#deanwinchester x coyote!reader

[dulcescorderitas]

𝔠𝔬𝔶𝔬𝔱𝔢!𝔯𝔢𝔞𝔡𝔢𝔯

moonlight. bare feet. ripped jeans. stolen kisses in the dark. silver. whiskey. cigarette smoke. freedom. desert roads. bruised knuckles. messy hair. pickup trucks. bad decisions. teasing smirks. running wild. outlaw heart. some poor bastard’s ex. motel beds. nasty little thing. dirty laughter. feral grins. slick thighs. rough hands. hungry mouths. sin-stained sheets. official sex kitten.

she loves to party, and not just the casual night out—she thrives on chaos, the kind of nights that end in smoky motel rooms with whiskey bottles on the floor, bruises on her knuckles, and half-forgotten memories of dancing on bar tops. her idea of unwinding is a bonfire, a pack of wild friends, and a game of chicken with the cops.

her dad was a hunter, and a damn good one at that. he taught her how to shoot before she learned how to drive, and by the time she hit sixteen, she was tracking wendigos in the snow without missing a step. she grew up on the road, learning how to patch up wounds, stitch torn flesh, and carry on even when everything hurt. after he died on a hunt gone sideways, she swore she’d never let herself get that attached to anyone again—until she met the winchesters.

she’s always been interested in both sam and dean, torn between the way sam’s brain works like a puzzle she wants to solve and the way dean’s confidence feels like a fire she wants to dance too close to. sam makes her think about the future, about settling down, about being something more than a hunter. dean makes her feel alive, reckless, untouchable, like she could go out in a blaze of glory and never regret it. the choice isn’t just hard—it feels impossible.

she has an old cassette tape collection that she guards with her life. each one has a different vibe—one for hunts, one for long drives, one for nights where she can’t sleep because the weight of the past presses too hard on her chest. dean respects the hell out of it, sam pretends not to care but knows every track by heart, and she refuses to upgrade to digital because, in her words, "the moment you do, the music loses its soul."

she’s got a tattoo for every major hunt she’s survived. some are sigils inked into her skin to ward off evil, some are little pieces of memory—coordinates of the first vampire nest she wiped out, a line from her dad’s journal, the scarred-over remnants of an exorcism gone wrong. each mark is a reminder that she’s still here, still fighting, even when everything in the world has tried to take her down.

under all the hell she has been through—the sleepless nights, the close calls, the scars both seen and unseen—she still believes there’s something more waiting for her. she clings to the idea that one day, she won’t have to wake up with blood on her hands, that she can carve out a life beyond hunting. maybe it’s naive, maybe it’s just another lie she tells herself to keep going, but deep down, she refuses to let the darkness win. she still has hope for her future, even if she has to fight for it every step of the way.

imagines

meeting

dulce's notes: not the sexiest intro for a sexy !reader but im so excited about her!!! also tonight i'm going to post for cj braxton 🤭

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[dulcescorderitas]

parings: deanwinchester x coyote!reader

dulce's notes: part 1/?

the bar was still buzzing from the high-energy performance, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the lingering scent of cheap cologne and expensive whiskey. music pounded from the speakers, bass vibrating through the wooden floors as the girls behind the bar took their final bows, laughing and throwing teasing winks at the rowdy crowd.

you wiped the sweat from your brow, your crop top clinging to your skin from the heat of the night. the low-rise jeans hugged your hips like a second skin, the cut-out on the sides giving just enough of a peek to drive the right kind of men crazy—not that you did it for them. but there was one man who always had a way of pulling your attention, even when you pretended he didn’t.

dean winchester leaned against the bar, beer in hand, his green eyes locked on you with that signature smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. he'd been coming here for a while now, long enough that you knew the way he drank—slow at first, then faster when the weight of his world settled on his shoulders. long enough to notice the way his eyes followed you, even when he was deep in conversation with sam or another hunter passing through.

“hell of a show,” he said, voice warm and rough like whiskey over ice. “not sure what was more entertaining—the dancing or watching every poor bastard in here trying to keep their tongues in their mouths.”

you smirked, grabbing a bottle from the shelf behind the bar, taking your time as you poured yourself a drink. “they tip better when they’re distracted.”

dean chuckled, setting his beer down as he leaned in, forearms resting against the bar. “you ever get tired of teasing?”

you raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “you ever get tired of chasing?”

his smirk deepened, the corners of his lips twitching as if he was holding back something smart. “depends on what i’m chasing.”

you took a sip, the burn of the liquor a welcome distraction from the way his gaze made your skin heat in places it shouldn’t. “careful, winchester. you might not like what happens if you ever catch me.”

he hummed, eyes darkening just a fraction. “see, that’s where you’re wrong. i think i’d like it a hell of a lot.”

you rolled your eyes, but the way your lips curled betrayed you. you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him—more than once. but you weren’t about to make it easy for him. “cocky. that ever get you anywhere?”

he took a slow sip of his beer, watching you over the rim. “you tell me.”

the air between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. you should walk away, serve another customer, pretend you didn’t feel the pull between you and the man who’d spent too many nights here, watching you like you were the best thing he’d seen in a long time. but instead, you leaned in just a little closer, the smell of leather and gunpowder and something distinctly dean washing over you.

“keep looking at me like that, winchester, and someone might think you’ve got a thing for me.”

he didn’t blink, didn’t falter. just grinned slow and wicked. “maybe someone’d be right.”

you huffed a small laugh, shaking your head as you swirled the liquor in your glass. “you got a whole line of women who’d fall at your feet, dean. why waste your time with someone who’ll make you work for it?”

he shrugged, tipping his bottle back before setting it down with a soft clink. “what can i say? i like a challenge. besides, the easy ones? they’re fun for a night. the difficult ones? they’re friggin worth the chase.”

you arched an eyebrow. “that supposed to impress me?”

he leaned in, voice dipping low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “nah. just telling you how it is.”

you studied him for a long moment, letting the tension hang between you like the lingering smoke from the bar’s ashtrays. “bold move, winchester. assuming you’re up for it.”

he smirked, slow and lazy, and something about it made your stomach tighten. “oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

credits of divider @toastray

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume