sound of his name made something flicker in his expression—something raw, something vulnerable. But before either of you could say more, his stomach grumbled, breaking the moment.

You blinked, then let out a breathy laugh, the tension easing just enough for you to shift back, cupping his cheek briefly before nudging him toward the armrest. “Come on, big guy. Let’s get you something to eat.”

He huffed, rubbing a hand over his face as he sat back. “Yeah, alright. But I’m still not moving too fast, so don’t rush me.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, standing before offering him a hand up. “I wasn’t planning on it, Speed Racer.”

Dean took your hand, letting you steady him as he stood. He still wobbled slightly, his grip tightening around yours, and you gave him a knowing look. “Still dizzy?”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah. Feels like I’ve been on a boat all day.”

“Could last a while,” you reminded him as you guided him toward the kitchen. “Depending on how stubborn you are about letting it happen.” Dean shot you a pointed look, muttering something about “not that stubborn,” but you just hummed, unconvinced, as you opened the fridge.

With it still a couple of hours until dinner, you pulled out the pie from the day before, glancing at him as he lowered himself into a chair. His eyes were distant again, like he was still caught in whatever he’d dreamed about.

After a moment, you set a plate in front of him, then sat down across from him. “Do you want to talk about it?” Dean hesitated, rolling his shoulders slightly, before dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah. I think—I think I need to.” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “I saw things. Remembered things.” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “My wolf’s memories. It wasn’t just a dream.”

You nodded, not pushing, just waiting. He’d tell you when he was ready. For now, you went back over to the freezer, pulling out a roast to prepare for dinner while he ate his slice of pie, piecing things together in his mind. 

The ‘dream’ had shaken Dean more than he wanted to admit just yet. It was a hell of a lot to take in. The emotions alone had his mind reeling. He let out a shaky breath just as you set a glass of water on the table for him.

“You need to stay hydrated,” you said, pressing a quick kiss on the top of his head.

You thought about the book you were going to write, making mental notes of all the little things that had happened since that morning—things others probably had no knowledge of. Then, tucking them away in your mind, you focused on slicing carrots, potatoes, and onions to add to the roast.

Dean groaned. “Carrots? Really?” He knew he was whining like a pup, but he wasn’t a fan of ‘healthy’ stuff like his brother was.

You glanced over your shoulder, amusement flickering in your eyes. You could have pointed out just how much he sounded like a fussy pup, but honestly? A part of you found it endearing in a way you couldn’t quite put into words. You bit back a smile, turning back to your task.

“All I ask is that you try them. You’re a grown man. I’m not going to force-feed you,” you teased, your voice light but knowing. It was a trick you had learned from Beverly all those years ago, the kind that worked on stubborn pups who turned their noses up at anything remotely healthy.

Dean shot you a skeptical look, shoveling another bite of pie into his mouth. Not even his mom had been able to cook carrots in a way that didn’t still taste like carrots. He watched as you prepped the roasting pan, seasoned everything with practiced ease. And… grabbed the honey? His brows knit together, his curiosity pulled him from his seat. 

“What are you…” he trailed off, eyes narrowing as he watched you coat the entire roast, seasonings and all, in a layer of honey. Then, drizzled it sparingly over the potatoes, carrots, and onions that were all around the chunk of meat in the middle.

You glanced at him, raising a brow as you capped the honey. “Never had a roast like this before, huh?” 

Dean shook his head, still watching you like he wasn’t entirely sure whether to be intrigued or horrified.

You chuckled, covering the roasting pan and sliding it into the preheated oven. “Guess you’ll just have to trust me.” 

His curiosity had officially been piqued. You made a mental note of that—just another thing you were learning about him.

“Do you want to watch another movie or tell me about the dream you had?” you asked softly, turning to face him.

Your question pulled him from his mental debate over how you had used honey on dinner. 

Your voice was gentle, giving him an out if he needed it. Dean appreciated that. He swallowed, his fingers tapping idly against the counter supporting him. He wanted to tell you—hell, he needed to—but the words sat heavy in his chest, tangled in a way that made them hard to pull free.

“Movie?” he said instead, hesitantly. It wasn’t a lie, not exactly. He just wasn’t ready yet.

Dean knew you had other things the two of you could do, like board and card games, but with the fog in his mind, he couldn’t concentrate on anything for very long.

You didn’t press. “Movie it is,” you said with a small smile, helping him back to the living room. 

As he settled onto the couch, the dizziness subsiding along with some of the fog in his mind, he watched you scan the shelves. His eyes followed the careful way you moved, the easy familiarity in how you sifted through the movies. He liked that. Liked how comfortable you were, how natural all of this felt. His wolf rumbled in agreement, pushing closer, making its presence known in a way that sent a shiver down his spine.

He exhaled through his nose, your words from earlier replaying in his mind. Instead of pushing his wolf and its feelings away, Dean embraced them, letting his wolf stretch in his body, his own fingers flexing.

“Got any action movies?” he asked, taking slow, deep breaths, the sensation strange but manageable.

You hummed in thought, fingers trailing over the cases before plucking one free. “How about Young Guns?” You glanced back at him, gauging his reaction. “It’s action, kinda Western—you like Westerns, right?”

Dean huffed, the corner of his mouth tugging upward despite himself. “Damn right, I do.” You grinned, slipping the disc into the player and settling beside him as the movie started. He put his arm over your shoulders, pulling you to snuggle into his side, and you let him. His wolf guided him, and this time, he didn’t fight the instincts that coursed through him.

For a while, Dean focused on the film, letting himself get lost in the gunfights, the sharp drawl of the cowboy accents, the reckless loyalty of the gang. But his wolf was more focused on you. Calm within him, just under his skin.

It wasn’t just the lingering weight of the dream—though that still sat at the back of his mind—it was you. The warmth of you against him, the steady rhythm of your breathing, the faint scent of honey and spices still clinging to your skin from earlier. It was different than before, more potent. His wolf leaned into it, its instincts threading deeper into his awareness, merging with his own in a way that made his pulse quicken.

Dean clenched his jaw, shifting slightly. He wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to feeling his wolf so much, like it was pressing up against the inside of his ribs. It wasn’t demanding or aggressive—just present, threading through his awareness like the slow seep of warmth from a hot drink on a winter’s day.

It wasn’t bad, not exactly—just… new.

Then, halfway through the movie, the scent of dinner began to drift in from the kitchen.

It hit like a damn freight train.

The rich aroma of slow-roasted meat, the sweetness of hone caramelizing over time, the earthiness of seasoned vegetables—it all wrapped around him, sinking into his senses, pulling a grumble from his stomach, even after the slice of pie he’d had earlier. His wolf perked up instantly, sharp and alert, fully fixated on the meal cooking just a room away.

Dean swallowed hard.

His stomach growled again, a low, insistent sound, but it wasn’t just hunger clawing at him. It was the feeling behind it—the way his wolf recognized the meal as something made for him, something meant to nourish, to provide. 

He turned slightly, glancing down at you, your head resting against his chest. You were still focused on the movie, but he swore there was the faintest hint of a knowing smile on your lips.

You’d done this on purpose.

You knew how to get him to eat the damn carrots without forcing it, just like you knew when to push him and when to let him sit with his thoughts. He wasn’t sure how you did it—how you always seemed to know—but it settled something deep in his chest.

His wolf purred, the sound a gentle rumble in his chest.

Dean paid attention to his wolf, pulling you just a little closer. If he was being honest, this was one thing he and his wolf could agree on—being proud of you, of what you were doing for them. 

Maybe merging with it wasn’t such a bad thing, he thought to himself. Not if it meant more moments like this.

He let himself sink into the warmth of your embrace, losing track of time as the movie played on. When the timer dinged in the kitchen as the credits began rolling, you stirred against him, stretching with a soft yawn. “Lemme pull dinner out. Then, I’ll help you to the kitchen,” you murmured, your voice drowsy but content.

Dean’s first instinct was to wave you off, to let you rest while he handled the rest of dinner. But his wolf stirred, disagreeing. Don’t. The resistance irritated him at first—until he actually looked at you. Not tired. Relaxed. His wolf knew, and as Dean let himself settle again, he could feel that knowing. A quiet certainty. He was beginning to recognize it.

You returned a moment later, helping him to his feet and guiding him to the kitchen. He let you, more out of curiosity than necessity, watching you as you moved through the space with effortless ease. There was something grounding about it, something steady in the way you plated the food with careful precision.

The scent had hit him first—the moment you pulled the lid off the roasting pan. The honey-glaze, the slow-roasted meat, and the rich spices teased his senses. It wrapped around him, familiar and new all at once, making his stomach tighten with more than just hunger. There was comfort there. But what really got him was the anticipation on how these carrots were going to taste.

Dean swallowed, shifting in his seat as you set a plate in front of him, the warmth of the dish seeping through the ceramic. His wolf all but hummed, a quiet rumble of satisfaction curling in his chest. This was meant for him—made for him. He could feel it, the unspoken care in every detail.

You sat down across from him with your own plate, offering a small smile before digging in, giving him space to process. However, you did eye him discreetly, curious as to how he’d react to the carrots. The concept worked on pups, so you figured it would work on adults too, in much the same way.

He picked up his fork, stabbing a chunk of carrot. It wasn’t mushy, offering just enough resistance to make him pause. Huh. He popped it into his mouth—and froze.

It was… sweet. But not too sweet. Tender while still firm. It melted on his tongue in a way he hadn’t expected, the honey balancing out the natural earthiness. His brows shot up as he chewed, surprised despite himself.

The giggle that slipped past your lips pulled his gaze to meet yours. To him, you looked like an amused parent who had just tricked their pup into enjoying something healthy. There was no stopping the slight tug at the corners of his lips, his wolf’s amusement slipping out, and he let it.

“Alright,” he admitted, gruff but good-natured. “I’ll give you this one.”

Dean cut himself a bite of meat. The flavors hit him in waves—savory, sweet, decadent. His wolf pressed close, instincts flaring in quiet approval, and Dean didn’t even try to fight it. He let his wolf stretch beneath his skin, their edges blurring. Not quite merged, but no longer quite separate either. Still an odd sensation, but he was done resisting.

Halfway through the meal, he found himself glancing up at you, his thoughts shifting. “You wanna know about the dream?” he asked, voice low but steady.

You met his gaze, setting your fork down carefully. “Only if you’re ready,”  you said, giving him that same out you knew he might need.

Dean exhaled, rolling his shoulders, his fingers tightening slightly around his fork. “It was of that first night,” he began, his voice quiet again. His gaze was on you, but far away, letting it play out in front of him. “But… it was that whole time before he met you, too.”

You stayed quiet, still giving him the space he needed so he could put words to the emotions you saw swirling in his eyes. Important memories came in dreams, you mentally reminded yourself. 

“He saw you, your wolf,” he whispered. “Like a ghost walking in you.” There was so much, but that had been what stood out the most to him, your wolf. Your breath hitched, and you swallowed hard, lips parting slightly. But you stayed quiet, taking steadying breaths to try to calm your racing heart. None of which was lost on him.

His eyes refocused on you and whispered, “She’s beautiful, like you.”

You fought back tears as the emotions tightened around your chest like a vice, but one slipped down your cheek without permission. You couldn’t hold his gaze anymore, quickly wiping away the tear and attempting to pull yourself together. He got to see a part of you that you had never even been able to feel, and you weren’t entirely sure how to process it, but it hurt.

If he was capable, he would have gone over and pulled you into his arms, but the last thing he needed was to have you end up helping him up off the floor due to the dizziness. So, instead, he reached across the small table and took your hand in his.

For a few moments, he didn’t speak, letting his wolf guide him. 

“He’s always known it was you,” Dean explained softly, his thumb rubbing slow, soothing circles against your skin. “Ever since the first night I shifted after I presented alpha.” His voice was steady, weighted with something old, something certain. “When he’d answer you, he was telling you that he was there. That you weren’t alone.”

Something inside you broke. The kind of break that wasn’t jagged or painful—but the kind that let the light in.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, silent and unstoppable. Dean and his wolf worked together as he carefully braced against the table, shifting to sit beside you. Then, his arms were around you, strong and sure, pulling you close. He whispered comforting words, softly stroking your hair with one hand, the other on the small of your back, grounding you. “I’m sorry,” you mumbled against his shoulder, voice thick, the words almost swallowed by quiet sobs. You weren’t even sure where the emotions were coming from or why they had spilled over all of a sudden. It had just hit you, out of the blue. Or had it pulled to the surface things you had chosen not to face over the years, a loneliness that no one had truly ever been able to fill?

Dean could smell it in your scent, but with your mutation, his scent couldn’t calm you. So, he allowed his wolf further to the front, mixing with his consciousness, guiding him, so close they nearly blurred into one. A soft rumble in his chest vibrated into you. 

He was purring, again. He didn’t fight against it. This time, he leaned into it.

Slowly, your tears subsided, and your breathing evened out, the tension in your muscles easing as you relaxed against him.

Merging isn’t so bad, Dean thought to himself when you finally looked up at him, and he smiled softly down at you. He cupped your cheek, his thumb wiping away another stray tear. “You have nothing to apologize for,” he told you softly. “You’re here now, with me.” You didn’t have to explain why you were apologizing—he already knew. You saw it in his eyes, the quiet understanding, the way both he and his wolf held no resentment for the years that had passed, for the distance that had once been between you. With a shaky breath, you managed a small smile, then leaned in, pressing a feather-light kiss to the tip of his nose.

“Thanks, for understanding,” you murmured.

Dean exhaled softly, pressing a kiss to your forehead, giving you one last gentle squeeze before returning to his seat. It’d been easy to comfort you when he worked with his wolf. Easier than he ever thought it could be. The cabin felt different now—lighter, softer. Falling into conversation was simple, laughing about things from the movies, his sweet compliments about dinner, and the way you would just look at him, like you were seeing something in him no one else ever had.

You did see something in him—the way he was sharing control with his wolf, how they worked together, and how a softness finally found his eyes as the tension eased from his features. 

Dinner wound down with an ease neither of you rushed to disturb. Dean nursed a beer as you started cleaning up, the last of the golden daylight spilling through the kitchen windows. You’d barely tucked away the leftovers when the front door swung open, Jess and Sam’s voices carrying through the cabin.

“In the kitchen!” you called, not looking up from your task.

Sam was the first to step inside, eyes sweeping over Dean as the scents of dinner lingered thick in the air. “Man, if Jess hadn’t already fed me, I’d be all over whatever you made,” he said, amusement tugging at his voice.

Jess beelined for you, looping her arms around your waist as you washed another plate. “Tell me you saved me some?” she teased, resting her head on your shoulder.

You giggled, nudging her lightly. “If Dean doesn’t finish it off tomorrow.”

“Bet he only ate the meat,” Sam quipped, setting down the bag of supplies Dean had asked him for earlier.

Dean took a swig of his beer, shooting his brother a look, but you beat him to it. 

“He ate the potatoes and the carrots,” you informed Sam, matter-of-factly.

Sam’s brows shot up. “How?”

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose—somewhere between irritation and resignation—as your laughter bubbled through the kitchen, warm and easy. Jess smirked, licking her lips as she answered for you. “She uses honey or maple syrup on them when she does a roast.”

Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Too bad Mom never knew that tick.” Dean muttered something under his breath and tipped his beer back, but he didn’t argue. Because, well—Sam wasn’t wrong.

“We’re not staying long,” Jess murmured, her chin still resting on your shoulder. “Just wanted to drop off Dean’s bag.” With her still holding onto you, you managed to dry your hands. “We’ll hang out soon—”

“None of that,” she scolded, voice firm but gentle. “Don’t rush this. I’ll be here when he can walk on his own two feet again.” You knew she was teasing Dean—at least a little—but also that she wasn’t going anywhere. Even if it took him a month to figure out how to merge with his wolf. 

“Thanks,” you whispered, leaning back into her embrace, covering her hand with yours.

“What are sisters for?” she murmured, squeezing you once before finally letting go.

The brothers watched, momentarily caught in the quiet intimacy of the moment. Pack members were close by nature, but this—this was something deeper. It was like the bond they had with each other, something that existed beyond blood or name. It wasn’t just Winter or Winchester or even how the packs had merged. The four of you simply fit, like a pack of your own, bound by something older, something unspoken. Jess had never shied away from your scent, had never hesitated to be close, and that meant something. The two of you had just been connected from the day she was born—like the day the brothers met the two of you, and the day Dean’s wolf had shifted for the first time. 

Jess was the first to pull them all from the quiet moment, ever the one to break the spell before it could settle too deeply.

“Well,” she sighed dramatically, stepping back from you with a teasing smirk. “We should probably head out before these lovebirds start making eyes at each other.” Sam huffed a laugh, shaking his head as he pulled his keys from his pocket. “Yeah, can’t be third and fourth wheeling all night.” Dean scoffed, shooting his brother a look, but he didn’t bother arguing. Not when he knew those two had already done far more than he and you had. 

Jess squeezed your hand once before stepping away, wiggling her fingers in a little wave. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” “Pretty sure that doesn’t leave much off the table,” you quipped, making her cackle as she disappeared out the door with Sam.

The quiet didn’t rush in; it settled, comfortably. The hum of the refrigerator, the distant chirp of night insects through the open window—soft, ambient sounds that made the space feel warmer, more yours. Dean leaned back in his chair, watching you for a long moment before he finished his beer.

“You tired?” His voice was low, rough in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion.

You glanced at him, shaking your head. “Not yet.” Dean exhaled, slow, watching as you wiped down the stove and counters. You felt his eyes on you, but not in a bad way. It was just different—not just adoration, but understanding. A deep, bone-deep knowing.

His wolf had always been there, waiting. Pacing beneath his skin, a presence he’d tried to keep at arm’s length, control rather than embrace. But tonight, there was no struggle, no tension. It wasn’t separate from him anymore, wasn’t something he had to manage. It was him. Fully, completely.

The steady pulse in his chest, the way his body leaned forward instinctively in his chair, toward yours, how he could feel his muscles relax just with your presence. The pull that had always been there—only now he was finally letting himself accept it.

“I like this,” he admitted, voice softer now, honest in a way that felt like a secret meant only for you. “Not fighting it. Feels… right.”

It was the soft smile tugging at your lips when you turned around that hitched his breath. His words sent something warm curling in your chest, knowing he meant more than just his wolf—he meant you. Meant this. 

“Yeah,” you murmured, stepping closer to him, reaching out and taking his hand. “It does.”

And for the first time, Dean let himself believe it.

He let you help him upstairs, though he barely needed to lean on you at all now. Not when he had finally stopped fighting—both with and against his wolf. He wasn’t losing himself by embracing it. He was becoming whole. 

Instincts he’d been afraid of for far too long settled into place, no longer something to suppress but something to trust. And somehow, being with you now, seeing the world through his wolf’s eyes, it all just made sense. Like the pieces of a puzzle finally snapping together. 

Even knowing you couldn’t feel the bond between the two of you, couldn’t scent him or the emotions woven in it, he knew. 

Your heart belonged to him. Just as his had always belonged to you.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 12 - coming soon

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[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[cuntiel]

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

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[luvergirl777]

Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 

--- 

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 

“Stop calling him that?” 

“Calling who what?” 

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 

“Dean-“ 

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 

“What?! It is not-” 

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 

--- 

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 

“Washing your dirty ass car.” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!” 

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 

“Is that a problem?” 

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 

“To you, of course.” 

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 

“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 

“No, no you do not.” 

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.

[maddie0101]

『 chapter four 』

꧁ summary: It’s the day of the gala. you and dean rush through your list of things you need for the event. but when night falls, things start to unravel. because of course, nothing ever goes according to plan.

꧁ warnings: tension, flirting?, slight jealousy, gala, rich people, fluff?, idiots in love, I suck at tags.

꧁ word count: 6.2k

series masterlist previous chapter next chapter

The morning air was crisp as you and Dean made your way through the city. The streets were already packed, newsboys calling out headlines, cars honking, the scent of fresh bread and coal smoke lingering in the air.

You barely had time to take it all in, though. Your focus was on the two things standing between you and getting the hell out of this time period: invitations and something fancy to wear.

Dean walked beside you, unusually quiet. Not in his brooding, I’m about to punch something way. This was different. Like he was running through every possible outcome in his head.

You nudged him with your elbow. “You look like you’re thinking too hard.”

Dean shot you a look. “Thanks, sweetheart. Real helpful.”

“I’m just saying,” you said. “You’re usually too busy grumbling or flirting with waitresses to be this quiet.”

That earned you a smirk. “Yeah, well, I got a lot on my mind.”

“Like?”

Dean exhaled, glancing around before lowering his voice. “Like the fact that we’re running out of time. This is the best shot we’ve got, and if it doesn’t pan out…” He didn’t finish the thought. He didn’t need to.

You swallowed hard. “We’ll figure it out.”

Dean glanced at you, his expression unreadable, but he nodded.

The forger’s shop was easy to miss, tucked away in a narrow alley between a tailor’s storefront and a café that smelled like burnt coffee. No sign, no markings, just a weathered wooden door with darkened windows that made it clear whoever was inside didn’t want to be disturbed. The kind of place you’d walk right past if you didn’t know better.

Dean knocked twice, but as the both of you waited, you were met with silence.

So he knocked again, harder this time. After a long pause, the quiet scrape of a latch being undone sounds through the air. The door cracked open just enough to reveal a single bloodshot eye peering out from the darkness. “What do you want?” The voice was rough, like gravel dragged across concrete.

Dean didn’t hesitate. “We’re here for the special.”

The man let out a dry snort. “Don’t know what you’re talking about."

Dean flashed a lazy, knowing grin. “Yeah, you do. Harrington sent us.”

That did the trick. The door swung open, revealing a wiry man in his fifties with ink-stained fingers and an expression that screamed perpetual disappointment. He stepped aside, jerking his head for you both to enter, then shut the door with a heavy thunk, locking it behind you.

“You cops?” he asked, squinting.

Dean let out a short laugh. “Do we look like cops?”

The forger’s eyes flicked to you, sharp with scrutiny. “She could be.”

Dean smirked. “She’s got a temper, but nah. Not a cop.”

You shot him a glare. “Can we just get this over with?”

The forger exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “Alright. What do you need?”

“Two invitations,” Dean said. “For the Whitmore gala. The kind that get us past the door without anyone asking questions.”

A low whistle escaped the forger’s lips. “That’s a tough one. Security’s tight on those things.”

Dean slid a neat stack of bills across the table, casual as ever. “That a problem?”

The forger snatched up the money, stuffing it into his pocket without so much as a glance. “Not for me.” He grabbed a thick stack of paper from a shelf, flipping through it. “Gimme a few hours. Come back this afternoon.”

Dean nodded, then added, “And we’ll need names on ‘em. Mr. and Mrs. Winchester should do.”

Your mouth fell open. “Oh, you son of a—”

“Got it,” the forger interrupted, already jotting down the names. “Pick ‘em up later.”

Dean turned to you with a smug grin as you stepped back into the alley. You elbowed him, hard. “Mr. and Mrs. Winchester?”

“What?” He held up his hands, still grinning. “You got a better idea?”

You huffed but didn’t argue, mostly because you were already focused on the next problem.

Finding something to wear.

The tailor’s shop screamed rich, the kind that belonged to people who had never worried about a bill in their life.

Dark mahogany shelves lined the walls, filled with neatly folded silks and velvets, while golden chandeliers cast a soft, warm glow over everything. The air smelled of rich fabric and old money, a luxury you could never afford in your own time. The second you stepped inside, you felt like an imposter.

Dean, though? He strolled in like he owned the place.

The tailor, a short man with wire-rimmed glasses and a permanently unimpressed expression, barely spared you a glance before sniffing. “You’re cutting it very close. The gala is tonight.”

Dean shrugged, completely unfazed. “Yeah, well, we’re important people. Just got into town.”

The tailor shot him a look, somewhere between skepticism and mild disdain, but said nothing. Instead, he gestured toward the back of the shop with a flick of his wrist. “Dresses are this way. Suits for you.”

Dean smirked, leaning in just enough to make sure you heard him. “Don’t take too long, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes and flipped him off behind your back as you followed the tailor, ignoring the chuckle you knew was coming.

The fitting room was a world of its own, a lavish space lined with towering mirrors that reflected back endless versions of yourself. Gilded sconces cast a soft, golden light over rows of dresses, each one more extravagant than the last.

Silk, velvet, lace, all fabrics that shimmered under the glow, whispering of wealth and status. Every inch of the room reeked of old money, and for a moment, it felt like the walls were closing in.

The tailor eyed you critically, fingers skimming over the racks with practiced precision before plucking out a dress. “This one.”

You blinked. The gown was a shade of pale blue, almost silver under the light, with delicate beading that caught every glimmer. The neckline dipped scandalously low, the fabric cinching at the waist before cascading over the hips in a way that left nothing to the imagination. It was the kind of dress that turned heads, that demanded attention.

You hesitated. “It’s… a little much.”

The tailor arched a knowing brow. “It’s the twenties, darling. Too much is the point.”

You sighed before stepped behind the curtain, fingers brushing over the cool silk as you slipped into the dress. The fabric hugged your body like it had been made for you, settling against your skin with a softness that felt almost sinful.

When you finally stepped out and faced the mirror, the breath caught in your throat.

Damn.

The dress didn’t just fit—it basically transformed you.

The light blue fabric shimmered with every movement, the intricate beading catching the light like tiny stars. The cut was bold, the kind of elegant that felt dangerous, powerful.

But you didn’t just look good. You looked hot.

By the time you and Dean had the forged invitations in hand, the sun was already sinking, casting long shadows across the city. The gala was coming up fast, which meant it was time to get ready.

Before heading back to the hotel, you made a couple of quick stops to a tiny makeup shop where you grabbed the essentials and a salon where a stylist worked some magic on your hair. It was fast, efficient, and, thankfully, not nearly as expensive as it looked.

Back at the hotel, Dean tossed the invitations onto the nightstand and flopped onto the bed. “Bathroom’s yours first,” he said, smirking. “Don't take too long, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes but took the chance while you had it. Once inside, you got to work, applying makeup with quick and finally stepping into the dress. The silk slid over your skin like it belonged there, hugging every curve in a way that was both flattering and mildly terrifying.

Then came the jewelry—the little stash you’d “borrowed” from a pawn shop earlier. Nothing too flashy, just enough to sell the illusion. You clipped the earrings into place, fastened the necklace, then turned to the mirror.

And, well… damn. You barely recognized yourself.

The hunter with rough edges was still there beneath the glam, but the dress? The hair? The way the jewels caught the light? It all screamed money, power—like you actually belonged at that fancy-ass gala instead of sneaking in through the front door with a fake name.

You swallowed hard, adjusting the dress even though it didn’t need it. This was just another job, another con. No reason to feel nervous.

Still, something about this one felt different.

“Hey, you decent?” Dean’s voice came from the other side of the door, casual enough, but there was a tightness in his throat that wasn’t usually there. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck as he shifted his weight, trying, failing—to push down the nerves creeping up his spine. He wasn’t nervous. Not exactly.

But the thought of seeing you all dressed up, wrapped in silk and looking like you actually belonged in this high-society crowd? Yeah, that was messing with his head more than he was ready to admit.

And then the door opened and Dean stopped breathing.

You stepped out, and—fuck him, because nothing in his life had prepared him for this.

The gown draped over you like a second skin, the light blue satin catching the dim hotel lighting, shimmering with every subtle movement. The plunging neckline was downright criminal, teasing just enough to make his brain short-circuit, while the fabric hugged your waist, flaring out just enough to be elegant.

Your hair was styled to match the era, soft waves framing your face, a few loose strands falling just right. The jewelry—stolen of course, glittered against your skin, only adding to the whole walking temptation thing you had going on.

Dean swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. “Holy… shit.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Good holy shit or bad holy shit?”

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling like he’d just been sucker-punched. “Jesus, sweetheart, you tryna kill me?”

A slow, smirk curled at your lips. “Guess that’s a good holy shit.”

Dean didn’t trust himself to speak. Hell, he didn’t trust himself to move. His pulse was hammering, and you? You fucking knew what you were doing to him.

The way you shifted ever so slightly, letting the silk slide over your skin like an invitation straight to hell—he was in so much trouble. So much trouble.

“You clean up nice too,” you mused, your gaze dragging over him in a way that made his suit feel about three sizes too hot.

Dean had to admit, he looked the part. The black tux fit like a damn glove, the crisp white shirt unbuttoned just enough to keep from choking him out.

Normally, he would’ve taken a second to appreciate how damn good he looked, but right now? He could barely register anything beyond the fact that you were still standing there, looking like sin wrapped in silk.

You snapped your fingers in front of his face. “Earth to Dean.”

He blinked. “Huh?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “We should go before you combust.”

Dean exhaled sharply, shaking off whatever the hell just happened. “No promises.”

The gala was a blur of rich assholes, a swirling mix of laughter, the chime of crystal glasses, and the smooth, hum of a jazz band playing in the corner.

Golden chandeliers bathed the grand ballroom in a warm, flickering glow, casting soft shadows over polished marble floors and velvet-draped tables. The air was thick with expensive perfume, cigar smoke, and the murmur of whispered deals happening just out of earshot.

But Dean barely noticed any of it. Because every damn man in the place had his eyes on you. And it was driving him fucking insane.

He could see it—the way their gazes trailed after you, lingering a little too long on the curve of your waist, the dip of that neckline. Some of them tried to be subtle, stealing glances over the rims of their glasses. Others weren’t even pretending to be polite, their appreciation obvious, their smirks infuriating.

Dean gritted his teeth, fingers twitching at his side. His whole job tonight was to blend in, to act the part of some rich bastard with a gorgeous wife on his arm.

And he was trying, he really was, but every time he caught some asshole giving you a once-over like you were something to be bought instead of a woman who could ruin them without breaking a sweat, it took everything in him not to put his fist through someone’s face.

And the worst part? You knew exactly what you were doing to him.The way you moved, the way that damn dress clung to you with every step—you were enjoying this.

And Dean? He was losing his fucking mind.

He wasn’t sure what had nearly killed him first—the moment you’d stepped out in that dress or the fact that every bastard in this room looked at you like they wanted to take a bite.

“You good, Winchester?” you murmured, amusement lacing your voice.

Dean scowled. “Peachy.”

You smirked but didn’t push him any further. Instead, you let your gaze drift around the grand ballroom, taking everything in like a seasoned pro—because that’s exactly what you were.

Your eyes flicked toward the exits first, noting the grand staircase leading to the balcony, the side doors guarded by two men who looked like they could snap a guy in half without breaking a sweat, and the smaller hallway leading toward the service area. Security was tight but not impenetrable.

And then, finally—there it was.

Near the far end of the room, partially hidden behind a massive column, sat a glass display case. Inside, nestled within an small velvet-lined box, was the reason you were here—the gold pocket watch.

Even from a distance, the thing practically gleamed under the soft lighting, its intricate engravings catching the light in a way that made it look almost too perfect, too untouchable.

But that was bullshit. Everything was touchable with the right plan.

You took a slow sip of your champagne, gaze flicking back to Dean for a split second. Time to get to work. “That’s it,” you whispered you nodded over to the glass display.

Dean exhaled sharply. “Alright. Let’s make this quick.”

With that, the two of you slipped through the crowd, moving like you belonged—because for tonight, you did. The ballroom was a sea of silk and tailored suits, the air thick with expensive perfume and idle chatter. And you? You fit right in.

Dean had to give you credit. You smiled at the right people, nodded at the right moments, even laughed at some passing guy’s joke like you actually found it funny. Meanwhile, you were gliding through the room with an ease that made it look effortless. Like you’d been doing this your whole life.

Dean, on the other hand, wasn’t here to make friends. He didn’t bother with charm, didn’t bother with small talk. He just kept close, his hand resting lightly on the small of your back—not just for the act, but because it felt right.

The glass case came into view, tucked just behind the towering marble column.

Showtime. Dean knelt beside it, moving smoothly, not drawing attention. From inside his tux, he pulled out a small tool, fingers steady as he got to work on the lock. “Keep watch,” he muttered.

You gave a subtle nod, scanning the room with practiced ease. No one was watching, no guards shifting their focus. Just the same whirl of champagne-fueled conversations and jazz playing softly in the background.

Then—click.

Dean grinned. “Got it—”

“What are you two doing?!” A voice called.

Shit. Your stomach plummeted. That wasn’t supposed to happen. Dean didn’t hesitate. He grabbed the pocket watch, shoving it inside his jacket. “Time to go.”

But before you could even turn—“Stop! Over there!”

And just like that, you were running. The heels of your stolen designer shoes clicked against the marble as you and Dean tore through the ballroom, shoving past glittering guests and ducking into the nearest hallway. The music and laughter faded behind you, replaced by the pounding of footsteps, the shouts of security chasing you down.

Dean yanked you around a corner, weaving through side rooms like he knew exactly where the hell he was going (he didn’t).

You could hear the guards closing in, but adrenaline was pumping through your veins, and honestly? This was fun as hell. You barely suppressed a breathless laugh, exchanging a wild grin with Dean as you sprinted down another corridor.

But then—a dead end.

Your stomach dropped again as you skidded to a halt, Dean nearly slamming into you. A locked door. No windows. Just four walls and the sound of heavy boots fast approaching.

“Shit. What do we do now?” you whispered, pulse hammering.

Dean whipped around, scanning the space like a cornered animal. “Uhhh…” He had nothing. No plan. No exit. But then, something flickered in his eyes.

A bad idea. A probably very stupid, but bad idea.

Before you could even ask, Dean grabbed your wrist, spinning you toward him. His hands cupped your face, his touch burning, and you barely had time to shoot him a confused what the hell are you doing? before his lips crashed into yours.

And you froze. For a split second, all you registered was heat. The firm, desperate press of his mouth against yours. The way he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been dying to do this.

But then you melted into him. Your fingers curled into his tux, gripping the fabric like it was the only thing keeping you upright. Dean let out a low, needy groan, his hand sliding to your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you flush against him. His lips moved against yours like he owned you, like he wasn’t faking this at all—and oh, fuck.

This was supposed to be a distraction but it didn’t feel like one. Not with the way his fingers dug into your hips, like he needed to feel you. Not with the way his tongue slid against yours, teasing, tasting.

Not with the way you whimpered when he backed you against the column, his body caging you in, hard muscle pressing against soft silk. Everything else—The mission. The guards. The whole fucking gala, disappeared. There was only him.

You barely had time to catch your breath when heavy footsteps echoed down the hallway. Your heart skipped a beat as you pulled back from Dean just in time, spinning toward the sound. The guard was rounding the corner, his boots thudding against the marble floor.

Dean exhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling, his lips still hovering dangerously close to yours. You could feel his breath ghosting across your skin, and when he wiped his bottom lip with his thumb, you couldn’t help but follow the motion. The casualness of it, the roughness of his touch—it was hot.

Your pulse kicked up another notch, and just like that, the adrenaline from your escape had shifted into something else entirely.

The guard scowled, clearly not impressed by the sight of you two. “What the hell are you two doing back here?”

Dean turned, looking like he was about to bite the guy’s head off, irritation pouring off him. “Really? We step away for two minutes to get some privacy, and you assholes have to kill the mood?”

The guard blinked, his expression faltering for a moment. “Uh—”

You stepped in, deliberately keeping your voice soft, your lips still slightly parted, feeling the flush on your cheeks. “We just… we weren’t thinking.”

Dean muttered under his breath, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Unbelievable.”

The guard hesitated, clearly unsure, before he sighed in defeat. “Just—just get back to the party—and stay where I can see you.”

Dean took your hand, his fingers curling around yours with a little more force than necessary. “Yeah, yeah,” he muttered, giving the guy a pointed glare before leading you back into the crowd.

Your heart was still hammering in your chest, that wild energy still rushing through your veins. As you stepped back into the throng of guests, you shot Dean a look. “That was your plan?”

Dean smirked, not missing a beat. He ran his tongue over his lips like he could still taste you there, a slow, deliberate motion that sent a jolt of heat straight to your core. “Worked, didn’t it?”

You swallowed hard, feeling a knot form in your throat. “Yeah. It worked.”

Dean kept walking, completely unfazed by the chaos that had just ensued. You exhaled sharply, scanning the room with frantic precision. Your eyes darted across the sea of well-dressed guests, each conversation flowing like some kind of orchestrated dance.

Your chest tightened as you pushed down the anxiety clawing at you—time was running out. The pocket watch was tucked safely in Dean’s jacket, but the longer you stayed, the higher the chances of someone piecing things together. You didn’t need that. You couldn’t afford that.

Dean leaned in close, his lips brushing against your ear, sending a hot shiver down your spine. “We’re almost clear. Back door, past the bar.” His breath was warm, intimate, and it felt like it wrapped around you, pulling you deeper into the mess you’d gotten yourself into.

You nodded, swallowing back the panic rising in your chest, but you couldn’t shake the way his proximity made your heartbeat race in a way that had nothing to do with the situation at hand.

Just as you reached the edge of the crowd, ready to slip toward the exit, a voice sliced through the air like a knife. “Lock down the exits! No one leaves until we search the premises.”

Shit. Your stomach dropped, the cold wave of realization hitting you all at once. They knew. They know the watch was gone. The blood drained from your face as guards began moving toward the doors, barking orders at the guests, their boots echoing like a countdown.

You were trapped.

Dean’s voice was low, laced with irritation as he muttered a curse under his breath. “Well, there goes the easy way out.”

You clenched your jaw, the urgency in the air only adding to the chaos in your head. “We need a new plan.”

Dean’s eyes scanned the room, looking for any possible escape. Then, without missing a beat, a slow grin spread across his face. “Oh, I got one.”

You followed his gaze and immediately groaned, feeling your stomach drop all over again.

The dance floor.

“No,” you hissed, trying to pull away. “Hell no, Dean.”

But Dean didn’t give you a chance to argue. Before you could protest, his hand shot out and wrapped around yours, pulling you in the direction of the crowded floor. “C’mon, sweetheart. We gotta blend in.”

“I hate you.” The words came out before you could stop them, frustration lacing your tone.

Dean’s smirk was pure trouble. “No, you don’t.”

You barely had time to shoot him a glare before he dragged you into the center of the floor, the music swelling around you, the crowd moving in perfect synchronization.

The air felt thick with the beat, and for a moment, you were lost in it—completely aware of nothing except the fact that you were standing in front of Dean Winchester, his hands now firmly placed on your waist, guiding you with a skill that made you blink in surprise.

You couldn’t help but stop dead in your tracks, your breath catching. “What the hell?” you whispered, completely taken aback.

Dean’s smirk deepened, the edges of it now more smug than ever. He tightened his grip just slightly, his movements smooth, practiced. “Turns out hustling pool and dancing aren’t all that different. Just gotta make ‘em think you know what you’re doing.”

Your throat went dry, but it wasn’t from fear. You were hyper-aware of every single point of contact between you, his hands steadying you, his body pressing close enough to feel his heartbeat through his tux.

You couldn’t think straight. You didn’t want to think straight.

Dean spun you effortlessly, his hand sliding lower on your back as you twirled, pulling you back into him as your body pressed against his. Your skin felt hot, and not just because of the silk fabric of the dress you were wearing. No, this was different. This was Dean. And in that moment, all you could feel was him.

You had no choice but to let yourself fall into the rhythm, every move drawing you closer, every step making it harder to focus on anything but the way he was holding you. It was like he could see straight through you, reading you in a way no one else ever could.

And judging by the way his eyes were locked on yours—dark, heated, and full of something that left your breath ragged, he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“We’re clear,” you whispered, glancing over his shoulder, the guards no longer in sight. But Dean didn’t release you. He didn’t even flinch, his grip tightened, his fingers brushing slow circles against your lower back, sending shockwaves through you.

Dean’s voice was barely audible over the music as he leaned in, lips dangerously close to your ear. “Maybe I don’t wanna let go just yet.”

Your chest tightened, and your breath hitched. It felt like your heart was about to explode in your chest. You wanted to pull away, to tell him that this wasn’t part of the plan, but you couldn’t. You couldn’t because everything inside of you screamed to stay exactly where you were, wrapped in the heat of his touch.

Dean’s lips brushed your ear again, his breath warm and teasing. “Admit it,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with desire. “You’re enjoyin’ this.”

You wanted to pretend it didn’t mean anything. To push him away and act like it wasn’t already unraveling you from the inside out.

But you couldn’t. Not when the heat coursing through your veins was all him. Not when his lips had moved against yours like he needed you. Not when you felt the low rumble in his chest as your soft moan slipped out earlier.

Denial wasn’t an option. Not now. Because God, you were enjoying this—every aching second of it. And from the way Dean’s smirk deepened, like he already knew, you were pretty sure he’d known all along.

Just as you opened your mouth to speak, the music shifted, slowing to a smooth, final note. The applause that followed rippled through the room, and Dean finally let you go, his fingers trailing down your arms in the lightest, most teasing touch. A ghost of a caress that burned against your skin.

You could still feel it—his touch, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had dragged down your arms in that infuriatingly slow way. It lingered like a ghost, even as the music shifted and the moment was gone.

But then, as you turned your head, your stomach dropped.

A guard. But not just any guard—the one who had seen you and Dean take the watch. His eyes locked onto yours, and you watched the flash of recognition snap across his face.

Fuck. “Dean, we gotta go.” Your voice was low but urgent as you jerked your chin toward the guard, who was already pushing his way through the crowd, his expression dark with purpose.

Dean barely hesitated. “Alright, come on.”

His hand landed on the small of your back, firm and steady, and then you were moving—pushing through the sea of guests, your heartbeat hammering against your ribs like a fucking war drum. The music swelled again, another song beginning, drowning out the hurried footsteps of the man trying to close the distance between you.

You didn’t stop. You barely breathed.

The second you hit the edge of the crowd, Dean yanked you down a side hallway. It was quieter here, darker, the echoes of the party fading behind you. You spotted an open doorway, and before either of you could second-guess it, Dean pulled you inside and kicked the door shut.

Silence. And for a moment, you just stood there, adrenaline crackling between you like static. Then, just as you started to breathe, footsteps pounded down the hall outside. You both froze. Dean’s eyes snapped toward the window on the far side of the room and his expression shifted, calculating, considering.

Then he turned to look at you, and you already knew. You exhaled sharply. “You’re gonna make me hate whatever you’re about to say, aren’t you?”

Dean smirked, but it was tight, distracted. “Oh, definitely.”

You stepped up beside him, following his gaze. The alley below was dark and empty, but the drop? Two stories. Maybe more. No fire escape. No ledges. Just a whole lot of fucking gravity and a really bad idea.

You swallowed hard. “Think we can make it?”

Dean shot you a look, eyes narrowing. “Not unless you got a parachute stuffed in that dress.”

You didn’t get the chance to respond before the footsteps outside stopped—right outside the door. Dean cursed under his breath and immediately started yanking off his jacket.

Your brows shot up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Improvising,” he gritted out, stalking toward the heavy curtains that framed the window. He grabbed a handful of fabric and with one sharp yank, ripped them down from the rod.

You caught on fast, stepping up to grab the other. “This is the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.”

“Not even close.” Dean was already knotting the fabric together, twisting his jacket sleeves into the mess for extra support. His movements were fast and desperate.

The voices outside were getting louder.

There was no time. Dean tossed the makeshift rope over the ledge, giving it a testing yank. The knots strained but held. “Good enough,” he muttered. Then he swung one leg over the sill and shot you a look. “You first.”

You blinked. “Like hell—”

“Go.” That tone. The one that ended arguments before they even began, sent a shiver down your spine. You huffed but didn’t hesitate, gripping the knotted fabric as you swung your legs over. Cold air rushed around you as you pressed your feet to the wall, easing yourself down as fast as you dared.

The fabric burned against your palms. Every knot shifted under your grip, tightening and pulling, but it was holding.

Almost there. Just a few more feet—A sudden, sickening rip split the air. Your stomach lurched. “Shit—” The fabric gave way, and gravity did the rest.

The last several feet vanished beneath you in an instant, and you hit the ground hard with a brutal oof, pain jolting through your hip as you crumpled onto the pavement.

For a second, all you could do was breathe through the shock. Nothing felt broken...hopefully.

“Y/N?” Dean’s voice was sharp, strained from above.

“I’m good,” you hissed, pushing yourself upright. “Go!”

Dean didn’t waste time. He swung over the ledge, gripping the fabric tight as he started lowering himself, but then another rip shot through the air. “Son of a—”

Dean crashed down beside you with a bone-rattling thud, groaning as he hit the pavement, limbs sprawled in a heap.

You winced. “That looked like it hurt.”

Dean let out a ragged breath, glaring up at you. “No, no, I’m good. Just needed to realign my spine real quick.”

You snorted, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. “Come on, before they realize we’re not still inside.”

The shouts from above grew louder, sharper. Someone had spotted you.

Dean didn’t waste a second. He grabbed your hand, fingers wrapping tight around yours, and took off. The two of you bolted down the cobblestone street, feet pounding against the uneven ground. Somewhere behind you, a whistle shrieked, cutting through the night like a freaking alarm bell.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it! We’re running, assholes!” Dean hissed under his breath.

A laugh bubbled up before you could stop it, wild and breathless, tangled up with the adrenaline still pumping through your veins. You swerved into a narrow side street, nearly losing your footing as your hip screamed in protest. But there was no time to slow down.

Dean suddenly yanked you sideways, pulling you into the shadows of a darkened doorway. You barely had time to process before your back hit the wooden frame and Dean was pressed against you, holding you flush against the wall.

Heavy footsteps thundered past the alley, shouts still echoing in the distance. You held your breath, pulse pounding in your throat. Dean’s chest rose and fell fast, his heartbeat thudding against yours. His hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in.

For a long, dizzying moment, neither of you moved. The air between you was thick, electric, charged with something that had nothing to do with running for your lives. Dean exhaled, his breath brushing your cheek, and let out a breathless, half-choked chuckle. “That was kinda fun.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. You were frozen. Your lips still tingled from earlier. And Your body still buzzed. Your brain was short-circuiting from everything.

Dean had finally kissed you. But not just a quick, careless brush of lips. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

And the worst part? You had kissed him back like you wanted it. Like you’d wanted it for a long damn time. Maybe because you had? You swallowed hard, stealing a glance at him.

He wasn’t looking at you. His gaze was locked just over his shoulder, jaw tight, hands still framing your head like it was the only thing keeping him steady. His hair was a mess, strands falling over his forehead, and you had the sudden, dangerous urge to push them back.

Say something. Anything, y/n..

But the silence stretched too long, heavy and suffocating, filled with everything neither of you were willing to acknowledge.

Dean was the first to break, exhaling sharply, dragging a hand down his face. “Well. That was… one way to make an exit.”

You let out a laugh, but it was shaky, uneven. When you looked at him again, he was still looking away, letting his hands drop from the wall beside your head.

Your stomach twisted. Your throat felt tight. “Yeah. Smoothest getaway ever.”

Dean nodded once, his jaw working like he was chewing on something he couldn’t quite get out. “We should keep moving. Find somewhere to crash.”

Right. Because that was what really mattered right now. You almost forgot that you and Dean were completely out of cash.

The money you’d been using when you first appeared here had been stolen, taken off some poor bastard in a desperate scramble to survive. The bills from your actual time? Useless. Too new, too suspicious. You’d had no choice.

You let out a tired sigh, rubbing a hand over your face as the weight of it all settled in your chest.

The hotel had probably tossed your stuff by now—everything you and Dean had come with, gone without a second thought.

You licked your lips without thinking, and Dean’s eyes flicked down, instinctively, but enough to betray him. His gaze snapped away just as quickly, jaw clenching like he was pissed at himself for even looking.

That kiss. God, that kiss. It had been hot—too hot. The kind of kiss that slammed into him like a punch to the gut and still lingered in the back of his throat, thick and heavy. It was all he could think about, no matter how hard he tried to convince himself it was just a distraction.

That’s what you thought… right?

Dean swallowed hard, but the memory hit anyway—vivid and all-consuming. The way you’d melted into him like you were made for it, your fingers gripping at his jacket, that soft, helpless whimper you let out when he’d shoved you up against the wall. It echoed in his ears, over and over. And your dress, that damn dress, clung to you like a second skin, making it impossible for him to not look, to not want.

You were driving him crazy. And now that he knew what your lips felt like, how you tasted, how you trembled just slightly when he deepened the kiss?

How the hell was he supposed to go back to pretending this didn’t mean something?

Because it did. It did—and that scared the hell out of him.

You shook out of whatever trance you'd been in before pushing off the wall, clearing your throat. “Alright, Let’s go.”

Dean nodded, before starting to heading back toward the street like nothing had happened, slipping into the night.

You walked beside him, trying to focus on the street ahead. But it was there, lingering in the back of your mind, heavy and impossible to ignore.

That kiss had shifted something between you, like the air had changed, like the ground wasn’t quite the same under your feet anymore. But there was no going back now. Something had changed. Shifted your relationship. And you both knew it, even if neither of you said a damn thing.

author’s note:

hey guys! I’m so sorry for getting off schedule. I had to take a break from writing for a bit. It was definitely needed and I am feeling a lot better now! I will be working on requests again so hopefully I’ll have a few of those out this week!

hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! next chapter, things start to get a bit steamy 🤭

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

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[deansbeer]

little help goes a long way ・ DEAN WINCHESTER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

SYNOPSIS. where you accidentally give dean a hard on during a hunt.

WARNING(S). sexual tension | fem!reader | strong language | sex innuendos | implied smut.

KARI NOTES. he's been running on my mind all day and i needed to let my thoughts run wild. so have fun readin' — you'll def thank me later!

satiated desire

the hunt had taken an unexpected turn, leaving you and dean pressed up against each other, your back flush against his chest. you shifted slightly, trying to get a better vantage point, when you felt dean's grip tighten on your hips, holding you in place.

"dean—" you began to ask, but the words died on your lips as you felt something hard pressing against you from behind. your eyes widened in realization, heat creeping up your face.

"shit, sweetheart, i'm so sorry," dean murmured, his voice strained. "i didn't mean for that to happen."

you whisper to dean in his ear, "we'll deal with this after the hunt, okay?"

he nodded mutely, your heart racing, already imagining ways to help him with his... situation. a small smile plays on your lips as he replied, "you're the best," he murmurs, hearing the mix of relief and anticipation in his voice.

"of course, dean. i've got you."

dean let out a shaky breath, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

with that, the two of you turned your focus back to the hunt, both eagerly awaiting the chance to properly address the growing tension between you.

[mariswxts]

libidinal

If Dean could curse every witch on this planet for dosing you and him with an aphrodisiac after ganking them, he would. His entire body was on fire— burning, and his mind was embarrassingly stuck on you. You, your thighs, lips, your ass. It all rattled about in his head like a broken record, and he craved you, craved the relief like crazy.

He knew that you were feeling the same things he was right now, the ache, burn, relentless want that you just couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. Ugh, you needed him. Like you’d die if you didn’t have him. Dean felt the same damn way — trust him — like one touch and he’d break the damn best friend code of conduct.

You’d think both of you would have more control of yourselves, considering how you were both hunters who’d faced stuff like vampires and shit. "This is gettin’ on my nerves, sweetheart," he scoffed, eyes fluttering up and down you. You were too hot for this world— and that wasn’t just the pollen talking, but his drugged up mind couldn’t stop.

"Fuck this." he slowly took off his sweat-soaked shirt, looking for signs that you’d jump him. Dean rubbed the sweat off his chest, having no damn right to look that jacked and edible right now, ugh. He can't take all of this crap, including being quarantined in this damn motel room by Sam. It’s for a reason, though.

He groaned, aching, desperate, gesturing for you to keep away so he could resist this damned pollen’s effects. "Oh, m’ gonna kill Sammy if he doesn’t find a cure for this stat." Dean covered his ears, yeah, no. He acted as if covering his ears and blocking out all noise would stop the ache for you, well, it sure didn’t.

Pacing back and forth, he took one look at you— nope, look away, you looked too hot, nope. "Yeah, I’ll kill him." He winced when he got a very R-rated image in his head— he was desperate for you, you, for some relief, mainly sex.

He felt like every second without his hands on your ass was torture— he hoped he wouldn’t go to hell.

“Oh, I’m fine.” You breathed, sarcastic, giving him a look with raised eyebrows. “Just — you know — feeling like my body’s burning alive, I’m sweatin’, my brain hurts.” Your eyes were hungrily searching his bare chest, biting your lip— no, stop, even if you felt on fire and were sweating buckets.

“You’re clearly not,” he retorted. He would’ve found it funny that you were checking him out, but the need was so overwhelming, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from throwing you onto the nearest surface.

“So… no need to be sarcastic. M’ just trying to control myself.” He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms and keeping the distance between you. “Can’t say the same for you though, sweetheart, ‘cause I can see ya gawkin’.”

“Yeah, just quit it, you look like a five star buffet. A girl can’t help herself when she’s drugged up on an aphrodisiac.” You groaned, dabbing your sweaty-ass neck with a towel, not able to help the way your eyes hungrily drank in his chest. “I’m makin’ do with the view I’ve got while my pussy’s yellin’ at me right now.”

“Christ, darlin’.” He muttered. He felt all fuzzy inside when you said that, he hated how hungry the damn pollen made him for you, for your body. Dean’s eyes darkened, taking in the way you kept looking at him, how you were yearning for him like he was with you. His fingers gripped on the chair he was sitting on, and he leaned forward— he needed to stay on the damn chair.

“And what kinda things is it tellin’ you, hm?” He asked, voice lowering, growling almost. His cock was telling him to go over there, moan in your ear as he thrusted into you, that’s what— but he had to deny himself of such luxurious pleasures. How great.

“To throw away all sense of modern feminism and let you fuck me hard on the floor.” You breathed, moaning softly at getting the words out. “Or letting you bend me over the table. Eat me out on the bed, take me from behind on said bed.” Another desperate moan.

Shit.

Dean almost groaned out loud, damn you. You were going to be the death of him. He was so damn hard right now, and he gripped even tighter on the chair, he would break it if he wasn’t careful.

“Sweet girl, I know you’re not talkin' about feminism when you got your hungry eyes all over me right damn now.” He bit out, clenching his jaw. Dean couldn’t help the fantasies that were running through his mind, especially when you let those moans out.

“I know.” You murmured, nodding, levelling the playing field and taking your shirt off too, leaning back against the bed’s headboard. Shit. Your skin that glistened with sweat, glowing more in the shitty motel light, tits now on display for his hungry-ass eyes. Your head tipped back, eyebrows pinched together tight, lips parted ever so slightly. Shit.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, eyes drinking in that perfect body of yours like a man who hadn’t had a drop of water in years. He’d seen you in a bikini before and almost lost it, but this view, this view was a sight for sore eyes. One that he was now staring at shamelessly.

His mouth hung agape as his eyes traveled from your chest to your face, he was desperate — all for you. “What’re you gettin’ at?” He asked, voice low and ragged.

“That I’m hot too. A woman can exist with her shirt off.” You scoffed, thighs rubbing together for any friction. C’mon, fuck, you got nothing— guess Dean’s cock was the answer, but not fucking your friend was the first cardinal rule of maintaining a best-friendship. “Oh, I’m gonna kill those witches even if they’re in the afterlife. I—” You let out a small whimper of frustration, the ache building. “God damn.”

“Damn right you’re hot, sweetheart.” he muttered, eyes locked to your thighs, practically drooling— maybe he wasn’t talking about the heat both of you were burning under. Dean’s tongue darted out and wet his dry lips, watching you as you rubbed your thighs against one another for friction. Damn it, it should be him being that friction, if that even made sense— he didn’t know, his brain was sludge. “I know, baby girl, m’ feelin’ what you are, I get it.”

He wanted to reach out and touch you so bad, but he had to get a grip. Sam could come back with a cure— maybe. Could he wait that long? Probably not.

You, however, simply did not have the patience nor the fucks to deal with Sam and his annoying lateness— you needed your best friend, he needed you, you had two holes he could put his dick into — you weren’t doing ass stuff on the first fuck — so it’s a win-win. “Dean, fuck this cure.” You whined, breath hitching as you yanked your sweats down, panties going with, pussy leaking and aching and so very empty. “Can’t wait, I can’t— c’mere. Fuck me, c’mere.”

Ok— yeah— yes, ma’am.

The sight had his eyes getting dark, nearly feral as he quickly stood up from his chair. The chair fell backwards and made a loud thud against the floor, but he couldn’t care less— not when you looked so damn delectable on the bed in front of him. Dean took quick steps towards you, practically ripping off the rest of his shirt.

He kneeled on the bed in front of you, practically pinning you to the bed. He couldn’t help himself. “M’ here, I’m here. Tell me what you want.” He huffed out, hips already bucking against the bed, moaning at the friction as he kissed over your bare tits and up your neck, licking up your neck, sweat on his tongue— yes, it’s disgusting, but he’d ponder on that in retrospect, right now he felt like an animal.

You guided his hand between your legs then kissed him, hotly, hungry, your lips devouring his, hand on the back of his head keeping him there. It was like a dam had broken, your breath harsh and heavy against his lips.

He grunted into the kiss, eyes slipping shut against the onslaught of your lips against his. His hand easily found its way down to you, the second you pushed him where you wanted him. God, his hand ached to be between your thighs.

“M’ here,” he breathed in between hot kisses. “M’ here, sweetheart, I gotcha.” The words were muffled, breathless, as he pushed your thighs apart, finding your wetness, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head. God, he was starved for you, as you were for him, it felt frantic, hazy, like relief that he was finally touching your skin that would go away instantly, as it wasn’t enough. Your scent had his eyes actually rolling back for a second, a pant and a whine leaving his mouth in quick succession as his free hand pushed sweaty hair out of your face, his own spiky from your hand running through it.

He ground his cock against the bed, feeling himself leaking — as were you — and these touches alone honestly had him feeling like he could embarrass himself right here, and come in his pants like a teenager before even getting the chance to fuck you properly.

You nodded against his lips, practically gone and inattentive to anything but him, leaning more of your body weight back against the headboard and pulling — yanking — him with you, panting, desperate. “Need you, baby, please.”

Oh, he needed you too, baby girl.

“Need you too, gorgeous.” he panted, letting you push him around between your legs and wiping sweat off his forehead briefly, wiping that hand on the sheets— shit, that left a pretty dark mark. He bit down on your bottom lip, groaning into the kiss. God, you looked so pretty, so needy and desperate, and you were all for him. He needed to mark you in some way, make you his in every possible way. He needed to.

“You need me inside this pretty pussy, baby?” He asked, his hand already gliding over your slickness, his eyes locked on yours. His fingers pushed inside you, a moan leaving both your mouths as he felt the lack of resistance on your cunt’s part, and how it sucked his fingers in — fuck, you were tight — and he worked your bra off so he could suck and flick his tongue against your nipples one at a time, moaning against the softness of your tits— mmh, that felt so good.

You nodded frantically, cause fuck yeah, moaning, lips still pressed to his as the pressure had you whimpering in relief. “Yes— yes, baby, d-don’t you stop, ok? God, feels so good.”

“I won’t, wasn’t plannin’ on it, baby doll.” he grumbled against your lips. He didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, not when you felt this good around his fingers, when you sounded so damn pretty.

“Christ, I need you.” His words were nearly a whisper as he pushed down his jeans and boxers. He was so hard, so desperate for you, that he couldn’t hold back anymore. “You ready, baby?” Well, he certainly was, let’s put it that way. He’d been grinding on the bed the whole time he was on top of you.

“So ready.” You nodded, kissing him desperately, hotly again, panting, whimpering, the works. God, you felt like you were on fire, like it wouldn’t stop until you had him— it felt almost primal. Why wouldn’t you be ready, though? You weren’t a woman if you didn’t get soaked for Dean Winchester.

“M’ gonna take care of you, baby girl, I will.” He muttered against your lips, taking deep breaths. The words came out in a near growl and a grunt, he was hungry for you, starved, so he’d let you kiss him breathless, and he’d kiss you back just as fiercely as you.

He needed to give you the relief you needed, the pleasure, the release. He still rubbed at your pussy, all while he continued kissing you, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

You moaned against his lips, nails raking down his back, leg hooking over his hip— fuck the cure, fuck Sammy (though the poor guy deserves more credit), you just needed this right now, you felt like you could explode. Spontaneously combust. Lit match to gasoline. “God, don’t wait.”

“I won’t wait. Not anymore.” He grunted as he felt your nails dig into his skin, and your legs wrapped around him. He was so desperate to be inside you, and the sight of you just beneath him, the sounds coming out of your mouth, they just made him throb.

“I got you, I’m gonna take care of you baby doll, m’ gonna take care of you real good.” He panted against your neck, biting down on the skin as he slid into you, his mouth dropping open at the pure relief.

Your head fell back, a long, drawn moan leaving your mouth— you swore it felt like a cooling balm had been slapped on your bodies, or ice cold water. It just felt like a splash of pure relief, and you couldn’t stop chasing it, it felt like euphoria. “Shitfuck.”

“Oh, god,” he groaned, groaned, eyes squeezed shut. He hadn’t felt relief like this in so long, and your moans were like a damn symphony to his ears. He nearly felt like he was in heaven, that you were an angel.

“You’re so perfect — perfect.” He panted against your skin, placing kisses against your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, as he found a pace. “Feels so good, darlin’, good girl.” It took all the effort in the world for him to not just lose himself and start pounding into you, just to say.

Good girl? You could’ve come right there. Squirted, even.

But no. Your leg hitched higher on his hip, clutching at his shoulder and at the headboard, your forehead pinched, eyes closed as you just felt it, couldn’t stop feeling, desperately letting shameless moans slip past your lips— as if you could control those.

“Yeah, that’s it — give it to me, baby.” he panted, his eyes taking in the sight of you, how you were falling apart. “Take it, take it all, just let me do all the work, yeah, good girl.” One of his hands trailed down your body, to the back of your thigh, holding it up, using it as leverage to push into you.

He wouldn’t last long, he couldn’t. Not with the sounds coming out of your mouth, the way you looked. “You’re so damn pretty when you give it up, baby.”

“Dean,” You couldn’t help but moan, over and over, paired with the occasional shameless “yes”, eventually bringing him in for a hungry, sloppy kiss, feeling the pendant on his necklace cool against your skin.

“Ah—” he groaned against your lips, his kisses almost violent, more teeth than tongue than anything else. God, his name on your pretty lips was sinful, but he wanted to hear it again and again.

His hands continued to touch you everywhere they could, not missing a curve or angle, and just taking in the pure ecstasy of it all. “You look so perfect like this — all for me.” he panted against you, the coolness of the amulet was almost refreshing against his over-heated skin, he’ll had to admit, and seeing it between your tits? God, another bonus.

Ooh, an idea. You used your leg hooked around his waist, plus some hunter training, rolling you both over, immediately gripping the shitty-ass fabric and plush of the pillow so you could begin to move up and down, hitting that angle without missing a beat. “Sh—Shit.”

Oh, oh wow, he had to take a few deep breaths. He didn’t expect you to suddenly roll the two of you over but he certainly wasn’t complaining. You looked so damn perfect on top of him, like a goddamn dream. He gripped onto your hips, helping you move, a moan leaving his lips as you kept up the pace.

“That’s it baby doll, good girl—“ he couldn’t help but babble. “Can’t keep my hands off you.” He panted, staring up at you. “Doing all the work, look at you— I ain’t gonna last, sweetheart, please tell me you’re almost there.”

“M’ almost there.” The sentence came out as a moan, seeing him in his glory, amulet on his chest, all ridges of muscle and soft skin, your other hand gripping the headboard as you moved, assisted by his hands on your hips, calloused pads of his fingers pressing into your skin. “P—Please, baby, a—almost there, so, so close—”

“Just— just come with me, please— please—” He panted, his hands gripping your hips so tight, he knew that he’d leave marks, but he’d deal with it later. Right at that moment, he was just lost in the feeling.

“Come on, give it to me, baby, I wanna see it, wanna feel it.” He was desperate, but a gentleman, he wanted you to reach it first. You were absolutely too gorgeous for words, and he was nearly going feral— his mouth went dry. “Good girl, good girl, good girl, c’mon — oh, c’mon—”

The coil in your stomach snapped as you came, pure, unbridled euphoria and uninhibited ecstasy, your eyes rolling back, hips stuttering and pressing into his hands as your thighs shook, but you kept on to get him there. “O-Oh, baby, c-c’mon, Dean, please— please—”

Sweet mother of god.

Your voice, your movements, your face, it all just pushed him over that final edge, and a loud moan tore out of his throat as he rode it out. “God, baby doll, god—” was all he could manage.

He didn’t even realise his eyes fluttered shut. He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling, the amulet resting gently between his pectorals. “Oh god, baby girl, c’mere— come here.” He muttered, hands gripping your hips, pulling you down. He just wanted to feel you against him— wait, what? The burn wasn’t going, it just wasn’t.

“Dean.” You whined, letting out a frustrated moan. “S’wasn’t enough, I can still feel it. Still feel it, baby.” You panted, keeping yourself up. Well, of course this thing wasn’t a one-and-done. You already broke all the cardinal rules of friendship without compunction, but now you had to do it again? Wow. Great going.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He breathed, eyes opening, and looking up at you, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. He could feel it too, it was like something was missing, and he didn’t know what it was.

He pulled you down, and held you against his chest as he caught his breath. One of his hands moved to the side of your face, and he gently guided you into a soft kiss, the other hand moving down and squeezing your ass. “God, I need you so goddamn much.”

“Mhmm. Need you too.” You whined, your kisses becoming more insistent, needier— ok, don’t blame you, it seems to affect women more. “Can you— need you t’ take over, Dean.”

A small smirk appeared on his lips as you began to become more needy. “Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart.” He growled against your lips. He pushed you off of him, and rolled the two of you over, so you were now beneath him again, and his body was above yours.

“You want me to take over, huh?” He questioned, his lips moving to your neck, leaving nips and open-mouthed kisses over the skin. “You want me to take care of you?” His hips started snapping against you, a groan leaving his lips, cause oh, Jesus.

Woah, ok, you could get used to this. Especially with how you moaned, nodding desperately, leaving red marks on his shoulders and arms, his amulet touching the valley of your now bouncing tits with every thrust again, head tipping back as his cock brushed your cervix, hearing his grunts and pants in your ear mixed with your moans.

He couldn’t help the smirk that stayed on his lips as you clawed at his skin. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You like it when I take care of you?” He questioned, his mouth against your neck, his hips snapping against you, desperate to hear the pretty sounds leaving your lips.

“Tell me how much you like it, baby girl, go on.” His words were punctuated by a sharp bite to your shoulder, the other hand gripping your hip.

“Love it, Dean, fuck.” You gasped, your eyes rolling back, the knot in your stomach coming faster this time, scratching at his hips, the hot-ass dip in his back— anything you could reach, really, you weren’t picky.

“That’s it baby girl, there you go—“ he panted, his hips thrusting against yours, just pushing you closer and closer, his mouth against your skin still, leaving open-mouthed kisses and harsh bites.

The sounds you were making were just pushing him closer and closer, he was just desperate for you, and he couldn’t control the words that blurted out of his mouth. “God, you look so damn perfect baby, so damn pretty, so much better than I ever dreamed—“ Sure, he just revealed that he’d thought about this, but he still put your legs over his shoulders, leaning forward, splitting you in half and thrusting into you.

The new angle made your mouth fall open in a perfect ‘o’, and the feeling just overwhelmed your brain, made your body go positively wild, and you could swear some drool dribbled from the corner of your mouth. “D-Dean—”

Christ, he’s never seen anything so pretty.

He groaned as he took in the sight of you, your legs over his shoulders. “You like that, huh? You like it when I—“ his words were cut off with a strangled moan, you were just so perfect, he was never going to be able to get enough.

He managed to make a few more noises, some of them resembling your name, before he just dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Baby— baby, need to come again in you, can I?“

You made a noise that sounded like a moaned yes, and you’d never known that being split in half by a guy would ever feel this good, your hands braced on the underside of your thighs. Well, that was a confirmation.

He groaned as he felt you nod against his shoulder, words being lost on him after that. That was a yes, a good, proper yes. He didn’t even know what he was saying, all that he knew was that he needed to give you it. So he just gave it to you hard, and fast, not letting up an inch. “Good girl, good girl, you’re doing so good, taking it so well, baby doll—” all the while, he panted against your skin.

He groaned against your skin, his mouth pressed to your shoulder. Hearing that, feeling you around him, he was done for, he was gone— “Yeah, baby, oh, you’re so good, so good, feels so damn good, I’m coming baby, I’m gonna—“

He let out a strangled moan, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as he rode it out, burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting, grunting, smoothing your hair back as he spilled into you with a low moan.

You stroked his hair, helping him come down from it, feeling tired out— I mean, at least the pollen’s fucked out, right? Just… you hated witches now. You get Dean’s point— you didn’t before, but now you do.

He let out a weary groan, breathing still laboured and his skin was still flushed. When he came to and registered that you were stroking his hair, he let his head fall onto your chest, his head against your tits. Mm, like a pillow, feels s’nice.

“God, that was intense.” He whispered against your skin. “You okay, sweetheart?” He was spent, absolutely boneless and limp, and just content to lay there and bask in the aftermath of what you’d just done.

“Better than before.” You breathed, nodding, rubbing your cheek. “S’ not as sore as I thought it’d be, if I’m bein’ honest. But now I get why you hate witches.”

He let out a chuckle, which just sounds more like a quiet scoff, and he lifted his head up to look at you, a slight smirk on his lips. “Oh yeah? You get it now, huh?” His head returned to its original position after a few moments, and he nuzzled against you, an arm wrapping around your waist. “Not sore, huh? I didn’t go too hard on ya, did I?”

“No, but, uh…” You grinned cheekily. “Being carried to the bath would be much appreciated.” Oh, the little shit.

Of course.

He lifted his head to look at you, an entertained and amused look on his face. “Oh, you’re gonna be real cute, aren’t you?” He questioned, and then in a quick movement, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding you against his chest.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak

special tags for my boos: @jasvtsc @deanswidow @beausling @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts

@deansbite

[alexsoenomel]

POV: Texts from Dean

[thirdsaltyhunter]

If I Catch You

Dean Winchester x female!Reader

Summary: Dean chasing you through the halls of the bunker in a ghostface mask, what more do you need

Warning: SMUT, if I catch you I f*ck you trope, mask k*nk, choking, praise, edging, manhandling

A/N: did I forget to post this yesterday cause I was to busy partying... yes but hopefully you'll enjoy this enough to forgive me

You had always loved Halloween even despite being a hunter. It brought back the happy memories from your childhood, when there were no worries, the monsters were only people in masks and the good guys always won at the end of every scary movie. Dean shared your appreciation for the holiday. Even before you and him started dating, you would often spend Halloween nights curled up on motel beds, watching horror marathons with all the snacks and sugar you could handle. Sam on the other hand didn't see the appeal. Sometimes he would join you in your movie watching, but it was mostly to appease you and avoid ridicule from Dean.

This year you and your boyfriend had the bunker all to yourself. Sam had chosen to spend the night with Eileen and leave the two of you to your festivities.

The empty bunker allowed the perfect opportunity for you and Dean to play out a fantasy that you had talked about a few nights before, when you were cuddled up bingeing the Scream franchise.

"Ghostface is hot," you blurted randomly in the middle of the movie. You mostly said this to see his reaction, but there was a hint of truth to your statement.

"Why?" he said in utter confusion. He paused the movie and looked down at you in his arms.

You shrugged. "I don't know masked men are just hot."

"Masked men?" he tried to hide the hint of amusement.

"Oh yeah, it's a real popular thing now. I can show you all the thirst trap videos."

"Yeah I don't need to see that."

You laughed at his look of disgust before he continued.

"So what your saying is that I need to get a Ghostface mask, hm?" he said with a smirk.

"I mean I wouldn't mind, have you chase me through the halls in it." You tilted your head back to face him, your lips almost touching.

"What happens when I catch you?", he asked with a devious smile, his hold on you tightening slightly.

"You'll have to find out," you responded, your voice sultry and teasing.

"I think that can be arranged."

One costume store purchase later and you found yourself in only a set of sexy underwear, standing in the empty hallway. The concrete floor was cool under your bare feet, but your racing pulse kept you from being cold.

Dean had given you a head start before he would try to come and find you. Your excitement was growing. He wasn't going to chase you, if it came down to a sprint race, Dean would win every time. No, he was going to hunt you. You knew this made the game more even, but you also knew that he was crafty and smart. Though in all honesty you wanted to be caught, you were just going to be a little tease before you let him find you.

You had just rounded the corner by the kitchen, when the power went out, causing the bunker's red emergency lights to come on.

Nice touch, you thought.

You heard his voice echo through the hall, signaling that he was coming to find you. Your adrenaline was pumping. Not out of fear, you knew Dean would never hurt you, but out of anticipation for what would happen when he found you.

You slipped into kitchen looking for a spot to hide. Unsatisfied with the spots, you head to the library. You hid in the far corner behind one of the shelves and waited. You listened for his footsteps but heard nothing, years of hunting had trained him to be light on his feet. When you finally heard his voice call your name he was much closer than you expected. He purposefully stepped heavy coming up the stairs from the War Room, his boots thudding against the stone.

You took the opportunity to dart out the door in the back of the library. The bookcase blocked you from his view, but he definitely heard the door shut. You bolted down the back hall, heart pounding as you rounded the corner just as the door opened behind you.

Quietly you slipped into one of the bedrooms and hid under the bed. You listened until his footsteps passed the door and went down the hall. Crawling out from your hiding spot, you checked to make sure the hall was empty before sprinting the opposite direction.

As you ran past the next hall you saw him rounding the other end. You picked up the pace, knowing he had seen you. You turned the next corner and stopped, pressing your back against the cool tile wall to catch your breath. When you decided the coast was clear you went to move to the next hall, when an arm wrapped around your middle, you back pinned to his chest.

You tried to wriggle from his grasp just making it free when you stumbled. You caught yourself, but his hand caught your ankle dragging you across the polished concrete floor and pulling you under him.

He rolled you over and you came face to face with the black eyes and long mouth of the mask, illuminated by the red glow of the lights. This was the first time you had actually seen him in the mask and it was even hotter than you imagined. When he pinned your hands above your head you knew you weren't getting away.

"Gotcha," he growled.

"What are you going to do with me now?" you said through panting breaths, partially from running, partially from how incredibly turned on you were right now.

"You'll have to find out," he responded before using one hand to pull his belt from his jean and loop it around your wrists.

Ok that was hot.

When your hands were secured, he stood up scooping you up off the floor and tossing you over his shoulder, delivering a quick smack to your ass before walking toward your shared bedroom. It wasn't often that he manhandled you like this and you were loving every second of it.

When you got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the bed and straddled your legs. He hooked two fingers into the belt around your wrists.

"You want this to stay on?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. Even being dominant and aggressive, he never wanted to push you limits, solely focused on giving you what you wanted.

"Stay," he ordered, getting up from the bed to strip down to his boxers, leaving the mask in place.

You watched him with lust blown eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you admired his body. He moved to the end of the bed, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the end. Your underwear was pulled down your legs and tossed over his shoulder. He wrapped you legs around his hips and you could feel his clothed erection. You moaned grinding down on him until his arm crossed you hips, holding you still.

He ran two finger through your slick. '"So wet for me. Is this just from me chasing you?"

You nodded again.

He lowered to his knee, his masked face coming level with your dripping cunt. Two of his fingers dipped into you, immediately curling into the spot that made your back arch and your knees weak. Your head fell back letting the pleasure wash over you.

From the box under the bed, he pulled out your vibrator. He planned to torture you tonight.

"Don't cum until I'm inside you. Do you understand me?" he said turning the toy to the lowest setting and pressing it to your clit.

"Yes," you moaned, hands gripping the sheet above your head. You didn't know how long you were going to last. You were already on the edge of release and he had hardly touched you yet.

As you got close he removed the vibrator, running his hand up your thighs and squeezing your hips to sooth you. You whined and looked at him between you legs. You tried to give him your best puppy eyes, but you couldn't see his expression. You only were met with the blank stare of the mask and the vibrations returning to your sensitive cunt.

He continued teasing you, edging you another four or five times. You hated it and loved it at the same time. It amazed you how he knew exactly where to keep you on edge, or at least it would amaze you, if there was a single part of your brain that could think straight.

"Dean," you whined again, desperate for release.

"Beg for it," he responded sternly, fingers dipping inside you again.

"Please, fuck me." You squirmed, you didn't know if you wanted to get away from he sensation or fuck yourself on his fingers.

He sped up his motions and leaned over you body until he was face to face with you. You could just barely see his eyes, but you knew he was watching you fall into ecstasy.

"Please," you begged.

He removed his fingers and dropped his boxers. His cock was thick and dripping precum, edging you had teased him almost equally as much. He pulled your hips even closer to the edge of the bed and hooked your shaking legs over his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he slid into you, filling you completely.

He watched your face as your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"That's my girl," he praised, running his hands up and down your sides, desperately trying to keep himself together.

He started thrusting into you, slow, but so deep you could hardly take it.

"Look at me," he said, his hand came up to circle around your throat to put your attention back on him.

Your eyes opened to watch as he fucked you. You could see a blush of exertion creeping down his neck from under the mask. He gently added pressure to the sides of your throat as the speed of his hips increased.

Your hands reached for him as you got closer to falling apart. Noticing how close you were, he started to circle your clit with his thumb. You came with cry of his name, your hand gripping his forearm, his hand loosening from your throat, causing you to feel almost high.

He planted his hand beside your head as his hips stuttered and he came with a deep moan. You both stilled for a few minutes, panting and trying to regain your bearings.

After a moment, he gently pulled out to go get a towel to clean up your combined mess. You squirmed from the sensitivity as he wiped you down. He whispered an apology before tossing the rag and undoing the belt from your wrists.

Finally removing the mask, he ran a hand down his face and smiled down at you. It was funny to see him have that boyish grin after playing the sexy, dangerous slasher for the past hour. He lifted you up to place you at the top of the bed against the pillows.

"That was awesome," he said, laying down beside you and wrapping you in his arms.

"Yeah it was, I fucking love you." You laughed and buried your head in his neck.

"I love you too sweetheart, and I love that I can do things like this with you."

You nodded in agreement before you started to feel how worn out you were.

Both of you were exhausted from your activities and quickly fell asleep, deciding to take a nap before settling down for a night of Halloween movies and junk food.