#i head we’re doing dean love tonight!!!

[thebirdandthebee]

Aw Honey Honey (18+)

A Jake “Hangman” Seresin one-shot based on the above prompt + “Does he not know that we’re together?” This is unedited and a little corny, but I think it turned out cute! Smut and fluff ahead! 18+ only. If you enjoyed it, please don't keep it to yourself :)

Title: Aw Honey Honey Jake Seresin isn’t sharing his Sugar. WC: 3085

To some people you were the cute girl who worked in the corporate office of community engagement on base at Miramar. To others, you were Lieutenant Commander Jake Seresin’s very serious, long-term girlfriend.

While you weren’t enlisted, you felt spoiled that you had an office on base, but weren’t tethered to quite the same rules and restrictions that your boyfriend, or his group of friends were obligated to abide by. Sure, you didn’t have free reign, but you often used your office as a hideout for your friends and colleagues during the day when they needed a place to relax for a few minutes.

Of course, there was work to do as well. You were in the thick of scheduling sailors and aviators alike to visit classrooms at elementary schools next week for Read Across America Day. Everyone got a class to visit from kindergarten through fifth grade, would read a Dr. Seuss book out loud, and then left a copy for each child to take home. It was one of your favorite days of the year.

“Knock, knock,” looking up from your computer, you saw Dean ‘Hooper’ Lennox, one of the newest aviators to join the elite fighter weapons school – or Top Gun.

“Hi Dean,” you smiled warmly, gesturing to the open seat across from you desk. “How ya doin’?”

“I’m good, how are you?” He asked, forgoing the chair and leaning against your desk.

“Happy it’s Friday,” you replied, leaning back in your chair and crossing one leg over the other, missing the way he glanced at your bare legs.

“Big plans this weekend?” he asked, reaching over flicking this finger across the top of your pen cup.

“I think some friends and I will hit The Hard Deck tonight,” you replied, opening up a desk drawer to pull out a Milky Way, breaking it in half and handing the other over to him. He grinned as he dropped it into his mouth as you enjoyed your treat as well.

“I’m sure we’ll end up there, too,” he added, eyes zeroing in on a thread of caramel on the corner of your mouth. “Maybe I can buy you a drink,” he reached down, running his thumb over your soft skin. You blushed with embarrassment; you must have looked ridiculous with candy on your face.

“Never say no to a free drink,” you laughed.

“Hey there,” you looked around Dean’s body to see Natasha’s head in your doorway.

“Hi Phee,” you grinned, “we’re having a candy break,” you explained.

“Love some sugar, huh Hooper?” Phoenix asked, “I think Rooster’s looking for you,” she added.

“See ya tonight,” Dean smiled, giving you a wink before disappearing from your office. Phoenix dropped into the chair opposite your desk.

“Milky Way or 100 Grand?” You asked, opening up your drawer.

“You know I want the Milky Way,” Phoenix replied with a flat look, opening her hand palm-up. You tossed one her way and she easily caught it, tearing it open. “Hooper visit you often?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah once and a while,” you shrugged.

“He always get right in your space like that?” She followed up.

“I don’t know,” you shrugged.

“I miss candy hour?” Jake asked, standing in the open door way.

“Hi babe,” you greeted, “candy hour is just starting,” you insisted, opening your drawer once again and fishing out a Baby Ruth bar.

“Thanks Sugar,” Jake said, walking over and kissing your cheek gently as he took the treat from you.

“You just missed Hooper,” Phoenix announced, giving her teammate a pointed look.

“Big loss,” Jake commented, not having a particular taste for the newbie.

“Yeah, he was getting some sugar from your Sugar,” Natasha added. You rolled your eyes with a laugh. Jake whipped around to look back at you, taking a bite out of his candy bar.

“Does he not know that we’re together?” He asked, his green eyes looking rather focused.

“Well it’s not like I introduce myself as Jake Seresin’s girlfriend,” you laughed, flipping your laptop back open.

“Well you could,” Jake said as if it was the obvious thing in the world.

“Phee, back me up here,” you said, looking for some female solidarity. Phoenix shrugged, planting her feet back on the ground and standing up.

“I don’t know, I think he wants to fuck you,” Phoenix said, “but I’ve got reports to file, so that’s my cue – see you all tonight.”

“Bye Phee,” you sighed, looking back up at Jake whose gaze had really focused back on you.

“Why does Phoenix think Hooper wants to fuck you?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Baby, he came in here to get some candy and asked me if I had any weekend plans,” you said plainly, standing up from your desk, “Phoenix is being ridiculous – besides, what do I care what Dean thinks?” You wound your arms around his waist, resting your chin on his chest. “I’ve got you,” You smiled, pressing a kiss to the underside of his jaw.

Jake gave in, draping his arms down over your shoulders and hugging you against him.

“Is it the weekend yet?” He asked, lacing his hand up into your hair, giving it a gentle tug.

“Tonight will be fun,” you insisted. “But for now, back to work, Hangman,” you laughed, landing an open palm on his ass.

“I’m reporting you,” Jake frowned, leaning down to press a hot kiss to your mouth, “see you at home.” He gave your hair one more little tug before disappearing. Dropping back down to your desk, you glanced at the clock. The workday couldn’t end soon enough.

You beat Jake home that afternoon, immediately changing out of your work clothes and into a pair of Jake’s shorts and a tank top. You were throwing together a cheese quesadilla in the kitchen when you heard the front door open again.

“Sugar?” He called out, “where ya hidin’ baby?” he wandered into the kitchen, already unbuttoning his khaki shirt.

“Hi handsome,” you grinned, greeting him with a kiss. “Want a lil snack?” you asked, brandishing your spatula in the air.

“I got a lil snack right here,” he said, chasing your lips with a kiss.

“What time are we meeting everyone?” You asked, “do we have time for a quick shower?”

“Sugar, you know we always have time for a shower,” Jake grinned.

“Split this with me,” you commanded, transferring the quesadilla to a plate, the cheese gooey and hot. Carefully cutting it in half, Jake gladly let you feed him bite by bite.

“How about we go away next weekend?” Jake said, gladly chowing down on the snack you made.

“Where do you want to go, babe?” You reached up, swiping at the corner of Jake’s mouth with a napkin.

“Go up the coast, stay in Malibu for a couple days,” he said, “get a little tan.”

“I’m in,” you nodded. “Love seeing you in those little euro swim trunks,” you winked. Jake scoffed with a shake of his head, tossing his plate in the sink and taking your last bite.

“You have ten seconds to strip and get in the shower,” he pointed to the bathroom down the hall. When Jake meant business, he meant business, so you skedaddled through the house, losing your shorts and top along the way. He’d grab them anyway, Jake Seresin was an unbearable clean freak.

You’d just stepped into the stream of water when you felt Jake’s hands on your waist, shortly followed by his breath in our ear.

“Hi Sugar,” he whispered, holding back the shower curtain as he stepped in.

“Hi Jake,” you grinned, turning to face him, the hot water beating down on your back.

“You been a good girl today?” He asked, pushing your hair back from your face.

“Always are,” you insisted, giving him those big doe eyes he always loved.

“Don’t like you being sweet to Hooper,” He said, walking you back to press you against the shower wall. The tile was cold and he welcomed your arched gasp, pressing your body against his hips-first.

“Can’t help being nice, babe, it’s my nature,” you reminded, “seem to recall when you enjoyed me being so sweet to you.” You’d met Jake two years ago around this time, when he came barreling into your office about a community event, asking a favor for support, when he stuck around for some homemade caramels.

“Your sugar is just for me,” he said, fingers trailing down your stomach to your sex, swiping two fingers through your wet folds before bringing them up to his mouth. “My favorite,” he complimented. “Let’s see if you’re sweet everywhere.”

Your hands found purchase in his blonde hair as his lips traveled from your lips to your jaw to your neck. Sucking gently, you gasped as his teeth grazed your delicate skin.

It was all you could do to run your hands up and down his sculpted back, water cascascading across his muscles as he traveled around your neck and collarbone.

“Jake,” you whined gently, impatience thick in your throat.

“Come on, honey girl,” he hoisted you up, hands planted firmly on your ass as he forced your legs around his waist. When he slid his cock home, you sighed with relief. “There you are,” he huffed into your ear, “there’s my sweet girl,” he could feel his lungs expand in his chest.

“I gotta shampoo,” you reminded, eyes going cross for a moment as he stroked up into you. “Are you seriously thinking about shampoo right now?” Jake asked.

“No, baby,” you giggled at his affronted tone, but gasped as he doubled his efforts, hitting just the right spot inside of you relentlessly. “Jake,” you moaned.

“That’s better,” he grit out, legs shaking beneath him. He liked to think he was in fairly good shape, but the way your sex clenched around him had Jake second-guessing himself. “God you feel incredible, Sugar,” his brows knit in concentration.

Acclimated to the temperature of the tile against your back, you returned your hands to his hair, soothing the lines of his forehead from pure concentration.

“Fucking me so good,” you encouraged, head tilting back against the wall. “Always fuck me so good,” your hand gripped the back of Jake’s neck, fingertips stroking the fine hair there.

“Come on baby, give me that sugar,” he grunted, fingers returning to your clit, making you jump. Jake knew your body better than you, and he could tell, as your right heel dug into his lower back, that you were close. He pressed his forehead into your neck as he came, hips stuttering erratically, mindful to fuck you through his orgasm. With shaking hands, he swirled around your clit just right, shouting as you came, squeezing him in a way that caused black spots in his vision.

Jake, on unsteady legs, gently set you down, the shower filled with billows of steam.

Lazily looping your arms around his neck, he kissed you slowly, savoring the taste of your mouth.

“Lemme shampoo you,” you whispered, making him honk out a loud laugh.

“I swear you love your shampoo more than me,” He said, pressing a firm kiss to your lips.

“Baby, not more than you,” you murmured, “just as much.” A loud squeal ripped from your mouth as he slapped your ass.

Twenty minutes later, you were throwing a summery strapless maxi dress on, tying your hair back into a low bun.

“Babe?” You called for Jake, who was grabbing fresh clothes from the laundry room. He dutifully stepped into the bedroom, taking your necklace and clasping it around your neck wordlessly – a habit he was all too accustomed to. Appearing in the bathroom mirror, you frowned as you saw how red and splotchy your skin was from Jake’s ministrations, but applied minimal makeup nonetheless.

“Your boobs look good,” he commented, stepping behind you, hands cupping your breasts over your dress.

“Jake,” you laughed, “get out of the way or I’m going to get perfume on you,” you warned. He gave your breasts a quick squeeze before heading down the hall.

You still had twenty minutes or so until you needed to leave, so you’d grabbed the mail and sorted through a few items before picking up the living room and packing your purse for the night.

Jake busied himself in the office before Coyote text him that they were leaving quarters to hit the bar.

“Sugar, time to leave,” he instructed, pulling you from your pile of newspaper coupons. He held your hand as you stepped into your shoes, bringing you a little closer to his height.

You rode alongside him in he car, leaning into his side with an arm over your shoulder. You were grateful for the weekend and the chance to unwind. Planning for the reading event had taken a lot out of you this week and you were ready for the chance to decompress.

Upon arriving at The Hard Deck, Jake grasped your hand, leading you inside. It was already packed for the night, Fridays being the most popular time, and Jake spotted Coyote over near one end of the bar with Harvard and Fritz.

“Oh, there’s Tasha – I’ll meet you,” you assured, rocking up to your toes to peck Jake’s lips. “Buy me a beer?” You asked, already crossing the bar. Jake shook his head with a smile, knowing he’d get you anything you asked for.

“What the hell happened to you?” Natasha asked as a greeting. You looked back over you shoulder, wondering if she was talking to you.

“What?” You asked, brows furrowed, “me?”

“You look like you got fucking mauled,” she laughed sardonically, eyeing you up. Looking down, you could see the faintest yellow mark just below your collarbone. Grabbing Natasha’s phone, you flipped the camera to selfie-mode. Over the last half an hour, your red splotches had developed into yellow-green bruises all of your neck and collarbone. “What the fuck?” you laughed, rolling your eyes, “Jake.” You supplied as an answer. “It’s your fault actually,” you said pointedly, angling your body away from the bar.

“My fault?” Natasha asked, eyes wide.

“Yes! Jake got all in my business after you told him Hooper wants to fuck me,” you gave her a meaningful look.

“Well Hooper does want to fuck you,” she said plainly. “Here,” she grabbed her jean jacket off the high top next to her. “This will piss Jake off,” she grinned.

“I don’t really care what he thinks, I just look ridiculous,” you shrugged it on – letting it rest on your shoulders without looping your arms through the sleeves.

You and Natasha caught up for a bit longer, you leaning an elbow against the countertop.

After a good fifteen minutes, you noticed Hooper approaching from over Natasha’s shoulder, and you stood a little straighter.

“No drink in your hand?” He asked with a wide smile.

“Oh, her friend is getting her one,” Natasha smiled knowingly.

“Sure I can’t buy you one? I did offer,” he said, giving her a smile like butter wouldn’t melt. Maybe he was flirting with her after all.

“You’re sweet, but I’m all set,” you reassured.

“Can’t wait for the Read Across America event next week,” he said excitedly, a genuine smile reflecting in those blue eyes. You weren’t blind – Hooper was an attractive man - ocean eyes, fluffy dark brown hair and a chin cleft that harkened back to old Hollywood. He just wasn’t your Jake.

“Yeah, you been practicing your ABCs?” Natasha asked snarkily. You tossed her a look that screamed be nice!

“I’m glad! Not everyone jumps at the chance to entertain a class of 20 six-year olds,” you smiled.

“I’ve got a big family, lots of siblings – I also volunteer as Big Brother out of the San Diego chapter of Big Brothers Big Sisters,” he elaborated, watching the smile on your face grow.

“Yeah, you read to orphans, too?” Natasha asked, sipping her beer. You caught her eye, just to see her expression change and a feline grin take over her face.

“Hi there,” you could spot Jake’s voice anywhere. “Brought your favorite,” he said, setting a summer shandy down on the counter next to your elbow.

“Thanks Jake,” you smiled. “Dean was just telling us about how he volunteers at Big Brothers Big Sisters, isn’t that just the sweetest?” You asked, looking up and over your shoulder at him.

“The sweetest,” Jake grinned that cocky smirk that made you wonder what he was going to do next. “Sugar are you not sweatin’ in here with that jacket on?” He asked, gingerly taking the shoulder seams in his hands and dragging it off of your body, folding it in half and tossing it over the same chair it originally laid across.

There was no missing Hooper’s expression as he eyed up the gallery of color across your neck and décolletage.  

“Yeah, I um –” He watched, clearing his throat as Jake snaked his arms around your waist from behind, dropping a kiss down on your bare shoulder. “Started back at my old chapter in Kansas City, but transferred here… when I moved.” He finished lamely.

“That’s so kind of you, I wish I could do more philanthropically, but I get to fill that cup through work, so it’s a big bonus,” you smiled, Jake’s body pressed so tightly up against your back, there wasn’t room for even a piece of paper to slip between you. Natasha’s grin was downright wicked from behind the rim of her glass, the glint in her eyes absolutely entertained.

“She’s a real sweet girl,” Jake commented. “Sugar sweet,” he finished, squeezing your waist in hand.

“I think Tanker and Mad Dog are starting up a game of pool,” he said, eyes darting all around – “I’ll see you guys later, have a great night.” He practically left a cloud of smoke in his wake.

“Jacob Seresin,” you scolded, turning in your boyfriend’s grip. Natasha burst into laughter.

“Yes?” He asked, tipping his chin up to look down at you, that same cocky smirk on his face.

“You’re unbelievable you know that?” You asked.

“Better believe it,” he grinned.

“And what is all this?” You gestured to your colorful skin.

“I think it turned out quite well, wouldn’t you agree, Phoenix?” He asked.

“You’re a real piece of work, Bagman,” she shook her head, but smiled nonetheless.

“What am I going to do with you, huh?” You asked, leaning forward.

“You can start by giving me some sugar.”

Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed Aw Honey Honey, you might also like Mighty Fine!

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[crushedbyhyperbole]

Cherry Pie Kiss

Slice Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options; with your life on the line, Dean makes a call you're not happy with. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he brings a peace offering.

Haven't read Part One? - Catch up here.

Words: ~3.5k

A/N: This is part 2 of 3 of what started as a short one shot, but someone asked for another slice of pie so I'm here to deliver. There isn't any smut in this part (its all going to be in part 3 😂) but there are graphic depictions of gore, violence and death which is why I ask minors not to read or interact. Reader is female but generic, and obviously has feelings but is kind of stuck in this hate to love him type thing which carries on from part 1. I hope you enjoy the read and are ready for the goonfest and gratuitous smut coming in part 3.

Warnings: gore, death and gruesome depictions of canon-type violence, profanity as standard for my work, bit of angst, bit of fluff right at the end.

***Minor do not read or interact***

Dean Winchester.  You hate him.  His saviour complex, his unwavering strength, the way he’s so damn selfish though not in the ways that count… But boy, can he wear a pair of jeans.  Phew-ee!

You hate that you can’t stop looking at him, leaning on the jukebox of the bar you’re in, feeding it quarters in exchange for some feel-good tunes.  Ugh!  Asshole!

Tonight had been a tough night.  Even Sam was feeling the burn.  Out on the hunt, out of state and out of options, the three of you had played a Hail Mary and it had paid off.  Those damn vamps had just kept on coming.  Sam was down and you were in a bad way with what felt like a hoard of those fuckers piling into the abandoned factory to make a meal out of you all.  Starting out, you had all been so sure that you had this little group in the bag but, as per usual with these goddamn things, the plan didn’t pan out.

Dean had dragged you and a semi-conscious Sam into a tight space between the machines.  One way in, one way out.  You were both toast if you were found and of course you would be found; the vamps had your scent.

Groggily, you watched dean uncoil something from his pocket and string it across the opening at about neck height.

“Guitar string.”  He winked at you as if this idea was the best idea he had ever had and should have been plan A from the start.

“We’re fucking bait?”  You hissed furiously.  No, surely not?  Dean would never use his brother as bait.  Would he?  “Goddamn asshole!”  You snarled with as much vitriol you could muster between your gasping breaths and painful ribs.

He just gave you that weary look he had been wearing for the past hour and shrugged his shoulders before pulling out his machete and hiding himself out of sight.  “Get ready.”

You brandished your blade and hauled yourself to your feet, ready to fight.  There was no point wasting any more breath insulting him.  If you got out of this alive, you would have plenty of opportunity to call him all the names under the sun.  IF you got out alive.

The first vamps that found you came rushing in, right down the tight alley framed by the large machinery and with a sharp twang, Dean’s trap garrotted them straight through, taking their heads clean off.  Of the next three, the wire took the first two but the third approached cautiously despite you calling him to come get you.

Dean ran out from his hiding place and attacked the vamp from behind, slashing at the guy’s thick neck twice in order to cut all the way through.  As the body fell you saw why the vamp had stopped – the trap had remnants of flesh and blood along it from its previous victims making it easier to see.  You wiped your sleeve along it to clean the bits of hanging flesh off making it almost invisible again. Dean gave you an impressed nod.

Another two vamps fell to the wire but the last one got snagged as she fell, snapping it and making it useless.  Well, it was a good idea while it lasted, you thought.

It took you two a little while longer to attract the remaining few vamps who obviously knew something was up.  Sam was in no fit state, still groaning on the ground.  You were weak and in a lot of pain but you kept swinging your blade, struggling to breathe let alone stand.

The fight had been brutal and both you and Dean were covered in blood by the time it was over.  You were on your knees, slumped over a vamp you had had to hack into to remove the head, your blade surely blunt by now.  You were ready to close your eyes and give up when Dean pulled you to your feet.

“C’mon,” he said gruffly, “up and at’em.”  Helping you out over the pile of decapitated bodies, he hauled a now mostly conscious Sam through the mess.

You had made it to the Impala and, for once, Dean hadn’t grumbled about getting blood on Baby’s seats but throwing a couple blankets down instead.  Sam slumped in the front while you crawled in the back, weary and sore.  Your eyes met Dean’s in the rearview mirror but yours flicked away immediately, unable to look at him without getting angry.  When you looked back so did he, like he knew you’d be looking, and held on, asking if you were okay without actually asking.  If he really cared he wouldn’t have used you as bait.

You let your head fall back onto the seat and closed your eyes frustrated by his dichotomy.

After a while on the road, Dean turned the radio on, breaking the silence which opened the door for you to say what was on your mind.  Sam hadn’t been bothered one bit by the fact that Dean had used you both as bait, but you were furious.

“It worked, didn’t it?”  Dean snapped, frustrated by your anger.

“I hate you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you and a whole long list of other people.  Aint nothin’ new.”

Around five miles out of Crocker, Missouri, Dean pulled into a truck stop complex which had a convenience store, gas station, diner, a small motel and a dive bar.  The dawn was still hours away and the need for a couple of hours sleep in a comfortable bed was showing on all three of you.  Sam was the cleanest so he made the arrangements; two rooms because there was no way you were sharing a room with that asshole after what he did.  You were just as likely to fuck him out of anger as fight him at that point.

You used the showers in the truck stop to clean off all the blood and get into some clean clothes, relishing in the feel of the warm water and decent water pressure.  You felt a slight pang of guilt that someone would likely be picking vamp chunks out of the drain in the next couple of days but it passed quickly, it probably wasn’t the worst thing these truck stop attendants had seen over the years.

Refreshed by the shower and a take-out burger from the diner, you decided you needed a drink or five, which sounded good to Sam and Dean – you all deserved it.

So, here you are, several drinks in, pounding another tequila shot, trying not to stare at Dean Winchester’s ass while Sam bids you goodnight and takes himself off to one of the two rooms you had paid for at the run-down motel on site.

It seems as if you’re not the only one with an eye for a firm ass in tight Wranglers; a scantily clad barfly sidles up to Dean and strokes her hand down his back as he plugs his final song into the jukebox.  When her hand reaches that ass of his, he straightens and turns, grinning at her with that look you know means he’s going to ride her all the way to dawn.

You can’t watch this.  You don’t have the stomach for it, not tonight.  You pound your remaining two shots and eat the lime slice, peel and all.  Then you’re up off your stool and pushing past Dean and his lady friend, and out into the night where the air cools your heated skin but not your confusing emotions.

In the second of the two rooms, you look at your bruised face and neck in the mirror.  No wonder he didn’t look twice at you, you’re a mess.  It shouldn’t pain you like it does to think of him with another woman.  He asked once and you said no, so that is the end of that.  Plus, you hate him, can’t forget that.  Still, it gives you some small satisfaction that he now has no empty room to take his new friend to so he’ll have to bang her in Baby, on the bloody blankets.  With a spiteful smirk you flop on the bed and fall into a light disturbed sleep.

A loud knock on the door wakes you up with a start.  At first you don’t know where you are.  So used to your room in the bunker, you had almost forgotten what it feels like to sleep that first night in a new place, never truly resting for fear of attack.  It’s only an hour or so since you left the bar and you’re groggy from the tequila and from the waking.

You don’t turn on the lights when you go to the peephole, looking out with your pistol muzzle pushed up against the flimsy wood door.  Dean sways on the other side, his head turned as though he’s listening.

“Sam’s in the other room,” you call, clicking the safety back onto your pistol.

“I know,” he grumbles, “open up.  I got something.”

“It can wait until the morning.”

“Can’t wait,” it sounds muffled, “owwww!” he hisses.

“What the hell,” you sigh, sliding the chain and turning the handle.

Dean stumbles in with his mouth shaped like an “O” as he slides two bowls onto the unit next to the TV, shaking his hands afterwards as if burned.  You close the door and engage the chain out of habit.

“Got you something.”  He grins goofily, obviously much more drunk than you had left him in the bar, and you wonder what happened to the barfly.  Surely the womanizing Dean Winchester hadn’t banged and dropped her in that short a time?

“It’s two in the morning, Dean.”  You wipe a hand down your tired face, lifting your eyes again to see him handing you one of the bowls from the diner.

“Peace offering.”  He says with a smile as he pushes the hot ceramic into your hands, his eyes glistening with mirth and the effects of all the whiskey he shot back earlier.

You look at what he brought you and your heart almost stops.  It’s a steaming hot piece of cherry pie, drizzled in a large puddle of vanilla custard just the way you like it.  You look at his, with his tiny dollop of cream just the way he likes it, and you can’t help but smile.

“Why?”  You ask as you sit on the edge of the bed with him in the chair by the TV, the bowl in your hand, spoon loaded with goodness.

He finishes chewing a piece of the hot pie, sucking in air to cool it in his mouth before he replies.  “I know you hate me.”

“I don’t hate you,” you admit too quickly but the words are out now whether he believes them or not.

“And I know it’s my fault,” he looks at you with those eyes, “I shouldn’t have made things awkward from day one.  So, I’m sorry about that.”

“Thank you.”  You never thought you would ever hear Dean Winchester apologise, or what you would say in return.

“I didn’t know how to take the rejection,” he sighed heavily, “especially not from someone I have this amazing chemistry with, y’know?  But that’s on me.”

What great chemistry did Dean think he had with you?  All the years you had known him, you’d harboured a bit of a crush on him but he always acted like you were one of the guys.  When you two crossed paths it had felt effortless to slip into the old camaraderie but he treated you like a sister, a fellow hunter, until you had shown up on his radar this time covered in blood and all kinds of messed up and he’d gotten all pissed and… ohhhh.

“You were right all those years ago when you said hunters shouldn’t get close,” he continues, “I should’ve listened and never asked that question.”

You remember the conversation clearly.  It was something you had said because you thought it was what he wanted to hear from you.  Younger and more naïve, you had thought that what he wanted was for you to be like one of the guys so you had said the words and hoped that you could remain where you were with him, always close but never at risk of blowing everything.  Over time you had begun to regret that decision, and as soon as he started acting like an asshole it had been easy to trade the feelings you had for ones of resentment.

“I wish I never said it.  I didn’t realise what I would be losing when I asked.”   He looks at you again, beseechingly.  “Do you think we can start again?  Be friends like before?”

You think about it for a moment but the more you think the surer you are that you can’t go back.  You can’t know these things and have these experiences and go back to the beginning.

“No, Dean, I don’t think we can.”  Your words are soft but the devastation in his eyes is sharp and painful.

You stand, placing your untouched bowl on the bedside table, and walk towards him.  His bowl is empty now, but there’s a little piece of pie left on his spoon when you take it from him.  He’s confused but follows your every movement with a mixture of sadness and reverence.

The pie is sweet on your tongue and the way his eyebrows raise when your lips close around the spoon brings a cheeky glint to your eyes.  You sit on his knee, wrapping one arm around his shoulders while the other pulls the now clean spoon past your lips.  You swallow with a sigh.  His hands go to your hip and thigh to steady you as he looks up at you.

You dip your head slowly and he tilts up to meet you, his eyes flicking between yours and your mouth.  He tastes sweet just like you do when you lay your lips on his, a soft kiss that is both the testing of waters and the soothing of sharp emotions.  He squeezes your thigh tighter for a brief moment and you pull back to see the questioning look on his face.

“But you said…”

You shush him with a finger laid over his lips.  “I know what I said.”

“Then what did you mean?”  He swallows hard, licking his lips nervously afterwards as if you’re about to pull the rug out from under him.

“I wish I’d said yes.”

#dean winchester x reader kiss #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester fic #spn #spn fanfic #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester hurt/comfort #dean winchester angst #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester fanfiction #cloudy's writing

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Liar

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader

Author’s note: Yeah I hope you guys like these because they just keep coming.

Synopsis: Dean will do anything to protect you. He finds out just how far he’s willing to go.

You were different than Sammy was. Either that, or Dean had just gotten a whole lot better at lying over the years. He had never been able to lie to Sam, at least not for long, but you…

You trusted Dean completely. You believed everything he said. You assumed that since he had told you the truth about monsters, about his mom and yours, that he would tell you the truth about everything.

He wasn’t proud about all the times he had lied to you, but you were his baby sister, and he would protect you from everything, by any means necessary. Even if that meant he had to protect you from the truth sometimes.

…

“Is that dad?”

Dean didn’t bother answering you, so focused was he on listening to John’s instructions.

“Yes sir. I understand.”

“Dean, I wanna talk to him! Tell dad I’m here.”

“No sir, I’m listening. Yes sir. Alright.” Dean hung up the phone, and only after the echo of his father’s authoritative voice was out of his head did he give you his attention. By then it was too late, and Dean’s heart ached a little at the shattering disappointment on your face.

“Dean, I wanted to talk to dad. That was dad, right?”

Dean cleared his throat, and he focused on a spot just above your shoulder, unable to fully meet your eye.

“Yeah, yeah that was dad. Sorry, he said to tell you he loves you. He was in the middle of something, he couldn’t talk any longer.”

“Is he in danger?”

“No, no he’s gonna be fine, he just…couldn’t talk.”

You still looked disappointed, but after hearing your father’s “message”, your face brightened a bit.

“Ok…do we have a job?”

Dean finally met your eye, and smiled down at you.

“Yeah, we gotta job. Go take your bags to the car, ok?”

Only after you had left the hotel room with an armload of bags, did Sam turn to glare at his brother.

“ ‘Dad says I love you’? Really Dean?”

Dean glared right back.

“What did you want me to say, Sam? You think she would’ve been ok if I had said, ‘Sorry kid, daddy’s too busy hunting a demon to remember to say I love you to his daughter’? Look, dad has a lot going on right now, and that’s fine for you and me. But she needs-“

Dean cut himself off when you came bounding back into the hotel room.

“Everything’s packed and I’m hungry. Can we go now?”

Dean grinned, brushing past Sam and throwing an arm around your shoulder.

“Heck yeah we’re going now. You’re not the only one who’s hungry.”

“Dean?” At Dean’s hum of response, you continued, “Is dad…is he gonna come back soon?”

Both Dean and Sam froze, and Dean glanced at Sam for a split second before responding.

“Yeah baby. Of course he’ll be back soon.”

…

“Dean?”

Dean bit back a groan, and instead he took a long swig of the beer in his hand. Obviously it was you on the other side of the bathroom door, and he could tell just by the one word that you were still crying.

He had taken refuge in the bathroom so that he could be alone with his thoughts. He would’ve taken Baby out for a drive, but John had left the hotel room just a few minutes after Sam, and Dean didn’t want to leave you completely alone.

Alone. Gosh he hated that word. But more than the word, he hated the feeling. He’d never felt more alone than he did tonight. Sam was going to college. Dad’s golden boy had left after a long and heated argument, and dad himself was too pissed about it to stay in the presence of his other two kids.

Not that Dean could blame him, he’d wanted to get away from what was left of his family too, at least for a couple hours to clear his head. But he couldn’t. Actually, he could. He could push past the crying girl at the bathroom door, grab the keys to the Impala, and not look back.

But he wouldn’t. Not to you, not to the kid that trusted him more than anything.

Dean put his beer down and pushed himself to his feet, hesitating a moment when his hand reached for the door handle. But only for a moment.

Your face was red and tear-streaked, and your lips were trembling. But the second you saw Dean, relief lightened your features, and you stood there awkwardly for a moment before Dean pulled you into a hug.

“It’s gonna be ok.”

Was it? Dean sighed. It didn’t matter if he believed it, so long as you did.

“Is Sam gonna come back?” You sobbed, fingers gripping fistfuls of Dean’s shirt. He cradled the back of your head in one hand, the other coming up to rub your back.

“Of course,” Dean managed to get past the lump in his throat. “Of course Sammy’s coming back. College won’t last forever.”

You looked up at Dean just then, blinking the tears out of your eyes.

“But dad…dad told him not to come back.”

Dean gently pushed your head back against his chest, unable to look you in the eye.

“He…dad was just angry. He didn’t mean it.”

Dean felt like that was the most outlandish lie he had uttered tonight—dad wasn’t one to change his mind—but of course, you believed him anyway.

“Ok.”

Dean sighed in relief. As long as you believed him, nothing else really mattered right now. At least nothing that he cared to think about.

“Dean?”

“Yeah sweetheart?”

“You won’t leave me…will you?”

For the first time all night, Dean could look into your eyes and confidently answer you, not a hint of a lie in his words.

“No baby. I will never leave you.”

…

“Of course dad will be here.”

Dean was tired. Tired of all of it. He was tired of missing Sam, tired of pretending he didn’t miss Sam when you were around. Tired of doing hunts alone. Tired of John taking off for days at a time.

But, perhaps most of all, he was tired of this. Tired of lying to you for John, so you could keep the image you had of a perfect father. He didn’t want to do it anymore. Guilt for lying to someone who trusted him so completely was eating him up. Watching you fall apart every time dad left, then looking to him for reassurance, for the glue to put you back together, was wearing him out. Just once, he wished John would be there for you so he didn’t have to come up with the lies. He was tired of it.

But he knew that you needed this. You had lost so much in your life; your mother, any friends you could have made if you didn’t move around so much, any sense of normality, any sense of safety, and, most recently, Sam. He couldn’t let you lose your dad too, no matter how little John was actually in your life to be a dad.

“Do you think he even remembers?”

Dean was snapped back to reality to find you staring up at him yet again, a fragility in your eyes that he had gotten used to but yet would never cease to hurt his heart.

“Of course he remembers, kiddo. What kinda dad would forget your birthday? He’s doing his best to be here, I know it. Sometimes those ghosts though, they just don’t take a day off.” Dean felt that his attempt today was a bit halfhearted, and he couldn’t even muster enough energy to try looking anywhere near your face while he lied to you.

Even with this utterly pathetic display, you smiled briefly up at him and gave him a brief hug.

“That’s ok. Even if the ghosts keep him away, maybe he’ll want to celebrate when he gets back.”

Dean rubbed your back, grateful for an excuse to not have to look at you.

“Yeah. Of course he will.”

…

“I’m fine, of course I’m fine.”

This lie was perhaps the easiest. Because it was the lie that he told to everyone, not just you.

“But your arm…” Dean flinched away when you reached for the gash on his arm, and you withdrew your hand. “Sorry.”

Dean just shook his head, “no, it’s fine, I’ll just patch it up real quick and we can-“

Dean was cut off by a knock on the hotel door, and he immediately went into hunter mode. He snatched his gun up from the dresser, gestured for you to hide, and hesitantly looked through the peep hole. You noticed his body relax, and he put the gun down, opening the door to reveal John Winchester.

You didn’t hesitate, running out from behind the bed and bounding towards John. Before you could reach out and pull your dad into a hug, he grabbed your arms and firmly moved you aside, barely sparing you a glance before turning his attention to Dean.

He wasn’t trying to be cruel, but he was too focused on his mission to notice that his little girl wanted her father.

“You’re hurt,” John glanced down at Dean’s arm, a frown pulling the corners of his mouth downward.

“I’m fine,” Dean insisted. “What’s the word? You got anything on the demon?”

John shook his head, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. “Nothing. Now why don’t you-“ John cut himself off when he felt your small frame lean against his side, your arms coming up around his waist. You didn’t want to interrupt him, but you hadn’t seen your father in nearly two weeks, and he hadn’t called, not even once, to tell you he was ok.

John, however, didn’t understand nor appreciate your sentiment.

“That’s enough, go get the first aid kit for your brother.”

“I missed you, dad,” it didn’t really register in your mind that you were, at the moment, disobeying John. You were just desperate for him to reciprocate your affection, and Dean nearly cringed when you ignored John’s command, even if for just a moment. All that Dean’s lying had done was ensure that you didn’t truly understand John—he was not a man to be disobeyed, and he was not a man to put aside anything he deemed important for something as ludicrous as affection.

John’s large hands gripped your upper arms, and Dean didn’t miss the way your face contorted in shock—and pain?—as John pulled you away from him.

“I said that’s enough, now do what I said before there are consequences.” John wasn’t shouting, per se, but he was definitely using his sergeant voice, and his sudden rigidity seemed to both shock and scare you.

“I’m sorry,” your voice was quiet, and this time Dean did cringe. Why did you have to be so focused on getting a real response from John? Didn’t you understand that you were just supposed to obey?

No, of course you didn’t. You weren’t used to John, whether you knew it or not. You were used to Dean. And Dean would’ve hugged you back.

“Do what I said!” John was shouting now, and this time he reached a hand up and pushed your shoulder. Not very hard, but you hadn’t been expecting it, and it was enough to make you stagger back several feet before Dean instinctively reached out to steady you. He almost cringed a second time when John turned his glare to Dean.

“Don’t coddle her, Dean. Is that why your wound has gone untreated? Because you just let her do whatever she wants?”

Dean cleared his throat, and gave you a brief look that told you to do as your father said. You scrambled off to find the first aid kit while Dean addressed John.

“No, sir. I don’t need her to treat my wound, I was about to do it myself. I just got back.”

“Well you shouldn’t have to. She should know how to treat a simple wound, and she doesn’t have anything else to do.”

Dean wasn’t about to argue that, as a young kid still in school, you had plenty else to do. Dean had put together his own curriculum for you, he figured it was a better way to get an education than switching schools every few weeks like he had. But to John, school wasn’t exactly a priority. It wasn’t going to get you anywhere in the hunting world. K

You had finally found the first aid kit, and you tugged on Dean’s arm, leading him to sit down on his bed before you pulled out the kit to sew up his arm.

He grabbed your hand before you could pierce his arm with the needle, noticing that your hands were shaking.

“It’s fine,” Dean reassured you, “I can do it myself.”

“How’d you get that?” John asked from the other side of the room.

Dean tried to shrug it off, “One more vamp then I thought there was. It’s not bad.”

“If you’d had backup, it wouldn’t have happened.”

“I don’t need backup,” Dean grunted.

“Stitch him up,” John demanded, looking at you. He then turned his attention to Dean. “Backup would do you good, though.”

Dean grabbed your hand again before you could try to stitch him up, “Go get me a drink, baby. If I’m not gonna be the one with the needle, I might as well be drunk.” He handed you a few dollars, and you nervously headed for the door, throwing a worried glance in John’s direction. For once in his life, John let you follow Dean’s instructions rather than his. He had a feeling he had a much bigger problem to deal with with Dean.

“You don’t have Sam anymore. You could use her,” John spoke as soon as the motel door shut behind you.

“She’s not old enough. I’m not gonna do that to her, I’m not gonna get her killed.”

“If you train her right she won’t get killed.”

“You can’t know that! Even the best get killed in this life, and she’s just a kid! I’m not gonna watch her get hurt!”

John scoffed, “You’re babying her. She’s in this life whether you like it or not.”

Dean gritted his teeth, “But I can reduce the risks. And that means no hunting. Not for her.”

“Maybe it’s not your call, Dean.”

Dean stiffened.

“Really, dad? You leave me with her, leave me to raise her for weeks on end, all the time, but when I want to protect her, now you pull the dad card?” Dean stepped towards John, his chest heaving. “Well you’re not her dad. You were never there for her, I was! You don’t get to decide whether she gets thrown into danger, I do!”

John clenched his fists.

“What has gotten into you? Stand down now, Dean. This isn’t a fight you’re going to win.”

Dean set his jaw.

“Yes it is. And you wanna know why?” He closed the small gap between himself and his father.

“Because she’s my girl.”

…

You jumped in surprise when you felt a hand on your shoulder, turning to see Dean standing there, both your bag and his in his arms.

“What’s wrong?”

Dean shook his head, trying hard not to seethe.

“Nothin’ baby, just some…complications,” Dean focused on his usual spot, just above your shoulder. “We think there’s something big in the next town over, you and me are taking the Impala, dad can catch up later.”

You frowned, “Dean, what about your arm?”

“It’ll be fine, I’ll give it a quick patch job and I can sew it up when we get where we’re going. Now c’mon, we’re in a hurry.”

…

You were quiet as Dean loaded up the Impala and began to drive out of town. In fact, he was starting to think that you were dozing off when you finally spoke.

“There isn’t a job, is there?”

Dean glanced at you, frowning.

“What are you talking about, N/N? Of course there’s a job, I-“

“You and dad fought, didn’t you? Was it about me?”

Dean turned to stare at you. You hesitated before meeting his gaze head-on.

“He was mad, I could tell. You were, too. And a job could’ve waited until after you sewed yourself up. You didn’t want me going back to the room, because dad was there.”

Dean cleared his throat, returning his gaze to the road.

“So what, you’re saying you think I lied to you?”

You pulled your knees up to your chest and looked out the window.

“Did you?”

Dean shook his head, “C’mon baby, don’t you trust me?”

“Why didn’t you answer my question?”

Dean sighed.

“Dean? Why didn’t you want me to go back to the room?”

“Can’t you just trust me?”

“Don’t say that, I do trust you, always. But I wanna know.”

Dean tried his best to force a smile on his lips as he reached over and ruffled your hair.

“Doesn’t matter sweetheart. What matters is, you’re safe, and we’re gonna be ok.”

“What about dad?”

Dean forced himself to look over at you, and he felt a pang in his chest when he saw you. You were curled in on yourself, looking up at him. You looked so small.

“Honey, I need you to just trust me. Please, can you do that for me?”

You didn’t even hesitate.

“Ok Dean. I trust you.”

#dean x you #supernatural dean #sam and dean #dean winchester x sister!reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean and sam #winchesters x reader #sam winchester x reader #winchester #sam winchester x you #spn sam winchester #the winchesters #john winchester #the winchester brothers #sam winchester #winchester x reader #winchesters x sister #sam winchester x sister!reader

[jawritter]

Dean’s Birthday Surprise

Summary: Y/N get’s Dean a kinky surprise for his 44th Birthday!

Warnings: 18 + Only!! HERE THERE BE SMUT!!!! NO ONE UNDER 18 SHOULD READ THIS FIC!!!  Crotchless panties, girl on top, fingering, language, nudity. P & V smut. 

Written For: @spnkinkevents

Prompt: Crotchless Panties

Rating: Mature

Word Count: 2k 

A/N: A little something I through together for our best boy’s birthday! This fic is completely unbeta’d, so all mistakes are mine! Feedback is golden! Enjoy!

Main Masterlist

Dean’s POV:

Dean felt old, and he hated every minute of it. 

Honestly, he never expected to live to see 44 years of age. He figured he was gonna die bloody as a young man. When he was 43 he came damn close to it.

Still, here he stands. Alive, well, and more than a little depressed. 

He couldn't understand it really, how he got old. One minute he was a young man, hunting, and had the ladies eating out of the palm of his hand. Next, he was being told her had "dad bod", whatever the fuck that was. 

Logically, Dean knew he wasn't old, he just didn't expect to live this long. He didn't know what to do with his life from here. Sure, he had Y\N, but how long could he expect that to last really? She was young, beautiful, smart, hell, he was surprised every day he woke up and she was still laying with her head on his chest. Fuck if he'd ever understand why she loved him, but she said she did.

"Happy birthday handsome," her voice sounded from behind him as her arms wrapped around his middle, and her head rested on his back. Good he didn't deserve her. She was far too perfect for him. Still, he was selfish, and he loved her, so he did everything he could to make her stay.

"Thanks," he managed to croak out after clearing his throat. He stopped the sponge in his hand into the soap filled bucket at his feet so that he could rest his hand on top of hers.

"You gonna take her for a spin now that you got her all clean?" She questioned, sliding herself around to stand in front of him moving her hands to rest on his shoulders. 

Dean hummed before pressing his lips to her own in a brief kiss. To brief for his liking, normally he was much more thorough. He was just so trapped in his head. Maybe a drive would do him some good. Being alone in Baby always helped clear his head. 

"Yeah, I think I will…"

"Good," she quipped quickly. "Cause when you get home I got a surprise for my favorite birthday boy." 

"Aw baby," Dean said with an exhausted sigh. " I told you that you didn't have to make a fuss over me."

"No argument Mr.! "She fussed, shoving his shoulders playfully and earning a genuine smirk from him. "Now, you go take a ride, clear your head so you can get out of whatever headspace you're trapped in there, and we're gonna have some time alone with the bunker all to ourselves."

Dean sighed heavily before leaning forward to peck her lips again. 

"Where's Sammy gonna be?" Dean questioned, turning to stare at his girl, who was leaning against her bright red, classic Mustang. Admiring him like he was the most gorgeous thing she'd ever seen. God he really, really didn't deserve her.  

"He and Eileen have a date tonight, and he said he's already planning to stay there at her house," Y/N answered. "Now GO! I got to get ready for your present."

"Fine, fine," Dean waved her off and opened the car door, shaking his head in disbelief at this woman and how she could possibly love him. 

Y/N POV:

Three hours later, Y/N found herself standing in front of the bathroom mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup with nothing on but a short, black silk robe, and a pair of lace, crotchless panties. 

Normally, Dean wasn't much for theatrics. 'They're just gonna end up on the floor anyway', he says, but Y/N knew that he enjoyed these kinda things more than he wanted to admit. He just didn't want her to feel like she HAD to do this kinda thing for him. Like he didn't deserve the extra attention. Y/N disagree, honestly she wished he'd let her do more. She would just have to settle for birthdays and special occasions, today just happened to be Dean's birthday. 

Besides, when he saw her in this, she was pretty sure that he wasn’t gonna have enough blood left in his brain to argue about it with her anyway. 

She quickly brushed her hand through her hair to give herself some volume, and smiled victorious at the image of the woman she’d created staring back at her. She was quite proud of this look if she did say so herself. 

As if on cue, Y/N heard the distinct sound of the bunker garage door closing, and she knew she had just a few minutes before Dean came wandering into their shared room. He was very much a creature of habit, or else this surprise would have been a lot harder to pull off. 

Still, knowing Dean the way she did, she hurried to position herself on the bed, first trying laying in her side, but that didn’t really work for, then she tried laying her back, but that really didn’t do it, so she tried a fail safe, something she knew Dean enjoyed, even if he didn’t want to admit that he enjoyed it, and that was her on her knees, in the middle of the bed, waiting for him like the good girl he loved so much. 

She had no more loosened the ties on her kaminio, revealing the perfect swells of her supple breast, than the bedroom door cracked open, and Dean stepped in, still looking at his phone. 

“Hey baby, I’m hungry, I’m think about ordering a piz—”

Dean’s words died somewhere in his throat when he looked up to find Y/N kneeling in the center of the bed, legs spread just enough to not reveal too much, but enough to be inviting, and nothing but a thin, black slick gathering of fabric covering his prize. His phone slipped from his fingers, and landed on the floor along with his jaw, and she couldn’t help but smirk in victory. 

“Happy birthday De,” she voiced as he started to robotically kick off his shoes, as well as shed his jacket, attempting to shed all of the layers he had on as fast as he possibly could. “Why don’t you come on over here and open up your present?”

She didn’t have to tell him twice, as he ripped his shirt off his head, leaving a cute, hedgehog hairstyle behind. He was already working his belt and jeans loose before he started to move towards the bed, hungry green eyes taking in all that they could devour.

“Goddamit baby girl, you’re gonna give a man a heart attack,” Dean mumbled as he climbed onto the bed knees first. His hands already reached for her hips to pull her as flush to him as she could before their lips collided with one another in a deep, need filled kiss.

“So I take it that you like it then,” she questioned as she pulled away from him, leaving him chasing her kiss with the most adorable disgruntled face. Almost as if he was confused and offended at her for taking her lips away from his too soon. 

“Fuck yeah I do,” he said, his thick, capable fingers already pulling the thin black tigh loose, causing her covering to fall apart, and reveal his real resent underneath.

“Are those crotchless,” his graveled voice trimmed down from his perfect, pink, kiss swollen lips in almost a whisper. 

Y/N shrugged, smirking. “Well Dean, you said that these kinda things are pointless because they always ended up on the floor anyway, so I decided I’d save you the trouble and just get a pair of easy access ones that can stay on.”

As she spoke, Dean’s mouth attacked her throat, laying the pair of them back onto the bed behind her carefully. His cock already hard and straining against his black boxers, begging to be released, so she obliged, and slid them down his hips so that he could kick them off, leaving himself bare before her. 

“How did I get so damn lucky?” Dean questioned just as his perfect mouth sealed over her already erect nipple from the cool temperature of the room contrasting with the fire that Dean was already stoking inside of her. His fingers slipped between her folds, teasing her already sensitive clit as he worked her over, making it harder and harder for her to concentrate. “So fucking beautiful Y/N.”

“Pretty sure I’m the lucky one De,” she managed to say between desperate pants as Dean moved over to the other breast, determined to not leave anyone out, and slipped his thick fingers into her slick heat with ease, curing them in all the right places as he slowly pumped them in and out of her dripping cunt, causing the cord in her stomach to wind tighter and tighter until she was cumming undone underneath him, screaming his name like a prayer. 

“So fucking beautiful Y/N/N,” he repeated as he kissed his way back up to her face, leaving as many little wet, opened mouthed kisses as he could muster as he did while she slowly decended from the high he’d driven her too. 

“Your turn handsome, it is your birthday after all,” she tried to sit up, but he stopped her, his wide palm resting softly against her shoulder to hold her back down as he pumped his pink, fully erect, leaking cock in his hand. 

“No, no princess, it’s my present, and I”ll play with it however I want too, and baby I wanna watch,” he growled  as he carefully slid his swollen length through her slick, gathering as much of her juices as he could before sliding into welcoming center, moaning audibly as he watched her body close in around him, covered in black lace. 

He pumped slowly there, watching his body disappear into her own, mesmerized by sight that lay underneath him, and she shivered as each slow drag of his manhood through her quivering cunt drover her too damn near insanity, stretching her and filling her, but never quite giving her what she needed.

Without warning, Dean flipped the pair of them over, settling her on top of him so that he could watch her more easily, totally and completely captivated, like a man starved, or a blind man seeing for the first time. She would never understand why he always looked at her like that. Not when she felt like the lucky one. 

Dean was a man of few words, but he didn’t have to say anything as she slowly rose and lowered herself on his dick, causing him to toss his head back and his eyes to roll momentarily as his hips rose and feel to meet her pace until neither of them could take it anymore and she began to ride him in earnest. Leaving the room filled with sounds of heavy breath and skin against skin. 

Dean’s thick fingers sank deep into her thighs as he rolled his hips up to meet her, he was so close, she could see it in the way he strained to hold on as long as he could, drag it out as long as possible, until his body was shaking underneath her own, and his dick twitched heavily as he came deep inside of her, triggering her own release as well. 

“Sammy’s gone all night you said?” Dean panted as helped her off of his softening cock to lay down on his heaving chest, 

“Yep, all night,” she chuckled. 

“Good,” he replied, “cause in fifteen minutes we’re going again.”

Forever:

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Jensen and Dean’s Babes

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@ladysparks78

#spnkinkevent #spnkinkbingo #spnkinkbingo2023 #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #dean winchester one shot #spn one shot #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #jawritter #jensen ackles

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

The Princess & The Playboy (Part 4)

Summary: The reader and Dean come up with a not so subtle way of addressing their relationship status. However, the more she thinks about it, the more serious her relationship with Dean seems to be and with that comes a newfound trust. Meanwhile, the pair have a busy Sunday when they have to deal with not only their bodyguards but meeting parents for the first time too...

Masterlist

Pairing: NFL Quarterback!Dean x Pop Star!reader

Word Count: 9,800ish

Warnings: language, family trauma/angst, kidnapping, smut

A/N: Hoo boy this part is a lot. I love all of these guys so much. Please enjoy!

_________

Reader POV

“You know you don’t have to tell anyone shit,” said Emma, your new head of PR. You worked on your mascara, Emma leaned against the makeup counter. “You and Dean are entitled to your privacy.”

“I know,” you said, blinking your eyes a few times, checking your teeth for lipstick. “It’s why I always wanted you to be my PR manager. You won’t fuck me over.”

“Bold statement from someone who knows better than to trust anyone in this business.” You straightened up, Emma looking you over. 

“I trust Eric and he trusts you,” you said, stepping closer in your heeled booties. “I don’t think his little sister’s going to stab me in the back after all.”

“He told you,” she said, her chin tilt slightly annoyed. You shook your head with a smile. “How’d you know then? I’ve never used my maiden name professionally.”

“Same nose and eyes. The fact your twins are Eliot and Emmet and he has twin nephews by those names. Y’all really love the ‘E’ names in your family, don’t you?” She looked impressed, nodding her head.

“Eric said you’re smart. Tough too.” She stepped aside when you motioned for you to walk. “It’s a pretty good idea to present you’re dating on your terms but again, you don’t have to do it. You can just…be.”

“Yeah but if we address it head on, at least we can stop whatever fake rumors get put out there. The world doesn’t get to know every little thing about us but Dean and I both feel like this is the best way forward. I mean, we want to stay private but we’re okay with this. We don’t want to be forced to hide.”

“Alright,” she said, stopping with you by a rack of clothes. “Can I ask a personal question?”

“Shoot,” you said, running your finger through the different options, one catching your eye.

“You love him?” Your eyes darted to hers, Emma watching carefully. “The way you two looked at each other this morning when we came up with this plan…those kinds of looks are dangerous.”

“...We’re dating is all. It’s only been three weeks,” you said, picking up a hangar, ignoring her stare.

“You’ve never publicly dated and never gone on more than a few private blind dates in all the time my brother’s worked for you. And the supposed playboy of the NFL comes along and you two commitmentphobes are head over heels?”

“Your point?” you asked with a sigh. “What, you want to plan the wedding already?”

“Some celebrities get married for money. Some for careers and some for image. And the public knows it. If you go out there tonight wearing that, the public will fucking fawn over you and Dean because you’re the real deal. Just be prepared for the long term because doing this might be a decision that will follow you the rest of your life.”

“He’s not a playboy,” you said absently, Emma smiling softly. “He was just…in pain.”

“Then keep loving him and we’ll figure out the craziness together,” she said, nodding at the piece of clothing in your hands. “That’s cute. It’ll drive him nuts.”

“I never said I loved him,” you said as her phone started to ring.

“Oh, sweetie. Your face said it all,” she said with a smirk. “I’ll let you get ready.”

You swallowed when she left the dressing room. Three weeks ago, Dean Winchester was a playboy asking for your number in a McDonald’s at midnight. And now…

You ran a hand over your stomach, butterflies filling it. 

“Hey,” said Eric, knocking once on the door and poking his head inside. “You’re supposed to be on stage to start the encore in thirty seconds.”

You shook your head and threw the shirt on, Eric biting back a smirk. “Oh shut up.”

“I said nothing,” he grinned, helping you fix your hair where it got stuck. “I told Emma you knew what you were doing with this.”

“Well your sister had to come and drop a bomb that I apparently love Dean on me,” you said, fixing your ponytail, Eric adjusting the clip in the back like he had a million times on tour. “Eric! Say something about how ridiculous that is.”

“You are kind of in love with him. Good news, I think the kid’s in love with you too,” he winked. You stared up at him, Eric chuckling. “Oh, a handsome sweet man loves you. What an awful life you live, kiddo.”

“He does not love me and I’d appreciate if you don’t bring up that word around him.” You smoothed out your outfit, Eric still laughing. “I don’t…that word him at the current moment.”

“Yeah you do. Otherwise you would ignore the media and press until you did know.” You rolled your eyes at him, Eric patting you on the butt. “Go sing to your heart’s content little miss not in love.”

“Asshole,” you said, walking ahead of him towards the end of the makeshift hallway. You breathed heavy at the end, Eric rubbing your shoulders. “I do like him.”

“He brings you to life,” he whispered in your ear. 

“Just…don’t say anything. Not until we have that conversation ourselves,” you said.

“Of course,” he said. “Three more songs and then you’ve got some chicken nuggies waiting for you.”

You took a few deep breaths before you opened the door and jogged up some crew stairs, appearing in the wings of the stage where VIP’s got to view the show.

And tonight that meant Dean and his friends. You saw some of their eyes go wide before you grabbed your cloak off the rack and threw up the hood, concealing you away.

“Is she wearing…” you heard Benny say as you stopped in front of Dean, giving him a quick kiss. 

“Break a leg, sweetheart,” he whispered as you were handed a mic. “Have fun.”

“I’ll see you in twenty,” you said before walking out on stage, a ravenous applause deafening you for a moment. You took your mark in center stage, the music for Fairytale starting up. It was one of those songs that started slow and ramped up. Every night on tour you got to have fun with it. The outfits were insane. Normally they were all fairytale themed and the crowd was always excited to see what theme you went for when your dancers would yank the cloak off you in the second chorus.

You swore you’d never heard a stadium so loud as when the cloak fell away and they saw you were wearing Dean’s NFL jersey. Well, almost his jersey. This one had been modified to add some lace and a few sparkles but it was subtle. You caught Dean smiling out of the corner of your eye and winked at him. He’d been all for the plan of your indirect way of addressing the photos from last night.

It told people enough but also meant you and Dean didn’t have to specially come out and say you were dating. The second you did that, they’d never stop wanting more and more from your private lives. And while you didn’t like to admit it, Eric and Emma had a point.

Dean calmed a part of you that hadn’t known peace in a very long time. It just felt…easy.

Two and a half songs later you took a bow and jogged off stage, Dean waiting with open arms. 

“You’re amazing,” he said, picking you straight up in a hug. “You make that look like a walk in the park.”

“Years of practice,” you said, Dean setting you down. “I can’t wait to come to your guys game tomorrow.”

“Pretty sure the whole country can’t wait either,” joked Michael. “Speaking of which we better get out of here, getting pretty late.”

“Later guys,” said Dean, joining you as you went downstairs again to your dressing room, Eric and Sloane on your tail along with some other security.

Exactly forty two minutes later you were home with Dean, his strong arms throwing you over his shoulder. “Dean I just ate!”

“Well now I want my dessert,” he laughed, rushing upstairs with you, gently dropping you on your bed. You both were giggling, Dean leaning over you as he pushed hair out of your face. “Seeing you in my jersey was hot in way you don’t even know.”

“I can imagine. Let me wash up quick,” you said, rolling out from under him. He hummed and laid back on the bed while you ducked into the bathroom and made a straight shot for the closet. Less than two minutes later you exited, Dean relaxing with his eyes closed.

You cleared your throat, Dean lifting his head as he leaned against his elbows. He froze half-way up though, eyes wide.

“You said you liked me in your jersey.” You tugged on the bottom hem of the jersey to bring it down, just barely covering yourself. “What if I was wearing only your jersey?”

“Are you-”

“Uh huh,” you said, stepping forward, letting the material rise up and show him your completely bare bottom half. You crawled up on the bed, straddling his thighs as Dean swallowed roughly. “I was always afraid of what would happen once the world knew I was dating someone. That’d it’d be too much or the person would betray me.”

“I have a sneaking suspicion you no longer feel that way?” asked Dean. You nodded, taking his hand in yours, lacing your fingers together.

“We’re not going to screw each other. I like the fact we can go do things out together now,” you said, bringing his hand up to your lips. Your eyes closed softly, Dean’s thumb wiping over your bottom lip. “You don’t want anything from me. That feels so damn good, Dean, you don’t even know.”

“I wouldn’t say that exactly,” he said, your eyes peeling open as he moved his hand with yours to your cheek. “I do want something.”

Your heart started to race as he sat up, his free hand wrapping around your back, holding you flush to him. He smirked when he felt your chest thumping away, his hand squeezing yours.

“Oh, isn’t it obvious what I want, princess?” he murmured, practically crushing your body against his. “I told you from the start. I want you.”

You would have melted into a puddle on the floor if not for his arm around you. He kissed you sweetly, slowly, taking all the time in the world to enjoy this.

“Someday,” he mumbled, giving you a chance to cup his cheeks, Dean absently turning into the touch.

“Someday what?” you whispered, Dean smiling again.

“Someday you’ll fall in love with me too,” he breathed out, kissing you gently. He pressed a finger to your lips, shushing you. “I’ve been a sucker for you for over a decade. I get to say it. Just don’t freak on me, Y/N. I can wait-”

“Someday,” you said, Dean nodding. “Someday soon.”

“Someday soon,” he repeated, dipping his lips to the hollow of your neck. You didn’t like the tone though and grasped his chin, bring his head up. Sad green eyes met yours, a pain behind them you hadn’t seen before. “It’s been three weeks. I know you can’t-”

“If it wasn’t you, I wouldn’t have let you in this bed.” You murmured. “If you can know, I can know too and I know that you are the first person I’ve let myself love in a very long time. God Dean, you don’t know how bad it was. How fucking alone I was. Surrounded by people all the time but so goddamn lonely.”

He shushed you, hugging you tight. “We don’t have to be lonely anymore, sweetheart. We can…we can just be together.”

You nodded, arms wrapped around his broad body, head buried in the crook of his neck. 

“Here you thought this was going to be a sexy conversation,” he chuckled. You laughed softly, Dean’s lips pressing against the top of your head.

“I like all of our conversations,” you murmured, inhaling his musky cologne. You enjoyed the scent, his warm body soft as it held you. 

“You got to be tired,” he whispered, running a hand down your back. “We should get you to sleep.”

“Dean.” You tilted your head up, Dean’s eyebrows raising so slightly you almost missed it. You nodded, taking his hand and putting it against your chest. “I don’t want to go to sleep.”

He pressed a hungry kiss to your mouth, tongue playfully devouring you, a hungry beast finally uncaged within him. You gripped his t-shirt in your fists, pulling hard on the material. He got the message, breaking free to yank it off one handed, giving you space to undo his belt.

“Do you have a condom?” he breathed, his cock already straining to get out of the confines of his pants.

“In the nightstand if you want. I have an IUD,” you said, tugging on his jeans, Dean toppling back on the covers. You put your hands on his hips, Dean giving you a reassuring smile. You’d been playing the past few weeks, teasing each other with hands and mouths. Dean always guided you though, focused on your pleasure, was so slow and gentle the first time you went down on him.

You had no doubt that tonight though he’d let you run things.

“Do you want a condom?” you asked, taking his boxer briefs off, momentarily crawling off the bed.

“I’ve never not used one.” You stood up, reaching for the drawer when he was suddenly sat up, long fingers wrapped around your wrist. You stared at each other, Dean pulling you close, sliding his hands upwards and pulling the jersey off.

“Are you sure?” you asked. 

“I’m clean. A little fun fact about myself? I haven’t gotten laid since last winter.” You blinked at him, lips parting. “I know. All the dates, the girlfriends. Hooking up lost it’s appeal a while ago.”

He settled his hands on your hips, licking his lips as he eyed you up and down properly for the first time. 

“Think my brain caught up to the fact I always belonged to someone else.” You closed your eyes, straddling his lap. Large hands splayed against your bare back, Dean shaking your hair loose from your bun. He buried his nose in the strands, inhaling deeply. “I really convinced you to give the playboy all the pieces of you so quickly. Gotta say I’m a little surprised.”

“You’ve earned it,” you whispered, hands sliding from his shoulders, down his chest, down his stomach, tracing every inch of his muscled body.

“Because I annoyed you into hanging out with me?” he chuckled. You shook your head, finding his chin, grasping it lightly until your eyes locked.

“Because you’re my best friend. Because I know you would never pressure me for anything, never ask for anything from me but my friendship in return.” You touched your forehead to his, Dean closing his eyes. “Because you’re mine, Winchester. I picked you first after all.”

“You so did not,” he chuckled. “I saw you with those obnoxious sneakers first.”

You laughed, Dean’s eyes peeling open, a devilish smirk on them. “Oh, Winchester. You really never paid attention to who would sing the National Anthem before all those little football games, did you?”

He blinked, cocking his head, eyes widening. “You! That wasn’t-”

“I was horribly shy and there were fifty thousand people in the stands each week. I went Hannah Montana and wore a wig and those crazy sunglasses.”

“You’re Penny Princess!” he exclaimed, shaking his head with a smile. “She flirted with me all the fucking time before games!”

“I was emotionally repressed in college, not dead. A girl has needs,” you laughed, running your fingers through his hair. “You were so fucking cute back then. So many times I wanted to be brave and go talk to you at a party but all I saw was pain. But I did think you were cute.”

“I thought you barely remembered me from college,” he said quietly. 

“I repressed a lot from back then. I’ve been…thinking about you a lot lately and remembered some stuff,” you said, your cheeks feeling flush. 

“Alright. You picked me first,” he murmured, thumbing over your hot face. His hand drifted downwards, lightly grazing over your chest, knuckles brushing your pebbled right nipple. Teasing. The barest of touches that sent sparks down your back.

Then you were both were moving fast. His thumb on your clit. Your hand pumping him. Mouths smashing together like you hadn’t spent the past three weeks making out every night.

“Whoa, girl. Get a little wet-” said Dean as you grabbed his shoulders and slammed down on his cock. The groan he let out was absolutely sinful. “Jesus. You’re wetter than the fucking ocean.”

“Emotional reassurance turns me on,” you said, Dean laughing so hard you felt it run like a wire through your body.

“I’m going to tell the press you should be the one with the naughty nickname if you can take dick like that on your first go.” You lifted your hips a few inches, dropping slowly, raising up slow again.

“You really ought to take a look in that nightstand sometime, handsome,” you winked, Dean’s chuckle turning into a soft little moan.

“How are you going so slow? You’re not gonna last,” he breathed out, squeezing your body tight.

“Feel my thighs,” you said, Dean’s hands sliding down, fingertips pressing into the flesh.

“Shit, girl. Gotta give me your leg workout.”

“Squats. A lot of fucking squats,” you said, slowly falling down on his cock again, his thumb rubbing lightly, easing you back from your build up. “I might not know what the fuck I’m doing but I can stay along for the ride at least.”

“You uh,” he groaned when you ground your hips down and rolled them, his cock twitching inside you. “Shit, you know what you’re doing, sweetheart. Trust me. Actually better cool it with that move unless you want me to go early.”

“Not yet, want this to last a bit longer.”

A bit longer turned into nearly an hour, both of you fucking drenched in sweat, Dean bouncing you up and down on his cock as you moaned into his neck. His whole body tensed up when he finally came a moment after you, your legs shaky but body sated.

“Did I do okay?” you panted, lifting your heavy head. Dean wore a goofy smile as he started to giggle, arms wrapped you, hugging you in a warm embrace.

“You did fucking incredible,” he laughed, kissing your cheek. “I can’t wait to go again.”

“Me too,” you said, eyes catching the clock on the nightstand. “Oh shit. It’s already after one. What time do you have to get up?”

“Six,” he said with a grin. “Don’t worry about it. Tomorrow, well today, should be an easy game.”

“We still got to get you to bed.” You tugged him up and into the bathroom, trying to get him to take a shower and into bed quickly. But he insisted on helping you clean up, washing your hair for you and even wrapping it up in a big towel while he dried off.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he said when you shook your damp hair out, his eyes sleepy but a smile in them.

“You say that a lot.” You ran the towel over it one last time before ditching the towels on the floor, walking him back to the bedroom. 

“It’s true,” he said, booping your nose. You barely had the covers peeled back when he tugged you to his chest, throwing the blankets over top of you. A heavy arm slid over your waist, your head resting on his shoulder while you hugged his torso. “See? You already know how to do a post-sex cuddle too.”

“Dork.”

“Yeah but I got the girl so…” he teased, kissing you when you looked up. 

“Yeah I guess you did.” You kissed his pec, a pleasant warmth filling you when he tucked your head under his chin protectively. “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You woke up to yelling. Dean was sat upright in bed, his body between you and the door, an arm in front of you as you both tried to shake the haze of sleep.

“Shut the fuck up, Eric!” screamed Sloane. You both relaxed, a glance at the clock showing it was five thirty. Eric shouted back as you ran your hands over your face.

“We need to have a talk with those two,” he sighed. “Here I thought you meeting my parents would be the most awkward part of my day.”

“Parents?” you asked, Dean humming as he pecked a kiss on your cheek and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

“They always go to my home games. You’ll have to watch with them in the private booth I share with Benny. There’ll be other people. His family and friends. I’m sorry, I should have warned you it’d be different than the booth you had with your friends in New York. I can try to get you one on your own-”

“No,” you said, shaking your head, cupping his cheek when the worried eyes remained. “I’d love to watch with them, meet them. And I like Benny so I’m sure I’ll like his family too.”

“Okay. I promise they’ll be cool. Well probably not but I can plead and beg with them at least.” 

“I said shut up!” shouted Sloane again. You shared a look and got up, going into your closet to find a bra and underwear. You tossed a flannel shirt Dean had worn over last week on and wearily walked out, Dean dressed in last night’s clothes.

“I’m sure I’ll love your parents. Probably more than my own,” you mumbled, Dean catching your hand before you could open the door to go face whatever the hell was happening.

“Do you talk to them at all?” he asked. You shrugged.

“Holidays. They come to my award shows and normally at least a few concerts a year, normally the ones in Kansas City back home. They…visit during Max’s birthday week,” you said, glancing down. “His birthday is today. He’s twenty eight. They’ll show up tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” 

“I get the feeling they don’t want me around today,” you whispered. “Another day that’s supposed to be his and I’d somehow make it about me.”

“We’ll celebrate tonight.” Your eyes darted up, Dean nodding. “We’ll have a cake and you can tell me all about him.”

You swallowed thickly, blinking back the sudden wetness in your eyes. “Y-You don’t have to do that.”

Dean stepped forward, tucking your loose hair behind your ear, humming to himself. “You’re right. I don’t.” 

He held out a hand, smiling softly when you bottom lip wobbled. “Why do you care?”

“Why wouldn’t I care?” he responded. You nodded quickly, Dean shushing you when you sniffled. “I still make Sammy a birthday cake every year. Let’s do the same for Max, okay?”

“Okay,” you whispered, grateful as he intertwined his fingers with your own. Another round of shouts came and you readied yourself, Dean wiping away the rouge tear that had fallen. “What do we say to them?”

“Either they work it out, they work different areas or one of them has to go,” sighed Dean. “I really don’t want to lose Sloane, especially now with probably needing actual security for myself.”

“And I can’t lose Eric. I just can’t. He’s the one person I can trust without a doubt on my team. Plus he’s my only real friend beside you. Everyone else is superficial.”

“My boys can’t wait to hang out with you properly. They’re pretty ride or die,” he said, closing his eyes. “We tell them they work it out or they just don’t speak to each other about anything not strictly work related. They’re both professional enough to not jeopardize the two of us.”

“Agreed,” you said, the shouting getting louder. Dean opened the door, letting you take the lead when you got to the top of the stairs, looking over the balcony to see them shouting in the kitchen. “Eric! Sloane! It’s not even six in the damn morning!”

They both snapped their jaws shut, going into rigid upright positions as if they were soldiers in trouble. 

“Guys, this can’t keep happening,” said Dean when you got downstairs, taking your hand in his again. Eric stared at his shoes while Sloane shot angry daggers in Eric’s direction. “We know the history between you two. But Y/N and I need the both of you, more than ever. You have to learn to get along or we have to insist you don’t talk to each other beyond what is necessary for work. Can you both do that?”

“Yes,” said Eric. 

“Yes,” Sloane grit out, still glaring at Eric.

“Sloane,” snapped Dean, her eyes shooting to him instead, chin falling. “Yes or no. It’d kill me to lose you but if you can’t live with the options we presented, I will ask you to resign for the sake of Y/N’s safety.”

“I would never put her in danger,” said Sloane quickly, glancing at you. “I can work with Eric as Dean’s primary. We just…will be professional. There’ll be no more fighting.”

“Agreed,” said Eric, nodding quickly. “We apologize for disturbing you.”

“You’re lucky Dean had to get up soon anyway.” You went to the coffee maker, grateful one of them had already made a batch. You poured some in the periwinkle mug for Dean before making a cup for yourself. “Dean, would you be okay with Eric sticking with you today?”

“What?” asked Eric, Dean taking the mug and ignoring him.

“Love to,” he said. “Sloane will get you to the stadium and keep an eye on you.”

Sloane looked equally annoyed as Eric, the both of them keeping their mouths shut. 

“I left you a care package in your office,” said Dean with a smile. “If you don’t want to wear my jersey that is.”

“I think I might be inclined. Wouldn’t want people thinking we’re together or anything.”

“Pft. God no,” he teased, Eric rolling his eyes. Dean kissed you quickly before going to Eric, throwing his arm over his shoulders. “Come on, buddy. You can help me pick out my outfit to walk into the stadium. Now I’m thinking a Princess of Pop tour t-shirt…”

Eric sighed as they headed out, the door closing softly behind them. 

“You can go back to your morning coffee,” you said, Sloane picking up a black mug on the island. You held yours with both hands, sipping slowly.

“Why did you want me to stay here?” she asked, a little cold for your liking.

“Because I want to talk to you alone,” you said, going to the backdoor, opening the slider. You motioned and she followed with her mug, the two of you sitting in the early dusk light on the patio. 

“You will never convince me to forgive Eric so don’t even try.”

“I wasn’t going to.” You felt her stare but resisted the urge to look at her. “I could tell you how he has regrets and guilt and he believes you’re so much better at the job than him but you already know that. I know you don’t care. All I wanted to say was…I understand loving someone so completely and then they hurt you in a way that, even though you still love them, it’ll never be the same. There will always be pain there. And you want to stop loving them or you want to find a way to forgive, one or the other but you fucking can’t and it just…sucks.”

You sat in silence for a minute, only the sound of a few coffee slurps in the cool morning air before Sloane finally drew a deep breath.

“I know you’ll understand this because you’re a strong woman. Not the way I know how to deal with weapons or threats but you’re strong. You built a goddamn empire by yourself and you get rid of the shitheads without a second glance. I know you’re like Dean in a way too and yet you keep on going.” You turned your head, the tip of her nose pink in the soft light, a glimmer of wetness in her eyes. “Sometimes you don’t want to be strong. You just want your person to be there and hold you and make you feel safe and like you can fall apart. I know you understand that because I see your face when you’re with Dean and I see how no one will ever be able to protect you the way Dean will.”

You nodded, reaching over to her chair and holding her cold hand.

“I was so hurt and I just needed Eric to sit there and hold me. It’s all I needed and he couldn’t do it. He was so caught up in his own guilt, which it wasn’t his fault we had bad intel in the first place which he fucking knows, but he was so wrapped up in his head he couldn’t be there for me. He couldn’t see past his pain and see that I needed him more in that moment. Could you imagine the worst day of your life and Dean is right there, ten feet away, and he won’t come to you? All you want is him and he leaves you on your own?”

“Men are idiots,” you said quietly, Sloane laughing dryly.

“Fucking preach,” she sniffled, closing her eyes. “And then he got me fired. I understand why, I fucking do because in his fucking little moronic man brain that was how he stopped me from getting hurt ever again. But all he did was made me lose the two things I was fucking good at, fucking loved, in the span of a week. He made decisions about my life for me and that is not okay.”

“Eric’s been known to be a fucking idiot on occassion,” you said, offering a smile. She nodded, breathing deeply to look out over the yard. “Why do you two keep screaming at each other?”

“He tries to apologize and I don’t want to hear it. It will never be good enough. He stole a part of my soul and it’s never coming back,” she whispered. “The worst part is I look at him and I still love him. But I know what he’s capable of and I won’t do that to myself again.”

You rubbed the back of her hand, Sloane smiling over at you. “Dean and I are getting serious. There’s a chance…real serious. Someday our security might not be so separate anymore. I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“Eric’s soul is fucked up too and I’d love nothing more than to see you two somehow work it out. But if you never did and if it hurts too much, I want you to tell me and we will find a way where you two will never interact. You will not lose your job because I am dating your protectee and you have the shitty luck of your sort of ex being my guard. I promise.” Sloane watched you, nodding her head.

“I see why Dean’s in love with you,” she said. “You are tenacious under that sweet little pop princess guise.”

“Wolf in sheep’s clothing,” you said. “Kinda like you. I bet you know how to fuck people up big time.”

“Oh yeah,” she laughed, taking a sip from her drink. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me for being decent.” You closed your eyes, yawning loudly instead. “There’s some spare rooms at the far end of the house. You can pick one for if you stay over again, keep some personal things there.”

She nodded, neither of you saying a word for a good ten minutes as you watched the sun slowly try to poke it’s head out over the trees.

“Would you be able to forgive Dean if he did what Eric had?” Her voice was small, unsure. You finished off your coffee, resting the ceramic against your bare thigh. 

“Sloane.” You waited until she was looking at you, a slight crinkle in her forehead. “Eric was a fucking asshole for what he did. But I know how protective of me he is. Seeing you hurt and him thinking it was his fault? It broke him. He probably wanted you to hold him in that moment as much as you wanted it except he hated himself so much he ran. It was the wrong move but he can’t change it. Let him go or find a way to forgive him.”

You stood up, stretching up on your tip toes.

“Come on, no more silly men talk,” you said, taking her hand and yanking her up. “Let’s go pick out our outfits for the game.”

“Uh, what?” she asked, letting you tug her along after you.

“You’re sitting with me in the box. You think I’m going to meet my boyfriend's family for the first time by myself? No way. You’re protecting my ass today and that includes awkward situations.”

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” she sighed.

You showed up to the stadium after an early lunch with Sloane. It’d taken a bit of work to get her to talk about anything besides security protocols but she’d warmed up to you by the time the morning was through. 

Offering her chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast hadn’t hurt either.

And you absolutely loved your surprise from Dean. It was an old school letter man jacket for the Wolves. Original. You didn’t even want to know how much he’d paid for it.

Eric had texted multiple times that Dean was annoying the shit out of him but you had a feeling they were starting to become friends when Dean texted that he was leaving you for his new bestie Eric.

Y/N: Cool with me. You take Eric. I got dibs on Sloane. She’s actually hot when you get her out of that awful pantsuit.

Dean: YOU GOT HER TO CHANGE??? I’ve been trying for years! Also, no. I get both of them. Throuple all the way

Y/N: You want to be in a throuple with those two? We should check you for a concussion babe.

Dean: Good call. I’ll settle for you. 

Y/N: Settle? And I wore my new jacket and everything for you!

Dean: Well you didn’t say that lol. Btw I told Eric he doesn’t have to hang out with me all day. I’m in the locker room, nice and safe. Shockingly, he didn’t listen to me.

Y/N: That’s cause he gets paid to listen to me, not you. 

Dean: Why does that not surprise me? I have to run to a team meeting and then prep. Have fun and I’ll see you after the game to make our cake for Max! 

Y/N: Be safe!

Dean: I’ll do my best!

“Are you ready?” asked Sloane as you crowded into a service elevator. You hummed, shoving your phone in your shorts pocket, taking a deep breath. “His parents are kind people. I wouldn’t be nervous.”

“Force of habit,” you said, Sloane raising an eyebrow but she didn’t say anything else. Honestly there was no way it was going to be more awkward than when your parents showed up for a few days tomorrow. They always visited for Max’s birthday week but they didn’t talk about him and instead spent most of the time going out to eat, shopping or hanging out in your pool.

Ironically, it was great for your creativity when you were forced to hide away in the studio for days on end to escape the tension. Last year you’d written three songs in the span of four days. One of them was still in the top forty nearly six months after it’s release.

“The Winchesters live in LA. Perhaps if things go smoothly, the parents can meet when yours get in,” said Sloane. You raised an eyebrow.

“That’s a little fast to introduce them to each other, don’t you think?”

“Just a thought,” she hummed, clasping her hands behind her back as the door opened. The hallway was sparse, a thick lump in your throat when you walked past some people in the corridor and got stares. “I’m not the only security on this floor.”

“I wasn’t worried about that.”

“I know. Stating a fact simply,” she said, stopping outside a gray door with a number 15 on it. You readied yourself and slipped inside, finding around a dozen or so people inside already. 

“Hey!” said a young woman, probably college age if you had to guess. “I’m making margaritas. You guys want one?”

“On duty, Casey,” said Sloane, the woman’s bright blue eyes turning to you. 

“Uh sure,” you said, Casey shooting you a thumbs up and grabbing another red cup from where she worked at the back counter. 

“Benny’s youngest sister,” said Sloane in your ear as you gave a few nods and smiles to people who caught your eye but returned their attention to their own conversations quickly enough. All the while Sloane was giving you the play by play of who they were. 

Apparently Benny had a pretty big family. It wasn’t until you even made it past the food and drinks to the seats that you made it through all of them. Which meant the lone couple already in seats in the front row must have been Dean’s parents.

“You must be Y/N!” said an older blonde, shooting up from her seat and climbing the steps. She wrapped you up in a big hug, surprising you so much you just stood there. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m Dean’s mom. We’ve heard so much about you.”

“Don’t run her off yet, Mary. Dean’ll kill us,” teased an older handsome man. It was quiet obvious where Dean’s good looks came from. He picked you up in a bone crushing hug, squeezing you tight. “Hey, kiddo. I’m John.”

“It’s nice to meet you,” you said as he set you down on your feet. “Dean gets his hugs from you guys it seems.”

“We’re big huggers,” said Mary, Sloane saying a quick hello to them both before taking a seat in the second row beside one of Benny’s uncles. “I am so sorry I scared you. You must get that a lot.”

“No, you’re fine. I just wasn’t expecting it,” you said, rubbing your left arm, glancing at the field. “Watching the game from up here is cool, huh?”

“Sure,” said John, his tone making you look back at him. His dark eyes were relaxed, sympathetic almost. “The cameras will be on our box probably more than once to catch a glimpse of you. Try to relax and have fun.”

“What John is trying to say is,” said Mary, taking both your hands in hers, “We are really happy to meet you. Dean’s always carried a guilt inside of him and we’ve seen that ease over the past month. We know it’s because of you that he’s finally allowing himself to be happy again. So thank you.”

“He makes me happy too,” you said quietly, offering her a small smile. John threw his arm over your shoulders, your head turning up. 

“Good. So stop being nervous and let’s have some of those margaritas to get to know each other over, okay?”

It was the end of the fourth quarter, the two minute warning ongoing and the Wolves were up by two touchdowns. And as much fun as you had watching Dean play, you’d spent the better part of the game talking with his parents. You already liked John when he asked what you did for a living and asked if you were hoping to make a career out of music. While he was silly, Mary was a complete mother hen over you, always making sure you had enough to eat and drink. It was refreshing to hear them talk about Sam openly. Max was such a touchy subject in your family but they were practically giddy telling you about how Sam had mercilessly teased Dean about the girl in the orange sneakers. 

“That boy is looking down laughing his fucking ass off at his brother that he was right about it taking a decade to land a girl like you,” laughed John. 

“C-Can I ask you guys a personal question?” They both turned in their seats, giving you their full attention. “Why did…when you don’t have a concrete answer…how’d you decide to say he was…”

“We understand,” said Mary, taking your hand. “Honestly? We took a look at the facts and the evidence we had about what happened to Sam. We understood most likely which ring took him and after a certain age, we know what they do to those boys. So we won’t ever know for sure but we know all we’ll ever be able to and those facts told us Sam’s not here anymore.”

“It wasn’t an easy decision but it’s one we decided as a family. Dean doesn’t agree with us but we respect his choice too. It wasn’t so much about having a funeral for us but more symbolic, an attempt for us to stop living in a grieving limbo and turn Sam’s life into a celebration for the time he was with us,” said John. You nodded, swallowing thickly as you glanced down. John rubbed your back, his heavy hand comforting. “Whatever choice your parents made, it was not an easy one.”

“They won’t talk about him anymore,” you whispered. “S’like Max didn’t exist.”

“The pain is excruciating,” he said. “Don’t blame them for trying to ease it. For a very long time Dean only talked about Sam to a few people. But even if they won’t, it doesn’t mean you can’t. We’d like to know about Max if you ever wanted to share.”

You smiled and nodded, getting a side hug from Mary as the last of the game clock ticked away. 

“We weren’t so bad, were we?” asked Mary, John chuckling deeply beside you.

“I think Y/N’s put up with tougher shit than the two of us,” he laughed. “But it was very nice to meet orange sneaker girl finally.”

“You guys were great. I’d like to have you over for dinner sometime when we figure out a day that works,” you said, Sloane tapping your shoulder. 

“We need to go downstairs before there’s too many people out there. Now,” she said. You stood up, surprised to find John right behind you. “John-”

“I’m an ex-soldier just like you. If you have a problem with me going with you, you can respectfully kiss my ass, Sloane.” You turned to Mary, an apologetic smile on her face.

“I can’t say I disagree with him going,” she said, Sloane rolling her eyes. 

“Fine. Cover her behind,” said Sloane, quickly jogging up the steps. You said quick goodbyes to Benny’s family and were out in the now crowded hall, Sloane barking orders at five different security guards that were by the door.

“I’m sorry. I should have brought my team,” you said even though no one responded. Except for John that was.

“We can blame the fucking broadcast network for alerting everyone to exactly where you were,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders, walking behind you. Thankfully you got through the hoard of people quickly and to the service elevator, John slipping inside with you and Sloane.

“So this is one of the perks of being a celebrity,” said John as he took in the grimy elevator. 

“You don’t really get used to it,” you said, John crossing his arms. 

“Yeah, you’re too sweet a kid to actually like that shit,” he said, the door dinging and opening slowly. You followed Sloane out, John still on your heels much to her annoyance. “What?”

“What the fuck is happening?” snapped Eric as you rounded a corner, quickly getting in Sloane’s face. “You took her out of a secure room with fucking rent a cops?”

“Don’t you fucking start,” she shot back, John looking to you.

“It’s not you she’s pissed at,” you whispered, stepping between the two of them in a service hallway. “Fight later. I want to see Dean and I would like it if one of you could go back upstairs and escort Mary out of the box please.”

“You should have waited for me, Sloane,” growled Eric, grabbing your arm roughly, yanking you to his side. “Do as she asked and we need to have a serious discussion regarding Y/N’s safety if-”

“First off, stop fucking hurting me,” you said, ripping your arm away, Eric spotting the growning bruise and frowning. “Second, our security protocol says as long as we have two trained agents, we can use readily available security to move me. John is an ex-marine, like you, so Sloane was perfectly fine to move me. I was not in any danger. Now one of you please go get Mary.”

“I’ll go. She doesn’t know him,” said Sloane, bumping him on her way back to the elevator. Eric closed his eyes and sighed.

“Sorry,” he said quietly. “I just-”

“I know. It wasn’t normal. We’ll bring the team from now on,” you said, waving a hand forward. “Let’s go.”

John leaned down to your ear, the two of you following after Eric. “Are these the two that are in love?”

You hummed, John chuckling.

“Five bucks they end up fucking by the end of November.”

“October,” you said, John extending his hand and shaking yours. 

“You’re on pop princess,” he teased, Eric gritting his teeth as he opened a door to reveal more people. It looked like some family members were hanging out in the hall and about twenty minutes later a door popped open, a few players walking out, Dean one of them. 

“Hey!” he said, rushing over and picking you up in a spinning hug. “Did you have a good time? Were my parents okay?”

“Oh they were awful,” you said as you turned towards John.

“She’s terrible, truly terrible,” said John, not even able to hide his laugh. “Of course we like her you idiot. You think we were going to waterboard her or something?”

“No, just…shut up,” said Dean, pecking a kiss on your lips, the smell of pine in the air from his very recent shower. “I’m glad you guys got along.”

“I invited your parents to dinner sometime,” you said, Dean happy to hear that. 

He had to run off to a post-game interview which gave Sloane enough time to bring Mary down. You chatted with them more while you waited, Eric and Sloane choosing to spend the time by watching opposite ends of the hall. It was another twenty minutes before Dean returned and he gave both his parents big hugs, catching up with them for a few minutes. 

Finally after what seemed like another half hour, you were alone with Dean in his SUV, the two of you headed for home.

“So how’d it really go with my parents?” he asked, talking hold of your hand across the center console. You smiled out the window, his large thumb running over the back of your hand.

“They’re good people.” You tilted your head against the glass, closing your eyes. “I’m jealous.”

“We can share,” he said quietly.

“I’d like that.”

One Hour Later

The kitchen was an absolute mess. Cake mix covered nearly every surface, including you and Dean. Someone, Dean, hadn’t locked the head on the mixer. That someone had also turned it on full blast and absolutely whipped every single ingredient in the bowl out in a ten foot radius.

And you were laughing so hard looking at his chocolate covered face you were hit with the realization you hadn’t laughed on Max’s birthday in over a decade.

Dean was giggling as you stopped, concern filling his eyes when you stepped forward. “Hey, what’s-”

You grabbed his wet cheeks and planted a harsh kiss on him, Dean backing up against the fridge, letting you move you lips roughly against his. It wasn’t gentle. It was needy, Dean’s hands wrapping around your waist, holding your body to his.

You breathed hard when you felt light headed, Dean panting when he stared down. 

“You’re mine,” you said, grasping his chin. He nodded, his warm breath pooling over your face. “Come wash up with me.”

“After you, sweetheart.”

It took another two hours but you finally had clean bodies, a clean kitchen, and a frosted chocolate cake sat on the island. Dean worked on slicing you each up a piece as you finished with a simple pasta dish for dinner, all the while your heart hammered in your chest. Something felt different. A good different. Like you weren’t so afraid of moving so fast anymore.

You carried the pasta and dessert into your dining room, settling in at your usual spot, Dean sitting beside you at the head of the table.

“Happy birthday, Max, wherever you are,” said Dean, rising his glass of wine, clinking it to yours when you smiled. 

“I’m going to keep you, you know,” you said to him, Dean smirking. “Sweet boy.”

“Lucky me,” he said, leaning over, kissing you sweetly for the briefest of moments. 

“Me too, Dean.”

??? POV

“The Wolves keep this up and they’ll be a shoo in for the playoffs,” said Sebastian as he spoke on the phone to his brother, watching sports center late that night. I set his beer down on a coaster on the end table, taking away the empty. “One sec.”

He covered the phone with his hand, glancing up at me.

“Is Cecilia’s lunch prepared for tomorrow?”

“Yes sir. Soccer uniform is also washed and ready in her sports bag,” I said, Sebastian nodding in approval.

“Good. Take care of that and you’re excused for the rest of the night.” 

“Yes sir,” I said, nodding before leaving him in his man cave and heading for the kitchen. I had just finished rinsing out the bottle when I heard soft footsteps enter, the fridge door opening.

“Is dad still on the phone?” asked the young voice, shutting the door with a sigh.

“Yes, Miss Cecilia,” I said, drying off the bottle and placing it in the recycling bin under the sink. “Would you like me to prepare you anything?”

“No. I just want some chocolate,” she said, opening the pantry and grabbing a fistful of dove chocolate squares. “Want one?”

“No thank you,” I said. 

“Well if you had a period, you’d want one too,” she said, tearing off the wrapper and popping a whole one in her mouth. “I can’t believe I have to deal with fucking cramps for the next thirty years. Minimum.”

“Language,” said Sebastian, walking in, finally off the phone. “And don’t discuss your menstruation with other people. It’s not classy.”

“Don’t even start,” she said to him, taking a permission slip out of her pocket. “Can you sign the stupid thing already?”

I attempted to leave but Sebastian held up a hand, my feet planting firmly in place. “I think you’re too young to be going on a week long trip.”

“I’m fourteen, dad. My body is literally, as we speak, expelling shit from me because there isn’t a baby in there. So I’m old enough to make human life but not go on a fucking school trip?” she asked. Sebatian looked at me and I wished I could run away. I knew how this would fucking end.

“Wouldn’t you agree fourteen is too young to go?” he asked. I didn’t even hesitate.

“Yes sir. Miss Cecilia will have plenty of other opportunities to travel when she is older,” I said. Sebastian crossed his arms at his daughter. Cecilia responded by twitching her eye in rage.

That was one of the reasons I liked that kid. She didn’t give two fucks how rich and powerful her father was. 

“You did this same exact thing when you said I could go to the Y/N Y/L/N concert in the summer and then you turned around and said I couldn’t! Stop talking out of both sides of your mouth.”

“Excuse me?” said Sebastian, raising his voice. “You went to that fucking concert with all your little friends. VIP tickets I paid for if I recall.”

“You said I could go by myself and then my fucking dad shows up-”

“I was not letting a group of six barely teenagers go to a concert by themselves.”

“Your security was with us! It’s not like we were alone!” She shot back.

“You are still too young-”

“Asshole!” she shouted, grabbing the paper and throwing one of the chocolates at his face. “I’ll get mom to sign it when I’m at her house then.” She stormed off and upstairs, slamming doors as she went. 

“Be glad you don’t have a fucking hormonal teenage daughter,” sighed Sebastian, picking up the chocolate and tossing it to me. “Retire to your quarters for the night.”

“Yes sir,” I said, going to the pantry and putting the chocolate away. 

“Go on,” he said, my head whipping over my shoulder. “You can have one for putting up with her bullshit.”

“Thank you sir,” I said, grasping two in the bag, hiding them in my fist as I pulled it out. I left him in the kitchen before heading through the butler’s pantry and to a plain door. I entered the room with two double beds, nightstands, a desk and bookshelf. I bypassed the door to the bathroom and headed for the closet, stepping inside and shutting the one after myself.

I sighed and went to the door on the far side, opening it and stepping into the open room. I shut this door too and ripped off the fucking tie around my neck. “I hate that motherfucking asshole.”

“Not going to disagree.” I sat down on the twin mattress beside my sole friend in this god awful place. His head was buried in a book, one he must have read fifteen times by now. “I made stew. Ready to eat whenever you are.”

“Let me wash up quick.” I shoved the chocolates under my pillow and grabbed a pile of semi-clean clothes, going to the corner of the room and pulling the curtain shut of our makeshift bathroom. My shower was fast like it always was and in five minutes I was changed into sweats and a t-shirt, walking barefoot against the cool concrete over to the table where a camping stove housed our stew in a pot.

“So how was your day dear?” he joked as my stomach grumbled at the smell. 

“Oh just lovely,” I said, dishing us each up half into a bowl, carrying them over along with a pair of spoons. “Here.”

“Thanks,” he said, putting his book aside before taking the bowl, setting it on the floor in front of him.

“Hey,” I said before he could start eating. I reached under my pillow and grabbed the chocolates, holding them out to him, his eyes wide. “Don’t worry. I had permission. Well for one but I figured I could get away with it.”

“I haven’t had chocolate in fucking forever,” he said as I dropped them in his hand, his free one instantly grabbing my wrist and shoving one back in mine. “We share. You haven’t had it in forever either.”

I nodded, each of us quickly eating our dinner before unwrapping our dessert, clinking them together with a quiet laugh. “It’s not much but-”

“Thanks, Sam. It’s great,” he said, taking a small nibble, savoring it. “Really fucking great.”

“Happy birthday, Max,” I said, biting into my own, enjoying the first rush of sugar in ages. We ate in silence, finished much too soon. I took care of the dishes and joined Max again, a strange little smile on his face. “What’s that look for?”

“Did you see any of the Wolves game today?” he asked. 

“Just a little at the end. Why, Dean get a touchdown again or something?” I asked, Max smirking. “What?”

“My sister was at the game. Apparently she and Dean are fucking dating.” My eyes went wide, Max nodding. “They’re together. Isn’t that some kind of twist of fate or some shit?”

A spark of an idea shot through me. It was barely there but shit it was the first good idea I’d had in years on how to get out of this fucking shithole.

“What are you scheming?” asked Max quietly, even if this was the one room in this whole house where there were no cameras, the one room where security wasn’t constantly watching us. 

We’d learned too many fucking times over the past decade that any of our escape attempts were dead on arrival. We knew we needed outside help and while we’d contemplated enlisting Ceclia knowing she’d be revolted enough by learning the truth about her father to help, it was too dangerous.

The last time we attempted an escape was seven years ago and we both still had the scars on our backs to remind us.

But if we could somehow reach out to our siblings…they were now rich and powerful enough to not be completely endangered themselves. 

“Cecilia’s pissed at fuckface,” I said.

“What else is new?” asked Max as I shook my head.

“She’s extra pissed and still salty about the concert thing. Now we know fuckface is a huge fan of the Wolves and Cecilia is a big fan of your sister…we gotta find a way to get my brother and your sister here, like a party or some shit.”

“My sister doesn’t go to shit unless it’s for charity,” said Max. “According to Ceclia at least.”

“We gotta try Maxie. If we can get Dean and Y/N here at this house…we can find them and get the fuck out of dodge. But I know if we fuck this up-”

“We’re getting buried in the woods out back,” said Max, nodding once, knowing we had one last chance at this. He smiled though. We were both sick of living this way enough to take that risk. “Let’s fucking do it. Let’s get a game plan and get the fuck out of here.”

“Hell fucking yeah we are.”

___________

A/N: Read Part 5 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfic #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfic #dean winchester x you #dean x #dean x reader #football au

[fanfictionalraven]

Full Moon

Title: Full Moon

Summary: It's the reader's favorite time of year and the new guy at school asks to hang out with her.

Characters: Teen!Reader, Teen!Dean Winchester, young Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2,267

Warnings: None

Author's Note: This story was originally posted by myself under the account Winchestersgirl92. It was published October, 2017.

“To the student or students who thought it would be funny to steal the distributor cap from my car, please return it now or you will be discovered and expelled,” the principal announces over the intercom system. You smile and shake your head as you pull your locker door open. It was your favorite time of year.

There was a crispness to the air outside and a beautiful golden and auburn tint to the leaves. Pumpkins, skeletons, and ghosts lined the houses in your neighborhood. Mischief was running rampant among your classmates and even a few of the teachers had gotten in on the fun. Today was Halloween.

The final bell had rung for the day and everyone was rushing to leave. You exchange your books, depositing most of them back into your locker. Only one teacher had been cruel enough to actually assign homework over the holiday weekend. You close your locker door and nearly jump out of your skin. The new guy was leaning against the locker next to yours, an almost irresistible smirk spread across his face.

“Can I help you?” You ask, crossing your arms over your chest. He and his brother had moved to your school about a week ago. You could tell automatically he was a “ladies man” but you hadn’t expected to be his first target.

“I’m Dean. You’re Y/N, right?” He asks. You nod your head once, catching a few jealous glares from the girls you had expected him to make his way through. You couldn’t deny he was attractive but you had no desire to become his first conquest at your school. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Straight to the chase, huh?” You ask. He shrugs his shoulders, that cocky smirk still plastered on his face. “I’m taking my little brother trick-or-treating.”

“What a coincidence, I’m taking my little brother out too. Maybe we could take them together,” he says. You let out a laugh and raise an eyebrow at him.

“Isn’t your brother a freshman?” You ask. He nods his head. “Isn’t he a little old to trick-or-treat?”

“Nah, Sammy loves it,” he says. You shake your head, smiling in disbelief. “We’re new to the area and I’m sure you know all the good spots. So, what do you say?” He asks. What do you say? He was pretty cute. And determined. With both your younger brothers with you, nothing could really happen so you couldn’t see the harm in it. You rip a piece of paper from your notebook and quickly jot down your address.

“For your brother’s sake,” you tell him, handing it over to him. “Be there at 5:00.” He smirks as he takes it then winks at you and walks away. You watch him go then shake your head as you turn the other way.

You get home that afternoon and immediately set about getting yourself ready. Your costume was simple, a long red skirt, a white sweater with a big R embroidered on it, a ponytail with a red bow, and some simple white tennis shoes. Your little brother had decided to be Dracula this year so you help him get ready. At 5:00 on the dot, your doorbell rings.

“Y/N!! Your friend from school is here,” your mother calls out to you. You smile at your little brother then bring him downstairs with you. Dean and his brother Sam are standing in the front foyer of your house, looking around in astonishment.

“Didn’t know you were rich,” Dean says. You roll your eyes then look at his brother. He’s wearing a white sheet with two holes cut out for eyes.

“What is that?” You ask, looking at Dean quickly. Dean looks at Sam then back at you and shrugs.

“A ghost?” He asks. You roll your eyes and reach to pull the sheet off of Sam.

“If you were going to force him to come, you could have at least bought him a better costume,” you tell him. Dean frowns and his eyes fall to the ground. The second the words are out of your mouth, you regret them. You’d heard that they were living in the old motel across town which obviously meant they didn’t have a lot of money. “I’m sorry.” Dean shakes his head and looks around your house again. “We’ve actually got some of my older brother’s old costumes down in the basement if you want to find something,” you tell Sam. He glances at Dean then shrugs his shoulders. “Come on.” You take Sam’s hand and pull him through the hall then down into the basement. You find the box and open it, allowing Sam to dig through. “I’m sorry he’s making you do this. We don’t have to if you don’t want to.” Sam shrugs, looking at an old Superman costume.

“I don’t mind. Never really got to do much trick-or-treating before,” he says. You frown, your heart breaking at his words. He glances over at you. “He’s been talking about you a lot.”

“What?” You ask, looking up at him. He shrugs, looking back into the box.

“Dean’s been talking about you. Since the day we started at school. He really likes you,” he says, smiling as he finds another costume. “Can I wear this one?” He asks, holding up a Ghostbusters uniform. You smile at him and nod before showing him the bathroom upstairs. Going back into the foyer, you find Dean standing with his arms crossed.

“Sam said he hasn’t done much trick-or-treating before?” You ask. Anger flashes through Dean’s eyes quickly.

“We don’t need your pity, Y/N,” he says. Your eyes widen and you shake your head.

“No, Dean!! That’s not what this is,” you start. “Okay, maybe a little for Sam but I would actually like to hang out with you tonight while we give Sam a pretty good Halloween. If you still want to.” You bite your lip. Something new crosses Dean’s face, something you said triggering different emotions. He nods and smiles a little. Sam comes down the hall and Dean’s eyes widen before he starts to laugh.

“A Ghostbuster, huh?” He asks. Sam smiles widely and nods. You look between them, missing the joke.

“Alright. Count Dracula, let’s roll,” you call out. Your brother comes running in from the kitchen, a second pillowcase in his hands. He hands it to Sam who looks down at it in amazement.

“We’re gonna get this much candy?” He asks. You laugh and nod.

“Definitely,” you tell him. His eyes light up before the four of you leave the house. Several other families are already out on your street, making their way house to house. Your brother immediately takes the lead, Sam following him closely. You and Dean hang back, awkwardly silent as you stop at the first house.

“So,” Dean says, looking around. He shoves his hands in his pockets then looks over your costume. “What are you?”

“Sandy from Grease,” you tell him, running your hands over the red skirt. You look back to find him smirking again.

“That mean you’re gonna turn into Bad Sandy halfway through the night?” He asks. You throw your head back laughing.

“In your dreams, Winchester,” you tell him before following your brothers to the next house.

“You can count on that,” Dean says. Your cheeks heat up as you stop, watching your brother and Sam run up the stairs of a house.

“So what brings you here?” You ask, looking at him. He shrugs, watching Sam.

“My dad’s job. We move around a lot. Probably won’t be here long,” he tells you. You can’t help the rush of sadness that fills you. Obviously, you didn’t know him well at this point – you barely knew him at all honestly – but you weren’t fond of the idea of him leaving so soon.

“That your way of telling me you aren’t looking for a girlfriend?” You ask, glancing at him. He laughs and shakes his head.

“Just a fact,” he says. You smile at his laughter, watching it shake his whole body.

“Well maybe this time you’ll be able to stay for a while,” you say. He smiles and reaches over, catching your hand in his own. You should probably protest, not wanting to give him the wrong idea, but you don’t mind.

“Maybe,” Dean says, stopping at the fence of another house.

The sun sets slowly, seeming to reflect the beautiful fall colors across the sky. Your little brother and Sam fill their pillowcases before you all make your way to the city park. The community festival is in full swing when you arrive. Your brother and Sam split off, finding people from school to hang out with. Dean points out a group of teenagers by the apple bobbing station. You shake your head and pull him to the far side of the park where it’s more secluded. His arm comes around your waist, holding you close to his side.

“Pretty crazy about the principal’s car, huh?” He asks. You laugh lightly and nod. “Think they’ll catch the guy that did it?” You shake your head and he looks down at you. “Why not?”

“Cause everyone assumes it’s a guy,” you say, smirking up at him. His eyes widen quickly.

“You??” He asks. You smile and shrug, looking out to find your brother. He’s running around chasing a friend dressed as Frankenstein. Dean smiles and shakes his head. “I think I love you,” he says. You laugh and look back at him. “Why’d you do it?”

“He didn’t let us dress up for Halloween today,” you say, shrugging again.

“You’re really into all this, aren’t you?” He asks. You nod, feeling his hand start to rub your side slowly.

“You get to be someone else,” you tell him. He snorts and you look up at him.

“Why would you want to be anyone else? You’ve got everything you could ever want,” He says in disbelief. You smile a little and lay your head against his shoulder.

“Money doesn’t mean everything is always sunshine and rainbows, Dean,” you say. He nods his head slowly.

“I guess not,” he says. You stay this way, his arm wrapped around you tight, for a few minutes. He presses a kiss to the top of you head. “We’ve got some admirers.” You look up and find the group from school watching the two of you closely. You roll your eyes and step out of his arm, taking his hand.

“Let’s give them something to talk about then,” you say, pulling on his hand. He smiles as you lead him away from the crowds of people to a secluded clearing behind some trees. You stop and look up at the sky. “A full moon on Halloween.”

“That’s gotta be a bad omen or something,” Dean says, shaking his head. You turn to face him and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Nah, it’s good luck,” you tell him. He raises an eyebrow, his arms snaking around your waist.

“Is it?” He asks. You smile and stand up, pressing your lips against his. It’s a timid kiss, your lips just barely grazing against his. “Guess it is,” he mumbles, nodding his head. You let out a giggle and look away.

“It’s getting late. I should get my brother home,” you tell him.

“Can I take you out tomorrow night?” He asks, his nose nuzzling your cheek. You look back at him and nod.

“Yes you can,” you tell him. He smiles and moves to kiss you again but you lean away from him, smirking. “Tomorrow night.” He laughs lightly and nods.

“Okay,” he says. You take his hand again and pull him back to the main area. The two of you find your brothers. A quick kiss to his cheek and Dean promises to pick you up at 6:00 the following night.

The next night you put on your favorite dress. You fix your hair and make-up perfectly. 6:00 comes and Dean doesn’t. You wait for nearly an hour before deciding to go over to the motel yourself. Leaving your car running, you step into the main office connected to the string of run down rooms.

“Can I help you?” The man at the counter asks, not looking up. You bite your lip slightly.

“I’m looking for a family. The Winchesters. A man and his two sons,” you tell him. He nods slightly, flipping the page of his newspaper.

“Checked out this morning. Seemed to be in a rush,” he says. You stare at him for a moment then nod. Dean said they wouldn’t be around long. You hadn’t expected them to vanish overnight though. The man glances up at you then sets his paper aside. “Are you Y/N by chance?”

“I – I am,” you tell him, cautiously. He pulls open a drawer and hands you a small yellow envelope.

“One of the boys left this in case you showed up,” he says. You frown and take it before leaving the office. You pull a note out and quickly read it.

Y/N,

I’m so sorry. Dad’s job. We had to leave. Hopefully we’ll see each other again. Until then, wear this for luck.

Dean

You empty the rest of the contents of the envelope into your hand. A delicate silver chain falls out. You look over the necklace and find a tiny full moon charm attached to it. Your finger runs over the charm before you quickly fasten it around your neck. A stray tear slides down your cheek and you wipe at it quickly. You look up at the sky and smile, the full moon shining down on you.

#supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x y/n #teen dean #teen reader #spn #fanfiction #fanfic #halloween

[pink-sparkly-witch]

The One That Got Away - Chapter Seventeen

Warnings: language, kissing, smut, oral sex (m and f rec), fingering, p in v.

Rating: 18+ Only

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Word Count: 1.9k

A/N: Well, this is it… the last chapter, only a short epilogue to come next week, and then we say goodbye to these two! Thank you to everyone who came on this journey with me. I appreciate every single one of you! 💖

You can catch up here!

 My Masterlist AO3    Ko-Fi

Pulling up and parking outside Dean’s house, Y/N got out of the vehicle, filled with intent, as she walked confidently to his door and knocked. She made a deal with herself as she dressed to come here: she wouldn’t overthink it. In fact, she wouldn’t think about it at all because if she did, she’d probably realise just how crazy and desperate this was.

Dean answered the door and smiled as he took her in, but when his lips turned upside down, and a look of confusion furrowed his brow, she lost all of the earlier confidence she had and realised that might have been a bad idea.

“Y/N, sweetheart? Is everything alright?” Dean asked, and she mumbled a quiet curse that she’d come over out of the blue and was worrying him.

“I’m sorry for showing up unannounced. I checked with Uncle Bobby to make sure you weren’t working, and I just needed to come. I know we haven’t arranged another day to meet, but I can’t… this… this isn’t working,” she rambles out, and her eyes widen when Dean’s flash with hurt.

“Every time we’ve planned to meet for the past three weeks, something happens that means we need to reschedule, and I can’t do it anymore. So I thought maybe if I came here unplanned, then maybe we could have a fighting chance at this.”

“It’s four,” Dean responded with a smirk.

“What?” she replied, confused.

“We’ve been rescheduling for four weeks.”

“All the more reason to say ‘screw it,’” Y/N stepped towards him and kissed him.

She felt Dean freeze for a second, and she smiled into his lips when he sighed softly and placed his hands gently on her hips. Her hands slowly slid into his short hair, and he licked at her lips, desperate to deepen the kiss, and she gladly let him.

Y/N’s nerves hummed with anticipation and from her awakening arousal. Dean had always been a good kisser. Her experience in kissing boys had been lacking when they started dating, so she didn’t have much to compare it to until she moved away. It was then she appreciated just how good of a kisser he was. And he did not disappoint now, either.

Things became heated between them quickly, hands roaming, and neither could get enough of the other. While she didn’t come here with the intention of sleeping with him tonight, she remembered enough about her first love to know that this was probably leading to his bedroom.

“Ahem.”

A throat clearing behind Dean made her freeze, and when he pulled away from her lips, sighed, and put his head on her shoulder, she saw John leaning against the kitchen doorframe, smirking at them, and Mary grinning. 

“Don’t stop on our account,” Mary said with a laugh, and Dean groaned in annoyance.

“I’m sorry, I should’ve called first. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d be–” Y/N started but was cut off by Dean’s lips on hers. 

“Stay,” he whispered as he pulled away from her and rested his forehead on hers. “Mom brought over a lasagne. Trust me, they’re just leaving.”

“You’re not just saying that are you?” Y/N grinned.

“No, I swear!” Dean chuckled and held his hands up.

“He’s right, sweetie,” Mary said. “When I heard he’d been called into work to help with the accident yesterday, I knew he wouldn’t have eaten much, and I brought over some food. We are just leaving. We’re just heading over to see Sam and Jess and help with the last few things before the baby comes.”

“See? Stay.” The puppy eyes Dean threw her way were unfair, and Y/N hated that she still couldn’t say no to them.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“Thank you,” Dean sighed, feeling his insecurities leave him and finally believing Y/N wants this as much as he does. Cupping her cheeks, he placed a soft peck on her lips and took her hand to pull her further into the house. 

The door had barely closed behind John and Mary when Dean’s lips were on hers again. She thought she’d feel nervous, but as they kissed and their hands started roaming under clothing, it felt like they’d spent no time apart. It felt right. It felt like home.

Dean’s arms circled her waist, and he gently tapped, encouraging her to jump up and hook her legs around his waist. The second he had a secure grip on her, he carried her upstairs and into his bedroom.

Laying her on the bed, Dean stepped back and removed his denim shirt before pulling off his shoes and her boots. He crawled up the bed, covered her body with his, and their lips met again.

Y/N’s hands trailed under his black T-shirt, and she shivered, feeling his muscles quiver under her touch. Pulling the material up, she broke away from him just long enough to remove his shirt and throw it on the floor.

Dean quickly followed her lead and slid his hands up her waist, dragging the material of her soft cotton shirt with them and removing it. Sitting back on his heels, he unbuttoned her jeans and pulled them off her legs, leaving her only in her underwear.

Standing from the bed, his jeans joined the pile of discarded clothing on his floor. He groaned loudly as Y/N’s small hand rubbed his semi-erect length through the thin material of his underwear.

Once he was at full hardness, she removed his underwear, moaning at the reveal of his thick, hard, leaking cock. Leaning forward, Y/N gently licked at his glans, circling her tongue around it, collecting his precome, and slipping him into her mouth.

With a gasp, Dean’s hands gripped her hair softly. Peaking up at him through hooded eyes, she pushed her head further down his length than he was expecting and moaned, the vibrations from her throat making him growl and his head fall back.

“Y/N, I’m gonna need you to stop, or this will be over embarrassingly quickly,” Dean whimpered.

She pulled off him with an obscene slurping sound, making him growl again. He kneeled on the floor before her, placing a hand on each leg and sliding them up to meet her underwear.

“Lie back, Princess,” Dean murmured, and she was quick to do as he said, lying back on her elbows. He slowly pulled the lace garment off her legs, his fingers trailing over her skin, causing her to shiver and prickle with goosebumps.

“Spread those legs for me,” Dean said, his voice deep with arousal, as he discarded her underwear on the floor. Y/N whimpered as she let her legs fall to either side and watched Dean’s eyes change to a deep forest green as lust clouded over him.

Grabbing her ankles, Dean pulled her down the bed and wrapped his arms around her legs, pinning her thighs to the bed. Dipping his head down, he groaned at the shiny tell-tale signs of her arousal.

“Hmm,” he hummed and licked his lips. “So wet already, Princess. Can I taste you?”

“Please, Dean,” Y/N begged, grateful he didn’t tease her too long before she felt that first long swipe of his tongue make its way from the bottom of her soaking, aching slit to the top.

Pushing his tongue between her folds, Dean expertly found her tiny bundle of nerves and repeatedly flicked the tip of his wet muscle over it. Y/N could feel him grin as her natural reflexes of trying to close her legs made him hold her tighter and push her further into the bed, forcing her to stay open to him.

As his mouth brought her higher and higher, she tried to ground herself by running her hands through his hair and gently tugging on the short strands. Dean moaned, and she smirked, remembering how much his hair being played with drove him wild.

The gentle scrape of her fingers over his head spurred him on in his efforts, and his mouth and tongue licked and sucked like a man hellbent on giving her the most powerful orgasm possible.

Y/N was already close to unravelling under the attention of his mouth, so when his finger pushed inside her, her back arched, and her head fell to the mattress. She moaned loudly and tightened her grip on his hair.

When one finger became two, and those fingers curled upwards, she fell apart completely. Her hips bucked to get his fingers to fuck her deeper; a long, rumbling groan escaped through the waves of pure pleasure, her fingers tugging mercilessly on his hair. She couldn’t remember a time when she’d felt this good. She felt like she was flying and never wanted to be on solid ground again.

Dean placed a final kiss on her sex before kissing his way up her body. He paused at her breasts, sliding his hands behind her back, unhooked her bra, pulled the straps down, and removed the last barrier between them.

Continuing his path of kisses up her body, he finally came to rest on her lips. He circled his hips, grinding himself into her wet heat. The sensation made her gasp, and Dean took it as an opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. Y/N quickly captured it with hers, and when Dean pulled away too soon, she chased his lips, only opening her eyes when she heard his soft chuckle.

When her gaze met his, he pushed his hips forward and filled her completely. Feeling her stretch perfectly to accommodate his girth, Dean watched as her mouth opened and her eyes rolled. Once fully within her, he held still, wanting to savour the connection and feeling that was Y/N for as long as possible.

He knew this wouldn’t be his best performance. Not even one of his top ten. Because this has been all he has wanted for the past twelve years. Because every time he’d had a girl beneath him, he’d wished and fantasised that it was the girl under him right now.

Pulling his hips back slowly, Dean thrust back in with a groan. Y/N’s warm, wet core was even better than he remembered, and as he pulled back again, he moved his hand between their bodies and thumbed at her clit.

Y/N whimpered at the extra pleasure Dean was giving her, but from the fire burning in her core, she guessed it probably wasn’t necessary because the feeling of him, the love he was radiating, and the overwhelming peace that blanketed her already had her close to climaxing.

She screamed as Dean’s thumb caught a particularly sensitive part of her clit. Knowing he’d found his girl’s sweet spot, he repeated the motion until she came undone again, gasping his name like a prayer and her walls clenching him beautifully.

He couldn’t hold back any longer. He pushed in until his whole length was inside her, and they were skin to skin, completely as one. He stilled, and with a roar of her name, he emptied everything he had inside her.

Dean rolled off her, pulled her to his chest and wrapped his arms around her, and as she drifted off to sleep, Y/N felt safe and loved, and that was all she’d ever dreamed of.

Next Chapter >>

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#the one that got away #18+ #firefighter!dean winchester x reader #au dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #smut #tw: child abuse #tw: alcoholism #tw: physical abuse #tw: verbal abuse #firefighter!dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

[rollingsins]

three’s a crowd, part one

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten (epilogue)

summary: you hadn’t expected this. to fall in love. with not one girl, but two. you hadn’t expected to ruin their friendship. love triangle au. 

pairing: emma myers x reader, jenna ortega x reader

warnings: language.

word count: 3k

a/n: first part in my love triangle fic as mentioned earlier on my blog! let me know your thoughts and what direction you want me to take with this. few ideas but I’d love to hear your thoughts! :))

A dream job, that’s what this was. 

You could barely believe it the moment the call came in. You were going to be on a TV show - you were going to be on Wednesday. 

It was the second season of production; you’d been a little nervous at first, coming into a pre-established cast, but everyone had gone out of their way to make you feel comfortable. 

There’s Hunter with his fluffy hair and boyish smile. Joy, so friendly, so warm as she hugs you. Georgie with his accent and long, James Dean-esque haircut. 

“We’re so happy to have you.” Joy says, smile warm. She’s gripping onto your arm, “Fresh blood.” 

“Seriously.” Hunter says as he hugs you, “It’s good to have you. You’ll love it here. We’re like a family.” 

“Have you met the girls yet?” Joy asks. She looks over her shoulder, as if trying to scout them. 

The girls can only mean two people. You shake your head, a little nervous. Jenna was the show’s star, you had no idea what she’d be like. And Emma was playing your love interest. You’d never had a love interest on screen before, and the show hadn’t bothered with a chemistry test. You wondered if you’d like her. Found yourself thinking with butterflies in your stomach how you’d have to kiss her. 

“Thick as thieves, those two.” Georgie murmurs, “Never one without the other. I’ll find them.” 

He slinks off somewhere. Hunter takes your arm, walks you around the set. 

“We’re having a get together tonight.” Hunter tells you, “You should come. It’s like a pre-season celebration.”

“I’ll be there.” 

Georgie’s back, this time, two girls follow him. 

It’s Jenna, you recognise her immediately. She’s gorgeous, is your first thought. Long dark hair, dark eyes, freckles dotted across her face. It’s all you can do to stop your jaw hitting the floor. 

“I’m Jenna.” She’s hugging you. When she pulls back, the other girl is stepping forward. 

“I’m Emma” Pretty blue eyes, short, shoulder length blonde hair. You take the hand she offers, smile, a little shy. 

“Hi.”

She’s also gorgeous, you think. In fact, the entire cast is gorgeous. Without thinking, you blurt it out. 

They all laugh. Hunter nudges your shoulder. 

“Good start. You’re going to fit in great.”

-

Your first day is a blur of meeting new faces, trying to remember your lines and cues. When it’s all over, you’re standing in front of the door to Hunter’s hotel room, a bottle of Grey Goose in hand. 

Hunter ushers you in. 

Georgie and Joy are on the balcony, sharing a vape between them. 

Jenna and Emma sit on the couch, speaking in soft voices. 

They’re holding hands, you can’t help but notice. Your eyes linger. Wonder why you’re a little disappointed. 

“What do you want to drink?’ Hunter’s voice snaps you out of your reverie. 

“Vodka-soda.” 

You mingle a little. Hunter tells you about his husband. Joy shows you how to mix a perfect margarita. Two or three drinks in and you’re out on the balcony, taking a breather. You don’t even notice someone behind you until you hear Emma’s voice. 

“You all good out here?” She asks. 

You turn, look at her. She’s so pretty. Is all you can think. Her blue eyes glimmer in the moonlight. 

“Fine.” Is what you say. “Just thinking.” 

She slides in beside you, nudges your shoulder. 

“Penny for your thoughts?” 

You bite your lip. 

“I’m nervous.” You tell her, “This is my first real acting gig.”

She hums. Brings her glass to her lips. 

“You’re doing great.” She says, “You have nothing to be nervous about. I was nervous too, my first time. It gets easier.” 

“Thanks.” You say. Your eyes flick to the room - Jenna’s nowhere in sight. 

“Where’s Jenna?” You ask. Emma looks over to you. 

“Bathroom, I think.” 

“Is she your girlfriend?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. Immediately you regret it. The drink has made you a little too bold. 

Emma laughs.  

“No.” She says, eyes sparkling. “She’s like my sister.”

Oh. You lick your lips. Your stomach flips. Elation rushes through you. The thought of them together makes you sick to your stomach, though you’re not exactly sure why. 

Emma’s watching, her eyes curious. 

“Why do you ask?”

You shrug. “No reason.” 

You take your drink in hand, scoot back over to the hotel room before you embarrass yourself any further. 

-

Shooting begins. It’s only been a little over a month, but it feels like you’ve known these people for years. 

There isn’t a single actor you don’t like; any one of them can make you laugh until you cry, and within weeks they start to feel like five of your new best friends. Not so surprisingly, it’s Jenna and Emma you feel closest to. Jenna’s there everyday, and despite the fact it’s her show, and you’re all essentially just set pieces to make her look good, she never treats you as though you are. She’s with you in the trenches, her calves just as sore from standing all day, laughing and joking along with everyone else. 

Emma’s a sweetheart, more thoughtful than you’d ever thought she’d be. She brings in cookies sometimes, showers one of the crew, Georgia, with flowers and gifts on her birthday. The three of you slip into a familiar routine. Every morning going to make-up together, goofing around on set. Then you’d hang out later, sometimes in each other's trailers, sometimes in each other's hotel rooms. 

The three amigos, Hunter called you once. It had a nice ring to it. 

Only, this week you hadn’t seen that much of Jenna. She was shooting constantly, sometimes fourteen hour days. It left you and Emma alone a lot of the time. Just hanging out, watching Netflix or cooking dinner together. 

“Kind of like a couple.” Joy had  teased one night over drinks, when you’d mentioned it. 

Your head had shot up and immediately your cheeks had tinged red. 

“We’re not a couple.” You’d clarified and Hunter and Joy had shared a look, “We’re not.” 

“Not yet.” Hunter had sing-songed, before darting off to pour himself another drink. 

In truth, they weren’t entirely wrong. There had been something weird, a certain vibe between you. You brushed it off. It was because your characters had romantic tension, you figured. 

But sometimes you’d catch her looking. Wondered maybe if there was something more to it. 

The thought of dating Emma made you feel strange. Fluttery, a little, in a good way. But also in a bad way. In truth, lately you’d been a little confused. Something was holding you back, but you weren’t quite sure what it was. 

It’s another one of those nights tonight. 

You’re in Hunter’s hotel room, again, sprawled across the couch with a vodka-soda in hand. Jenna isn’t working tonight, she’s sitting across from you. It’s nice to be with her again. You missed her. Her wry, sarcastic humor. Pretty eyes that sparkle back at you, as if you’re sharing some inside joke. 

You’re a few drinks in, just you and her. Hunter’s gone to fetch ice. The others will be here soon, Jenna tells you, looking at her phone. You settle into an easy conversation. 

Somehow, you’re on the topic of boyfriends. 

“I never asked-” Jenna says, taking a long sip of her drink, “Do you have a boyfriend? A girlfriend?” 

You feel your own cheeks heat. 

“No.” You say, maybe too quickly, “Do you?”

She shakes her head. Circles her fingers around the rim of her glass. She has a strange look on her face, one you can’t quite read. 

“Do you have your eye on anyone?” She asks. Her voice is weird, weighted. Like the question is a trap. 

She’s observing you. Under her steady gaze you feel like a lab rat. 

“No.” You say, “Maybe. I don’t know.” 

“Thanks for clearing it up.” She leans back, still watching. A small smile tugs at her lips, she’s teasing you. 

“Do you have your eye on anyone?” You throw back to her, leaning forward. She licks her lips. Your stomach flips. Part of you hopes she doesn’t respond. Your chest feels tight at the thought.

“Not fair.” She says, “I asked you first.” 

Your heart thumps. She’s leaning back into her seat. 

“Is it Emma?” She asks, suddenly, “Do you like her?” 

“I think she likes me.” You say, truthfully. You wonder if she can hear your heart pounding in your chest. Your blood has turned cold. 

“That’s not what I asked.” She says. The playful teasing is gone. She’s weirdly serious. 

You swallow. Shrug, trying to appear non-committal. You wonder if she can see through it. 

“I don’t know.” You say. 

“You don’t know?” She asks, a little perplexed. 

“No. I don’t know.” You say, “I mean how do you know if you like someone? It’s complicated, right?” 

Jenna shakes her head, “Not for me. When I like someone I know it. Right away.” 

You tilt your head, annoyance fluttering through you. 

“So who is it then? This person you like so much?” 

Jenna says nothing. Watching, like she always does. You’re starting to get irritated with her stoic silence. 

The buzzer rings. It startles both of you. You rise, almost glad for the tension break, and open the door. 

It’s Georgie, smiling wide, a bottle of Gin in hand. 

“Joy’s on her way.” He declares, prancing past you and helping herself to a glass from your kitchen shelf. 

“Awesome.” You hear yourself mumble, a million miles away. 

He looks back at you, eyes twinkling, as if he knows something he shouldn’t. 

“Maybe you could invite Emma too.” 

He pours himself a healthy glass. Tops up Jenna’s cup before clamoring onto the couch and nestling into her side. Your jaw tightens as you watch them, and suddenly everything makes sense. 

-

You decide to invite Emma after all. 

It’s just a text. 

Bunch of the cast is over, you should come hang, would love to see you xx 

You stare at it for a while, wonder if it’s too flirty. Or not flirty enough. Or even flirty at all. 

Jenna and Georgie chat quietly on the couch as Hunter goades you into taking a tequila shot.

Then another. You look down at your phone. The liquid courage is enough for you to hit send. 

“Where’s Emma?” Hunter asks, leaning over to you. He’s tipsy, presses his weight on your shoulder. 

“I invited her.” You say, prying the tequila bottle out of his hand. 

Hunter and Joy share a knowing look. 

You catch it, irritation blooming in your chest. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Joy sing-songs. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon. If you invited her.” 

“You two are annoying on tequila.” You tell them, looking over to see if the other two are better company. They’re talking quietly. Seriously. You stare at Jenna, trying to make out her expression. She’s as hard to read as ever, the tequila doing nothing for your perception. 

Your mind wanders. You wonder if Georgie knows Jenna likes him. You imagine Jenna telling him, stuttering over her words, the composure she keeps so carefully guarded shattering in a moment of vulnerability. 

You imagine them kissing, and your stomach writhes with something snakelike. Disgust, perhaps. You swallow the lump in your throat. Reach for the tequila bottle.

Your phone buzzes in your hand. It’s Emma.  

Would love to. Excited to see you too. Be there in 5 xx 😚 

“Emma’s coming.” You mumble to Hunter. 

He smiles wide. Makes a kissy noise. 

“God help me.” You mumble. 

-

You don’t know whose idea it was to go swimming at midnight, seven or eight drinks in, but here you all are. 

Joy and Georgie are the first ones in, stripped down to their underwear. Hunter follows, fully clothed, too drunk to care. 

You hang back, awkwardly trying to pull your jeans off. Emma hovers next to you. Pulls her shirt over her head. It’s been awkward since she arrived. You’ve been awkward. Avoiding eye contact, answering every question with a jilted, one syllable answer. It’s much easier to talk to girls over text, you discern. It’s less stressful. 

“Hurry up!” Joy yells over at you. “The water’s amazing!” 

Emma pulls her jeans down. You look away. Jenna’s close, settling herself into a nearby pool lounger. She’s still nursing her drink. 

“You’re not going in?” You ask her. 

She shakes her head. 

“It’s too cold.” 

It is cold. You notice more so now you’re in your underwear. You cover your chest with your hands.

“Come on. Live a little.” Emma teases. “Come in with us.” 

She’s stripped down to her underwear. Kicks away her jeans. She’s a few drinks behind the rest of you but you could never tell. 

Jenna smiles. 

“Maybe in a bit.” 

Emma turns to you. Her hands brush your bare shoulder. 

“Coming?” She asks, her voice a little softer.

You nod. “Right after you.” 

She flashes you a wide smile. And with a running jump, cannonballs her way into the pool. 

You linger. Suddenly the pool is less appealing. You eye the empty seat next to Jenna. Sidle over to her and lie back, watching as the others splash each other. 

“Aren’t you cold?” Jenna’s voice sounds from beside you. You glance over at her. Lay your head back against the recliner. 

“A little.” 

Not a little. A lot. You’re shivering. You wonder if she can tell. 

“Take my jacket.” 

“Then you’ll be cold.” You say. 

“Then we’ll share.” She says, shrugging herself out of her jacket. “Come here.” 

You shuffle closer without a second thought. She tugs the jacket around your shoulders, her arm lingering. You feel her rub your arm, trying to warm you up. 

“You’re freezing.” She says, quietly. “You should put your clothes back on.” 

“I’m going swimming.” You protest. Your body hums pleasantly with the drink, the heat of her body blanketing you nicely from the cool autumn night. You sink into her, rest your head against her shoulder. 

She smells nice. You think as you lay there, her arm around your shoulders. Woody. Like cinnamon and burning logs toiled together. You should ask what perfume she wears. 

“You smell like a fireplace.” Is what comes out instead. She turns to meet your gaze, a smile tugging at her lips. 

“You smell like tequila.” She says, her eyes twinkling. 

You grimace. Tuck your head back into her shoulder. 

“You’re warm.” 

“You’re drunk.” 

“Tipsy.” You correct her. “And so are you.” 

She hums against you. “Yeah. So am I.” 

A roar of laughter draws your gaze to the pool. Hunter is trying to climb onto Joy’s shoulders, each attempt has him falling backwards into the pool. 

“I know.” You say, trying to keep your voice light. Causal. 

“You know what?” 

“Who you like.” 

Jenna stiffens against you. You reach for her hand, entwine your fingers, trying to soothe her. You want to be her friend. You want her to know she can trust you with this. You’ve thought long and hard in the hour and a half since you found out she was into Georgie.

You’re going to try, for her. 

“It’s okay.” You tease. “Your secret is safe with me.” 

You look back to the pool, eyes lock to Georgie.

He’s handsome, you have to admit. You can see why Jenna likes him. You ignore the sharp flash of jealousy that churns within you. 

You tilt your head, press a kiss to Jenna’s cheek. 

“I’ll help you get him.” 

Jenna stares at you for a long moment. Careful eyes watching. 

“Him?” 

You tilt your head to Georgie. Jenna blinks, but doesn’t say anything. You nudge your shoulders together. 

“He’d be an idiot not to like you back, you don’t have to worry about that.” You say. “And then maybe we can go on double dates.” 

“Double dates?” She seems confused now. You squeeze her hand, look over to Emma. 

She’s smiling, hair slicked back, wet, so pretty in the moonlight. “You, me, Emma and Georgie. What do you think?” 

For a moment, you worry you’ve offended her. Her body is tight against you, expression serious. But then she relaxes. Flashes you a tiny, Jenna-like smile. 

“Sure.” She echoes, looking out to the water. “Double dates. With you and Emma.” 

-

Hunter’s gone. Face down on the pool recliner. One too many tequila sunrises. 

“I’m going to take him up.” Jenna says. She slips out from beneath you. Leaves you with her jacket. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“You’re not coming back?” You ask, crestfallen. The cold has already crept back in, the warmth from her body gone. You wrap yourself tighter in her jacket. 

“I’m a little tired.” She offers you a small smile. “Goodnight YN.” 

You watch as she goes, cradling Hunter against her. 

Emma’s approaching, towel in hand. Drying her wet hair. 

“You never made it in.” She says. She seems a little disappointed. 

You bite your lip. “I know. I’m sorry.” 

The crowd is filtering out. Jenna and Hunter are gone. Georgie’s helping Joy clear the empty bottles. You hold out your hand for Emma to take. 

“Walk me back to my room?”

-

Emma walks you back to your room. You haven’t let go of her hand. It’s sort of awkward - you’re making it awkward because you’re so nervous. 

“I’m sorry if I’ve been weird tonight.” You say, chewing your lip, “It’s just-” 

“You haven’t been weird.” She reassures. Bless her, she isn’t a good liar. Your fingers tighten around hers. Her hair is slicked back, still wet. Her eyes, so blue sparkle back at you. Your stomach flips. 

“I think I like you.” You say. 

Your heart hammers, quite unpleasantly. 

“You do?” She sounds unsure. You nod. Entwine your fingers. 

She smiles. 

“I think I like you too.” 

And then she leans down and kisses you. 

She’s a good kisser. Is what comes to your mind at first. Firm but tender. Her hand tilts your jaw up to her. She doesn’t try to slip her tongue in right away, like the boys you’ve kissed before. When she pulls away, her pupils are blown, and her lips are red with your lipgloss. 

Your heart thuds. She flashes you a lopsided smile. 

“I’ve wanted to do that since the moment I saw you.” She admits, voice deep. Honest.

You want to do it again. Tell her so. Let yourself be swept up in her.

And ignore the tiny, Jenna-sized hole in your heart that tells you to stop. 

Next part

#jenna ortega x reader #emma myers x reader #wednesday #fanfiction #jenna ortega x you #emma myers x you #love triangle fic

[uncouth-the-fifth]

one of these nights - Dean Winchester/Reader

read it on ao3. masterlist.

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Reader (vaguely post-s3) with some Sam Winchester & Reader.

Tags/Warnings: friends-to-lovers, Fluff then Angst then Smut, Sex on/in the Impala, implied/technical cheating, drinking, Reader is a Hunter.

Words: 20k.

Notes: a lovely little commission for the lovely lacilou on tumblr. this was my first shot at writing a dean-insert (as a hardcore samgirl), which was an absolute blast!! hope u enjoy!!

Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!

All your life, you’d never been keen on cliques. But there’s a certain magic in rolling up to a small-town Massachusett dive with yours.

It’s a little funny, calling Sam and Dean your clique. You know that, yet it’s true. You breeze inside the bar like the most popular kids in school, slow-mo strutting down the hall in the movies. Even with them behind you, you can picture it in your head on film: Dean’s jacket swinging with his saunter, Sam’s hair falling in his face, your jewelry swishing at your neckline. Tonight is already a movie. The thud of your boots together makes this pleasant rhythm, parting the Friday night crowd around the three of you, and you lead the boys to the counter with a sense that today has been perfect. The hunt you’d just spent three weeks on had been tied up with the prettiest, cleanest bow. No casualties. No scrapes that couldn’t be fixed with some whiskey and a bandage. Dean is snickering at his joke, and you and Sam are pretending it’s not as funny as it actually is. Things are perfect-perfect.

Even with your two gigantoids as buffers, the bar you’d picked to commemorate a hunt well done is packed to the brim. You gather around the only empty stool at the bar to get the bartender’s attention, and as you wait, you manage to worm your wallet free from your pockets with only a little elbowing. After so long the boys have zero mind for personal space. It’s kind of cute.

“I’ll cover the tab tonight, boys. Call it an early Halloween present,” you beam, and over your shoulder Dean whistles.

“Damn,” he says, “you really are in a good mood.”

You turn your grin on Dean, wiggling your wallet at him so the coins inside rattle like a tambourine. “We’re celebrating! And you wanna know how I know?”

Another group of people squeezes through the crowd behind you, bumping Dean even further into your personal bubble. He tries to be subtle about it, gliding in like an air-hockey puck, but you can tell that he lets the momentum carry him a little further than it needs to. If you brought it up he’d just explain it away as a product of how damn loud it is in here, _____, you can’t fault a guy for having shit hearing! But you know it’s on purpose. Tonight is good for so many reasons, but the first is Dean being relaxed enough to do that. To walk that line with you.

“How do you know?” He asks below the roaring bar chatter. Dean does have shit hearing, since he’s spent so many years behind a pistol, so he tips his face toward your cheek to make out your voice. A wave of gasoline and aftershave floods your senses.

You share a conspiratory look with him, side-eyeing Sam and hiding your smirk behind your hand. “‘Kid told me he plans to have two beers instead of one.”

Dean lights up, because while teasing Sam is fun, it’s ten times funnier when you both gang up on him. “Two? Break out the balloons,” he snickers, and drops a hand on your back to lean past you. There, he drawls at his brother, “You sure you can handle partying with the big kids, Sam? Me and _____ are kind of professional post-hunt drinkers…”

You pump your fist in solidarity because, hell yeah, what a healthy coping mechanism. Over a decade of training has made you a master of the Winchester sense of humor, so just this kills Sam a little—he’s in a ridiculously good mood too, and you can tell because he’s being even more of a tight-ass than usual.

“Cut that ‘kid’ shit out and maybe I’ll throw in some jäger,” Sam grumbles. Or, he tries to, but he’s still smiling to himself.

Again, you share a look with Dean that goes over Sam’s head (metaphorically, of course). Two beers and some jäger in him could end in only one way: you and Dean dragging over two hundred pounds of giggly man-boy the three blocks to your motel. Dean makes a face like that’s the last way he wants to end tonight, but you know from experience that being carried home piss-drunk is way more fun than it sounds. For you, at least.

Last time, you’d been laughing too hard for either brother to keep you on your feet. It was great. Whenever you complained about something, one of your best friends in the whole world appeared to magic the problem away. You were laughing too hard to walk? Dean scooped you up and carried you all the way to the Impala. Your heels were murdering your ankles? Sam wiggled them off you, trailing behind you and Dean with them slung over his shoulder. You fell asleep to the soft jostle of Dean’s walk and the low timbre of his voice humming Folsom Prison Blues. Sometimes you still caught yourself singing it when you got ready for bed.

“Hold on—that table’s opening up. I’m gonna steal it for us,” Sam notices. He slaps Dean on the shoulder as he goes, “Order for me.” Realizing the troublemaker he’d just handed that responsibility to, Sam wheels back, and asks you instead. “Actually, _____, can you—?”

You raise a hand before he can finish. “The cheapest pale ale they have, I know. Now, go, before we’re forced to sit on the pavement outside all night.”

Sam gives you this trusting nod that’s just golden, because the second he’s gone you twist to Dean, your partner in crime, and squint in thought. “...So. You think he’ll hate the peach daiquiris or the malibu cocktails more?”

The smile that hasn’t left Dean’s face once since you walked in only grows. You feel the hand on your back loop around to your waist, squeezing you against his warm side in appraisal. “God,” he sighs, wistful, “you’re my brand of evil genius, you know that?”

You sputter out a laugh instead of something clever, because, well. When Sam is in a good mood, he digs his heels in and sasses back to everything you say. When Dean is in a good mood, he squeezes the bare skin where your jeans meet your shirt, carries you home, and gazes at you with big glittery eyes and rumbles, I hear the train a-comin', it's rolling 'round the bend…

Apparently, you do about the same thing on your good days too. Gliding into him with that same air-hockey puck subtlety, you squeeze him around the back, asking in your sweetest voice, “Can you go see how many songs are in the jukebox’s play queue for me? I wanna dance to—”

“I know what song you want to dance to,” Dean smugly finishes your thought, so certain of your preferences that your heart does a little jig. “You know what d—?”

“—yeah, I know what drink you want,” you finish for him, just like he had for you.

Dean’s face glitters with open fondness for just an instant, then disappears into the constant flux of people, leaving you to suck down the gasoline-aftershave-leather fog that follows him. You can still feel the friendly pinch he’d given your waist by the time your drinks arrive, the ache of it fading into your skin. The leftover adrenaline from your accomplished hunt was still pounding through your system, so the haze of Dean's affection layered on top has you skipping back to your table.

You can taste it mingling with the cigar smoke in the air—something’s different with Dean tonight. Him and you. Sam had noticed, too, because after he accepts his peach daiquiri with an unphased huff, he waits to speak until he’s safely hidden behind his laptop’s screen.

“That was a lot of touching up there,” he says, as if he’s talking about the weather.

You take the same tone, shrugging like he’s pointed out it’s gonna rain later. “S’ been a good week, Sammy.”

Any attempt to come across as tame is useless. You’re an open book. A part of you wishes you were less obvious, but Dean’s pinch still tingles in your side and the left side of your body is alive with phantom leather jacket sensations. Shit.

“Your hands are shaking.” His brows bounce once at you over the article he’s reading.

You have nothing smart to say at this, and instead choose to scoop up your own daiquiri and clink it against his. Distraction tactic. Sam cheerses with you, but doesn’t drink from his glass, clunking it down next to him and simmering with you in your crush-pumped silence. He gets this particular look on his face when it comes to you and Dean. It’s squinty, knowing, and not an inch different from when he was a little kid. You remember the cool girlfriend that your own older brother had had in high school, and what your relationship with her had looked like. She was awesome, and every day you prayed she never left. Sam has always had that same quiet hope in his eyes—please stick around forever and take care of my dumbass brother. I’ll pay you.

Many, many times, too many times to count, the swirling threads of your feelings and Dean’s had crossed, but not once had they ever knotted together permanently. He would swing into your life and then swing out. You would live in his for a little while, threads looping and weaving, but nothing ever came of it. Putting it into terms more complicated than that usually made your chest ache like a rail spike had been driven through it. Tonight is one of those nights where the ache feels good, where loving Dean is a special secret you can whisper behind your hand to anyone you want.

Words swim in your head. There is no easy way to explain to Dean’s kid brother that Dean is the best man in this room and this world, that he bleeds goodness like other men bleed mud, that he’s the best thing that ever happened to you. Sam would probably roll his eyes. You are rolling your eyes at yourself. But on the up-and-down rollercoaster of your relationship, these last few months have been the strongest climb to the top yet. Maybe that means you’re going to hit a big drop. You’re a hopeful person, though, so you can’t help but read Dean’s eyes in the rearview mirror differently. This is it. He’s not looking at the lonely girls by the bar or the pretty ones on the dancefloor. His eyes are on you.

Blinking yourself out of your head, you putter out the lamest version of your buzzing thoughts.

“I get the feeling tonight’s different,” you say, talking into your glass and avoiding Sam’s laser-focused gaze. On instinct, you stare at the vague clump in the crowd where Dean should be. “All these months of…” you gesture broadly, “I think… something could happen.”

Sam pulls a face. “Ew.”

You kick him under the table. “Shut up,” you laugh, “I’m being serious, dude. Dean—”

…appears right beside you. In your mind’s eye, he emerges from the crowd bleeding with easy cheer, glistening gold at the edges in the bar light. “You rang?” he says. “Got your song going for you. Should be the next one.”

Dean slinks out of his jacket like a tomcat, all casual slyness, and hip-checks you when he slides into your half of the booth. It’s practical—he would have to squeeze, sitting by Sam. With you, Dean has all the room in the world to manspread his thigh against yours and toss his arm over the back of the seat behind you. The flesh of his arm never actually makes contact with the back of your neck, but it could. He survived off those little almosts.

Just as the three of you get settled into conversation, the last song dies out, swaying into the first bluesy chords of One of These Nights by the Eagles. The second that first brassy note plucks off the lead guitar, a match sparks in your chest. Dean spins to catch your eye, gleaming with excitement. The old urge to get up and conquer the dancefloor becomes irresistible. You can still feel your last case in your weary bones a bit, but there’s a certain grime to hunting that can only be scrubbed off by a good time. Dean knows this, too, so you’re led by the wrist out of the booth before the lyrics even start. He steals a sip of peach daiquiri and then you’re off for the open space between the tables. You’re laughing so hard your cheeks ache.

You’re chased by Sam’s playful shout. “Don’t have too much fun out there!”

The race to the lyrics is literal. You know there’s only a few seconds of interlude before they start, and Dean, after decades of being your one and only dance partner, knows precisely when they kick in. One of you decides that you must be in the middle of the sparse crowd the second Don Henley starts singing, and the other accepts this without question. You end up laughing, scrambling, and shoving a couple of people to get there, but god—the supporting piano lands and the bass struts and the lead guitar just stings. Like always. You break through into a clearing at the heart of the bar’s dancefloor, and for a second all you can see is Dean. He skids to a stop in his boots and laughs his ass off the whole time, stumbling inwards and making a mad dash to get your hands in his. His grin shines and his eyes crinkle with glee. The fire and anguish from your earlier hunt is gone. Now it’s just him, as you’ve always remembered him.

“One of these nights…” you laugh to each other. With your hands scooped in his, Dean starts funnily salsaing you back and forth with him to the beat, which instantly splits your sides. You’re laughing too hard to sing with him, “One of these crazy old nights…”

Through giggles, you dryly comment, “Excellent starting move.”

“Why thank you,” Dean replies.

You shift his salsa dancing around in a circle, then follow the spin all the way out, wing-span wide and only one hand tethered to Dean’s. With the ease of practice, he whirls you back in. Each move is unrehearsed and mostly random, but you and Dean have listened to this song in particular at least a hundred times, and danced to it just as much. Some beats of it you can’t help repeating from other nights spent dancing in bars. For example:

You’re wrapped in one of his arms, hand still held, while Dean’s other seamlessly lands on your waist on time with the next line. “We’re gonna find out, pretty mama,” he drawls with purpose, leaning in close enough to make your neck tickle, “what turns onnn your lights…”

He does this every time. Every time, it makes your chest tight with this shivery warmth you just can’t shake.

Dean used to be pretty shit at dancing, but after a hundred bars with a hundred names you’ve forgotten, it’s the one piece of him that you’ve pried loose from John’s influence. Sam isn’t looking and nobody knows who the two of you are. For once, Dean lets loose. He slides his hands down your arms and hooks your fingers in his, calloused and thick, rocking you back and forth with the rhythm. You think to yourself that Dean would make a great musician. He keeps time with ease, falling into a relaxed four-step (you’re pretty sure that’s what it’s called) and losing himself in the words. The swinging openness of it makes him look just gorgeous. Dean’s cheeks are rosy with exertion, the hollow of his throat shines with sweat, and he never looks away from you even once.

Every other day of hunting season, Dean… compartmentalizes. He takes the fever the two of you feel now and packs it down where nobody can find it. You see those feelings shake loose from their reigns every once in a while, but there’s only one time he ever relinquishes his control over them out in the open: here, cupping your lower back and crooning lyrics.

“...been searchin’ for the daughter of the devil himself,” he murmurs, throwing you a playful eye-roll at the symbolism you’re both tired of living. “I’ve been searchin’ for an angel in white…”

You drop a wrist over Dean’s shoulder and he rocks in close, tilting back and forth on his feet. Together, you mumble along with Don Henley and sway in a cozy circle. You take the rare opportunity to relish how he feels pressed against you. Saying anything will spoil the magic, so you just let it wash over you, purposefully coasting away from the few rational thoughts your brain is producing.

It’s unfair that he feels the way he does—and you know Dean does, he’s told you and you’ve told him and it’s all been laid out before—and still strings you along like this. You know. You should be pissed at him every time you think about it. But it’s Dean, and having a piece of him you don’t see is better than having none of him at all.

“...One of these nightssss…”

The Eagles eventually seep into another band’s song, which you assume is your signal to quit. Your vision loses its luster and the glittering lights of the world dim back to normal. Dean will have his one lucky dance with you, then, since you’re a bunch of old people, you’ll retire to your table and shoot the breeze until someone calls it a night. That’s how this always goes.

You pull your cheek from where you’d laid it against his shirt. It takes you a bit to put your thoughts into words, so you’re slow to assume, “Wanna get back to our drinks?”

When you meet eyes, Dean’s are soft, and he smiles with this quiet pleasure roving all over his face. Dimly, you register that Burnin’ For You by Blue Oyster Cult is chiming through the bar now, but. He runs his hands down your arms—sort of planting you in place, like he wants to keep you here with him. Your whole body zings with millions of little electric pulses that pump into your head like a fog too thick to see through. More than anything, you want to stay too.

Around you, the dancefloor is alive with people. But Dean has a habit of making you feel cinematic, so you can almost see how the extras fizz into the background as the camera settles on you and him alone. The bar lights hang overhead, hazy and warm. Your soundtrack is lively and familiar. The moment hangs… neither of you wants to give it up.

“Yeah. Why don’t we, uh,” he clears his throat, “grab a few sips and then head back here, huh?”

Suspended in place by the pound of your own heart, you slide your palms off his chest and put on your slyest grin. “Dancing is way more fun when you’re tipsy.”

Dean slips on a smile of his own, then turns to lead the way out of the crowd. For just an instant you feel like you can’t get your feet off the floor, and you watch him go, head spinning. Deep down, you worried that you might’ve been pushing your enthusiasm to its limit thinking tonight was the night. For the last decade of your life, you’d been waiting on Dean. But something really is different now, because, true to his word, Dean snags a few sips of his drink with you and then you’re back out on the dance floor.

The next few songs fly by. Everything is Dean. The heavy thump of boots on the worn-smooth floor, the growing buzz of alcohol in your system. You’re at the center of his stage, and he doesn’t even try to hide it. If anybody but you came up and waved a hand in his face, you doubted Dean would even notice. You talk about your favorite albums and he laughs at every joke you make, giving you that big-eyed, pirate-smile Dean Winchester look that melts your insides. His eyes are on you.

You swim your way through Double Vision by Foreigner, you on lead air-guitar and Dean supporting with some seriously impressive air-drums. Neither of you consider yourselves professional singers or anything, but there’s a moment in the chorus underneath all the noise where you swear you and Dean harmonize. All the rowdy guitar and drum-playing smooths into The Police’s Roxanne. Your face is immediately sizzling hot the second you hear the starting chords, since every time, without fail, Dean pulls out all the stops to dramatically croon the song to you. The last time it’d come on the radio, he’d chased you all over Bobby’s house, serenading you with a beer bottle microphone. He does it this time too. When you laugh and squirm away, he finds your wrists and guides you back into him, palms everywhere, making kissy faces and everything.

You suppress the urge to seek revenge and huff, “You don’t even know what this song is about, do you?”

Dean snorts, but his eye contact with you is purposeful. “Course’ I do. S’ about a guy who’s so into his girl that he doesn’t want to share her with anybody else.”

Instead of having an apt response for that, you internally shrivel up into a ball and lose any fire left in you. Dean, satisfied he’s shut you up, noses your ear and sings, “...Wouldn’t talk down to ya… I have t’ tell ya just how I feel, I won’t share you with another boy…”

The mushy impression he’s doing of Sting fails pretty quickly, so Dean softens into his own voice. For the millionth time tonight, you’ve found yourself with your arms around his neck and his face hovering around yours. If you mention it, Dean will drop everything and run. You know that. So you don’t sing that particular song with him. Allowing him to sing it to you is much sweeter, anyway, and the slower the music gets the closer you’re allowed to be.

And boy, every guy in the room must be aiming to get a slow dance with his girl, because soon the steady flow of rock n’ roll on the jukebox drizzles into Elvis and The Temptations. You joke about this to Dean, giving him a small out. Just in case.

“You hate mushy music,” you tell him, even if you both know that’s not exactly true.

Dean’s warm palms coast over your waist and you draw your nails across the flannel on his back, soaking each other up. A memory pierces your train of thought in a hot flash. You’d seen Dean dance with other girls like this, hands all over, seeking. But tonight they rest on your hips or hook through your belt loops without intention. Dean’s just here, and he wants you here too. For now, you’re his first choice for who he’s spending his time with tonight.

He doesn’t take the out you gave him.

“S’ not all bad,” Dean shrugs under your hands. “...I like this song.”

It’s Elvis’s Love Me, which effectively scrubs the dancefloor of any non-couples. Besides you and Dean, that is. This fact hangs in the air, supercharged, but neither of you mentions it. Dean draws you into him and you slide eagerly into his hold, your head under his chin. A few other pairs skip out onto the floor and take up space beside you. Soon, the molecule of space left between you and Dean disappears. You’re pretty sure if a few atoms went missing from the universe something crazy would happen, like a nuclear explosion, and that’s exactly what occurs in your belly. Dean sways with you like he’s in love with you, like it’s a secret everyone can see. If anyone in the bar glanced over at the two of you now, you know exactly what they’d think.

The best part of this was that Dean doesn’t end it after two dances, three dances, or four. You go all night like that, shittily waltzing to love songs and grooving along to faster ones. He had an opportunity to escape every time you took a trip to throw back your drinks. But if it crosses Dean’s mind at all, he never, ever takes it. One of you starts talking then neither of you can stop. Almost three hours later, you’re halfway through Just What I Needed and a street racing story that never fails to blow Dean’s mind, when your hundredth round of drinks runs dry. Since you’re both past tipsy now, it’s unanimously decided that there’s more work to be done.

“S’ a good night,” Dean tells you, beaming, “we can do another round, right?”

“Hell yeah,” you shrug, and raise your empty glass, “Here’s to alcohol poisoning, baby.”

“Yeah,” Dean echoes, almost slurring. “Baby.”

You take his empty glass, too, and Dean tips back toward your table to bother his brother. Both times you glance back Dean is following you with his eyes. It’s like hearing scratching in your attic and walking through cold spots for months, then suddenly seeing a full apparition right in your living room. Bobby claimed Dean had perfected the art of admiring you from afar, but you’d always figured he was exaggerating. Instead of chasing the ghost of one of his big-eyed stares, you actually see it first-hand—the big-eyed stare. Dean blinks prettily at you over his shoulder, then sways back toward Sam, unembarrassed and flushed a happy drinker’s red. In the flesh. Wow.

You’re so distracted you almost skip into two patrons, so you start watching where you’re going and add a few more drinks to your tab. While you’re waiting on them, you rock on your heels, brimming with buzzing energy. Years and years of buildup and something might finally happen. The prospect is so sweet that you giddily dance in place, bobbing to your own content music. The bartender gives you a funny, amused look and so do the people you squeeze past to reach him, but you ignore them all, scooping up your drinks and floating back to the table. Your grin is so bright that it makes your cheeks ache.

“Alright, gentlemen, I crossed two deserts to get these drinks, so you better—”

It’s just Sam at your table, looking sheepish.

You squint at him. Sheepish. Why is he sheepish? You set down your glass and Sam’s, then awkwardly release Dean’s beer from where it’d been trapped between your elbow and your ribs. The corner where Sam has shoved all your empty drinks has since expanded—there are at least five more new drinks there, completely outside the realm of anything you know Sam or Dean would order.

You stand. “Damn. Who ordered these?”

Sam stiffly brushed the hair from his face. “Um… a table in the corner sent em’ over. As a gift.”

“Free drinks? Really? That rocks,” you brighten.

Sam was avoiding the eyes of someone at said table, so you turn to intercept the stares and instantly feel the cloud nine you’re floating on drop out from under you.

“...Dean’s over there thanking them,” he clarified.

It’s a big group of women. Your reasonable-self could follow the logic: Dean and Sam were pretty, the women had noticed they were pretty, and then bought them drinks for being pretty. Your reasonable self would pull up a chair and toast to those women. The Winchester spell made everyone want to give them stuff for just being gorgeous and alive, and though you weren’t a Winchester, you reaped the rewards just as often. Sam’s puppy look paid the rent, and more than once Dean’s dazzling smile had won your way into concerts and r-rated movies. You should’ve been stoked.

If you were completely sober you’d probably put together that it was a bachelorette party, but all you see is your Dean, center stage among them and putting on a show. Even drunk he does a convincing performance of a “modeling agent” passing out his card. Cards. To all of them. The booth of girls giggle and lean closer, all swaying in the direction of Dean’s sly grin like snakes to a snake-charmer. A swath of mothy bitterness starts to eat holes into your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” Sam mourns. He says it with so much genuine remorse that you realize how crushed you must look—and wow, isn’t that an embarrassing cherry to top this sundae off. They’re just girls. It’s just talking. Still, Sam tells you, “I tried to stop him.”

“So have I,” you answer, bitterly.

The hours of dancing suddenly burn in your legs. You steady a hand on the table to slide into your seat, but there are so many glasses that it feels too full to occupy, and Sam noisily scuffling them out of your way doesn’t help your raw ears. Resigned, you shove into your side of the booth and tell yourself that you’re overreacting. Thanking people (a group of women) for sending over free drinks (because Dean’s too pretty for his own good) is perfectly normal (to non-jealous people, at least). Because you’re not at all a resentful person, you slide over the closest glass and choke it down.

Sam raises both brows. “Maybe you should slow down a bit. Unless you want one of us to carry you home—?”

You pull your glare away from the other side of the bar and focus it on the table, answering Sam’s question for him.

“Right,” he realizes, “I can go and—”

You’re already shaking your head. “Don’t. Let’s see how long it takes ‘im.”

As it turns out, drunk Dean is an incredibly social butterfly. For the first ten minutes he’s engrossed in his conversation, you aimlessly stir your drink and dodge Sam’s glances. Fifteen and you’re glued to your seat. Twenty and Dean still isn’t back, a handful of songs you know he’d kill to dance to coming and going. Past that you’re spaced out too far to care, and have failed to not let your mood be killed. The neon electricity that’d been pumping through your system all night is cold and lifeless. On top of that, you’re furious with yourself for staking all your hopes and feelings on a premise so stupid, for trusting Dean. Again. You know you’re drunker than you want to admit, but this nasty swirling bitterness burning in your stomach isn’t alcohol. You sigh into your half-finished drink. This was exactly what happened last time.

Since you’re already feeling sorry for yourself, you punish your naivety by stealing glances at Dean’s table. In the half an hour he’s been gone, he’s taken a seat at their booth, cozied up to the woman closest to him, and captivated each of them with a story. You can tell which one from across the bar. With five sets of happy eyes feasting on him, he puts on his best smolder and gestures suavely with his hands—recounting the time he heroically pulled some civilians from a burning building last year. You know he doesn’t tell them it was for a hunt. You wonder if he mentions you being there at all, or leaves out the part about you hauling him from the fire in the end.

Against your better judgment, you lift your eyes from the hole you’d bored into the table and stare at Dean’s profile until your vision blurs. Please, please just look at me again, you pray with all the faith you have left.

…It looks like you’ve misplaced it. Dean stays at their table for another insufferable ten minutes. After all, pushing you away has always come easier to him than dancing.

Ready for Love by Bad Company plays next. Your mind apparently has a bone to pick with you too, because just hearing the song drops you back into the motel room you and Dean had shared in Tulsa years ago. Jim—your father—had passed that summer, speared by the same thing you’d been hunting. Sam was at school. It’d just been Dean and whatever feeble parts of you that’d survived losing your dad. For weeks, you tortured yourself chasing his killer and tortured Dean as stress relief. You were truly rotten to him then. He should’ve left you in Tulsa, but he’d kept you standing and fed til’ the hunt was long over. He endured every fight you picked and every apathetic apology. Nothing could kill his instinct to nurture, not even your grief, and you came out of the ordeal with Dean’s warm hand brushing your hair from your face. You loved Sam, but you missed the days when he was at school sometimes. Only then could Dean open his stitches and let his inner sweetness bleed out. The night you killed the thing that’d taken your dad from you, Dean had carried you home, washed the blood from your hair, and sang that song until you were safe and half-asleep in his arms.

You’re strong, he’d told you. Stronger than me. Stronger than your dad. You’ll get through this, easy.

Paul Rodgers starts to sing. The woman closest to Dean snuggles in to ask him a question, brushing her nails down the back of his neck. He tilts his head toward hers to listen, and whatever she says makes him turn the blatant flirtiness in his grin to 100%. Her shiny dark hair rolls down her back in perfect spirals, and the swish of it around her neck as she stands from her chair, blushing giddily, brands behind your eyes. Dean stands too.

Your stomach drops. She wiggles her fingers for him to take, and Dean, the lottery winner, follows her onto the dancefloor.

That’s about when you should force yourself to stop watching. But you’ve never had the keenest sense of self-preservation, so you keep stealing glances until your stomach is in knots—until this very lucky girl wraps her arms around Dean’s neck and summons enough liquid courage to kiss him.

Dean kisses back.

You sit there until your throat burns with stifled tears. It doesn’t take long for you to notice Sam looking at you, and when you do your whole body instantly flares with dark embarrassment that writhes up your legs like snakes. You barely have to guess what he’ll do next. He stews on the pitiful sight of you alone on the other side of the bench for another beat, then shoves himself to his feet and slams his laptop shut—and it’s nice, having somebody go through all these motions of defending you, but you don’t need it from Sam. You don’t need it from anybody.

“Don’t,” you warn him. “Don’t. ‘Only make it worse.”

“I know what he’s doing,” Sam starts, lip curled in disbelief. He’s disappointed in his brother. “Dean’s—testing you. Seeing if you’ll stick around. But you’ve more than proved you will, even when he pulls this shit, so I don’t see why you’ve gotta—”

“He’s drunk and stupid,” you cut him off. “We both are. I’m gonna let it go, n’ so are you.”

Sam stills, one unsatisfied hand on the tabletop. “...If I just talk to him—”

“Fucking don’t,” you tell him, and wow, you’re a mean drunk all of a sudden, huh? Pressing your fingertips against your eyelids does nothing to make the world stop tilting. Wilting, you pull your hands from your face and try not to burst into tears. “Sorry. Sorry. M’ not upset with you. M’ not upset with anybody.” Pathetically, you beg, “C’n we just go home?”

Sam gives you an uneasy nod. “Sure thing. I’ll grab Dean and pay our tab.”

Well, shit. Miserable as you are, you did promise to pay for drinks. A night of fun celebratory drinks, to be exact, which had gone completely sideways instead. Great. Sam hastily packs up his bag like he can escape before you remember, but you send him off with a wad of your own bills so he doesn’t go broke feeling bad for you.

Since waiting for him and Dean out on the curb sounds stupid, you choke out, “Bathroom,” and go hide there to dust off your pride.

God, does a thin, shitty motel mattress sound gorgeous right now. On shaking fawn legs, you bruise your way out of the booth and through the crowd, silently hoping that a loose elbow from a rowdy passerby knocks you out cold. Unfortunately, you barrel into the women’s restroom still conscious. It’s mostly empty too, so you’re free to meet your reflection without courage.

When Dean had given his yes for your second dance, you’d imagined this moment. After dancing the night away, you’d complain about your aching heels and Dean would scoop you up, all gentleman-like. He’d joke and hum all the way home—and what a funny word that was, since the only thing in your life permanent enough to call home was him. You’d kiss him goodnight and Dean’s gaze would follow you all the way to the bathroom. And there, once the door was shut and you were alone, the magic of the night would glow in your reflection. You’d sink into your happy, exhausted feet. The heat of his fingertips would be all over your waist and neck and chin. Best of all, when you’d slink into bed and pull the covers up to your face, Dean’s stomach would slot against your back and he’d spill it all to you in a whisper. I couldn’t take my eyes off you tonight, he’d say. I never could, sweetheart. Didn’t want to.

But the truth was that Dean could take his eyes off you so damn easily. These days it felt like you lost his attention the second you got it. Again and again you gave him these chances, and every time he wasted them. Tonight you had sworn something was going to be different, felt it ringing in your soul like a promise, and the second your back is turned he’s found a better dance partner. Was this a sign? Now, you glared at the mirror you’d chosen, feeling the familiar needles of self-loathing start to creep between your ribs. When was it going to happen? When were things going to change? Every time you’d hit this point in the past, Dean had cut those threads before they could tie. I’m not good for you, he’d say. He’d remind you of what had happened to Jess, which had always scared you straight—but that fear came with a finish line. Hunting wasn’t the end of the road for you. With you and Dean, there’d always been a vague idea of something “after,” something over the horizon too far away to see.

You’d held fast to that “after” for so long. Even on the third, fourth, or fiftieth round of Dean’s eyes landing on someone else, you took in a breath and reassured yourself of that “after.” After everything was over and there were no worlds left to save, Dean would look at you and never stop looking.

But this was the hundredth time you’d saved the world. The road to that horizon was endless, and you’d waited so, so fucking long.

Staring at your puffy eyes and spinning reflection in the low flickering light, a dull realization started to connect inside you. You couldn’t care anymore. You were so tired of waiting. One of these days, Dean was going to glance away and never look back. Maybe…

Maybe it would be better for you to pull away first.

The bathroom door banged inwards, startling you into a moment of sobriety. You were whirling around and palming the pistol handle in your waistband before you could think, only to relax. It was just Dean. In the women’s restroom. Fucking hell.

“Dean! What the hell are you—?”

“M’ savin’ our party,” Dean clarifies, and woah, he cannot hold his liquor like he used to. Without a hint of shyness, he saunters into your bubble and dares—fucking dares—to power on his doe-eyes. “Why’d’ya wanna go?” He pouts. Sam must’ve told him. “S’ not even midnight yet.”

“Jesus, you’re lucky s’ just me in here. Could’ve scared the pants off some poor girl,” you curse.

Everything after that is a tightrope act to keep hold of your restraint. Taking his elbow, you pluck the beer out of his hand and toss it into the nearest bin. Dean, of course, squawks in protest, but doesn’t fight when you push him into the narrow hall outside.

“Why on earth did you just stroll in? Just wait for me next time!”

“Maybe you were the girl whose pants I scared off,” Dean chuckles, sounding dizzy. He’s not steady enough to stand in place for too long.

Any other night you’d happily let him lean on you, but just seeing him makes your chest feel split open. The second he’s propped against one wall of the little hall, you’re on the other side, twisting around him and making a beeline for the exit. But Dean is still the guy you were on the dancefloor with an hour ago, so you’re not a step away before two big arms catch you around the middle. Giggling, Dean lassos you back in, and all at once he’s draped across your back with his cheek smushed into yours from behind. The happy little snickers seeping out of him rumble warmly through your back. You’re cozily squeezed around the middle with all the love in the world, and the worst part is that you revel in it. Dean sways a bit with you in his arms, big warm hands folding across your belly, and every stupid cell in your body melts into the contact. He’s only ever like this when he’s drunk.

“If you even get scared,” he hums into your ear, amused. “You’re s’ tough I dunno if you even can. And y’know what? I think…” he turns his lips into your cheek, his stubble rubbing the skin there just right, “I think you’re tough enough to get back out there with me n’ show em’ how it’s done.”

You should resist. You honestly should. But you’re drunk and hollowed out and lonely, so you compromise with yourself and stand dead still. You don’t touch him or lean into it. Yet you don’t squirm away, either.

At your silence, Dean wuffs out a breath down your neck and pouts into your shoulder. “C’monnn,” he urges, “dance with me more. Party! We’re celebratin’. N’ you’re such a great dancer, I wanna take you out there n’ brag ‘bout you. Everybody was lookin’ at us before. You and me. Didja notice that?”

“I did,” you swallow. “But I think m’ all partied out. I just wanna go home, kay? Sam’s out there waiting for us…”

Dean hears this and shifts his face into your neck, pretending to search for a comfortable place to rest his cheek when really he’s just nuzzling. “Boring. What? Pretty princess too tuckered out?” Dean teases. “I’ll tell the kid t’ walk back without us, he’ll be fine. C’mon. I’ll even say please.”

You remain silent. Anxious, Dean fills it. “Just a lil’ while longer, _____. Y’know I can only flirt with you when m’ like this.”

The ache in your chest hits a searing point, and the breath you’re holding breaks. He always, always has to hide.

You squirm out of Dean’s bubble. He makes a gentle attempt at fishing you back in, whining in the back of his throat, but you rip your hand free and peel around the corner before he can react. The mental picture of Dean left hurt and confused in your wake is satisfying, but you know it’s not a faithful image. Instead, he and his words chase you all the way to the curb outside. C’mon! Don’t be lame, ______! The yelling is embarrassing, but what really stings is how he does this in front of everyone. Sam. The bachelorette party, who make your skin crawl with mixed stares of jealousy and sympathy. The woman he kissed. And worst of all, everyone else in the bar, who only recognize you from the hours of slow-dancing you’d done with Dean.

You burst out into the chilly amber night, scrambling for any sense of backbone. A hot flash of unwelcome tears locks your throat shut. Like the unshakable hunter you’re supposed to be, you grit your teeth despite them and ignore Dean’s shouts.

“Sweetheart, c’mon,” he calls. The hurt in his voice surprises you. Dean’s voice is thready with genuine, mounting panic, flooding your brainpan with oily pleasure. Good. “Didn’t want this t’ go this way. We wer’ havin’ fun, weren’t we? M’ sorry. Come back inside. Whatever I did—”

You feel your resolve snap next, splitting apart like a guitar string under scissors.

Then you’re whirling toward him at collision speed, a mangled mess of snarling teeth and tear-caked cheeks. Yelling feels fucking great. You bare your fists, flying at him in a rage.

“Come on come on come on—you know what you did! You know! You have to know!”

Dean skids to a stop. By the street lamp light, he’s still golden as ever, looking soft and beaten. His expression crumples. His visible pain feels good for one glorious breath, then it all shatters as you realize what taboo you’ve brushed up against—and why. Over a few girls. Over a little talking. Some dancing. A silly tipsy kiss. You know everything gets heavier when you’re drunk, but god, this burden weighs more than the fucking sky sometimes. You’re so tired of carrying it. You want an out.

He drags a calloused hand down his face. “...I was just messing around, talking to them… dancing with her. Needlin’ you.”

“Well,” your breath rattles unprettily between words. “I’m needled. Are you fucking happy? Are you? Does it—does it—” you have to talk through harsh, sudden sobs, “—do you like playing with my feelings? Hanging that bone over my head, over and over and over again, just to rip it away?”

You don’t get to see how your desperation lands on Dean, since it’s then that Sam comes between you. “It’s okay,” he soothes, “you’re okay—just—” and lays your jacket over your back.

Then, Sam gets his hands on your arms to steer you the opposite way. You thrash away from him and his brother, furious. But you’re coherent enough to know that this is a bad time to wield the contempt you’ve kept stored. Roiling with fresh horror, you stifle your sobs into your sleeve and dart fast out of the parking lot, toward your motel.

“That didn’t involve you, Sam,” Dean barks over your shoulder, but it comes out more feeble than he intends. Your words were so much so suddenly that it sounds like he’s been shocked sober. Hoarsely, Dean pleads, “_____, wait. Hold on a second. Think about this—!”

…And you’re thrown back in. Supercharged with all the ferocity of a whirlwind, you twist around again. Sam’s already intercepting you, hands up and calm, but after years and years of second chances, you’re sick of waiting for something that’s never going to happen. You love Dean. It aches in your chest and bleeds out your ears, chewing away at your survival instincts.

You’d been right. Something was going to change tonight.

“You have no fucking idea how much I’ve thought about it,” you snarl. “Every day I think about it! Every night! So, no, I’m done thinking and—an’ watching and—”

The tank of crazed energy you’re running on immediately saps. Your voice cuts off with it, so you’re forced to gasp for breath and broil in your bone-deep exhaustion. Though this isn’t the first time the boys have seen you this hurt, they stand frozen on coltish legs, wide-eyed. Your effect on them lands hard: Sam’s mouth is drawn into a firm guilty line, and Dean, who usually fills whole continents with his authority, shrinks miserably into his jacket until his hands are lost in the sleeves. Finally, he takes me seriously.

You give Sam a look. Shell-shocked and unsure, Sam shuffles aside to face his back to you both.

With no one between you, it’s clear in Dean’s eyes that there’s another element to this for him. He’d known this was coming. Having his brother as a barrier was just one more way Dean had softened the blow. Between the awful, sinking guilt seeping out of him at the seams, there was resignation too. On one of those slow nights in your motel in Tulsa, he’d told you himself.

Everyone leaves, Dean had shrugged. Sam. My dad. Some day, you’ll leave too. And I won’t even blame you.

Back then, you’d laid your cheek against Dean’s sweat-tacky arm, the two of you trying to stay cool on a boiling Oklahoma night. You’d wondered to yourself how anyone could do that to the man you loved. Dean’s instinct was to give, to point both fans in that boiling room at you instead of him. How could anyone look at all the things he’d sacrificed and not give the same in return?

Well, you’d smiled at him, I’m not moving an inch, cowboy. You’re stuck with me.

Now, after years and years of sacrificing to no end, you knew that Dean’s prediction had come true. He had been waiting for the other boot to drop for so long that he’d already decided what it would sound like. A part of you wanted to cling to him and the promise you’d made him until your nails bled. But that dead limb was the one that’d been killing you, and tonight was the final proof you needed to amputate it.

You had to leave.

“I love you so much, Dean,” you hiccuped. “But I can’t wait for you anymore.”

You knew you were breaking a promise, no matter how good your intentions were. For that, you weren’t going to allow yourself an easy exit. Instead of whipping around and running for it like you wanted to, you let the slow, ugly acceptance in Dean’s silhouette brand your memory.

Statue-still, all Dean could manage was a tight nod.

He just stared and stared at you, gutted and appalled. You waited for him to say something, to fight this even a little, to make any of this easier on you both. Hating him wouldn’t be so impossible if he screamed you off the street or started throwing your stuff in the gutter. Instead Dean just hung there, frozen in that heart-stopping moment where the blade sinks in to the hilt.

Wielding that knife, you turned on your heel and left.

_

By the time you’ve frozen your ass off getting to your motel room, you’ve lost much of your steam. All the anger has washed out of you in one surging flush of misery. You get to the door almost gagging on your own tears, and pathetically slump down on the curb when you realize Sam has your room key.

Sam, who’s two blocks back helping Dean get home.

The cement stings your legs through your jeans. Betrayal throbs through your whole body, and unable to go anywhere, its barbs turn inward. You try to scrape up any backbone leftover from your tantrum, which is about as easy as splitting atoms. Since that didn’t work, you try to fold in on yourself for some warmth instead, and shiver stupidly on the sidewalk. A pair of late-night road-trippers give you sad stares as they pass. The soft heat of their room as they shuffle inside gushes out onto the stoop, calling your name.

Suddenly, the seething need to be as far from here as possible disappears. You want Sam to get back with Dean. You wish this night could’ve gone any other way, so the three of you could fumble into your room and straight into warm, cozy beds, too lazy to change into pajamas or to kiss goodnight like usual. Sam would check the salt lines and Dean would shuck off his jacket. With the last of your strength, you’d stretch a hand out from under your comforter and Sam would do the same to squeeze yours over the beds’ gap. Goodnight, Sam. G’night. Dean, close enough to kiss in your bed, would tilt you toward him by a gentle hand on your shoulder. He’d smush a kiss into your temple. Night, he’d hum. Together you’d snuggle down into your blankets and crash, content. If this was any other night. Maybe it still could be. Maybe you’d been overthinking this.

You’d had so much to drink. It was you who’d created these imaginary stakes for Dean to follow, and you who wigged out, blew up on him, snarling in his face and breaking a promise in the same breath. No matter how much you wanted it, you had no claim on him. If Dean wanted to dance with more than one person on a night meant to be fun for him… If he… wanted to kiss someone else…

Two tall shadows appear at the end of the parking lot. It’s too late to stand up and look put together, so you pull your knees to your chest and make an attempt at silencing your sobs. You press your lips together, watching Sam help a sniffling Dean across the lot and toward your room. Dean doesn’t say a word. He doesn’t tell you he’s sorry, he doesn’t pick you up off the pavement, and he doesn’t tell you that he loves you even though you both know it. It makes all of your lashing anger bubble up to the surface again, and you sit with it until long after the boys are inside.

These feelings feel petulant at first, then simmer into righteous ones. The hunt had robbed you of so much—your parents, your normalcy, your childhood, and more than once, the love of your life. There was no reason it had to take Dean from you this way, too. Those sticky-sweet nights in boiling Tulsa could be every night for you and him.

You could still taste him, and the syrup of old blues songs on his lip. You’d told him back then, you’re stuck with me, cowboy, and Dean had believed you, really believed you, because he’d rolled sideways in your bed and touched his fingers to your chin. Just the rough tips of them, burning hot. There’d been this irresistible magic in his eyes, like he was learning it was possible to break his own rules as long as he kept them later. His breath was sweet with ice cream when he kissed you. Just one kiss had him shakily sighing through his nose, and with his same trembling hand, he’d cupped your face—in the weird sort of way Dean did affection, the slope of his palm around your jaw and his thumb turning up your chin. It’d felt so special, like a promise to hold out. You’d savored each one with your nails tickling the nape of his neck, your dose of love potion refilled. The two of you had passed out curled nose to nose, Dean’s grin hidden in your pillow.

You could be living every night like you’d lived that one. But there was one barrier in the middle of that road: Dean. I’m not good for you, he’d say, even if you’d never had enough of him to tell.

After years and years of holding out and dosing on your love potion, it occurred to you, pathetically curled up outside a random motel room, that Dean would never be with you. Even if the monsters had been hunted and the world had been saved, he just didn’t have it in him to believe in something so good. Deep down, you’d known this. You were a naive optimist hoping for a different future, but the truth was that Dean hated himself too much to see that future too.

Slowly, you unfurled your hands on your knees, staring at them without taking anything in. All you could feel was the uncomfortable, surging ache in your chest, which choked your throat shut and burned stinging tears around the curves of your nose. The last few hours felt weirdly layered in your memory, like film cells from different strips laid over each other. This had been going on for so long that it’d officially crossed into deja vu. Years and years of moments just like these pressed upon you in the ringing silence of the parking lot. But you could only hold up the sky for so long, and tonight your grip had finally slipped. You were sure of it: if these circular, pathetic dives for an answer were the only thing in your future, it’d kill you. It had been killing you.

What else could you do but leave?

The question itself felt rash, but you were struggling to breathe past your tears and you wanted out—away from the constant want, away from Dean. He could bang whatever girls he stumbled upon, so why couldn’t you do whatever the hell you wanted, too? What the fuck was stopping you? Freedom—from years and years and years of that ugly stirring weight you’d once loved—was only a bus ride and one boosted car away. It’d be easy.

The door creaked open behind you. You held your breath at the sound of footsteps, praying it wasn’t who you wanted to see.

“Come on inside. Don’t like you being out here by yourself,” Sam called.

The breath you let go of didn’t make you any more relieved. It hadn’t felt good to yell at him, either. You opened your mouth to respond, but a thought slammed on top of you with all the malice of a blow to the head. The next words out of your mouth could be some of the last you ever speak to him for a long time. Instead, you scuffed your running tears on your sleeve one last time, then hauled yourself onto your feet.

The plan was to dart past him fast enough to avoid the look you were sure Sam was giving you, but it fell on the whole lot bright as stadium lights. You made the stupid mistake of catching eyes with him, and the intensity there was enough to root you to the spot. You froze. Sam’s face was solemn, but when he finally got a good look at you it shifted into calm, haunted understanding, since you weren’t the only one who’d cried on a curb like this. He knew exactly what leaving looked like.

After a pregnant pause, Sam stole a glance into the safe darkness of your motel room. Whatever he saw inside bolstered his nerve, and before you could argue he’d swiped his coat and stepped out into the cold with you. Here we go, you braced yourself.

“...I need to punch something,” you confessed, just to have something to say.

Sam stopped awkwardly hovering around the sidewalk to spread his arms wide, and how he had the energy to smile, you had no clue. “I’m open,” he offered, only half-joking.

You sputtered out a laugh. It trailed off where you couldn’t follow it, and unfortunately, neither could he, leaving you both shivering side-by-side in silence. You started to stutter out something intelligent, but the open sympathy in his eyes took all the nuance out of you. Renewed tears squeezed down your face. Instantly, he was there, a big warm hand coming down to rub your shivering back.

“I know you already know this, but it’s worth saying,” Sam murmured. “Everybody leaves him. It’s all he’s used to.” (...I know, you breathed between sobs). “Dean doesn’t… hang these other girls in front of you because he’s, y’know. Trying to play with your feelings. He’s scared. It’s wrong, but it’s his messed-up way of testing if you’ll stick around.”

You want to listen. Sam’s tone makes this all sound reasonable and easy, but that bitter crawling thing eating away at your conscience reminds you, Of course it’s his brother out here trying to fix this. Of course he can’t pick up his own mess.

“It sucks. Trust me, I’ve taken a good chunk of it myself,” Sam chuckled, but his heart wasn’t really in it. “I dunno what it is that makes em’ think he deserves it, but… he’s so used to everyone leaving that he rushes to push em’ away first.”

Swallowing around the bitter taste in your mouth, you tell him, “Well. I think it worked.”

That weighs on Sam for longer than you expect, strangling the lot with a heavy silence. Compelled to fill it, you wrap your arms around yourself and spit out your confession.

“I-I think I,” you managed. “I think I gotta go, Sammy.”

As soon as you say it, the reality of your decision hits you. This isn’t a light move to make. Leaving wouldn’t just shred things between you and Dean, but your friendship with Sam, too—it would mean turning all of your memories with them into kindling. In all your time on the Winchester family road trip, you’d seen all sorts of people take up the space in the back of the Impala. Psychics. Some angels and some demons. Good, good friends. Alive or dead, they all got off at their own stop eventually. You’d been riding in the backseat for so long, not once had you thought there’d be a stop for you, too. But here it was; Dean had hit the breaks himself, and Sam was readying himself to open the door for you.

You thought of the girl you’d been when you’d first met them. She’d still had room in her for friendship bracelets and brown sugar, for mystery novels that never ended, always chasing the next adventure. At the end of all this, that’s what Dean was: your next grand adventure.

Being hunter-born had put you in the strange middle-ground between sheltered and grotesquely exposed; you’d seen how purple and putrid a corpse could get before you were fifteen, but were more than acquaintances with a sum total of five people at the same age. Dean was your worldly opposite. He’d find the towns you landed in like you were his homing beacon, fresh out of the thick of it with a fantastical story to match. He’d hang half-out of your bedroom window, fierce-eyed, and singing, and you’d roll right out of the monotony of your life and into the magic of his. You’d mention him to friends in high school like a made-up boyfriend—Dean lives out of town, but he swears he’s gonna visit next month—because even you weren’t sure he was real. He was this untethered cowboy you’d somehow lassoed in, swinging into your life with all the colors and life of the wild west. Not so much a knight in shining armor, but. Dean, your Dean.

You would miss that. You would always miss him.

Sam tamped down his panic. “Are—are you sure?” He turned you by your shoulder to look at him, and Jesus, those kicked-puppy eyes should be considered a weapon of war. “You don’t wanna talk to Dean about this…?”

You were already shaking your head. “For the hundredth time?”

Sam pressed his lips together. You knew he thought this was a cowardly, drunken decision, but in the middle of it all, you felt like you’d earned the right to be cowardly and stupid. The last decade of your life had been wasted being reasonable. When Dean kicked you out of your motel room to share it with a stranger, you found another place to crash without complaint. When he’d told you he loved you, you gave him the space he asked for, neither of you sure how to handle something so big so young. You waited. When you sat him down and spilled your guts about the future you wanted him in, you’d respected his answer. I’m not good for you had translated to I’m not ready yet. You waited. When Dean was ready for other girls, though, Julie, Ava, Cassie—you started to press back. Since then, your feelings had become the ugly “it” that lingered in every room you shared with Dean. Every argument you’d ever had orbited around it somehow, along with every relationship. Spats turned into arguments, and arguments became second chances and third chances. It really had been the hundredth time Dean had played with you like this.

And even if he’d had nothing to do with it, it was killing you anyway. Being around him, good or bad, had sapped your adventurer’s spirit.

Sam goes still, conflicted. “This is your life. You know that I of all people understand that. But… but just… please. Please just give it one more shot. A month. Or a few weeks, if you need it. Please.”

“You think I’m overreacting,” you assumed, swallowing against the drying film of alcohol on your teeth.

“No, no, I think you’re drunk,” Sam answered, instead, and as blunt as it was it still came out soft. “And tired. But you’re not overreacting, ______. Dean’s done this and worse a dozen times before,” he sighed. Realizing that wasn’t exactly convincing, Sam scrambled for a foothold. “...He really does love you. Just needs to see reason.”

Reason, he says, like that had anything to do with this. Sam starts to clam up, desperate to glue the situation back together.

You feel the need to explain, “...Me leavin’ would have nothing to do with you. You know that, right?”

“I know,” Sam said, thickly. “But I’m pretty sure it’d break my heart if you did, so I can’t imagine what it’d do to him.”

At that, you couldn’t resist the magnetic pull of the door to your motel room. It waited over your shoulder with all the gravity of a neutron star, dragging you to face it and wonder at the man on the other side. Knowing Dean, he might’ve managed to kick off his shoes before crashing into bed. Knowing the love of your life, he’d probably roll onto his back and sink like a rock, the hard lines of his face softened by sleep. His was probably puffy from crying. After long nights out, there’d be times when he’d accidentally wake you up by slipping under the covers. Dean would curse and hush apologies, clumsily pawing in next to you, but the intrusion was always welcome. You remembered him always having to pat around for your face in the dark, just so he knew where to place his goodnight kiss. Sometimes he’d miss on purpose and playfully pinch your cheek or lay a gross, sloppy kiss on your eye, which never failed to make you squirm away giggling. Good night, pretty girl. What would it do to him, to watch you go?

Your chest flared with ugly guilt. You weren’t sure. But you knew what would happen if you stayed, and Dean, in the long run, would be proud of you for looking out for yourself for once. He’d always said you put yourself last too often.

You imagined him asleep on the other side of that door, muffling his tears into his pillow, and the last of your hope and optimism just shatters. Swallowing your own cowardice, you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you tell Sam.

Sam laid a hand on your back. “Look at me a minute.”

Somehow, you did. Seeing Sam’s devastation hurts even more than you thought it would, but nothing compares to knowing that you’ll be leaving him behind. “C’mon,” he steps off the curb and toward the street, trying and failing to smile. “Let’s walk to the gas station or somethin’.”

You shook your head, heaving for breath, and confessed: “I really gotta go, Sammy. At least for a little while.”

Sam set his jaw. He teetered back toward you, thinking fast, and padded down his pockets for his wallet. “Okay. Okay. I know. But, but make a deal with me—let’s take a walk, get you sober. Then when you have some food in your system, you’ll tell me if—i-if this is still what you want. Kay?”

“Sam,” you grimaced.

“Please,” he begged, full-voiced, then snapped his mouth shut. When Sam was sure he could keep his feelings in check, he held up his wallet. “My treat. C’mon.”

Without hesitating, Sam started walking backward to the nearest corner store. Just the thought of eating made you nauseous, but not only did Sam have the keys to your room, but he’d also taken his stubbornness with him on this walk too. Thawing yourself off the stoop, you took one last look at your door and started after Sam. You knew that he was going to use this time to rally, to convince you, and that it would definitely work—so you steeled yourself. Sam couldn’t win. You had to leave.

It was just one dance. One kiss. You knew that. But you were stupid, drunk, in love, and weighed down by years of Dean’s reminder: I’m not good for you.

You hate that he’d been right.

_

Dean woke up sometime after dawn, but his body was so thoroughly glued to the mattress that he didn’t physically move for at least another hour. Even his routine where am I panic set in later than usual, and Dean was sluggish to answer it:

He was in a motel. That rarely changed. This time it was in… Springfield? Right? Yeah—they’d had fun little town postcards at the front desk, Dean remembered. _____ had studied them while Sam had got them the room, making that funny little hum sound she did when she thought something was quaint. It’d taken Sam only a minute to get their key, and Dean managed to fill that whole minute with nothing but spiraling. She loves kitschy crap like that. Maybe I should swipe one for her. Start a collection or something, make all this back-and-forth driving fun for her. She’s been so patient with us lately, deserves somethin’ to perk her up. Would she like it? Or was that too weird?

Dean groaned at himself—not only was he dealing with a hangover for the record books, but a heavy dose of embarrassment too. God. That woman. Nobody twisted him up like she could.

He kicked at the blankets, wiggling backward onto her side of the bed where the sheets were nice and cold. Usually the two of them cooked under the covers together, but she must’ve been hanging off the other end of the bed to leave so much cool space between them. He reached around with a foot. Nothing.

Huh. He hoped the gut rush of shittiness seeing her side empty was from whatever he’d been drinking last night, not something serious he was forgetting. Since getting up was so, so much uglier than being smushed comfortably in bed, Dean closed his eyes and thought. Counted back. The three of you had just wrapped up for a hunt… gone out for drinks to celebrate… and past that things start to fuzz. There might’a been a screaming match. Dean really wants to lean toward no, but he distinctly remembers being inside while Sam comforted you outside and sort of hating that. It was definitely Dean’s fault. But still, he remembered bitterly stuffing his face in his pillow hearing the soft lilt of your voice through the door—he should’ve been the one to fix things.

He would. Today. Dean laid in bed for a little while longer, but the guilt clawing around in his gut was making it impossible to do anything but overthink. How’d he fuck things over this time, huh? As sucky as it was, his best shot was to get the story from Sam, then figure out where to go from there. With how patient you’d been with him when he’d snapped his collarbone in Illinois, Dean was willing to grovel for forgiveness. This wasn’t the first time he’d hurt your feelings being coarse, but… c’mon. This was you. The only person who knew Dean better was Sam, and his forgiveness was the price of family. Yours was untethered, free, and lovingly given, so Dean tried to cool his mounting panic. You’d talk it out. You’d forgive him, because Dean was stupid lucky to have such a fucking saint in his life.

You loved him, Dean reminded himself, and forced himself to sit up.

The second he’s up and looking at everything, he’s pinched by this sense of wrongness. His duffle’s where he left it at the foot of the bed, the salt lines are clean and uninterrupted, but it’s like everything’s been moved an inch to the left. The pinch turns into a pang. Dean trudges out of bed, suspended in the limbo between his bedside and the open bathroom door. Something is wrong.

Some of your things have been moved, Dean rationalizes. You must be out grabbing breakfast. On stiff legs, Dean moves into the bathroom because, obviously, that’s where your shit would be if he’s not seeing it. Ignoring the bile that rises in him the second he’s moving, Dean purposefully avoids the mirror and hangs in the doorway. All three of you occupied the motels you lived in like you were ready to bolt any second, so there isn’t exactly any toiletries to take note of or clothes to notice… Until Dean circles back to his duffle at the foot of the bed. There’s a set of clothes thrown on top that he hasn’t seen since high school—some ratty sweats, holey winter socks, and two or three tees and shirts lost to time. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to realize that they used to belong to him, and just as long to connect them back to you.

These, Dean realized, were your most prized war trophies. Over the years you’d borrowed so many clothes from them that you’d probably modeled the entire Winchester closet. At first just the sleep shirts, but that graduated into tees for casual days and layers to add in wintertime.

By junior year, the half you’d pilfered from Sam was all too big to wear practically. That left Dean’s half, which you essentially lived in. A few of his shirts in particular had become main stays, so Dean had neglected to ask for them back and you’d comfortably forgotten to return them. You had a thing about wearing them around his flings, too, which Dean figured was your cute girl-way of reminding them who’d still be there when they were gone. True to form, they’d always left and you’d always stayed. Dean liked things that way, too.

A real pang of panic rang in his chest. Were you so pissed at him that you’d returned everything you’d borrowed? Or was this something worse?

His panic finds its legs. Not only had your pilfered clothes been returned, but Dean couldn’t find your travel bag. If his duffle is thrown at the end of the bed, and Sam’s is zipped up on the table, then yours had to be in the Impala. It had to be. He picks through the backseat and then graduates to tearing apart the trunk, both of which are void of your things. Your phone isn’t plugged into the wall. Your shoes aren’t by the door. Even the pistol you’d duck-taped under the coffee table was gone, along with the knife behind the headboard. Dean still can’t find your bag. Maybe it’s out in the open and I missed it, he tells himself, but the bathroom and the dressers and under the beds and the front lobby carry no sign of your stuff. Of you ever being there.

His last resort is that you have to be with Sam, who usually goes for a run this early—Sam, who walks in alone, twenty minutes into Dean’s full-body meltdown.

He should assume that you left. Logically, that is what missing keys, phones, toothbrushes and wallets mean, but this is Dean Winchester.

Instead, he assumes: “______’s been taken.”

Right away, Sam deflates. Which is impressive, since he walked in looking pretty wilted already. There are dark smears of purple under his eyes, which are puffy from crying. But that’s not exactly the reaction you want from your brother when you share this kind of thing with him, so the lack of response just spurs Dean into tearing their room apart even more, stone-faced.

“...Dean,” Sam manages.

Dean starts ripping the drawers out of the dresser, like finding one of your socks will be proof that you’re still here.

“She was fucking taken, Sam,” his throat feels tight. “I woke up and all of her shit was packed up and gone—somebody good had to do this, s’mbody who knows what the hell they’re doing, cause’ they knew to make it look like she’d left on her own. May—maybe she went out by herself after we went to sleep? N’ that’s how they took er’?”

His hands are shaking, fighting to get the next drawer off its track. Looking at Sam will just make him fucking implode, so he ignores him, shredding through the room inch by inch. The wheel on the dresser’s track snaps so hard that Sam flinches where Dean can’t see. Somehow, the urge to find expands into something an inch more logical, and he rolls seamlessly into escape mode, tossing his duffle on his bed and shoving the returned clothes inside. In a never-slowing storm, Dean flies around the room and hunts down what isn’t already ready to go in their bags. The adrenaline was starting to cut into his nausea, and the two mixed uncomfortably inside him, each knowing in their own way that something was terribly wrong.

After a long silence, Sam collapses onto the end of his bed and confesses in a small voice, “She left a couple’a hours ago, Dean. On her own.”

“She wouldn’t do that,” Dean snorted.

Something patted Dean’s shoulder, and it was a miracle that anything in his bubble didn’t immediately dissolve into molten lava; reining himself in, he turned. Sam was holding a letter.

He shrugged, swallowing thickly. “She said she, uh, needed some time. Not forever, just… time. Wrote you this.”

Dean hung in place. Too quickly, he recovered, and managed the gentleness to take the letter from Sam instead of yanking it away. There was no envelope. Just your tri-fold notebook paper and the bubbly curve of your handwriting on both sides. In the clean white space at the top of the page, you’d written Dean’s name. If he flipped it over and opened it, there would be more bubbly letters strung together in words. Words Dean didn’t have the strength for, right now.

It was easier, much easier, to succumb to the sudden slosh of sickness in him and follow his hangover into the bathroom.

After he empties his stomach and Sam gets some water into him, the crazed packing continues. Your letter goes straight into Dean’s duffle, unread, because Sam asks him what he’s doing, and Dean curtly interrupts him, “What else? We’re gonna go find her.”

Sam avoids his eyes. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”

Reasonably, Dean knew that Sam had helped you. He’d felt it, seeing him walk in late, seeing him pass off the letter. But it only starts to press on him now, with the alcohol sickness becoming a different kind of sickness within him, the full weight of what exactly Sam has done.

“You fucking didn’t,” Dean snarls. “Tell me you didn’t.”

There’s a flicker of rebellion on Sam’s face, but he subdues it for Dean’s sake. He shrugs, “...She wanted to leave.”

The nearest lamp on the bedside table shatters against the wall with a fierce pop. Dean’s close to tears, he’s so upset, sucking down anguished breaths. This is his worst nightmare. It roars off him all at once, and Sam, the nearest target, takes the brunt of it.

“How could you do this to me? How could you do that to her? She—she can’t survive on her own—!” he lies to himself, “—she needs us—and-and I need her! Why would you just let her walk away? What the fuck, Sam?”

“What was I supposed to do? Handcuff her to the radiator?!” Sam snaps, spreading his arms wide, “It’s her life!”

“With us!” Dean roars. His throat grates with acid and tears.

“With whoever the hell she wants! You should’ve—” Sam argues. He realizes how fruitless all the yelling is, especially with tears smeared in the creases of Dean’s face. “...I can’t speak for her. Read the damn letter.”

“No,” Dean grates. He gets his duffle over his shoulder, his whole body coiling with betrayal. “Get your shit and get in the fucking car. We’re finding her. Where’d you drop her off?”

Of course, Sam refuses to answer. He gives Dean this quiet, desperate look neither of them is good at processing. Dean’s not exactly in the mood to process much of anything, nevermind this, nevermind the mountain of shit he’s messed up between last night and today.

He snarls. “Where, Sam?”

Sam still doesn’t answer. His stubbornness forces an old ugliness out of Dean that he’ll regret later, but, what’s one more thing for the pile, right?

“What?” Dean whips on his brother. “You give that little of a shit about her? You pick up brunch and a smoothie after you left her to fuckin’ rot?” Baring his teeth, he spits, “She’s not running off to Stanford, kid. This is different and you know it.���

The blow lands so hard that Sam bristles, but if you left a couple of hours ago, then he’s had plenty of time to brace himself for the grave Dean had planned to dig himself. After a long, treacherous silence, Sam finds an answer:

“Train station,” Sam’s lip curls. “But she made sure I drove off before I could see if she even walked in. She’s just like you n’ me, so she’s probably two states over by now—”

Dean slams the front door before he can finish.

-

It takes Dean four miserable hours to chase the specific bus you’d taken over the border to Connecticut, two days to pinpoint the lousy 83’ Mercury Capri you’d bought, in cash, from a dentist in New Hartford, and another to find it trunk-first in the Connecticut river, stripped entirely of your things. Sam fights him all the way to Brooklyn, which turns out to be a last-ditch distraction tactic. Dean had figured you’d head somewhere busy to shake them, but instead, you’d turned West, to Tulsa.

At the end of the week he finds you waitressing in a little dive just outside town. It’s a long chase, by their standards. As anguished as Dean felt, he couldn’t help nursing a warped sense of pride: his girl was good. Lesser hunters would’ve never caught up with you.

The Impala coasted along the buckling sidewalk framing the lot and stilled, idling on anxious wheels. Dean left sometime after Sam fell asleep. A whole week of non-stop pursuit had almost burned the spirit out of him. Sam’s moral needling never stopped, not until the silence burning up between them was as light as a slab of concrete. Twice now Dean was tempted to cut and leave without him, but the dark swimming part of Dean’s mind knew he deserved the constant backlash. She doesn’t want to see you, Sam had spit once, she needs time.

But the thing was that you’d never needed time before. The only time you’d needed in the past was the minutes it took for you to say, you’ve hurt my feelings, Dean, and the time it took for him to drop into your lap and bemoan his apologies until you were in stitches. He’d clutch your pantleg in his fists and fake-sob, Oh, baby, I’ll never forgive myself fer hurtin’ you! There was a familiar dance to it. At first, you’d stifle your smile and shove at him, all tough n’ girly-like. Dean would hunt down your nearest ticklish spot until your anger was a funny thing you’d both forgotten about, then sink into an apology he really meant. It worked every time and you knew it worked every time, but. Dean would drop his head into your lap and the first thing he’d feel was your hand on his back, keeping him there.

You’d never needed time before. You’d never needed space, because Dean was your space, with no room for anyone else to squirm in between.

It’s been days, man, Sam had said, endlessly. Just read her letter. Just read it.

He’d tried. More than once, he’d steeled himself enough to find it at the bottom of his bag and open it up, but beyond those steps was a whole new hell. He gets three words in and is immediately split open like a deer carcass in the sun. I’m sorry, Dean. Just that is enough to make him carefully re-fold the letter back on its seams.

There, in the parking lot of your bar in Tulsa, Dean finally finds the endurance to shovel past that first line. Originally, his plan isn’t really a plan at all—he’ll swing inside, convince you to come home, get some dinner in you and give “making things right” his best shot. But those are just ideas with no ground to stand on beyond what Sam has told him. And what Sam has told him sounds like, l-like horseshit, something Dean would hunt one of your shitty ex-boyfriends down for. To him, it sounds like something irreparable. That feeling is starting to find its roots.

By the flaxen street light, he spreads the thin notebook paper out on his thigh, careful not to smudge the hurried pen with his fingers. He reads it once and only once, unable to stomach any more.

The Impala pulls out of the lot and slinks back to their motel.

-

The next day, Dean loads his brother into the Impala, picks a direction, and drives.

His instincts settle back onto their monotonous track, and within a week he and Sam are cutting down vamps in Montana. Only once does Sam ask about what happened, and Dean only shuts him down once for the two of them to return to the Winchester default: not talking about it. Sam clearly wants to, squirming with unspoken questions when they find your spare boots kicked under Baby’s front seat or dodge hunters who’d ask around for you. Dean feels like ripping out his own entrails every time Sam itches to bring you up, but draws blood from his lip instead. When Sam’s out of resolve and Dean’s alone, he presses his face into the shirts you’d borrowed, soaked all the way through with your perfume, choking down tears that don’t do nothin’ for nobody. Especially Dean, who hasn’t cried in front of anyone but you since he was nine.

It’s like he’s lost a limb, left only with the phantom grasping feel of it. Dean definitely copes like a man who’s lost a leg. Sam leaves the issue alone, for the most part, trying to trick himself into being content with you being where you want to be. Meanwhile, Dean’s flask graduates from his duffle to his jacket. Hunting stops being a distraction and gradually opens up into a dangerous sinkhole.

The following weeks reek with deja vu. Silences stretched, gaps in their routine yawned wider, every inch of their never-ending road trip scrubbed raw with impressions of you. Dean must’ve checked the rear-view a thousand times, running on that same old instinct to steal looks at you in the backseat. The whole universe had been kicked off its axis by the aftermath, causing a run of bad luck worthy of a horror movie. Dean’s gun started jamming inexplicably; they’re caught by cops in Indiana and have to circle back two weeks later for the car, which is stripped of everything they’ve got; he almost loses Sam getting their arsenal back from an evidence lockup in Fort Wayne. Scrubbing his brother’s caked blood out of the steering wheel one afternoon, Dean knows that it’s more than luck he’s lost.

When you were stressed or feeling stuck, you’d lay out all their weapons on the bedspread—reminding Dean not to plop his ass down without looking first—and clean them each meticulously. The way you did it sort of reminded him of sewing. You’d count under your breath, so versed in the steps you’d created that you didn’t even have to watch your hands. Sometimes this ritual collided with the nights you polished up your poker skills together, and if Dean listened between hands, there was your counting. Four. Take off the slide. Five. Scrub the frame. If Dean’s pistol landed in the pile, you’d forget you were winning altogether and sink into deeper focus, pretty brows furrowed and your lips in a soft line. Dean’s gun never jammed if you’d been the one to clean it.

You were stealthier, more unassuming, with the kind of easy smile that policemen looking for fugitives glossed over. The cops in Indiana would’ve glossed over you, too. You were the third support beam that kept them sturdy—with you at Dean’s six, he and Sam would’ve smuggled back the arsenal with no problem. And even if there’d been trouble… well. This was you. Lose-a-car-in-the-river-on-purpose you, who Dean could always rely on to back his play.

When Sam has to drive him home from the bar one night, Dean slurs, Everythin’. Everythin’ goes to shit without ‘er.

Those thoughts crept up on him again and again, preying on him in low moments. He buried them under everything close enough to grab, keep the salt lines clean, call Jody, fix the car, but everything thrown on top of his memories of you swayed and shuddered, demanding to be dug up. Dean knew that he’d betrayed you. Already that was unforgivable, but by hurting you he’d broken a blood oath as old as your friendship. At fifteen Dean had sworn to protect you, only to turn around now and wound you so viciously that you couldn’t even bring yourself to say goodbye to him. Not in person. Not in the letter.

It was the one detail his heart couldn’t stop fixating on, no matter how deep Dean buried you. He knew you better than anyone, and you never said goodbye unless things were truly over.

He’d heard you sob it into Sam’s shoulder before he left for school. When the hellhounds came for him in New Harmony, you’d resisted, clutching Dean’s jacket in both hands and weeping instead, “I’ll see you.”

You’d never said goodbye to him.

This turns into a notion, then a stupid idea, then a plan that Dean rolls around in the bottom of his glass, considering. He could get that goodbye from you. He could knock on your window like he’d done when you were kids, say his piece, and then let the grass eat his boots as he waits for you to truly finish this.

He could get that goodbye from you. It’d kill him, but Dean wasn’t sure he could go on without it.

-

Five minutes into his drive to DeLancey’s Pub and Bar, the slimy dive you waitressed in around the dicier ends of Tulsa, Dean realizes that he’s not even sure if you’re working tonight.

The drive was long—long enough to swerve Dean’s confidence in every single direction possible, until the revving toughness he’d gathered had swan-dived into gut-clenching fear. Two hours ago he’d been combing through articles for a case. Something had compelled him into the car, something bone-deep and inescapable, and if Dean was being truthful with himself it had everything to do with the strange adrenaline he got just being in the same state as you. Twice, he swore he’d seen your face among the officers at the station and blending into the diner crowd at breakfast. He knew that you were a whole town away and intent on not seeing him, but. Dean could sense the divide between you like the childhood home he’d never known. It was a distance he could close and map in his sleep, and after another night jolting out of a nightmare and into a bed empty of you, Dean was exhausted. He missed you so much he was sick, choking back mouthfuls of guilt just thinking of you. He missed you so much that the drive to you could’ve been measured in inches, and the walk to the Impala was even smaller, calling to him.

Waking up, he’d sensed it. Tonight was gonna be different.

Things had started off strong. The second Dean had turned the key and pointed the Impala toward Tulsa, his hands on the wheel were sure as all hell. I’m gonna tell her all my cruddy fuckin’ feelings and get all this cruddy fuckin’ honesty out of the way, then either we make up or she gives me the boot. Simple as that. Nothin’ to it. That was as far as his planning went, since that’s as far as Dean could handle thinking into your future. By the time Dean was off the highway his plan had started eating itself, circling constantly back to your letter to him. But he was already halfway there, then over halfway, and giving up became an increasingly spineless option.

Along the way, I’m gonna give it to her straight, slowly, bloodily evolved into, I’m bringing her the fuck home.

Dean’s propelled himself forward so hard just to get here, so the Impala’s still rolling into park when he clambers out and onto the gravel. His heart is pounding like thunder in his ears but it’s nothing compares to the screaming silence that stands between where the Impala’s sitting and where you must be. DeLancey’s is the only kind of place Dean could picture you working; somewhere low and unglamorous, like any other bar you and Dean had skulked around in your twenties. You lived for skeevy places like this, the shabbier the better, and privately Dean had always thought you were too pretty to exist in places like those. But he’d seen you under neon beer lights so often that you’d sort of claimed it for yourself, this strange brand of cigar-smoke beauty that made Dean’s ears warm.

He thinks of that image and can’t help but need himself to be there, to be with you like he always has, and that’s what gets him across the gravel and through the door.

Either this is a hunter’s bar or the place is packed full of demons, because the second Dean bangs inside, making a few heads jerk up with the noise of it, those heads immediately swivel to whisper to each other. What’s that Winchester boy doing here? Anyone who knows you knows there’s only one answer. The bartender looks up from the drink he was making. The host awkwardly shrinks behind her podium, freezing like everyone else in the room. For just an instant he has the whole saloon itching toward their pistols, and Dean lives off the warped satisfaction he gets from that until the kitchen door swings open for a huge tray of drinks.

Hefting it over one shoulder, you slip easily out from behind the bar and pass the drinks over to a table of hunters. There’s a resonating shock that sizzles through Dean’s system, seeing you. It’s the strange pleasure of confirmation, of knowing that you’re real, that you’re someone he can lay eyes on instead of a slow-fading memory. In your element, you’re… Dean swallows. You’re still you. One of the hunters says something to you, and you snap back in a way that has them all roaring with laughter. All doubt left Dean’s body, and standing there, he’s winded by the single-minded purpose that got him there in the first place. He’s getting you home.

At full tilt, Dean bee-lines for you.

The harsh sound of boot steps makes you glance up, and with it the chatter of the hunters dies away. Your expression doesn’t shift from your usual calm, arrow-eyed look, empty of anger or loneliness or happiness. Just calm, like you knew he’d find you, you’re just surprised it took him this long. You take a cool step away from the table to stand at your full height, and an old shivery warmth flutters down his spine. Yeah. There was his girl, tough as a fuckin’ tank.

“Dean,” you murmured, a greeting.

He wants to murmur your name with the same sweetness. He wants to scoop his arm around your waist like he used to and shove his face in your neck like he used to, spilling his guts in ways he’d only spilled to you. He wants to do this the easy way, but that’s not exactly his default.

Dean swings in, snapping, “Get outside. I’m telling you something whether you like it or not, n’ don’t think I won’t drag you if I have to.”

Your brows fly up your forehead. “Wow.”

Right along with you, the hunters with the front-row seats to the scene Dean’s making bristle in tandem. Some of the guys at the bar twist around on their stools to throw Dean barbed looks, and really, he shouldn’t have underestimated your ability to assemble so many minions like this, since he and Sam had been your minions from day one. The guy closest to Dean makes a big show of scraping his chair back and growling, which Dean pities him for. Get in line, pal.

“That’s my friend you’re talkin’ to, chisel chest. If you know what’s good for you, I’d get the fuck outta’ here,” says Asshole #1 of 4, and the threat hasn’t even landed before you’re neatly cutting through him, “—mind your damn business, Tommy, he has just as much a right to be here as anyone else.”

At your request the other hunters simmer down, and, ignoring Dean, you scoop up your empty tray and deliver it to the bar. All the energy he’d rationed in the car starts to seep out of him, since. Well. Still, after all this time, you didn’t hesitate to bare your teeth for him. With the wind successfully taken out of Dean’s sails, he tries not to twitch in place as you round’ the bar, brush past him and gesture for him to follow you out a side exit.

Your silence terrifies the hell out of him, so adding the hanging quiet of the parking lot to the equation makes Dean’s nerves crawl. He hadn’t realized how loud it’d been in there until you were isolated outside, the rowdy Friday night chatter softened behind the door. Swaying next to you on legs he’s forgotten how to use, a dart of something mean and cold hits Dean in the chest. On the other side of the door, where the lights are dim but warm and the air sings with the tang of alcohol, Don Henley floats into the first lyrics of One of These Nights.

Even now, your magic sways over him. Across from him on the gravel, you stuff your hands under your arms and huff a strand of hair out of your face, glowing gold by the creamy moonlight. If this was any other night of the year that the two of you had fallen out of a bar together, Dean would ask you to dance with him right here by the dumpsters. You’d say yes. He knew you would’ve said yes, then.

“You worried me sick,” is the first thing Dean manages to say. “Wakin’ up, finding you gone—I thought someone had fuckin’ took you, y’know that?”

This is apparently the wrong thing to say, because the coolness in your expression coasts straight into bitterness. Regardless, Dean rolls right past it and right into nervous, emotional ranting.

“I know what I did. I know I don’t deserve shit for it,” he chokes out, “but you could’ve at least said goodbye t’ me! I deserved to know you’d be safe! If you couldn’t… If I was hurtin’ you too much, and if I wasn’t listenin’, you had every right to get the fuck out of there and make your own life somewhere else. But after—after bein’ with me for so, so damn long, so long I don’t even remember how we met, you couldn’t even say goodbye? Nothing? I just have to live with the fact that I don’t even ‘member the last time we fuckin’ talked to each other? Don’t even get to see my best fuckin’ friend one last time?”

“No,” you scowled. “No, you fuckin’ don’t. Because we’ve never been just friends, Dean, and even if you knew that you still played with my feelings. Why the hell would I even want to look at you again? Why do you deserve that?”

Dean flinched. He sputtered on his answer, of course, because he’d never been able to keep his head straight around you. Not now, not ever. “...I guess I don’t. But, um… I know this doesn’t mean much anymore, but…” He closed his hand into a fist, like it was possible to draw in raw courage from the air. “You’re right. We’ve never really been… just plain friends, and—”

“We’ve said I love you,” you scoffed, “We’ve kissed! We’ve spent four whole years on the road together, with nobody but each other, and even years after that you still can’t even admit it to my face! Can’t even say it!”

Dean’s hands are shaking, and in a rush he says, “Yeah? And you wanna know why? Cause’ the second I do, the second it’s out of my mouth, you’re dead. You hear me? A target drops on your back so fast it’ll make your head spin.”

Honest to God, you start laughing, the scary hunter’s laugh that only bled out of you in the thick of a chase. “I’m already dead!” You budge him with your fists, almost pushing him back a foot, “We’re both already dead! None of that bullshit matters! Wouldn’t you rather we use the fucking time we’ve got instead of sitting around with our thumbs up our asses? Dean, come on!”

“Of course I do!” He roars. You’re close enough to grab, so he does, ripping you toward him by the wrists, “That’s all I’ve wanted!” He sucks down the cool night air and the little breaths puffing out of you, panting, “You’re all I’ve fucking wanted. Since the last time we were here. Since way before then. But the minute—the second they know that, Hell or—o-or whoever’s after us now, they’re gonna take advantage of that.”

The look on your face is frozen still with mute shock. Choking down another dose of guilt, Dean drops your wrists and suppresses the urge to pull you back in, to squeeze you against him, to kiss you stupid like he’d done years ago.

“Don’t think for one second that I don’t want you,” Dean rasped. “But I’d rather have you livin’ than be with you dead, you get me?”

You closed your eyes. Tears squeezed down your face, rolling around the curve of your cheeks. You grit, “I’m sick of having this argument, Dean.”

Then, the pull to reach out for you grew too great, and Dean couldn’t help but cup one side of your neck. He swallowed, thickly. “I know, baby girl.”

Starved for contact, you dug your nails into the material of his sleeve and did your best to speak. “If I go back with you,” you rattled out. “If I go back w’ you, sittin’ with this is gonna kill me. Can’t wait anymore. Can’t sit in the damn car while you run off with other people. I have t’ go. I love you, but I gotta go.”

Dean was sick of having this argument too. After years and years of it weighing on the two of you like a black hole, of this same old story returning every so often to throw a fresh gap between you both, Dean had hit his limit. There wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to keep you living and happy. But this pressure on his heart was heavier than the damn sky, and now more than ever he wanted to let it go. Find another way. Choose you.

He overspills.

“I love you too,” Dean gushed, and from there, poured the rest of his heart out onto the wet asphalt. “Love you so much it makes me damn sick. Makes me all stupid and mushy on the inside, which is probably half the reason I’ve made it this far. Having you gone has just made it worse—the road’s too quiet and the backseat’s always cold, like everything else’s sick too. S’ made me realize that I—I-I can’t do this without you. Everythin’. Livin’ like this. I tried for your sake, I honestly did, but god, baby, I need you home. I need you to come home.”

“Dean—”

“Let me finish!” Dean barked, and the sloping misery on your face paused. “I know why you left. Shit, I’d leave too if the one person I… if that one person kept treating me the way I was treatin’ you. Fuck, _____, if this was some other guy? Doing this to you? I’d kill him. Acid bath, hit him with my car, something. I’d kill him. And I’d—”

Dean stops himself, realizing the spiral he’s throwing himself down. “You’re everything t’ me,” he gasped. “So get in the damn car and just come home.”

In the thousand-foot-drop-silence that follows, the only sound capable of puncturing the space between the two of you is, as always, One of These Nights. Inside DeLancey’s, there are a few couples swinging along to the beat, but all of the real fever is out here, thundering in Dean’s chest. There’s only one time he ever relinquishes his control over his feelings out in the open: here, as the Eagles sing your signature song. Dean’s eyes are only on you.

“C’mon, _____,” he pleads, one last time. Again, he’s compelled by something beyond himself, and with nothing left to lose he starts to sing, smiling without feeling. “Oooh,” Dean croons, “loneliness will blind you, in between th’ wrong and th’ right…”

Here it is. You drag in a breath with all the weight of the world on it, and Dean knows what will follow. The goodbye.

Despite yourself, an amused little smile presses through the seams of your composure. You sober yourself. “... Things are gonna have to change, Dean.”

He’s not sure what that means. But it sounds good, and there’s still an optimist swirling around in him somewhere. “Yeah. Of-of course, anything. We can talk about it more, but… I’m willing to put you before anything. I should’ve put you before anything, before.”

You nod. “...Okay. Lemme go tell the other girls on shift.”

That’s good. That’s good, Dean realizes, and without meaning to he beams, blinking hard. You’re coming back with him. That’s what that means, right? Relief rushes through him so fast that he almost faints. Not so prepared to trust it, Dean’s eyes roam across your face for hesitation or displeasure or anger—and some of it’s there. There are still things to fix, still changes to be made, but. On top of all that is beautiful, sweet-tasting relief that Dean feels like collapsing under. You’re coming home.

“Just like that?” Dean asks, and he really shouldn’t be grinning, not until he’s sure and you’ve said it, but he can’t help it.

The tears still beading in your eyes slip into the pressed line of your lips, where a guarded smile is growing. You start nodding and then you don’t stop nodding, sobbing in earnest, and since it hasn’t screwed him over yet Dean follows his instinct to scoop you into a deep hug. You’re a little chilly and you smell a bit like pub food, making Dean’s heart squeeze with nostalgia. God, he fucking missed his girl. You grope around his back for something to cling to and fist both hands in his jacket til’ your fingers ache, and Dean explodes with gratefulness so pure he sways in place with you, squeezing you tight around the shoulders. You’re here and you’re alive and you don’t fucking hate him. Dean would take that and this stilted happiness over anything.

“This is all I wanted, D,” you hiccup. “You never say it, n’ I-I just need to hear it, okay? I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I did this to us.”

“You ain’t got nothin’ to apologize for,” Dean soothes, but you interrupt him.

“I was too much of an idiot to say goodbye,” you shook your head, smooshing your face into his jacket. “Too scared,” you confessed, and your voice was even scratchy from crying. “I didn’t want it to be over for real. Didn’t wanna close that door forever.”

Dean sloped his palm down your hair, your back, your arm, soaking you in every way he could. “M’ glad you didn’t. I’m sorry I pushed you to any of this, darlin’. I’m sorry too.”

You peel yourself off him just far enough to flash him a wolfish, tear-streaked grin. “Oh, I know you are. Are you ready to be makin’ it up to me for the rest of your life, Winchester?”

Dean makes the mistake of indulging your taunts with a chuckle, which puts this light in your eyes that he never wants to let go of. You swish in real close to his face, threatening with a big, 1000-watt smile, “Pucker up, cowboy, because you’ve got a lot of ass-kissing to do.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, wetting his lips. His belly warmed at the nickname. “So come here, ass.”

It’s not often that Dean has the pleasure of making you so flustered your face steams. He never gets to see it this close, either, so he leans further in to put it all to memory, which just makes your cheeks hotter. Your eyes dart across his face, wild and nervous. Dean’s smile sinks into a nasty smirk because, there you are, tough as nails and melting into your shoes at the thought of kissing him. It’s a lucky thing you’re so distracted. Maybe if you weren’t you’d notice how Dean’s hands are trembling, how his mouth’s watering. His whole nervous system flips when you reign him in by a fist in his collar, and he’s pretty sure his soul levitates out of his body when you kiss him.

One kiss turns into two, then three. Your lips are smooth with vanilla chapstick, and it only takes a minute for it to be all over Dean’s face—his mouth most of all, but the corners of his lips and his chin, too. You’ve always been the sweet one, but something about finally being subject to it melts the iron ball of anxiety in his gut. He kisses back like it’s his damn job, pouring his confession, his apologies into you, cupping your face, dimpling your cheeks with his thumbs. You’re softer than he remembers, and the fact that he could be forgetting anything at all about the last night you spent in Tulsa together makes him starved to remember this.

By some twist of fate, Bad Company’s Ready For Love plays next on the cue inside. With you cozy in his arms, his body works on muscle memory, and soon you’re swaying back and forth as you kiss, dipping in close for sweet pecks of each other.

“I love you,” he thinks he hears you say.

Playfully, Dean budges your nose with his and sing-songs, “Can’t hear you!”

“I said,” you took in a big breath, “I LOVE YOU TOO, asshole.”

Dean dissolves into chuckles, which are happily interrupted by more insistent kisses. You’re almost ten whole feet from where you started, and scooping up your hand, Dean starts the trek backward to where the Impala is parked. It’s your home as much as it’s his, so you barely need him to take the lead to find it among the other cars.

“Hm,” you say, “Maybe the girls will just figure out for themselves why I’m gone, yeah?”

“They’ll survive without you,” Dean shrugs. “You got other people who need you.”

“Need me,” you say, just rolling the unfamiliar words around in your mouth. Dean feels another pang of guilt; he could’ve sworn he’d told you that more, could’ve sworn he showed his love to you every day. Another thing to change.

“Yeah, need you,” Dean mutters, and he doesn’t mean to expose the desire rolling around in his belly, but there it is. He wants to take it back as soon as it leaves his mouth, but the second you get a taste of it, you’re hooked. A beat later he’s being pushed up against the driver’s door of the car and kissed stupid, warm and wet and so much of what he remembers. Fantasizes about.

In the next kiss a gentle hand grabs at the clasp to his belt buckle. Instantly, Dean pulls back to speak.

“Sweet pea,” he manages, trying so hard to be reasonable and good and everything that you deserve. You laugh at the nickname, which eases his mind a bit. “...You sure you don’t wanna wait? I think I got other things to prove t’ you, first.”

You draw him into a deep, lingering siren’s kiss that leaves his knees threatening to lock and his common sense threatening to bend.

“Can’t wait any longer,” your eyes burn like cigarettes, all heat. Quietly, you ask him, “Prove to me I’m your favorite. That m’ the only girl you’re looking at.”

There’s the underlying desperation to your voice that goes beyond just wanting to have sex with him. This is confirmation of something to you, something you need to hear, to feel. So Dean guides you into the backseat and proves it to you.

This is not at all where he expected this night to go, and he’s grateful that he’d lost the opportunity to overthink himself into his grave. There’s no room for Dean to worry if he was really good enough for you, if he deserved this, because these things are proven to him too. You slot so perfectly into his lap that he knows the moment you’re out of it he’ll be battered with homesickness. For long breaths there’s no kissing at all, just Dean nuzzling his face into your neck and committing each second to memory. When you do kiss him it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before, this grand, surging happiness that ripples through him head-to-toe. Each kiss has a new kind of gentleness, and before either one of you starts to strip Dean knows that you want more than what he’s about to give you—you want him, and that feeling is an old comfort.

Knowing your famous attitude, Dean would’ve bet money on you taking control, but for whatever reason you step back and let him make the first move. Again, it tells him that this is his chance to tell you something, to make it clear that he wants you and he’s going to show it. So he does. Your fingers in his hair are all the invitation he needs.

Dean scrapes his palms up your back as you kiss, soaking up every naked inch of skin he’s allowed. You’re making all these soft little noises that make the pressure in his jeans unbearable, so with the next drag of his hands he’s intent on seeing what you’ll feel like naked in his lap. When your uniform is nothing but a memory and your throat’s slick with hickeys, you try out a new way of teasing him, murmuring in that caramel voice how long you’ve wanted to feel him inside you. After that he doesn’t even care about being fully naked—but you clearly do. He puts your roaming hands on his belt. I want you to do this part, I want it to be you who opens me up. You kiss him so intensely that Dean doesn’t even remember when or how his belt comes off. Or his shirt, or his jeans, or his boots, gulping down your love potion by the gallon.

All he knows is pretty girl, his pretty girl, and swaths of hot sweat-tacky skin on top of him. You hesitate to close that final gap between you once the condom’s on, so Dean whispers whiskey-warm assurances in your ear as he cups the curve of your ass and slides you onto him. The moan that presses out of you pours right into your next kiss, then the next, and the next. It takes everything in him to start slow; Dean gives you two deep, fulfilling grinds across his lap. The rippling squeeze of you around him is too good to be real. You press your lips into his, then his nosebridge, his forehead, urging him on, and that’s all Dean needs to let go. He cups the dip of your back, shoves his face in your neck and just loses it.

Dean rocks you across his lap at a vicious, pounding tempo, giving you his all. The whole time his head bumps against the height of the seat, craning to watch the perfect little shifts in your expression. You’ve got your eyes squeezed shut and your lips parted. His lap is slick with you, making the grind, the chase, the rush to the finish come faster and faster. He could’ve gotten off on the sounds you were making alone. They turn into full-on squeals when Dean slides his fingers between your legs, and a flush of I love you I love you I love you bursts out of him when the hot silk wrapped around him clamps even tighter. You cum almost sobbing his name, and Dean coos you through it, his thighs cramping with effort. But it’s all worth it—you’ve always been worth it.

He finishes with your hands combing through his sweat-damp hair, echoing back to him the three words he’d been chanting the entire time.

-

It’s a few hours before dawn when you land in Sam and Dean’s motel a town over. Dean had wanted to get back earlier, intent on having you back as soon as possible, but it’d taken a bit to pack your stuff into the Impala and drive home. You’d commented on being hungry on the way back too, which ended with Dean pouring an entire gas station’s worth of snacks into your lap at three in the morning.

By then it’d gotten too cold out to be comfortable, so it was tempting to succumb to sleep in front of the Impala’s heaters. But robbing yourself of any time with Dean wasn’t an option, so you pushed through, feet aching after an eight-hour shift and body glowing with Dean’s affection. You nibbled on twinkies in the passenger’s seat, happy that he was happy. He kept the radio off to hear you, but hummed when the conversation peacefully faded. I can hear the train a’ comin’, it’s rollin’ round the bend…

Sam was waiting for you on the stoop outside the room when you pulled up, and did an impressively poor job at containing himself. He’d gotten his arms around you before your door was fully shut, and when you were back on your feet his brother took up your other side. Together, you herded each other into the cozy darkness of the motel. Someone said something about unpacking your things; but all three of you were tired, so that thought was saved for tomorrow.

Dean tossed his jacket on the back of a chair. Sam rearranged the salt lines on the window sills with a careful hand. You fumbled into the first pajamas you could find (aka, the hoodies in Dean’s duffle that rightfully belonged to you), and crash straight into bed, too lazy to kiss goodnight like usual. When the lights were off and the boys were down too, you stretched a hand out from under your comforter and reached across the bed’s gap.

“Goodnight, Sam,” you told him, wiggling your fingers.

His whole hand engulfed yours in a warm, I missed you squeeze, and then he was rolling onto his stomach and sinking like a rock into sleep.

When you twisted onto your other side, Dean was already there, propped up on an elbow. His broad hand on your shoulder smoothed across your belly to pull you into him. Once you were close enough to kiss, he disregarded your cheek and your forehead entirely, dipping in for a real kiss that tingled all the way down to your toes.

“G’night,” Dean whispered.

Welling with too much emotion to put into words, you willed it all into a simple and loving, “Goodnight, cowboy.”

Together, you snuggled down into your blankets and crashed, content.

-

tags: @samssluttybangs @cookiemumster1 @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel @goghkiss

#dean winchester x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x y/n #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester #user uncouth #uncouthspn #supernatural #spn #Spotify

[deepdisireslonging]

Wanna *Beep* You Tonight

Dean and the Reader are caught in traffic after a case. The Reader convinces Dean to agree to the best way to pass the time.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings/Promises: SMUT, voyeurism, this poor car, cream-pie, situational humor

Word Count: 1630

Note: Yes, I used two Little Mix songs back-to-back. They’ve got really inspirational stuff. Only one more song-fic for the Summer Playlist after this one. Let me know how you like the fic, the series, anything at all in the comments and with your reblogs. Happy reading!

“Beep Beep” by Little Mix

“Oh, come on!” Dean reached for the horn, but snatched his fist away. It wouldn’t have done any good. 

Leave it to Sam to find a hunt in Vegas. Then ditch you and Dean so that the impala could get stuck in traffic after the big fight let out. 

“Why are there so many people?” You asked for the fifth time. Taking your elbow off your eyes, you sat straight in your seat. “Who drives out of state after the fight? Vegas is an oasis of hotels for a reason.” With a huff, you motioned at another traffic bailer. “See! Go back into town. And stop gumming up the works for the rest of us.” You were quietly jealous of the dust cloud they left in the wake.

Music was no good. Dean’s cassettes were long out of your favor. And he didn’t appreciate your adaptor for you could play your music. In the quiet that took all the air in the car, you could hear the music and arguments from the cars around you. Dean was mostly content to lay back, cross his arms, get comfortable, and take a nap while traffic was frozen. You were too fidgety. You flicked the air up and down. Checked the radio stations for levels of static. Poked Dean’s keychain to make it jangle. 

“Would you mind not fondling all my buttons?” Dean cracked an eye to glare at you. 

“I thought you liked it when I fondled your buttons,” you mumbled. As he grinned, your face lit up with a smile. He didn’t move when you slid to sit immediately by his side. “Hey, Dean-“

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Lack of privacy.”

“It’s dark.” You rolled your eyes towards the windshield. “The stars are exhausted of this night. It’s dark as heck out there.” With a whine, you looped your arm under his. “No one would see us,” you whispered in his ear. Turning on the charm, you nuzzled your nose against the shell of his ear. “We may be gridlocked, but the thought of you is driving me wild.”

Dean barked a laugh. “It is too late at night for those kind of pick-up lines-“

“The thought of you sliding your hands all over me. Over my chest. Around my waist. C’mon. We’re stuck on the 202, I love making love to you. I’m going stir crazy in here. And if you won’t help me out, I’m going to take care of myself.”

His eyes snapped up just as you snapped open your jeans. Fascinated, he watched as you pulled them down just low enough to reach in between the denim and the cotton of your underwear. After another thought, you removed your jeans entirely. Your other hand reached for your chest. To your delight, Dean’s hand slid up the steering wheel and squeezed. You closed your eyes and rolled your hips. Starting cold like this wasn’t a good way to come to a finish, but the lust in Dean’s gaze was plenty of heat to start your fire. 

“Tell me what to do, Dean,” you hummed. “If you won’t touch me yourself, tell me where to move.”

“Move-“ Dean licked his lips and cleared his throat of the squeak, “move your hand into your hair.”

“Like this?” Purposefully, you took your hand out of your pants and threaded your fingers into your hair. You imagined how Dean liked to tug when he had you in his lap or on your knees. Biting your lip, your hips rolled. 

Dean shook his head, his breath coming out short. “No. The- the other one. Put the first one back.”

“Okay.” You switched which hand was in your hair, and which was playing with your breasts. 

“No- for fuck’s sake.”

When you opened your eyes, Dean was leaning over you with a glare. 

“Brat.”

“Always.”

He crowded into your space further, pushing you down to lay across the front seat. At your neck, your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, Dean sucked and kissed from one target to the next. You writhed beneath him. Your hands gripped his arms and tugged at the hem of his shirt. He pushed them away. Eventually, he trapped them above your head so he could ravage you without you getting in the way.

“Hey-“ you moaned when your mouth was free. “I thought- I thought you didn’t want to do this? To many people and all that.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.”

“Alright then.” He grinned against your skin. Then he sat up, taking you with him to land on his lap. He guided you to grind against his growing bulge. When his head fell back, you took the opportunity to latch your lips around his pulse point. His hips jolted into you. Of the hands guiding the rolling pace of your hips, one slid up to continue the kneading of your breasts that you had started. Already you were panting. And Dean’s breath came out in puffs on your cheek.

He grunted as your hands fumbled with his belt. The zipper. A long groan rumbled against your skin as you brought his length into the open. With Dean literally in your hands, you weren’t taking any chances that he would draw this out. You immediately pulled your panties to one side and sank down his length. Dean gripped your shoulders. Though whether it was to slow you down or to force your body down further onto his cock, you couldn’t really tell. He bit at his knuckles to keep from crying out as you seated him inside you fully.

“Don’t do that.” You kissed his fist and pulled it away from his face. “Wanna hear you. Wanna make every car hear you for a mile around.”

He chuckled, closing his eyes to the pleasure of your slow opening movements. “Noise ordinance. Cops-”

“Fuck the cops. I’m fucking you and there’s nothing they could do about it.”

That may have been true, but there was something Dean could do about it. He gripped the back of your head, bringing you close for a kiss that stole your breath. And your focus. Before you knew what, he was thrusting faster than you could control. You broke from the kiss with a strangled grasp. With his large arms wrapping around your waist, there was nothing you could do except hang on for the ride. You reached back, one hand finding the steering wheel.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the couple in the car next to you had stopped arguing. You couldn’t see their faces through the tint of their windows, but you knew they were watching. It made your walls clamp around the cock within you.

“Dean-“

“I know. I see ‘em. ‘S what you wanted, isn’t it? Having the whole highway know how impatient you are?” He forced your shirt over your chest so he could kiss between your breasts. “Come on, Sweetheart. Show ‘em what we’ve got.”

His movement sped up, making you cry out. Your earlier threat to make Dean loud enough for the highway to hear began to ring true as his thrusts began to falter. He hugged you close, muffling his moans with your chest. It made your hand slip, catching on the gear shift. A twist of his hips, and you saw stars as he speared the point that made your mind mush.

“I think I broke the stick.”

“You better not have,” he growled, thrusting harder.”

Between moans that increased in pitch, you managed, “been dreaming all day.” You bounced up and down, finally gripping the steering wheel again, but your hand slipped and accidentally hit the horn, “dreaming about jumping on this-“ The car horn went off, startling the people in the cars around you.

Dean laughed. “Been wanting to ‘beep’ you all night to, Sweetheart.”

Ahead of you, other car horns started going off. It didn’t register for you what it meant. You were too busy chasing release. But Dean managed to crack open his eyes.

“They’re starting to move.”

“Good for them,” you breathed.

Dean reached for your clit. “We better get moving.”

You nodded, squeezing and clamping your walls in any way that zinged you with pleasure. Maybe time slowed down. Or sped up. You couldn’t tell, and you didn’t care. Your vision whited out behind your closed eyelids. Dean hoarsely called you your name. He held you down as he came deep inside. You let your body go limp. Even with overstimulation threatening, you didn’t want to move. You kept bouncing, lazily moving to prolong the sparks of your release.

“Baby, you gotta stop-“ Dean tried to move you, but you wrapped your arms around him. “Traffic’s movin’. I gotta start the-“

“I’m not finished.”

He managed to at least roll you off into the seat so he could turn the key. The Impala roared to life and set off just as the cars in front of you cleared out. His cock still laid against his leg, dripping with him and you.

You scooted close to him and reached out. Nuzzling your nose against his ear, you worked his length until it swelled in your hand.

The people in the car next to you waved at Dean. From the driver’s side, the guy gave Dean a thumbs up, which was returned.

“I think they liked our show.”

You hummed. “Good. If they can keep up with you, they might get another.” You circled your thumb around his slit. The Impala roared again as Dean pushed the gas pedal almost through the floor. He kept up that speed, looking for any hotel so he could finish round two. You both settled for the first dark turnoff that wasn’t crowded with traffic.

***

***

Masterlist

Other Dean WInchester Fics:

Love Like Lightning: Part 1 (Smut) : Part 2

Last of the Season (Food Mention, Fluff, Smut)

In Heaven’s Eye (Smut, Challenge Fic, Demon/Angel AU)

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester smut #winchester x reader #reader insert #supernatural #spn fanfiction #summer playlist 2023 #summer songfic series 2023

[moonlightspencie]

Hello! I was wondering if I could make a Dean x Readed request where he's jealous of her and Sam, thinking they're together when they're actually just good friends? Love your writing!!

i’ll write a little drabble bc i do think this is a fun concept BUT im happy to tell you that i already have a full-length fic about this exact thing!! here’s the link to that

pairing: dean winchester x reader, platonic!sam winchester x reader

—————

Dean stared at the pair chatting across the table from him in the library. His brow was set, and his eyes hadn’t been on the screen of the laptop in a couple of minutes, now.

They were incessantly talking. Since when did they talk this much? Or get along this well?

Granted, it had been a few months since they’d last all seen each other. But things shouldn’t have changed between them that much. Unless…

“Hey,” Sam said, snapping Dean out of his haze. “What’s up with the death-glare?”

Dean raised a brow. “I’m not glaring.”

Sam glanced at his conversational partner, a smirk on his face.

“I think he’s glowering, then. Maybe just… aggressively staring,” she said, voice a little quiet for dramatic effect.

“Maybe if you two would get some work done instead of… makin’ eyes at each other—”

“‘Making eyes’?” she exclaimed with a laugh. “What are you talking about?”

“Sitting there staring at each other like you wanna rip each others clothes off. It’s gross.”

Her eyes went wide. She looked over at Sam, and he stared back with a quizzical look, giving a shrug.

“Dean, we’re not,” Sam started, then let out a frustrated sigh. “We’re friends. That’s it.”

“Since when are you this close?”

“Since he actually responds to all my messages and makes an effort to talk,” she said pointedly. “Maybe somebody wouldn’t be so jealous if he didn’t ignore half my texts.”

Dean’s face dropped. “I’m not jealous.”

She quirked a brow, staring back at him. Sam cleared his throat, standing up.

“I think I’m going to catch a quick shower before we leave tonight.”

She nodded, still watching Dean as he followed his brother’s movements until he was out of sight.

“People who aren’t jealous don’t stare. Just so you know,” she said with a smirk.

“Annoyed people do.”

“What exactly are you annoyed by? Two people being friends?”

He sighed, shaking his head and staring down at the tabletop. She leaned in slightly, catching his eye again.

“Just for the record, you wouldn’t have to be ‘annoyed’ if you’d just make a move already.”

With that, she stood and walked towards the kitchen, leaving a shocked and blushing Dean stuck to his chair.

#dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fic #jealous!dean #dean winchester

[fangirlingfromdownunder]

Comfort in a Fancy Restaurant

Summary - Part 34 in the Comfort series

Pairing - Dean Winchester x Reader, Reader x Sam (platonic), Reader x Bobby (father-figure), Andre (OG Character) x Reader (best friends)

Series Masterlist | Masterlist 

A/N: Serious smut warning for most of the chapter - it is their honeymoon after all. ALSO, this story has been going for a while now, and while I absolutely LOVE writing it and have more ideas for this couple I want to know if you guys are still enjoying it and want me to continue or if you want to let them “live happily ever after” from here. Let me know what you think, this story is as much for you guys as it is for me.

After a while, he finally pulls up in front of a fancy high-rise building overlooking the ocean. He shuts off the engine and you reach for the handle. “Don’t you dare,” he says as he swings his door open roughly and jumps out as quickly as he can manage in his restrictive suit. He’s opening your door and offering you his hand within seconds. You take his hand and let him help you out. He shuts the door behind you and wraps his arm around your waist holding you close as he leads you through the large automatic doors into the spacious foyer. Inside, the soft melody of live piano music envelops you, creating an atmosphere of elegance and romance. The sparkling chandeliers cast a warm glow across the room, and the gentle ocean breeze wafts through the open terrace. You glance at your husband, a loving smile exchanged between you as you take in the exquisite setting. He places a feather-light kiss on your head as he leads you towards the host desk to request a table.

“Good evening, do you have a reservation?” The host asks, flipping through the book on the stand.

Dean shakes his head, “Uh, no. But…” he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his FBI badge, flashing it at the host. “We’re in town for a big case.”

“Right this way, Officers,” the host says as they lead you to a candlelit table by the window, the panoramic view of Biscayne Bay stretching out before you.

“It’s actually Agents,” Dean mumbles as you approach the table.

The host awkwardly nods and walks back to their post.

Dean pulls out your chair for you as he says, “This is the treatment you deserve. I wish I could give you this every day.”

You give Dean an incredulous look as you take a seat. “I don’t need this every day. I don’t even want this every week. This isn’t me or us. It’s great to pretend for a night but this isn’t our life. Even if we were normal,” you make quotations with your hands, “I want a suburban life. I’m no movie star. You could be though,” you add with a wink as he sits down opposite you.

“I can’t act for shit, Babe. I told you the story of that time Sam and I ended up in that alternate universe. We were terrible.”

“I find it hard to believe Dean Winchester is terrible at anything. Apart from maybe trusting his girlfriend and not running away whenever things get tough.”

“I know I was a terrible boyfriend. I promise to be a better husband.”

You blush and gaze out the window at the panoramic view of Biscayne Bay stretching out before you. “This really is the best view. You really know how to pick a venue.”

He glances outside but then locks his eyes on you and says, “This view is nothing compared to the one I have sitting across from me.”

A soft giggle escapes your lips, and you shake your head playfully.

The waiter, dressed impeccably in a black suit, approaches your table with a gracious smile. “Good evening, My name is Alex, and I'll be your server tonight. Can I start you off with some drinks?”

Dean tears his eyes away from you briefly to address the waitress, “We'll have a bottle of your finest champagne, please.”

You nod in agreement, feeling a sense of excitement about the evening ahead. As the waiter leaves to fetch your drinks, you reach out to hold Dean’s hand, a silent gesture of appreciation. “Champagne, huh?”

“You never get wine, I know you only tolerate beer. Tonight I want to spoil you, so I’ll drink your bubbly crap and enjoy it, for you.”

Moments later the waitress returns with a bottle of way-too-expensive champagne and uncorks it at your table before pouring a glass out for each of you and Dean and leaving the bottle in a steel bucket of ice in the middle of the table. Once she leaves you hold your glass up and Dean follows as he says, “To us, and to this perfect moment.”

You clink your champagne glasses together, your eyes locked in a loving gaze. The first sip of champagne dances on your tongue, adding to the air of celebration. After putting down your glass you reach across the table to clasp his hand again. “Thank you for saying yes. This is a memory I never forget, I’d relive this dream every night.”

“And it's only just beginning,” he adds with a wink causing you to blush and avert your attention to the menus laid out on the table.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

It’s late when you get back to the hotel. The second the door’s closed behind you Dean’s hands are all over you. He pushes your back against the hardwood door as he kisses you passionately. One hand tangles in your hair while his other grips your waist pulling you close against his growing bulge. You moan against his lips as your hands start to wander, they start in his hair but slide down to his shoulders and muscular back. After a few minutes, his hands slip under your butt and squeeze as he urges you to jump. You quickly obey, wrapping your legs securely around him with your hands back in his hair.

“No more chastity. Tonight you’re mine,” he mutters between kisses.

“I’m yours. Forever,” you moan out as he attaches his lips to your pulse point just below your ear and sucks.

When he pulls away he blows a cool breath over your neck and appreciates his work. “Now everyone knows it.” He kisses your lips softly again before carrying you the rest of the way to the bed. Once his knees make contact with the soft mattress he kisses you once more before playfully tossing down on it. You gaze up at him lovingly, seeing nothing but love and lust in his gaze as he devours you with his eyes. You lift your arms above your head and stretch out seductively, urging him to join you. Sensing his sudden, uncharacteristic hesitation you sit up and crawl to the end of the bed and start to slowly unbutton his blue dress shirt. He just watches you in a daze. Once the last button is undone you turn your attention to those at his cuffs leaving a soft kiss on each of his wrists as you push the garment off his toned body. You then bring his hands to the hem of your white dress. He toys with the material for a second before lifting it up and off your body, leaving you in the sexy, white lace lingerie and heels. His eyes sweep over your body briefly before finally joining you on the bed, pushing you back to lie down under him as one of his hands slips behind your back to unclasp your bra. He flings to offending item across the room and kisses a path down between your breasts before paying special attention to each of your nipples.

“So sexy,” he rasps out as continues south, leaving soft kisses along your skin.

“Dean, Baby, stop teasing. I need you,” you moan out as you wrap your fingers in his hair trying to pull him back up to your face.

“I promised to worship every inch of this sexy body, and that’s a promise I intend to keep,” he whispers, his lips just above the waistband of your lace underwear. He briefly slips his fingers under the lace before pulling them back out and travelling further south to your ankles, forcing a groan out of you as he ignores the place you want him most. He kisses each of your ankles where your heels are strapped on as he unbuckles them and drops them to the floor with a thud. He then works his way back up your legs. By the time he finally reaches the top of your thighs again, you’re beyond soaked.

“Enough teasing. Please Dean,” you moan out, and he finally lays a kiss over your covered clit.

“Fuck, I’ve missed this body. Missed you.” Finally giving you what you want he slides your underwear off your legs and delves into you. He drags his tongue through your folds and then attaches his lips to your clit and sucks as he brings two fingers to your opening coating them in your wetness and slips them into you. You can’t help but moan out loudly at the feeling you’ve missed. You start to buck your hips against him so he brings his free hand up to your lower stomach to hold you down. He eventually moans against you, the vibrations the last straw, pushing you over the edge into ecstasy.

“That’s my girl, so good for me,” he says as he pulls away to crawl back up the bed over you. He brings his fingers up to your lips encouraging you to taste yourself, which you oblige. “You’re so good at that. But I need you now. Where’s those condoms, Baby?”

You attempt to sit up and look for them but he pushes you back down into the pillows, “Just tell me,” he says firmly.

��Flannel,” you breathe out, still a little out of breath from the intense orgasm.

He crawls off the bed and finds the flannel in question, pulling the foil packets out of the pocket. He hands one to you and dumps the rest on the bedside table. Before joining you back in bed he undoes his belt and slips his jeans and boxers off in one movement, revealing all his naked glory. You can’t help but lick your lips at the sight; however, he doesn’t give you long to revel in it as he quickly crawls back on the bed. You quickly tear open the packet between your teeth and throw the rubbish off the bed. As he kisses you passionately you slide the latex on him and lead him to where you need him most. You both moan out at the euphoric feeling.

“So tight, Baby. I’m not gonna last long. It’s been too long,” he moans as he bottoms out.

“Me either. Just please move. I can’t take this slow torture.”

He’s quick to oblige, setting a fast yet steady pace. The warm, pleasurable feeling in your core builds quickly as he thrusts. You can tell he’s fighting to hold back for you as he moans into your neck, his breath hot and laboured against it. He brings a hand down to massage your clit in an effort to push you over the edge.

“Come on, Baby. I can’t last much longer. Cum for me,” he rasps out.

You finally let go around him and he follows, shooting his load into the condom. He rolls over pulling you with him so you’re laying on his chest while you both fight to catch your breath and ride down the high. After a while, he gets up, disposes of the used latex and then ventures into the bathroom. The steady sound of water running and the exhaustion from your activities lull you to sleep.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

You wake up moments later to Dean softly kissing your forehead. When you start to stir he whispers, “Hey, I know you’re tired but we should get you cleaned up. Last time we ignored the aftercare you were in pain for a week.”

You let out a sleepy groan without even opening your eyes.

“I know, Sweetheart. There’s a warm bubble bath waiting for you.”

You ever so slightly open one eye. “Just me?”

“If you want. Or I could join you.”

“But no more sex tonight. Too tired,” you mumble as you slowly pull yourself into a sitting position.

“Just cuddling, I swear.”

You nod and he gets up and carries you to the bathroom. “Not a baby,” you grumble.

“I know. But that was pretty intense earlier. Not sure your legs could carry you,” he says with a smirk as he climbs into the bathtub and lowers you both into the warm, bubbly water. The scent of lavender wafts through the air. You position yourself comfortably between his legs with your back against his chest. You rest your head back against his shoulder as his hands softly massage your tense and tired muscles under the water. You give in to the calming sensations of his soothing hands, the warmth of the water and the effects of the lavender and let your eyelids fall closed. You know Dean can support you and won’t let you drown.

“I wish our whole life could be like this. Just you and me enjoying the peace, no big bad out to kill us,” he says quietly. When you don’t respond he carefully checks your pulse and breath to convince himself that you’re okay. Happily convinced you’re just worn out he smiles and goes back to massaging you, careful not to wake you. He rests his head on top of yours and whispers, “Thank you for convincing me to marry you. I love you so much, Sweetheart. I promise to keep you safe at all costs and do my best to give you the life you deserve. I know I don’t deserve you, but I’m gonna spend the rest of my life, however short or long, trying to be the man you deserve.”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Tag list: (Leave a like or comment on this post or let me know below if you want to be added to the tag list for this series)

@bitchwitch1981, @muhahaha303, @justrealizedimmascifygurl, @mcdowell-123, @leigh70, @marvelsmarauder, @losa12308, @tapedeck-hearts, @luvjaida, @peachtxa, @ambearsstuff, @shadow-of-a-cloud, @slut-for-buck, @iprobablyshipit91, @sassy-pelican, @fallenlilangel99, @heavenlyhopeful0, @nelachu2423, @ladysparkles78

#dean winchester x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fluff

[gaias-space]

DEAN WINCHESTER X FEM! READER X ENEMIES TO LOVERS

“Dean we’ve got nothing!” You shout frustrated. “Is Sam sure there’s even a case?” You sink in the chair of the building you were in. Sam was at the bunker with a busted knee, so he assigned the next best person he knew to hunt alongside Dean, you. You were skilled, had years of experience, and smart. You’d known the boys for years, Sam admired you, but Dean…he never knew why but you rubbed him the wrong way. But you too felt the same. Neither of you got along, you were on the brink of ripping each other’s throats at any time you were around each other. But when it came to a job both of you tried putting that aside to get the job done and then wouldn’t have to worry about seeing each other for another few months or for both yours sakes, years.

“Yeah I’m thinking that too, but the mass of deaths in this town…it’s off. But where the hell is the evidence” Dean says also frustrated. It was late, you were exhausted. And Dean, refusing to admit it, was also tired. “Alright well how about tomorrow we head into the town and speak with the local sheriff” you suggest: Dean agrees “yeah. You’re right, we’re going to have to check it out tomorrow because god…I’m so tired.” The two of you yawn. “it’s gettin late. And I want some food, I’m starving”. Deans voice was low, never once looking you in the eye. “There’s a motel not far from here, we’ll have to crash there and tomorrow we’ll look for more answers” you say. Deans brows crease and he hisses frustrated. “oh hell no. No way am I putting up with your ass got a whole night. There has to be someone who can give us any sort of information” he turns around slowly gesturing to the remaining people in the office. Your heart ached and you took a step back. “Ass” you murmur under your breath. “Dean it’s nine at night, we’ve been up since six. Not a person here has given us any- or much useful information. I say we try investigating the sheriffs office tomorrow but we need sleep and we need to do this for Sam.” your voice hopeful. Dean rolls his eyes frustrated. “Yeah…you’re right.” His voice deep and filled with annoyance. Sam had felt depressed for weeks while he was in the mend, seeing his eyes light up knowing there was a case- well how could you not do it? You sit in silence in the impala, Dean blasts his favourite songs with full intention of drowning you out if you even tried to speak. He couldn’t stand your voice, he couldn’t stand your excited rambling when you discovered something he couldn’t stand you. He just wanted this case to be over, and he was regretting taking this one since it’s taking a lot longer then he wanted it to be. The car ride was painfully long, but you couldn’t help the loud sigh of relief when Dean says “we’re here”. He pulls into a small parking lot and a small motel building. He pulls the car into an empty lot, turns the car off and looks at you. “One night, and first thing Tomorrow morning, bright and early, crack of dawn, sunny-“

“Alright, alright I get it Jesus!” You wave a hand in dismissal. “God you really are the worst” you say exiting his car, refusing to hear another word. It was now closer to ten pm, you were tired and exhausted, but now more irritated then ever. The two of you enter the small building to boom a room. In the office was a thin, scrawny young man. “H-hey what can I do for yous tonight?” He says with a squeaky voice. He has to be young, or this is his first job. Dean stands in front of you, dominant like always. “We need a room” he demands. The nervous kid flicks through the motel book and sighs happily. “Ah perfect! We have one room left and it’s perfect for you lovely couple it’s a-“

“Excuse me?” Dean interrupts. The boy chokes and there’s a shakiness to hos voice again. “Well uh there’s one room available. One double bed…”

“No! No none of that! We sure as hell ain’t a couple! Listen buddy we need two rooms or two beds anything else!” Dean slams his fist on the desk, startling the boy. You can’t help but chuckle at the situation, of course this would happen to you. “Oh I’m so sorry sir…I didn’t mean to assume. But we’re all out, that’s the last room we’ve got tonight.”

Dean sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Is there another motel nearby?” His voice lowered. “I mean not for another four hours…”

“Four hours!? What kind of city is this- god…just..fine. That will do.” He says in defeat. The boy nervously grabs the key and hands it to Dean. “C-can I have a name?…for the book I mean”. You couldn’t help. But feel sorry for the kid. He looked like he was about to wet himself. But Dean was an asshole, he had that effect on a lot of people. “Kyle Maddison” Dean says. He always used an alias especially on a job. You sank in the waiting seat you were tired, exhausted, trusted, disappointed now. The one thing you wanted was sleep, and also to get this job done and not see Dean again. But of course this had to happen. As much as you wanted to put up a fight, the idea of sleep sounded marvellous. Dean finishes up and turns around storming out the door not waiting for you. Why would he? You follow along and find yourselves at room 403. “Can’t fucking believes this” he mutters. You enter the room and he throws his bags on the small table. Both of you look at the double bed in the room. Now there was the elephant in the room. “Well what are we going to do now?” You say. Dean takes his jacket off and kicks his shoes off. “I dunno about you sweetheart but sleep sounds great right about now and this bed- oh she’s calling my name”. He smiles at the furniture and falls o to the comfortable looking mattress. “Excuse me?” You say annoyed. Dean just st looks at you confused, as if you should already somehow know the answer. “What?” Your jaw drops and you scoff. “Where the hell am I gonna sleep? Why don’t I get the bed? Ladies first and all?” Dean lets out a choked laugh “ha! Honest I paid for the room. I get the bed. And I sure as hell ain’t sharin’ so.”- he darts his eyes at the floor. A small space beside the bed that could fit your body with a little extra room. “You’ve got to be kidding me Dean” you growl. “Your fucking ridiculous” you shout. “Well that’s not my problem now is it? You’re lucky I even let us stay in here. Lucky I even paid for us to have the room. Speaking of”- deans eyes dart to the mini fridge. “Bingo”. He rolls his body out of bed and raids the mini fridge. “You know you have to pay for that?” You attempt to ruin his joy. But he just shrugs. “Ah fake credit cards, never paid a dollar for these in my life” he says muffled as he shoves chips into his mouth. “You’re actually ridiculous my god”. You couldn’t believe he was making you sleep on the floor. You notice there was a small ensuite. Perfect, a shower. Just what you needed after today. Showers always made you feel better no matter what kind of day you’ve had. And perhaps this would help with this sleeping arrangement. “I’m going for a shower” is all you say as you enter the bathroom and shut the door behind you. Dean continued stuffing his face with drinks and snacks.

***

The shower was warm and refreshing, the water trickled down your body and the rosy scented soap suds drizzled down you and into the drain. For a moment you had forgotten all about your worries. Just the warmth and comfort of the shower. You had been in there for quite some time and you were now at the brink of passing out from tiredness. You quickly finish in the shower and dress yourself in satin sleepwear, another comfort item. You open the ensuite door and are greeted with the smell of pizza. “Dean. Did you get pizza?” You ask in shock and confusion. You watch as Dean shovelled down a pizza, noticing the delivery recipet hanging on the bed. “Yeah…well, the snacks didn’t fulfill my hunger so I ya know- got food.” You could barely make out his words while he chewed. The smell of pepperoni wafted in your nose and you felt your stomach ache. You too were starving and hadn’t eaten for hours either. And now it was almost sickening. “It was a two for one special so I got you a cheese pizza” deans voice interrupts your thoughts and he points to a box on the bed. With a shocked expression you move your way to the box and take it “uh…thank you” you mutter. “Pfft didn’t do it for you. Almost considered eating that one myself. You just got lucky tonight that’s all” how voice was cold and sarcastic. Would he ever lighten up? Rolling your eyes you sit on a small stool and shovel the pizza in your mouth. More time had passed and it was closer to midnight, your stomach was full, Dean was now lying in bed trying to sleep and you, you were making a makeshift bed on the floor. as you made your bed, you huff and puffed and made all kinds of sounds expressing your annoyance and frustration with your sleep arrangement, hoping it would get a reaction out of Dean. “Look I ain’t happy about it either, the sooner we get this done the better it will be alright? You fight demons and all kinds supernatural beasts but you can’t sleep On the floor? pfft make that make sense” he snarks. Rolling your eyes you finally lay down on the hard, rough carpeted floor and attempt to find a comfortable position. “Yet, you’re too afraid to share the bed” you respond. Dean doesn’t reply he rolls over facing away from you and attempts to sleep. He couldn’t help but feel a little bad for making you sleep on the floor, it was cruel even for him, but he refused to kill his ego and sleep in the same bed with you. Soon he shut his eyes and drifted off to sleep. And you, you tossed and turned for another hour trying to get comfortable until sleep finally took you and you fell into a deep rest.

Hours had gone by, it was around 4 am when you felt something touch your arm. It’s little legs tickled your fingers, and then your hand, then up to your arms and finally, you woke to the sensation, thinking it was a dream. Your eyes fly open, and you notice and sensation was real. It was a roach from the floor, crawling on your hand. Your eyes widen and an earth shattering scream bursts through your lips. You jump to your feet waving your arm around, throwing the roach into the air. “FUCK! BUG! ROACH! AHHHHH!” You could barely make the words, Dean wakes up in a panic. Your worst fear was bugs. “What the hell Y/N?!” Dean yells. You grasp your knees breathing heaving trying to catch your breath. “There was a - a bug!…crawled on me-“ you pant. Deans face contorts, annoyance and tiredness reading all over him. “You woke me up over a goddamn bug!?” Dean yells. You were still shaken up “it was Crawling in me!” You scream. Dean signs and falls back onto his pillow. “Go to bed. Fuckin pussy” those last words he mutters, but you could still hear him. You look back at your bed, a blanket and a single pillow. If there was one roach, there had to be others. You were exhausted, your eyes barely focusing. Dean grunts and tries to fall back asleep. But no way in hell could you sleep now. What if another crawled on you? What if it went in your mouth? Or bit you somehow? Can Roaches even bite? Well you weren’t gonna try and find out. With a shaky breath you contemplate what to do. The floor was so uncomfortable you knew your back would hurt in the morning, there was also possibly a family of bugs waiting to dance in your body. But there right in front of you was the coziest looking bed right now. You sigh feeling defeated, you knew what his answer would be but you needed to try. You tiptoe over and stare at him for a moment. The moonlight illuminating his features. He looked so peaceful sleeping. His soft lips parted slightly, his arms hugging his pillow. He looked cute, almost like he could be nice. Something he’d never been to you. You reach out a finger and poke his arm, he grunts but doesn’t wake. “Dean!” You whisper. He could not have fallen back asleep that fast. “Dean!” You say louder. He jolts awake again “huh? What? Oh…for god sakes Y/n what are you doing awake? You’re not still scared about a damn bug are you?” His voice deep and tired. “As a matter of a fact yes, I’m horrified. Can I-can I please sleep on the bed? You won’t know I’m even there? Please” you whimper. He rolls his eyes too tired to argue. He was tired, he wanted sleep. Needed it infact. His eyes lazily look at you “no” is all he says before laying his head on the pillow. “But - but”- he doesn’t say a word he closes his eyes and ignores you. ‘You’ve got to be kidding me’ you thought. Well it was worth a shot. You shakily lay back down in your makeshift bed feeling unease. Dean wasn’t asleep, he couldn’t. Not after the guttural scream that came from you. He felt guilty. Why? He wasn’t sure. But it wasn’t fair for you to sleep on the floor. Dean tried everything he could to get comfortable and sleep but all he could hear was you tossing and groaning.

His tired figure rolls across and he props himself up on his arms watching you. Watching your tiny body shake and quiver. ‘God she’s really shaken up over a bug?’ Dean thought. He knew you were completely terrified of them, it was almost pathetic. He couldn’t help but feel dread and guilt. You looked so frightened, that floor did not look comfortable and after all you hadn’t annoyed him too ouch today. Perhaps he shouldn’t be so hard on you, for tonight. His arm hangs down and he shoves your shoulder, starting you awake. “Cmon. Now” is all he says. He pays the mattress beside him I. A sleepy manner before rolling back over. “Don’t make me regret this”. He mumbles. It takes you a second to realise what he said and you jump to your feet. You knew Dean wanted you up bright and early but with the broken sleep you were having, that plan was going to change. You gently slide yourself into the mattress, trying not to disturb Dean. The soft foam supported your back and the pillow under your head was the perfect fineness. Your eyes shut almost immediately, exhaustion overriding you as you fall into a deep sleep. Hours had gone by and both you and Dean had slept in. It was now 10:30 am and neither of you had woken up. The sun beams on your skin, the sound of birds chirped outside.

The second you had placed your head on that mattress you had the sounded sleep Ever. In fact possible too good- Dean was first to wake his eyes slowly blinking open. But he couldn’t move. Sleepily he looks down and it takes a moment before he freezes in place. Your head on his chest. You were sleeping in a ball snuggled tightly into Dean, peacefully sleeping on his chest and one hand over his chest. Drool escapes your lips and trickles onto this shirt. You looked…peaceful. Deans eyes widened. What the hell would he do now?

(Stay Tuned For Part Two…Coming Soon)

#smut #angst #dean smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x you #supernatural #dean x y/n #dean winchester #enemies to lovers

[impala-dreamer]

A Fighting Chance

A Supernatural Story

~ Boredom on a case leads to a bet that turns sour on Y/N~

Y/N x Dean Winchester, Y/N x Sam Winchester (no wincest)

2,973 Words

Warnings: NSFW. Light Bondage. Heavy Teasing. 

A/N: This was a commissioned fic, that was lost in the Patreon catalogue for nearly two years. I do hope you enjoy and consider signing up for my patreon so you don't miss lovely things like this ;)

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A delicate hand flowed through y/h/c hair and Y/N sighed, her chest heaving, breasts nearly popping free of the tight tank top.

Two pairs of Winchester eyes laid claim to the bountiful cleavage.

She felt them both staring and lifted her arms, stretching up high above her head. Perched on the end of the bed, she spread her knees as well, giving them a peek through the gaps of her tiny shorts.

“Oh, what a day,” she said with a lazy sigh. “Makes you just wanna curl up and go to sleep…” She flashed a look at Sam and licked her lips. “...or other things…”

Sam swallowed hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat.

Dean raised a brow and licked his bottom lip, pulling it in between his teeth. His eyes were aflame with jealousy and lust.

“Other things?” he asked.

Y/N’s eyes flickered over his chest and down, trying to see through the dark-washed jeans he wore. “Other… fun things…”

Dean squirmed in his seat and ran a sweaty hand down his right thigh. “Ah… I like fun things…”

Y/N grinned and let her hands fall to the sides, spread out along the bed’s edge. She cocked her head to the side and eyed each man, wondering which would take her up on her offer. If she were being honest, she just wanted to get fucked tonight and either boyfriend would do just fine.

“So… maybe…” Her eyes landed finally on Dean who moved to get up.

“Sammy-” he said roughly, “take a hike.”

Sam did not move, nor did he protest. He did, however, clear his throat with an air of superiority and authority.

“Ahem.”

Y/N and Dean, almost touching, froze and looked to Sam.

“We’re kinda in the middle of a case,” Sam reminded them, gesturing to the paperwork on the table in front of him. “We need to focus.”

Y/N sucked her teeth in disappointment and pouted. “You’re no fun on the road.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Ignore him. He’s just jealous I get to dive into this deliciously… juicy… pu-”

“Dean.”

Sam cleared his throat again and the lovers turned back.

Dean groaned. “Sam, come on.” He looked back at his girl and reached for her waiting tits, but Y/N held up a hand, pushing him back.

“He’s right, Dean. We have a lot of work to do.”

Green eyes filled with annoyance and sadness. “But- Five minutes… come on.”

Standing up, Y/N asserted herself, shoving Dean back a step. “First of all, you’re not gonna just climb on top of me for five minutes. I’m a lady. Secondly, we do have a lot to do and we’re always getting sidetracked with sex.”

Sam chuckled to himself, but Y/N’s head snapped in his direction.

“You too, sir,” she said firmly. “Anytime you guys get bored it’s “Hey baby, let’s go play”. We need to focus on the case.”

Dean paused, nerves twitching. “So what are you saying? We can’t have sex anymore?”

“Not on the road.”

Sam nodded. “OK. Fine.”

Dean scoffed. “Yeah right. You can’t go an hour without undressing her with your eyes.”

“So not true!” Sam countered. “I can focus. You’re the one who acts like a hound dog in heat every time she takes her coat off.”

“Screw you, Sam. I can go without sex.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I can and I have. Went fifteen years once.”

Sam laughed. “That’s because you were fifteen when you-”

“Hey! There’s a lady present.”

Y/N stepped between them. “Thank you. But I’m serious. No sex ‘till we get home.” To thoroughly end the fight, she turned tail and headed towards the bathroom, fully aware two pairs of eyes were watching her ass.

When the door closed, Dean turned back to his brother, wagging a finger. “This is your fault.”

“Please,” Sam laughed. “You can’t go a day without doing it?”

“I can.”

“I bet you can’t.”

Dean pondered for a moment. “You’re on. Fifty bucks to the man who can go the longest without sex.”

“Hands included?”

He agreed. “Fine. No sex. No walking the dog alone. No nothing. You cum- you lose.”

Sam took a breath and then went for it. “You’re on.”

Little did they know, Y/N was at the bathroom door, listening intently to their bet.

“Oh, you boys are in big, big trouble…”

Dinner was eaten over laptops, greasy hands were wiped on jeans.

Y/N made sure to exaggerate every movement she made, from swallowing a bite of pizza, to leaning over the table to reach for the salt. Every move was calculated, slowed down to the perfect tempo, all contrived to catch the eyes of her boyfriends.

She was going to fuck one of them no matter the bet.

Sam was better at being subtle and it was almost impossible to tell if he was watching. He stayed calm, breathing steady, skin holding a perfectly tanned glow.

Dean was a mess. He couldn’t help staring at her tits, or leaning closer when she leaned in. Twice, he had to stop to wipe drool from his mouth; just the idea of not getting any was making him crave nothing but getting some.

Y/N was in her glory.

After dinner, she went to the minifridge to grab them all a beer.

Her jeans were tight, hugging her ass and calves. She bent at the waist and called over to the guys.

“You want a beer? Sam? Dean?”

Hazel eyes widened at the sight of denim tugged so taut across her delicious backside. Sam caught his tongue between his teeth and bit down.

Dean whistled under his breath.

“Yeah, sure thing…”

Her smirk was private, but the way she stood back up, carrying the beer against her tits, was not. The cold bottles hit her nipples, forcing them to pop out from the thin bra and top she wore.

Sam’s breath hitched. “You uh- you look cold- let me help you.” He rushed to his feet and took two bottles from her. He towered over her tiny frame and gazed down the front of her shirt. “Damn.”

“See something you like, Stud?” she asked, tongue popping against the inside of her cheek.

He took a deep breath and shook himself. “Uh… yes?”

Y/N looked up, pretty eyes sparkling with ideas. “You can touch me,” she offered, “if you want to.”

Sam slouched, bending down to kiss her, but Dean’s snigger brought him back to reality. He jolted up and went back to his seat, awkwardly stammering: “Uh. Thanks. For the beer. Sorry.”

A disappointed pout washed over her face. “It’s fine.”

Dean cracked her beer for her and Y/N sat back, taking a long, deep drink. The room was hot and the condensation on the bottle dripped down onto her throat as she swallowed.

Dean’s attention was grabbed instantly. He stared as Y/N brought the bottle down across her throat, rolled the frosty edge over each breast, leaving a wet sheen behind that reminded Dean of dirtier things.

“Oh, you filthy tease…”

Y/N sat up, innocent eyes fixed on Dean. “What’s that?”

He startled and cleared his throat. “Um… nothing.”

She smirked. “Do you… like the way I’m holding the beer?” she asked, placing the bottle back between her tits. “The way I roll the lip over my mouth… like this?”

His mouth fell open as she cooled her lips with the chilled bottle mouth. “Y-yeah. Yeah I do. Fuck.”

Just to drive it all home, Y/N flicked her tongue over the top and Dean jumped in his seat, slamming into the table with his fist.

Sam clicked his tongue. “You OK over there? You know if you just hand me some cash you can go take care of whatever you need to…”

Dean pressed a hand down hard on his swiftly erecting cock and growled. “Shut up, Sam.”

Realizing she was up against two major players, Y/N decided to kick it up a notch.

Sinking down in her seat, she let her legs reach out under the small round table until she hit denim with her bare feet.

Both men gasped with surprise, but did their best to hide it, not realizing she was touching each of them at the same time.

With her toes, she caressed their meaty thighs and teased at their covered cocks. Above the table, she drank her beer seductively, making crude motions with her hands and the bottle neck. At one point, she drew the top so deep into her mouth that she nearly choked on the sloshing beer as it escaped onto her tongue.

Sam was losing the will to hold still. His cock was pressing hard against his jeans, trailing nearly halfway down his thigh. His vision blurred on the laptop as Y/N rubbed the sole of her foot gently over his shaft and tickled the tip with her toes.

“F-fuck…”

Dean caught his moan and tried to goad him into losing even as he nearly called it quits himself. Y/N was rolling her foot against his balls so spectacularly that Dean was afraid he might cum in his jeans.

“You know you can call the bet at anytime, Sammy. Just say the word and you can be free.”

Sam clenched his jaw and pushed Y/N’s foot away. “Not a chance.”

With Sam asserting his resolve, Y/N moved both feet over to Dean and began to work him in earnest.

He choked on a swallow and moaned. “Y-you’re killin’ me, babygirl.”

Batting her lashes at him, she made him an offer. “Well, I can stop if you wish… Or maybe we can go-”

A stiff breath in made his shoulders square. Dean sat up and pushed her feet away. “No. No thank you. Very much. Very… very much.”

Once more shunned, Y/N took her advances to the max. “I think I’m going to take a shower,” she said, standing up and setting her beer down on the table. “If anyone wishes to join me, the door will be… unlocked.”

Both men held their breath but said nothing. Their eyes followed her as she sashayed to the bathroom, swinging her hips grandly. By the bed, she stopped and pulled her tank top off, then her bra, making sure to toss them behind her with seeming abandon.

The bra landed by Sam’s foot and he bit his tongue.

Just outside of the bathroom door, Y/N paused to take down her shorts and tiny panties. She bent at the waist and let them see everything they were missing.

Dean’s chair creaked as he leaned back. “Hot damn.”

She left the door open a crack and turned on the shower.

Sam shook his head and tried to get back to his research. “You know what she’s doing right?”

“Taking a shower?”

“No. She’s teasing the shit out of us until one of us breaks.”

Dean shook his head. “Nah, she’s just-”

A tender moan floated out with a billow of steam as Y/N pleasured herself in the shower.

“That little minx!”

Sam laughed. “Told ya.”

Y/N let out another cry that sounded a lot like Dean’s name and the man shivered.

“Oh, she’s good…”

“You’re so gonna lose,” Sam said rather triumphantly until his name left her lips followed by a deep, sensuous moan. “Shit.”

Dean chuckled. “Brother, we never had a fighting chance with her around.”

Sam pressed his tongue between his front teeth and narrowed his eyes. “You’re right.”

“I know I am.”

“So why don’t we- nah…”

Dean leaned in. “No. What?”

Sam leaned back, rubbing at his jaw. “She really should be punished for being such a tease, don’tcha think?”

A grin broke out across Dean’s juicy lips. “Oh, I do…”

Y/N left the bathroom with her hair down and damp, her skin aglow, still pulsing with heat from the shower. A thin towel was wrapped around her body, clasped in a weak knot between her beautiful breasts.

The room was silent as she walked back in.

Sam sat on a chair facing the bed, his right ankle crossed and resting on his left knee. He held a stiff gaze, a single finger slung over his upper lip.

Dean was waiting for her by the closest bed, just standing, waiting with a strip of black silk in his hands.

“The water pressure in there is just… blissful,” she said, gently stretching her arms out above her. “You really should try it- Oh!”

Y/N gasped as Dean lunged for her, quickly grabbing her wrists and pulling them down behind her back.

“Oh my, Mr. Winchester!” She laughed but neither man joined her. “Wh-what’s going on?”

Dean used the ties to bind her wrists and then spun her around, his stare dark and dominant as he leaned down. His lips narrowly brushed over hers, not touching, just passing by. She sucked in a desperate breath.

“What’s going on?”

“Get on the bed.”

A rush of arousal shot through her body and Y/N held in a shiver. She knew better than to question that tone, and onto the bed she climbed.

She lay on her back in the middle of the bed and quickly felt Dean’s weight as the bed dipped on her left. “You boys wanna play?”

Dean tied her left wrist to the bedpost and then leaned over to secure the right. His shirt hung down like a curtain over her face and Y/N reached up with her lips, snagging his nipple between her teeth.

“No.” Dean pulled away, leaving the bed and Y/N cold.

“Don’t leave me,” she sang, trying to tease him back to bed even as she tugged on her wrists.

“Be quiet.”

Sam’s command drew her eyes instantly away from Dean.

Y/N watched as Sam rose from his seat with a third tie in his hand. This one was dark blue and longer than the others. Instinctually, she lifted her ankle for him, but Sam moved onto the bed, ignoring her leg.

The tie fit perfectly around her eyes.

The world was shoved into darkness.

Y/N squirmed on the bed as Sam easily plucked the knot on her towel open. Cool air hit her damp flesh and she shuddered, nipples hardening, clit throbbing.

“What’re you gonna do with me?” she asked, too excited to bite her tongue.

Sam’s breath pushed over her cheek. “Exactly what you did to us.” The growl in his voice made Y/N moan. “Tease…”

Her arms tensed as his fingertip danced over her lips.

“No real touching…”

Another hand, Dean’s, landed on her thigh.

“No fucking…”

Nails scraped down her middle calling goosebumps to the surface.

“No kissing…”

Sam’s tongue traced the outer shell of her ear and Y/N bit her lip hard.

“Just…”

Dean’s calloused fingers wove a circle around her left nipple, just light enough to drive her insane.

“...teasing.”

Sam licked at her ear once more and was gone before Y/N could turn her head to catch his lips.

“You’re so mean,” she groaned, spreading her legs wide as Dean’s hands caressed her inner thighs. “Fuck!”

“Seems like you started all this, Missy,” Dean reminded her while dragging his thumbs along the crease of each leg. “You reap what you sow.”

Her breath was quick, her body trembling with every luscious sweep of fingers across her sex and wet press of lips to her body.

“How-how much more?” she begged, unsure of where either man was, whose hands were whose, whose tongue was which and back around again. “You’re making me crazy. Please. I gotta… I gotta…”

“What?” Sam asked, suddenly down by her pussy. He pushed her legs aside with his broad shoulders and slipped in between, running the very tip of his middle finger over the sweet, swollen lips of her tiny cunt. “What do you need, babygirl? Tell me.”

Dean’s giant hands were on her tits, squeezing and massaging, leaving only long enough for his tongue to find its way to her nipples.

Y/N’s head was spinning and her body was melting deliciously into the mattress. “I- I gotta fuck you,” she breathed out, barely able to lift her tongue enough to form the words.

Sam clicked his tongue and blew a warm breath across her dampness. “I don’t know. I don’t think you’ve quite paid for your crimes.” He sat up onto his elbows and looked at his brother. “Dean?”

He chuckled. “Nah, I don’t think she’s ready yet.”

Sam pressed his entire palm up against her cunt and Y/N rocked her hips, desperate for more.

“I am!” she cried, thrashing and thrusting at nothing. “I’m ready. Please!”

After a pause, the blindfold was removed and she blinked into the soft lamplight.

Dean untied her right hand and bent to kiss her lips.

Y/N moaned into his mouth. “Yes… fuck.”

“Not just yet,” he replied, suddenly leaving the bed.

Sam took his place on the opposite side and kissed her deeply as he untied her left side. “Not tonight,” he told her, leaving just as Dean had.

Stunned, Y/N sat up and watched as the Winchesters retook their spots at the table, slipping easily back into research mode.

Her body was pulsing, on fire, and they were dumping ice on her.

“Hey!”

Two sets of eyes turned to her.

“What the hell?”

Dean smirked and shook his head, going back to his phone.

“You made the rules,” Sam said, giving her a long look before scrolling on his laptop.

Y/N gasped. “What rules? Hey! I’m all worked up over here. We’re not gonna fuck?”

Dean looked up with a grin. “Nope. Just like you said- not on the road.”

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[sittingbesideyoulikeasilhouette]

Desolate

There is no heterosexual explanation for the many stolen glances between Dean and Cas over the course of 11 seasons, so this piece is me dipping my toes into Destiel territory. This is a season 15 fix-it. This is angsty with mentions of death and mourning. I'm thinking of having this be the set-up for an actual story but I want to see if people are interested!

Pairing: Dean x Cas

TW: death, loss, violence (Dean punches Sammy), grief

If you would like me to continue this please let me know in the comments!!

It happened 7 days after they’d defeated Chuck and Jack was assimilating into his new role. God. Capital G-O-D. His surrogate son was God and even though Dean knew that Jack would make a better god than Chuck ever had, he’d miss him. It seemed like that’s all he was going to be doing for the rest of his life, missing Jack.

Missing Cas.

He fucking hates himself for not saying it back. It would have been so easy; it’s been weighing heavy on his heart for years. I love you too. But what he’d said instead was “Don’t do this, Cas” and he will never be able to forgive himself. The first time he’d almost told Cas he loved him had been years ago, at the crypt, when Naomi was controlling Cas and he’d nearly killed Dean. Beaten, bloodied and on his knees, he’d almost said it. I love you, Cas. But instead, he said “I need you, Cas.” Both were true but Cas didn’t truly understand just how much Dean needed him. He can’t blame anyone but himself, honestly, because how in the hell would Cas know he loved him? He buried his feeling under cheap booze and women, and he always made it clear that he wasn’t gay. Which, truly, Dean didn’t think of himself as gay; sure, he thought some men were attractive, but he’d never had the desire to be with a man the way he did with Cas, he didn’t gravitate around them and let himself be consumed by their orbit. Cas had been it; he was the one that made Dean feel like maybe love didn’t have a gender or an expiration date, but he was too fucking stubborn to let himself have it. He was too scared to love and to be loved. And now it’s too late. He’s alone. Cas is dead.

Sam knew but he didn’t, tried to help you he couldn’t. Sam saw the bags under his eyes and the number of empty, scattered bottles in Dean’s room was excessive, even for him. Sam knew Cas was his best friend and he knew he was mourning him in a way he never had when he died before. His death seemed so final this team that Dean didn’t dare hope that he might be able to come back. Sam tried cheering him up, he really did, hey you want to go for a drive? We can listen to Metallica’s entire discography or hey Meat Man, how about some burgers? had been the last two attempts made by Sammy, one this morning and the other at lunch. Sounds like fun, maybe some other time okay, Sammy? and I’m not hungry, maybe tomorrow? Had been his replies and Sam smiled, nodded, and let him be. So, there he was, wallowing in his bed, when Sam walked in a couple of hours later.

“Hey man, I’m heading out to get some groceries. We’re making burgers tonight.”

Dean was tired, so bone-achingly tired, so he didn’t argue.

“Sounds good, Sammy.”

As Sam was turning to leave Dean called out.

“Don’t forget the beer. Grab 2 packs.”

“No, I’m not grabbing any beer,” Sam said, turning back to look at him.

“Sam, stop, we always drink beer. This is no different.” Dean said sitting up in bed and looking his brother in the eyes.

“This is entirely different, Dean. This situation could not be further from anything we have ever experienced before. You are drinking yourself to death, man. You need to stop.”

“You don’t know what I need, Sam. Go and get the damn groceries and some fucking beer!” Dean yelled and Sam looked hurt, but he wouldn’t budge. Dean got up and walked slowly over to him until he was standing right in front of him.

“Do it or I’ll go myself, Sam.”

“Dean, stop,” Sam pleaded, looking down at him with tears in his eyes, “I know you miss him bu-“ the rest of Sam’s sentence went unfinished as Dean’s right fist connected with Sam’s jaw and he fell backwards out into the hallway.

Dean looks down at his brother and knows he should apologize. Help him get up and apologize, he told himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to do anything except tower over him. The rage felt warranted, and it made him feel alive for a second. Sam got to his feet and stared at his brother; there was no anger in his eyes and that made Dean want to punch him again.

“If punching me makes you feel better, then keep taking swings, Dean,” Sam’s voice didn’t waver, and it held no trace of resentment. Dean was sure Sam would let him beat him bloody if it meant he’d stop drinking and feel anything other than sadness over Cas. Dean considered it, he fucking considered continuing to beat the crap out his brother for no other reason other than he could, Sam told him he could, but there was a deafeningly loud boom and a subsequent clatter coming from the foyer than made them both immediately look down the hallway. Other than the noise, the red lights hadn’t come on and the alarm hadn’t gone off. What the hell was strong enough to break into the bunker without setting any of the warding off? Dean ran into his room, grabbed two guns and knives, and handed a pair to his brother. They walked side by side, eerily quiet, down to the foyer. Sam put a hand on Dean’s chest to stop him just before they turned the corner. Sam pointed to himself then signaled to the foyer in two quick motions. I’ll go first. Dean nodded and mouthed, I’ll cover you. As soon as Sam turned the corner, Dean saw a look of fear written all over his face, but he lowered his weapons anyway. What the hell was Sam looking at? Dean turned the corner behind Sam, gun pointed and knife ready, but the second he laid eyes on him, he felt like all the air had been punched out of his lungs.

“Cas?” Sam whispered and Dean dropped his weapons in a clatter at his feet.

There he was, just as Dean remembered him from a week ago. The only differences were that this Cas wasn’t scared, he wasn’t crying, or making deathbed love declarations. He was standing in front of him and Sam, wearing his trademark trench coat and a slight ever-confused look in his eyes. Dean knew that they should check, throw salt, holy water, silver, and a battery of other tests but what he did instead was shove Sam out of the way and head straight to Cas. Dean threw his arms around Cas’ neck and buried his hands in his hair. He felt Cas hug him back, almost instinctively, but instead of the usual arms around the torso, he placed his hands at Dean’s waist and pulled him closer. They stayed like that for what felt like hours, he could hear Sam sniffling from behind them and it suddenly made him realize he was crying.

“Shh I’m here, Dean, it’s okay. I’m here” he heard Cas whisper in his ear and felt his hands rubbing circles into the small of his back and he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever.

After a few seconds Dean pulled back slightly, finally looking into Cas’ blues and for a second he thought of all the things hidden in the color – sapphires, the ocean after tempest, the sky after a rainy day, Dean’s favorite toy car that his mom and dad had gifted him on his third birthday and that he still had hidden away in his nightstand – he kept his arms around Cas’ neck but asked the question he knew was also on Sam’s mind.

“How?” he breathed, and Cas smiled. He removed his left hand from Dean’s waist and plunged it into one of the many pockets of his trench coat. He pulled out a small, neatly folded piece of paper. Fighting against the part of his brain urging him to keep holding onto Cas because the universe was cruel and he might disappear if he let go, Dean dropped his arms from Cas’ neck, took the piece of paper, and walked back over to Sam who was looking at him expectantly. Once he was next to him, he held the note in front of them and opened it:

I’m hands off starting now.

- Love, Jack.

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[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Imagine...Forest Ranger Dean

Pairing: Forest Ranger!Dean x reader

“Hi,” you said into your phone, speaking as soon as you heard the other end pick up. “This is Y/N Y/L/N and I don’t mean to be a bother but there’s sort of a big black bear outside in my yard and it’s uh, not going away.”

“You want the forest ranger, Miss,” said the voice on the other end. “One moment.”

You sighed as you looked out your back window, the bear still roaming around, lazily taking a seat and laying in the sunny backyard.

“Dude, go away,” you said.

“Excuse me?” said the other end of the phone.

“Sorry. I was talking to the bear,” you said, getting silence on the other end for a few seconds.

“Can you safely tell me what the bear is doing?” he asked.

“Um, sunbathing from the looks of it,” you said.

“Remain indoors. I’ll be over there soon.”

“Charlie, go home,” said a man in a brown uniform and jeans, wandering into your backyard. The bear rolled on its side and the man ran a hand through his hair. “Charlie.”

The bear stood up and yawned before it padded out of your yard. The man walked around to the front of your house and knocked at the door.

“Thanks,” you said.

“You’re not from around here. Everybody knows Charlie,” he said. “He’s got that white tuft of fur that’s like the shirt Charlie Brown wears.”

“It’s still a bear,” you said.

“Yes, it is. Be more conscious of keeping the fence to your backyard shut,” he said. “Charlie loves to get his tan on.”

“So if I keep my door shut-“

“Charlie will just keep on passing by. Don’t feed him and keep your distance but Charlie is friendly,” said the man.

“Thanks,” you said. “Wait don’t bears like garbage?”

“I’m teaching a class on wilderness safety this afternoon if you want to stop by the rangers station. We’re right next to the entrance to the state park down the road,” he said. “Starts at 2.”

“Thanks. Maybe I’ll swing by.”

You were giving the ranger a bitch face when you finally caught his attention at the station.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said, waving you into the back room when he was done counting heads. “Come on in.”

“That’s a group of kindergarteners,” you said.

“Their teacher said it’s okay,” he said. You grumbled but followed him inside, standing along the back wall with a few other bored looking adults. “Okay little guys and gals. In case you don’t know me-“

“I know you, Uncle De,” said a girl near the front.

“I know you do, rascal,” he said, ruffling the top of her head as he walked past to the other side of the room. “For those of you that don’t know me, I’m Ranger Dean Winchester, also Emma’s Uncle, but you guys can call me Dean.”

“Can I?” asked the little girl from before.

“No, rascal,” he said with a smile. “Now sh, Uncle De’s got to tell all your friends about being safe in the woods.”

Dean went into a presentation of the local area and the animals that lived there, the types of plants that grew and basically a bunch of places they should never go without an adult with them.

“Now kiddos, who wants to go for a hike?” asked Dean. A bunch of hands shot up and you took that as your cue to leave. Dean grunted when you started to go for the door. You went back to your spot, Dean moving the kids into their smaller groups with their assigned chaperones. He paused once they were outside in the parking lot, nodding at you. “Hold up.”

“Do I really have to go on this little nature hike?” you asked.

“You won’t pass the class if you don’t,” he said with a smirk. “Come on. You’re the one I’m most worried about.”

“Me?” you said with a scoff.

“Uh huh. All those kids have parents that know what they’re doing. You...you make me concerned and I don’t want to be concerned so I’d rather you go on our little hike and learn a little bit more,” he said.

“What do I get out of this?” you asked.

“Peace of mind for one. I’ll buy you dinner tonight too,” he said with a cock of his head.

“Dinner?” you asked.

“Hey. Gorgeous single women don’t exactly move here all that often. I’m not above asking you out before somebody else in town can,” he said.

“I didn’t move here to date,” you said. “I moved here to get away from guys actually.”

“Oh. We do suck sometimes,” he said with a smirk. “One little date though? No strings. Just dinner at our one restaurant in town. I mean, it’s the least you can do after I saved you from that viscous bear this morning.”

“Fine,” you said. “You get one date, Casanova.”

“That’s all I’ll need.”

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