#For those of you that asked for black cat/white crow snippets | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

theas-bedtime-stories · 8 years ago

Text

Drunken Mistakes

Summary: Dean gets mad at reader one night when he has had too much to drink

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 6,044 (this one ran away from me a little)

Warnings: mentions of cheating, physical fight, implication of smut? or soft smut (idk what to call it)

A/N: Okay so this is my entry for ‘Michelle’s 2K follower challange’. Congrats @luci-in-trenchcoats on 2k and I hope you like this. Quote I got “Your problem is that nobody hates you more than you do”. I hope you guys like this, first time writing in this ‘x reader’ style so feedback would be much loved

It had been an exhausting hunt, the djinn you and the boys had been hunting down had managed to get a hold of Dean. He had refused to tell you what his dream had been off, saying it was ‘nothing special’ and that he didn’t really remember it. You knew he had lied though; on your drive back to the bar opposite your motel the boys had started talking about the hunt as soon as they thought you had fallen asleep on the back seat of Baby. You had heard snippets of their conversation through hushed whispers, they spoke of how Dean had been living in a white picket fence neighbourhood, with the two of you caring for your first child, Bobby, whilst Sammy was living across the road with Jess. It sounded like a beautiful world, where the family business was ‘shaving people, styling things’; best of all there were nothing going bump in the night which meant that Mary was still alive and had moved to Texas with John.

Sammy had made the decision to drop you off at the motel without waking you so that you could sleep whilst the boys went to the bar. It was then that you chose to announce your mental presence, yawning, unnecessarily loudly, as you over stretched your arms and sat up; there was no way you were missing out on the celebratory beer, besides, this was your hometown and you would be damned if you didn’t make the most of the night here…

The gentle roar of the impala faded out as Dean pulled into the only free space around. As you get out of the car you lean against the door for a second, taking in the environment. Directly in front of you is an old bar in which you spent many of your weekends with your closest friends. The wooden door still had a splintered hole which was just to the right of the doors centre; an accessory which was a result of Rob eagerly showing off his dad’s new shotgun before he accidentally fired it – almost killing the owner’s cat. The fluorescent lettering was flickering, what should have spelt “The Drunken Angel” now read “Th D unk An el”, not quite the same thing but it made you and the boys laugh. There was silver tape haphazardly strewn where a window should have been, allowing the smell of pie and beer to float out into the surrounding air, teasing those who stood outside; tempting them to come in. The inharmonious racket that was breaking out from within the four walls told of the boisterous individuals inside. From the corner of your eye you can see that Sam and Dean have overly-enthusiastic smiles plastered across their faces, the excitement poorly restrained. Pushing yourself off of Dean’s pride and joy you begin to make your way into the all-too-familiar stench of alcohol with the boys hot on your tail.

It isn’t long before Dean has drunk enough shots for the entirety of the Dallas Cowboys team. Calling to the bartender to put on some tunes, he begins dancing before the music has even started, swinging his arms back and forth before him as he shimmies his chest whilst simultaneously rocking his hips from side to side. Looking over to you then Sammy for encouragement with a proud grin, once he realises that you and Sam are laughing at him rather than with him he pretends to throw a fishing line at you, reeling it in in hope you will do the oh so cheesy fish move. It is at that exact moment that the music starts up, as though Rick the bartender felt sorry for you. Gasping at the realisation that it is one of your favourite songs, Dean grabs your wrist and pulls you against him on the dance floor. Leaning on you to help hold him upright he places your hands around his neck before gently resting the flat of his palm on your lower back. Slowly you sway together, not quite in time to the music but you are more focused on the warmth radiating from Dean. You can feel his hands begin to slowly slide down your body, the rest of him follows as he loses all coordination and control of his limbs. Straightening your arms into a rigid position below each armpit you look to Sam for support, Sam only laughs before finally giving in and offering up his assistance.

“Why don’t I look after Dean in the booth over there” he says, gesturing with his head to the nearest, vacant, booth. “Go relax, have fun!”

Raising an eyebrow in response, you watch on, bemused as Sam heaves his lump of a brother into the seat; or at least tries to. You reach out to help but Sam just grunts an “I’ve got this!” before attempting to bat your hand away with his left hand. An action which causes Dean to fall a little closer to the ground, Sam catching him just before he could actually make contact. Shrugging your shoulders you look around the room, there wasn’t really much to see or do, you don’t recognise many of the men in the establishment and those that you do recognise you aim to avoid at all costs. Therefore you decide the best thing to do is to just dance in the middle of the area on your own; your natural rhythm kicks in as your hips glide in a figure of eight to the velvety tones of Jason Manns’ vocal chords smoothly drifting over the notes. You allow the words of ‘Sittin on the Dock of the Bay’ to take over, your fingertips running over the tops of your thighs and your hips, losing yourself to the music you don’t notice how the eyes of every man in the bar are on you, everyone’s except Sammy’s who’s back is turned to you as he attempts to force his brother to drink something other than beer. His mission fails miserably as Dean’s green eyes are glued to you with a look of pure adoration, as the song begins to draw to a close you saunter over to your hammered boyfriend and his slightly less hammered brother. Just as you are about to kiss the smirk off of his face you hear the ceasing of footsteps behind you followed by a “Y/N?” and you can feel Dean’s shoulders tense under your fingers at the newcomer.

Turning to face the voice’s owner, ready to pounce, you are stunned into silence at the vision before you. A full grown man, which was a mere shadow of his former self, loomed above you. His sweet brown eyes were accentuated by crow’s feet, he had stubble around full lips, his dimple below the mole on his left cheek gave him an even deeper beauty, the beaming face was framed by wisps of thick black hair which looked like he had a taken a page right out of Sam’s book. A soft hint of an Australian drawl could be heard as he once again addressed you “I knew it was you! I would recognise that dancing anywhere!” You throw your arms around his neck with enough force to cause him to rock back on his heels.

“My god how long has it been?”

“Feels like a lifetime! But in reality about 9 years”

“Gosh I have missed you Mattie” You turn to Dean to introduce him, you spot the look of utter confusion making up his physiognomy. You decide he is far too gone for you to even attempt to fill him in on your history with Mattie.

“Sammy you mind babysitting this one?” You ask as you jab your thumb in Dean’s general direction

“Nah, couldn’t think of anything better” Mocking disgust at his sarcasm you turn to Mattie who is doubled over; one arm behind his back and the other folded across his stomach

“May I have this dance malady?” He says, extending his hand for you to take.

“Why of course kind sire” And with that he lifts you into the air, placing you down in the middle of the floor. The two of you begin to jive as ‘Baby Like to Rock It” by The Tractors draws to an end, giggling at your poor timing the two of you fall into an embrace as “When a Man Loves a Woman” begins to play. His chin lightly rests on the top of your head as you lean into his lean body, the last time the two of you danced like this was ten years ago at your 18th birthday party. It had been about eleven in the evening, the majority of your friends were passed out on the couch or silently dancing together to this very track, you had felt just as safe in his arms then as you did in this moment. It was the thought of this safety that led you to act without thinking of the consequences; it was then that you kissed your best friend on the cheek.

You hear a loud thump followed by a “Fuck. DEAN!” The next thing you know Mattie is throwing you to the floor, landing besides a dishevelled Sammy, and Dean has got his hands around Matt’s throat. You can tell that Dean has sobered up entirely, as steady on his feet as he is on a hunt, he has got Mattie’s feet desperately trying to find solid ground whilst his fingers scratch at Dean’s hands. Never before have you frozen in the midst of a fight but this was different. This time, the man that you love isn’t attacking a monster or a killer, he is attacking your best friend and you had never seen such pure desire for destruction of something that posed no threat. In all honesty it scared you a little, and it would have turned you on were it not Mattie who was at the receiving end of Dean’s incredible strength.

Matt’s hands were no longer fighting as enthusiastically as they had been, you could see he was turning a very pale, very unhealthy, colour. Luckily Dean saw this too, so decided to relieve the pressure a little, slamming his target against the floor of the bar, kneeling over Matt’s weak body. Turning to look to Sam for assistance you could see he was already standing, assessing the best way to stop Dean, he decided just to go for it and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling with all his strength. Though Sammy was taller, Dean was the more stubborn, elbowing his younger brother in the face before continuing to pummel his fists into Matt’s torso; using the same patterning he had taught you. You watched on in desperation, barely aware of your own voice screaming stop, as Dean’s right hook crashed into the base of Mattie’s ribs, barely a second went by before he repeated this but on the other side. Dean repeated this, left right left right, until he grew bored, or felt that is was no longer inflicting enough pain, you breathed a sigh of relief as Dean sat up, breathing heavily with his fists hanging limp at his side, with his eyes now vacant there was a calmness to him which gave you hope that he was finally finished. Cautiously you rose to your feet, taking those few short steps over to him, tentatively you reached out, touching Dean’s shoulder lightly. Slowly he lifted his head, looking you in the eye, instead of finding comfort in your presence like he usually did, he saw something that sent him overboard; his expression twisting into one of unadulterated rage as he battered his cracked and bloodied fist into Mattie’s face.

Sensing that Dean would not be stopping anytime soon, Sam once again attempted to prize his brother of off your best friend. This time he was successful; putting an end to this sanguinary event. Dragging Dean out of the bar and into the backseat of the impala whilst Dean flailed about, fighting to break free, but Sam had a stronger grip than before. You could see the mental and physical concentration that the task was requiring, as Sam’s brows were deeply furrowed and his lips were curled up into a snare. You knew you should go give Sammy a hand but there was no way you were abandoning Mattie when he was in this state. Gently elevating Matt’s head, you tuck your knees under him so that he won’t choke on any blood in his throat and really for your own comfort as much as his. You gently run your fingers through his hair, whispering “sorry” over again in between promises of “it will be okay” and reassurance that you won’t leave his side no matter what.

You’re on your hundredth repetition of an “I’m right here baby, you are going to be okay” when Sam came running back in asking if there was anything he could do to help. You knew he was only trying to help but you couldn’t have Dean anywhere near you right now, sobbing you beg him to “just get him out of here”, thinking you meant Matt, he goes to scoop him into his arms but you point in the general vicinity of the car. “Him! Get that Demon away from me!” you scream, your strength collapsing as you whisper go. With that Sam nods, understanding that it is not him you are angry with and the shouting is directed towards Dean but he is too far away so Sam is happy to step in as the punching bag. You don’t even see him leave as you hang your head in defeat, tears streaming down your face, hair tickling the already forming patches of blue and purple on Matt’s cheeks. Somewhere behind you, you can hear Rick on the phone to 911, giving them the address of the bar to pass onto the paramedics. Yes an ambulance is on its way, no it won’t be long, just hold on they are only 20 minutes away, no there is no ambulances in closer proximity, try not to move him any further, don’t let him go to sleep. Just as Rick confirms that he saw the attacker you shoot him a look, one he recognises immediately as meaning to keep that piece of information between you, therefore all he tells them is that the man responsible was a white man in jeans and a black shirt and that he is sorry he couldn’t give a more helpful description. You mouth a silent thank you, receiving a nod in response as he finishes answering the respondent’s questions.

All you can do now is wait, praying to Castiel in hope that he will heal Mattie, or keep you company at least.

You had waited at the bar until the ambulance came, insisting that you rode with him to the hospital. Holding his hand the entire way, whilst his was limp and unresponsive in your own. Sam had called you begging for you to come home, insisting that Matt would pull through and that you were no good to him or yourself whilst you were exhausted and angry. It was more for Sam’s sake than your own that you had decided to hitchhike your way home, not that you told him that was what you were doing, it was for the benefit of your best friend that you swallowed your anger as you stood outside the bunker.

As you made your way down the stairs you could see an exhausted Sam, presumably passed out, with his head in the crook of his arms laid out on the table. A mop of brown hair was the main identifiable aspect of the slumped figure before you, logically it would seem as though Sam had waited up for you, for the entire three hour drive from Nebraska, and that wasn’t including the time it took to find people who were willing to take you small sections of the journey. What you couldn’t see though was a sign of the other Winchester. Deciding not to think too much about it, about him, you decide to wake Sam so that he can move into his real bed and relax a little.

Reaching out to lightly tap him on the shoulder, you haven’t even crossed half the distance before Sam has his wrist gripped tight around your wrist. His fingernails cutting into your thin skin, a predatory growl rises in his throat it was the sort of sound that you thought would come from a lion if poked with a stick one too many times. You couldn’t quite tell but none the less you were certain that his eyes were still closed beneath the now, demonically, dishevelled locks; despite this it was as though you could feel the fire in his eyes directed towards you. Convinced that even a twitch of the toes might send him into attack, you held your breath, as you watched the heavy pattern which his chest appeared to follow whilst small bursts of air were sharply exhaled through his flared nostrils with every fall of his chest. You could feel the blood starting to rise to the top of your skin as Sam’s grip tightened, cracking your bones slightly. Despite this you remain calm, observing that his sporadic breathing had slowed a fraction, interpreting this as a chance to act your quietly whisper his name, one this doesn’t seem to worsen his state you try again but this time with the term of endearment both you and Dean use specifically, the only people who are allowed to; “Sammy?” you purr. It appears as though he recognises your voice, or the name, as his grip loosens slightly. Still afraid to move you remain in your exact positioning as you start to talk him out of his attack; “Sammy? Baby? It’s Y/N, I’m right here…” trailing off you notice his shoulders are no longer so dramatically hunched over. “It’s going to be okay, I won’t let anything happen to you.” His breathing has returned to almost normal, deeming it safe enough you slip your hand out of his grasp, re-positioning it above his head. Tenderly you begin to stroke his hair, humming promises of safety. “Shhh, don’t worry, Little Winchester is home and she’s going to make you coffee and pancakes”, as he rests his head against your stomach you continue to sooth him with hushed tones, the same way you had comforted Mattie almost a day ago.

Regaining his composure he pulled away, running his hand down your arm in gratitude, knowing that right now you could really do with someone taking care of you instead of the other way around. Smiling sadly, he informs you that he had given Dean a time out. “I locked him in his room, he is probably sulking, probably still a little drunk, I’m not too sure of the situation if I am honest…” he started explaining, but realising you really just needed a distraction he switches up the atmosphere, returning to his bubbly self instead of the serious quiet of a concerned brother. “I know exactly what you need!” Without warning he tucks when arm under the back of your and places the other against your shoulder blades, scooping you into his arms he carries you into the kitchen. Plopping you down on the counter-top he points a finger at you as he tells you to ‘stay’. Doing as you are told, you sit still, the only things moving were your legs which were swinging back and forth against the counter and your head which was following Sam around the kitchen as he flitted from one cupboard to another. Next to you a mound of ingredients was beginning to form; two glass bottles of the best Maple Syrup around, three lots of 250 ml tubs of ice cream in chocolate, honeycomb and vanilla accompanied by two silver serving spoons, a selection of chocolate bars and a bottle of red wine to top it off. Cocking an eyebrow in Sam’s direction he just shrugs “you mentioned pancakes”.

This was certainly not pancakes. This was diabetes and heaven combined.

You hadn’t expected wine mixed with ice cream to taste so sweet, the two of you were sat at the table, shovelling scoops of ice cream out of the tubs and into your mouths, before swallowing you would drop broken up bits of chocolate into the others open mouth and squirt a dollop of maple syrup on top. It was the moments like this that you loved, you and Sam had always had a good relationship, way before you and dean had. As you were placing another spoonful of honeycomb on your tongue, you noticed a mischievous gleam in the eyes of your partner in crime, running the spoon along your tongue to get the remainder of the ice cream of, you studied him. As soon as you placed the spoon back in the pot Sam had his arms around your waist and was pulling you onto his lap, he allowed you to reach for your spoon and bring the food slightly nearer before he gave you a massive bear hug; it the kind that made you melt into his body, seeking the comfort and safety that his giant form provided. You sat like that in silence for a moment, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his hair tickling your nose, you were content to just remain this way but he had other ideas. You felt the muscles in his arms tense as his arms around your waist tightened their grip to hold you in place. “Y/N…” He sounded cautious, as though he didn’t know how to proceed, you could feel his jaw shift as he chewed the inside of his cheek, searching for the right words.

Just as you thought he had decided not to say anything more, his posture changed as his back straightened, allowing him to reach his full height and tower above you. Damn this was serious. With a clearing of the throat he continued. “You really should go talk to him”

“I know, but I just can’t right now.”

He responded whilst rubbing his thumb in small circles on your waist. “I know you’re mad and upset. What he did was unacceptable…”

“Damn right it was!” You interrupted.

“BUT, if you guys don’t talk about it, it will eat you alive.” You pulled away slightly to get a better look at his face. His eyes locked onto yours, nothing but pure concern for you was in them, you got the feeling he wasn’t doing this for his brother bu1t instead for you.

Ducking your head, you whisper out a confession. Your stomach tying into knots as you finally allowed the truth to be revealed. “I’m scared Sammy.”

“I know Y/N. I know. But it will get better I promise.”

“Of him…”

To that Sam had no response, speechless with shock, he looked you over with his mouth agape. Cupping your head in his hands he pulls you against his chest, kissing the top of your hair, rubbing his free hand along your arm. Grateful that he didn’t push it any further you decide that, if you are unable to trust your best friend, with the things that were worrying you, than how the hell were you going to survive this lifestyle. Sure there was Dean but that was different. He never stood back, he was never able to just listen. You knew that this was a safe space, that Sam would never push you to tell him more or start an argument or get over-protective. He just let you do whatever you needed to too get by.

“I know Dean and I fall out a lot, over the little things, but that’s never like this. It’s over in a handful of minutes. It’s usually all words or the silent treatment. But this, this is different.” Stroking your hair to let you know he was still listening, you took it as encouragement to carry on. “He almost killed someone Sam!” “I just, I am scared he will hurt me…”

Holding you closer to his chest Sam finally said something in response, “He would never dream of hurting you Y/N. I don’t think he physically could even if he tried.”

“The only other time that I have seen him so violent was when he had the mark, and even then he was able to focus it on the bad guys.”

Pressing his lips into a firm line, you can practically hear the gears churning away in Sam’s head; an audible ding sounding as they settle into place. “He won’t hurt you, I promise he won’t. If you go talk to him I will be right outside waiting to come a distressed damsel. You can use our code word if anything goes wrong. How does that sound?”

“Logical.” You laugh before adding to your response. “I think you’re right. I should go talk to him…”

Sam nodded encouragingly as you paused with one hand wrapped around the door knob, the other ready to turn the key to unlock the door. With a deep breath you opened the door. You were greeted by sight of a very angry, very tense, 6 foot 1 monster who was pacing in the corner of the room. Clearing your throat, you take a step forward, pausing as the man turned around, catching sight of you. You could see his fists forming a ball as his eyes searched yours for a moment. Within a split second he was slamming the door, too pissed off with you to see Sam stood to the left of the doorframe, his voice was hoarse as though it had been unused for the past handful of days. Though gruff there was no weakness behind the deep rumble which you had fallen in love with. “How the hell could you do this to me Y/N!?” As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, he waved dismissively, deciding he wasn’t done just yet, his voice was at full volume in a mixture of desperation and anger. “How could you have the audacity to come in here as though you did nothing wrong?”

Refusing to give in to the bait, you force yourself to remain calm. “Dean. What did I do?”

“You know” he growled, rocking on to the balls of his feet before taking a step back, his index finger jabs in your direction as he scoffs; repeating himself.

“I don’t. If I did I wouldn’t have asked”

“You cheated” He laughs, throwing his hands up in mock-disbelief “Right in front of me!”

He stares at you, waiting for an excuse, but it takes you a moment to process the accusation. “I did no such thing Dean… and you know it”

Once again Dean resorted to elevating his voice in order to get his point across, a flush of red was creeping up his neck, tinging the base of his earlobes. “You’re a lying whore who cares about no one but themselves” he spat, stalking around the bed to get closer to you. His words hurt and he knew it so you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Dean you -”

“I what Y/N? Don’t try and twist this like you always do” he snarled.

It was below you, you knew that, but you had had enough of this bullshit and you just wanted to skip the shouting, skip the cutting words and hateful looks, you just wanted to fast forward to the inevitable makeup. Rising, well sinking, to his level you began to shout back “THE HELL ARE YOU ON ABOUT DEAN?! He is my friend!”

“Friends isn’t exactly the right word…” he scoffed “I know you feel trapped here. And I know you hate me! All you had to do was tell me, you didn’t have to go make out with some stranger at a bar!” His breath was audibly laboured, laced with emotion, no longer pure anger, instead you could feel his heart breaking as he retreated to his core emotion of self-hatred.

Scared of him returning to the bad place you know he always does in these situations you try to calm yourself, breathing deeply to balance out his shallow puffs. Your voice was still shaky as you reached out to him, your fingers stopping short of his jaw as he flinched away from your touch. Letting your arm fall, heavy, against your side before muttering his name. He continued to shout over you, no longer forming coherent sentences, instead just trying to express his pain. Repeating his name, once, twice, on the third time he stops for a split second, looking at you intensely before continuing his rant. Clearly you were getting nowhere and the only way to get through to him is to play him at his own game.

Raising your voice to match the ferocity of his, you let loose “I HAVE KNOWN MATTIE SINCE HIGH SCHOOL DEAN! ALL HE HAS EVER BEEN TO ME IS MY BEST FRIEND! AND YOU ALMOST KILLED HIM. So tell me that I have no right to be here, no right to be angry, because lord knows I have more right than you do.

“You hate me! I know you do. But you didn’t need to be so cruel Y/N��

You may not have used the code word that Sam had assigned you, but somehow he knew that things were the opposite of okay, you caught a flash of brown hair out the corner of your eye as Sam popped his head round the door frame. “Gu-” he hasn’t even finished the first word of his sentence before you and Dean shout “not now Sammy!” in unison. The comforting smile that had revealed the younger Winchester’s dimple quickly fell away, a deep sadness taking its place in his viridescent eyes. Defeated he turns away, his head bowed as he walks back to what you presume to be the library.

Ignorantly you look at Dean for guidance, searching his face for some sign of whether or not you should leave Sam to have some space or not. Unsurprisingly, there is no help being offered, instead, Dean is rubbing his jawline, sighing he gestures with his right hand towards the now empty hallway. “Now look what you’ve done Y/N”. His hand falls back against his side, in response you just stare at him, mouth agape as your head shakes in disbelief. Granted you weren’t innocent, but you weren’t holey responsible either.

Spinning on your heel you follow in Sam’s footsteps, determined to go apologise for your behaviour, stopping in the entrance with one hand on the door frame, you hang your head before looking over your shoulder towards the man you loved. “Your problem is that nobody hates you more than you do. It’s that self-hatred that prevents you from letting anyone love you”. With that you carry on down the hall, past the dungeon in the direction of the library. No longer full of anger your brain is now running over what happened with Sam and what happened to Mattie. You are in the middle of making a mental note to drive back to the hospital after you have checked on Sammy when you feel a strong grip on your wrist.

Holding your breath you hope to Chuck that it is just Cas, finally making an appearance, the man behind the interruption spins you round to face him, doing so with such force that you almost slam into his chest. Looking up, expecting to find the comfort of bright blue eyes and furrowed brows, your heart drops into your stomach as you are met instead with intoxicating Green eyes. “My brother was right Y/N. We need to talk this through”. Disgusted but exhausted all you can muster in response is “What is there to talk about Dean? I’m tired of fighting and I just want to go look after my friends.” With that you pull your wrist free, storming off to your room, Sam could wait – you were no good to him like this. You text him an apology instead, accompanied by the promise of a real one when you have calmed down.

Your phone vibrates with a response a second after you have jumped onto the bed. “It’s okay, I understand it was just bad timing. I hope you are okay x” Smiling to yourself at the selflessness of his words, you barely notice Dean now standing in the doorway, looking at you with a combination of adoration and pain. Catching sight of his bowed legs you adjust to increase your sense of power; Straightened back, arms crossed, chin tilted towards the sky. Refusing to speak your gaze holds his, unless an apology was going to be the next that thing out of those plumps lips, you weren’t interested in hearing it. It was the sight of his tongue rolling over his bottom lip which cracked your façade, not enough to be noticeable but you could certainly feel yourself growing angry, not only at your boyfriend but also at yourself. The next thing you know you are stood between the door and the bed, you could hear your voice telling Dean to leave, could feel your lips moving without your instruction. In response Dean slams the door, his brows furrowed as he continues to stare you down. “You’re meant to be on the other side of the door” you snap in frustration.

“You just can’t help yourself can you Y/N?” Striding towards you with some surely dark intention, “Can’t keep your eyes of other men.” You felt your back come into contact with something hard, running the palms of your hands against the object, the heaving of your chest became less rapid, deeper almost, as you realised you were pressed up against the wall. “You look at them with that same hungry gaze you used to look at me with.”

Unwilling to lose this battle of will, you elect to stare him down with your chest heaving in anticipation as the adrenaline pumps through your veins. Beneath furrowed brows were green eyes, dark with anger, or perhaps it was lust. Your eyes wander to his lips just as his tongue darted out, flicking over his bottom lip. Neither of you wanted to be the one to break the silence but Dean finally gave in to his anger snapping at you; “You know what Y/N?”

“WHAT?”

“I can’t fucking stand you” and with that his calloused hands were grabbing your face as his lips carelessly crashed against yours. You could feel the hunger emanating off him as your fingers instinctively wove their way into his hair, pressing your lips against him even harder than they already were. You roll your hips against his thigh which was between your legs, the blatancy of your craving for contact drew a moan from his throat. With that Dean was pulling his hands away, you groaned at his sudden absence, he repositioned them on your hips before parting your lips with is tongue. His hands made quick work of your jeans, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, dipping his head to kiss along your jaw and collarbone as he stripped you of your bra.

Running your fingers down from the back of his head you tug his flannel shirt of his shoulders; the lean muscles of his back were soft beneath your touch as you dug your nails into his exposed torso. Growing impatient he works on his own belt, throwing it to the side haphazardly, Dean never once breaks contact with you. Once he was fully exposed, his body still pressed against yours, you felt his hands running down the back of your thighs. Hearing his unspoken words you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist as he supports your lower back. It isn’t long before he is throwing you on your bed, growling as he leans over you with his hips slotted between your legs.

Perhaps arguing wasn’t the worst thing the two of you could do.

A/N: Thank you to @the-petite-lion and @rosey-persephone for keeping me encouraged and helping me workout what the hell I was doing with this <3

333 notes · View notes