#fbi dean

[strawlessandbraless]

Godstiel but he was crazy horny and obsessed with Dean. Going around preaching the good word of Dean and reading from the Winchester Gospel (supernatural books). He’d put Dean Winchester on all the stained glass windows and replace Jesus on the Crucifix with Dean on the Rack.

[jibberjibbsart]

Supernatural “Power Hour” Part 4

Steven gets a little uncomfortable around federal agents ever since his little… outburst.

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[dooanuh]

look at my fbi agents dawg…. they’re going into the lesbian bar

[artyandink]

magnetism

FBI!AU

Summary: You and Dean Winchester, the best Major Crimes has to offer. You’ve been assigned on the same case, but even though you two maintain a certain level of moral integrity, you can’t help but let that go in the hotel room you’re both staying in. Just one moment can’t hurt, right?

A/N - This is for the Jensen-A-Thon and could also be the prequel for another series I have in mind, might be titled something similar hehe. Stay tuned and let me know if you’re interested!

SERIES MASTERLIST

This was supposed to be professional.

“You goddamn tease.” Dean growled in your ear before nipping the earlobe, his calloused hands smoothing up from your body to reach your chest, grab hold of your blouse and rip it apart, buttons clattering to the floor and eliciting a gasp from you, low chuckle from him. “Workin’ me up all day in that tight skirt and goddamn heels- d’you know what you do to me, darlin’?” You were marked with an array of small and large purpling bruises down your neck and behind your ears as well as his cologne all over you, the musk of coffee and floral washing detergent only adding to the dizzying mix.

Your head was tipped back, as a result of him pulling roughly on your hair to give him the access he wanted. “Dean…”

“Yeah, just like that, baby. Love hearin’ my name from those pretty lips.” He threw your legs apart as wide as they’d go, standing between them and grinding into you so you’d feel him through his slacks, his teeth gritted as he felt the warmth through your dampened panties. Or maybe soaked, he couldn’t tell.

He’d find out soon enough.

He ran his nose along the length of that pretty neck that he now owned, littered with his marks and clouding his better judgement with the perfume you had on, the morning espresso and sweet pheromones that tore his inhibitions piece by piece.

Dean had snapped five minutes earlier, straight lifting you onto the kitchen island, the only brace being the edge of it. From there, you’d felt his lips on yours, hand moving up to rest on your throat, movements hard, demanding, as he grabbed your shin and pulled you closer.

Now he was kissing down the valley of your chest, kneading one in his palm over the fabric of your bra as the other snaked around to undo the clasp. He looked up at you as the bra and torn open blouse fell away, lipstick smeared, hair all messed up and no longer neat, with your skirt bunched up around your waist and showing your clothed pussy, the material covering it soaked.

There was a switch in his brain.

He began kissing every freckle he could reach on your body, his index hooking into the band of your panties, pulling and snapping them against your skin, making you jolt and whine his name. “So damn sensitive.” He chuckled, the words sending vibrations against your skin. “Don’t get touched much on the job, huh?” He slapped your thigh when your only response was a whimper. “Words.”

“No, Dean.” You replied shakily, and Dean bit his lip and groaned, though you didn’t catch the first part as his mouth was hovering above your collarbone. But then he raised his head up to face you, and you saw the extent of what you’d done to him. Hair sticking up in different directions, lips swollen and reddened, neck covered in your lipstick prints, tie no longer there and shirt partway undone. He looked like a wet dream.

He grinned slightly, nudging your nose with his before nipping your bottom lip. “S’what I like to hear.” Then he bent by your ear, removing your panties with a flourish. “Be loud for me, sweetheart. Wanna hear you scream-”

“Hey, you listening? Homicides and organised crime across the States not interestin’ enough for you, princess?” You stopped staring at the wall, the apparently very interesting wall with its boring, cream, floral wallpaper, and your eyes landed on Agent Winchester sitting on the bed, scratching his scruff in irritation, the laptop set on those powerful thighs in the slacks which looked like they were practically painted on. Green eyes set on you, eyebrow quirked, long, thick fingers resting on the keyboard of his laptop. Shirt straining on that broad chest in a way that should be illegal. Ironic because you’re the FBI of all people. Had you not worked together, you’d have straddled him on that bed, unbuttoned your blouse and- “Cause I’m not repeating this once more after this.”

Of course it was your imagination.

“Y-Yeah, go ahead.” You nodded, doing a quick check of yourself. Blouse intact, skirt was firmly ending at your lower thigh as usual, and by your discreet mission to rub your thighs together, you gathered intel that your panties were still on. Albeit soaked through.

You were gonna have to change those before it became a distraction.

Oh, boy, sweet Jesus, holy guacamole, you were in trouble.

But at least you could revisit that daydream at night. And maybe have him finish off the job the next time around.

This was so unprofessional.

I’d appreciate feedback in the forms of comments and reblogs, lovelies! Thanks for reading!

TAGLIST: @k-slla @deans-daydream @lyarr24 @hobby27 @agentmstark @kaya-mohr-blog @mohrkaya-blog

[nexus-my-beloved]

This October, a brand-new story and artwork is coming to you for @deancashorrorfest ! With art by @suninjang and a fic by yours truly, we've created something we're sure you'll love !

Rating: Explicit

Major Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence

Tags: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - FBI Agents, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Castiel, Blood and Gore, Dean Winchester has a Crush on Castiel, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Issues (truly, without saying the plot outright even if it's somewhat obvious, anything else is a spoiler! But Dean has issues. Period.)

Summary: Senior Special Agent Castiel Novak and Special Agent Dean Winchester are partners within the FBI's Criminal Investigation Division. Lately, they've been following a set of murders, cold cases that even Castiel - the bureau's best agent - can't solve. The murders seem entirely unconnected, no string to suggest that they're similar at all - that is until Castiel begins to recognize the victims. Suddenly, things are starting to slot into place, and Castiel isn't sure he likes where the signs are beginning to point.

Teaser: Once at the front desk, Dean worked out what they needed to be allowed access to the back room, and Castiel continued to look over the report. 

The amount of injuries sustained were concerning, especially when Castiel began to wonder how exactly the killer had the time to inflict them all. Dean pulled him along into the back room, allowing Castiel to continue to read. “It’s strange,” he started, lifting up a page and being granted sight to another photo. “All the bruising around these cuts… It’s almost like…” 

“Yeesh,” Dean exclaimed, taking in the sight of the body in front of him. “Looks like she got Tatum Riley’ed.” Castiel looked up from the report to give Dean a confused look, unsure of who Tatum Riley was. Dean didn’t seem too impressed by Castiel’s lack of knowledge, however, giving him a surprised look. “What? C’mon, man! Scream! Ghostface?” Castiel only shook his head. “I don’t understand that reference.” Dean scoffed, pointing over at the wounds. “Dude, I don’t know how you do so well at this job without seeing a horror movie or two. Look– Tatum Riley was one of the people that got killed in Scream, right? She got cornered by a killer in the garage and the door back in was locked. She tried to get out using the doggie door that was on the garage door, but she got stuck halfway through. The killer lifted up the garage door and crushed her in it while she was stuck.” 

Castiel shuddered at the visual. It didn’t seem like a pretty way to go out. 

“Anyway– look at this,” Dean continued, pointing at the bruising and cuts. “I mean, it doesn’t look perfect. There was probably a few knife slashes in there, y’know? The movie never actually showed Tatum’s wounds– I mean, you could see that the head was clearly fake when Sydney saw her later– sorry. We never actually saw how she looked after, under the shirt and all, but I’d imagine it might be similar to that.” Castiel nodded a bit, thinking about the scenario. It did seem probable. 

“I was never actually told where they found her body,” Castiel admitted, looking over the body before back to the report. “I’ll be back. I’m gonna go see what I can find out.” Dean nodded, shooing Castiel away. “Yeah, you go see. I’ll try to get a few other guesses on what might’ve happened to Riley 2.0 here.” 

Making his way towards the front desk, Castiel allowed himself to think. A kill that seemed similar to a horror film? Could it be the same killer that he’d been unable to catch? If so, then the killer must’ve really switched gears — that, or Castiel was incredibly uncultured on horror movies to recognize similar murders (that very well could be the case; Castiel wasn’t one for understanding movie references).

A kill similar to a classic Scream death? The circumstances being different than the other cases? Is it really the same killer, or does the culprit have a vendetta against Castiel, a want to lower his self-esteem through a subliminal message worthy of being compared to Will Graham's first killer in Hannibal?

Find out more soon - It Will Come Back hits Ao3 this october . . !

[sardonic-the-writer]

i can't imagine what it'd be like as an actual fbi agent in supernatural. oh, we've got a weird looking case down in texas? a man with all his internal organs turned to slop? sure i'll check it out. and by the time you get there, the weird deaths have stopped, and the local department is already telling you two other agents have been in town to help with the whole thing. alright cool whatever maybe we just got double assigned and these guys managed to figure it out first. nothing wrong with that. until you move on to the next case, and the same thing happens. and the next and the next and the next, until finally you ask to see some cctv footage of these mystery agents, and are those the famous winchester serial killers that died a few years ago????

[eitlean]

I’m watching spn for the first time and something I really didn’t expect is Sam and Dean to be wanted criminals??? Like what do you mean there’s a national manhunt out for them.

[holylulusworld]

What you see is what you get

Summary: Your friend needs help. You get more than help.

Pairing: FBI! (Alpha) Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader

Characters: Cassie Robinson, Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury

Warnings: angst, catfishing, mentions of nudes, mentions extortion, a/b/o, scenting, flirting, cocky Dean

“That motherfucker.” Your best friend slams her laptop shut and shoves it away. “I-I can’t believe I fell for his good looks.”

“What’s wrong?” You look up from the book you read. “Babe, we wanted to have a girl’s night. But all we did so far is read, and watch boring movies while you were glued to your laptop.”

“I tried to find out more about Jeremy,” Cassie sighs deeply. “I thought he was the one this time. He was funny, smart, and got a big dick.”

“Big dick,” you choke on the wine you drank. “How do you wanna know? Did you exchange nudes? I told you to not send guys nudes online!”

“I didn’t send him nudes.” Cassie doesn’t look you in the eyes, making you suspicious. 

You cock a brow. “Cassie, I need you to be honest with me. Did you send pictures of your coochie to a stranger you never met?" 

“I-no…I mean…it was a boob pic and one of my clothed pussy,” she finally admits. “Now he wants money from me. He threatens to publish the pictures. What do I do now?”

“What does that cockroach want?” You grab the laptop to check on the messages Cassie’s chat partner sent her today. “He wants five thousand bucks? Like hell! You won’t pay him a single buck. We are going to the cops.”

“No—they won’t help me. No one can. It’s my damn fault that I sent the pictures to him. I should’ve known better than trusting a stranger on the internet.”

Cassie looks devasted. Usually, she’s a strong and cocky woman. But right now, she looks like a scared child.

“They will,” you grunt. “I won’t accept any less than that bastard’s head on a silver plate.”

“Hi, uh—we,” Cassie doesn’t know how to start. Your friend doesn’t want to talk about her mistakes. She stares at the officer, ready to just run out of the police station and never look back.

“We need to talk to someone from the cybercrime department,” you size the officer up when he ignores you and waves you off. “Dude, did you even listen.”

“Do I look like an FBI agent?” The officer snaps at you. “If you have a problem with your laptop, look for a repair service.”

“Hey! My friend cat catfished and now that bastard wants five thousand bucks. Last time I checked extortion was still a crime. Now I want to talk to someone more qualified.”

“Miss, can I help you?” You dip your head to look at the new arrivers. Two tall guys in suits. One of them steps closer and shows you his badge. “I’m Agent Winchester, and this is my partner Agent Winchester.”

You snicker. “You are both Agent Winchester?”

He chuckles as you grab his wrist to keep him from putting his badge away. You read the name on the badge, humming as it says Winchester.

“We are brothers,” the other agent explains. “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother Dean. How can we help you?”

“Do you work for the cyber crime department by any chance?” You ask, still holding Dean’s wrist in a tight grip. “My friend needs help.”

“We will help you and your friend, sweetheart. Our colleague Agent Bradbury is a cybercrime expert. How about we go somewhere more private?”

“Y/N, I don’t think this is a good idea. The FBI has better things to do than helping me with my problems.” Cassie tries to drag you away. She grabs your arm, but you are glued to the spot.

“You won't pay that sonofabitch a single buck,” Dean smirks at your curse words. He dips his head and looks you up and down.

“Dean…don’t,” Sam warns. “We’ve got a case going on and got no time for distractions.”

“We must help these ladies,” Dean insists. “Call Charlie, we need her here.”

“Fine. But you will explain to Bobby why we didn’t solve the case…”

Half an hour later you sit in one of the offices at the police station.

It’s handy to have a bunch of FBI agents around. Suddenly the cops offered an office to you and even brought you coffee.

"To make a long story short…” Sam clears his throat when his brother is busy staring at you. “You send nudes to that douchebag and now he tries to extort you?”

“Not me. My friend,” you point at Cassie’s laptop. “She chatted with him for months. He seemed to be a nice guy. One thing led to another, and he sent a dick pic or like fifteen. After he begged and pleaded she returned the favor.”

“A classic,” the quirk redhead Sam called finally looks your way. She was busy checking on Cassie’s laptop and didn't even make a sound until now. “That’s how they gaslight you into believing you owe them nudes or shit.”

She drops her eyes back to the monitor, typing away on the keyboard. “Can you help my friend, Agent Bradbury?”

“Aw, sweetie. After I’m done with that little bug, I will clean your hard drive,” Charlie grins when you drop your gaze. She chuckles and goes back to work.

Dean dips his head to whisper in Charlie’s direction. “Hands off. I saw her first. You can hit on her friend.”

While the agents check on Cassie’s laptop, and talk about codes and shit you don’t understand, you lean closer to your friend. “I call dips on the cocky one. You can have one of the others.”

“Hmm… I wouldn’t mind getting my hands on both,” Cassie chuckles. She’s in a better mood now and ready to flirt with Sam and Charlie. “Jeremy’s loss, their win.”

“Gotcha, you bug!” Charlie exclaims. She flashes Cassie a smile, hoping to impress your friend. “I located the IP address and found the bastard extorting you. It’s not a guy, though.”

“What? Damn…” Cassie sighs. "It wasn't his dick on the pictures?"

“Nope," the redhead shrugs. "Do you know a woman named Bela Talbot?” 

Cassie gapes at Charlie. “I heard that name before…I mean…uh…”

“She’s her ex,” you hastily say. “Bela cheated on my friend with some guy. Cassie broke up with her."

"I haven’t heard of her for like three years.”

While Cassie and Charlie talk about her ex, online dating, and how to get her pictures back, you turn your attention back toward Dean.

Placing your hand on Dean’s thigh you purr his name. “So…are you single, taken, or seeing someone, Agent Winchester?”

“He’s single and desperate,” Sam grins. “But be aware. What you see is what you get.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it…” 

[shadystranger]

flirting in the street in the ass of midnight

[nexilu]

I absolutely love the false theories the fbi got on Sam and Dean ! I know they think that they are a serial killers duo, but I can’t seem to remember how they imagined the roles each brother occupied in the duo. I think it changed with time but my favorite one is them thinking that Dean was the leader of the duo and that Sam was his puppet or something like that 😂. I also wonder what are the theories on the brothers childhood.

[supernatural-sophia]

fic writers out there!

I would love to see a fic that is dean dying after Cas’s confession cut to Sam raising Dean jr. To Dean jr looking up his name online and finding out the person he was named after was deemed dead like 15 times and on the fbi most wanted list and goes home and is like Daaaaad? Who was uncle dean?

anywho i would love that please

[ivymess]

now what if they were little and u could put them in your pocket

[jerrylewis-thekid]

Another mystery/oddity. "You Skinny Hebrew" the song that Dean personally composed as a private birthday present for Jerry IN MARCH 1953 has the same musical basis as this song sung by Patti Lewis on the Colgate Comedy Hour: "My Daddy, My Hero, My Love" IN MAY 1953.

2:58

[artyandink]

amoralism | one

Summary: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

A/N - I said I’d post on Friday but surprise! Also, as a note, I have no intention of completely relating to realism (even though I’m pretty sure that’s a title of a chapter). This will be almost like an action/romance movie, and the format is sort of like that too.

SERIES MASTERLIST

Song Inspo: Shameless - Camila Cabello

narcissism

Fifty-Shots Bar had never had this many patrons before.

Clinking of glasses, the bellow of random toasts, tapping of the bar for another round, the whole trifecta played on loop until all those glasses came down on the counter and all the beefy men downing those drinks like water would slap the back of the tallest in the lot, forcing that dude with the unreasonably gorgeous hair to bend to their height from the pressure.

“What’s the occasion, boys?” The lady on shift, Jenna, chuckled. She was intrigued as to why the festivities were so… robust, but then one of the guys shoved the tall one forward, clapping his shoulder in a way that knocked the latter’s breath out.

“Ah, nothing.” The taller one tried playing it off, but the shorter wouldn’t hear of it. His green eyes shone mischievously as he ruffled the tall guy’s hair. Jenna’s eyes couldn’t help but trail down the patron’s, well, everything. Short blonde hair, five o’clock shadow on the sharpest jawline she’d ever seen. Lips always in a pout, daring her to kiss it away until they bruised. Casual denim shirt nothing short of tempting, as tight as a damn straitjacket over that broad, no doubt kissable chest. Arms framed in his sleeves, probably bore enough strength to throw her around like a ragdoll and he wouldn’t break a sweat.

She bit her lip. Oh Lord, this man was either from heaven or hell and she wouldn’t complain either way.

“It’s not nothing.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My brother Sam here took down a big-time multi level marketing scheme. So damn modest.” Another clap of Sam’s shoulder. However, he seemed to have clocked Jenna and her obvious admiration of his entire being, a quirk of the corner of his mouth having her knees like jelly. “What’s your name, beautiful?”

She giggled, her finger twirling her hair around her finger as if she was a little schoolgirl with her first crush. “Jenna. What’s yours?”

“Dean Winchester.” He took her hand, kissing her knuckle and letting his lips linger, smouldering eye contact sending shivers down her spine. “Agent Dean Winchester. Say, Jenna, what time do you get off?”

“When you do.” She breathed, and the low chuckle from Dean had her snapping back into her senses but also getting a very noticeable ache between her thighs. “Um, in an hour.”

Sam had already left. He wasn’t in the mood for watching very visible eye-banging.

Champagne. Chauvinists. The classic fancy, downtown party hosted by a family that owned half of Chicago. Flashing lights, a pair of eyes on you at all times… it was rather an overwhelming feeling, one that you couldn’t shake.

You didn’t know whether to feel confident or hunted in the red dress that you wore, satin and navy and with an open back- all things nice and very attractive to men. Your makeup and blonde (for today) hair done like a movie star and getting the attention of every man in the room, regardless of age.

“And who might you be, sweets?” A very Southern accent drawled from behind you, and you turned around, making a show of playing the innocent yet extremely attractive and mysterious lady at the most extravagant birthday party you had ever seen.

You were playing a stereotype. You hated stereotypes.

“Anna Raleigh.” You responded smoothly, and he seemed to buy it, taking your hand and kissing the knuckle, the creepy eye contact urging you to snatch your hand back and scrub it with an antiseptic wipe.

“Miss Raleigh, you are a work of art. Name’s Matthias Aldrich.” He practically purred, and that sent a cold shiver up your spine.

You put on a polite, smitten smile, though you were inwardly rolling your eyes. “Thank you, sir.”

Matthias tucked a strand of your blonde hair behind your ear. “I’ve always been fond of women who are the golden type of blonde. Hope this is natural.”

You took a crouton from a passing tray, popping it in your mouth and chewing on it, answering once you’d swallowed the bite. You’d done it quick because you could see this dude’s eyes on your lips as you chewed. “I say, these croutons are quite dry, no?”

The door to Jenna’s apartment burst open, her and Dean stumbled in, lips locked, door closing with a well-timed click and moans echoing amid breathy sighs. Dean’s jacket fell just as Jenna’s fingers tugged on his hair, causing him to jolt and let out a growl, groaning as he bent to kiss her neck. “Just like that.” He murmured, nipping and assaulting the tanned skin. Only detaching to pull her skimpy tank over her head, revealing a hot pink, lace bra.

She’s freaky. He liked that.

“You like?” She breathed, ample chest heaving as her teeth worried her bottom lip, batting her eyelashes. Putting on a show for him.

“Mmh.” He hummed, nodding before he reached for the clasp, effortlessly undoing it. It fell to the floor, and he clicked his tongue with a grin. “Better.”

“Much.” She purred, kissing him hotly and leading them to the bedroom.

Pushing.

Pulling.

Grinding.

Jenna’s legs wrapping around his waist, courtesy of Dean putting them there. Moans. Groans. Whimpers. Cries and low mutters of each other’s name. The room heating up and pulsing with enough pressure to forge a diamond.

The bed creaking. Headboard banging. High pitched moans that belong in a porno. Groans of ‘just like that’ and whines of ‘right there’ and ‘don’t stop’.

Not even after a minute after your comment about the dry croutons, the building was stormed. Armed personnel burst through every exit, holding up automatics and yelling for everyone to get their hands up, while you were taken by the arm by one of the people yelling ‘FBI! Hands where we can see them!’ and dragged in a way which appeared rough.

You were led kicking and screaming into a side van, and the moment the door slid shut, you snapped out of it, pulling the wig off. “About time, eh, boys?”

“At least we got your signal.” One protested, while another snorted.

“Dry croutons? Really?” He rolled his eyes, spinning on the chair, raising a pointed eyebrow at you. “With all due respect, it could be something less outlandish.”

“Then it would be too easy to miss, Velasquez.” You retorted, grabbing a makeup wipe and beginning to practically scrub it all off. Also taking an antiseptic wipe and a bottle of hand sanitizer to rid your hand of Matthias Aldrich’s lips. “And since when do I work like I’m a basic, sweater wearing, background blending Gertrude?”

“She has a point, Velasquez.” One agent quipped as he went by. You pointed after him with a smirk.

“Willis gets it.” You grinned, shrugging. “Why can’t you? Have a heart, Velasquez.”

“Yeah, have a heart.”

“Shut up!” Velasquez yelled after him, and got the middle finger from Willis in response.

“You ready to report to the CO, Agent?” Willis asked you, passing you a mug of coffee, which you gratefully sipped.

“When am I not?” You chuckled, letting the warm liquid wash over your throat. “Now, I don’t care what you two clowns do, I need these guys behind bars for two lifers at least. I’ve been hunting down these sons of bad mothers for months. I’m not having any slip ups, no buy ins nor outs. Every. Exit. Sealed.” You looked between the two with an intense glare, no nonsense and all business. “Am I clear?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Morning afters were always hard for Dean. He had a rule that he followed to the T.

Mind blowing sex? Doesn’t matter, leave before he gets attached and she gets hurt.

“Sorry, Jen, I’d stay, but I’m late for work.” He hurriedly buttoned his denim shirt, trying not to get distracted by the sight of the girl in the sheets, naked body only a thin layer of cotton away.

All he had to do was peel it.

“Aw, handsome, I thought you’d stay for round six.” Jenna giggled, looking him up and down. Inside, Dean was rolling his eyes in frustration. They always got clingy after the best night of their life. Then again, that was purely his fault.

“I would, trust me, darlin’.” He cleared his throat, walking into the living room and finding his jacket and keys, along with his belt. That was important.

Jenna stepped in as well, clad in a silk robe that made her look no short of delectable. But he had to resist. Stick to the damn code. “Y’know, I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”

She was trying a hit. God, she was trying hard. Dean had to physically resist going back for another hit. She was clingy, sure, but there was a huge double standard there.

“Are you, now?” He smirked, running a hand through his messy hair. “Careful, sweetheart, or I might sextuple dip.”

“Maybe I want you to.” She winked, and it had him chuckling, looking down and then back at her.

“Tempting. Very tempting.”

You stepped into the office, your heels making small taps on the floor as you went, signing in and showing your ID at the register before making your way inside. You’d been told to take a rest for a few days before you returned to your post in the HQ at DC, but who were you to listen?

And everyone knew it too, because the very moment you stepped inside, you were greeted with a show of applause and cheers from your colleagues. “Tenth drug ring of your career.” Agent Lafitte clapped your shoulder, chuckling. “You’re on a roll, sister.”

“Cool it with the flattery, Benny, I’m on a time crunch.” You snorted, shaking your head and holding a hand out for a case file, which was dropped into your hand as you continued walking.

“Hi.” There was a blonde girl beside you, hair pulled up into a ponytail, presumably the one who handed the fine to you. “Agent Jo Harvelle. I used to work narcotics, but they’re giving me a trial in Major Crimes. I was told by the CO to shadow you, so I can get a good sense of the ropes.”

While looking through the files, you glanced up at Agent Harvelle, seeing the eager look on her face. Rather like you when you started, and the eager ones made good agents. With a little tough love. “Yeah, a’ight. CO’s called me for a briefing, so it’ll be up to him whether you stay or step out.”

“About that drug ring you busted?” She grinned. “I was told. By practically everyone. How are you that skilled?”

“Ain’t my first rodeo, hon.” You smirked as you reached the boss’ office, rapping twice on the door with your knuckles and earning a polite ‘come in’.

That you did, finding your superior officer, Senior Agent Robert Singer, standing behind his desk, nose deep in a file while his ear was being talked off by… oh, boy.

Agent Winchester.

“So I quickly take my gun, aim it between his eyes,” He held up finger guns and aimed them to prove his point, completely disregarding your arrival, hideously typical, “and I said ‘hands up or I’ll reenact Rambo’. Genius, am I right?”

You cleared your throat sharply.

That got Agent Winchester’s attention, his green eyes zeroing in on you and giving you memories back that you tried to dispose of in the first place. A smirk twitched at those lips that were once too close to be professional before they stretched into a grin, pearly whites flashing. “Mornin’, Agent. Surprised to see you here.”

“I could say the same thing.” You pressed your lips together (and your thighs, but you’d never admit that), turning to Agent Singer instead. “Should I leave Harvelle outside, sir?”

“That’s ideal.” Singer nodded, so you signalled to Harvelle to stay outside as you closed and locked the soundproof door. You passed the file on the Brierson drug ring to him, which he checked over. “Impressive work, as always. This’ll land them behind bars for sure.”

“Always the perfectionist, aren’t you?” Winchester quipped, arms folded across his chest with a smug smirk. Your brow twitched; you knew exactly why he was highlighting that word in bold, italics, whatever he was intending to do. You’d just rather not think about it.

You scanned him over, adding all the facts in your head. His shirt wasn’t ironed. Belt was wonky. Hair looked like it had a comb desperately run through it but failed to tame it. Faint hint of something red you recognised as a lipstick smear on his jugular and a sliver of a purple bruise that disappeared under his collar. Which was hastily pulled up. His tie done in the simplest knot ever and still looked tragic.

He got here in quite the rush.

“Nice night?” You shot back, a full smirk tugging at your lips and making his drop. He gave you a look which blatantly said smartass, while you proudly notched that win on your belt.

Singer looked between the two of you before tapping his desk. “Entertaining, but not why you’re both here. We’ve found ourselves in a fix. Franz Brierson wasn’t at that party.”

Your blood ran cold. That guy was the big boss, the guy who started it all, got everyone on his payroll. If he was loose… but he couldn’t be loose. Unless you didn’t check?

“I’ve been looking into it for the past five hours. That’s right, I got here early.” Singer huffed out a breath. “There’s a chance that our big boss was notified beforehand. A mole that told him we were coming.”

“A mole. In the FBI.” Dean muttered, now serious as he rubbed a hand into his mouth. “We’ve been clean for years.”

“It’s the only explanation.” You piped up, shaking your head as you began to pace. Heels tapping, Dean’s eyes fixating on the sway of your hips and your ass in that getup at the wrong goddamn moment. “That operation was airtight. No room for error. Only someone on the inside could have leaked that info.”

“You two are the best Major Crimes has. Most arrests, most drug and crime busts I’ve seen on a record in all my years of being here.” Singer folded his arms, looking between the two of you. “I don’t know the whats, whens, whos, hows, whys of what happened when you two were last assigned on a case together, but I need this operation to stay in this circle right here.” He faced you. “When you’re working this case, Agent Harvelle can’t be there. It’s gonna be hard to shake, but you can handle it. As for you,” Singer shot an exasperated look at Winchester, “look presentable!”

“I look hot.” Dean pouted, now holding his jacket over his shoulder with it hooked on his index.

“Hot isn’t FBI. Go sort yourself out, or I’ll get your brother to do it. I need to oversee operations.” Singer left the room and the tense air between you and Dean, which you faced head on.

“So,” You started in a lilting voice, which he recognised instantly as your teasing tone and prompting an eye roll before the words left your lips, “was she good?”

“Shut up.” He groaned, shaking his head as he pulled his suit jacket back on. “None of your damn business. It’s an intimate exploration, not exhibitionism.” He lowered his voice so you couldn’t hear. “Though she’d probably be into that.”

“Are we calling sex an intimate exploration now?” You scoffed lightly, laughing afterwards. “You’re such a sappy romantic.”

“Asshole.” He shot back. Two can play, Winchester.

“Dumbass.”

“Smartass.”

“Jackass.”

“We gotta stop using ‘ass’ in every sentence.” He groaned, running a hand through his hair and picking up the file to busy himself. But the file was picked out of his hands, left carelessly on the desk, your lips claiming his something sinful.

Something that had him moaning, gripping your hips and his mouth soft, pliable, agreeable to your every want and need. He was all yours, and that was all it took to silence him.

Well, not really silence him, but details weren’t necessary. Not when your plush lips were pressing against his neck like that. Hot, open mouthed. Insistent. Rousing. Dizzying. Intoxicating.

He’d be damned if he ever got enough.

His shirt was soon hanging open, tie discarded as the marks of that sexy lipstick shade littered his torso, and he wasn’t complaining. He definitely wasn’t complaining when you sank to your knees, unbuckling his belt as your tongue traced his abs. Didn’t dare when his slacks pooled to the floor, boxers dropping next, his hand tangling in your hair as-

“Hey.” Your fingers snapped in front of him, taking him out of his delightful daydream, however ill-timed. He swallowed, giving himself a once over. No tie discarded, no shirt undone, no lipstick marks and definitely no you looking so sexy on your knees for him. Having him whine for you.

That was a thought worth biting his lip to.

“You with me?” You continued, and upon his shaky nod, you gave him a weird look before continuing on with your briefing. He inwardly wiped sweat off his brow, thankful to whatever god was watching for the lucky save.

You were sipping a late-night decaf coffee as you contemplated the case again, dressed in your worst-looking pyjamas with an old tea stain on the front and fuzzy socks. Had you scoped the party properly, you could’ve clocked if big man Brierson was actually there. But he’d known, he’d known, and now everyone in Major Crimes was under investigation.

By you.

Well, and Agent Winchester, but you’d rather not think of him. You’re actually not quite sure what happened between you two, all that you broke your own rules for your heart to be broken too. You focused on your job, he had fun. Your cycle went that way.

You’d find a new case, he’d find a new girl. Both to busy yourselves so you wouldn’t have to think about each other, which worked until now.

You got a phone call, and you mindlessly picked it up, irritated as you were pulled from your contemplative thoughts. “What do you want? I’m busy.”

‘Dean, so nice to hear from you.’ You heard, his voice mimicking yours before switching back to his. ‘Wow, Agent, colour me surprised; it’s nice to hear from you too. How are you, Dean? I’m perfectly fine, sweetheart, how are you? You’re so polite.’

“Do I sound like someone to engage in small talk right now?” You deadpanned among chuckles at his own joke, putting your dinner - leftovers - in the microwave. God, you weren’t in the mood for this.

Eventually his snickers subsided, and he cleared his throat as you set the mug down. ‘Duly noted. You’re boring. Anyway, about the mole case. I think we should meet up in the office tomorrow to draw up a list of potential suspects.’

You took your warmed dinner, placing the phone between your shoulder and ear as you stabbed the spaghetti with a fork, chewing as you spoke. “And I think you’re insane. That’s the place we’re casing. Why in the hell would we start drafting up names there?”

You heard Dean clear his throat at the end of the line. ‘Right. Got it. My place?’ Truth is, Dean had been hoping you’d say anything but ‘let’s not draft at the office’. He was scared he’d lift you up on the nearest surface and do what he hadn’t the previous time, mark you, claim you and then let you claim him, mark him, wreck him. He didn’t know what you two were, or what you’d become.

Maybe strangers with very intense, deep seated sexual tension.

“What time?” You asked through yet another bite of spaghetti. You weren’t about to forgo dinner for this dude, cordiality be damned.

‘Tomorrow, straight after hours, just head to my place. Does that work for you?’

“Mm, yeah.” You nodded, setting down your plate to quickly note it in your schedule. “See you then, Agent Winchester.”

‘Call me Dean.’

“Agent Winchester.” It was the least you could do after how things got last time. Again, you’d rather not talk about it.

You walked into the DC office after registering, briefing with Agent Singer before heading to the break room, where you found Trainee Agent Harvelle, Trainee Agent Kevin Tran, Agent Benjamin Lafitte, Agent Garth Fitzgerald and Agent Sam Winchester.

You knew Sam. He was a damn sight more respectful and less… Dean-esque than his older brother. Smarter, yet less effective on brute force raids. For that, you needed Dean Winchester. Anything research, or hacking into databases, Sam was your guy.

“Agents.” You smiled awkwardly, not knowing how else to greet them as you went straight for the coffee pot. Thank the Lord for the petition to make the standard of coffee in that jug better that got the vote from every damn person in the department.

HR and Maintenance can suck it.

“Agent.” The rest of them replied, identically sipping cups of Joe.

“Agents.” Singer walked in, holding a file. “Briefing room. Now.” He walked out, and you all followed suit, taking your coffees with you because you needed the caffeine to sustain your brains. Once you all stepped into the briefing room, where Agent Winchester and Agent Nick Garrison were waiting.

Singer grunted, pulling up a slideshow on the board. “Let’s get this over with.” He showed bodies, robbed banks, hostage situations. “Six occurrences of organised crime over the past four weeks. All hitting major municipalities. Now it’s our jurisdiction.”

“What have we got from the crime scenes?” Agent S. Winchester asked, brow furrowed in thought.

“Nothing but this snake logo, spray painted at every scene.” Up comes a logo of a rearing cobra.

You shrugged, quickly figuring something out. “Well, that solves half of the mystery. They want our attention.”

“It is possible.”

“I think it’s a temper tantrum.” You snorted, pointing to the board. “Look at where they’re hitting. Large cities, maximum damage, it’s a cry out for our beady eyes. Leaving a logo at the scene? Someone either wants to get caught or lead us on.”

“Sounds kinda like girls at a bar.” Agent D. Winchester snickered, but earned a weird look from everyone in the room. “What? I make my own style of analogies, don’t come at me for it.”

“Who’s on the team, sir?” Lafitte asked, the man all slow drawl, suave talk and suspenders.

You pointed to Agent D. Winchester, smirking. “Leave him out, his main interests are girls and booze.”

“Blow me.” He scoffed in retaliation, glaring at you. That was a mistake on Dean’s part, cause he started to imagine it. Oh, that memory’s vivid as hell.

“Beg for it.” You shot back, and despite the steady inflation of awkwardness, he really had half a mind to beg for it, honour be damned to hell.

Pin drop silence. Shared smirks. Uncomfortable eye contact between you and Dean, your minds going to places they really shouldn’t.

Agent Singer cleared his throat, then continued talking. “I want you,” he pointed to you, “and the two Agent Winchesters and Agent Lafitte on it, and the two trainees Agent Tran and Harvelle to shadow. You’re dismissed, except for you two.”

Didn’t take a genius to know who ‘you two’ were.

So everyone but you and Agent D. Winchester filtered out, and the moment the door closed, you were both less bickering, head chopping and heart ripping. More on business.

“This is a good chance for you two to scout for our mole.” Singer looked between the two of you pointedly. “As much unknown history as you two have, you idjits need to set that aside. For the sake of our damn Major Crimes unit. Narcotics will give me hell if I don’t sort this out. And the board of directors will be less pleased that we’ve been compromised.”

“We understand, sir.” You nodded, understanding how goddamn serious this was. Lives were on the line. Your jobs, the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s maintained integrity. “We can put aside our differences, can’t we, daddy’s boy?” You smirked at Dean, then pretended to realise that you’d made a mistake. “Oh, my bad. Agent Winchester.”

Dean resisted a clapback with all his might. He didn’t care if their CO was right there, he’d bend you over this desk and show you who’s really in control here.

That would wipe the smirk off those pretty lips. Replace it with his claim over you.

“So, Dean, I wanna know.” Sam smirked, cracking open a beer and passing it to his older brother. “What’s with you and her?”

Dean scoffed, sipping the beer and shaking his head. “I’m asked this fifty times a day. There’s nothing going on here. We’re work colleagues. She’s incredibly annoying, and grating, and infuriating, and I’m extremely handsome.”

That got a wider smirk from Sam, a knowing one. “You knew who I was talking about.”

That caught Dean out, and he furrowed his brow in confusion. “Say what?”

“You have so many girls in your life that half of your contacts are women.” Sam raised an eyebrow, then chuckled. “But you knew who I was referencing first try.”

“Humour me, Sammy.” Dean grimaced, folding his arms. “How do you label intense sexual tension that was almost acted on yet it almost broke our personal set of rules? Hm? Thought so.”

“So, she’s kind of like an old flame.”

“That flame ain’t lit.”

Sam nodded slowly, giving a breathless chuckle and an inclination of his head. “Yeah. Sure.” He stepped out of the room to head upstairs, which alerted Dean of the implication. He rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in the air.

“Hey! Sammy!”

NEXT UP:

“Oh, honey, such a flirt!” You laughed in a posh accent, mimicking your mother’s laugh to the best of your ability while you swatted Dean’s chest. He smirked at the look in your eyes, because goddamn was it obvious that you hated this.

“Darlin’, I can’t help myself around you.” He turned to the other charity goers with a proud smirk, gesturing to all of you. “Can’t keep my hands off my gorgeous wife. Might have to have something off the menu for dessert, if you catch my drift.” He winked at some elderly ladies, who giggled and waved him off.

“Such a charming boy.” One cooed, obviously eyeing Dean up with poorly restrained envy. While you looked around for your target, you missed the way Dean’s eyes travelled down your body in that form-fitting red dress, v-neck, v-back, thigh slit where he knew you had a thigh holster strapped in, all the good stuff. And his eyes were on those scarlet heels.

He was imagining ramming into you with those sexy things on. And that dress, well, it’d be off in second if he had the chance. And that lipstick? Well, it’d be smeared and leaving prints on his neck, chest, abs and- that’s going a bit too unprofessional.

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[nexus-my-beloved]

A work from the @deancashorrorfest franchise . . .

It Will Come Back

Author : NexusMyBeloved / @nexus-my-beloved Artist : @suninjang Rating : Explicit Wordcount : 13,164 Tags : Castiel/Dean Winchester, Alternate Universe - Federal Agents, FBI Agent Dean Winchester, FBI Agent Castiel, Blood and Gore, Dean Winchester has a Crush on Castiel, Castiel Has Self-Esteem Issues, Dean Winchester Has Issues, References to Scream (Movies) Summary :

Senior Special Agent Castiel Novak and Special Agent Dean Winchester are partners within the FBI's Criminal Investigation Division. For the past several months, they've been investigating a string of murders, all resulting in cold-cases from what they believe to be the same killer. Despite being one of the best minds in his division, Castiel can't find a link between cases, and it's driving him to his wits' end.

As the cases begin to pile up, Castiel's confidence plummets, the chances of catching the killer are growing smaller, and other members of the division are beginning to contribute to Castiel's decreasing faith in his detective skills. As time goes on, Dean is there to help Castiel, but a final case relating to a horror film might be the start of Castiel's unraveling.

LINK TO FIC - LINK TO ART

[emo-protagonist]

EVERY FUCKING POST ON MY FEED RN IS THAT FUCKING DESITEL MEME WHERE CAS SAYS I LOVE YOU AND THEN DEAN SAYS TRUMP GOT SHOT OR SMTH LIKE YALL IM GOING INSANE