#losers clvb

[bettystonewell]

Thank you Zoe. I wouldn’t say perfect, but I’m so happy you enjoyed it ❤️ he will definitely get his ass beat!

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 2

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 4.1k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, language, referenced physical abuse, referenced sexual assault, injuries to reader

A/N: I wanted to have this out a few hours earlier, but my brain couldn’t help playing around with things… Enjoy ❤️

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The way the heat radiated off of you was just as Dean remembered, reminding him of what little memories he had of his mom of all things.

Your softness. The curve of your hips. Your body moulding perfectly into his. Okay, that was nothing like his mother, he hoped, but he was enamoured. If anyone dared attack him in that moment, they’d have done serious damage to you both.

Fuck. He was growing soft. It was hard not to be when his inner alpha acted so possessive.

‘Mine,’ it rumbled. Snarling and gnawing away at his resolve piece by piece, even though hours earlier, the responsibility and temptation of a mate was something he didn’t want.

‘She deserves better,’ he tried to reason with himself. Though anyone and anywhere different was an improvement on living here with your alpha in this middle of nowhere cesspool, and ‘We’d never hurt her,’ countered him back.

No, he would not. Nor would Dean ever try to scent or mark you while you were injured. He was determined by that. Knowing if he planned on claiming you, he had to wait and do things right. If you agreed and became his, anyone who tried to whisk you away as he had just done wouldn’t live to tell the tale, and…

What the hell was he thinking? Claiming you? Making you his?

How ‘bout where the fuck was your supposed alpha? The one whose stench soured your own. That was the important question.

How could the rat-bastard leave you alone for the taking like that after everything you’d been through?

Dean would never let you out of his sight. He’d never do this to you in the first place, either, and his fingers flexed where they held you.

He was quick to release them.

‘Round your side and under your knee, the action caused your thighs to squeeze together and your breath to hiss on its inhale. It was the first genuine sound you’d made since the park.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said.

He didn’t dare use omega again. Not now. Not to your face. His alpha could call you that term all it wanted, but with your matted hair now feathering the stubble on his chin when you shook yours, his gut churned.

“No. You’re helping me,” you said. “I should be thanking you.”

You may as well have struck him with a blade. Reached right through skin and flesh and into his stomach cavity and assisted the churning; further twisted his insides with your bare hands to yank them out, even. Hell, he’d do it himself. Save some time. Same effect.

“Yeah, well, I let you go back to your alpha before I knew how he’d treat you,” he said. “I should’ve known better.”

“I told you I—”

“Don’t.” He clicked his tongue. “You know I’ve thrown a lot of punches? Been on the receiving end of them too, and there’s no way those injuries were from a doorknob. So you wanna try me again?”

“I said I fell,” you whispered, and Dean stopped in his tracks, crackling the gravel beneath his boots. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

He bent his torso to leer a cocked brow, regretting that decision the second his spine moved. What little light there was above revealed more than he’d bargained for.

Yes, your thighs tightened above his arms. But so did every joint, muscle and nerve ending in his own body along with them.

Your right eye and the opposite cheekbone had distinct patches of mismatched colour, spreading. He’d say you were wearing lipstick. Only the last time he checked, makeup didn’t come with a clear, watery film around it. No. Dean knew an uppercut when he saw one. He knew the strength of an aroused alpha, too.

The shirt you wore had ripped more, and though his initials were still sitting right there, they were harder to distinguish because abrasions and puncture marks now covered them.

He felt sick. That churning in his gut would spill over you if he weren’t careful.

How?

Why?

You were his mate. Even without his scent, the swelling that billowed from your neck gave that away.

You weren’t in heat; from the scent, he wasn’t in rut, and that information just made Dean’s blood boil more than it already was. “Did he force his knot on you?”

“Ritchie…is my mate.” And your pause was telling.

“I don’t care who he is. That’s not what I’m asking you. What did he do to you?”

As if a switch had flicked, or in this case, floodgates opened, the stench of your alpha’s sack wafted up into his nose, along with more fear from you.

Your eyes filled with tears. Your limbs scrambled to pull away from him. The added stench of pine and a cheap aftershave that wasn’t his swept through the remnants of cum and sweat. But as much as that recoiled him, Dean still leaned back, taking a firm grip to shift your weight in his arms. He wasn’t letting you go.

He took a deep breath over the shame hitching in his throat, and, “I’m sorry,” he said again. Only this time, it held more than one meaning. He just hoped he could make it all up to you.

When Dean reached the carpark of the motel, his feet kicked up faster across the ground.

“Sammy!” he yelled, not caring who heard him - he’d punch the lights outta anyone who got in his way.

His steel cap boot was raised and ready to strike the chipped wood as he yelled a second time, only for Sam to beat him to it by opening the door. His mouth, just as wide.

“Dean?”

There was no lost puppy in sight. No soft and caring younger brother who could get even a drill sergeant to crumble with one look. His eyes scanned their way across your form, though, widening along with everything else before they narrowed, honing in on where Dean’s initials should’ve been. “What—”

“What do you think?” Dean curled his frame through the door, allowing your feet to enter the room before him and the fluorescent lights to highlight the marring on your skin.

“I’ll get some ice,” Sam said, and swept his way to the fridge.

“Grab the first aid kit, too,” Dean barked back as he carried you over to his bed.

He dipped your toes to the floor, keeping his arms near as you found your footing; lifting a fraction to see the full extent of his claim. The bruising was still forming. Your skin wouldn’t turn black and blue for another couple of days, but the swelling, plus the dried blood and weeping cuts, showed early signs of infection.

His stomach stopped mid flip only to drop like a stone, heavy and solid. It sloshed the bile up his pipes, crashing over that hitch in his throat. It burned. His shoulders shrunk. His knees buckled below him.

How could… No. He could ask that until the cows came home. Until his mouth was black and blue from lack of air, it changed nothing.

“Sit down, sweetheart,” he said. Course, it wasn’t a command, but your hesitation made even his toes clench.

He needed to sit. Chuck. He needed to punch your alpha’s head in - both of them - and he dropped to his haunches, encouraging you down, too. Arms rested on his thighs, holding himself up even though every molecule and thought weighed him down.

He could hunch over this way. Push the acid and lack of self worth back into the pit of his gut and away from you. Close enough to touch when needed - and fuck, he wanted to - his knot still twitched at the thought. Skin crawling with an itch he shouldn’t scratch, just to add on to all the other effects the sight of you did to him.

But what to say? What to do? This was really fucking awkward, spinning miles ‘round Sammy’s looks in the car.

You still sniffled. Gaze well directed away from him and looking down. He wasn’t sure he wanted to see those eyes of yours up close if they were gonna rival the puffiness of your injuries, but he tried getting their attention, anyway. His amber greens flicking over his initials again and going with that. Anything to drown out everything else.

“You know the, ah, the W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off when your lip curled. “And you’re—”

Dean knew your name from the missing persons sheet, but hearing you repeat it then and there was a much needed do-over. If it weren’t for your injuries staring you both in the face, you could almost class this moment as normal. You’d been with him on the hunt and this could be a good old stich-up. Nothing more.

“Right.” He repeated your name, surprised at the way it rolled off his tongue with a pleasurable rumble. It suited you. Hell, it suited him. “Will you let me clean you up?”

“Okay.” You nodded. Mouth and body out of sync until he gave you one back and your smile spilled a smidgen further into your cheeks.

There you were. The omega he’d seen at the nest before he’d touched you and brought all this on.

His fingers flexed. Insides unravelled into a warmth that made his heart thrum faster and his head feel light. “Then we’re gonna need a few things,” he said, and stood up, distracting his mind and knot as he scoured the room for something that resembled a washcloth and a basin. Made easy by the grime and grease before him.

The film on the fridge. The stench of cigarettes competing with Ritchie’s. You didn’t belong with him, but you didn’t belong here either. That became more apparent as he moved throughout the room, collecting what he could.

Coffee-pot, brewed twice with water for cleanliness, then usage. A clean shirt from his duffle, sniff-tested first, and a bottle of Jack he found in Sam’s. By the time Dean returned to sit before you, chair and supplies in tow, he’d returned with the ice, and a compress was made. Dean’s shirt doing wonders.

“Here. Hold this,” Dean brought the icy bundle up to your mate’s claim and placed it over the inflamed skin. Covering the offending sight felt damn good, but a twang of guilt hit him hard when you let out a sharp hiss at the contact.

“Ah, Dean, sorry to interrupt, but can I talk to you real quick?” Sam asked from behind him.

“Can it wait?” Dean could tell by his voice alone that Sam had a meddling look in his eye, though he had that on the daily.

“No, it can’t.”

Dean hesitated. He was determined to help you with your wounds, and the last thing he wanted to do was listen to Sam ramble over something he knew nothing about.

Still, he agreed, leaving the room with an “I’ll be right back,” and the door ajar so he could hear if you needed him.

“What the hell, Dean?” he said as he paced under the awning outside the room. His hands shoved in his pockets, straining them, arms stiff as a board, even though his elbows flapped everywhere like some giant chicken.

“She’s hurt.” Of course, Dean knew full well what he meant - he didn’t need to play dumb. He had planned to come to Sam in his own time after he’d finished helping you as intended. Thanks to the interruption, though, he was now indignant, standing tall even with the messed up insides. They still dragged him down, but he put up a fight. 

More so, when Sam struck the cord, he wished to forget.

“What happened to her being nothing to you?” 

“I wanna help her.” He needed to.

“And you can,” Sam scoffed. “I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were doing. She already has a mate and—”

Dean shook his head. “The son of a bitch raped her, Sammy,” he said, self-blame replacing his usual gruffness and spitfire. He wasn’t at fault for what had happened to you. He understood that, but that didn’t mean he didn’t hold some accountability.

Your alpha had struck you because of him. He’d attacked you. Forced himself on you in what Dean could only presume to be a bout of jealousy, and all he saw was the part he’d played by taking you home to him. 

“You know that’s not on you.”

Yet his eyes grew dim all the same. He lowered them, focusing on the ground. His boots scraping the pavement, now the most fascinating thing in the world over Sam’s, which widened when he said, “I ain’t letting her go back to him. If she doesn’t want me, that’s her choice, but there’s no way that fucker will ever lay a hand on her again.

“O-kay. Let’s ignore the part about you wanting her for a second. What’re you planning to do about him? If they’re bonded, chances are he’ll be sniffing ‘round here soon.”

Dean was hearing what his brother was saying. He was, and he had a solid point. He’d need a plan to set you free, but bonding? “I don’t think there’s a bond between ‘em. I found her in the park outside their building, and he was nowhere in sight.”

“He could be asleep?”

Dean’s chin receded into his neck. “You realise how ridiculous you sound?” 

“Do you?” 

Those words turned Dean’s body still as if he were made of stone. Eyes stuck and narrowed like the wind had changed. Jaw tight. Maybe he had fallen asleep after popping his knot. The asshole hadn’t filed the report when you were taken, your coworker had, and “I’ll deal with him if he shows,” he said.

“Dean. That’s not what—”

“Are we done?”

Sam sighed. His right hand left his pocket, and he gestured back to the room behind. “I’ll be in the car.”

Dean hadn’t even finished closing the door behind him when the smell of fresh tears flooded his nose. He’d swept across the tattered carpet once again and sat on the end of the bed next to you before his mind had even registered it was happening.

Just as his own instincts had pushed him to you, yours buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. His flannel soaked up your tears.

He wanted to ease your pain, but what could he say? He didn’t have the right to comfort you because he hadn’t protected you when you needed him. His soulmate. Not that he understood what that meant.

He was a grunt, with nothing to his name, and you were, well, he still had no fucking clue besides knowing you had his initials on your skin.

The norm was for him to want you. The scary thing was, he did. Far too much for his liking.

He had lusted over you and continued to do so even now, when he was supposed to be helping you. If your mate’s jealousy was dangerous, Dean’s instincts were more so.

They swooped his arm behind your back, letting your fingers grip his shirt. Letting your tears soak into it. He even had the audacity to brush his lips through your hair and place a chaste kiss, only to feel disappointed when you let him go.

“I’m sorry.” You sniveled and swiped at your eyes. Only to wince when your palms got too close. “Where’s your brother?”

Of all the things you could have said, your concern for someone other than yourself had him more smitten. There was seriously something wrong with him.

“He’s sleeping in the car tonight.”

Your hands wiped at your eyes, and you pushed yourself out of his hold. “I don’t want to put him out.”

Dean would never stop you, but he couldn’t deny that you moving away from him didn’t sting. “You’re not.”

Taking your cue, he reached down and picked up his wet shirt. It had seeped through to the floor below, but that was an improvement. The tatters didn’t just need a wash, it needed to be burnt.

“Let’s get more ice on your neck. We gotta stop that swelling.” And Dean needed to concentrate on you.

He stood up and moved to the table where Sam had left the bucket earlier, and after refilling his makeshift compress, came back and took your hand again. “Here.” He positioned it over the icy bundle to hold it in place. “You’ll need some on your eye too, but that bite is a priority at the moment.”

Of course, there was still that ulterior motive to keep the offending section of skin covered, but as selfish as it was, Dean hoped that by forcing his own scented item over the top of it, you might form a bond with him.

Yeah. He was delusional, so he set the internal struggle aside, and got to work.

His hand reached for a piece of gauze floating in the now tepid water and squeezed the excess back into the coffeepot, while the other cupped your chin and pulled you to face him. With steady fingers, he brought it up to your cheeks and dabbed as gently as he was able.

“Sorry,” he said when you hissed at the touch. He needed a recording if it would save his throat some pain and allow that lump to heal.“If you wanna do this yourself, I’ll help you to the bathroom.”

“No.” Your head jiggled more than shook. “It’s bad enough I can feel it.”

Dean could understand that. Not that he feared what he saw. For him, what he couldn’t grasp was seeing your face marred that crushed him, raising the question of how.

He knew the logistics of it. You’d been struck a number of times, and while he still suspected jealousy was the cause, it made no sense. Why would your mate do this to you?

“Do you love him?” He knew he was crazy to ask, but truthfully, he wanted to know if this douchebag did or not.

“What?”

It was a simple question, and very telling that you answered that way.

“Your alpha. Do you love him?” He repeated, waiting for any unspoken clues you might give.

You took your time. For Dean it was agonising, but when you did speak, his heart panged with relief and dismay. “I thought I did,” you said. “But I didn’t think he’d do this either.”

Dean’s eyes glassed over your neck. Your claim didn’t swell like that earlier. It seemed unusual to him for an Omega not in heat. “You wanna tell me what happened?”

“I met my soulmate.”

He swallowed hard. “So he did do this because of me.”

Your head moved against him. “He didn’t believe me when I told him you didn’t want me.”

You had struggled to finish your sentence, but you didn’t need to for Dean to understand. Though he couldn’t see your face, the room was now flavoured with rejection, and while it relieved his doubts of self-worth, it upset him to know you thought that.

“But I do want—”

“Please don’t. That’s not you doing the talking. Your instincts are.”

Just as you’d said, your neck and the punctures that formed a ring around it continued to draw his eyes. “You don’t know that.”

“I do. Mine are affecting me, even though I have a mate. If you had wanted me, you wouldn’t have taken me home.”

Dean often struggled with words, spitting out whatever came to him at the moment, whether they were full of shit or something else. But he wouldn’t let that thwart him. Not when the stakes were this high.

He dropped everything and adjusted his arms to scoop you up into his lap.

Your chest heaved, your brow grew sweaty, and his sharp senses heard the blood as it flowed to all the correct places in your body. Inside his, it did the same.

“You’ve got it all wrong.” Dean’s fingers moved on their own accord, pulling the hand and arm that attached to them to trace over the scratches and cuts that covered your shoulders. “I thought you’d be safer with him.”

“So did I,” you said. And it sliced him deep.

You hadn’t meant it that way, but Dean’s psyche was so full of self-loathing that even though he wished you weren’t, he had already decided you were fearful of him.

Depleted and forever quick to act, he lifted you with ease and set you back onto the bed. “I should get you some more ice.”

He picked up his shirt and moved to stand, but before he could, your gentle touch gripped his arm. “Alpha?” The pleasant sound warmed his ears and tugged at his chest. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m not scared of you.”

You were more perceptive than Dean thought.

“Well, you don’t need to be scared of him anymore either,” followed the smirk that curled his lips as his back turned away from you. He really did need ice.

Four hours later, Dean was still wide awake while you slept under a pile of blankets in the bed next to him. Wearing sweats instead of his jeans, he sat up against the headboard. His ass, purposely on top of the covers. His knot just as alert as he was. 

Morning wood had never been more painful.

It hadn’t taken long for you to go down for the count after the first-aiding was done, no doubt exhausted as well as sore, but he worried about how your body would react when it woke up.

Last he’d seen you walking, your step held a jockeys gait. All movement, purposeful and slow. 

You’d had no issues showering. It had just taken some time. Maybe if he’d helped, things would’ve gone faster, but he didn’t dare offer. Even though his inner alpha wanted him to.  

You’d also had no issue stealing his jacket, having taken it when you thought he wasn’t looking. The washed-denim sleeve poked out, as did your toes next to it. The sight of both bringing out his biggest grin. 

No wonder he couldn’t sleep. It was just a shame he had to confront your mate. 

He wasn’t scared at all. Nope, far from it. He couldn’t wait to punch the fucker’s lights out. But you were still his, and a small fragment of Dean’s mind feared you may choose him, even after the horrible treatment you’d endured at his hands.

With a groan, he leaned over and fished for his phone. It was close enough to six to not be too early for coffee, and he swung his bow legs to the ground, stretching his arms out wide; gaining two large cracks from his neck and shoulders as muscle and bone satisfyingly pulled away from each other. 

He then braced himself to stand with his hands on his thighs, but the sound of blankets shifting and a fresh wave of omega scent laced with undertones of him flew under his nose, stopping him in his tracks. It brought another smile to his face and another rush of blood to his groin.

But he had a job to do. A mission. A quest. And without further ado, he jumped to his feet and shuffled towards the bathroom, keeping his morning wood pointing in a direction he hoped you couldn’t see if you were to rouse. There was no way of hiding it when he was standing.

He was quicker about things behind the closed door. No one could argue Dean Winchester wasn’t a multi-tasker. From brushing his teeth to taking a much needed leak, he accomplished it all under the icy stream he’d chosen to cool himself off with.

Thoughts of you, Ritchie, and what he was going to do plagued him while he washed. They continued to follow him as he dried off, then carefully slunk through the main room to further afield outside, where he found Sam cramped on Baby’s back seat.

The deep brown mop of Sam’s hair rose behind the matte black paint of the Impala’s side, sticking up against the window from the static that came with a cooler morning’s air.  

“Rise and shine, Sammy.” Dean fisted the glass above his brother’s head for added effect. Sam was lucky he hadn’t opened the door on him, because that had crossed his mind. 

He wasn’t that cruel. Mediocre at best.

“I need you awake, man,” his voice hissed through the cracked open window.

“Dean?” Sam’s startled head flayed around the Impala’s cabin.

He stepped back to give his brother space to get out, throwing the room keys at him when he surfaced with no warning. 

Sam’s large hands fumbled as they landed on his chest. The silver tumbling through his knuckles like a creature come alive. “What’s going on?” 

“I need you on babysitting duties.”

“Babysit—Where are you going?” Sam stared at him dumbfounded until Dean flashed his best smirk.

One could say he was being cocky, and maybe he was. But in this instance, he needed all the confidence he could muster.

“To deal with Dick,” he said.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Are we feeling the connection? Do we hate her mate? Did I name him Ritchie just so I could make a tonne of Dick jokes? You bet I did! Have I used it enough? Eh, time will tell, but I sure had fun with the next one!

Chapter 3 - Confronting - 07/03

Inside, Dick’s every movement was under his scrutiny. He wanted him to fuck up. To say or do something stupid. That way, Dean had probable cause. It would make whatever he ended up dishing out sit better on his conscience if he heard Dick admit it himself.

So Dean poked the bear. Outright asking him, “Did she say that while you were raping her?”

“I marked her as mine.”

Those words were Dick’s second mistake. He’d just given Dean the chopping block.

“And I suppose she didn’t ask you to stop when you hit her and tried to scratch my initials out of her skin, either?” Dean’s voice remained void of all emotion, even as the anger bubbled in his gut. If he held a mirror to his soul, Dick’s face would have been its reflection.

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If you'd like to be tagged in this or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

[soldiersgirl]

well, because i'm bored (and i would want someone to yap at me), what's your favorite position (?) to write? for some reason, i find myself putting oral in almost every fic i write, for example.

sorry if this is weird lol

NOT WEIRD AT ALL AND IT GOT ME THINKING

i think i like unconsciously include some sort of oral too and usually missionary and for some reason a lot of straddling and girl on top??? never thought it about until now, i love u for asking me that

[dulcescorderitas]

hi angels! 💖🪽 i just wanna take a moment to say the biggest thank you for 1,000 followers on this account!! i literally started this account in january, and i’ve already fallen in love with these communities and fandoms so much. 🥹💫🎀

tagging all my moots because, honestly, you guys have inspired me so much—even to the point of making this account just to scream about my love for supernatural, smallville, and so many more. 💌💭 and to all my amazing followers, you’ve been the absolute kindest, sweetest people i’ve ever met. i appreciate every like, comment, and message more than you know. 🎀💗

writing and sharing my thoughts here has been such a dream—being able to put my love for these stories into words and have people actually enjoy them???? so unreal!!! thank you for reading, for supporting , and for being part of this little corner of the internet with me. 💋💕🌷✨

my mooties: @cherrygirlfriend @soangelbaby @soldiersgirl @gibson-g1rl @bluemerakis @blackynsupremacy @dollyfiles @deanssun @deanangel @figthoughts @whisperingdaze @faiszt @valjy @honeyryewhiskey @emeraldcrs @preyingfaes @foolinthera1n @legalmente-loca @kissesonkent @haunteres @losers-clvb @dollyackles @chi-raz @s4wdvator @fae-of-prey @cowboysandcigarettes

[arsonsuggestions]

made another multimuse rp blog, this time for the losers club + pennywise and georgie from stephen king’s IT (mainly 2017 remake verse) over at @the-losers-clvb i know i gotta a lot of rp blogs that follow me so check it out maybe?

[bettystonewell]

Awww man. Dean is an idiot (so’s Cas actually), but I love the determination from both of them.

“I’m finding your brother, then I’m killing him.”

You go girl! I feel like at this point Dean would probably let her - he’s that damn stupid. If anything though, he should be letting her throw in another punch or two (as long as he lets it be somewhere softer so she doesn’t break her hand again - I’m honestly going for the groin at the moment lol

On a side note- I absolutely love how this flows between her pov and Dean’s. It’s seamless ❤️

woman of letters pt. 9 // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content: swearing, angst, reader is mean to sam

word count: 2.9k

note: read on wattpad here. read on ao3 here. if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992 @thestoriesfold @mostlymarvelgirl @dyhsversion @deans-baby-momma @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ladykitana90

masterlist series masterlist previous part

----

You woke with a coughing fit. You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t remember what had happened. Not at first anyway.

You caught your breath. You looked around the room, blinking to clear your vision. You weren’t sure where you were, mind fuzzy from just waking. You decided you were in the infirmary, the stiff cot under you creaking as you sat up. What happened? Why were you here?

You heard your name mumbled softly. You turned your head, seeing Sam sitting in a chair near your cot. He placed the book he was holding on a table, reaching out to rub your back.

“What-?” You managed to get out. Your throat was raw and your head hurt like hell. You were about to continue your question, but it all came flooding back to you. The demon, Dean coming home, you being trapped inside your own mind. You could still feel the blade at your throat, the tip digging into the skin.

Sam.

That was right. He had gotten the knife out of your hold, out of the demon’s hold. The image of the knife plunging into your arm made you wince. But no, that couldn’t be right. Your arm. It was clear of any wounds. You had no bruises, even your jaw, which had ached before from the fall to the ground, felt fine. How?

“You’re feeling alright?” A gruff but monotonous voice sounded from the other side of you. You whipped your head around to see a man there. Blue eyes, khaki trenchcoat, and furrowed eyebrows stared down at you.

“Who-?” You began, voice still hoarse, but Sam cut you off. You looked back to him with wide eyes.

“Um,” Sam cleared his throat, “this is Cas -- Castiel.” Sam corrected himself, motioning to the man. You turned back to the man, Cas.

“I’ve healed you but an ache may persist.” Castiel told you. The words only made you more confused.

“Healed me?” You breathed out the question, looking back to Sam. His gaze softened at your expression.

“Cas is an angel.” Sam explained. It took a scary short amount of time for you to accept this information. You hadn’t known for sure, but the existence of angels was very likely, based on your knowledge. You nodded, still looking lost. You scanned the room for any sign of Dean. Where was he? Sleeping, maybe? You looked back to Sam.

“Where’s Dean?” You asked, your voice soft and full of hope. Dean had to be here somewhere. You were expecting him to come through the door at any moment, but instead of speaking, Sam made a face that broke you.

You knew that look. It was the same one the military men at the door had given you when you were nine. The same one the doctors had given you when you were twenty. And now, here you were, thirty three, receiving the same look. The only difference was Dean wasn’t dead. He had left. He had left you. You felt like a little kid again, shrinking into yourself.

Sam said your name, but it was a far off echo. You stared at the wall.

“Where is he?” Your voice was surprisingly strong. You looked between Castiel and Sam. They both wore hesitant looks. You furrowed your eyebrows together. “Where is he?” You seethed out, pulling yourself to your feet. Or, at least you tried to pull yourself to your feet. The second you shifted your weight to your legs, they gave out on you.

Sam caught you before you hit the ground, hauling you back onto the cot. He was giving you those puppy dog eyes, like he was begging you to just accept it. You also saw the flicker of something beyond that. He knew you weren’t going to accept, you weren’t just going to let it go.

“Where is he?” You whispered, forcing down the tears that threatened to well up. Sam looked to Castiel, who only shook his head.

“I don’t know.” Sam said. He wasn’t lying, you could tell. But someone here knew where Dean was. You turned your head to Castiel. He didn’t flinch when he saw the fire in your eyes.

“Where is he?” You said again, tone set on getting an answer. You sounded like a broken record, playing the same line over and over. You needed to know. Castiel stared back into your eyes.

“Dean wishes to stay hidden.” Was all he said before disappearing in front of you. You blinked, looking back to Sam. You scowled at the pity on his face. You didn’t want pity. You wanted help.

“Help me to my study.” You demanded, knowing your legs were still weak. The tears you had felt earlier were quickly replaced with a searing rage.

Fuck Dean for disrupting your life. Fuck Dean for turning you into a lovesick fool. And most of all, fuck Dean for leaving you.

“I think you should rest-”

“I think I know what’s best for myself. Study. Now.” You snapped. You weren’t intending to be cold towards Sam. It was misplaced anger. Dean, the cause, wasn’t here to be the brunt of it, so his brother would have to do. Sam knew this, but it still hurt him to hear such malice in your voice.

Sure, you had been snarky before, and he had heard the way you had yelled at Dean. But this was different. This… this was full of anger, hurt, and grief. You were beyond angry, and that anger was motivated by the heartbreak of Dean leaving. Sam couldn’t imagine how you were feeling. For so long you had been alone and the moment you find companionship, love, it left you. Sam knew Dean had his reasons, even if they didn’t actually make sense to him. That reasoning had turned you into this… shell of yourself.

Sam sighed to himself before helping you to your feet. You gripped a hand around his arm where it was wrapped across your torso. He was stooping over quite a bit to hold you up, but he persisted. You both made the journey to your study, you hobbling at first. By the time Sam had placed you in your chair, you had only been limping. Your body was learning how to move again.

You heard Sam drag a chair over to sit beside you. It seemed he was committed to attending to your every need. It occurred to you that Dean had probably asked Sam to take care of you. That only pissed you off further. Dean didn’t have the balls to stay and do it himself, so he made his baby brother do it? Fuck that.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked as your fingers flew across the keyboard in front of you. Your computer monitor was flooded with pages. You looked at Sam out of the corner of your eye.

“I’m finding your brother.” You grumbled out, eyes scanning over pages of information. Credit card transactions, traffic cameras, police reports. Your stare hardened before you said your next words. “I’m finding your brother, then I’m killing him.”

----

Days turned to weeks, weeks to months, and still, Dean had managed to stay just out of reach the entire time. You would beg Sam every time to drive with you to the town you had sworn Dean was in, but when you two would arrive, he would have already left. You didn’t give up on finding him. Dean couldn’t just leave you and get away with it.

From the moment you woke to the moment you crashed to sleep, you were looking for Dean. It was the same every morning. You would walk right past Sam, who would be holding a plate of food for you. He would stomp after you, demanding you eat something. You would brush him off, snapping at him. He would fight back and, eventually, you would be shoving a piece of toast in your mouth to shut him up.

You were pushing him away. Every time he would argue with you to stop, or to at least take a break, you would say the same thing.

“Maybe you should leave too.”

You never meant it, but it was the only thing to get him to back off. It would remind Sam of the reason you were doing all of this, reminded him of the hurt Dean had caused. Sam would only stare back at you for a moment before walking away. You would turn back to your work, ignoring the voice in the back of your head that told you to go apologize.

Everyday it was the same. Everyday you failed to find Dean, failed to bring him back to the bunker.

You weren’t used to this. All of the people who had left you before had died. They hadn’t walked out. You had no way of getting them back. This was different. Dean chose to leave, chose to never see you again. You didn’t like that. You didn’t like the way it made you feel.

Sam was growing worried about you. He knew you would take it hard, but you hadn’t thought that you would throw everything else away. You didn’t eat unless he made you, you didn’t go out for information or food, you didn’t read any books. Even the books you would read for personal pleasure went untouched, dust coating over the covers. You didn’t research anything. You didn’t let him leave without knowing every detail of when he would be back. It was insanity, the way you couldn’t let anything else be out of your control.

Castiel visited once in a while, checking on you and Sam. Sam knew that Castiel knew where Dean was. He had pressured the angel into telling him as much. Whenever you or Sam would ask him where exactly Dean was that day, he would say the same thing he had said the first time: “Dean wishes to stay hidden”. It only made you angrier. There were a few times Sam had thought Castiel was close to breaking, but the angel was too loyal to Dean.

The thing that worried Sam the most was your lack of grief about the whole situation. You hadn’t shed a tear once, hadn’t expressed sadness in the way he would have expected. He knew you were heartbroken over Dean leaving, but only because he had put himself in your shoes.

Sam was angry too. He couldn’t believe this. He couldn’t believe that Dean had done something like this. Well, no, he could believe it. What he couldn’t believe was it lasting so long. Why was Dean set on leaving everything behind, leaving his family behind? Did he not care about them at all?

The thing was, Dean did care. He cared far too much, that was why he had left. He couldn’t bear to see the terrified expression on your face, couldn’t bear to watch Sam have to wrestle a knife from your hand because he was too paralyzed with his own fear to do it himself. He figured the best option was leaving, letting everything be better without him.

But he couldn’t cut himself off completely. He used Castiel as his inside source, praying out to the angel multiple times in a day to tell him how you were. At first, Castiel had been hesitant to tell him the truth. He knew it would upset Dean, make him worry more for your safety. He also knew it wouldn’t change anything. Dean wouldn’t return to the bunker just because you wanted him to. This was for your own good, of course.

The time came when Castiel would break and tell Dean how you were actually doing. It was a sunny day, something that Castiel thought would help lessen the blow. Dean was at a diner, Castiel sitting across from him while the Winchester ate a stack of pancakes.

“How is she?” Dean asked, words slightly muffled as he spoke around his bites. The ache in him from missing you had lessened, only slightly, every time he reminded himself this was for the best. He took a sip of his coffee, the liquid hot as he swallowed it.

“She’s…” Castiel hesitated, not meeting Dean’s eyes. This made Dean stop. He was jumping to the worst case scenarios. You were dead, you had gotten kidnapped, you were possessed again. It didn’t matter that Castiel had told Dean weeks ago that you had gotten an anti-possession tattoo. It was still there in his mind, the flash of malice in your eyes when you were possessed by the demon. He sat up straight, placing a hand on the table.

“Cas.” Dean grumbled, demanding the angel continue. Castiel blinked and looked up at Dean.

“She’s not sleeping.” Castiel told him. The ache that Dean had tried so hard to get rid of came back in tenfold. He narrowed his eyes.

“Make her sleep.” Dean offered, though the demanding tone was still there. Castiel could kill angels and heal wounds, he could surely make you sleep. The little patience that Dean had left him with the shake of Castiel’s head.

“I can’t make her sleep, Dean. It doesn’t work like that.” Castiel grumbled back, glancing around the diner to make sure no one was listening in. He could be paranoid sometimes, but for good reason. He wasn’t exactly welcome in Heaven, and angels wouldn’t hesitate before killing him. Plus, it wasn’t like Dean was the most accepted in the world.

“Yes, you can. She has to sleep, she can’t…” Dean breathed in and swallowed down his hurt, “she can’t just stop living because I’m not there.”

At the look on Castiel’s face, a look that said you hadn’t just given up on life, Dean narrowed his eyes.

“What?” Dean barked out, staring the angel down in wait for his answer.

“She’s searching for you.” Castiel stated. This caused Dean to frown. He didn’t want you to look for him. He wanted you to go back to normal, back to what you had known before he showed up. He should’ve known you would do this. Girls just couldn’t let him go.

“She won’t find me.” Dean decided. He wouldn’t let it happen. He would be running all his life, but if it kept you safe, then it was worth it. “Because you won’t tell her.” “And if she finds you without me telling her?” Castiel questioned, knowing this plan of Dean’s would fail eventually. You were too intelligent, held too much knowledge for virtually anything to get past you.

“You’re gonna tell me, and I’m gonna get the hell out of town.” Dean decided, raising his eyebrows as if to ask Castiel if there would be any arguments against this. Castiel nodded, albeit very reluctantly.

That was two months ago. Without fail, Castiel would come to him, telling Dean you and Sam were on your way. And everytime, Dean would be gone before you would get there. It was frustrating, to say the least. You felt like you were on a wild goose chase, running after something that was just out of your grasp.

But you weren’t stupid. You were connecting the pieces, noticing how Castiel was suddenly very interested in your search for Dean. You saw the flicker in his eyes when you would tell him what town you had narrowed Dean down to, and the way Castiel would very conveniently have to leave right afterwards.

Castiel must have been stupid to believe you wouldn’t figure out his little double-agent act.

“Have you found him yet?” Castiel questioned from behind your shoulder. You had, but you weren’t going to risk losing out on this again. You stared at the notepad in your hand, where a town was scribbled down onto it. Thankfully, Castiel couldn’t see it.

“Yes.” You answered as you gathered a few supplies. Castiel watched you, not really wanting to know where you thought Dean was. He was tired of this back and forth. You and Dean were both hurting with no one there to comfort you. But he made a commitment to Dean, one he couldn’t drop.

“Where is he?” Castiel asked, trying to make the question seem natural. It didn’t work. You eyed him. It wasn’t his fault angels didn’t know how to lie very well.

“Stillwater, Minnesota.” You voiced out. You were much better at lying. So much better, in fact, that Castiel didn’t even question the answer, even when he knew it was wrong. You listened to his half-assed excuse for why he had to leave before you heard the rustling of wings.

You smiled to yourself. Perfect. Now you would have an actual chance at catching Dean. You scooped up your bag and went to find Sam. He was in the library, reading books that you were supposed to be giving your time to. When you closed the book in front of him, he looked up at you. He sighed at the look in your eyes, the one that told him you had found Dean again.

“Let’s go then.” Sam’s voice sounded defeated. He had given up on arguing with you long ago. Maybe, just maybe, this would actually lead to something and you would sleep in your bed more often. There had been far too many nights Sam had to drape a blanket over your unconscious frame after you had fallen asleep at your desk. Though there had also been far too many mornings he had woken up in a similar position in the library, you having been the one to take care of him.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, following after him to the garage. Sam almost didn’t catch it, the sound almost flying past him, but it was still nice to hear. You climbed into the passenger seat and let Sam drive, only speaking to give directions to him.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content: swearing, canon level violence, reader is very inexperienced in combat, mutual pining between dean and reader, reader is slightly injured by dean, mentions of family death, idiots in love trope

word count: 3.8k

note: read on wattpad here. this is my first series with dean! i'm not sure how many parts, but i wanted to share this with the world. there will be smut in later parts. if you look up "dark academia outfit" on pinterest and scroll, that is how i envisioned the reader dressing.

masterlist series masterlist next part

----

Sam and Dean entered the bunker wearily. They didn’t know what they were walking into. There could be a demon, or worse, waiting for them to arrive. They had their guns drawn as they moved down the stairs into a large room. Stone walls were made more comfortable by the warm lighting in the space. Sam eyed a doorway that seemed to lead to a library of sorts. Dean readjusted his grip on his gun and traveled deeper into the bunker. Sam opted to explore the library first instead of following his brother.

The walls were filled with books varying in color and size. His eyes raked across the titles and keywords jumped out at him: vampire, werewolf, witch. He felt like a kid in a candy store. He continued to survey the room. There were velvet upholstered chairs in the corners of the room. A couple tables were placed in the center of the room. There wasn’t anything strange about them initially. Sam then noticed the open book and steaming mug of coffee. Someone was here. Sam tightened his hold on his gun and whirled around.

Standing behind him was a girl. You. You wore dress pants and a white button-up shirt. The gun you held in your shaking hand glinted in the light. This either meant it was brand new or it had never been used. By the way you awkwardly held the weapon with two hands, Sam was willing to bet it was the second option. The expression on your face was stony but behind that Sam could see the fear coursing through you. You were scared. Frightened like a baby deer that got separated from his mother. But you couldn’t tell this intruder that.

“Whoa.” Sam tried to put you at ease but refused to lower his own gun. You swallowed and shifted on your feet. You continued your silence while reading his body language. Weapons you hated, but psychology was where you thrived. You needed to determine what this man was here for. Lost in your mind, you failed to notice the way Sam’s eyes drifted over your shoulder where Dean was creeping up behind you.

Faster than you could fight off, the man behind you kicked the back of your knees. You were on the ground on your hands and knees, your gun sliding away from you. You scrambled for it and whimpered when it was swept up into Dean’s hand. Sam’s gun was still trained on you. Dean scoffed after looking over your weapon.

“Safety’s still on, sweetheart.” Dean shot at you while restraining your wrists behind your back with handcuffs. You were really panicking now. This was not how it was supposed to go. You were supposed to keep this place safe and in a few short minutes you were rendered useless to that cause by a couple of strangers.

Dean pulled out a canister of something. Poison, you assumed. They were here to kill you. He forced your mouth open and poured the substance into your mouth. Instantly, you spat it out of your mouth. Not poison, salt. You looked at the man with an incredulous expression. What the hell was he doing to you? You watched the two men exchange a look before Sam handed Dean a flask with a cross on it. A thought crossed your mind, something from your readings. Holy water, you thought. You coughed out the liquid when it was splashed into your face. Regaining your breath, you glared at the men.

 “I’m not a demon.” You spoke, shocking the men in front of you. They flexed their jaws in anger, moving closer to you. Your eyes widened.

“Then what the hell are you?” Dean asked. You were hesitant to answer. These men had broken into your home, tied you up, and were demanding information when you didn’t even know their names. You weren’t about to tell them what you really were, though if they found a way into the bunker they already had an idea.

“Human.” You spat, hoping they would settle for that answer. Of course they didn’t. Dean searched for any clues about who, or what, you were. The holy water had trickled down on your chest, turning your shirt see through. He could see a dark mark peeking through the fabric. He grabbed at the collar of your shirt and yanked it down to reveal it. A logo.

“Take me to dinner first, pretty boy.” You sneered out and yanked your body away. Sarcasm was one of your favorite defenses. Your shirt slipped from his fingers and he looked at Sam again.

“Man of Letters.” Sam spoke out, talking to Dean but you still heard it. You rolled your eyes. It was a sexist name created by a bunch of men far before your time.

“Woman of Letters.” You corrected, causing Dean to snort out a sarcastic laugh. He crouched down so he was face to face with you.

“Alright, Rosie the Riveter, why don’t you tell me how exactly you got here.” Dean offered, raising his eyebrows. You raised your own eyebrows back.

“I could ask you the same.” Your breath fanned Dean’s face. He ground his teeth in irritation and stood. With his eyes finally off of you, you let your mask of strength fall. Your breath quickened while you tried to think of a way out. Unfortunately, you were more book smart than street smart and your research had never gone into detail on how to fight off two asshole men once they had taken you prisoner. They were standing off to the corner and you could just barely catch what they were saying.

“-- can’t just leave her tied up, Dean.” The taller man spoke to who you now knew to be Dean. You narrowed your eyes at the name. Why did it sound so familiar?

“Well, we can’t let her go, Sammy!” Dean’s voice was insistent. Dean and Sammy. Sammy and Dean. You’d heard those names before.

“Winchester.” You breathed out. It caught their attention, throwing them off guard.

“What?” Sam asked, blinking at you. You looked up at him.

“Sam and Dean Winchester. Hunters.” You were talking mostly to yourself now, but what you were saying was putting the boys into a state of unease.

“How do you know that?” Dean stomped towards you, gun aimed at your forehead. You knew he wouldn’t shoot you. Despite your own opinions on hunters in general, you now realized how they were able to find the bunker. Henry Winchester. You were unsure of the details, but you were certain that their grandfather had somehow led them here. When Dean cocked the gun, you blurted out your next words.

“Your grandfather was a Man of Letters. I read about him in the texts.” You turned your head and squeezed your eyes shut. You flinched when you felt the gun move from your direction. The relief was short lived when you heard a knife unsheath. Maybe he was going to kill you.

“Please.” The pleading statement escaped your lips against your will as a final attempt to save your life. You may not have gone out much but you weren’t ready to die. Imagine how you felt when the ropes tangled around your wrists loosened. You immediately grasped at one of them, examining where the skin was rubbed raw.

“Now answer.” Sam’s voice was demanding. “How do you know about us?”

You pulled yourself to your feet. Your hair was mussed, clothing wet and wrinkled, and salt granules still clung to your chin. You walked to your workstation where your now cold coffee sat. The day of studying you had planned was now ruined.

“You guys are everywhere. News, social media, letters to loved ones.” You listed the sources you had learned about the Winchester brothers while returning the books to their rightful places. You heard two pairs of footsteps walking in your direction.

“Letters?” Dean was confused. Did you mean your own loved ones, or other people’s?

“Yeah. Some of the people you helped, and some families that you kind of didn’t,” you held a finger gun up to your head to help your words take meaning, “wrote of you to their aunts, uncles, grandparents. The letters were intercepted and copies were made for the archives here.” You gestured around you, though no information on the boys were in the room you were currently in. Sam tilted his head curiously.

“You stole mail?” The tall man asked, worried for any of his own letters. You turned to him defensively.

“I have allies in the postal offices, I gave the letters back.” You grabbed the handle of your mug, frowning when you felt the cold ceramic on your skin. You walked to the kitchen, Sam and Dean following behind you like lost puppies.

“Again, how did you become a Man--,” Dean winced at the look you shot him, “Woman of Letters?” You turned around to face the two men. They stared down at you, Dean looking skeptical and Sam curious to learn.

“My grandfather.” You blinked at them when their expressions didn’t change. “What?”

“The Men of Letters all died in the 1950’s.” Dean grumbled out. You rolled your eyes. He really needed to gain an imagination.

“Not him. He was here. Once my parents died,” -- this piqued Dean’s interest -- “I joined him and he inducted me into the society.” You decided you needed to clean up from the earlier interrogation. You pushed between Sam and Dean. Again, the men followed. The hall was decorated about the same as the library, sconces on the wall lighting the way to the living quarters. You twisted the knob on one of the doors to reveal a room that looked far more lived in than the rest of the bunker.

“Your parents are dead?” Dean asked as you fluttered about your room. You pulled a sweater off a hanger in the wardrobe. You looked to him while unbuttoning your shirt.

“Plane crash.” You knew he was asking how they died. It wasn’t from some enemy of the society or a supernatural force. It was a simple mistake made by a newly licensed pilot. You had your time to grieve over them, so voicing their deaths wasn’t difficult anymore. Dean’s eyes didn’t leave your body when you removed your soiled top. You replaced the garment with the sweater.

You interested him. You were too smart for your own good but somehow not stuck up like the other Men of Letters he had encountered. You also seemed to be the last member living, unknown to the rest of the world. Instead of continuing his questioning, he opted to wash the dirt and grime from his body.

“You got a shower around here somewhere?”

----

Night had fallen upon the world outside, but the bunker was unrestrained by the daylight. You were lounging in the library with a book in your lap. This book was for your own entertainment, consisting of silly plot lines and romance. You had shown Sam and Dean to the empty rooms, allowing them to take their pick. It had been hours since then and it was the last interaction you had with them. You were now wearing a matching silk pajama set and fuzzy socks, your slippers laying abandoned on the floor.

“How long have you been alone?” It was Sam, though you imagined Dean wasn’t far behind him. You closed your book before answering.

“Thirteen years.” You weren’t used to this much human interaction. Usually by this time you had your favorite songs playing through the bunker while you cooked your dinner.

“And your grandfather?”

“Cancer.”

“Oh.”

You smiled at Sam. You had heard stories of him and his brother. They varied in intensity, but the overall consensus was that they brought nothing but bad news with them. Sam had started the apocalypse, an event that had locked down the bunker until you had managed to get it to open back up. Dean had gone to Hell and back, literally. You wouldn’t admit it, but you had learned this from the horribly written Supernatural books.

All of these stories and yet, with Sam in front of you with his big brown eyes, you couldn’t help but think that the world was wrong for thinking these boys were anything but good. You knew what they had lost, who they had lost and how. Yes, you had experienced grief before, but you had lost your family to human tragedies. You hadn’t gotten close with anyone else after your grandfather, though you knew you needed to find members to take over your responsibilities once you died. You just weren’t good with people, not in the long term.

“He was old. It was inevitable.” You dismissed the pity on his face. Sam shrugged and joined you on the couch where you were stretched out. You moved your socked feet to make room for him to sit.

“You don’t leave the bunker?” Sam asked you, still confused as to how they had never heard of you. You shook your head.

“I leave for food and information, then I return. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“No friends?” You rolled your eyes at the question, though it did strike you as odd that you never had the urge to grow a connection with someone else.

“I don’t need friends, I have the texts.” You used as defense. Sam frowned at your words. Sure, he didn’t have the best track record with keeping relationships, but he had Bobby, Dean, and occasionally Castiel. You had no one.

“If you say so.” With Sam’s answer, a silence fell over the room. Despite the fact that you had just met the man, it was a comfortable silence. You had lived so long being alone with your only connection to the outside world being the television you had installed in your room. You knew pop culture references but had no one to tell them to. You were witty and sarcastic, but no one knew. You had come to peace with it long ago, but now you were thinking you shouldn’t have.

The sound of a door opening down the hall caught your attention. It was Dean, leaving his room to join you and Sam. He entered with a grin. He had decided, very uncharacteristically, to give you some trust. He wasn’t going to let you drive his car or put his life in your hands, but he would be kind to you. In a way, you reminded him of Charlie, in a non lesbian-little-sister kind of way. You gestured to the empty chair that stood near the couch and Dean accepted.

“Sorry for the whole salt and holy water thing.” Dean apologized after sitting. You crinkled your nose and brushed a thumb over your wrists. They were still red from earlier but brought no pain, only annoyance.

“You should be sorry for the bruise on the back of my thigh.” You reminded him of the blow he had landed on your legs. Dean winced at the memory. Not the best way to introduce himself, but he was on high alert at the time. You nodded at his response and looked to the the intricate rug that garnished the floor.

“Who taught you how to shoot?” Dean inquired. He remembered your weak stance and the fact that you still had the safety on the gun. You flushed at the fact that he had found something you lacked skill in. You could write wonderfully, recall every detail from a lecture or text, even pick your words eloquently. When it came to weapons and physical combat, you were no better than a child. Actually, a child could probably aim better than you.

“YouTube.” You mumbled to Dean. He laughed at the answer, which caused you to want to defend yourself.

“I’m not exactly used to being attacked down here. No one knows I exist.” You perked your head up with a new realization. “Though I suppose with the two of you here, I may be more susceptible to unsavory visitors.” You looked between the brothers. Now they were the ones wanting to defend themselves.

“We… you… monsters…” Dean sputtered out, but eventually came to the conclusion that you were correct. Evil beings would most likely come after them down here. You felt Dean’s next words, the ones that were going to tell you they were going to leave and you would never see them again. Something in you jumped to keep him from speaking.

“You can stay, of course, but you’ll need to teach me some techniques.” You offered the lifeline and Dean took it. He had never had a home growing up, not really. It was smelly motel to even smellier motel with stifling car rides with his dad in between. Now he had a place to return to, a room, a kitchen, a warm shower. It helped a pretty girl like you came with the space. He felt a draw to you unlike any before. No one, not even Lisa, had made him feel like this. He wanted to protect you, but he also wanted you to comfort him. He wanted your body and your mind, all of it, and he had only known you a few hours.

“It’s a deal.” Dean answered with Sam chiming in with a similar sentiment. You had a feeling these boys were here to stay.

----

“Hit me harder.” Dean growled out for the fourth time. It was late morning and the beginning of your training wasn’t going well. It had started out rough, with you only owning the business casual dress wear that made you look like a character straight out of a dark academia movie. After you were dressed in a pair of Dean’s sweatpants you could pull tight with the drawstring and a tank top, Dean had complained when Sam insisted on doing stretches before any sparring. Then came the actual punches.

You were weak, you knew that. You hadn’t taken a gym class since you were nine and only God knows the last time you even glanced at weights. You figured you could land a hit, but Dean hadn’t even flinched when you hit the block of padding he held in front of him. He pushed you to hit harder, but the repeated failures frustrated you. When you got frustrated, Dean felt the tension, which affected his mood. Now you were both angry in a space meant for fighting. Sam stood off to the side. He was getting the sense he would have to jump in soon to stop an argument from occurring.

“Shut up.” You muttered through gritted teeth and hit at the padding again. You looked to Dean for approval. He shook his head again.

“Harder.”

The word had been your final straw. You had woken up with the full intention to work at this until you succeeded. Though a small part of you had expected you would be instantly good at it. You didn’t like not being good at things, that was why you leaned toward more academic studies. You threw your hands down to your side and glared at Dean.

“I’m done.” You stomped out of the room. Dean shoved the padding into Sam’s chest and stalked after you. He wasn’t going to let you give up that easily.

“What if demons come?” Dean shouted out as he followed you to the kitchen. He was trying to give you real life scenarios, but you were having none of it.

“Let them kill me.” You didn’t mean it, you were just being stubborn. You drank water from the glass you had filled, chest heaving from exhaustion and rage. Dean watched you with eyes on fire. It seemed you two were going to butt heads more than expected.

“Then what happens, huh? There’s no one to take your place here if you’re dead!” Dean argued back. He knew it would strike at you. The Men of Letters were big on legacies and you had no heirs to stake claim on the bunker. You gritted your teeth together. You weren’t thinking anymore, you were just trying to get out of the uncomfortable situation.

“I would offer the place to you but your half-wit brain wouldn’t be able to keep up!” You shouted in his face and stormed away again. This time Dean didn’t follow you. He instead stretched his neck and glared at the wall. He wasn’t hurt by the words themselves, more at the reason why you had said them. He knew his strengths and they didn’t include reading books all day. You had aimed to hurt him, a fact that had him cursing ever wanting to trust you at all. There was a reason he was slow to let people in and you had just confirmed that instinct. Sam lumbered into the kitchen and watched as Dean ran a hand over his face.

“What was that?” Sam asked, arms outstretched in disbelief. Dean did a little shake of his head.

“She’s impossible.” He gestured with his hand to the way you had left. Sam sighed.

“She’s been alone for over a decade.” Sam reminded him. Dean shook his head again. He didn’t want to be rational right now. He knew why he was so angry. Every punch you didn’t land sent the image of your frightened doe eyes from yesterday flashing across his vision. You had been helpless to the invasion and he never wanted you to feel like that again. He just wasn’t ready to admit that right now.

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean crossed his arms. Sam scoffed at the reaction and rolled his eyes. You two were giving him a serious headache.

“Go apologize.” Sam offered. He knew this wouldn’t come without a fight. Just as he expected, Dean’s nostrils flared in refusal.

“No way.”

“Dean.”

“Sam.”

“Dean.”

“Listen, I’m not going to tell that bratty, selfish woman that I’m sorry for trying to help her not get ganked by something!” Dean lashed out on Sam. What he had failed to notice before his outcry was you, now dressed in your usual attire, strolling past the doorway to the kitchen. His words made you set your jaw in anger. You cleared your throat to get his attention. The moment Dean’s eyes fell on you his anger softened.

“If that’s how you really feel then maybe we should put an end to the training.” You bit out before continuing on your way to the garage. You needed to meet with your informant from city hall and the refrigerators were growing bare. You heard Dean calling your name, regret dripping in his tone, but you ignored him. If he wanted to talk nasty about you then he didn’t deserve your time.

[losers-clvb]

WOMAN OF LETTERS masterlist

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content (more will be added if they come up in later parts): swearing, canon level violence, reader is very inexperienced in combat, mutual pining between dean and reader, reader is slightly injured by dean, mentions of family death, idiots in love trope, angst, smut (specifics on each part)

read also on wattpad

read also on ao3

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three (contains smut)

four (contains smut)

five

six (contains smut)

seven

eight

nine

ten

eleven (contains smut)

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 3 // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content: swearing, canon level violence, mutual pining between dean and reader, idiots in love trope, angst, mentions of dean's past love interests, hurt/comfort, smut, dry humping, both reader and dean get off, pet names

word count: 3.9k

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992

note: read it on wattpad here. if you would like to join the taglist, either comment down below or send an ask! initially, i intended to update this once a week, but i can't wait that long to share it with you all! so, twice a week it is. every monday and thursday i will update!

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

Days passed with nothing said between the two of you. You and Dean moved around each other like ghosts. Sam, noticing the tension, tried his best to ignore when you two would get annoyed with the other. It was small, little things that set you off. A plate being left out, a half empty beer abandoned on a table in the library, even just Dean being in the wrong room at the right time. Everything he did pushed you a little closer to blowing up on him. Why couldn’t he learn what a coaster was?

Dean was in a similar situation. He noticed your spouts of anger that seemed to only happen when he did something. A blow of breath out of your nose here, a grumble to yourself there. It all pissed him off. Sam would absentmindedly use the last of your favorite cereal and you would brush it off as nothing. When Dean did the same thing, you acted like he had shot your puppy. He didn’t dare say anything, knowing you would just turn it into his fault. You didn’t understand how he was helping you, that everything he did was to improve your chances of living another day. All you saw was the present moment, where -- in your opinion -- he reminded you of all the reasons you preferred to be alone.

Now, your eyes were trained on the knife that had been deposited on the table. You knew who it belonged to. Dean. He had brought it out from his room to sharpen it earlier that day. Your teeth clenched together in anger. Why was he so disorganized?

You grabbed the handle of it with an urge to find the man who had left it there and make him take care of it. Instead, you did with it what you had begun to do with all his lost items: hide it. It was childish, maybe, but you didn’t care. If he wasn’t responsible enough to give a home to his things, he didn’t deserve them. You searched the bunker in your mind for a place to stash the thing. The bathroom, perhaps? Or maybe the garage under the tools that had never been used?

In the end you found yourself standing on a chair in the library, reaching your hand up to get the knife on top of the bookcase. It would be kept company by Dean's shirt, something you had placed there just a couple days beforehand. You were just about to climb down when you heard a throat clear behind you. It threw you off balance and you caught yourself with your good hand just before you toppled off the chair. Behind you with an eyebrow raised was Sam, an amused expression on his face. You knew you had been caught.

“What're you doing?” He asked, a worn journal in his hand. You huffed out a breath and stepped down to the floor.

“Dusting.” You lied. Sure, Sam wasn't the enemy here, but he was his brother. You didn't know what he would give away to Dean if given the information. Sam laughed at your obvious excuse.

“With a knife?” Sam's eyes twinkled with amusement. You narrowed your own eyes at him.

“If your brother has no care for his things, he doesn't deserve them.” You announced while pulling the chair back to its spot at the table. Sam walked into the room and placed the journal onto the table. You eyed it, curious as to what it was.

“So you're hiding them in the library?” Sam chuckled. He found the whole situation to be very entertaining. Between you and Dean, he would never grow bored again.

“I figured he wouldn't find them seeing how he never wants to be in here.” You pointed out the fact that no matter how long you and Sam were sat in the library, Dean would rather have been in the war room or kitchen. It drove you crazy, just as most of the things he did. You couldn't see how he had survived this long without looking through a book. The bunker had an impressive inventory of knowledge, most of which you were sure he didn't have. It wasn't as if he was dumb. He was smart, in a way that had kept him and Sam alive all these years. In all the time you had spent logging the Winchesters, you had always wondered how they hadn’t gotten themselves killed.

“What is this?” You asked, reaching for the journal Sam had held. Your fingers brushed against the leather cover. You assumed there was a reason why he had it. Maybe a personal diary, but Sam didn’t strike you as the type of person to do that. You looked up at Sam to see him watching you.

“My dad’s journal.” Sam answered. He watched the way your eyes lit up in interest, as he knew they would. He had figured the Men of Letters -- or Woman of Letters, since it was just you -- would want something like this in their records. A first hand account of a variety of monsters. He had waited before offering it up. He wanted to make sure that this place, you, were legit, that you weren’t going to sneak into their rooms at night to kill them. Your little game of hide-and-go-seek with Dean’s belongings only solidified his liking towards you.

“John.” You were slowly undoing the clasp on the journal. The crinkled pages were filled with writing, drawings, newspaper clippings. You were immediately drawn into it all. While not all of the information was new to you, there were things in there that you could have never imagined. Your mind was ablaze with all of this new knowledge. You looked back up at Sam.

“Can I borrow this?” You quirked an eyebrow up with your question.

----

John Winchester’s journal lay spread out before you. You were at your desk in the study, empty pages of a new journal at your ready. You needed to copy this information down, but it was proving difficult with your hand still injured. Your handwriting was shaky, the words being transcribed far too slowly. You had barely gotten through the introduction of where you had gotten the item. After the fifth barely legible sentence, you gave up. You needed help.

Searching the bunker, you were confused to find it empty. Under any other circumstances, you would have been jumping with joy at the opportunity for some time alone. Now, you were hoping to find the younger Winchester again. Sam would be of the most help. He did what you said far easier than Dean ever did.

You rounded the corner to the hall of rooms. All of the doors were closed, save for one. Dean’s room. Okay, maybe he could just tell you where Sam was. You walked quietly towards the door, the soft footfalls of your shoes barely making any noise. An ocean of nerves surfaced in your gut. You hadn’t spoken to him, not directly anyways, since he had tried to kiss you for the second time. Since then, you had done some… research. You were entirely sure that you would now be prepared if the opportunity ever lent itself again. Not that you expected it to after the last time.

“Are you gonna stare at me all day?” Dean broke you from your thoughts with a grumble. You stared at him for a minute longer. Initially, he looked to be annoyed. But when you looked deeper, at the way he angled himself away from you, the twitching of his fingers, you knew he was guarding himself. You were a threat to him. It made your heart sink.

“Where’s Sam?” You asked, finally looking away. The wall was suddenly very interesting. With your question, Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes. For a moment there, he thought you were there for him. Of course not. Why would you be when you hated everything he did?

“Out.” Dean turned back to the television in front of him. You frowned. Theoretically, you could wait to copy the journal. You just preferred not to.

“When will he be back?” Your pushing at him caused a pang of annoyance to shoot through him. It was immediately followed by regret. You didn’t annoy him, you had just hurt him in a way he couldn’t comprehend. There hadn’t been a time when Dean was so affected by a girl before. Sam, maybe. His father, definitely. But never someone like you. This was why he didn’t let anyone in, why he kept all his thoughts and feelings, all the fuzzy emotional things, inside.

“I don’t know. I’m not my brother’s keeper.” Dean kept his eyes on the soap opera that played. He missed the way you blinked in shock. You tensed your jaw in frustration.

“You seemed to be all his life, so I figured you still were.” You crossed your arms, the nerves you had felt before suddenly shifting into something else. Dean’s eyes shot back to you. Your stance made him chuckle sarcastically, shaking his head.

“Again, how do you know so much about us? I don’t remember your answer.” Dean questioned. You scrunched your eyebrows together.

“If you listened to a word I say, you would be able to answer yourself.” You sent him a glare before turning to leave his doorway. He wasn’t of use to you with the way he was acting right now. Hopefully Sam would be back soon and you wouldn’t have to talk to Dean for the rest of the day. The sound of thick boots slapping on stone brought the fact that Dean was following you to your attention. You glanced behind your shoulder, humming in anger when you saw him.

“Oh sweetheart, I would if you ever said anything worth listening to.” Dean continued to follow you as he spoke. You swallowed at the words, wrestling with what you were going to say next. You knew it was wrong, knew it would hit something in him. But you said it anyways.

“Robin Karpluk, Cassie Robinson, Lisa Braeden.” You blurted out. You had whirled around to look right into his eyes. Dean stopped in his tracks at the names. He knew them, of course he knew them. He couldn’t ever forget them. What he didn’t know was how you knew them.

“How--?” Dean began, blinking wildly. You cut him off, fueled by only your need to get him to take you seriously.

“I told you. I know things. I hope those names were worth enough to listen to, seeing how they were the only ones you truly loved.” You spat out. You hadn’t known one hundred percent if he had loved them until you said their names. You had just remembered coming across them in the various emails, newspapers, letters, and text messages you had intercepted. You knew there had to be more, names you just couldn’t get a hold of, but these had been important to him. You watched his drive to push at you fall away with every word you spoke. You were breaking this man down, pulling at everyone he had failed to take care of. It was what you were trained for. Mind over matter, information over fists.

“You can’t… why?” Dean sputtered out, still standing strong in front of you. You held your head up with indignation.

“Maybe you’ll respect me a bit more now.” You turned from him again, stomping away and past Sam, who had arrived home just as Dean was falling apart at the seams. Why were you doing this to him? Why did you want to harm him in this way? As you walked away, you were asking yourself the same questions.

----

As the day grew on, you reflected on your earlier words. You knew it had been childish and wrong and hurtful in so many ways. It wasn't fair to use Dean's tumultuous life against him, at least not in response to what he had said. When looking at the bigger picture, his words only annoyed you, yours practically shot him. You chewed on your inner cheek in regret as you thought of the scene.

Dean had looked similar to the way you had the first day you met him. Scared, helpless. If the situation had a productive ending, it wouldn't have eaten you up inside like this. Instead of bringing on a feeling of achievement, it just reminded you why you weren't compatible with people. You didn't talk to anyone outside of the formal exchanges with your informants and the dismissive small talk at the grocery store. You didn't have to worry about what those people thought of you, how you would keep the relationships with them all alive. You were content with the fact that you didn't care how people characterized you. Or, you were until Dean came waltzing into your life. Lately you had found yourself wanting to hear his thoughts, to have him share his mind with you.

It was everything you could do to not ask him to sit with you while you read. You couldn't stand him, yet simultaneously wanted him around you always. You had tried to be civil with him, but every time you looked at him it was a reminder of all the things you lacked in. You had no prior relationships. You still couldn't punch, even without the broken hand that was slowly healing. You didn't know how to use a gun. You knew your strengths, yet it all seemed to not matter when you thought of your compatibility with Dean. You were more like Sam, who was always happy to help you research a topic, but you didn't feel anything toward him other than a growing friendship.

Still, you couldn’t let what you said go unforgiven. You stood from your chair. You were in the study again. After the blow up, you had tried again to do the copying yourself. It was slow work. You had been in there for over two hours and you only had a handful of pages finished. The words were shaky, but had been improving slowly as you wrote. You left John’s journal and the new journal together on the desk. Your steps were unhurried. You wanted to apologize, you really did, but you were also embarrassed and angry at yourself. You stopped just before the hallway. Deja vu set over you at the sight of only Dean’s door being opened.

Dean was right where he had been the first time you had bothered him. Sitting in front of his television, watching the same dramatic soap opera. This time, he hadn’t noticed you right away. You watched him, contemplating your next actions. Your hand raised to knock softly on the doorframe. Dean glanced up at you. When his face hardened and he looked away, you knew he had been expecting Sam.

“What?” Dean’s voice was gravelly. You balled your hand into a fist to calm your emotions.

“I’m sorry for my earlier actions.” You spoke, voice close to emotionless. Dean scoffed at the so-called apology. In his opinion, you weren’t even trying. He didn’t say anything, but you could feel his irritation. In turn, it made you narrow your eyes.

“What?” It was your turn to say.

“That’s a shit excuse for an apology.” Dean responded. You furrowed your eyebrows, the small amount of anger you had felt dissipating. You stepped into his room, an act that made him look up from the screen in front of him.

“How so?” You asked. Your tone was still flat, like you were talking to someone passing by you rather than the man who had become one of the only constant companions in your life.

“You sound like a robot.”

“No I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do.” And just like that, the annoyance at him was back. You moved to sit next to him on his bed. His eyes followed the curve of your neck, wanting nothing more than to nestle his face there. When he looked back to your face, he was reminded of why you were here. Your words echoed in his mind, your cold expression when you had said them flashing across his eyes.

“What other way was I supposed to say it?” You huffed a breath out, looking at the floor in front of you. Dean rolled his eyes. He didn’t recognize this person. In the time after meeting him, you had been kind to him. Now, you seemed hellbent on pushing yourself away from him.

“I don’t know, maybe, ‘I’m sorry I was a massive asshole’?” Dean offered to you. You blinked at him.

“Okay, fine. I’m sorry I was a massive asshole. Happy?” You repeated his words to him. You understood where you were initially wrong, but all of this just seemed to be taking it too far. Could Dean really not understand that you were sorry?

“No.” Dean returned his attention to the soap opera, where the main character was getting kidnapped by her secret uncle/brother. You rolled your eyes, both at the situation and the man in front of you. You combed through your mind for something to say, something to make everything go back to how it was before all of this arguing.

“What do you want from me?” You whispered, desperation leaking through the shield of irritation. You felt helpless to this feeling. Dean looked back to you and you could see the raw emotion coursing through him. All of the things he wanted to say piled up around him. He was drowning in it all, but he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it.

“Nothing.” Dean answered, still looking at you. You knew he was lying. He had to be, with how he had been acting towards you. You felt your eyes drift to his lips, then back to his eyes, where they flickered with need. You reached out until your hand rested on his thigh, the rough denim the only barrier between you two. Dean immediately wrapped his hand around your wrist. He didn’t move, didn’t pull you away. You watched him as you leaned in.

Your noses brushed against each other when you finally kissed him. Without hesitation, he kissed you back. You had intended to pull back after a few seconds, but your mind clouded over when Dean’s other hand drifted to your waist. The kiss deepened, your mouths moving in sync driven by the desire growing in you both.

You crawled onto him without breaking the connection, Dean helping guide you. It clicked in you then that this was the small kiss you had prepared for. Somehow, though, you didn't care. All you cared about was his hands moving to rest on your bottom. Your chests were flush, and you breathed together. You wrapped your arm around the back of his neck, the other resting on his shoulder.

The slight friction of the seam of Dean's jeans in between your legs had you whimpering into his mouth. Dean pushed his hips into yours skillfully, earning a moan. You could feel him growing harder with each sound. Neither of you wanted to pull away to undress, and the grinding of your bodies was working fine. You may have not known how to kiss, but you did know how to pleasure yourself.

You continued to rock back and forth, applying pressure in all the right places. Dean helped by pulling you closer to him at some points. The noises you were making, God, they were almost enough to make him come right there. When you pushed down in a different way, you heard a moan fall from Dean's mouth. You liked that noise, liked that you were the one making him sound like that.

It only spurred you on. The feeling in your gut, like a knot pulling tight about to break loose, made you quicken your movements. Dean slipped his tongue into your mouth, which wasn't very hard seeing how intensely you two had been making out. You were close, so so close. Dean could feel the heat from your core on his fingertips as he squeezed at your ass. You drove yourself down one last time as you came, mouth falling from Dean’s with a moan. Dean was right behind you and you let him buck up into you while you panted against his cheek. You felt his muscles relax, his chest heaving into yours.

It was a messy scene. You were clinging to each other like the other was going to fall away. No one spoke a while after, no one moved. It was as if you were both trying not to spook each other. Finally, Dean turned his head and placed a kiss at the top of your head, right into your hair. You smiled tiredly at the action, praying it wouldn’t be the last time.

“That was…” You trailed off, breathlessly saying the words. You couldn’t think of how to describe what had happened. A million words hurricaned around your mind, yet none of them accurately fit into how you felt now. You felt the rumble of Dean’s chest as he laughed, the sound coming out raspy. You pulled your head up to look at his face, careful to not let go of him in the process. He was beaming at you and, even before he spoke, you could feel his humor.

“Cat got your tongue, angel?” Dean asked. Sweetheart, angel. Your face heated at the pet name, yet you somehow were able to scrunch your nose in displeasure.

“Don’t mock me, Dean.” You scolded him playfully. Dean placed a peck on the tip of your nose.

“Say it again.” Dean requested, eyes dancing around your face. You were confused.

“Don’t mock me.” Your tone was flat this time.

“No, the other thing.” You knew then what he wanted. You smirked slightly before speaking.

“Dean.” You spoke low, even though you and him were the only ones in the bunker at the moment. Dean kissed you again, still deep and passionate, but it ended when he pulled away.

“My name sounds so damn pretty on your lips when you look like that.” Dean commented, the tip of his tongue darting out to lick his lips. You didn’t have a mirror, but from the way Dean looked, you could only assume you looked similar. His lips were slightly more pink that usual, his hair mussed, clothes wrinkled. You couldn’t help but feel proud of yourself. You had done this to him. You had been the one to make him moan under you.

“I have to go, Dean.” The words weren’t mean, weren’t robotic.

Your next actions were born out of the reminder of the time, not out of want. You shuffled off of him, standing and smoothing your clothes out with your hands. Dean felt his lap grow cold, his body already missed you. He wanted to reach out and take your hands into his. He wanted to pull you back onto him and never let you go. What he wanted didn’t matter as he watched your figure disappear out of his door and down the hall.

[losers-clvb]

WRITING GAME post the last line that you wrote

Thank you to @bettystonewell for tagging me! This is the last line I wrote. Currently, I am still writing my 'Woman of Letters' series, (28k words and counting).

“Where’s Dean?” You asked, your voice soft and full of hope.

Again, I don't have many mutuals, so I will just tag my favorite accounts: @deansbeer @dulcescorderitas @sammyluvr @buckysbabygorl @lovelybarnes

No pressure to anyone I tagged!

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 10 // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content: swearing, angst

word count: 3.4k

note: read on wattpad here. read on ao3 here. if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992 @thestoriesfold @mostlymarvelgirl @dyhsversion @deans-baby-momma @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ladykitana90

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

“She’s under the impression you’re in Minnesota.” Castiel grumbled out. There he was again, in another diner, sitting in front of Dean. Dean nodded at the information, happy that he wouldn’t be found. He was a little suspicious though. All the times Castiel had come to warn him, you had his correct location. This time, he was in Louisiana and you thought he was across the country.

“You’re sure?” Dean asked, picking up a piece of bacon. Castiel nodded. That was what you had said. Minnesota. He could only assume that was where you were headed now. Dean accepted this. If it was what you had said, it must be true.

“How is she?” Dean asked his usual question. You were on his mind always. When he was able to sleep, he dreamt of you. You laughing, you kissing him, you with a little boy that had his eyes and your chin. Thoughts of you plagued him. Everywhere he looked, you were there. There in the wind, there in the books in the bookstores, there in the snarky banter he overheard from couples. All he wanted to do was see you again, smell you, feel your warmth.

But he always stopped himself. He couldn’t be that selfish. He had to keep you safe and the best way to do that was to stay far away.

“Angry, mostly. She and Sam are always fighting. Over you, over the situation.” Castiel answered. Dean sighed. He figured as much. You wouldn’t let him go, and he didn’t know why. Maybe the demon had been right when it had said you loved him, but he didn’t think so. He wasn’t someone that people could easily love. He was stubborn and sarcastic and didn’t know how to voice his emotions. These things he knew, but he couldn’t change them, not easily anyway.

“She’ll get over it.” Dean amended, taking a bite out of his bacon. You would have to. There was no other way.

“I’m not so sure.” Castiel mumbled before the flap of wings announced his departure. Dean was left alone, with no one to joke with, no one to hurt. Just what he wanted, but he didn’t realize the loneliness would carve so deep.

----

The next day arrived in a hazy morning light. You and Sam had been driving through the night, switching off halfway through the journey. You drove in silence as Sam dozed off in the passenger seat. No music played, you barely even breathed. If Dean wasn’t in this town when you got there, you would bring Heaven and Hell down to find him. You were angry before, but now you were utterly pissed.

Dean dared to leave you. He dared to stay hidden for all this time. He dared to have some angel play as your babysitter.

He didn’t get to do this to you. He didn’t get to run away and hide like a child. You were certain you would never give him the chance to hurt you like this again.

Your grip tightened on the steering wheel as you blinked to stay awake. While Sam had opted to take a nap in his off time, you didn’t have the same thought. You had stayed awake, had been awake for around seventeen hours now. You were exhausted, but you couldn’t sleep, at least, not yet.

You turned down a road, past the motel where traffic cameras had caught Dean at. The Impala wasn’t there, so you assumed that meant he wasn’t either. You brushed that off. It was morning, he was probably awake by now. You pushed the gas pedal down, speeding up while driving around town.

Finally, you spotted a sign advertising a diner. Perfect. Dean Winchester loved diners, and you knew he would be hungry. He was always hungry. The thought sent a pang through your heart. You didn’t want to remember things like that. You didn’t want to know how his breath sounded while he slept. You didn’t want to know his favorite food or the way he looked when he was confused. You didn’t want to know because it meant that you cared. And if you cared it meant that Dean could still hurt you.

The diner wasn’t anything special. You had seen a million of them by that point, every town had one. The siding was slightly dirty, the paint chipping away on the wooden bench that sat just outside the door. No, it wasn’t special in itself, but the black Impala parked outside made it look like nothing you had ever seen before.

You pulled into the parking lot, opting for a spot just off to the side. You didn’t need Dean to spot you and make a run for it. You turned the car off before nudging Sam softly on the shoulder. He awoke slowly, blinking away his sleep.

“Is he here?” Sam asked, voice gravelly. He glanced around, searching his surroundings for any clue as to where he was. He was hoping, praying even, that Dean was here. He missed his brother.

“Yes.” You spoke, breathing out the word. You were preparing yourself for when you would go in, for when you would see Dean. Sam watched you, running a hand through his hair to make himself look presentable.

“I can go in and get him.” Sam offered. You turned your head to look at him, eyes full of appreciation. You nodded quickly, looking back to the side of the building you were staring at. Sam nodded back, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the car.

You watched Sam walk across the cement, hands in the pockets of his jacket. He disappeared inside the diner and you could hear the muffled tingle of the bell announcing his arrival. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, thinking over what was going to happen.

You stay here, Dean maybe listens to Sam and follows the two of you back to the bunker. Or, you stay here, Dean doesn’t listen to Sam and sneaks away again, leaving you to look for him again. Or, the option you ended up choosing, you go in to control the situation.

While you were weighing your options, Sam was sliding into the booth seat opposite of Dean. The older Winchester had an almost empty plate in front of him, the syrup coating the plate telling Sam that his brother had pancakes. Dean looked up in alarm, wondering who would have dared to bother him. His face fell when he saw Sam. No. Why was he here? How was he here?

“Sammy, how-?” Dean started, but the way Sam’s eyes drifted to look over his shoulder caught his attention. He turned around, craning his neck to see you. You. His girl. It made his heart drop to his stomach. You were standing by the door, hands in the pockets of your jacket in order to keep yourself from reaching for him. Your face was stony, not quite enraged but also not completely happy to see him.

What he didn’t see was the relief you felt. You had finally found him.

“It’s over, man.” Sam said, breaking Dean’s attention from you. He turned back to Sam and it was like he was seeing him for the first time that day. Sam looked exhausted. He had bags under his eyes, just like you did. His skin was paler than it had been the last time he saw him. “It’s time to come home.”

The way you two looked broke Dean’s heart. He had known that you and Sam wouldn’t have been happy with his leaving, but he didn’t think it would affect you this much. He let out a breath of defeat, nodding. He knew it was over. He would have to come back home, or else you would never stop looking for him. He would have to find a different way to keep you safe.

 ----

You hadn’t spoken to him yet. It had been thirteen hours of driving and thirteen hours of silence. You had insisted, while very obviously ignoring Dean, on riding along with him. It wasn’t because you wanted to be near him. No. It was because you were worried Dean would take the drive as an opportunity to run again. So, here he was, driving back to the bunker while you stared out the window.

Dean mumbled your name, just loud enough for you to hear. You flinched at the sound but didn’t look to him. He would have thought you were sleeping if he couldn’t have seen your eyes in the reflection of the window.

“I’m sorry.” Dean spoke. You didn’t move. He sighed in frustration. You had devoted all your time, your entire attention, to finding him. Now that you had him, you wouldn’t even look at him? Really?

“Just look at me.” Dean’s voice was a little louder this time. You didn’t move. You didn’t even seem to be hearing him. Dean rolled his eyes, watching the road.

“You can’t just ignore me.” Dean tried again. You didn’t move. This was ridiculous. He expected you to be angry, but he assumed that would have meant yelling and hitting, not whatever this was.

Dean gritted his teeth together and yanked the steering wheel to the side, pulling the car off the road aggressively. Finally, you moved. You made a noise of surprise and grabbed at anything to keep your body from slamming into the dash. Dean shoved the shifter into park and turned to you, face hard. You looked back at him like he was insane. Who the hell does something like that?

“What the fuck is wrong with you!” You shouted at him, balling your hands into fists. Dean scoffed. Really, that was all it took?

“So what, you’re talking to me now?” Dean seethed out. You scoffed now, crossing your arms together.

“Only because you’re acting like a madman!”

“You wouldn’t talk to me!” Dean braced himself, one hand on the steering wheel, the other on the seat next to him. You watched him, sure your face was flushed with anger. You didn’t know if you wanted to kiss him or kill him, but you figured either option wouldn’t be very wise.

“You left me! You! I woke up and you…” you breathed in to steady yourself, “you were gone. I didn’t know where you went, why you went!” You were heaving out the words now. Dean didn’t want this. He just wanted you to be safe, but you wouldn’t see that. You couldn’t see it.

“I left to protect you! Do you know how many freakin’ monsters follow me everywhere I go? I’m public enemy number one in the monster world, and if they can’t get me, they go for you!” Dean shouted back. You were seeing red. How had he turned this into your fault?

“Protect me? That’s what you called that little stunt? I was unconscious after a demon attack, but yeah, that makes sense! Just admit that you made a mistake!” You were pushing back, breathing heavily.

“It wasn’t a mistake if it kept you safe! Do you think I wanted to leave you? Huh?” Dean questioned, raising his eyebrows to further make his point. You glared at him.

“You could have kept me safe yourself!” You yelled, gesturing with your hands. Dean nodded sarcastically.

“Yeah, well, remember what you said: everyone around me dies.” Dean grumbled. It was a weak argument and you both knew it.

“It was a fucking demon, Dean! I didn’t say it!” You argued back, jabbing your fingers into your chest to gesture to yourself.

“Your mouth said it!” Dean yelled. It was true. Whenever he looked back on the whole interaction with the demon, he couldn’t get it out of his head. The demon had known exactly what to say to hurt him and make it stick.

“My mouth also said that I loved you, but you seem to forget that part!” You shouted at him, throwing your hands up. Dean remembered this, remembered thinking it couldn’t be true.

“Do you love me?” Dean blurted out. His question didn’t soften his voice, it was born out of pure exasperation. There wasn’t any way you could love him.

“Yes, Dean, I do love you! I really do!” The confession tumbled out before you could stop it. Unlike the movies, it didn’t stop your argument. It only seemed to egg it on.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean shouted. His hands were shaking. He couldn’t handle this feeling. Why did it hurt so bad to learn that you loved him?

“Would it have stopped you from leaving?” You asked, tone frustrated. That seemed to shut him up. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t, because the truth was, no, it wouldn’t have stopped him. It would have only made him run that much more. Dean swallowed down all of that, tears stinging at the back of his eyes.

“That’s what I thought.” You said. Your voice was calm, like the waves of anger you had felt settled down into a small lake of something else. You turned away from Dean, looking back at the window. You wrapped your arms around yourself, hoping he couldn’t see the light trickle of tears rolling down your cheeks.

Dean did see them. Of course he saw them. It was just another thing to make him hate himself. He stopped himself from reaching out to comfort you, fingertips buzzing with the need, by shifting the car into drive. Back on the road, he tried to ignore the miniscule sobs that escaped from you, muffled by the collar of your jacket.

You tried not to cry, you really did. You had done a great job of it so far, never letting a tear fall while searching for Dean. But you had him back now. Here he was, sitting next to you, and he had just told you your love wasn’t enough to make him stay. You had figured that much, but hearing him say it out loud seemed to make something break inside you. You weren’t enough for him.

----

The moment Dean pulled into the garage of the bunker, you pushed out of the car. You beelined it straight for your room, slamming the door behind you. Dean was getting some sick sense of deja vu to the first time he had kissed you. The way you ran from him then was almost identical to how you ran then. Both times it was his fault.

You could hear Dean’s boots against the stone floor as he walked past your room to his own. You wished you could stop yourself from crying, but once the first tears came, the rest followed. You weren’t completely falling apart, not yet, but it was still something you weren’t used to. When your parents had died, you hadn’t really known what was happening, and once you did, you only felt peace with the situation. When your grandfather died, you understood the finality of it and accepted it. But this, this you didn’t want to accept. You didn’t want to accept that you -- your love -- hadn’t been enough.

You let your pillows take the brunt of the tears, using them to muffle your cries. You ignored it when someone knocked on your door. They walked away after a second knock, so you could only assume it was Sam. Dean would have invited himself in.

That reminded you. Dean had never said he loved you back. Which meant he didn’t love you back. You felt like your whole body was getting ripped in two. Was this heartbreak? The unrequited love that all those characters had felt? No wonder depression was a common side effect from breakups. This was horrible. The worst thing you had ever felt, worse than a demon invading your body.

You tried to sleep, you really did, but every time you heard the smallest of noises outside of your room, you w0uld peek your head out to make sure Dean wasn’t leaving again. By the fifth noise, you had began to pace in front of his room, contemplating if you should check on him. Was he there, or had he silently slid past your room?

You decided to risk it. Even if he hadn’t left, he should be sleeping by now. You stealthily twisted the doorknob, opening the door just enough to see Dean’s face staring back at you through the crack. You gasped and yanked the door shut. He didn’t confront you about it, but now you were left in the hallway alone.

You did notice the way your anxiety lessened when you had seen him there. You just needed to see him, make sure he wasn’t gone. When you opened the door again, it was against your own will. Something else was controlling your movements entirely.

There he was again, staring at you. His eyes were soft. If you hadn’t known any better you would have thought he was crying too. That couldn’t be right, though, because what did he have to cry about?

This time instead of closing the door, you were stuck to your spot. It was a strange picture, you and Dean staring each other down, you in the hall, him in his bed. You didn’t want to leave, didn’t want to take your eyes off of him.

Fortunately for you, Dean didn’t want that either. He wanted you right where he could see you, right where he could touch you. You loved him. That was all that mattered. Though he supposed you were probably loving him a little less right now. Nevermind that, he offered you a half-hearted smile and cleared his throat.

“You gonna stand there all night or are you gonna come in?” He asked, trying his best not to sound angry. You blinked at him, still unmoving. Could you really go in?

You decided, yes, you could go in. You just wouldn’t go into his bed. It wasn’t fair to either of you since -- as far as you knew -- he didn’t love you back. You settled into the chair that was stationed at his desk, back straight as you faced him. You were leaned up against the wall. Dean frowned.

“Are you gonna sleep there?” Dean asked, knowing there was no way it was comfortable. You nodded.

“Just come over here.” Dean sighed out, patting a hand on the spot next to him. You couldn’t lie, it was enticing. The soft blankets, the plush of the mattress, the heat from Dean, but you couldn’t. It would only make things more complicated.

“I’m fine.” You mumbled and Dean knew it would be the end of that. You kept your eyes on him for as long as you could, but eventually your eyelids grew far too heavy. You hadn’t slept longer than a few hours in months. The relief of having Dean back outweighed the pain of everything he had said.

Dean hadn’t been sleeping. He had tried, but the thought of you sat up in that old wooden chair made him hurt. He hated himself for leaving. Nothing good had come from it. He didn’t regret the reasons for why he had left, but it had only pushed you away from him. The soft snores coming from you alerted him to the fact that you were sleeping. Good. Now it didn’t matter how stubborn you were going to be.

Dean pulled himself out of bed and shuffled over to you. He paused when you stirred, but continued on after you had stayed asleep. He crouched down to pick you up in his arms, mind flashing to when he had carried you to the infirmary after your attack. He shook the image off and focused instead on the way you relaxed in his arms.

Dean placed you on his bed and tucked you into the blankets before sliding in beside you. He stopped himself from cuddling into you. He knew he had a lot of work to do before he could do something like that again, knew he had to learn to forget the demon’s words in your voice.

Instead he fell asleep on his side, watching the way you curled into yourself, the way your nose twitched while you slept. He was going to get you back, on way or the other. You were his girl, afterall.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 11 // dean winchester

pairing: dean winchester x man of letters!female!reader

summary: sam and dean discover the bunker of the men of letters. expecting it to be empty, they get quite the shock when they meet you.

content: swearing, angst, slight miscommunication, smut, unprotected piv sex, plan b makes an appearance after said unprotected sex, fingering, oral sex (female receiving)

word count: 3.4k

read on wattpad here. read on ao3 here. if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know!

note: sorry, they gettin' freak nasty in this chapter.

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992 @thestoriesfold @mostlymarvelgirl @dyhsversion @deans-baby-momma @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ladykitana90

masterlist series masterlist previous part

----

When you woke up, you thought you were still dreaming. That was the only explanation for why you felt arms around you. You kept your eyes closed, worried if you opened them then the musky scent of sandalwood and whiskey would fade away. You didn’t want to wake up.

It wasn’t until you felt the push of someone nuzzling their face into your neck that you realized you were awake. This was real. You opened your eyes to see a stone wall, similar to your own. But the sheets were different, the weight of the air in the room unlike what you were used to. Your hands fell to the arms wrapped around you. Your fingers brushed over familiar skin. You knew these scars, knew the callouses on the hands that were resting on your stomach.

Dean.

You were in Dean’s bed, in Dean’s arms, smelling Dean’s scent.

You almost stayed just like that, wrapped in the comfort that being around Dean gave you.

Almost.

You couldn’t. You couldn’t do this to him, do this to yourself. It would mess everything up, falsely leading each other on.

You lifted his arms off of you as inconspicuously as possible. You paused when you felt him stir, but he didn’t wake. You scooted off the bed, tip-toeing to the door. Finally, you were able to escape out of the door, leaving Dean behind, alone.

“You slept in there?” A voice from behind you said after you had closed the door. You turned around to see Sam. He was carrying a book in one hand, a mug of coffee in the other. Your eyes fell to the floor.

“No. Yes. No.” You paused, taking in a breath to steady yourself. “Yes.”

“You’re back with him, then?” Sam questioned, raising his coffee to his lips to take a sip.

“No.” Your voice was steady. You weren’t Dean’s. You couldn’t be. Not when he didn’t love you, not when he couldn’t look at you without hearing the demon’s words. You shook your head. “I’m not.”

“Why?” Sam asked. You furrowed your eyebrows together. Why did it matter to him?

“He doesn’t love me.” You blurted out. You didn’t know why you had felt the need to tell him this. You watched as his face contorted into confusion.

“What? Did he say that?” Sam couldn’t believe this. Well, he could believe that Dean would say something like that, only to push you away, but he knew it wasn’t true. What he really couldn’t believe was your belief in it. Did you not see how Dean lit up when you were around? How the only thing his older brother would talk about was you?

“Not out loud, but I knew what he meant. I’m good at reading people, Sam.” You shook your head, moving past him with your arms wrapped around yourself. Sam followed you, scoffing at your answer.

“You think you’re good at reading people, but you don’t know Dean. I do. I know he loves you,” Sam said your name, making you stop in your tracks. “I know my brother.”

“You don’t do that to someone you love. Don’t lie to me Sam, I can handle the truth.” You frowned at him. You couldn’t really handle the truth, but that was beside the point. You would learn to be okay with it eventually.

“Dean’s stupid. He acts before he thinks.” Sam argued. You rolled your eyes, opening your mouth to speak but someone cut you off.

“Wow, thanks, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was sarcastic, but there was an edge to it. You wondered how much he had heard, and how much he would confirm for you. You turned to face him. Your eyes grazed over him, over his hair that was still messy from sleep. You missed the way his own eyes softened when he saw you. “You left me, angel.”

“That’s rich coming from you.” You snapped at him, turning on your heel and stomping away. Sam looked at the now frowning Dean.

“Fix this.” Sam grumbled out, continuing his walk to the library. Dean sighed and followed after you. You were now in your room, pulling clothes from your dresser angrily.

“Why didn’t you stay?” Dean asked, causing you to look up. It was a stupid question, he knew that. He had hurt you, that was why you hadn’t stayed.

“Get out.” You snarled at him, pointing to the door. Instead, Dean stepped further inside, pushing the door shut behind him. You scowled at him.

“Just let me back in.” Dean begged. He reached for you, but you flinched away from him. His heart broke at the reaction.

“Get out.” You repeated, but it had a little less bite this time. You went back to your clothing, gathering what you would need for the day. Dean stepped closer to you. He placed his hands on your shoulders and turned you to face him.

“Please.” Dean mumbled, eyes flicking over your face. You didn’t move away from him. That was a good sign, right? You stared up into his eyes.

“Get out.” You said yet again, but you didn’t mean it anymore. You just wanted him near you, even if it hurt. You wanted him to touch you, kiss you, love you, even if it was only for a moment. So, he did.

Dean leaned into you, hand moving to cup your cheek. He kissed you, lips soft against your own. You grasped at the front of his shirt. It was a way to remind you that this was real, he was real. The kiss deepened and soon your bodies were meshed together. You were grabbing at each other and you pushed Dean to back up into your bed. He fell backwards, you going with him.

You were on top, straddling his hips as his hands found your butt. You moaned into him when you felt a particularly rough grind of his hips. Moving together, you shimmied out of your pants, Dean pulling his own off, all while kissing.

You whined into his mouth when he entered you. You felt so full. You missed him, missed this feeling. He thrust his hips up and down, moving in and out of you with ease. You ran your tongue across his bottom lip and Dean opened his mouth for you. It was messy, the way your teeth gnashed together while you kissed. But, oh, it felt so good.

You pulled away from him. You were riding him now, bouncing up and down as he gripped onto your hips. You looked down at him and watched as you completely wrecked him. His pupils were blown in ecstasy and he kept trying -- and failing -- to stop the groans coming from him. You threw your head back in pleasure, eyes falling shut as you continued to chase your climax.

You felt it, felt that rushing feeling of euphoria washing over you. You squeezed around Dean, eliciting another, much louder, groan. His fingers dug into your hips and you felt him spill out into you. You held yourself up with your hands on his chest. No one said a word at first. You were both scared to break the moment. For the first time since Dean had left, you weren’t angry with him.

“I love-,” Dean began, but you rushed to cut him off.

“No.” Your voice was final. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t hear him say that he loved you just because you had fucked him. You pulled off of him, scrambling backwards. You grabbed your robe and slung it over your body, pulling the tie into a knot. Dean breathed out his disappointment and watched you grab your clothing.

“This was just sex.” You told him. You watched his jaw tense, but he didn’t argue. He didn’t see a point. You had made up your mind and it would take far more time than he had to change it. You rushed into the bathroom that was connected to your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Dean watched heartbroken, throwing his head back into your bed with his eyes shut. Fuck. He had somehow messed up again.

----

You took your time showering and redressing just to ensure that Dean would really be gone from your room once you stepped back into it. You ignored the small pang of disappointment that hit you when he really was gone. Your room looked as it had before he had come into it aside from the box sitting on your nightstand with a glass of water and a note. You frowned and stepped over to it, picking the note up.

Don’t need any little rascals running around right now. Please come find me angel.

You recognized the scrabble of Dean’s handwriting. Your eyes drifted down to the box of ‘Plan B’. You remembered then that you and Dean hadn’t used a condom during your impromptu time together. You were grateful for this peace offering. As you swallowed down the pill, you couldn’t help but let an image of little kids with your hair and Dean’s crooked smile running around the bunker. You wondered what it would be like to be a mother.

You hadn’t thought much of it before meeting Dean. You hadn’t the reason to, what with your lack of friendly interaction with the outside world. Before all of this with Dean, you were content with the conclusion. You wouldn’t be a mother. That was okay, not everyone could be. But now? Now, you wanted it all. You wanted the excitement of a positive pregnancy test, wanted to feel little kicks at your stomach, wanted to feel your children’s skin on yours. You needed it, even. Just not right now.

You couldn’t. Not with the complicated situation at hand. Dean had almost said he loved you, but you stopped him. Why had you stopped him?

Right. Because he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. If he had meant it, he would have said it a lot sooner. If he had meant it, he wouldn’t have left you for so long.

You reread the last part of his note. ‘Come find me angel’. You thought of it. You could go find him. Or, you could do what you had done when he first kissed you. Ignore it. That was what you did.

Instead of going to Dean’s room or the kitchen, the most likely places he would be, you rushed to your study. In the months it had taken you to find Dean you had put off transcribing John’s journal. It had been shoved to the side, a small coating of dust across the pages it was open to. Now that Dean was back, you could devote your time to chipping away at the pile of responsibilities you had put off.

You pulled over both the old and new journals while sitting down in your chair. You grabbed your favorite pen and began to write away. You could do it all yourself now. Castiel had healed your broken hand with the rest of your injuries.

The change from Dean’s scrawl to your neat scribbles was glaring. Seeing it only made your heart ache. You wanted Dean.

No. Stop that. You couldn’t want Dean.

You took in a deep breath and placed your arm over Dean’s writing. You couldn’t let him distract you again, even if it was all you wanted. You continued writing, eyes flicking from John’s journal to your own. You ignored the way your heart would skip a beat when Dean was mentioned.

----

Hours passed by with only John’s journal to keep you company. You had only taken small breaks to stretch your cramping hand. The journal was more than halfway done by now. You were surprised yet relieved that no one had come looking for you.

Just as the thought popped into your head, you heard the knock on the door of the study. You sighed and turned toward the wood.

“Come in.” You spoke out loud enough for the person on the other side to hear. As the door opened, you prayed for it to be Sam.

Please be Sam, please be Sam, please be-

Dean peeked around the door with a smile on his face. You frowned and turned back to your work. At your reaction, Dean’s face fell. He stepped into the room, keeping the door open behind him.

“Angel.” Dean spoke, trying to get your attention. You tightened your hold on your pen.

“Dean.” You responded, not looking up at him. If you looked at him, you would have just kissed him. You couldn’t kiss him, not right now.

“Did you get my present?” Dean asked cheekily, moving to stand behind you. You faltered in your movements when you felt his hands on your shoulders.

“Yes.” You mumbled out, forcing yourself to continue writing.

“You didn’t come find me.” Dean muttered, bending down so he was right next to your ear. You felt shivers run down your spine at the feeling of his breath on your neck. If you just turned your head, you could take his lips into yours and make this conversation go away.

“I’m busy.” You forced out. Dean was watching your hands as you wrote. You didn’t know how he couldn’t see the effect he was having on you. He didn’t know how you hadn’t kissed him yet.

“You could be less busy.” Dean whispered into your ear, placing a kiss on your neck. You shuddered at the feeling, goosebumps rising to the surface. Dean took that as his cue to continue. He kissed a line to your throat, then up to your jawline, then right on your lips. You let him turn you in your chair, let him pull you up.

You grasped onto his biceps as he guided you to sit on the desk. You followed his silent instructions, whimpering when he pulled your bodies together. Dean mentally thanked the universe for the fact that you were wearing a skirt today. He bunched up the fabric to your waist and placed his hand on your covered core. You moaned at the pressure, giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

Dean pulled your underwear to the side before slipping two fingers inside you. You moaned again. He pumped his fingers in and out of you, rubbing on your clit with his thumb.

“Dean,” You breathed out, making his hand move faster. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into you. Your head rested on his shoulder as you moaned out.

“I know, baby, I know.” Dean panted out, nuzzling his head into you. You fisted at the jacket he wore, bucking your hips into his hand.

“Dean,” you repeated in a breathy whine. You were getting closer. Dean knew it. It did nothing but motivate him to continue moving.

“Come on, angel,” Dean encouraged. The hand that wasn’t making you come rested on your back to keep you from wriggling away. You felt the overwhelming pleasure rush in and you let go, squeezing around his fingers. Dean groaned in his own pleasure, pumping his fingers a little slower to help you ride out your orgasm.

Once he was sure you were satisfied, he pulled out of you. You were getting your breathing under control when he spoke.

“That was-,” Dean began but you cut him off.

“We can be friends.” You blurted out. He looked at you confused, blinking.

“What?” Dean questioned. Friends? What the hell were you talking about? You wanted him, he wanted you, it was really simple.

“We can be friends.” You repeated. You looked into his eyes, waiting for an answer.

“Friends don’t touch eachother like that, angel.” Dean teased. He had decided to take the humor route. Why get hurt at you pushing him away if he could fix it with a laugh?

“Oh, um…,” You were thrown off by that. You knew it was true, but you also didn’t want to stop doing things like this. You thought for a moment and Dean smiled to himself at the crinkle in your brow. “Friends with benefits, then.”

“Really? You get that from one of those books you read?” Dean laughed out.

“No.” Yes.

“Is this really what you want?” Dean asked, voice softening. He didn’t want sex from you. Well, he did, but he wanted more than that. He wanted you to be the first thing he saw in the morning and the last thing he saw at night. He wanted to hold you without you wiggling away from him. He wanted to be able to kiss you on your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, in your hair, whenever he pleased. He didn’t want this.

“Yes.” No.

“Fine, then.” Dean sighed out. “Whatever my girl wants.”

“Don’t call me that.” You demanded in a whisper. Dean nodded with a swallow of defeat. He stepped away from you and you pretended not to hate the way disappointment looked on his face.

----

In the best way possible, the world was on fire. At least, your world was on fire with the way Dean felt against your body. You had stumbled into his room at an ungodly hour after hearing him drop something. You couldn't sleep and figured if he was awake then the two of you could do something a little more productive. That was how you ended up here, laid out on Dean's bed, with his head between your thighs. He had been working at you for what felt like hours, pulling one orgasm after the next out of you.

“So fuckin’ good, angel.” Dean mumbled against you. You moaned out in response, fingers digging into your thighs where your hands held them up for Dean. He moved his hands from your hips to tangle his fingers in yours.

“Don't stop,” you breathed out, throwing your head back. And he didn't. He continued to lap you up, squeezing your hands in his as he worked at you. The familiar tug of climax pulled at you again. You were heaving your breaths out, trying to keep some of your louder moans in only for Sam's sake. Fortunately, his room was on the opposite side of the hall from Dean’s, so most of the noises you made would be muffled by the space.

“Give me ‘nother one, angel,” Dean pulled his head up to say before diving back in. You followed his instruction, letting yourself relax into him again. You let out a whine when you finally came again. Dean licked at you while you traveled through the ecstasy, your head pushing into his pillows. You felt him move off of you and pull your pajama pants back up before settling in next to you.

“Thank you.” You mumbled, moving to get out of his bed. Dean grasped your wrist to stop you.

“Please, just…,” Dean started, making you look back at him. He was begging you to stay, you knew that. You couldn’t. You couldn’t sleep in his bed again. It would give you both false hope, lead each other back to the bad place.

“Dean.” You sighed out, and Dean knew what was coming next. He closed his eyes to prepare for the words. “I can’t.”

“But you can.” Dean pushed back, but let you pull your wrist from his hand. He wasn’t going to force you to stay. You had made your mind up, he knew that, even if he was still trying to change it.

“No, I really can’t.” You said as you pulled the door open. Your voice was colder now, making Dean ache. You had to be cold. You had to let the softness in your voice go, if only to keep yourself from giving in. You exited his room and closed the door without saying another thing or waiting for his answer.

The hallway was cold, sending goosebumps up your arms. You shivered your way to your room and under your covers, wishing you had Dean to keep you warm. Maybe you should have stayed. It didn’t have to mean anything. He was just another warm body, right?

Even as you drifted off to sleep, you knew it was a lie. Dean was more than that. You loved him. You loved the way he walked into a room. You loved the way he had held one hand on the steering wheel and the holding your hand while he had driven you around on the night of your date. You loved the way his eyes followed you when you walked past him. You loved the crinkle of his eye when he laughed. You loved all of him.

[losers-clvb]

am i combining my obsessions with supernatural and grey's anatomy?

yes. yes i am.

[losers-clvb]

hello all!

the next part of "woman of letters" will be up this friday (january 31). you can also read the story on wattpad if you prefer it in that layout.

in the meantime, if you would like to be on tag list for the series (and haven't already asked me) just let me know!

thank you to everyone who has liked, commented on, and reblogged any of my works!

[bettystonewell]

WIP WEDNESDAY

(except Thursday, ‘cause yk, time zones)

Thanks for tagging me @zepskies - I hope it’s cool to start a new post. I can see this getting really long otherwise…

Break Me Down is in my sights even more now, and I hope to dive in real soon! I’ve always been a sucker for the happy family vibes - especially with the hero/rough and tumble types - give me a tough guy turned smitten any day.

As for me, right now To You I Belong is my focus. Seeing as it’ll be a while before we see reader’s pov, I’ll give you some of hers from chapter 16 which is where I’m at. That means more pregnancy feels 😘

—————————————————————

Time wouldn’t go any quicker, no matter how many times you looked up at the clock above the kitchen table. Your phone was the same, only you’d placed it in the pocket of your dress so as not to look at it. Worked a charm. That constant weighted reminder over your bump.

There was no point focusing on Dean’s last text. He’d promised he’d call after he spoke with the sheriff, and he hadn’t. Though at least he’d informed you it was something.

Your, Okay, might not have been the best response, but hey, you could’ve sent an angry face or an eggplant.

He was sorry? More people were missing? He was still with the sheriff? Actually it read, Sorry, sweetheart. Gonna be longer with sheriff. More people missing. Call you as dion as we’re done, but you got the gist of it, and you supposed that was okay.

He was an experienced hunter who knew what he was doing. Wasn’t like he was working alone. Sam and Eileen were there too, and they’d all keep each other safe. You just had to believe it.

So you continued to chop your banana into fine slices. Nutritious for the pup. How firm you hit the wooden board below the blade was on account of how hungry you were, and not for anything more sinister involving Dean’s knot.

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No pressure tags (who I don’t think have been tagged yet): @losers-clvb @ambiguous-avery @wchswift @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth

[bettystonewell]

Well, I feel popular! Thankyou @arcannaa, @wchswift, @supernotnatural2005, and @losers-clvb for tagging me!

I’m like Dean W in that I’m stuck in my ways and don’t know much new stuff…. This is also bringing out my inner Libra and her indecisiveness - thanks again - but here goes - 15 faves and their songs

(I reserve the right to change my mind in five minutes)

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Arashi - Up To You

Thirsty Merc - In The Summertime

Macklemore - Downtown

Simple Plan - Summer Paradise

Five - Keep On Movin’

Sekai No Owari - Dragon Night

Bump Of Chicken - Ray

The Offspring - You’re Gonna Go Far Kid

One OK Rock - The Beginning

Jess Glynne - All I Am

Fall Out Boy - The Phoenix

Lifehouse - Hanging By A Moment

Maroon 5 - Until You’re Over Me

Todrick Hall - Queen

Jason Derulo - Love Not War

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I’ll tag people I don’t think have been tagged yet - no pressure to the following - @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @jollyhunter @bohemianblasphemy @ambiguous-avery @my-stories-vault @aylacavebear - and anyone else 😉

thank you for the tag angel @gloomyballerina <3

rules: list fifteen bands/artists you love, and name your favorite song by each. no need to rank, just fifteen artists you love and what is THE SONG for you by each. also it doesn't have to be your top fifteen bands. just. fifteen you like.

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋♬⋆.˚𝄢 rina’s dream playlist ♡

i. peach prc - symptomatic

ii. sabrina carpenter - busy woman

iii. renee rapp - talk too much

iv. prettything - one more july

v. rina sawayama - 10-20-40

vi. suki waterhouse - blackout drunk

vii. loona - everyday i love you

viii. the regrettes - show me you want me

ix. lana del rey - bbm baby

x. king princess - hit the back

xi. chappell roan - after midnight

xii. ethel cain - gibson girl

xiii. abba - honey honey

xiv. hozier - jackie & wilson

xv. megan thee stallion - neva play

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋♬⋆.˚𝄢 thank you for listening! ♡

npt: @nemesyaaa @drewsephrry @dulcescorderitas @gibson-g1rl @bluemerakis @whytheylosttheirminds @rafesheaven @rafescokewhore @oceandriveab @plaidcowboy @aileenunfiltered @snowluvvie @filthyrafe @faiszt @hauntedfawnn @jjslaybank @jasvtsc @lacy-oh-lacy @calicoartie @cassioo @carrerascameron @cowboysandcigarettes @mariswxt @miguelspvssy @robinsgrl @rositaslabyrinth @rafescvntyclubgf @rafesweetie @diaryofastonerdyke @soldiersgirl ♡

[dulcescorderitas]

⋆˙ ⋆⭒ GET TO KNOW ME

about me — mari (friends call me mar), 20 (my b-day is march 23), aries, black/native, sentimental, hopeless romantic, flower child, lover, old soul, avid dreamer, spiritual!

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i love — reading, drawing, sleeping, vanilla and cherry, milkshakes, silk pjs, dark and milk chocolate, wedged heels, jensen ackles, fruits, lace clothing, tea, fries, walking, pinterest, necklaces, dramas, posters, driving with the windows down, nature, wellness, learning random and new things, meeting new people, pizza, new and ddifferent. cultures from my own, learning new languages, school (surprisingly)...

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tv shows/films — supernatural, new girl, monte carlo, uptown girls, coyete ugly, burlesque, rebelde, friends, wildfire, girls next door, girlfriends, gossip girl, one tree hill, the o.c., i love lucy, revenge, h2o: just add water, saved by the bell, found, fresh prince, i dream of jeannie, virgin river,…etc (will be adding to this!).

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music — anything lana, tyla, pop, xtina, tate mcrae, marina, sabrina carpenter, FKA twigs, no doubt, hailey knox, janet jackson, nessa barrett, SZA, leon bridges, ALT, kacey mustgraves, leAnn rimes, indie, madison beer, jennie, JMSN, newjeans, leigton meester, aaliyah, sarina, britney spears, beadoobee!

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reintroducing my self to everyone!

my mooties <3: @kissesonkent, @bluemerakis, @blackynsupremacy, @dollyfiles, @legalmente-loca, @gibson-g1rl @cowboysandcigarettes, @fae-of-prey/ @preyingfaes, @s4wdvator, @faiszt, @whisperingdaze, @cherrygirlfriend, @chi-raz, @valjy, @honeyryewhiskey. @deanangel, @sunsbaby, @figisonline, @soangelbaby, @soldiersgirl, @dollyackles, @princesspill/ @ickyrafe, @emeraldcrs, @haunteres, @losers-clvb, @pinksatinpanties, @starzify, @h8aaz, @beausling, @ultravi0lence14, @arcannaa, @daylighted, @deanspookiebear, @j2archives, @titsout4jackles, @saltcxrcle, @jays-bonnie-on-the-side, @couturewinx, @ribbonprincess, @deansbeer, @benscumgluzzer!

format credits to @pieandflannel <3 saw this and i love it so much!