#Peacemaker 2 were gonna meet up and I think its fucked up we live in the dark timeline where

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

Richard Carter is the key to all of this. If we can just trick Paul Kupperberg into writing for DC again,

#I discovered that Kupperberg put the whole rejected blackthorn pitch on his site too and #have been thinking about both of them constantly lately. #The Blackthorn pitch was kind of similar to the peacemaker one in terms of a big thing being like #shadowy government agencies being evil but whats interesting about the blackthorn pitch is it was like explicitly about the CIA being bad #Like explicitly The CIA Is Bad And Sucks #Wouldnt have been About that like how the peacemaker solo was gonna be about Carter #getting disillusioned with his fictional government agency and whistleblowing on all the horrible shit it did to get it like Dismantled but #its incheresting to me. Also both pitches shared a new villain Kupperberg was gonna put in them #And I know it was probably just him reusing the concept from whichever one came first but I THINK Blackthorn and What Wouldve Been- #Peacemaker 2 were gonna meet up and I think its fucked up we live in the dark timeline where #that didnt happen. #Last post.

[winchester-fantasies]

Until My Dying Breath

Summary: The Mark has changed Dean and taken its toll on him and your relationship. Will you ever come back to him?

Word Count: 2841

Warnings: angst, swearing, smut, fluff

Pairing: MOC!Dean x Reader

Winchester Fantasies’ Masterlist

     The first thing he noticed through the haze of sleep was the quiet. It was deafening. He rolled over, his hand reaching to the other side of the bed - her side. It was cold and empty.

     He jerked out of bed and fumbled for the lamp. The room was flooded with light, and he squinted against it, silently cursing as his eyes struggled to adjust. He glanced around the room desperately, trying to find something, anything to indicate she was still there.

     Finding nothing, he jumped out of bed and practically ran down the hall, silently praying she’d be sitting in the library doing research as she so often did. She always said 2:00 a.m. was her hour of inspiration.

     Panic took over when he found the library dark and empty. He hurried to the kitchen, flipping on the light and searching wildly even though he already knew she wasn’t there.

     His eyes fell to the counter, settling on a piece of paper. He picked it up with trembling hands. It was a note - a simple one: “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

     “Son of a bitch!” he shouted, pounding his fist on the counter. He swung around, jerking pots and pans from the hooks over the island and throwing them against the wall, each one making a dent. He shoved bowls, plates, and cups off the metal shelves, the ceramic shattering on the concrete floor.

     He leaned heavily against the island, his breathing labored. His heart beat hard as rage pumped through his veins. He glanced down to the Mark on his arm, angry and red. He wished he could take his knife and carve it out of his skin. But this godforsaken Mark wouldn’t let him.

     He had warned her it would change him. She reassured him she could take it. He told her to leave. She had stayed. He promised he’d never hurt her. She had believed him. Now she was gone.

     “Dean?” Sam’s voice broke through his thoughts. “You okay?”

     “She’s gone,” he choked out.

     “What? Why?” Sam asked incredulously.

     Dean shoved the note into his brother’s hand. Sam’s eyes roved the paper, his lips silently mouthing the words. He frowned and turned it over. Finding nothing on the other side, he looked back to Dean, confusion written on his face. “What is this about?” he asked.

     “What do you think, Sammy?” Dean barked, motioning to his arm.

     “The Mark,” Sam stated as if it weren’t already blaringly obvious.

     Dean ran his fingers through his hair roughly. “Fuck, I knew this would happen,” he lamented gruffly.

     “What exactly did happen?” Sam asked, still not entirely following.

     “I…. Fuck, Sam! I hurt her!” Dean shouted.

     Sam’s eyes darkened. “How?” he asked, his voice low.

     “I…we were in the library. She…she said something that really pissed me off.” He let out an angry chuckle. “I can’t even remember what she said. Shows just how petty I was being.”

     His face hardened. “I hit her, Sam. I hit her hard. She was bleeding. And crying. I…I couldn’t stand to see her cry so I left her alone. I didn’t even try to apologize or see if she was alright.” He looked to Sam, his eyes wide with anguish. “What kind of boyfriend am I, Sam, that I don’t even check to see if my girl is okay?”

     “Not a very good one,” Sam said. Dean flinched at his brother’s brashness, but he didn’t argue. He knew Sam was right.

     Dean groaned as he leaned against the island again, his forehead resting on the cold metal surface. “I don’t know what I’m gonna do without her, Sam,” he said in bewilderment.

     “Just give her a few days. She might just need some time to cool off,” Sam said. Sam was always the peacemaker, and the one who saw the good in every situation. Normally Dean found comfort in his brother’s encouragement. But this time Dean found little solace in his brother’s words.

     Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so. It’s too late.”

**********

     Two weeks. Two long, agonizing weeks. That’s how long she’d been gone. Sam had tried to track her phone, and they had even used Bobby’s old tracking spell. When neither of those worked, they turned to Cas. But even that turned up nothing. It didn’t surprise him that she knew every move in the book. Dean had taught her well.

     He leaned back against Baby’s hood, her cold metal matching the iciness in his heart. He raised the bottle to his lips and took a long and generous gulp. The whiskey strung on the way down, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.

     He threw the bottle to the ground, and the glass shattered against the rocks that sat only a few feet away. He looked around him, at the wide open field before him, the forest that sat on either side of him, the cloudless sky and the moon that hung low. This was where they had first consummated their love, where they both realized the passing brushes and lingering glances were more than casual flirting, more than just friends.

     He took out another bottle and chugged. His head was buzzing and things were starting to get a little hazy, but it didn’t matter how much he tried to drown himself in alcohol. Nothing seemed to numb the pain.

     He thought he had loved Cassie and Lisa. He really did. But nothing could have prepared him for this. This was on a whole ‘nother level, one so deep he was finding it hard to swim or make sense of anything. She was his life preserver, and the one light that shone in the shit show that was his life. But without her, he didn’t know if he really wanted to live.

     He took out his phone and fumbled with the screen. He pulled up her name, and his heart seized up when he saw her caller ID. She was so beautiful. She was always so insecure and critical of herself, and no matter how many times he tried to convince her otherwise, she never fully believed him. But she would always be the most beautiful and precious treasure to him.

     His fingers hovered over the call button. Should he? Sam would probably tell him no. That she needed space and that he’d only be complicating things. Well, to hell with space!

     He hit the button and raised the phone to his ear with trembling hands. It rang one…two…three times. He began to lose his nerve. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Just when he was about to give up there was a click on the other line.

     “Hello?” she said, and his breath hitched. Her words were unceremonious and monotone, but her voice was about the prettiest sound he’d ever heard. He wasn’t even sure what to compare it to. Maybe like that symphony she’d shown him that one time or maybe like the gentle rain that fell around them when they had shared their first kiss.

     He must have remained silent too long because she sighed heavily. “Dean, I’m hanging up.”

     “No, no, please!” he begged. At any other time he would have kicked himself for sounding so needy, but right now he didn’t give a damn how he sounded. He needed her to know how lost he was without her.

     Silence met his plea, and his stomach dropped. Had she hung up anyway? “(Y/N)?” he whispered, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

     “What do you want?” she asked bluntly, and relief washed over him.

     “I…I don’t know,” he said.

     “Then there’s no reason to stay on the line,” she stated.

     “Wait!” he demanded, his voice ringing out in the open air. “Can…can we talk?”

     She didn’t answer, and he was almost certain she never would. But then she sighed. “Not on the phone,” she said. “Meet me at that little coffee shop outside of town. The one with our favorite pie.” His heart leapt at her use of the word ‘our.’

     “The place where we had our first date,” he said softly.

     “Yeah,” she whispered, and he could have sworn her voice quivered just a little. “Be there at 10:00 tomorrow,” she said quickly before hanging up.

**********

     He walked into the coffee shop, requesting the table near the back. He ordered coffee before he settled back in his chair. She hadn’t arrived yet, and he kept bouncing his leg as he waited impatiently.

     He took a sip of coffee and pulled out his phone, opening the file Sam had sent him. Maybe if he read up about their new case, he wouldn’t be such a basket case when she finally did arrive.

     He was two pages in when the bell over the coffee shop door tinkled. He looked up, and his heart nearly stopped. There she was. Just as beautiful and radiant as ever.

     Her eyes scanned the crowd until they landed on him. He sent her a half-hearted smile, but she didn’t return it, instead casting her gaze to the floor. She walked over to the table, her shoulders slumped. Anguish and self-loathing filled his mind as he realized he was the cause. He was the reason she was so broken.

     “Hey,” he whispered as she settled down across from him. She looked up at him. Her eyes were red and bloodshot like she’d been crying too much, and if the dark circles under them were any indication, she hadn’t slept in days.

     “Hi,” she rasped. Her eyes were down again. She played with the strings on her hoodie absentmindedly, feigning interest in the slightly worn out tabletop.

     “You hungry?” he asked.

     She shrugged. “Not really,” she said, but he doubted it was true. Her face looked a bit thinner, like she hadn’t eaten properly since she’d left. She probably hadn’t. She was always so selfless. Always putting him and Sam first, forgetting about herself and her own needs. He’d always have to remind her to eat and drink. But he didn’t press her this time. He’d make sure she was taken care of right after they took care of the elephant in the room.

     “I’m really sorry about the other night,” he said, wasting no time in getting right to the point. She appreciated transparency and despised when people beat around the bush.

     She looked up at him again. His eyes searched hers, but her face was unreadable. “Me, too,” she breathed.

     He frowned. “There’s no reason for you to apologize. You did nothing wrong.”

     A tear rolled down her cheek, but she quickly swiped it away, almost as if she didn’t have the right to feel hurt. “I made you upset. I promised I’d be there for you; help you through this. I just wanted to be your comfort, Dean. But I only made things worse for you.”

     His heart nearly broke that she felt so responsible for what happened. She looked down again, but he reached across and took her hand. She didn’t hold it, but she didn’t pull away.

     He squeezed her hand gently. “Look at me, (Y/N),” he whispered. He swallowed past the lump in her throat when her eyes met his once more, hurt swimming in their (Y/E/C) depths.

     He forced a smile. “Listen to me, and listen good. None of what’s happened the last few months or the other night was your fault. None of it,” he emphasized. “It’s all me. It’s all because of this god-damned Mark!” he spat out. She flinched at his tone and quickly withdrew her hand from his, shrinking back into the chair.

     Where was the badass and fiery hunter he knew? Wherever she was, this wasn’t her.

     “I know the Mark hasn’t taken a toll just on me, but on you, too,” he said quietly. “But, baby, I don’t want us to give up. I want us to keep fighting this, and fighting for each other. I don’t want you to give up on me,” he said desperately.

     Her eyes shot up to meet his, piercing his very depths. He caught a glimpse of the fighter he loved so much as her eyes flashed. “I’ve never given up on you, Dean!” she stated, her voice cracking from the exertion of trying to maintain control of her emotions. “And I’m not about to give up now!”

     “But, Dean,” she said, sobering. “I can’t stay with you if you’re only going to keep hurting me.”

     He looked to the table. What was he supposed to say to that? He couldn’t promise he’d never hurt her again. He placed his hand on his forearm, heat from the Mark penetrating his heavy jacket and flannel. He couldn’t promise anything when this thing dictated his every emotion.

     “I can’t promise that,” he breathed. She nodded, her eyes welling with tears that she tried hopelessly to hold back. “But I promise I’ll try,” he said, desperate to give her something to hold on to.

     “Everyday is a battle,” he continued. “But it’s one I’m willing to fight if it means I’ll have you by my side. With you, everything makes sense. You’re the missing piece that keeps everything in alignment. You’re the only thing that makes sense to me anymore, (Y/N). And without you, I’m not sure that even the Mark could keep me alive.”

     “Dean,” she said, her voice trembling. “To try is all I ask.” She reached across the table and took his hand, rubbing her thumb over his knuckles. And for the first time since she’d walked inside, he saw her smile.

**********

     Before either of them could really register what was happening, they were in a motel room. He had her pressed against the door while he kissed her needily. If felt like months since he’d seen her even though it had only been weeks, and his hunger for her was insatiable.

     Her hands wound around his neck as his fingers fumbled with the button on her jeans. He pushed them and her panties down in one fell swoop, and she quickly stepped out of them, kicking them into the corner.

     He placed his knee between her legs, spreading them wide, and she bucked against it, moaning as his jeans made contact with her sensitive clit. He removed his leg, replacing it with his hand. His fingers slid past her swollen bud and dipped inside, coating them with her wetness. She shuddered as his fingers briefly touched her sweet spot, and she gasped when he began to stroke her clit. Within moments she was cumming, his name a prayer on her lips.

     She was breathing hard when he captured her lips in his own. Her hand found his throbbing erection, and he bucked into her palm until he was on the precipice of release. “Need to be inside you. Now,” he panted. She nodded and released him. He turned her around and started backing her up towards the bed. But they never made it.

     Her hands gripped his shoulders, and her back rubbed roughly against the stained and mildewy carpet as he pounded into her relentlessly. Her walls were a soft cocoon of velvet, and he wondered if someone could die from ecstasy.

     His hands found her legs, cupping the underside of her knees and bringing her legs around his waist. The new position afforded him a better angle, and he knew he’d found her sweet spot as she arched her back and moaned, the sound breathy and wanton.

     “Almost. There,” she breathed, and he pressed on harder and more ardently. He was determined to show her how much he needed her, how much he loved her.

     She came hard, her walls clenching around him, his name a cry of praise on her lips. Her legs shook as he came inside her, his warm seed filling her to the brim.

     He fell on top of her, his head coming to rest in the crook of her neck. He whispered a litany of sweet nothings while her hands paved trails over his sweaty back and up his neck, fingers weaving through his hair.

     He pulled out once he was limp, and he got up, his legs shaky. He picked her up bridal style, carried her to the bed, and laid her down gently. He placed a soft kiss to her brow before going to the bathroom. He returned with a damp cloth, and he cleaned her up with tender ministrations.

     He tossed the cloth into the corner before climbing into bed, pulling the blanket over them both. He snuggled under the covers, pulling her close to him and giving her a loving kiss.

     She laid her head on his chest, her fingers brushing his skin while his stroked her hip. His eyes grew heavy, and he was on the verge of sleep when she spoke, her voice quiet but strong. “I’m going to fight, too. For you. For us. Until I can’t fight anymore. Until my dying breath.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural fanfiction