#woman of letters losers clvb

[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

one

two

three (contains smut)

four (contains smut)

five

six (contains smut)

seven

eight

nine

ten

eleven (contains smut)

twelve

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 4 // 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, idiots in love trope, angst, smut, oral sex (male receiving), reader gets herself off, praise, dirty talk

word count: 4.4k

note: read it on wattpad here. if you would like to join the taglist, either comment down below or send an ask!

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

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

It was night now, a fact you knew only because of the clock on the wall. You had forgone the journal for now. You couldn't go back to Dean. You couldn't even face him right now. The weight of what happened, what effect he had on your body, pushed against you. You couldn't face Sam. What if he knew? What if he could suddenly read minds and he read yours and-

Okay. You had to get a grip. There was no way Sam was going to find out about you making his brother come in his pants.

Still, you weren't going to risk it. Instead, you made yourself go to the armory and do an inventory check. Yes, the numbers were beginning to look the same as they had the last four thousand times you had done it. Yes, you continued through it all. No, you weren't just doing it in hopes that by the time you were done Dean would be asleep.

Well, maybe that last one was a lie.

You placed a finger on each knife as you counted it, marking the final number on the clipboard in front of you. These weapons were old, from when the American Men of Letters were a fully formed society. They were still sharp, having gone unused all these years. Your grandfather hadn't believed in the violence that most of the members of the Men of Letters had, for his own reasons that he deemed too personal to tell you. So, you never learned.

Before his death, you grandfather had shown you all the hidden spots where guns and silver-coated knives were. They were scattered through the bunker. You assumed the Men of Letters were all a bunch of paranoid old men. Why did they need to have weapons at the ready? No one could get in the bunker.

No one but the Winchesters, it seemed. Which reminded you: you still had to ask those boys how they got here.

You sighed at the monotony of your task, as if someone other than yourself had assigned it to you. You eyed the silver bullets lining the wall, wondering if you could get away with just guessing the number was the same. It wasn't as if the other stock had been different.

Just as you were about to mark down the number, a knock on the doorframe caught your attention. You whipped your head in its direction, eyes widening at the sight of Dean. There he was, in different clothing from earlier, eyes twinkling with interest. You did your best to not blush when the memory of earlier flashed into your mind.

“Dean.” You simply said, voice almost wavering. You turned back to your weapons, suddenly finding it in you to count every last bullet on the wall. You gripped the pen in your hand. You swallowed when you heard his footsteps coming up behind you, eyes tracking the sound. It was when he stopped next to you, eyes on your clipboard, that you finally looked to him.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked, taking a step closer to you. He was close enough that you could feel his body heat radiating off of him. You shrugged, trying to play nonchalant even if everything in you wanted to have a round two.

“Inventory.” You replied, turning back to the bullets. One, two, three, you counted in your head until Dean grabbed the clipboard from you. His hand brushed against yours and your mind lost its ability to think for a second. Dean flipped through the pages you had folded over the top, scoffing at the repeated numbers.

“Do you ever use any of this stuff?” Dean asked, letting you take the clipboard back. You narrowed your eyes at him, huffing a breath through your nose. Okay, Dean Winchester, although very attractive, was still a massive pain in your ass.

“Yes.” You muttered through gritted teeth. You still wanted to touch him, but it was more to get out your aggression than your need. You flipped angrily through the pages before landing on one that looked identical to the rest aside from the bullet count. No, that was different by one.

“There.” You jabbed a finger at your papers. Dean narrowed his own eyes to read the small numbers. You watched him, waiting for your apology. He turned his head to look at you, skepticism playing across his face.

“You shot something?” Dean was giving you the opportunity to lie. Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut in shame at the memory. You didn’t think he would ask, but then again, why wouldn’t he? He was too nosy.

“I dropped it.” You confessed. You rolled your eyes at Dean snorting out a laugh and opened them to see him standing there with his arms crossed. You blinked at him, not amused. He nodded his head absentmindedly while he took the clipboard from your hands again, setting it on the table in front of you. You made an attempt to argue against it, but Dean stopped you by reaching for one of the guns.

“What-?” You began, but Dean cut you off again.

“I’m teachin’ you how to shoot, sweetheart.” Dean swiped up a handful of bullets. You sucked in a breath of worry when a few of the leftover bullets fell over. God, this would be a mess to organize later. You wanted to tell Dean no, wanted to tell him you were too busy and he was too stubborn, but the rational part of you stopped your words. You needed to learn how to shoot, or at the very least how to turn the safety off on the gun.

“Fine.” You blurted out, taking Dean by surprise. He was sure you were going to fight against him more than that. You didn’t like failure, that much was clear from the lesson on punching. That reminded him: you were going to have to reattempt that once your hand was fully healed.

“Come on.” Dean beckoned, not bothering to get frustrated when you rushed to take the lead.

----

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Shoulder, head, chest.

Dean had been showing off his shooting skills for the past fifteen minutes now. You would have told him to move, told him that he was acting like a kid with their brand new toys, but truth be told you were enjoying it. You got to watch the way his muscles tensed up before squeezing the trigger all while avoiding the anxiety ridden task of doing something new for the first time. You were standing behind Dean, just off to the side so you would have the ability to see his face while he shot. The padded earmuffs over your head muffled the ringing of each shot. You wore the protective safety glasses, Dean did not.

With every target he hit, Dean would glance back at you with a giddy look on his face. In your opinion, he looked similar to a golden retriever that was playing fetch. When the blank look on your face didn’t change, this rejected look would fall over Dean’s face and he would turn back to the targets. Now, he was doing the same, but instead of encouraging him to continue, your face reminded him of why you both were here.

“Your turn.” Dean announced, voice gruff like he wasn’t just having the time of his life. He was walking towards you, holding the gun out for you to take by the handle. You shook your head, letting out a sarcastic laugh.

“Are you sure you didn’t want to ‘show me how it’s done’ a few more times?” You asked, quoting his words from earlier. Dean rolled his eyes, shaking the gun to catch your attention when you hadn’t grabbed it. You sighed and took hold of it, the metal still warm from Dean’s time with it.

You hesitantly walked to the designated mark. Dean followed behind you, ready to lecture you on the proper way to aim. Just as he opened his mouth to talk, you raised the gun with both hands, much more confidently than you should have, and shot into the air. Dean ducked down at the sudden movement, scared that the bullet would come ricochetting back.

You turned around to see him on the ground covering his head. You raised an eyebrow, motioning towards him in question. Dean looked up at you like he thought you were crazy. No, scratch that, he knew you were crazy. He crawled to his feet, taking the gun back into his hands. He eyed you cautiously as he surveyed your shot. There it was, the bullet hole in the wood of the target.

“I hit the target.” You announced to him, sounding all too proud of yourself. Dean shook his head, pointing a finger at your work.

“No, you didn’t.” Dean argued, still shaken from the thought of being shot at. You scoffed in response, rolling your eyes.

“Yes, I did.” You knew what he meant. You hadn’t technically hit the target. But you had hit around the target, which was far better than you had expected. In an attempt to keep yourself from saying some not-so-nice things to Dean in a fit of frustration, you were taking the wins as they came. Dean, on the other hand, did not take this as a win. He took this as an eye opener to the insane person he was living with.

“You almost killed me!” Dean exclaimed. You shook your head at his words, laughing sarcastically. He was just being dramatic.

“If only I were so lucky.” You told him, walking away from him. You weren’t going to put up with this. You had much better things to do than listen to him whine about getting shot. You’d think he would be used to it by now with how many times he’d experienced it.

“Hey, I’m not done with you.” Dean followed after you, grabbing your wrist. You know what, fuck it. You were tired of the tension.

You threw yourself into Dean, wrapping your arms around his neck. The gun clattered to the floor from Dean’s hand with the force. You crashed your lips to his, sloppy and passionate in the way you did it. Dean’s hands grabbed at your hips as he stumbled back. He was trying to keep the two of you upright, but it wasn’t working in quite the way he wanted. As gracefully as he could muster, the pair of you fell to the floor. You paid no bother to this, using it as an opportunity to straddle Dean. You kissed across his face, moving from his lips to his cheek to his jaw then down his neck. You felt the groan from Dean when you nipped at his neck.

“You’re much more bearable when you keep your mouth shut.” You told him, pulling away to look down on him. His hands were still on your hips. You were sitting on his own hips, hands on his chest holding yourself up. Dean thought of a similar position he wanted you in, sans clothing.

“Right back at you, angel.” Dean grumbled out, squeezing on your hips. You cocked your head at him. He wanted you to kiss him again.

“Let’s stop the fighting, Dean.” You demanded. It would be much easier for you to keep yourself calm if he was in agreement as well. A soft groan fell from Dean when you shifted your hips.

“Hey, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Dean argued back playfully. It was a lie, of course. He was both a lover and a fighter. He just preferred the former. It made things more interesting. You leaned down until your face was parallel with his, noses brushing.

“Don’t condescend me anymore.” You requested. Your breath fanned across his face. You locked eyes with Dean, waiting for a response.

“Uh, huh.” Dean hummed, kissing you again. Whatever you wanted, as long as you kept touching him like that.

----

The next day, you were back to the journal. Again, it was difficult and you were beginning to get a cramp in your hand. This time, you bypassed Sam, who was in the library with his laptop in front of him. You went straight for the kitchen, where you knew Dean was. The moment he heard the graceful footfalls of your boots, he was watching the doorway. He hadn't seen you since the day before just because of your respective responsibilities getting in the way. But here you were now, looking pretty as ever in your skirt.

You raised an eyebrow at him when his eyes lingered on your legs. You were wearing sheer, black tights, but the dark green skirt cut off mid thigh. Finally, after you were standing next to the chair where Dean sat, he looked up at you. You smiled to him, a gesture he returned to you.

“I need your help.” You told him. Dean waited for you to continue, a hand moving to rest on the back of your thigh. You tensed at the touch, wanting him to move it up.

“Sam gave me your father's journal.” It was Dean's turn to tense up, not in the same way, just at the mention of his father.

“I need to copy it for the archives, but I can't write well with my hand.” You held up your hand, which was still casted over with bandages. It was healing nicely, but a dull ache still came about when you tried to flex it.

“And I figured since this is your fault, you could help me.” You finished. Your words made Dean let out a sarcastic scoff.

“If you'd listened to me, it wouldn't have happened.” Dean reminded you. You crossed your arms in annoyance, but butterflies still erupted in you with the feeling of Dean's thumb rubbing softly on your leg.

“Everytime you deny responsibility for your actions, I feel less guilty about bruising your pretty face.” Unlike your hand, Dean's injury from his scheming was faded away. You felt Dean shift his hand away from you. He stood and now you were looking up at him.

“You think I'm pretty?” Dean asked. You rolled your eyes and grabbed his hand.

“Let's go.” You said, guiding Dean behind you. Dean let you take control, loving the way you looked when you were passionate about something.

Once in the study again, you took your seat while Dean dragged a similar chair over from another desk. You didn't question when he pulled it up next you, and barely flinched when you felt his thigh brush against yours. Taking the new journal in hand, he read over what you had already gotten down. His eyebrow raised when he saw his name.

“ ‘Information from John Winchester’s journal, given to the Men of Letters in Lebanon, Kansas by the Sam Winchester and the arrogant, ignorant, frustrating Dean Winchester.’ ” Dean read out loud. You dropped the pen in front of him, face flaring red. He wasn’t angry, only amused at the words.

“Scratch that part out.” You requested, remembering that you had, in fact, written those words in a fit of annoyance. Dean only laughed at you while crossing each of the adjectives off the page.

----

You could tell Dean was getting restless. The way he shifted in his seat as he wrote down the words you spoke aloud told you as much. You two had been sitting there for a couple hours. Mostly working, but sometimes Dean would get distracted by the way your eyes floated over the pages of John’s journal and forget what he was tasked to do. You would catch his still hand and remind him, but he would only focus for a few minutes at a time.

Again, he was staring at you, eyes drifting to your lips as you spoke. You looked up after a particularly long silence and frowned.

“Dean,” you woke him from the spell you held over him. He sighed and turned back to the pages. You reread the words as he scribbled them down. You would be lying if you were to say you would rather be sitting here than kissing him, but the work still had to be done. An idea, one you remembered from some book you had read in the months prior, popped into your head.

“For every page we finish, you can kiss me.”

Dean's writing faltered, a line shooting across the page as you spoke. You bit your lip to keep from laughing, and Dean raised his eyebrows. He was looking at you again, placing the pen down on the desk before leaning into you. His hand now rested on your thigh, fingertips just barely under your skirt.

“We’ve finished a ton of pages already.” Dean was inches from your face now. You knew what he was getting at, but knew the idea would get you both nowhere.

“Prior work doesn't count.” You chided, though a smile bloomed across your face. You watched as Dean frowned and pulled back. As you began reading again, Dean was writing the words down faster than you knew he could. Apparently all the man needed as motivation to work was a reward. You watched the page reach halfway, then two thirds, and finally he was on the very last line left empty. With the click of a period dotted onto the paper, he slammed the pen down and reached for you. You let out a sound of surprise. You didn’t think he was this needy.

His hands cupped the sides of your face and he smashed his lips into yours. Immediately, you kissed back, dropping John’s journal onto the desk. You turned to completely face Dean, giving him a better angle to kiss you in. You placed your hands delicately on his biceps and Dean deepened the kiss. You should’ve known your plan would backfire on you. Once his lips were on yours, you couldn’t think straight anymore. Everything was Dean.

You felt his hand travel down your body, down to the waist of your skirt. He shoved his hand inside and you felt hot. The grazing of his hands on your clit sent a moan rippling through you. You knew what he was going to do next, knew his fingers would find their way inside you. You weren’t ready, not entirely, not here. You pulled away from Dean, which earned you a noise of confusion.

You weren’t saving yourself for marriage or anything like that. Just, in all the times you had touched yourself -- and there were many, many times (a girl has needs) -- you had never actually used penetration. Any other circumstance and you would have been happy for Dean to be your first. You just couldn’t do it in the study, not with his father’s journal laid out on the desk.

“I, um… not right now.” You stuttered out, not sure how to tell Dean you were a virgin. He knew, of course, he had put the dots together. No kissing probably meant no sex. Still, he wondered why you had stopped now when, just yesterday, you had dry humped him into an orgasm. He let you continue, hoping you would explain further. Instead, a way to make up for the lost contact jumped into your mind.

“But I have a different idea.” You promised, sliding off your chair onto your knees. You were kneeling in front of Dean now. He knew what you were planning, he just hoped you didn’t feel forced into it for his sake.

“Hey, you don’t have-,”

“I want to.” You cut Dean off. And you did. You really did. You wanted to make him feel good, but also the act had always interested you. You placed your hands onto the buckle of his belt, fingers working to undo it.

“You’ll just have to teach me how.” You stated as you unbuttoned his jeans. You watched him nod and swallow, as if he were the virgin here. With his help, you shimmied his jeans down to his ankles, leaving him in only his boxers. You could see the bulge of his erection trying to break free. You looked back up at him one last time before pulling the undergarment down to join his jeans.

There it was. Standing strong and hard, the first in real life cock you had ever seen. You swallowed in anticipation and wrapped a hand around it as if studying the length and girth. Dean groaned at the pressure and the butterflies in your stomach freaked out. You made it a personal goal to have him louder by the end of this. You thought back to movies you had watched, books you had read, taking what was described and using it now. You moved your hand up and down slowly. You watched Dean while you did it. His eyes fluttered shut with the effort to keep himself quiet.

“I want to hear you.” Your voice was a mix between pleading and demanding. Dean opened his eyes in surprise. When he saw the look of pure determination on your face, he knew you were serious.

“Anything for you, angel.” Dean replied. He watched you awkwardly continue your movements. You weren’t sure what to do next. He wrapped his hand around yours, guiding you to drag your thumb across the tip of his cock. You were grateful for the assistance. You continued to pump him until finally sticking your tongue out to lick a line all the way up his cock. He let out a moan, hands falling to hang beside him as you took him into your mouth.

You didn’t go too deep at first, wanting to get the movements of bobbing your head down first. You kept a hand pumping at what you didn’t fit inside. You looked up at him through your eyelashes, wanting to make sure he was enjoying himself. Dean couldn’t believe the sight in front of him. You with your lips wrapped around him in only a way he had dreamed of. A sigh of pleasure escaped him when you took more of him.

“Just like that.” Dean mumbled. His hands found their way to your head. He didn’t push down, didn’t force you in one way or the other. He simply let his fingers tangle into your hair as you moved. You pushed him in deeper, the tip now grazing at the back of your throat. You hummed in approval at the way your clit throbbed when you felt it.

“Shit, oh my God, baby, don’t stop.” Dean burst out with the vibration. You smiled around him. Your hand, now unneeded thanks to how deep you were taking him, slipped into your skirt. You rubbed at yourself, needing the stimulation. Dean saw this and nodded in approval.

“That’s my girl.” With the praise, you moaned, sending more shockwaves of pleasure through Dean. He was close, God was he close. In an attempt to experiment, you fit all of him into your mouth, choking for a moment before letting back up. Dean was a mess of noises, words blurring together incoherently. Thank God you had closed the door when you two had first started the journal.

Within no time, you were coming, the arousal coating your fingers as you pulled your hand back up to help Dean finish. You took your mouth off of him to catch your breath while you stroked him. Your spit and cum mixed with the motions. You moved back to sucking him off. His fingers tightened around your hair as he grew closer. The slight tug sent you to work at him faster.

“So fucking beautiful with my cock in your mouth, baby.” Dean babbled out. It was taking everything in him not to buck up into your mouth, but he stayed patient.

“So good, angel, so fucking good.” With every word that fell from his mouth, you took him in deeper. One last time, you took all of him in, this time not gagging as much. As you pulled back up, you felt him twitch before his hot cum spilled into your mouth. You let it happen, stroking what wasn’t in your mouth with your hand. When he was finished, you pulled off of him and swallowed. You stayed on your knees for a moment longer, chin dripping with a mix of spit and cum.

Dean’s eyes were screwed shut when you stood, still coming down from what had happened. You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand before sitting back in your chair next to him. He was breathing heavily, and you found yourself grabbing for his hand.

“That was alright?” You asked, though you already knew the answer. Dean opened his eyes, looking at you like you were the only thing that mattered. His pupils were still blown from the pleasure of the situation. You smiled at him, teeth biting down on your bottom lip.

“That was fucking amazing, sweetheart.” Dean praised, fingers wrapping your hand in his. You felt proud at the compliment. You leaned in to kiss Dean.

“I have a question.” You spoke out when Dean moved to pull his pants back up. He looked to you, ready to hear whatever you had to say.

“If I let you have sex with me, will you take me out on a date?” You asked, throwing Dean off. You were treating this as if you had to strike a deal to get what you wanted. He shook his head. Your face fell at the rejection, but then he spoke.

“I’ll take you on a date. You don’t have to sleep with me for it.” Dean’s words were clear: you were more than sex to him. You thought this over.

“We can still have sex though, right?” You asked. It wasn’t as if you were using him for his body. His body was just a bonus to the rest of him. Dean laughed at your response, taking your hand back into his and standing. You followed his actions and he pulled you into his chest.

“Whatever you want.” Dean answered, kissing you quickly before the two of you went to get cleaned up. You felt giddy with the anticipation of your first date, even if it felt silly to do so. Usually, you would have been planning what texts to read the next day, but now you were thinking over outfits to wear. It was like you were the main character in your own book, and Dean was the hot-as-hell love interest. You held his hand the whole way to your room, where you finally split off, albeit very reluctantly.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 6 // 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: dean is down bad, smut, oral sex (female receiving), fingering, protected piv sex, reader loses her virginity, fluff, dean is kind of pussydrunk early on

word count: 3.5k

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

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

The date was going amazing. You, of course, had no prior experience to compare it to, but you were confident in the fact that Dean was doing everything right. You had gone out to dinner, you and Dean sitting in a local restaurant looking out of place in your fancy clothing. Dean had his whiskey, you a glass of scotch, and the two of you had eaten while he told you about some of the lighter hunting trips he had gone on. You chimed in with your own thoughts on what he had done wrong, causing Dean to laugh and agree with you.

After the meal, he brought you out to an empty outlook, where you were now. The sky was full of stars, constellations jumping out at you while you and Dean sat on the hood of the Impala. You pointed them out.

“Orion’s belt.” You named, finger drawing out the shape in the sky. Dean followed your hand.

“Orion was a hunter,” the information poured out of you, “like you.” You looked to Dean, your smile twinkling in your eyes. He turned to look at you as well. He was in awe of you.

“He hunted with Artemis and-,” you cut yourself off after seeing a wince from Dean. You furrowed your eyebrows. “What?”

“Artemis is kind of a bitch.” Dean said matter-of-factly. Your confusion only deepened. What the hell was he talking about?

“How do you know?” You asked him. You were sure he hadn’t read any of the Greek myths, but maybe he had heard one or two in passing.

“Almost killed me and Sammy.” Dean nodded at the memory. Your jaw fell open at the thought that he had met an actual goddess.

“How?” You grabbed at his hand. This was like reading the first hand accounts from the ancient Greeks, but with Dean it didn’t make you want to rip your hair out.

“She held a knife up to our-”

“No.” You cut him off, letting out an exasperated sigh. “How did you meet her?”

“Zeus was comin’ after Prometheus and his son, and-”

“Zeus? Prometheus? Wait,” you blinked rapidly at all of the information you were getting, “Prometheus’ son?”

Dean chuckled at you. You were so pretty when you were interested in something.

“Yes to all.” Dean answered. You thought for a moment before your eyes lit up again.

“What’s Zeus like?” You asked.

“He’s a dick.” Dean answered. You made a face like you knew that would be his answer, nodding.

“Figures.” You muttered out. You had read most, if not all, of the myths including Zeus. Every single one, along with what you held in the library on the god, painted him to be this sleezy, unfaithful, spoiled brat.

“Anyways, Orion was hunting with Artemis and her mother, Leto…” You prattled on with your story, turning back to the sky. You gestured with your hands at the rather, in your opinion, interesting parts, all while looking at the stars. Dean only watched you, finding you to be a better view than the sparkling balls of matter in space.

----

You knew how it had happened, you just didn't know when exactly Dean had the chance to hike your leg up onto his hip. You had arrived back at the bunker, he had opened the door for you, and the rest was a blur. Your hands were all over him, the liquor in your system from dinner easing any nerves you had about what was going to happen. You were ready to finally have that connection with Dean, but the knowledge that it would initially hurt didn't help motivate you. But it didn't matter now. All that mattered was Dean sweeping you up into his arms with his tongue in your mouth.

You moaned at the brush of his clothed cock on your core. This only encouraged Dean to move faster, bumping into walls, tables, and picture frames on the way to your room. Dean groaned when you bit down on his lip after a squeeze to your thighs. When your plush bedding came into view, Dean dropped you down onto it. You landed in the blankets, hair frizzed up and lips swollen. You let out a giggle when he pulled your heels off and kissed up your leg. When he lifted the skirt of your dress, you stopped him. You spent far too much money on the lacy things you wore for him to not see them how you had intended. You stood, bare feet chilling on the stone floor.

Keeping your eyes locked on his, you slowly, and as sensually as you could, peeled off your dress. You dropped the clothing to the floor, leaving you in only you lingerie. You smiled wide at him, your hands brushing across your skin.

“You like it?” You asked, biting your lip. Dean's eyes were wide with interest, roaming across your skin. He growled at the sight of you, lunging for you again. Your lips met each other with more passion than you knew possible.

Dean guided you down onto the mattress before sloppily kissing down your body, leaving wet spots where his lips touched. Your hands found his hair when he kissed your core through your panties. His nails scratched against your skin as he pulled the fabric down, not enough to leave marks but enough to send shivers up your spine.

Dean eyed your now naked center. He couldn’t believe that all of this, all of you, was his, just for him. You were watching him, waiting for him to make his move. He peppered kisses on your inner thighs, every peck making you wish he would just touch you already. Finally, he kissed right where you needed it, lips brushing over your clit. You hummed at the feel. He took that as a challenge to make you louder. His goal was to have you screaming his name by the end of the night.

You felt his tongue run up your slit, the taste of you engulfing his entire mouth before he looked up at you. A drunk smile played across his face, though it wasn’t from the alcohol he had consumed earlier. One taste of you and he was already intoxicated by you.

“Y’ taste so good, angel.” Dean drawled before diving back in. He started slow, licking into your hole only slightly, sucking on your clit in between breaths. His hands were holding your legs open, fingers digging into the plush of your thigh. You were heavenly, both in taste and looks. You were a moaning mess, fingers tugging at his hair when he pushed his tongue in deeper.

“Dean,” You breathed out, feeling his hands tighten at the sound of his name. You hadn’t thought this would be what it felt like to get eaten out. In your mind, it was a cold and performative act. Now, God, now you knew you had been wrong. Perhaps it was because it was Dean. The man did know how to use his mouth, that much you knew from watching him eat and when he sent those witty comebacks at you. You didn’t care about the specifics at the moment. You were more focused on Dean lifting his head from your center, your juices dripping around his mouth.

“‘M gonna try somethin’ baby,” he panted out, the faint southern accent that only came out when he was tired or otherwise occupied helping soften his gruff voice. You nodded, feeling him place his mouth back onto you, this time slightly higher than it had been prior. You felt a finger gathering the mixture of his spit and your arousal onto it, circling around your hole before slowly prodding its way inside. It wasn’t painful, but also didn’t bring you more pleasure. That was until Dean began to pull it in and out as he suckled on your clit, curving the digit when he felt necessary.

“Oh my God.” You moaned out, one of your hands pulling away from his hair to muffle your sounds. Dean lifted his head again, the fingers that weren’t currently pumping in and out of you uncovering your mouth. He intertwined your fingers.

“Wanna ‘ear ya, angel.” Dean went back down again, eyes watching your face as he worked on you. You had said something similar just the day before. It seemed both of you were obsessed with hearing the pleasure of the other. You squeezed Dean’s hand in response, whimpering.

You felt a second finger slip in beside its brother, stretching you a bit more. This time, you felt an uncomfortable pressure, but it was quickly replaced by a spark of pleasure. You mumbled out words of appreciation to Dean, most of which were incoherent, but he got the idea. He could feel you squeezing around his fingers when he nipped softly at your clit, a groan sounding from his throat. You were close, oh so close, and you felt Dean curl his fingers up when you said as much.

You were floating above your body when you finally reached your orgasm. Dean helped you through the end of it, moving his fingers in and out slowly while licking around them. You held his hand in yours the whole time, sure you were about to cut off circulation at one point. When he pulled his fingers from you, you whimpered at the loss of having something to squeeze around. You knew, from what you had held in your hand yesterday, that you would have to work harder to fit him in you, but his fingers were good practice.

Dean sucked his fingers clean, moaning at the taste. You pulled him down to you, taking his lips in yours. It was your turn to moan, both at the taste of yourself on him and at his hand pushing you up into him from the small of your back. You moved your fingers down to his belt buckle, undoing it while you continued the kiss. He was moving passionately, hungry even, like he wasn’t even close to done with you.

You pulled his shirt over his head, breaking the kiss long enough for him to push his pants off. He pulled your lips back into his and you hooked a finger around the waistband of his boxers. You tilted your head up enough to break the kiss again, breathing hard.

“Off.” You demanded, tugging at the only thing keeping you from seeing how hard you had made him. He complied, shimmying the fabric off. His eyes raked over your body, landing on your bra, which had, in some way that he couldn’t think of in that moment, stayed on. Dean placed his hands just below your breasts, on your ribs, before moving to cup the clothed mounds in his hands. You arched your back to let him undo the clasp, something he did without having to look. He peeled the item from your body, throwing it somewhere behind him. You were laying there, letting him memorize every inch of your body with his eyes. He leaned down to kiss on one of your nipples, his hand squeezing at your other breast. He switched and did the same to the other, biting softly at your skin on the way over. You moaned at every inch of contact he gave you, wrapping your hand around his wrist in response.

Dean moved to kiss you. He was rubbing on your clit again, getting you prepared. He stopped just before kissing you, lips brushing against yours when he spoke.

“Gotta get a condom, darlin’.” He mumbled, pulling himself off of you. You grabbed for his hand, stopping him from leaving you. He furrowed his brow in confusion. His condoms were just in his room, a box that he hadn’t the chance to use in only God knows how long laying in the drawer of his side table. You looked determined as you reached into your own drawer, pulling out a similar box. You even got the size right.

“How-?” Dean asked, though he didn’t really have the heart to care at the moment. He crawled back onto you, taking the box from you and kissing up your arm. You giggled, hand flying to the back of his head to rest in his hair.

“I guessed, from yesterday.” You reminded him of the work-session turned to dick-sucking-session from the day before. He knew now why you had looked at his dick like you were a scientist. You were mentally measuring it for now. He groaned in desire at the image, kissing up your neck. He loved his brainy girl, loved how your mind worked even in a situation like that.

You let Dean take control as he slipped a condom on. He guided his cock to your hole, sliding the tip through your wet folds. He looked you in the eyes. You knew he would help you through this, knew he would talk you through the whole process.

“Jus’ gonna go slow baby. Tell me if it hurts.” Dean nodded as he spoke. You nodded back, holding your hands to his shoulders.

“Okay.” You breathed out, already wanting to whimper at the feeling of him playing with you.

Dean pushed into you, just the tip at first. You felt the sore stretch, not enough to make you cry out in pain, but it sure wasn't the best feeling. He waited for your go ahead before going further, and once you did, he slowly moved in. Your fingers dug into his shoulders, causing him to look up from watching his cock disappear inside you.

With him facing you, you kissed him. His feverish return of the action worked as a relief from the sting of it all. Once he had bottomed out, he waited for you to adjust.

“Move, please.” You softly whined out, not wanting to waste any time to feel the familiar build up of pleasure. Dean started to move his hips. It took everything in him not to immediately pound into you, but this steady pace he set was unimaginably wonderful. You brushed your hands across his skin, letting them travel from his shoulders to the back of his neck.

Dean groaned at the feeling of you around him. You were letting out breathy moans. The discomfort you had initially felt had melted into what you imagined to be the best feeling. Dean turned his head and kissed your wrist while he thrust into you.

“Dean,” you took a breath, “feels,” another breath, “good.” You pulled him down by his neck. He grabbed your lips in his, the action rough, but you still moaned at it. Dean’s arm wrapped around your back, pulling you up into him. Your naked bodies were flush to each other now, your chests heaving in sync. Your legs wrapped around Dean’s waist. With the new angle, he was able to get deeper.

“Oh,” you moaned out, Dean kissing across your neck.

“Takin’ me so well.” Dean grunted against your skin. His thrusts, while becoming sloppier, were speeding up. Your hand, the one that wasn’t bandaged up, traveled to his back, where you held on in a subconscious effort. Your fingers dug into his back, the small sting from your nails making Dean groan in pleasure. You were close, you were both close.

“Dean,” you began, trying to tell him not to stop, not yet.

“I know, angel.” Dean slurred out. He was barely able to hold himself up anymore, much less you. The feeling of you around him, of you squeezing him every time he touched you, it was just too much. With a final whine, you were coming, whole body tensed up before melting into total bliss. Dean, with the feeling of you around him and the idea that he had pulled yet another orgasm from you, moaned out with his own release.

The room was filled with only your panting breaths. Dean’s head rested in the crook of your neck, his mouth open against your shoulder. Your hands traveled to his hair, gently holding him close to you. Your skin was warm, slightly sticky with sweat from the prior act. You winced when you felt Dean pull out of you. You could hear him moving next to you, but you kept your eyes closed, even when you felt him wiping a damp cloth across the inside of your thighs. You were tired, and your whole body tingled with the afterglow of sex.

Dean laid next to you, pulling you into his arms. He buried his face in your hair, breathing in the scent of your shampoo. You hummed in response to his hand resting on your stomach. With the blankets surrounding you two, the only light in the room being the lamp on your bedside table, you let the rest of the world fade away.

Dean couldn’t believe this. You -- his girl, as he had decided the moment you had first grinded down on his dick -- were in his arms. He couldn’t remember a time when he had felt like this before. Sure, he had sex before, had felt the closeness that he had silently ached for all his life. It was easy, in the moment when he was pleasing whatever girl he had picked up that night, to pretend that it would be forever. When the moment was over, when they both found their release and were laying in some motel’s bed, the reality came back to Dean. This wasn’t possible, he couldn’t have a normal life, not with demons and vampires and werewolves wandering around. And he was okay with it, okay with leaving his side of the bed cold come morning.

This was different. The thought of leaving you, of never seeing your pretty face again, made him ache. He shouldn’t feel this way. His whole life had been no attachments, aside from Sam. He didn’t care. He was tired of running.

“Thank you,” you whispered, snuggling deeper into him. Dean smiled crookedly at the words, ready to tease you for your business-like response to what had just happened. His girl, ever the romantic.

“I accept payment in cash and beer, sweetheart.” Dean cracked out, voice lazy with humor. You breathed a laugh out through your nose, smacking his arm playfully.

“Dick.” You responded. You opened your eyes and pulled your head back to look into Dean’s eyes. They twinkled with laughter, happy he could make you laugh. You placed a peck on his lips. Your eyes trailed down to his chest, where his anti-possession tattoo jumped out at you. You knew what it was for, knew what it meant. You let a finger trace over it, catching Dean’s attention.

“You got one of these?” Dean asked, assuming a woman like you, with all the knowledge you had, would have protected herself in such a way. When you shook your head, he frowned.

“It never came to mind, I suppose.” You reflected. You didn’t have a concrete answer for why you hadn’t taken the proper precautions. Maybe it was because you had never come into contact with any supernatural beings. You knew they existed, they just didn’t exist in your life.

“I assume it would be wise to mark myself with it, yes? At least, with you and Sam around, a demon never seems to be far.” You teased him. The words brought to mind the memory of every monster that had followed Dean through his life. Instead of getting defensive at your statement, like he had the first time you had said it, he simply chuckled and tightened his grip on your hip.

“If any damned thing dares to touch my girl, it’ll regret being born.” Dean growled playfully, showering kisses onto your jaw and neck. You laughed at the ticklish feeling, trying to tug away from him.

“Your girl?” You questioned when he finally stopped. Dean nodded, wiggling his eyebrows humorously.

“You’re mine forever, angel.” He told you. You kissed him again. The room fell into silence again. What you both wanted to say, those three words that seemed to be the most important thing to people, stayed buried inside your throats. You assumed what you felt was love, but it was too soon to say. You didn’t want anything to break this. Dean was in a similar situation. He loved you, maybe, but everyone he’s ever loved had been ripped from him. No, he wasn’t going to say it. He wasn’t going to ruin this before he had a chance to really bathe in the feeling.

Instead of speaking, you and Dean drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms. He would be leaving that next day, off to hunt down the case that Charlie had brought to him. For now, he was with you, and you with him.

[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]

woman of letters pt. 2 // 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, angst

word count: 3k

note: read it on wattpad here. if you would like to join the taglist, either comment down below or send an ask! thank you to everyone who enjoyed the first part!

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

You felt someone watching you. Eyes following you as you walked from the home of the secretary you had made allies with to your car. It was a lie to say it didn’t frighten you once you noticed. You readied yourself for a fight. You weren’t going to come crawling back to Dean to tell him he was right, you didn’t know how to defend yourself. You quickened your pace when you heard a branch snap. You pulled your keys from your blazer pocket. Fumbling with the lock on the car, you looked in every direction to spot your stalker. The click of the lock sent relief down your spine. You pulled the door open just as someone touched your shoulder.

You didn’t have time to think as you winded your arm back and sent your fist flush into the perpetrator's cheek. Pain flashed through your hand and you yelped at the same time the man who had been behind you grunted.

“Son of a bitch!” He exclaimed. You were clutching your hand to your chest when you got a good look at him.

“Dean?!” Instant anger flushed through your body. What was he doing, sneaking up on you like that? His green eyes found yours with a hand still cupped around the side of his face. “What the hell!”

Dean smiled weakly at you, wincing at the pain of the skin on his face stretching.

“Now that is a punch!” Dean congratulated you. You shook your head at the sentence, rage bubbling inside you. You could guess his motives for following you around and every one of them resulted in you wanting to strike him again.

“Leave me alone.” You grumbled as you climbed into the car. You attempted to grasp your key, but the already black and blue hand refused to let you get a hold on anything. You whimpered at the pain shooting up your arm. Dean was leaning into your car now, watching your every move. He found himself flinching at the sight of your appendage.

“Scooch.” Dean told you, nodding his head for you to follow in that direction. You glared back at him.

“No.”

“Yes. You’re not going anywhere with that hand. It’s broken.” Dean confirmed your suspicions.

“Who’s at fault for that?” You shot at him. Dean rolled his eyes.

“Yours for not listening to me. Now move.”

After a moment of weighing your options, you relented. You moved to the passenger seat, sliding across the bench seat of the older vehicle. Dean had to admit, you had excellent taste in cars. He replaced you in the driver’s seat with a hand held out for the key. It was your turn to roll your eyes as you dropped the key into his open palm.

A tense silence fell over the vehicle as Dean drove back to the bunker. You were still pissed at him. Who gave him the right to scare you like that?

“Why were you following me?” You asked, voice thick with fury. Dean breathed out a sigh.

“I just wanted to show you why you need us.” Why you need me, was what he really wanted to say, but he didn’t want to seem like it was only about him. It was. He needed to prove to himself that he was needed.

“I was fine.”

“No, you weren’t.”

 Dean was driving you crazy. You wanted to rip the hair out of your head.

“I was fine before you and Sam showed up.” You growled at him. The words struck a chord in Dean. He pulled the car into a lot hidden by trees. You turned from the window to look at him. You made your mind up. Dean Winchester was a mad man. He was staring at you. It was obvious he was thinking of something.

He was. His mind was a wrestling match between two options: fight back with you or kiss you. The argument was on the tip of his tongue, but that second option. That sweet, sweet, second option. You had no time to think before his lips were on yours.

You hadn’t kissed anyone before, unless the innocent kiss between you and Tommy Belfort in first grade counted. You figured it didn’t. You didn’t move, didn’t kiss back, didn’t push him away. You didn’t know what to do. Dean was kissing you. Dean Winchester, the man you had just punched, was kissing you. When he pulled away from you, chest heaving and lips red, you stared at him. Your mouth was slightly agape and you couldn’t take your eyes off of Dean’s. For the first time that day, you didn’t know what to say to the man.

“That’s one way to get you to listen.” Dean joked when your expression remained blank. He continued the drive back to the bunker. You were still speechless. Your mind raced. Pain throbbed in your hand and desire emanated from your lips.

Uh, oh, Dean thought when your expression hadn’t changed. He messed up. Again. Why did he always mess it up?

The car pulled through the tunnel leading to the garage. A few codes were needed, all of which you leaned across Dean to punch in. He watched you. The worry still chewed through his stomach. You wouldn’t talk to him. He hadn’t asked any questions, but you hadn’t said anything.

Once he shifted the engine into park, you tumbled out, rushing to get away from Dean. Air pushed your jacket up in your hurry, making your exit much more dramatic than you had intended. Dean’s heart broke with your actions. He rested his forehead on the steering wheel and wallowed in his self pity.

----

You booked it for the infirmary, ignoring Sam’s questions about where Dean was. So, he was in on it too. You gathered supplies to set your broken hand. This you knew. You had read enough medical journals and how-to guides that you could recite the steps in your sleep. You wrapped bandage around your hand and tried to pull the fabric tight with your teeth.

It wasn’t working. You needed someone else to hold it while you fastened it down.

Sam was watching you, big brown puppy dog eyes trained on your shaking frame. You turned to him, willing him with your eyes to come help you. In two long strides he was standing next to you and taking the bandage into his own hand. He didn’t ask what had happened, he didn’t ask if you were alright. He just did as he was told and held the makeshift cast tight. You snipped the extra off with scissors.

“Thank you, Samuel.” You nodded to him, noting the cringe when he heard his full name.

“Sam.” He corrected.

“Right. Sam.” You repeated his name again. You had made most of your entries for the archives with his full government name. You would have to change that, if only for his sake. He sent you an appreciative grin and helped you return the supplies to their homes. When he moved, he had given you an unrestricted view of the doorway. Dean was leaning against the doorframe with his eyes trained on you. You faltered at the picture of his bruising face. It was swollen and angry red and purple. You had gotten him good. It wasn’t as if he didn’t deserve it, but it still made you ache to know you had caused him pain.

You still didn’t know what to say. “Thank you for kissing me” would surely not land well. You weren’t used to these situations. You weren’t used to being touched like that. You shouldered past him and could have sworn you felt his hand brush yours on your way out.

Sam was staring at Dean, who now watched your retreating form. The younger brother raised his eyebrows when he spotted his injured cheek. He assumed your hand and Dean’s face were connected, literally.

“What happened?” Sam asked as he pulled an ice pack from the freezer that was recessed into the wall. Dean placed the cold thing on his face, initially flinching at the burning freeze. He swallowed before speaking.

“I kissed her.” Dean kept his voice low.

“And she punched you?” It wasn’t the first time Dean would get a bruise from kissing a girl.

“No. She punched me, then I kissed her.” Dean corrected, leaving out key details such as him lurking behind you like a serial killer. Sam chuckled at the mental image.

“Why did she punch you?”

“I was…” Dean hesitated, “testing her.” He finished his confession and braced for the reaction.

“You what?”

“I was testing her, alright! I needed to see what skill level she was at.” Dean argued. It was true. He was curious to see how much you knew, but he also wanted to make sure you were safe. A demon could have followed them to the bunker, leading you right into its arms. You weren’t dumb but your gut instincts needed some work.

Sam placed his fingertips on his forehead, soothing a headache away. His brother Dean, ever the gentleman. Dean watched him but his mind drifted to you. You hadn’t seemed upset at the kiss, but your silence worried him.

“She won’t talk to me, Sammy.” Dean’s voice was desperate. Sam hadn’t heard him like this before, not with any of the other girls he had been interested in. He thought for a moment, in search of a comforting statement. Then it crossed his mind.

“She’s been alone for thirteen years. Before that, she was raised up in this bunker from the age of nine.” Sam said aloud. Dean furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“So?” Dean didn’t know why Sam was bringing this up.

“Do you see any romantic partners in here?” Sam gestured around him, meaning the bunker as a whole. Dean was still confused, eyes flitting around while in thought. Then it hit him.

“She’s never been kissed.” Dean voiced out. He stared dumbfounded at the stone wall.

“Not until now.”

----

You were pacing in your room. You felt like a prisoner in a cage, but you were your own captor. It had been hours since your return back to the bunker, hours since you last left your room. You had no interest in seeing Dean at the moment. You were embarrassed from your inexperience. Frustration bled over you. You hadn’t acknowledged your faults before the Winchesters arrival, yet everywhere you turned there was something else you were bad at. You couldn’t shoot, you couldn’t punch, you couldn't kiss.

You let out a sound of irritation and collapsed onto your bed. You couldn’t stay in your room forever. It was childish, immature, something you were not. You weighed your options. You could go to the library. You could go to the armory and take inventory -- for the seventh time that week. You could go back into town. Nothing seemed to spark interest in you. You gathered yourself to your feet again. This was impossible.

You pulled open the door to your room. The cool metal of the doorknob felt strange on your non-dominant hand. It was just your luck that the hand that was shattered was the one you used to do most things. The throbbing pain seemed to worsen at the recollection of the memory. The bunker was eerily quiet. There was more noise when it was just you than there was now that the space held three occupants. The click of your boots on the stone floor announced your presence to the kitchen. Not that it mattered. Your only company were the pots and pans.

Your fingers wrapped around the handle of the kettle as you filled it. You dove back into your thoughts while the water boiled. The fact that you still didn’t know how to react to Dean was weighing on you. In the books and movies, the girl always seemed to know what to do. Despite her level of experience with romance and lust her instinct always took over. You hadn’t felt that. The thought that you were broken crossed your mind, but you shook it off. A mind that housed as much information as yours couldn’t afford to be broken.

Still, you needed to solve this problem. You couldn’t ignore Dean, at least not for the long term. He was your roommate now, and it wasn’t your style. Perhaps you would ignore the situation rather than him as a whole. It was the best option to allow you to figure out what to do if it ever happened again. It would happen again. It had to, right?

You continued making your tea and moved to the library. It was empty, as you had assumed it would be. You placed your mug on a table and searched for a book to read. The more ancient ones were out of the question. They were too stifling and left you feeling hopeless. The guides on demons were just boring, the same information jotted down over and over again. You stood staring at the section of novels written by other Men of Letters. The genres ranged from informational to romance. It always amazed you how these members had found time to serve the purpose of the society and create such works.

The sound of footsteps pulled your attention behind you. You turned and waited to see who they belonged to. Dean stopped when he saw you. He waited for you to make the first move. You closed your eyes and turned away.

“You’ve cared for your injuries?” Your question echoed in the room. You dismissed the attempt to find entertainment and walked back to your drink. Dean’s eyes followed you.

“You’re talking to me?” Dean responded. He was feeling thrown off by your casual question. After his revelation with Sam earlier, he didn’t want to push you too much but this wasn’t going to get anyone anywhere. Your steps stumbled a bit with his words.

“I’ve never stopped talking to you.” Ignore the situation.

“You sure as hell weren’t chatting it up earlier.” Dean grumbled and stepped inside the room. You let out a frustrated breath.

“Let me remind you I was nursing a broken hand.” You leaned on the table and offered your wrapped hand into view. A pang of guilt hit at Dean, but he refused to back down.

“Let me remind you who caused that hand to be broken.” Dean raised his eyebrows to prove the meaning of his accusation. He was seriously going to turn what had happened, what he had caused, on you. You took a sip of your tea in an attempt to soothe your anger. It didn’t work.

“You pointed a gun at my head, you insulted me, you followed me against my will, and it resulted in this,” you jabbed the hand at him again, “but yeah, I’m the problem.” With every listed offense Dean shrank into himself. This wasn’t fair. He didn’t enjoy feeling like everything was his fault. He swallowed and took another step toward you.

“I never said you were a problem.” Dean argued. He didn’t want this back and forth of hurting each other. He couldn’t bring himself to stop it, to give in and admit his own faults. He couldn’t research to save his life, he acted out the stupid ideas he had, and he was shit at emotions. Moving from town to town he didn’t have a need for developing healthy communication. It was bar, bed, car, nothing more and nothing less. It had worked out well until he came here, met you.

“I know what you were implying.” You watched his face change into a mix of frustration and desperation. He was regretting his words, you knew that much. It didn’t change the way you felt right there in that moment. Like you were nothing but a chore that Dean was given. You wished you could go back to before, when it was just you and the bunker to keep each other company.

“If you had listened to me this morning, none of this would have happened.” Dean pushed back. You scoffed. The same defense, just different words. Did this man really have nothing better to do?

“And again, you attacked me. Not a demon. Not a wendigo. Not some crazed serial killer. You.” With another step Dean was toe to toe with you. Your face twitched in confusion and you set your tea on the table you were leaning on. Dean ignored your accusations with an eye roll. He was tired of talking. He couldn’t keep up with the back and forth. His hands found your waist, bunching up the fabric of your shirt. You swallowed down your uneasy feeling. He was going to kiss you again and you still didn’t know what to do, what to say. You wanted him to kiss you. No, you didn’t. You couldn’t decide. You felt his breath fan across your face as he leaned in. He stopped with your lips just barely brushing each other, tilting his head at your scared expression. You looked just as you had when he held the gun to your head.

“Don’t.” You breathed out, voice wavering. Dean’s face immediately fell at the word. He stepped backwards, eyes blinking at you. The warmth from his hands on your waist was replaced by a cool nothingness. You kept your eyes locked on his while you both fought in your minds for what to say.

Dean wanted to know why you kept pushing him away. Sure, the first time he kissed you you hadn’t really been expecting it. The second time? You knew. You knew and you didn’t want it, despite the way your body relaxed in response to his touch. Your terrified expression flashed across his eyes again, both the scenes from now and the day before morphing together. Why were you so scared of him?

It wasn’t him exactly. It was more of the uncertainty of the act than anything. You wished you could go back to before, when all you had to worry about was what book you would read next. This was messy. You pushed yourself up and grabbed your tea again. Dean watched you, taking note of your glances toward him. You let your feet carry you from the room, leaving Dean alone. Again.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 5 // 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: no warnings!

word count: 2.7k

note: read on wattpad here. if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! this is a bit of a filler chapter, but trust me, things will pick back up in the next part. i also want to say thank you to anyone who helped me reach 100 followers!

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

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

Despite your date being that night, Dean hadn’t seen you all day. You had left the bunker before he had woken up and when he asked Sam if he’d seen you, Dean had received some half answer about grocery shopping or something. He figured he could wait to see you, a guess that was proving to be false with every glance at the door to the bunker. He wandered around the bunker aimlessly, trying to find something to keep you off his mind. Nothing was working; it was as if you were a liquid dripping over his brain, coating his thoughts and actions.

Meanwhile, you were out at the local mall. It was a small drive, farther than town but closer than the next big city. You had only gone there a few times through your life, the bustle of people being too much for you to keep up with. But you needed to get new clothes for your date. You had nothing date-worthy in your wardrobe, and if Dean was going to see your naked body tonight, you might as well dress it up.

You entered a popular lingerie store, eyes skimming over the various pieces of undergarments. Some were lacy, some adorned with rhinestones, some with both. As you searched through the store, a few of the items stood out to you. Your favorite color was the popular choice in your mind. You skipped over the particularly uncomfortable looking options, not wanting to even attempt to figure out how to put them on. You glanced to the other customers, hoping to pick up on what they found interesting. There were girls much younger than you, picking out their first bras with nervous excitement. There were ladies much older than you, fingers brushing against the fabric in a reminiscent kind of way, like they were thinking of specific times when they had worn something similar with their significant other. There were woman your age, mostly in pairs, chittering on about their work troubles while holding hangers with their selections on them. The image of it all made you almost wish you had grown up differently, with friends instead of authors to keep you company. You loved your life, but seeing what you had been missing out on struck you in a way you didn’t know possible.

“Exciting plans?” A female voice broke you from your thoughts. You turned your head to the side to see a woman around your age, a wide smile on her face. You smiled back, nodding.

“I’m not sure what to choose.” You confessed before looking at the choices in front of you again. The girl laughed at your indecision, not in a cruel way, like you were two friends shopping together.

“What’s the occasion? Or are you just wanting something to make yourself feel pretty?” She asked, eyes sparkling with interest. You wrapped a hand around one of the bras in front of you.

“First date, um, and I think my first… time.” You put emphasis on the last word so she knew its meaning. She nodded thoughtfully, looking over your body before turning to the options. She picked up a matching set in a color that complimented your skin tone and held it up against your clothing. You blushed at the attention but let her examine you. She nodded approvingly and handed you the selection.

“This is the one, girl.” She beamed. You returned the smile. You were tempted to ask her for more help, with an outfit and makeup and tips for the night, but didn’t want to push your luck with the stranger. You moved to walk away, but felt steps behind you. You glanced back just in time to see her following you.

“You got a dress already?” The woman asked. She could feel the under qualified emotions running through you and figured she could take an hour or two out of her day to help you. Relief washed over you at the words. You looked to her helplessly.

“I need help.” You replied. She nodded confidently and walked to the registers of the store, you following behind her like a lost puppy. You were learning it was okay to not be good at everything as long as you had people like her and Dean to help you.

----

A little over an hour passed before you found yourself sitting at a table in the food court with the woman, whose name you had learned was Charlie. You had listened to her talk while you two shopped, letting her take on the conversation in a way to keep from having to lie about your life. You knew she couldn’t know about the whole Men-of-Letters-supernatural-beings-roaming-the-earth thing, and you didn’t want to scare your new friend away by closing yourself off again. A pile of bags lay by your feet, one with the lingerie, another with a dress, and you had even purchased new shoes for the date. The day was shaping up to be one of your best and you hoped the good luck wouldn’t run out for a very long time.

You had learned that Charlie was visiting friends in the area, worked in tech, and was a lesbian. The last part had come up when you had asked if she had ever been on a date with a guy she thought she was in love with. She had immediately screwed her face up in disgust at the thought.

“I don’t know guys, but I know what I like in girls.” Charlie had said when you asked why she had helped you. You couldn’t help but laugh at the words. You knew you couldn’t bring her back to the bunker, but the thought that Dean would love her just as much as you did crossed over you. Now, you were listening to her talk about some video game she was into. While you weren’t completely knowledgeable on the specific game, the storylines and lore for it stemmed from mythology. You loved mythology and found her intense feelings towards the game to be interesting.

“-the Minotaur, of course. You have to hit just the right controls in just the right way to actually kill him, but once you do, you get to advance to the next level.” Charlie chittered out. You nodded along with a smile on your face, wondering how she could talk so fast without being out of breath. You were about to ask a question about the next level’s villain, but your phone buzzed with an incoming call. Dean, the name flashed across your screen. You excused yourself, leaving Charlie to watch the bags and leftover food, and answered with a “Hello?”.

“Angel.” Dean breathed out, like he had been holding back breath until you answered. “When are you coming home to me?” He asked, desperation in his voice. You smiled wide at the thought that he had been waiting for you.

“Soon.” You answered, absentmindedly reading the text on the poster in front of you. You heard him sigh out in defeat. He wanted you now, in front of him, in his arms. You glanced back at Charlie, who was texting on her own phone while waiting for you to return.

“I can leave now, but you’ll have to make it worth my while.” You teased. It was Dean’s turn to smile, but this time at the idea of how exactly he would make it worth your while.

“I’ll give you whatever you want, sweetheart.” Dean agreed. You felt the blush creep up your face at the suggestive tone in his voice, but only bid him a “Goodbye Dean” before hanging up. You weaved through the crowd to get back to Charlie.

“I’m really sorry, but I have to go.” You gathered your bags. Charlie nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, me too.” She sighed out, grabbing up her own purchases.

“See ya around!” Charlie waved to you before you both walked in opposite directions. You hadn’t realized you had no way of talking to her again until you were sat in your car. Oh well. Maybe it was a good thing; this way you wouldn’t have to make up a whole life story to connect with her. The thought left your mind as you remembered you had one more stop to make. This was a very important stop, one that would make your night that much better.

----

When you arrived back at the bunker, Dean was waiting for you in the garage. You barely had the time to unfasten your seatbelt before he had the door to your car open. He pulled you into him by your hands, earning him a laugh. The day just kept getting better by the second, flowers blooming in your mind when he kissed you. You hadn’t remembered a time when you were this happy. You had always been content with your life, but nothing had made you feel like you were floating the way Dean did.

Dean was thinking similar thoughts. He had his loves, but they came with heartbreak and loss. His life was just too much to keep a love life. You were different. You knew the world he was fighting against, you had your own troubles with the supernatural, you came with a home. Sure, there was that little part of him that was pushing against all of this, pushing against you. He ignored it for the most part. There was no way he was letting you get away from him. He parted from you to help carry in the results of your shopping trip. The bag from the lingerie store caught his eye and he tried to catch what was inside.

“No peeking.” You scolded playfully, pulling the bag from him. Dean sent you an unserious pout, but followed you to your room, where the bags were deposited onto your bed. You felt him wrap his arms around you from behind, placing a kiss on the spot just below your ear. You placed your hands over his, relishing in the embrace.

“Where’s Sam at?” You asked, remembering how you hadn’t seen him on the journey from the garage to your room. Then again, you were more focused on the feeling of Dean’s eyes boring into the back of your head to look for his brother. Dean placed another kiss on you before resting his chin on your shoulder.

“He’s meeting a friend. She’s got some information on a potential case.” He mumbled to you. He didn’t care about Sam in that moment. He was focused on the light beat of your pulse next to his ear reminding him that this was all real. You nodded at the answer and let him hold you. Your brow furrowed at the conclusion you came to.

“A case? Where?”

“A few hours away.”

“You’re leaving?” You knew this would happen. Dean was a hunter, he couldn’t stay in one place for too long. You had followed him and Sam all around the country through the years, using newspapers and social media posts to track him. He never stayed somewhere for longer than a week at most, save for the time when he was with Lisa. You had just thought, a thought you now punished yourself for, that you were enough to make him stay. This was why you didn’t meet people, why it had taken you so long to really go out into the world. Once emotion took over, it was difficult to make rational choices.

Dean felt you pulling away from him, emotionally. He knew what you had jumped to, and it made him tug you in closer to him. He imagined there wasn’t much in this world that could make him leave for good.

“Only for a few days. I’m coming back.” Dean promised, smiling when your body relaxed from the relief his words brought you.

“Thank you.” You simply responded, hoping he knew the true meaning to your words. He did.

“I could never leave my girl.” Dean mumbled the words into your neck, kissing you again. There it was again. My girl. You could get used to hearing it, the thought of belonging to someone not as repulsive as you had once believed. You had imagined the term to mean you were his property, but hearing him say the words contradicted that. You were each other's now, neither party holding more control than the other. You let Dean kiss you one last time before you ushered him out of the room so you could get ready for what the night in front of you held.

----

You were putting the finishing touches on yourself, smoothing down your dress when you heard voices coming from outside your room. You were curious as to who it could have been, seeing how there were three distinct tones ricocheting off of the stone walls. One was Dean, voice gruff and words sarcastic. Another was Sam, a lighter hold in his words as he spoke. The third, female, sounded distinctly familiar, but you didn’t know why. You were almost completely sure that you and the Winchesters’ acquaintances didn’t overlap, but the boys didn’t sound alarmed at the guest.

“-place is amazing!” You heard from the female voice as you wandered down the hallway to the main room of the bunker. There the three of them stood, Sam and Dean facing you, but the woman still turned around. You narrowed your eyes in thought when you glimpsed her red hair, knowing you had seen it before. Dean stepped forward, holding a hand out for you to take. He spoke your name out.

“This is that friend I was talkin’ about earlier,” Dean began, but you cut him off when the girl turned around.

“Charlie.” You beamed. Your friend from the mall, who had been your saving grace when preparing for the date. Charlie, in response, bounced over to you before wrapping you in a hug. She cheered your name out while she did so, leaving Sam and Dean with twin expressions of confusion on their faces.

“You two know each other?” Dean asked after you and Charlie pulled apart, but not before she whispered in your ear that your boobs did, in fact, look wonderful in that dress. You stifled your laugh before looking over at Dean, nodding.

“She helped me at the mall.” You answered, walking closer to Dean. He hadn't had the chance to look at you when you had first arrived to the room, but now that he had, he wished you two were alone. The black dress you wore hugged you in all the right ways and the heels you wore only accentuated those legs he loved so much. If he had it his way, he would be right in the center of you, lapping you up. But no, he made a promise and he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to make this the best -- and hopefully last -- first date of your life.

“Yes, I did, and let me just tell you now,” Charlie leaned in like she was telling a secret, but everyone in the room could hear her, “you’re going to have an excellent night.” She finished with a wink. You avoided looking at Sam, knowing he would get the meaning of her words. You weren’t ashamed, but maybe your other roommate didn’t need to know the ins and outs of your sex life. Dean licked his lips and placed a hand on your hip.

“Don’t I know that.” Dean mumbled under his breath, still staring at you. He had already told Sam the night before that he had to get lost by the time you two returned from the date. He figured his little brother would be better off without hearing the way he was going to make you fall apart at his fingertips. You rolled your eyes playfully and placed a hand on his chest, pushing him softly in the direction of the garage.

“Let’s get going then.” You urged and Dean led you to his car. He held the door open for you like a gentleman, even if all he wanted was to push you up against the side of the Impala and make you forget all you had ever known.

[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. 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 next 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 pt. 13 // dean winchester

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: angst, hurt/no comfort, mentions of trauma and ptsd

word count: 2k

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

note: this is a kind of short one, but i swear we're gonna pick back up next part.

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992 @thestoriesfold @mostlymarvelgirl @dyhsversion @deans-baby-momma @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ladykitana90 @globetrotter28

masterlist series masterlist previous part

----

There wasn’t much lately that could make you smile. Not when you had been avoiding Dean like he was a poison. You didn’t want to relive the words you had spat at him in anger. To your surprise, he hadn’t left the bunker after them. You wouldn’t have blamed him. You would have left.

Instead, Dean had made his best work of ignoring you. He would peek past doorways -- you had caught him once or twice -- to check if you were in the room. He would sleep when he knew you were awake. The rattling of bowls in the night sent pangs of loneliness to you.

You missed him.

It wasn’t just the fact that you hadn’t orgasmed in over a week and a half. It was more of missing his soft touch. You wanted his eyes to gaze over you, to drink you in like you were the only thing he lived for. His lips brushing against your skin after the sex, touching you because he couldn’t stay away.

You wanted him.

You wanted all of him.

But you weren’t going to go back to him.

It was too much, too soon. You didn’t want to push over the edge of anger again. You two hurt each other too much. It could never work again.

Even now, you knew, watching him wipe a towel over the Impala with a care you remembered him using on you.

You had stumbled upon him in the garage, meaning to grab your car to make a run to the post office. You couldn’t help but stare at him from the doorway. Your eyes drifted to the hood of the car, a flash of your first, and last, date.

You hadn’t noticed him looking at you until the silence became unbearable.

You locked onto his eyes, fingers twitching to reach out to him.

You couldn’t read him. It was as if when he had shut you out, he had closed off every door you had to see into him. His face was blank as he surveyed you.

Dean had decided he was done. He couldn’t hear how he had ruined your life over and over again. The only thing holding him together, keeping him from running again, was the constant validation that you were okay -- physically, at least.

What you didn’t notice were the glances to you. You in the kitchen for a late-night glass of water. You walking from the garage to your study. You, asleep, in the library, with a book as your pillow.

He saw it all.

He had even begun to peek into your room at night, or more of in the early hours of the morning. It was the time when he knew you would be asleep, when he could look over you without you knowing it. He hadn’t dared to take a step inside.

He was scared he wouldn’t leave if he did.

All those glances hadn’t prepared him for this moment.

Dean tried to read you, tried to get a sense of what exactly you were here for, but the moment you noticed, you mentally shut him out. He watched the hard indifference cross your face.

God, you were like a fucking robot. He hated it, but at the same time, loved that you had the ability to do something like that. He was always scared his emotions would show and give something away.

Little did he know that was exactly what he was doing now.

He was shutting you out.

You swallowed down a question. It would have been stupid, just small talk about his car, and it was only going to be used to alleviate some of the guilt you felt.

Instead, you squeezed your eyes shut and swiftly stepped over to your own car.

Dean snapped his head down when you walked past, rubbing at a nonexistent spot on the body of the Impala. You settled into your driver’s seat, flinching when you caught a glimpse of him standing only a few inches from you.

He held out a gun, handle facing you. He wasn’t looking into your eyes now. You frowned and didn’t move.

You didn’t know how to shoot. You knew that, Dean knew that. So why was he trying to give you a gun? It’s not like it had done much the last time you tried to use one.

“Please.”

If you hadn’t been awake for the past three hours, you would have thought you hallucinated the word. Dean’s voice shook through your body, despite the soft, breathy tone of it. It settled right in your gut, right where you kept your fear and guilt.

With a slight shake, you reached out and wrapped your fingers around the handle. Your skin brushed against his, and, for just a small moment, you two stayed like that. Touching, barely, but still touching.

Then Dean pulled away, clearing his throat to cut through the tension. It didn’t do much. The thing that snapped you out of your trance of him was his exit from the garage, boots thumping on the floor as he left.

You sighed and tucked the gun into the glove box, wishing he had offered himself up instead of the weapon.

----

“You two are ridiculous.” Sam bit out when Dean wandered to the kitchen.

Sam was sat at the table, laptop in front of him, a bowl of cereal off to the side. Dean chose to ignore the fact that it was your favorite cereal, a kind that he had found himself gravitating to when he had taken his self-sufficient vacation.

He also ignored his younger brother’s words. Dean reached into a cupboard, swiping up a mug for coffee. He was exhausted. He spent his days trying -- and failing -- to sleep, and the nights were used to watch over you. It was beginning to be too much, but there didn’t seem to be any other option.

Well, there was another option: talk to you and get you back into his arms. But this was what you wanted. You had wanted to never be loved by him again, something made obvious to him when you blamed him for ruining your life.

“I swear, I’ve never seen two people be so stupid.” Sam continued, scrolling through whatever lore website he had found.

“Just drop it, Sammy.” Dean grumbled, letting the coffee burn his throat as he drank it.

“No.” Sam looked up from his laptop, shaking his head at Dean. “It’s beginning to affect me. You need to fix it.”

“Why is it always me who has to fix things? Huh?” Dean set his mug on the counter by the sink, the liquid swishing up to the sides, almost spilling over. “Why can’t she fix it?”

“You’re a child.” Sam rolled his eyes. “You left her.” He chose to leave himself out of that. Yes, he had been left behind by Dean too, but this was about you two pretending you had the luxury of “normal people” love lives. Being the people you were, having the lives you lived, there was no time for the “will we, won’t we”.

Not that the fact had ever stopped either him or Dean from doing the “will we, won’t we”, but in this situation that he wasn’t apart of, Sam had deemed himself above such ways.

“Yeah, and I came back, didn’t I? I deserve some credit for that.”

“We had to find you and practically drag you back here.”

“You didn’t drag me.” Dean scoffed, flexing his jaw. He wanted to tell Sam what you had said, the real reason why he was avoiding you now. He wanted to so bad, but it didn’t seem right. He figured it would just make things worse if other people knew how badly he had allegedly treated you.

“Just apologize, say you’re sorry.” Sam shrugged off, shaking his head again. He knew that you two had been together at some point, or many points, since Dean had returned. He had, unfortunately for him, heard the results of Dean’s “magic”. He had thought, great, at least you two would go back to being tooth-rottingly in love. What he got instead were two fully-grown adults acting like they were just having one-night stands every night.

“Don’t you think I tried that?” Dean spat out, anger rising at the memory of you pushing him away even after his apologies.

“What’d she say?” Sam asked, not believing that Dean had actually said anything of the sort.

Fuck it, Dean wasn’t caring about right or wrong in this moment.

“That I ruined her life. That she hates me.” Dean took in a steadying breath. It did nothing to quench his thirst for you.

Sam could see you saying that. He’d heard it himself, the words directed to him. You’d been angry and grieving, so he mostly let it slide past, but there had been a few times he’d yelled back. It always ended up the same way: you storming past him, pushing his body out of your way while he tried not to think of how much easier it would have been if he had just gone with Dean.

Sam didn’t know what to say to it. He didn’t know if you had actually meant it when you said it to Dean, but you couldn’t have, right? There wasn’t any way that the love he had seen you direct toward his brother just dissipated like that.

“Yeah, so tell me how exactly I’m supposed to fix this, Sammy.” Dean grit out, raising his eyebrows at Sam. The taller man was still silent, looking up at him with those puppy dog eyes that used to get him whatever he wanted.

Dean scoffed and turned away, training his eyes on the brick wall above the sink.

He hated this. He hated you. Mostly, though, he just hated himself.

----

You’d been distracted the whole drive into town. Not ideal, seeing how the last time you had been distracted it led to a bomb-detonation of a horrible situation. You couldn’t stop it, the thoughts that filtered in.

You wished you could find it in yourself to apologize to Dean. It just wasn’t you. You couldn’t fake smiles and act like everything was fine when it wasn’t. It hadn’t been for a while.

Sure, Dean may look at you and still see the demon smirking back at him, but you? You could feel it in you still, like it had been covered in a goop that got left behind even after the exorcism.

You wanted to be clean, but you didn’t know the first step to cleansing yourself.

Your interactions with others went by unmemorized. Thank the gods for the physical files you were given because without them, the entire trip would have been a waste.

Now, however, you were suddenly very aware of the world around you.

You were getting a sick sense of deja vu to when Dean had, without your knowledge of it, followed you out in those first few days of knowing each other.

Only this time, you were almost one-hundred-percent positive this wasn’t Dean. Someone else was following you.

You tried to glance around, maybe looking for the person, maybe looking for anyone else to help. You came up empty. There wasn’t a soul around. But you still felt the presence near you.

You quickened your pace, trying to quiet your racing heart.

Despite everything that had happened, you still felt like that inexperienced woman Sam and Dean had found in the bunker all those months ago.

You had almost reached your car, your fingers just barely grazing against the door handle when someone, the someone who had been following you, placed their hand on your arm.

Just like the first time, you swung.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 12 // dean winchester

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: angst, fluff, hurt/no comfort, mentions of trauma and ptsd

word count: 2.2k

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

note: we're nearing the end, only a few chapters left, though it may not seem like it. i never claimed this was a slow burn, i guess.

taglist: @bettystonewell @kaz-2y5-spn @never-here1992 @thestoriesfold @mostlymarvelgirl @dyhsversion @deans-baby-momma @bitchykittenconnoisseur @ladykitana90 @globetrotter28

masterlist series masterlist previous part

----

You stood just outside the door of the bunker, staring down the gravel road. You hadn’t taken the time before to truly revisit where the demon attack had taken place. For some reason, you felt drawn to it when you had woken that morning, perhaps because Dean had been home for a few weeks now. It was sunny, but there was still a small chill in the air. You didn’t move from where you had planted your feet. You were a boulder of nerves.

Eyes darted across the landscape, picking up on the weeds dotting the ditch. This was silly. There wasn’t anything out here. There wasn’t anything to be afraid of. You were better than this.

Still, though, the memory of that day was chained around you. It was a horrible feeling to be afraid of a ghost. You couldn’t remember a different time when you felt fear like this. Even when Sam and Dean had first come to the bunker you still had hope. There was no hope here.

You heard the creak of the door behind you. You knew it was Dean before you turned around. You didn’t know how, but there was something inside you that had clicked the second he walked out. You heard your name leave his lips.

“What’re you doing?” Dean asked, a playful tilt in his voice. You tore your eyes from the road to look at him. A smile played across your face, forced, but it was still there.

“Nothing.” You tried to play off. This was dangerous. This was the thing that had made him run in the first place. If you told him you couldn’t even walk past the spot, who’s to say he wouldn’t run again?

“You’re lying.” Dean mumbled as he brushed some hair from your shoulder. You watched him out of the corner of your eye. He couldn’t just take your word for it, he had to question everything.

“No, Dean, I’m not.” You huffed out before pushing past him to go back into the bunker. Dean stood there for a moment, wondering what he could have done wrong. You were obviously lying about why you were outside. He breathed out a sigh before following after you, calling out your name.

“Just go away, Dean.” You answered before stepping into the kitchen. You needed some coffee.

“No.” Dean argued back. His voice echoed through the halls and you heard the thump of his boots on the stone floor as he followed you. “Look, I don’t know what I did, but I’m sorry.” He spat out, standing next to you as you filled a mug with coffee.

“You didn’t do anything. Just go.” You were irritated now. It didn’t take much when you were around Dean. You were still worried he would leave, but it was as it had been before your date. He did something, you got annoyed, he got angry at your reaction. The only difference was now you would fuck out your annoyance rather than just let it bubble up in you.

“We’re friends, remember, sweetheart? This is what friends do. They talk.” Dean pushed. You scoffed at the words. Friends. Right, your wonderful idea. You had forgotten exactly why you had offered it, but then you remembered. Friends were closer than strangers, but they didn’t let their world implode if the other disappeared. It was supposed to be perfect.

“Then you talk.” You grumbled, walking out of the kitchen to the library. Dean followed, stretching his neck.

“I’m not hiding something, you are. Just tell me, angel, please.” Dean needed to know what was wrong so he could fix it. He wouldn’t let anything hurt you again. Maybe one day, you would let him love you again.

“It’s nothing.” You brushed off and slid your mug onto the table. You pulled a book off the shelf to your right. Dean frowned. There was something and he was wearing you down.

“I need to know.” Dean told you, letting his hand graze across your skin. You almost leaned into it, into the feeling.

“You don’t need to know anything.” You spat back, pulling away from him. He really thought he held some sort of right to know everything about you?

“It’s nice to know, at least.” Dean offered and took a seat next to you. You spread open the book and began to read, ignoring him. Maybe he would go away if you did that.

Dean pulled your chair closer to his. You looked at him out of the corner of your eye, having half a mind to get up and find somewhere else to read. This was nice, though. Sitting near him while you read.

“Just let me in, angel.” Dean was practically begging. You sighed as a response and turned your back to him. You held your book in your lap. It looked as if you were reading, but really all you could focus on were Dean’s fingers fiddling with the back of your sweater. It seemed he was waiting for you to talk. He would be waiting a while, you decided. There was no way you were ever telling him what was wrong.

----

It was pure coincidence that you had dotted the last period on your rewrite of John’s journal just as Dean came bursting through your study door. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him; you somehow just knew it. You carefully folded the original journal shut, fastening the closure while Dean stomped up to you.

“I’m not in the mood, Dean.” You droned out, figuring he was here for sex. It didn’t matter that you were always in the mood when it came for him, you needed a break. You were exhausted from the night, or rather nights, before, having gotten barely any sleep between the mind blowing orgasms and the tossing from overthinking. All you really needed was a good nap, you told yourself, but every time you tried to lay down, all you could think of was him.

His hair. His eyes. His scent. His soft flannels you were tempted to drape over yourself.

All you wanted was him.

You had figured out in the passing weeks that he, in fact, did love you. He had tried many, many times to tell you this, but you were having none of it. If he didn’t say the words out loud they would be easier to ignore. You had decided that even if he did love you, you couldn’t put yourself through that again. He was stubborn and more times than not, acted before actually thinking. You couldn’t do that again; you couldn’t wake up with him missing.

“Are you the one who’s been taking my stuff?” Dean held out a dusty flannel. You eyed it for a moment before remembering. Yes. You were the one who had taken it. Actually, you remember that exact flannel. You had hidden it in the armory behind a cabinet of pistols.

“No.” You replied, shooting your eyes away quickly. It was suspicious. You didn’t want to admit to Dean that you had resorted to childish ways of expressing your former anger for him.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s believable.” He scoffed. You rolled your eyes and pushed yourself up. “It’s either you or Sam.”

“Guess you better go interrogate your brother.” You shrugged, making your way to the door with long strides. You needed to get away from him before you started laughing like a maniac. This was all a little too much. It brought you back to before, when your only problems were getting pissy at Dean for leaving his stuff laying around.

“Wow.”

You heard Dean follow behind you and damn his legs for being longer than your own. Soon enough, he was walking beside you, watching your face with amusement. He knew you were lying. There were those little tells that told him so; your twitchy nose, your eyes flitting from him to the floor. He wasn’t mad -- it was pretty much impossible for him to get mad at something he could see himself doing.

“You’re really blaming Sammy for this?”

You narrowed your eyes and frowned. He wanted to kiss you.

“I’m not blaming him, I’m just suggesting it might be him, because it was one-hundred percent not me.” You were lying right through your teeth. You flicked your eyes to him and scowled at his wide smile. “You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t think he’d do something like this. But you? This is just the kinda thing you’d find funny.” He wrapped a hand around your wrist to stop you. You huffed and looked up at him. He wanted to kiss you.

“Is it not?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him. A smile was spreading across your own face. You bit your lip to try to stop it, but the more you looked at him, the brighter it became.

“Is this you confessing?”

You couldn’t help the light laugh that fell out. You ignored his question and continued on walking to the archives, where you needed to log the new journal. Dean grabbed your arm again, pulling you into his chest. He wanted to kiss you.

So he did.

Your lips connected, softly. This was nothing like the passionate makeouts you had in the nights. This was casual, like it was a normal occurrence for Dean to just pull you into a quick peck here and there.

You dropped your journal to grab onto his shoulders. One of his hands rested on the small of your back, the other cradled the back of your head. Your eyes fluttered shut and you only thought of him.

When he pulled away, you smiled at him. He rested his forehead on yours, tongue darting out to lick his lips, like he was trying to taste more of you.

“I-,” He started, but you winced.

“No.” You breathed out. Why was he trying so hard to say it? Why did he have to ruin the moment?

You watched his face twitch in hurt, making you look away. He swallowed down the disappointment, opting to channel it into something else.

“Why were you outside yesterday?” He gritted out. He wanted to know the answer, and if you didn’t want to talk about how much he loved you, he would push for this instead. Your face hardened and you tried to pull away, but he kept you close.

“Like I told you, it was nothing.” You slid your hands down his shoulders to his chest, pushing at him. He let you get about three more inches of space, not enough for you to get away, but enough for you to not feel so constricted.

“It was obviously something.” He tilted his head to look in your eyes. You shivered under his gaze and, for just a moment, your mind flashed back to when the demon was in you. Dean had looked at you the same way when he had first arrived home, the same curiosity swimming in his eyes. You remembered seeing it all, remembered the cold blade of the knife against your throat. You felt your chin quiver and you knew you were about to cry.

“Leave. Me. Alone.” You bit out. Anger was rising quickly to cover your trauma. You couldn’t cry in front of Dean. You couldn’t let him see you so vulnerable. It wasn’t because you thought he would use it against you. No, you trusted him, for the most part, but if he saw you like that, if he pushed just a little harder to love you, you might let him. And if you let him love you, he might leave you again.

You pushed at him harder and he pulled away. You saw the hurt in him triple at your actions. You acted like you didn’t care, because if you tried hard enough, it might grant you the peace of actually being true. You couldn’t care about Dean. You couldn’t because if you did it would be this never ending cycle of you hurting him and him coming back for more.

“Tell me.” You narrowed your eyes at the small growl in his voice. Apparently his own anger was coming out.

“Stop.” You warned, swiping up your journal from the ground. You tried storming away, tried to get out of that situation, but he grabbed your wrist for the third time. You swung around, vision swathed in red hot anger.

“You want to know why I was out there? Fine.” You seethed out. “That spot down the road,” you pointed in the general direction you were talking about, “that is where I got attacked, where the demon lied and manipulated me. The demon that came to kill you.”

His face dropped. He wasn’t expecting that. “If you had never come and ruined my life, maybe, just maybe, I’d be able to go outside without fearing for my life.” You snapped out, pulling out of his hold. You didn’t dare look at his reaction to those words. Tears stung your eyes while you hurried to the storage room where the archives were. You slammed the door behind you, the dam inside you finally breaking. You slid down the door and tried your best to sob quietly in the dark room, half from the memory and half from regret for the way you spoke to Dean.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 8 // 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: dean is still down bad, canon typical violence, swearing, angst

word count: 3k

note: read on wattpad here. read on ao3 here. if you would like to be added to the taglist, let me know! please accept my apologies for the last chapter <3

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

masterlist series masterlist previous part next part

----

Dean couldn’t wait to see you. It wasn’t as if he was absolutely aching with the pain of not seeing you, not after only a day, but he sure as hell missed you. He drove through the state, anticipation only growing as he and Sam traveled closer to you. He had been so caught up in bragging to Sam about how smart you were, to which Sam was only half listening to, that he hadn’t caught on to the fact that he was being watched. It wasn’t the same person at every place, but there were definitely eyes on the Winchesters.

“Dean, slow down.” Sam warned for what felt like the millionth time. He was used to his brother going above the speed limit, but between the speed and Dean’s constant talking about how your ‘eyes sparkled like the stars’ -- or whatever the hell he was going on about now --, Sam was scared they would run right off the road. Dean glared at his brother out of the corner of his eye, an unimpressed look on his face.

“Stop being such a baby, Sammy.” Dean grumbled out, tightening his grip on the steering wheel. Sam scoffed and shook his head, clearly over this exhausting wonderful  brotherly time.

“You’re the one going on about her hair that’s ‘soft as a puppy’.” Sam complained, attempting to impersonate his brother when mocking his words.

“I said ‘soft as a kitten’, jackass.” Dean defended himself. Sam scoffed again. Dean really wasn’t hearing himself, hearing how much of a lovesick fool he had turned into?

“You’re ridiculous.” Sam muttered, looking out the window. Things were starting to look familiar. They were close now, only half an hour out from the bunker. Thank God, Sam thought.

“Ah, come on, you’ll be sayin’ the same stuff when you find some poor girl to fall in love with.” Dean spouted out, not realizing exactly what he was saying. Sam raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing across his face. He knew that Dean loved you, but he hadn’t thought he would ever say it out loud.

“Love?” Sam questioned, looking at his brother. Dean heard his words in his head again. Had he meant that? Had he meant that he loved you? He didn’t know. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, at least not in a way that explicitly confessed it. With his luck, it would all go sideways the second the words left his mouth. Instead of confirming it to Sam, Dean only narrowed his eyes at the road. Sam watched him for a moment longer, laughing to himself at his brother’s reaction. He looked back out the window. Finally, some quiet.

----

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out cheekily, bounding into the bunker. He was expecting your response, expecting you to come running into his arms like it was some romance movie. All he got back was silence. He frowned. Sam walked up behind him, carrying his bag.

“She’s probably out or something.” Sam offered, continuing past Dean to his room. Dean furrowed his eyebrows and followed him. It was strange, the way the bunker looked untouched. He peeked his head into the library. There were your books, he assumed them to be ones you had pulled out recently. Still no you. He wandered about, looking in every room in his search for you. Maybe you were gone.

That was until he walked past the armory, where you stood staring at all the weapons. A knife was held in your hand. Weird. Had you suddenly changed your attitude on weapons in the short time Dean was gone? He didn’t think so.

“Counting again?” Dean asked as he entered the room. Inventory seemed to be the only answer. You turned on your heel, a bright smile flashing across your face. Dean’s own smile faltered when you faced him. Something was off.

“Hey, baby!” You beamed. Your voice held more of a sarcastic tone than usual, more like how Dean sounded rather than you. You walked to him, arms wrapping around the back of his neck as you leaned into him. You kissed him intensely, taking Dean by surprise. He wasn’t complaining, God knows he had been waiting to taste your lips all day, but the glimpse of a bruise on your collarbone worried him.

“What happened?” Dean asked, fingers brushing against the injury. You shook your head, the feel of metal grazing against the back of Dean’s neck reminding him of the knife. Again, why did you have it?

“Don’t you worry about that. Where’s Sammy?” Your voice lilted and you pulled away from him. Sammy. You hadn’t ever called him that. Dean was suspicious now, but he couldn’t tell you that. Were you hexed? Possessed? A shapeshifter maybe?

“His room.” Dean answered. A thought crossed his mind. He grasped your empty hand in his, giving you a suggestive look. You looked interested, but there was a coldness behind your eyes.

“I say you and me go make up for lost time.” Dean offered, eyes scanning over your body. You licked your lips and nodded, following as Dean led you to his room. You hadn’t noticed that he took the long way. Your eyes bored into the back of his head as he walked and he hoped to all things that this, his plan, wouldn’t work. He hoped you were just being weird, acting like this for some reason, any other reason than what he thought.

When Dean let go of your hand and continued walking, you had every intention to continue following him. But you couldn’t move, some kind of wall was stopping you. Dean turned and watched you panic. Your eyes scanned the floor. It was empty. Your head flew back, eyes landing on the devil’s trap on the ceiling. You looked back to Dean, eyes murderous. His heart fell. He knew it. He wished he hadn’t, but he knew it.

“What gave me away?” You sneered. Dean's face was stony, even if everything in him wanted to cry. He would even take screaming at this point. His body was a rush of emotions; anger, grief, love even still for you.

“Why are you here?” Dean grumbled out, swallowing down everything other than the numb nothingness. He could think of a million reasons why this demon had come for him. A Winchester could never go a day without something on his tail, it seemed.

“Are you that dumb?” You chuckled darkly, and Dean was finding it difficult to remind himself that it wasn't actually you in there.

“I came to kill you, Winchester. Finally put an end to your silly little side quests and bring you back to where you belong: Hell.” You snarled, still trying to find a way out of the trap.

“My plan was to use some frat guy as a meatsuit, kill you off and go fuck a sorority sister before calling it a day. Then I caught an eye of this sweet, delicious body, saw the way you looked at her. I thought, ‘great, a Winchester and a virgin’ -- you know, I've never had either before.” You continued on, gesturing down your body. Dean tensed his jaw.

“Imagine my disappointment when I get in here and realize you've turned her into your whore.” You growled, rage flying through your eyes.

“Let her go.” Dean growled back. Sam had heard the commotion now and was making his way to where you and Dean stood. He was confused. Why were you so angry? Why did you have a knife? Why did Dean look like the world was getting ripped apart?

“No.” You simply said walking in circles to try to find a break in the trap. Sam looked above you, noticing that your eyes kept flicking up there. His brow furrowed at the sight of the devil’s trap before he realized it. You were possessed by some demon.

When you made a sudden movement of your arm, Dean’s hand flew to his gun. It was instinct, just something his body had trained itself to do. But it caught your attention, or rather, the demon’s attention. Seeing no way out of the trap, it decided to play with Dean before its inevitable return to Hell.

“Shoot me. Do it. Show this stupid, pathetic girl who you really are.” You held your arms out to give him more surface area to hit. Dean gulped, hand falling away from his gun. The damage was already done, the demon already had enough in its arsenal to truly hit Dean where it hurt.

“You like to play at being a hero, saving the world or whatever bullshit you tell yourself to sleep at night. But you and I, we both know it: you, Dean Winchester, are nothing but a killer. Your only instinct is to kill, and even when you're not the one to do it, everyone around you dies.” The demon watched in joy as Dean’s face melted into anguish and fear.

“She’s in here still, you know. I can hear her voice buzzing like a gnat, begging me not to kill you. She thinks she loves you. Stupid bitch.” You bit out. At the mention of love, Dean paused. Did you really love him? No, he decided. The demon was making it up. It had to be, right?

“I know one way to shut her up.” The weight in your hand reminded the demon of the knife it held in its possession. “I’m gonna slit this pretty little throat and you’re gonna watch her bleed out. Either way I’m going back to Hell, but this way, oh, this way I know you’ll remember me.” You laughed, the sound clanging into Dean’s head. You held the knife to your throat, blade making the skin dip down just slightly. You and Dean still hadn’t noticed Sam standing just off to the side.

At the sight of the knife so close to you, a cry of pain left Dean’s lips. He didn’t mean to, God knows that he was trying to keep it together, but fear flooded his senses. He couldn’t lose you, not now, not ever. The sound only spurred the demon on, motivating it to continue. Another thought crept into the demon’s mind.

“You know what, I’ll let her come out to say goodbye, just so you can hear what a terrified little bitch she’s being.” You spoke. Your face went blank for a moment before morphing into that same look you had given Dean the very first time the two of you met. He wanted to go to you, comfort you, tell you everything was going to be fine, but he couldn’t. Nothing was going to be fine, no matter the outcome of this.

“Please,” you whimpered, tears streaming down your face. The knife was still at your throat, digging in deeper like you weren’t in control. You were begging the demon, hoping that somehow, someway, you would be able to change its mind. You had heard everything, seen everything. Dean’s fingers twitched to reach out to you.

“De-,” you began, but his name was cut off mid way through. Your face fell blank again, but this time, instead of fear, disgust crossed your face.

“Enough of that shit.” You snarled. The demon was back.

“Say buh-bye.” You mocked, muscles moving with the intention to pull the knife across your throat. Sam was already lunging for you. He knew Dean couldn’t do it, he couldn’t force himself to be a part of this. So, he took matters into his own hands, literally.

You grunted out in shock when Sam’s hands landed on your body. You held tight to the knife, struggling to stab it anywhere, you or him, it didn’t matter. Sam, despite being much stronger than you, was having trouble wrestling the weapon out of your hand without harming either one of you. He finally pulled it away from you, but not without it stabbing into your arm first. It wasn’t fatal, but you still cried out in pain, the blade stuck in the muscles of your forearm. Sam pulled the knife out, knowing it was more important to keep it away from you. He scrambled away from you as your blood trickled down your arm.

“I hate fucking Winchesters!” You yelled out, the demon pouting in protest. It was over. They had it trapped with no other way out and no way to hurt them anymore. Sam caught his breath and stood to his feet, the knife laying covered in blood on the ground. Dean couldn’t stand this. His girl, hurt, both physically and mentally, and it was all his fault. The demon had come for him, but got to you instead.

Sam rattled off the exorcism, the Latin words rolling off his tongue in between heaving breaths. You yelled out in agony as the demon was ripped from your body, black smoke flying from your mouth and slamming to the ground, sending the demon back to Hell. Once it was finished, you collapsed to the ground, unconscious. Dean finally came to his senses and fell down next to you, holding your body in his arms. Blood from your arm was smearing across his shirt, but he didn’t care. He needed to feel you, make sure you were real.

You were breathing, but you wouldn’t wake up. Dean searched your face for any sign that you were in pain, but it was completely blank. He couldn’t believe this. Of course, right when he had any shred of normalcy in his life, it was ripped away from him. Moving from motel to motel he could handle, but this? This he couldn’t bear to deal with. A bundle of your words rang in his head, both from today and past days. I was fine before you and Sam showed up, echoed as he brushed the tear streaks from your face. Everyone around you dies, stabbed him right through the heart.

Logically speaking, Dean knew it wasn’t actually you, not really. He wasn’t being logical right now. The words, all of them, were true. Everyone did die. Everyone he had ever loved had gotten hurt. What the demon had said, what you had said, it was as if his mind had been read. All of his inner thoughts were given a voice. He had thought he had come to terms with it, or at least had the ability to ignore it, but when it was out there in the open, it sucked the life from him. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t hurt the people he loved. They were better off without him. You were better off without him.

“Dean,” Sam spoke, breaking him from his mind. Dean gathered himself to his feet, holding you in his arms. He brought you to the infirmary, carefully placing you on one of the cots. He patched up your arm, wrapping bandage and gauze around the wound. It would have to do for now. He would call Cas, pray out to the angel and demand he heal you. Later. For now, he only tucked a blanket over you and turned around to see Sam in the door.

“Dean.” Sam said again, trying to get his brother to say something, anything. Dean didn’t respond, only walked past Sam. He was headed for his room. Sam was close on his heels, huffing when Dean ignored him.

“Dean, come on.” Sam practically begged. He didn’t like this, didn’t like the way Dean was pulling a bag out and filling it with the little he owned. Sam knew this act. He knew what it meant.

Dean was leaving.

“Dean!” Sam yelled, causing his brother to snap his head in his direction. Dean’s eyes were on fire.

“What?” Dean yelled back. Sam thought he was going crazy, seeing things, because Dean’s eyes were rimmed red, like he was about to cry.

“You can’t leave.” Sam said, shaking his head. Dean tensed his jaw, looking away from Sam. He should’ve known that Sam would do this, that he would try to stop him from doing the only thing left to protect you.

“We are leaving.” Dean grumbled, shoving things into the bag still. He searched his room for anything else he had. He swiped up a few pictures that lay on his bedside table, tucking them into his jacket pocket. Sam shook his head again, blocking Dean’s path.

“Really? You’re just gonna leave her, laying unconscious, alone?” Sam questioned, trying to get Dean to reason with him.

“I’m calling Cas, and he, if he knows what’s best for him, is gonna protect her.” Dean pushed past Sam, bounding into the hall. Sam followed him.

“She doesn’t even know Cas!” Sam yelled back at Dean.

“Well, he’s better than us, Sammy. My-” Dean cut himself off, wincing at the word, “our life, it’s too dangerous for her. She can’t even shoot a gun. I can’t be by her side all the time. If we leave, then maybe those bastards will leave her alone.”

“And if they don’t? She wants you here.” Sam argued, hoping it would hit Dean. It seemed to do the opposite.

“She doesn’t know what she wants!” Dean screamed at Sam, anger overtaking him. He walked closer to Sam, standing chest to chest with him. Sam could feel the rage coming off of Dean.

“You either come with me, or you stay here.” Dean growled out. Sam’s face turned stony. There was no reasoning with him now. Dean had made his mind up.

“I’m not leaving.” Sam insisted, voice low. Dean searched his brother’s face for a semblance of anything. When he came up short, he nodded, turning away again. Fine. Let Sam stay. It didn’t change anything.

“You better hope this doesn’t get her killed.” Dean mumbled on his way out. Sam couldn’t do anything, couldn’t stop him from leaving. He could only watch as his brother made the biggest mistake of his life and left everything behind, a cloud of dust in the wake of the Impala as he drove away.

[losers-clvb]

woman of letters pt. 7 // 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: dean is down bad, fluff, canon typical violence (i will just say this to avoid any spoilers), maybe angst (if it fits)

word count: 3.2k

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

----

You had been alone for hours now. At first, it was nice. You had work to get done, work that you had fallen behind on with Sam and Dean’s arrival. You sat happily in the library with multiple books spread around you, sipping on a cup of coffee. But as the hours passed, you were growing uncomfortable with the silence. Sure, when the boys first arrived, everyone was weary of disrupting the others. As the three of you became more comfortable with each other, the noise level in the bunker rose. Dean humming and singing to himself while cooking, Sam making noises of interest at things he would read. All the while you were, though you would never admit it, enjoying every small bump, every clatter of dishes.

Now, all of that was gone. It wasn’t forever, you told yourself, they would come back and everything would be back to normal. You tried to go back to the writing in front of you, but eventually the feeling that something was missing flooded back through you.

Screw Dean Winchester for turning you into an unfocused mess.

You pulled out your phone, scrolling through the contacts until you reached Dean’s. You could call him. You could tell him everything you were thinking about, all the ways he had ruined you. Instead, you continued down the list until you reached Sam. You would just call Sam, ask him a few questions to soothe your need for noise, then it would all be okay. You clicked on the call button, holding the device to your ear as it rang. Sam answered with your name, concern lacing his voice. Why were you calling him and not Dean?

“Hi Sam.” You replied. Neither of you spoke for a minute, you not wanting to admit why you had called, Sam waiting for you to continue. You sighed and spoke again. “How’s Dean?”

“You called me to ask about Dean?” Sam questioned, scoffing. He couldn’t believe the two of you. Even after all that had happened, you were still skirting around Dean like it all scared you. You squeezed your eyes shut at his words, waiting for his answer.

“Angel?” You heard over the line. Dean. You smiled at the sound of his voice. You should have just called him. You relaxed in your chair.

“How are you?” You asked. It was Dean’s turn to smile. There he was, sitting on the bed of some stained motel room, Sam’s phone up to his ear while he smiled like an idiot. Sam, who was sitting at the table looking at lore for the case, shook his head at the sight and sighed. You two were going to be the death of him, even if it was nice to see his brother so happy.

“Better than ever now that I’m hearing your pretty voice.” Dean’s response crackled through the phone. You absentmindedly played with the hem of your shirt, the butterflies in you, Dean’s butterflies as you had begun to refer to them as, fluttering around nervously.

“How’s the case?” You were hoping to keep him talking for a while longer, maybe help out with any information they needed.

“Gonna be a quick one. Simple salt ‘n burn.” Dean answered, talking about it like it was the easiest thing in the world. You knew for sure that you wouldn’t be able to get the task done, not alone and not quickly. Guess that was why Dean was the brawn while you were the brains.

“Then you come home.” You stated, knowing the timeline of events. Dean laughed at your words, nodding to himself.

“Then I come home.” He echoed. You nodded, letting out a breath. You looked back to your books but you weren’t reading the words. You just needed something to focus on, something to keep you from confessing anything to Dean. He didn’t need to know you loved him, didn’t need to have that weigh on him if he didn’t feel the same.

“I gotta go, sweetheart, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Dean didn’t want to let you go. Even if there was nothing being said, it was still a comfort to know that you were just on the other side of the line. But, Sam was gathering up his thing, night was falling and they had to get this thing going.

“Okay. Goodbye, Dean.” You spoke, waiting for him to hang up the phone. When he did, you sat there with the phone still up to your ear for a while longer, wishing you could just focus.

----

The ringing of your phone brought you out of your trance. You had finally, after what had felt like an eternity, been able to read the books in front of you. You had flown through page after page, completely engrossed by the information. That was until Dean had decided to call you, breaking your focus.

You grabbed your phone, a mixture of joy at seeing Dean’s name and disappointment at the distraction flowing through you.

“Hello?” You asked into the phone, hearing the pattering of rain against glass.

“Angel.” Dean answered, using the same name he had called you earlier. You smiled warmly at the sound. Despite how you had treated him before, he still called you his angel, his sweetheart, his girl. You were glad for it, happy that despite him seeing the worst side of you, he still cared.

“You called?” You asked after a few beats of silence. It was late, far later than you usually stayed awake for, and you hadn't expected to hear from Dean until he had returned home.

“Jus’ wanted to hear your voice.” Dean slurred. He wasn't drunk -- he didn't even know if he could get drunk anymore. He was exhausted, the events of the day weighing on him. But he needed to hear his girl one last time before going to sleep. So, there he was, sitting on the bench seat of the Impala as the rain trinkled down outside, trying to hold his eyes open to talk to you.

You laughed at his words, the noise soft and quiet so as not to disturb the ambiance.

“You talked to me earlier, Dean.” You reminded him. Not that you were complaining. You should be in bed by now, should be sleeping in preparation for the next day. Plus, you wanted to hear his voice too.

“What're you doing?” Dean ignored your reminder, opting instead to keep you talking. He shifted in his spot, the back of his head resting on the window behind him. The motel’s VACANCY sign was the only light that shone in, casting shadows on his face.

“Reading.” You answered, eyes drifting over the pages again. You pulled the cardigan you had draped over your shoulders tighter around you. You would have to mess with the thermostat before going to bed.

“Read it to me.”

“I don't think you'll-”

“Try me.”

You sighed at the request, squinting your eyes at the small words. Your eyes were drying out just from you forcing yourself to be awake, causing the sentences to blur together. Still, you could make out what the text said enough to read it to Dean.

“ ‘In 18th century A.D.,-” You began before Dean promptly cut you off.

“You were right sweetheart. That stuff is gonna knock me out.”

You laughed again.

“You should be asleep.” You told him, knowing he had to be tired.

“So should you.” Dean argued back, knowing you were just as tired as him. That brain of yours ran at all hours of the day, and just thinking about all the things that were stuffed in there made Dean exhausted.

“Don't hang up until I'm in bed?” You requested, though it turned more into a question at the end. You closed the book, leaving the stack on the table. It was just you at the bunker, and you would have to continue this reading after you finished your errands in the morning.

“Anything for my girl.” Dean mumbled, feeling the yank of sleep as he spoke. He couldn't sleep yet. Not until he was sure you were snuggled into your bed, safe and warm.

You moved through the bunker, turning lights off as you moved. You made it to your room, pulling out your pajamas for the night. Dean heard the rustling of your clothing as you undressed and he couldn't help himself.

“Wanna send me a couple pictures, angel?” Dean slurred, a dopey smile on his face. You immediately knew what he meant, and even though he couldn't see your face, he knew you were blushing.

“Go to sleep, Dean.” You hissed at him, but he could hear the smile in your voice. You slipped under your blankets, letting the dark of the room settle around you.

“Dream about me?” Dean answered. You breathed out a laugh, nodding even if he couldn't see it.

“I'll try my best. Goodnight.” You spoke your final words, as you closed your eyes. Dean climbed out of his car, letting the rain fall down on him while he unlocked the motel room door.

“Goodnight, angel,” was the last thing you heard before drifting off to sleep.

----

It was raining again. This time, you were experiencing the pounding drops of water, while Dean drove through sunny hills. Just your luck that that weather was like this during one of your few weekly trips out of the bunker. You held an umbrella in your hand, trying to keep yourself as dry as possible.

The day was going to be a long one. You had met with your ally at the postal office, gone to the store for a few things, met with another ally from the bank, and now you had to go back to the bunker and finish the reading you had started the day before.

You sighed as you walked from the bank to your car, shaking your hand dry from the wet handle of the car door. You had your outside time already. When you had gone to the mall, it was the longest you had been out for one amount of time since you were younger. Still, the rest of your duties called to be done. Your people skills were still rusty and you knew you would have to apologize to your informant for the way you had talked to him during your meeting.

As you drove through the streets of town, you were thinking of it all, of everything that had happened. In the span of two weeks, Dean had managed to turn you completely inside out and, for the most part anyway, change your life. Sure, you were still the same in all the ways that mattered, but the way you did things, the reason you would take the long way to your study just to catch a glimpse of Dean in the kitchen or war room, that was changed. You were learning about techniques for killing monsters, learning the personalities of different beings. You were changing your opinion on friends and acquaintances, realizations hitting that you needed companionship.

You were sure, without a doubt, that this was all for the best. You had always known, from readings and data, that humans needed all of these things. They needed family and loved ones and pets and joy. You just assumed that you were different. I mean, it wasn’t like everyone was the member of a practically extinct branch of a society with the knowledge of almost everything at her fingertips. Your responsibilities were in keeping it all afloat, making sure the secrets of the world were protected, not in giving or receiving love. You were okay with that.

Until you met Dean. He was everything you were missing. And even though things he did pushed at your buttons, even though his snarky comments made you roll your eyes and scoff, you still loved it. You loved him. Or maybe you didn’t and this was some kind of poison slowly killing you while tricking your mind. Either way, you didn’t care. You wanted to feel this happy every day of the rest of your life.

The sudden appearance of a man in front of your car made you slam on your breaks. The car tugged to the side, rolling into the grass near the road with a rumbling pain in your collarbone. You groaned at the injury, knowing you would have a very visible bruise in the coming hours. The reminder of why this had happened, why your head was aching, sent a wave of rage to wash over you. What kind of idiot stood in the middle of the road?

You stumbled out of your car, your steps crunching on the gravel as you walked to where the man was still standing. Hands in his pockets, a smug smile on his face, he looked unfazed by his near death experience. You glared at him.

“What the hell!” You exclaimed, balling your hands into fists. You walked closer to him, initially deeming him as not a threat by the way he looked. This man, if you could even call him that as he barely looked to be in his early twenties, looked like he was going to win douche of the year at his frat. You didn’t know why he was here, how he was here. You were only a few feet from the entrance to the tunnel that led to the bunker’s garage. No one ever came out here.

The thought that maybe he was here because of the bunker made you stop in your tracks. Suddenly, you were wishing that you had just stayed home today. It was as if the man could read your mind, his smirk widening as he began to walk towards you. He cocked his head to the side, his face morphing into false concern.

“What’s wrong? No big, strong Winchester here to protect your pathetic little life?” The man asked, the cold condescension slicing through you. Winchester. He was here for you, or at least for some way to the boys, to Dean. You backed up as he grew closer. If you could get back to your car, you could get to your gun. You still didn’t know how to shoot, but maybe if you got close you could hurt him enough to get away.

When the man continued to follow you, you turned and ran faster than you knew possible to your car. You fumbled through the glove box for the gun, hearing him walk up behind you. He didn’t speed up his pace, didn’t look worried that you would get away. That only scared you more. He knew he had you in his trap.

You swung around, firing off shots into his chest. You waited for him to fall to the ground, or at least grunt in pain. Instead, he stopped his advances toward you, frowning while looking down at the wounds. Blood seeped into his shirt, but other than that, he was fine. You stifled a scared whimper at the sight. He looked back to you, an evil flash of amusement sparking through his eyes.

“That tickled, honey.” He spoke. His eyes flicked black and your heart fell. Demon. You tried to think for what to do. You didn’t have holy water, you couldn’t make a devil’s trap without him killing you. Exorcism, maybe?

“Exorcizamus-”

“Shut the hell up.” The demon growled, flicking a hand. A force shoved you to the ground, jaw jabbing into the grass with a crack. You cried out in pain at the feeling, the ache in your head intensifying by the tens. The demon walked to you, crouching down beside you and grabbing a fistful of your hair. He yanked your head up so you were looking at him. He shot you a wicked smile.

“Drop the warding.” He demanded. No. There was no way you were going to do that. You may have been scared to die, but your life was the bunker. Protecting it and all the information. You weren’t letting some demon scum break all that.

“No.” You spat out, wincing at the pain in your jaw. The demon scowled, dragging you by your hair to the gravel road. You kicked and punched but nothing seemed to break his hold on you. Finally, he threw you down in front of him. You fell on your back, groaning at the pain flooding your body.

“Here’s what's going to happen: you drop the warding on this piece of shit place and I won’t kill Thing One and Thing Two.” The demon growled out, making it seem like he was making a deal with you. Your mind searched for a way out. It was difficult to think, everything in you wanted to just pass out. You tried for your last ditch effort.

“You don’t even know where they are.” You accused. Demons couldn’t just find people by wishing for it. No, he had to be bluffing on their whereabouts.

“They’ve stopped off at a diner off the highway. The giant one ordered a coffee and breakfast sandwich, turkey bacon instead of the real stuff. Lover Boy ordered a giant stack of pancakes with extra bacon. He’s stuffing his insufferable face as we speak.” The demon growled. You breathed out in defeat, shaking.

“Now,” he continued, “drop the fucking warding or I go and make an example out of those boys.”

You knew he had you. He could smoke out of that body and find some poor waitress to use as a vessel. Sam and Dean might be able to kill him, but they also might be caught off guard and be killed. You couldn’t risk it, couldn’t risk losing everything just as it had appeared. You nodded, swallowing down the regret.

“Okay.” You whispered. The demon smiled proudly at you, clapping his hands together before picking you up. He placed you on your feet and helped, or more of dragged, you to the car. He drove through the tunnel, putting the car in park just before the warding started. You stumbled out, legs burning as you muttered the spell that would drop the first round of protection. As you moved in deeper, reaching the garage, a sinking feeling appeared in your stomach.

“What are you going to do to me?” You mumbled out. The demon chuckled while pulling you from the car. You let him. There wasn’t anything else you could do in that moment. Maybe you would be able to warn Dean in some way before he returned home. Unless the demon killed you, which would really suck for everyone involved.

“Nothing, just jump inside that pretty skin of yours. I’m sure it would really hurt Dean’s feelings when you kill him.”

“No.” You whimpered, pulling away from him. You stumbled back, falling to the floor. “You said you wouldn’t kill them.” You were scrambling back as he watched you like a wolf stalking his prey.

“Oops,” the demon feigned guilt, hand covering his mouth, “I guess I lied.” He snarled before a black smoke fell from his mouth. It shot to you, invading your airways. You wanted to choke, wanted to cough him out, but you couldn’t. Tears welled in your eyes while he took control over you. It was a strange feeling, like you were tied up in the back of your own car. You couldn’t move, couldn’t scream, couldn’t do anything other than watch it all through your own eyes.

[losers-clvb]

i'm gonna be so fr, i haven't written a thing for woman of letters. i will work on it tonight, possibly a chapter out in the next few hours.

[losers-clvb]

no update for woman of letters today because baby kitty had a vet appointment (and zoe may or may not have forgotten spring break was over).