#Geronimo | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trektraveler · 1 year

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Geronimo

Summary: Dean and Y/N. Oil and water. Always at each other's throats, their endelss bickering comes to a boil and Y/N has had it. She storms out of the bunker leaving Dean high and dry! Well, he isn't about to let her get the last word! What happens when he catches her?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean x Reader, Dean x You

Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Charlie Bradbury, Reader

Warnings: Angst, Fighting, Bickering, Mud Wrestling, Kissing, fluff

Word Count: 4563

One Shot

Author’s Notes: This is a follow up to Trouble (more or less). I've had this in my WIP for quite a while. My other stories are a little stalled right now, but the muse visited me for this one.

I do think this will be a series at some point... I mean, we all need another series to work on, right?! Right??? Maybe need is a strong word...

Masterlist

Dean was ready to climb the walls. He hated research; nose buried in some musty book that was written centuries ago, the pictures always sucked. And it was quiet work. Sam refused to let him play any good music when he was working, and Charlie had those massive headphones on. Then there was Y/N.

A picture of scholarly serenity, she fit right in with the damned Men of Letters. Three stacks of books stood in tall, narrow towers in front of her organized by publication date. Her laptop was open to her left running a scan on her personal database and a pot of Darjeeling tea that she claimed was excellent for concentration sat mostly untouched. Even after hours of research she maintained that perfect posture as she added notes to a yellow steno pad already half filled with her neat shorthand. Not a hair out of place, not a smudge of ink on her fingers, even her over-sized glasses were clear of fingerprints.

How can anyone be so perfect? It was freaking annoying!

He let his gaze wander over her form. She was wearing another one of those impossibly soft sweaters the color of cranberries that covered her from neckline to wrist. Probably meant to be modest but somehow looked incredibly sexy on her. She shifted in her seat and reached for a book, causing the bottom hem to hitch up just slightly over the waistband of her pants. The movement exposed a thin leather belt and about an inch of her lower back. Creamy skin that Dean really wanted to touch, see if it felt as silky as it looked. See if she tasted as good as she smelled.

God! Why did she always smell so damned good?

Dean growled in the back of his throat and slammed shut the book in his lap.

Sam glanced over at his brother, “You good, Dean?”

“We are getting nowhere with this and I am losing my damned mind.”

“Why don’t you have a cup of tea,” Y/N suggested, not looking up from her research, “It will help calm your nerves.”

“I thought you said it helped with concentration,” Dean muttered.

“It helps with both,” she replied, irritatingly rational. She glanced over at him, “Perhaps you should have two cups.”

“I’m not drinking that crap; it tastes like dirt”

“Then have coffee, or Gatorade, or whiskey, or chocolate milk with a bendy straw. Whatever it takes for you to calm down and be quiet.”

“Oh, sorry I am disturbing you, princess?”

“You are disturbing all of us. Honestly, you’ve been projecting your utter boredom out to the rest of us for the past three hours. Its deafening and unreasonably distracting. I’m surprised Charlie can’t hear it over her podcast. So, find a way to calm yourself or go do something else.”

Charlie looked up wide eyed, not at all comfortable being brought into this argument.

Dean did not appreciate being dressed down by anyone and his mouth formed a hard line. “You are not kicking me out of my own library!”

Y/N regarded him over the top of her glasses, obviously not impressed. “Listen to yourself, you’re like a child throwing a tantrum over having to do a little homework.”

“A little homework? We’ve been at this for days! In case you’ve forgotten, we are on a deadline!”

“How could I forget? You complain about it every chance you get!” Y/N felt her temper begin to boil, “Of course you’d rather be out there killing monsters than in here reading about it. But just because you don’t like doing something, does not mean you are incapable of it.”

“Look at you, you love all this don’t you? You even dress for it, like you’re having tea with the damned Queen!”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Designer jeans, cashmere sweaters. Would it kill you to wear something practical for once?”

“These are my work clothes, we’re working. Situationally appropriate wardrobe,” she arched a haughty brow at him, “I suppose I could take a page out of your book, buffalo check and burger juice couture.”

Dean chuckled humorlessly, “I’m a hunter sweetheart, that means I do the dirty work. I don’t have the luxury of sitting on my ass and drinking tea with my pinkie up. While you’re here trying not to break a nail, I’m out there saving people.”

With deliberate, measured movements, Y/N placed a marker in the book she was reading and closed it. She removed her glasses, placed her palms on the polished tabletop and stood. When lifted her chin and raised her gaze to meet his, there was a fury that nearly had him taking a step back. Her professional reputation may be unconventional, but the respect that came along with it was well-earned. She wasn’t about to be pushed around by Dean Winchester or anybody else. She knew her strengths, she knew her worth and frankly she’d had it with him trying to muscle his way around her.

Dean Winchester with his fierce frown and muscled arms crossed over his broad chest. He was used to being able to intimidate in a very physical way, the hardened hunter. Tough as fucking nails, hard as granite. An immovable force. Well, he could get bent!

“My work takes me to the most exclusive libraries and private antiquity collections in the world. Places even the most celebrated scholars are denied access to, I find it helpful to at least look like I belong there. You are a hunter with no monster, no direction, and no clue. You want to get back out there, you want to do your job? Sit down, shut up, and let me do mine. Because without me, you are just pissing in the wind.”

She sailed past him, towards the stairs leading to the entryway. Her suede flats were kicked off and replaced with bright aqua rain boots.

Dean knew she had a point, but with his temper riled he was hard pressed to admit it. “Where are you going?”

“I’m walking the dog,” she replied grabbing the leash and climbing the grated steps with Macey trotting up beside her. “Feel free to pick up where I left off. It’s a Christian text written in fourteenth century Italian. Good luck!”

When the sound of the door slamming shut echoed through the bunker, Dean rubbed the back of his neck and cursed, “Damn it.”

Sam rolled his eyes, this thing simmering under the surface between Y/N and his brother was getting out of control.

“Nicely done. Hope your translating skills are better than your manners.”

Dean slammed his body down into one of the hard, wooden chairs and angrily tore open a book, “Shut up.”

Two hours later

Dean checked his watch again and growled, “How long does it take to walk a dog?”

“I’m sure she’s just blowing off some steam, you got her pretty worked up,” Sam muttered, his head bent over a manuscript.

“I worked her up?! She started it.”

“Actually, you started it.”

“Still,” Dean stood and paced, tension visible in every movement. “She should be back by now. The sun’s starting to go down.”

“If you’re so worried, why don’t you call her?”

Dean reluctantly pulled his phone from his pocket. He really didn’t want to be the first one to initiate contact, “I’m not worried, I just don’t want to have to go looking for the little pain in the ass in the dark.”

He dialed her number and a moment later her phone sounded from under a stack of papers where she had been working. Dean dug out the slim phone with the shatterproof cover depicting the Eiffel tower. “Damn it.”

Charlie smirked when she recognized the tune, Copacabana. “Is that… Barry Manilow? That is not her ring tone!”

The brothers exchanged a look and Charlie laughed, “No. Come on… Do you really think the lady who told off lean, mean Dean would get lost walking her dog?”

“Mean?! I am not mean!”

Sam was already out of his chair, “I’ll go get her.”

“No, no, damn it. I’ll go.” Dean pulled on his coat and headed for the door. “I swear, we are duct taping this phone to her ass!”

It didn’t take the hunter long to pick up Y/N’s trail. Her wellie boot tracks went west along with massive Labrador paw prints. Probably headed off to the stream, she did like the view down that way. He heard her before he saw her. Calling to Macey and laughing.

“Come on, you dopey dog!”

Dean slowed his approach and hung back behind a trio of trees, observing out of pure curiosity. Down a shallow embankment that led to the water’s edge, stood Y/N. Her shiny rain boots were sunk in mud up to her ankles and her dog was splashing through the stream in pure delight. Finding her prize, Macey bounded back to her mistress with a massive branch in her mouth.

Y/N took the branch and tossed it back to be fetched. A fine mist of muddy stream water sprayed over her charcoal trousers as the dog set off after the stick. When the dog dove into the waters again, obviously delighted in the massive mess she was making, Y/N laughed out loud.

Dean had to admit, it was a charming scene. The low light of the sun setting spilled golden beams through the clearing and glittered off the surface of the water. Not so perfect now, Y/N was rumpled. Strands of her hair had worked free and floated around her face and her clothes were splattered with mud and water. Still, she looked nearly ethereal in the glow of the disappearing sun. Carefree and certainly happier than when she stormed out of the bunker.

He had started it. He knew it, but his frustration had gotten the better of him. He took it out on her, but damn it. She was driving him crazy! Why should he be the only one to suffer?

He sighed, now that his temper had cooled, he was reluctant to interrupt what was obviously a much-needed break for her. As fate would have it, he wouldn’t have to. Macey caught wind of his scent and made a beeline straight for him, all gangly legs and slobbery kisses.

Y/N turned in time to see Macey tackle Dean with enough force he stumbled backwards, barely keeping his balance. She frowned, “What are you doing here?”

Dean patted Macey’s head, calming her down. “Looking for you. You were gone so long I figured you must have headed for the boarder.”

“I’ve been gone like twenty minutes.”

“Try two hours.”

“Oh.” She frowned, having lost track of time. “Why didn’t you just call?”

He held up her phone with a raised eyebrow. She felt her pocket and confirmed its absence. “Oh.”

Dean strode towards her and tossed her the phone, “I don’t know why you even bother with the damned thing; you never have it on you. At this point I’m thinking we just tag you like grizzly bear and release you into the wild. At least then we’d have GPS.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she muttered, shoving the phone into her back pocket. “I was always going to come back; it still gets dark early. And Macey needs a bath.”

“Sweetheart, you get lost going for milk. You and that dog would be wandering around for hours if I hadn’t shown up.”

“I’m sure this will come as a shock, but I have been traveling this world unescorted for years without incident. And while navigation isn’t my strongest suit, I am perfectly capable of finding my way home without you!”

Y/N turned on her heel, determined to leave the irritating Winchester as quickly as possible. She started to climb back up the embankment, but it was slick after the recent rain. Her boots slipped in the mud and landed square on her backside. Mud and water soaked through her pants and splattered everywhere.

Dean really laughed then. Doubled over and practically crying, while Y/N glowered up at him.

“Are you just going to stand there laughing at me or are you going to help me up?”

He held out a hand to her, when she took it, she pulled him down into the mud with her, taking him by surprise. He landed with a grunt, and she smirked.

Dean was fast, faster than she could anticipate. Before she even knew what happened, he turned the tables, and she was flat on her back. He had her quite efficiently pinned, yet somehow not crushed under his weight. His large hands clamped her wrists, holding them fast on either side of her head.

She tried to struggle against him, and he chuckled, his intense green eyes boring into hers, “Self-defense rule number one Sweetheart, never give up your leverage.”

He was so close, hips pressed against her pelvis, his face mere inches from hers. Y/N wasn’t nearly as unaffected as Dean thought. She was just as distracted as he was, acutely aware of his presence at all times. He radiated heat and power, coiled just under the surface. That warm, clean scent of his filled her senses. Like leather, whiskey, soap and something else undefinable yet unique to him. She swallowed and her heart sped up, hammering against her ribcage.

Y/N surprised them both by angling her head up and kissing him. It was passion and desire, red hot and built up over weeks of denial. He kissed her back, letting himself follow the waves of desire. His tongue swept inside her mouth, drawing a moan from the back of her throat. She seemed to turn to silk under his touch, soft, smooth, and pliant.

As he gave into the kiss, his grip loosened just enough. Dean was fast and so was she. Y/N snaked a leg around his and flipped him, so she was on top. She straddled his hips and held her forearm against his throat just enough to gain control but not constrict airflow. The look of shock on his face had her grinning in triumph.

She leaned in close and whispered into his ear, “Who says I gave up my leverage?”

When she nipped at his earlobe, Dean growled deep in his chest. She felt him harden against her and held tight as he sat up right, keeping her anchored to him in one swift move. Sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, fingers gripping his shoulders. His calloused hands splayed her back and he pressed a hot kiss to the hollow of her throat where her pulse beat erratically under her skin. He was everywhere, flooding every sense. Fully in control, his expert mouth exploring and branding her skin. When his hand found her breast and his thumb stroked through her sweater, Y/N breathed his name.

Dean believed words to be over-rated when it came to intimacy. Anything he could say at this point would be inadequate in expressing how he felt, far better to show her. The life of a hunter was harsh, cold; filled with darkness, horror, and death. The woman in his arms sat in stark contrast. A physical representation of all that was light, and good and beautiful in the world. All he wanted was to lose himself in her and forget about the end of the world.

It had been a very long time since Dean let himself give in to his needs. It was the job, it can take over everything so quickly and so completely that before you know it, that’s all there is. There is no time for the joys of being human. Most days, he kept himself too busy to even notice. But then came Y/N, the living example of what he was missing. Seeing her every day made it harder and harder to just do the job. She awakened his senses, and he wanted more. That was why he bedeviled her all the time.

She’d compared him to a boy pulling a girl’s pigtails on the playground. And she was right. It was just plain fun!

But this… having her in his arms, pressed up against him. Tasting her, feeling her, getting lost in her; this was better. This was heaven on Earth.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Y/N pulled back, desperate to catch her breath. She put her hands on Dean’s chest and dropped her head, trying to clear it of the hazy desire that clouded everything.

To his credit, Dean stopped his advances, taking a moment himself. He ran a hand over her hair and touched his forehead to hers, “Yeah, yeah.”

She leaned into his touch. God! He felt so good, so right! Before she could stop herself, she brushed her lips over his. It was intoxicating. All encompassing. Addicting. The heat between them built again, hotter with each passing second, threatening to ignite. Her fingers raked through his hair, sending an almost electric current down Dean’s spine. He ravaged her again, tongue and teeth grazed her heated skin.

Suddenly, her control came back, and she pushed herself off of him. She stood on unsteady legs and stared at him. Her eyes, normally calm now stormy and clouded. Like thunderheads brewing over the sea.

Dean looked up at her and had to chuckle. She looked somewhere between turned on and terrified. “I gotta tell ya, I’m getting mixed signals here sweetheart.”

She braced one hand on her hip and ran the other over through her mud caked hair. Panic warred with yearning. “I know, I know. Damn it, I’m sorry! I just… I’m sorry.”

Suddenly overwhelmed, she turned away and started walking as quickly as she could. A task made difficult with her slick rain boots.

Dean was on his feet and right behind her, “Hey, Y/N! Slow down.”

Y/N ignored him and kept her stumbling pace. She had to get away from him, just had to think for a minute, breath for a minute. Get away before she did something she regretted.

“Where are you going?”

“Back to the bunker,” she replied, stubbornly trudging through the mud, “We have work to do and I’m sure Sam and Charlie are wondering what happened to us.”

“The bunker is in the other direction.”

Y/N abruptly stopped and looked around; he was right. “Damn it.”

When she spun around to head back, Dean stopped her. His hands caught her shoulders and held her fast, “Hold it. Just hold it.”

“Let me go.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. One minute you’re all over me the next you’re running away.” Dean’s smile faded when he saw the tears gather in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He released her, worried that he’d crossed a line. “You’ve got nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nothing. Just talk to me, tell me what’s going though that head of yours.”

“We’ve got a job to do, people are in danger and relying on us. This is not the time for…for this.” She waved a hand at him, as if to even say the word sex was to invoke its power.

He nearly barked out a laugh. She shifted back into the prim and proper, by the book Y/N in an instant. It was her armor, her last defense.

“You’re the who left in the middle of research. Research we can’t complete without you. Turns out I don’t speak Italian. From any century.”

A small smile curved her lips, but her eyes turned sad, and Dean could hardly stand it. He could spar with her day and night. Actually, he kinda liked it. Her acidic wit and high-handed attitude were fun to bounce off. Most women caved to his charm, and those who didn’t, usually responded to his gruff side. Y/N remained immune to both.

And he liked it. He craved it.

But him being nice to her, had the opposite effect. And him kissing her had her in tears.

“This isn’t about the job; this is something else. I’ll fix it. Whatever I did, just tell me so I can fix it.”

She looked at him for a long moment before replying, “Why did you kiss me Dean?”

“Because when a gorgeous, irritating woman sits on top of you and kisses you stupid, you kiss her back.” He tilted his head to ask, “Why did you kiss me?”

“Because I’m an idiot,” she blinked away the moisture in her eyes and looked off towards the horizon. “Because I want you and I am just so very tired of fighting it and fighting you. It was a mistake. God, I’m so sorry.”

He kept his voice even, despite the hope blooming in his chest. “You want me, I want you. Sweetheart, I’m not seeing the problem.”

“But that’s the thing… I shouldn’t want you! You’re all… hard and rough and you watch fake wrestling. You look down your nose at anything Men of Letters related, and you hate when I talk about Rome. You take every opportunity to tell me what a snob I am. Dean, we have nothing in common except the job we’re doing.”

Dean brought his hand up to slowly cup her face. His thumb gently ghosted over her cheekbone then down her jaw. His gaze focused on her lips, yet he made no move to kiss her again.

“I’m not always so rough.”

He touch was warm, yet she shivered and let out a shuddered breath when he brushed her hair back with his other hand.

“I hate you talking about Rome because you always go on and on about that hot dude.”

She frowned in thought, “Bastian? He’s a cardinal!”

“He’s a slick Italian. Just like all the Men of Letters douchebags, they’re just a bunch of book smart, smooth talkers. And that wrestling isn’t fake, it’s choreographed.”

He moved his hand to her shoulders, slowly rubbing his thumb over the curve, “Besides, we have something very important in common that you’ve overlooked. Chemistry.”

His mouth came close to hers then moved to hover near the sensitive spot just below her earlobe, but he didn’t touch. His hot breath fanned over her skin making her thoughts cloud over. She couldn’t help the tiny moan that escaped.

“I think I’m exactly your type.”

. “It’s the close quarters,” her voice sounded husky, not at all like her normal, measured tones. “It’s because we’re penned in together. Stressed, with no way to release the tension. But if you were out in one of those little dive bars you like and the right… opportunity presented itself. You would forget I even existed.”

“And if some suave, ivy league dirtbag swept you off your feet, would you forget me? Just like that?”

“No. I wouldn’t. That’s why this is so dangerous. I don’t do casual, Dean. I’m not built that way.”

“There’s nothing casual about you. And there’s nothing casual about what’s happening between us. This is more than lust, Y/N.”

She wanted to believe him, and that was a problem. She was entirely biased. She wanted Dean’s words to be true, but she need proof.

“How do you know?”

“Your birthday? It’s June 17th. You love cake but hate frosting. You always put money in those little charity cans in gas stations, even if you have to go to the ATM to do it. You tell people your favorite song is Let It Be but it’s really Africa. You can roller skate backwards. You speak your mind even when it scares you and you have a soft spot for Cas.”

“Good angels are hard to find,” she muttered.

“You hold your breath every time we drive over a bridge and you sent a Christmas card to that old guy in Raleigh.”

Her head shot up and he nodded knowingly. “Ben Montgomery, from that double werewolf case.”

“I didn’t think you noticed that.”

“I notice everything about you. Always have. From the minute you came knocking on our front door, you’re all I see. For the first time in my life, I see more than myself. More than a life ending bloody. More than the job, even more than my brother. I see you and I want… more.”

This was Dean Winchester laid bare. Green eyes, bright and earnest against his mud caked skin. Who said vulnerable was weak? He’d spoken so simple and true that she felt like a coward in comparison. Her attraction sent her running for the hills. If this was love, it was the scariest thing she’d faced yet.

“I notice you too.” She shook her head with self-depreciating smile. “You’re ridiculous!”

“I think you mean adorable,” he winked.

Of course he did.

“And funny. And brave. And… so very kind. When I came to the bunker looking for answers, I knew they wouldn’t come easy. I was prepared for that challenge, but I never expected you. My whole life I’ve always known what to do. I know the steps to take but when it comes to you… I haven’t a clue. I am lost. And I am terrified.”

He took her hands and laced his fingers through hers. His skin was warm, especially compared to hers. A serious look creased his brow, making that little line appear between his eyebrows. She resisted the urge to reach up and smooth that worry away.

“I’m terrified too.”

“You?”

“Comes with the territory. It’s a risk, Y/N. I’m not saying it’s not, but everything good in this life is a risk. And this? Right here, you and me? This is good. You’ll never convince me it’s not. The way I see it, we’ve got two choices. Door number one; we keep the status quo. Go back to the bunker and take cheap shots at each other until Sammy and Charlie are ready to lock us in the dungeon.”

“I think they already are. Door number two?”

“We jump.” He grinned and swung his arms, making hers swing too. A reluctant, but inevitable smile bloomed on her face. “We tell the fear to fuck off and take a chance on ourselves for a change. Even heroes deserve a little happiness now and then.”

“Dean Winchester the optimist?”

“I spent the afternoon mud wrestling with you, things are looking up. So, what’d you say, Sweetheart?”

He made valid points, and she shared many of them. But that wasn’t what swayed her. Nor was it the obvious appeal of his hunter’s physique or his shameless flirting.

It was hope. For the first time, she saw it shinning in his eyes. It was beautiful. It belonged there always.

A jump, he’d said. A leap of faith. Maybe she could do it… if they jumped together.

She wrapped her arms up around Dean’s neck, determined to meet his honesty with boldness.

“Geronimo.”

Kisses between them always followed a fight. Battles of strong words and unbending wills. Building to a climax that could just as easily come to blows. Overflowing with passion and misplaced emotions. Exciting yes, but easy to dismiss as something else when fear reared its ugly head.

In many ways, this was a true first kiss. Powered by something more substantial than desire. It was born of hope and tasted like joy. If such a kiss could exist in the dark lives of hunters, then maybe happiness was achievable. And that was a risk worth taking.

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