devilsqueen722

[devilsqueen722]

Don't Let This Pass

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, humor, forced proximity, fluff, smut (oral f and m receiving, p in v sex,), light angst, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: Dean is your best friend, and nothing more, no matter how much you want that to be different.

But he's trying to tell you something. And when you get trapped together for a week, he finally gets the chance.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I lost my goddamn mind.

Word Count: 17.7k

“Are you smelling this, sweetheart?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, wrinkling your nose as another blob of something drifts past your feet. “We’re standing next to each other, Dean.”

Dean points his flashlight up, enough for you to see his grin in the dark. “You remember when Sammy farted last month, then pretended it was my Baby leaking something?”

You snort, kicking away something strangely hard that you don’t want to think about. “Yeah?”

“Least this still isn’t that bad.”

You look up to give him a flat, amused look, and freeze. 

“Dean-“

“C’mon, he’s not here-“

“No, Dean, fuck-“

You grab out your gun, aim it right over his shoulder, and shoot. 

The last swamp monster thuds into the water, and Dean stares at you with wide eyes.

“Uh, how close was I to bein’ a swap snack?”

You shrug, giving him a small smile. “Don’t undervalue yourself, dude. You would have been swamp dinner.”

Dean snorts, wading through the water to your side, and rests his hand on your back. There’s no real reason for him to do that. You’re standing up just fine. No serious injuries. No panic. 

He’s just touching you. Casually. The way he always has, without thought, because he trusts you enough not to turn around and try to cut off his hand. 

And it’s always driven you out of your mind. 

Dean’s casually put his hand on your body since you met him. Since the first hunt, where he and Sam saved the helpless little vampire victim, and you tried to shoot them because you didn’t know that the people carrying machetes were the good guys. Dean had put his hand on your upper arm and lower back, helped you to your feet, and been the most beautiful thing you’d ever seen. 

You can still feel where he touched you, all those years ago. It’s branded a level right under your skin, the lightening and fire sensation of a broad, rough hand being so gentle on your skin. And every time he’s touched you since, you’ve still been able to feel it. Sinking deeper and deeper, spreading and growing with every accidental brush of his hand and shoulder bump and time you’ve been pressed right against him on a hunt. It’s going to burn forever. You don’t want it to go out, even if it drives you out of your mind. 

Days the bunker is empty, and you lock the door to your room with your legs spread. Whenever he makes you—and Sam, but that’s not important—breakfast. If you’re watching a movie, and he puts his arm over your shoulder because he’s comfortable. Every time he whispers a joke in your ear, grins so wide when you laugh. Every fucking night you have to spend in the same room with him, pretending you don’t feel like you’re burning alive with a light that won’t flicker out. 

Most motels don’t offer three beds. So there are times where the couch fits Dean—never Sam, and you’re not allowed to sleep on the couch because they’re dumbasses who think they’re gentlemen—and times where you just have to suck it up and share. 

Sharing with Sam is fine. You can’t grind into the sheets as the fire sweeps into your core—Dean likes to walk out of the shower without a shirt, and he might hate you—because fucking Sam is right on the other side of the bed. 

When you share with Dean, it’s… different. 

You can’t fuck yourself then, either. But it becomes unbearable. Your body seems to ache, just to touch him. Sometimes the light will be angled just right through the window, and you’ll be able to watch the passing headlights of the cars drift over his pretty face. 

Because Dean’s face is still so fucking beautiful. It’s one of those few things you know will never change. 

But you don’t want anything to change. Change is the thing that leaves you alone, dead in the water, trying to use the stars to guide yourself when the sky is pitch black. You’ve never been good at it. When you joined hunting, it took months for you to fully adjust just to living in the bunker. 

Dean had gotten you through that. Made you comfortable. Taught you how to hold a gun, and throw a punch, and made you waffles when you’d finally managed to knock him on his ass. 

“I know you went easy on me,” you’d told him, spraying the whip cream on your plate, and he’d chuckled. 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.”

“It’s okay,” you’d shrugged. “Next time you can go all out, and I’ll still win.”

Dean had grinned at you, and you’d felt that heat rising to your cheeks. It wasn’t fair how he could do that. How you’d gotten so good at being around him and not acting like just one word in your direction made you feel high. At this point it had just been a crush, on the big handsome man who saved your life. 

Even then, it had still felt like a massive, consuming type of crush. The kind like a tree, that wouldn’t stop rooting into your heart and growing. The kind that you’d known would get you in trouble, if you weren’t careful. 

“Sure you will.” Dean had reached for the whipped cream can, and you’d whacked his hand with it. “Hey, c’mon-“

“I’m not done.” You’d finished the pile with a little swirl, and passed him the can with a smile. 

He’d stared at you, then the whipped cream mountain. “You trying to drown yourself?”

“Maybe.” 

Dean had reached forward, taken some on his finger—ruining the artwork, but it had been Dean, so you were never mad—and dabbed it on your nose. He’d laughed at your glare, and you’d tried to bite his finger. 

It had just made him laugh harder. 

“You look cute.” He’d said, lookin back to his own waffle, and it had been like being shot up with fire. 

He thought you were cute. Dean thought you were cute. And he’d touched you again. And maybe if you’d asked him to, he could have kissed you and you could run your hand through his hair and taste the salt of his sweat, and he could show you how to do a few other moves, right here at the table, and- 

“You good?” He’d asked you, and he’d sounded concerned. Not starved for you, just worried. Like a friend would be. 

And you didn’t want anything to change. This was already better than you could have dared to ask for. 

So you’d smiled at him, and nodded. 

And nothing ever had to be different.

Friends. 

You were so fucking lucky just to be his friend. The one-night stands came and went, and you were still here, with Dean. You could take that. 

Take it, and use it to kindle all that heat in your body. Burn it and burn it until it was ash. 

Keep pretending that your hunger and fever for Dean would ever go out, when you know that this is forever. 

You’ve known it was love since you were in a diner, almost a year ago, and he made the waitress get you the children’s coloring mat, because it had crossword puzzles and you didn’t want to ask. 

“Don’t bother her, Dean

“I’m not bothering her, sweetheart, it’s asking her to carry freakin’ paper-“

“No, it’s stupid, I’ll get a newspaper-“

“We’ll get you a newspaper after.” He shrugged, giving you a shockingly serious look. “But it’s not stupid. You’re not stupid. We’re getting that kids mat.”

You’d flushed, and nodded. And you loved him. 

Love him. 

Now, even in the swamp monster mess, his touch and attention do the exact same thing to you. It’s going to drive you out of your mind, one day. But you don’t want to try and stop it. 

That would mean moving yourself away from Dean, where he couldn’t touch you. And it might not even do anything, but make you miss him. Make things change. 

So you’ll lean slightly into his touch—just in case—and smile at him in the dark. 

When he smiles back, it’s like the whole world lights up. 

And you never want that to change either. 

“You think we need to clean this shit up?” He nods around you, making a face as a fresh wave of swamp-stench drifts through the air, and you shake your head. 

“Can I suggest an alternate plan?”

Dean nods. “You know I love a backup, sweetheart.”

You flush again, bowing your head to make sure he won’t see. “I vote we just blow it up.”

“That’s a plan.” He bumps your shoulder, and you can hear the joy in his voice. “I’m team blow it up.” He pauses. “Can I-“

“Yeah.” You smile at your feet. “You can do the work.”

“Awesome.” He starts to walk towards the exit, and all you can do is follow him. “Then we’ll get all this shit off us.”

You hum an agreement, and try not to pick apart his happiness too much. It’s always good when Dean is happy, but you’ve developed a bad habit of trying to pinpoint why. If he gets excited when you buy him pie because you bought him pie, or it’s pie. If he grins at you when he sees you because he’s happy to see you, or just to see a friend. 

If he just wants to use his grenade launcher, or if he’s happy you gave him a reason to. 

It never gets you anywhere, to think of that. And no matter what conclusion you draw, it’s never going to change anything.  

But it’s still a fun way to torture yourself. Watching him with a smile as he blasts the old cabin, and the whole thing goes crashing down. Returning his thumbs up with a smile, and giving him a high five when he walks back to the car. 

“Another monster, ganked.” He puts the launcher back in the truck, and you hum. 

“And it’s a swamp monster. Big day for you.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Yeah, guess it is. Didn’t really think about that.”

You blink at him. “Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, giving you an odd smile you don’t really understand. “Guess I was worrying about other shit.”

“Other-“

“C’mon.” He raises his voice over yours, grabbing your arms and starting to herd you towards the passenger’s seat. “We gotta get you back to the motel. You’re gonna catch a cold.”

“Me?” You frown at him. “You’ll get one too, Winchester-“

“Nah. I don’t catch colds.”

You snort as he closes the door behind you. You wait for him to get behind the wheel before you’re leaning forward, raising your brows. 

“Everyone gets colds, Dean.”

“Not me.” He winks at you, turning on the engine. “I run hot, baby.”

Jesus. 

That’s like being doused in gasoline and struck with a match. It is freezing outside—swamp monsters somehow ended up in Montana—and you are drenched in something worse than water, but all you can feel is the wired heat under your skin, as you play that over and over in your head. 

It’s just another moment, that means nothing to Dean and everything to you. 

But there are so many of them. They make up the tapestry of Dean, that lines your ribs. Remind you over and over that you love him, and every bit of his happiness—whether you’re the direct cause or not—is a rare, priceless gift he gives to so few people.

Dean does love you. 

As a best friend. 

You really can pretend that’s enough, just as long as it never has to change. 

Dean opens the door to the motel room for you, with a wide, smug grin. “You want first shower?”

“Sure, but-“ You flick a chuck of Swamp Monster off his shoulder with a pointed look. “I think you need it more.”

“I’ve been covered in worse.” He shrugs. “You go, I gotta call Sammy and give him the update.”

“Dean, he’s on vacation, don’t bother him-“

“He can pick up the damn phone at the beach.” Dean rolls his eyes. “Eileen won’t care. Go shower, sweetheart.”

You sigh, but give in. Once Dean decides something like that—you aren’t holding your pee for the rest of the drive, they will find a diner that serves Sam’s stupid rabbit food, this place does have a broken heater and Dean’s going to goddamn fix it—there’s no talking him out of it. 

And the shower is nice. Warm. The motel shampoo actually smells like something for once—flowers, nice, sweet flowers—and they water is loud enough that, if you lean against the wall and let your hand wander between your legs, Dean won’t be able to hear it. 

He never hears it. He doesn’t know that you’d get on your knees for him, if he ever asked. That you’d sleep in his bed and hold him through every nightmare, if he let you. 

Dean doesn’t know that you have to bite your tongue to swallow moans, as you think of his hands so easily on your body, and the deep sound of his voice as he said baby, and his eyes, shining on yours. You’ve pictured them above you too many times. Glinting and blown out, as he unravels you below him. Or under you, fluttering and squeezing tight as you ride him. And he’d buck his hips up into you, driving deeper and deeper, and when you moan his name he’d drag you down into a kiss, and all this heat would finally burst into a firework-

You shake, tossing your head back as your release hits. It’s a small one. You’re too tired to do anything properly, and even angling your clit under the water didn’t do as much as you wanted it to. You don’t manage to swallow the squeak of Dean, but the water is still running. You barely heard it. ‘

And as you walk out of the bathroom, Dean’s still on the phone. 

You’re in the clear. 

He scans over you with a tight frown, and you raise your brows. He just shakes his head, pointing to the phone, and you nod, shuffling over to the bed.

“Listen, uh- Sammy. Sam.” Dean shoots you another look. “I gotta go, man, shower is open- No, I’m not gonna- Sam.” His voice lowers to a hiss, and you smile to yourself. That’s the shut your face voice. Sam’s probably trying to convince him to do something. “No, I ain’t calling you after, bitch, I don’t- Fucking Christ. Yeah. I know.”

He hangs up, and you glance at him, having settled on your bed with a book.

“Not saying bye?”

“He doesn’t deserve it.” Dean grumbles, moving to his feet. 

“What did he do-“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Well,” you wrinkle your nose, leaning forward. “Now I am worried.”

He sighs, running a hand over his face. “It’s not a big thing, sweetheart. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Or, you could tell me now.”

“I, uh- gotta shower.” He makes for the bathroom, and you raise your voice after him. 

“Dean-“

“Tomorrow!” He calls over his shoulder, and closes the door behind him. 

You sigh, looking back to your book. It’s probably nothing. Dean doesn’t keep big secrets, not from you. If it was something for you to be worried about, he’d probably have told you already, to try and convince you to lay low at the bunker while he and Sam handled it. Your bet is on another hunt, that Sam’s trying to send you on. 

Nothing big. 

Just more time you get to spend, only you and Dean. 

Dean mutters your name from the doorway, and when you look up, your breath hitches in your throat. 

There’s steam, billowing out of the bathroom and casting in a halo-like light. His hair is damp and spikey and soft looking, his bare chest looking almost golden—you don’t know how he tans, when you all live in a fucking basement—and water running over his muscles. And you’ve dreamed about pressing your face into his pecs, or scratching at his abs while he kisses you, or kissing over that V before he grabs your hair and pulls you back and stuffs your mouth with- 

You cough, and force your attention back to your book. You can’t look at him too long, or you’ll do something really stupid like beg him to fuck you stupid. 

“Yeah, Dean?” Your voice isn’t steady, but he doesn’t seem to notice. 

“I, uh-“ Dean coughs, and you risk a glance up to see him scratching the back of his neck. “You know we ganked those gross assholes real fast. Thought we’d be here longer. And Sam says there’s a story coming, tomorrow, so we’re gonna have to hit the road in the morning.”

“Storm? What storm?” You frown at him, and he gives you an oddly sheepish grin.

“Snow-storm. Supposed to be bordering on a blizzard or something. ‘Less we wanna be stuck here for least a week, we should haul ass soon.”

“Oh.” A week stuck in a motel with Dean doesn’t sound that bad. It would be torture, but the kind of torture that you’d get a thrill out of. The kind that could fuel a lot of dreams for months to come. 

Or everything could get fucked up. He’d get sick of you. You’d moan his name in your sleep. Too many things could change, if you were stuck together. 

It’s best if you go in the morning. 

“I, um-“ You bite on your inner cheek, watching him carefully. “Is that was you were talking to Sam about?”

Dean blinks at you, then nods slowly. “Yeah. Sure.”

“Sure?”

“Sure.” He shrugs. “That’s what we talking about, sweetheart. The storm.”

You narrow your eyes at him—he’s being weird, and you don’t believe him—but Dean only clears his throat and gives you another grin.

“And since we gotta go in the morning, I was ho- Uh, wondering. If you’d wanna get a drink.”

You frown at him again. “We have beers in the fridge, Dean.”

“Yeah. We do.” He mutters, throat bobbing, and you’ve never seen him like this. Looking at the floor a lot. Not walking around with a puffed-out chest and mastered, cowboy swagger. Like he knows how pretty he is, and he’s using it as a shield. Trying to flash bright enough that people won’t see anything but that smooth voice and boyish, charming grin.

You’ve been allowed to see beneath it. Because he’s your friend. Because he’s not trying to impress or trick you. Not trying to sell himself to you, even though you’re kind of already his. He doesn’t care if he gets your love or affection. Some part of you always wonders if he knows he already has it, and that’s why you get to know Dean, the perfect, sweet, broken but strong man, instead of Dean, the sex-god and hunter legend. 

And you don’t want to go out drinking with him. You love him. But if you have to watch him flirt with someone else the whole night, you’re going to go find another swamp monster and let it eat you.

You don’t get to open your mouth and tell him that, before he’s continuing on. 

“There’s kinda this bar I’ve been dying to check out, since we pulled into down.” His gaze feels like it’s buzzing over your skin. “And we should celebrate. So. Drinks.”

“Drinks.” You repeat, tilting your head at him. He gives you a crooked half-grin and nod, and you pull your lip between your teeth. 

He’s being so fucking weird.

“You can go yourself, Dean-“

“No.” He shakes his head, standing up a little taller. “You saved my life tonight. I’m getting you a drink.”

“You’ve saved my life more. And I never buy you a drink.”

“That’s different.” He dismisses you quickly, and you frown.

“How-“

“C’mon,” he drawls your name, his tone almost challenging. “One drink.”

Fuck. 

He’s got you. He must know he’s got you, otherwise he wouldn’t have pushed it. All he has to do is poke you, and you cave. Give a mumbled nod and agreement, and trying not to burn from within at his happy grin. 

And you don’t know if he’s happy because you said yes to getting drinks, or because he’s getting drinks. 

It doesn’t matter. 

He’s still happy. 

It’s a quick drive, from the motel to the bar. And it’s nice, but not the kind of place you think Dean would be dying to see. It’s just like all other bars you’ve seen, in every corner and county of America. Posters on the walls, dartboards and pool tables, and jukebox that really should be out of commission by now, and dirty, chipping wood tables. The drinks are strong, but no stronger than any other drinks. They’ve got pretty good maraschino cherries, and the bartender doesn’t seem to judge you when you ask for them—which is a plus—but there’s also a gaggle of girls in cowboy hats at the other end of the bar, and you know how this night is going to end. 

Or you thought you did.

But they’ve been giggling and shooting looks at Dean all night, and he hasn’t so much as turned around. 

“What else do you have on your list?” You ask him, playing with the stem of a cherry, and he frowns at you.

“My list.”

“Your bucket list.”

“I don’t have a bucket-“

“Don’t lie to me, Winchester.” You kick his shin lightly, with a small grin. “It’s not befitting of a lady.”

He snorts. “That’s rich, coming from you.”

“I’m not the one being questioned.” 

“Oh, I’m bein’ questioned?” He grins, leaning a little closer, and he smells like pine trees. You never should have gotten him that body wash, but you’d also found out he hadn’t been using body wash, and you couldn’t just let that slide. “What’re the charges, sweetheart?”

You shrug. “Lying about your bucket list.”

He opens his mouth, and you give him a flat look. 

“I saw it, Dean. You keep it at the bottom of your bag.”

“You-“ He shakes his head. “Why the hell were you looking in my bag?”

You flush, staring down at the cherry stem. The knot won’t stick. “You said I could use your shirt. When mine got vamp blood on it.”

“Right.” He gives you an odd look. “Y’know, I never got that shirt back.”

“Sorry. Forgot.”

You didn’t forget. You keep it in your drawer and sleep in it when you haven’t seen him in a few days. He doesn’t need to know that. 

Dean shrugs, taking a swig of his beer. “It’s whatever. I got other shirts.” He gives you a small grin. “You remember what else was on that list?”

“Um,” you wrinkle your nose at the air, biting on your lower lip. “Meet Burt Reynolds, save his life. Give Baby guns. Try an Oreo pizza.” You swallow, keeping your gaze fixed firmly on your hands. “Have the sex.” You can’t look at him. Not right now. “Dean, I’m pretty sure you’ve had sex before.”

“Yeah. But this is, uh-“ He coughs. “Special sex.”

That makes you look at him. He’s picking at the label of his beer, a deep frown on his face. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Not with you.

“Well,” you mumble, tugging on your cherry stem. “I think you’ve got three options, if you want to go for that one.”

He glances at you, brow drawn. “What?”

“The cowgirls behind you.” You’re going to rip the stem in half. “I think they’d be down to have the sex with you.”

It’s meant to come out as a joke, but you mostly sound bitter. It’s sour on your tongue, because you hate being jealous. It’s not Dean’s fault he doesn’t see you like that. And you can’t place any claim over him, or even blame the cowgirls for taking him away from you. If you saw Dean in a bar, you’d do the exact same thing. And maybe then he’d give you the lazy, hungry smirk he always gives everyone else. If you could just be a pretty face. 

There’s a hollow, vile sneer in the back of your head that reminds you he might not even think you’re pretty, and that’s why you never stood a chance. You’ll drink it away, when he leaves you at the bar.

But he doesn’t. Dean doesn’t even look at them. 

He just keeps watching you. 

“Nah.” He shrugs, and you blink at him. 

“Nah?”

“I got better things to do, sweetheart.” 

You stare at him. “Like?”

Dean just grins at you, and that’s not fair. It’s making you feel molten and important, and he doesn’t even mean it like that. 

“Alright.” You let out a soft laugh, and that sounds bitter too. “Who even are you?”

“I dunno, sweetheart.” He shrugs. “You tell me.”

“I- I’m-“ You take a sharp drink of your own, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “So you’re not going to flirt with them.”

He shakes his head. “You’re not going to flirt with the dudes watching you.”

You snort. “There are no dudes watching me-“

“Yeah.” His tone has changed. Gotten firmer. Deeper. “There always are.”

“Dean.” 

“It’s true. You just never freakin’ see it.”

“What, and you do?”

His jaw tics. “Yeah. I do. Beard and flannel, 2  o’clock.”

You look before you can stop yourself, and he’s right. Over your shoulder is a broad, bearded man, wearing a green flannel and looking right at you. He winks, when you meet his gaze, and you swallow. 

“I, um-“ You look back to Dean, who looks oddly annoyed for having pointed the guy out to you. “That’s different.”

Dean let out a dry laugh. “Yeah, okay. Sure.”

“It is. I don’t do… that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah-“

“So what do I do, sweetheart?”

He’s staring at you, something behind his voice that sounds like it’s important. It’s written all over his face, as well. He still hasn’t looked at the cowgirls. You’re not sure what the fuck is happening.

“I don’t know, Dean.” You murmur, wrapping the stem around your finger like a ring. “What do you do?”

He doesn’t answer immediately. And when you look back up at him, that strange expression has returned. You wait. You’d wait forever. 

And you don’t want to say the wrong thing and fuck this—whatever the hell this is, because he’s never looked at you like that before, but it feels like you’re being turned into starlight—up.

“We, uh-“ He cuts himself off with a frown. “You and me. We’ve known each other a while.”

You’ve felt like you’ve known him your whole fucking life. You felt like that almost the first time you saw him. Sort of like you’d looked at him, and known that this always ends with you falling in love. 

Another thing he doesn’t need to know. 

So you just nod. 

“Right.” He glares at the bottle, like it’s personally responsible for something bad happening to him. “And we’ve been through some shit together. I mean, mostly me. Causing you problems-“

“You don’t cause me problems.” You say before you can stop yourself, and he chuckles.

“I know. You always say that. But, uh- I got news for you, sweetheart. I cause you a lot of problems. And,” he raises his voice before you can protest again. “You never give up on me. Shit, I might of given up on me, but you didn’t. You’re always- No matter how shit this gets, it feels alright long as I got you.”

He’s looking at you like you’re supposed to know what that means. When you stare at him back, he just clears his throat. 

“You mean a lot to me.” He mutters. “You- Your trust means a lot. More than anyone.”

“Oh- okay.” You feel kind of dizzy. “Cool.”

He swallows. “Yeah. And I know I do go home with other chicks, uh, I- It’s not. It never means anything. They know that. And a lot of them have been in…” His ears go slightly red, his voice dropping lower. “Situations. And that ain’t for to them, or- Yeah. And I always go back in the morning.”

You’re lost. “What?”

He sighs. “I always head back to you, sweetheart.”

“I know, Dean, we live together-“

“No- I mean, yeah, but-“ He sighs, running a hand over his face. “You’re kinda the best friend I’ve ever had,” he grunts your name, and you sit a little taller. “I don’t tell you that enough. And I was- Uh, I’ve been thinking- A lot.”

You’re going to chew through your tongue. “About?”

He stares at you, mouth hanging slightly open, and you wait. 

Dean takes a deep breath, his gaze darting over your shoulder, and he shakes his head. 

“Nothing, sweetheart. Never mind.”

You frown. This doesn’t feel like a never mind. “Dean-“

“You want some help with that?” He nods to your cherry stem, giving you a bright grin. “I can do it with my tongue.”

His tongue. He can do things with his tongue. And it’s flicking out over his lips, and he’s grinning at you, and you’re the best friend he’s ever had. 

Friend.

Best friend.

“I’m okay.” You mumble, fiddling with the stem and dropping it in your glass. “Thank you, though.”

His jaw twitches again, and he opens his mouth, then closes it. The cowgirls seen to have wandered off to another corner of the bar. The music is playing quietly in the background, and it’s not a bad song, but it feels like nail scratching your ears. You just don’t want to hear anything right now, other than what Dean decided not to tell you. 

You know he wasn’t building up to the fucking cherry stem. But if you ask, that would be pushing it. And it might not be something you want to hear. 

So you let it go, and give Dean a small smile as you stand up.

He frowns. “Where’re you-“

“Bathroom.” You shrug. “Be right back.”

Dean’s hand flexes, like he’s going to try and reach for you. But he doesn’t. So you walk away. 

But you smile at him, because you’re pathetic. Smile and squeeze his bicep. 

You’d like to run your hand through his hair. 

That’s not a friend thing. 

The bathroom of the bar is just what you’d expect. Flickering lights, cheap looking stalls, a toilet seat that you’re careful to wipe down, because you really don’t want to round all of this off with an infection. 

It hasn’t been the most shit week. You got the monster. Hung out with Dean. Broke your own heart over it, almost every second, but that’s nothing you haven’t been doing for years. And maybe he’s not going to tell you whatever the hell he was building up to, but maybe it’s another thing that’s just not about you. Dean’s being weird because he and Sam are fighting about something stupid. Dean had sounded tense on the phone, earlier. 

So it’s not about you. Tomorrow, Sam will probably call you bitching about Dean, and ask you to talk some sense into him. Sam seems to be under the impression that you’re the only person in the world that Dean listens to without question, but you’ve been in multiple situations where that proved not to be true. The time he wouldn’t let you hunt alone, when you asked him to borrow the car to go into the city—which is something he lets Sam do all the time—the kitchen indecent, when he wouldn’t let you help him figure out how to bake a cake for your birthday, the other time he wouldn’t let you hunt alone- 

“You should totally go talk to him!” A girl’s voice cuts through the air, and you freeze. 

You’d sort of forgotten other people could, hypothetically, use the bathroom. 

“No, it’s okay. There are plenty of hot guys in the world, right?” Second voice. Different girl. 

“Not hot like that.” The first girl says again. “I mean. He looks like he fell right out of the fucking sky. That’s once in a lifetime hotness.”

Dean. They’re talking about Dean.

Fuck.

You should make your presence known. You should just cough, or say yeah, he’s hot, but he’s got a weird penis. Which would just be possessive—which you’re not doing, you’re not—and a straight up lie. You’ve heard the reviews, from girls in the morning. You’ve heard the sounds, when he used to get separate rooms just to rail women in. Sam would put in headphones with a sigh, and you’d try to pretend it wasn’t happening until you’d heard screams of Dean, and you’d decided to find whatever bar was closest and had the highest cut off.

These girls could be the ones screaming, tonight. 

Unless you embraced the jealousy thing, and told them he has a weird penis-

“Yeah, he’s hot, but the woman he was with,” the second girl sighs, and you freeze. Too late to make yourself known. “I think she’s like his girlfriend or something.”

You gape at nothing, and third girl pipes up. 

“No, actually, I agree with that. Don’t talk to him, he’s got a girlfriend.”

“Are you kidding me?” The first girl scoffs. “That was not his girlfriend.”

You scowl. She didn’t have to say it like that. She’s right, but she might not have been, and She didn’t have to be rude about it-

“Why not?” 

“Because if that’s your boyfriend, you don’t leave him alone in a bar.”

The other two girls make sounds of disagreement, and that shouldn’t make you feel as good as it does. 

“No,” the third one says. “Maybe he’s just like, a loyal guy. And she trusts him.”

“Please,” girl two laughs. “Men who look like that aren’t loyal.”

That almost makes you stand up. Dean’s loyal. Arguably, it’s his worst quality, because it’s nearly given both you and Sam multiple aneurysms. You manage only to curl your fists, though. And the second girl continues. 

“Like yes, she was really pretty too. And they looked to be having a serious conversation-“

“Which isn’t what people just hooking up do-“

“I know that. But like, he wasn’t touching her. Maybe they were sitting really closer together, and he ordered her those cherries before she asked-“

“That was really cute-“

“Yeah, but, maybe they’re just like friends!”

“Kaylee.” The third girl says, voice flat. “Did you see how he looked at her?”

“No. You’re the one who pretended to go the jukebox.”

“Well, it was like a puppy dog face. He love loves her.”

You feel like you’re being shot. The girls don’t stop talking. 

“Are you sure?”

“Oh, yeah, just pretend to walk past them later. It’s super obvious.”

They leave a few minutes after that. And you have to remember how to move your legs, but a lot of things are crashing around in your brain. You’re pretty. You and Dean look cute together. 

Dean looks at you like he loves you. 

It feels like you’re floating, when you make your way back to the bar. Dean’s fidgeting with his sleeves, mostly staring at his bottle, and when you tap his shoulder, he looks up at you with a frown. 

It quickly turns into a grin. And he holds up your folded cherry stem with a proud grin, puffing out his chest. 

“Did it while you were gone. In one shot, by the way. You can, uh- Keep it? I dunno. Didn’t think past doin’ it, I guess.”

You give him a softer smile, and tuck the cherry stem into your pants. “I’ll keep it. Thank you.”

“Course.” He shrugs, glancing around the mostly empty bar. 

The cowgirls are watching you. 

Dean’s hand is resting on your wrist. You’re not sure if he knows he’s doing it, but it’s warm and electric over your whole body.  

And when you scan over his face, there’s nothing on it that screams he loves you. That’s just Dean’s face. Maybe the third girl just had too much to drink, or is rooting for him to be in love with you, which is very sweet but overall useless to you-

“You wanna head back?” Dean squeezes your wrist, giving you another easy, causal grin. “We should get our three hours, before we beat the storm.”

You sigh, giving him a tight smile. “It’s eight hours.”

“Yeah, if you’re a health nerd.”

“Dean-“

“It’ll be six hours, if we go now.”

You wrinkle your nose at him, and he just grins back. It really is the same grin he’s always given you. But you hear the cowgirls giggling, when you pass them. They’re probably reading into Dean’s hand, on your back, way too much. You know you have.

But reading too deep into things is what you’re best at. 

And now that they’ve mentioned how Dean looks at you, it’s impossible stop. 

You’re picking it apart, for the rest of the night. For the entirety of the drive, as you analyze every shift in his face, when he glances your way. How he smirks at you, when he opens your door with a dramatic, sweeping gesture. How he laughs when you roll your eyes, and the face he makes when you mumble that you’re getting changed. Then the face when you come back, and he looks up from the TV. 

“Dean.” You lean over the back of the couch, making your voice as firm as possible. “Six hours. You promised.”

He groans, but turns off the TV, and flicks your nose. “After all I do for you, sweetheart, you’re gonna make me sleep?”

“Yep.” He’s so close. You can see every handsome feature of his face. “Go to bed, Dean.”

He grunts and his gaze is trapped right on yours. His eyes are so fucking green, and they’re shining on yours. His breath is warm on your face, and in the cold of the night, it’s impossible to ignore. How all the heat is coming from Dean. You could move. Just an inch. Press your lips against his, and see what it does. Maybe he’d pull you over the couch and into his lap, kiss you until he’s all that you can feel. Until you’re burning alive, but he’s burning with you.

Or it could change everything. And you’d lose your best friend. 

You pull back. And don’t look at Dean again, as you go to bed. You need to stop torturing yourself. You’ll do it enough on the car ride tomorrow. 

Dean’s true to his word. He goes to the bathroom, takes another shower, then gets into bed right after you. Enough for six hours, even if he’s up first. 

He doesn’t wake you up, as he gets ready to go. Packing his bag, then yours, then the remaining supplies. You mostly just drift in and out, listening to him shuffle around the room, pause, then move again. At one point, after you hadn’t shifted around in a while, his hand rests on your brow. And because he thinks you’re just sleeping, you nuzzle into it. 

He lingers. 

Fingers trace over your face. Your cheeks and nose and eyebrows, then up into your hair. 

He sighs, and moves away, and there’s another thing to over think. He could be disappointed in you. Annoyed with you. Tired of you. Just tired overall, and that was a yawn. But Dean doesn’t really yawn.

He also doesn’t just touch people’s faces. 

But- 

“Son of a bitch?”

Your eyes shoot open, and you sit up in a second, reaching for your gun. No one seems to be in danger. Dean’s glaring out the window. 

You rub your eyes, pushing up to your knees. “Dean, what’s wrong?”

“Come look.” He mutters, and you shuffle to your feet, peering out the window.

“Oh.” You whisper, and he chuckles.

“Yep.”

You didn’t beat the storm. 

The storm beat you. The world is all gray and white, falling snow and sheets of white over the whole world. 

So you’re trapped in the motel. With Dean

———

“We did try to leave early.” Dean grunts into the phone and you sigh, holding your knees to your chest on the bed.

It took five hours for the storm to clear enough that Dean could call Sam. Another hour for Sam to pick up, because he is on vacation. 

And you’re not sure how you’re going to survive this. 

Not the storm. The storm will be easy. You’re what Dean’s called paranoid—but is proving itself to just be prepared—and there’s no possible way you’re going to run out of food. The water is still running, as it electricity. The heater did break again, but Dean’s spent the last two hours on his knees, trying to fix it.

Most of his tools are both for cars, and in the car. 

He’s improvised. 

And he’d given you this big, boyish and proud grin, when he’d realized he could use the wire hooks without being electrocuted. And that’s why you’re not going to survive this. 

You’re trapped with Dean. And his smiles and voice and body and general everything. It’s one room—two if you count the bathroom—and it’s just you and Dean. No buffer to stop you from saying something stupid, like how you love him. No distractions, because the electricity is working but this motel only has cable, and that’s down. Just you and Dean.

“Fuckin’ Christ.” Dean mutters under his breath, shooting you an odd look.

You mouth what back at him. 

He rolls his eyes, and mouths back Sam, before speaking aloud. “Yeah, I know how waitin’ out storms works, Sam, I freakin’ taught you- We ain’t gonna run out of water, this isn’t a drought, we can drink the snow- I’m not drinking it right now.”

You giggle, and Dean gives you a flat look. You only shrug in return, and that eye roll is for you, but you don’t really care. At least it’s for you.

“No.” Dean turns back to the heater, his voice having dropped. “I ain’t doing that. No- Sam. Shut your face or I’m calling Eileen and telling her she’s got a funeral to attend. Not mine-“

Dean groans, running a hand over his face, and you climb out of the bed. The blankets have to stay wrapped around you—it’s fucking freezing—but you can still help. You kneel down at his side, holding out your hand and nodding to the hanger. Dean frowns at you and shakes his head, and you flex your fingers, giving him a pointed look. 

He pulls the phone away, covering the speaker—Sam’s voice muffled through his hand—and grunts, “I got it, sweetheart. Go back to bed.”

“Dean.” You sigh, just grabbing it out of his hand. He doesn’t fight you, just staring as you shift on your knees. “Finish your phone call.”

He opens his mouth to say something, then sighs, and nods. He squeezes your shoulder, as he moves to his feet, and you watch him walk to the other side of the room. 

You’ve been studying his face all morning. The cowgirl’s words haven’t stopped replaying. He looks at you like he loves you.

But you really don’t think he does. 

He’d given you tight smiles all morning, until you’d finished sorting the supplies and decided that you’d easily survive this without eating each other. 

“If we don’t have enough,” he’d said, hanging over your shoulder. “I want you to eat me.”

You’d sighed, and whacked his thigh. Better not think about how firm it had been. How if you turned your head, you would have been at perfect eye level with his bulge. And it had been freezing, but that was the kind of heat that was going to kill you just as much as it made you come alive. Now, trapped in a motel during a blizzard, was not the time to test the waters of how much Dean would want you. You’d rather turn to ice than have to spend a whole week, awkwardly pretending you hadn’t come onto Dean and gotten rejected.   

“I’m not going to eat you, Dean.” You’d muttered, and he’d shaken his head. 

“I’m telling you to eat me, sweetheart.” He’d dropped at your side, and you’d focused on your sorting. If you looked at Dean, you’d stare and try to figure out if he loved you. “It’s my last wish. You not gonna honor a dying man’s last wish.”

“No.”

“That’s pretty damn rude-“

“You’re not dying.” You’d looked at him, because you’re weak. No promise you ever made yourself about Dean lasted more than about twenty minutes, because most of them were don’t look at him or don’t talk to him, and actually committing to that would mean more change. 

He hadn’t been looking at you like he loved you. 

It had just been the same way he always looks at you. Open, handsome, with a small grin and light in his eyes. 

That’s just his stupid, pretty face. And it had been hard to keep pretending to be annoyed with him, when this was the first real smile he’d given you all morning. 

“We’ve got enough.” You mumbled, your eyes seemingly trapped on his. “I- I won’t need to eat you.”

“Awesome.” He’d grinned at you, and you’d swallowed, and nodded. 

That was just another expression he always made. It didn’t mean anything. 

He is scowling at the air, now that he’s focused on his phone call. He hasn’t looked at you like that, ever. But you also haven’t been saying anything to piss him off. 

It’s very rare, that you actually do piss Dean off. 

But you’re his best friend, so that can’t mean much. 

You have to drag your gaze back to the heater. You’re going to drive yourself out of your mind, before you even hit day five. 

Dean keeps talking, and it sounds like a serious conversation—serious enough that you’re not allowed to hear it, which you’re trying and failing not to read into, but it can just be another way to fucking torture yourself—when you hear the rattling buzz from the heater that means it’s working.

You turn to Dean with a wide grin, sitting up straight and making a ta da gesture to your work, and he grins at you again. Gives you a thumbs up, even his brows remain furrowed at whatever Sam is saying.

“Sam.” He grunts, walking towards you. “I’m going.”

There’s a sound of protest from the other end of the line, and you bite your lip to stop yourself from laughing again. 

“I know how rationing works, Sam, I taught you that shit, too- No, we’re not fuckin’ talking about that- Bye.”

Dean hangs up, Sam’s voice dying mid-sentence, and you give him a curious look.

“Not talking about what?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean mutters your name, crouching down at your side and scanning over the heater. “Nice work.”

That shouldn’t make you flush as much as it does. But Dean’s really close, and he’s praising you, and suddenly the room has spiked from freezing cold to almost insufferably hot. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, and Dean just shrugs, clapping you on the shoulder. The way he would a friend.

“No problem. So.” He scans around the room, and his brow pinches together the moment he’s not looking at you. 

He’s thinking. That’s all it means. 

“We got food, water, heat, shelter.” Dean says, mostly to himself. “Overall we’re not half fucked.”

“Only a quarter.” 

Dean snorts, and his brows un-pinch as he looks at you.

Which still probably means nothing. 

“What do you think that quarter fucked is, sweetheart?”

Him. Being trapped with him. Already starting to spiral about what everything he does and says means, if this is going to make things change, if he’s going to get sick of you, if he does look at you different. You really can’t tell anymore. You might have already gone mad, or the heat is just getting to your brain. 

Making you hallucinate how close he is. How his attention on you is undivided, how his thumb is rubbing small circles where it’s still resting on your shoulder. 

That’s your quarter fucked. 

But you also know what Dean’s is, so you say that instead. 

“No TV.” You give him a mock pout, and he lets out a dramatic groan. 

“It’s not funny, sweetheart-“

“Yeah, it is.” 

“You’re saying that now, but what are you gonna do when you get sick of talking to me?”

You frown at him. “I won’t get sick of talking to you.”

He scoffs. “Sure-“

“I’m serious, Dean.” You lean forward, which is a mistake. He steadies you with a hand on your knee. He’s still like a furnace. You’re going to catch his heat and melt into nothing. “I won’t get sick of you. Are-“ You swallow. You shouldn’t ask it. “Will you-“

“No.” He mutters, scanning over your face. “But I still miss TV.”

You give him a small smile, a weightlifting off your chest. “It’s been like, twelve hours.”

“Fifteen.”

You laugh at his grumpy face, and his lips twitch.

“We’ll find something to do, Dean.” You cup his face as you move to your feet. He might have leaned into your touch. Another thing to pretend not to think about. “I promise.”

———

“Checkmate.”

Dean groans, leaning over the board with a glare. “No, that’s- Son of a bitch.” He looks up at you with wide eyes. “I fuckin’ had it, sweetheart, what the hell.”

You shrug, starting to reset the pieces. “You never had it, Mr. Winchester. You’re a fool and your knowledge of the gentleman’s game is weak.”

He snorts. “I think you’re just cheating.”

“Maybe.” You grin at him. “But if I am, you haven’t caught me.”

“So you have been-“

“Do you have proof?”

Dean sighs, and grumbles, “No.”

You hum. “Innocent until proven guilty.”

“Or until you admit it.”

“I’ve never admitted anything. In my life.”

Dean raises his brows. “Half an hour ago, you told me you used to sing lyrics to classical music.”

You flush, and throw a pawn at his face. “That was a secret-“

“I haven’t told anyone! I’m just sayin’ back to you what you said to me-“

“Well, you used to name your toy cars after different cartoon characters-“

“Hey.” Dean wields the pawn at you like a knife, narrowing his eyes. “Don’t bring She-Ra the Pontiac into this.”

He glares at you, you glare right back, and there’s only a beat of silence before you both burst out laughing. 

This has been most of the last two days. You’d raided the entire room, to see exactly what type of amenities were provided, and found mostly paper, meaning that you and Dean spent most of last night playing drawing games. He drew genuinely the worst tiger you’ve ever seen, and you drew a snake so worm-like he spent twenty minutes laughing on the ground. This morning—before you got up—he went outside during a brief lull in the storm, grabbed your playing cards from the trunk of Baby, and raided the lobby for board games. 

He beat you at two-person poker, twice. You won gin rummy, and cribbage, so he insisted on a third poker round. You know he just wanted it to win again. But you love him—and his stupid, dopey grin whenever he does something well—so you let him have it. And he did win. But you kicked his ass in Candyland. 

Dean said this one was a kid’s game, so it didn’t count.

You’d pulled out the chess, after that.

This is your fifth win in a row. And you’re not cheating. 

But Dean is adorable when he’s grumpy. And just for now, you’re giving up on trying not to look at him too long. You won’t mess up, because this is already such a fragile situation. You’re on a high alert to not do anything too obviously in love with him. And already spent all of last night with the sheets tangled between your legs, looping over and over how Dean had made you dinner. Stared at you when you’d come out of the bathroom in a towel and coughed. Talked to you until two in the morning, because for once neither of you had anywhere to be in the morning.

In a very, very strange way, this feels like a vacation. A precarious one, where you’ve sealed over half the things you want to say to him—I love you, Dean, I want you, I spent that whole shower thinking about what it would feel like if you were with me, on your knees or behind me or anything, I’d take anything—and allowed yourself to look at him to keep it together. To keep him from noticing.

It would be suspicious, if you didn’t look at him. And it’s quelling that unending heat, in your body. 

You’re going to get through this. Walk out the other side, with only good memories, and nothing changed. 

You’re probably going to be trying to figure out how Dean looks at you forever, but that’s only hurting you, so it’s fine.

It’s all just fine.

“No more chess.” Dean grumbles, grabbing a rook out of your hands and bumping it on your nose. You blink at him kind of stupidly. He doesn’t seem to notice. “Let’s go back to cards.”

You take the rook back, poking it into his chest. “Why, so you can win poker?”

He shrugs with a grin, and you sigh. 

“How about war? No skill. Just luck.”

Dean frowns. “I got shit luck, sweetheart.”

“And I don’t?”

“Better than mine.” He mutters under his breath, and you frown. 

There’s something heavy to his tone that you don’t understand. But before you can try and find the words to ask him about it, he’s moving on. 

“One poker game, just to level out the field. C’mon. I’ll make you lunch?”

“And- Do I not get lunch if I say no?”

“No, but this doesn’t work if you keep bringin’ reason into it, sweetheart.”

“Sorry.” You pick at your nails, giving him a small smile, and he sighs. 

“It’s alright, sweetheart. But if we play war, I’m shuffling.”

You nod, giving him a wider smile, and his jaw twitches. It’s been doing that a lot, today. You spent most of breakfast staring at it, trying to figure out what it meant. Probably just that he’s tense, from the stress of the situation. Even though it started last night. And overall, the situation hasn’t been all that stressful. 

Again. Trying not to think about it. 

“Deal.” You hold out your hand, and Dean shakes it. His hand fits perfectly, in yours. It always has. You’ve had a lot of fantasies about just Dean’s hands, alone.

And it’s impossible not to stare, as he shuffles. His fingers have always moved so deliberately, with such exact, measured movements, and they’re big and thick and rough, and when you passed him the cards, he’d touch your forearm and you felt like you were going to fly out of your skin- 

“Ready?” Dean nods to the pile of cards in front of you, and you blink. 

Right. 

The game.

“Ready.” You mutter, sounding breathier than you meant to, but you’d also worked yourself into a small frenzy, thinking about his hands. His smirk isn’t helping. 

You really don’t think he knows, exactly what he does to you. 

But if he does, this is downright cruel. 

“Alright,” he drawls your name, picking up his own deck with a dramatic roll of his shoulders. “Let’s skirmish.”

You laugh—it’s stupid, but you always laugh—and Dean’s grin widens.

It’s not clear if he’s smiling because you laughed, or just he got a laugh. 

You really have to stop picking yourself apart like this. 

The first few flips run by, and soon you’re not even counting down to flip anymore. You and Dean have gotten somehow merged your game brains, and you’re flipping in perfect sync. You’re winning most of them. Dean hasn’t seemed to notice yet. 

“Would you rather be attacked by a duck, or a hippo.”

You blink at him, flipping over another card. “What kind of question is that, obviously-“

“Wait.” He grins at you. “The duck has a gun, and the hippo is a baby.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head at the air. “Does the duck know how to use the gun?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, and is the hippos mom around?”

Dean frowns. “Why does that matter.”

“Mothers are incredibly aggressive when their babies are threatened, Dean. A grown mom hippo kill me.”

“Huh. Well, we don’t want that.” His brow furrows, and you try not to let that make you feel too gooey. “Let’s call it that the mom hippo is around, but far enough that she won’t know if you’re careful.”

“Careful? The hippo is attacking me-“

“So you gotta kill it.”

You gape at him. “I’m not killing a baby hippo, Dean.”

“Fair.” He nods, flipping over a nod. “So you’re going Gun Duck.”

“Do I get a gun?”

“If you can take his.”

“I can do that.” You watch him grab the cards he won. He’s rolled up his sleeves, so you can see his forearms. It’s distracting. “What would you choose?”

“Gun Duck.” Dean shrugs. “I think I could take that mama hippo, though.”

You snort. “No, you couldn’t.”

He gives you a mock look of offense. “Sweetheart, I’ve fought the Devil-“

“Hippos kill 500 people a year, Dean.”

He scoffs. “So?”

“So there are about 180 plane crashes a year.” You give him pointed a look and he gulps, going a little pale. 

“Good point. No hippos.”

You hum, pulling more of your own cards forward. “Would you rather live on the moon, or underwater?”

Dean pauses, thinking about it as you both flip. “The moon. Space would be pretty awesome. Can I guess your answer?”

You nod, a little desperate to know what he thinks you’re going to say, and he grins at you.

“Underwater.”

You keep your face perfectly neutral. “Why?”

“Because you think space is scary.”

“The bottom of the ocean is scarier.”

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t live at the bottom of the ocean.” He gives you a look like that’s obvious, and sighs when you just stare at him. “I think you’d be like, a lady of the lake or whatever.”

“A-“ You blink at him. “Like in King Arthur?”

“Yeah.” He grins at you, wide and toothy. “I’d be a pretty awesome King, right. I’d get to sit at the round table.”

“Sure,” you return his grin, setting out three cards. “What are your stances on tithes and feudalism?”

“Uh.” He makes his tight, adorable thinking expression—the one where he’s really trying, but doesn’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about—and you want to kiss him all over his stupid face. “Anti?”

You hum and nod, and he raises his brows.

“Was that right?”

“I don’t know, you’re the King.”

“Yeah, but you’re my- Lady advisor.”

You snort. “Lady Advisor?”

“The- Guinevere lady-“

“That was Arthur’s wife.” You say, and it’s really hard to sound causal about that. “And she cheated on him with his best friend.”

Dean recoils slightly, shaking his head. “Okay, so you ain’t that.”

You give him a cautious look. “Do I have to be something, in your fantasy land?”

“Course you do, sweetheart.” He says that like it’s obvious, too. “It ain’t a fantasy land if you’re not there.”

You flush, and Dean sits a little taller, clearing his throat. You don’t know if he meant it like that. He probably didn’t. But now he’s not looking you in the eyes, and he probably thinks he’s leading you on—even if he doesn’t know he doesn’t need to put you on a leash or offer you a reward, you’d follow him to the end of the earth no matter what—and things are going to change-

“I’m the Lady of the Lake.” You mumble, folding a card between your finger and giving him a small smile. “Of course I’m in your fantasy.”

He coughs, but grins at you, and he’s ears are red again.  

Don’t think too much into it. 

“Awesome.”

———

It’s only been three days.

You’re falling into a far too comfortable pattern. 

Dean makes you breakfast, you do lunch, he does dinner. You play card games and talk, Dean goes out to check that nobody’s stolen Baby—it doesn’t matter how many times you tell him that won’t happen, he has to do it anyway—and you make him hot chocolate for when he gets back. You spent most of today talking about superheroes, Dean hanging your paper stars on the ceiling because he’s perfect, and you don’t know how you were ever supposed to not fall in love with him.

“Can I have the purple?” You ask, and he passes the marker to you with a small grin.

“I still don’t understand why you these in the car, sweetheart.”

“For organizing. Duh.”

“Right. Duh.” He chuckles, nudging your side with his foot, and you squeak. 

“Dean-“

“Sorry.” He laughs above you, and he kind of looks like a God. Big and strong and handsome, so far above you, so untouchable, but offering you more with his joy than you can understand. 

Because you haven’t seen Dean this happy in years. He’s fully relaxed, he’s not scanning around every few seconds to check that everyone is safe, and he’s still sleeping with his gun under his pillow—that’s never going to change—but when you woke him up this morning, you didn’t end up with the barrel in your face.

It’s probably because there are no threats. 

It’s getting harder and harder to think it’s not about you.

“Can you pass me my book?”

“Sure.” He shuffles away, and your body seems to want to follow him, which isn’t fair. “What, you gonna use the pages to make more stars?”

“Don’t joke about that.” You mutter, frowning at the star in your hands. “I just want to use this one as a bookmark.”

Dean just hums, and the book is passed into your hands as he sits at your side. “You, uh- Liking it?”

You angle your head to see him, and he’d grabbed a beer while he was getting your book. He’s picking at the label again. His jaw is ticking. 

You really don’t know how to ask him what that’s about. 

“The book.” He adds—after you’re quiet for a beat too long—giving you a sheepish grin. “How are you liking the book.”

“Oh. It’s- Good. I’ve always wanted to read it, and I- yeah.” He’s sitting too close. It’s making you short circuit. 

Dean just nods, turning the bottle in his hands. “So it’s on your bucket list?”

He gives you a half-grin, and that makes you almost go limp. He’s smiling at you like it’s a secret. Like it’s something only you get to know about, even if it was because you accidentally snooped. 

You smile back. It always makes his grin wider, and his shoulders relax, and that could be about you-

No. 

You’re not doing that. 

“Maybe.” You shrug, and he raises his brows.

“You gonna tell me what else is on there?”

You sit up, holding his gaze. Your knees are bumping together. You could swear his eyes widen slightly. 

“The sex.” You whisper, and he groans, shaking his head and looking back to his bottle with a tight smile as you giggle. 

“Bet you’re proud of that one.”

“I am.” You poke his thigh, lying back down as his nostrils flare, and he gives you an odd look.

“You should write one.” He says suddenly. “We got a shit ton of paper. Sammy says they’re good for you to do. Reckon with your own mortality or something.”

You snort, fiddling with one of the stars. “Like you’ve ever reckoned with your mortality-“

“I’m serious,” he says, and when you look back up, he’s staring right into you. “It’s useful. Sammy’s usually out of his freakin’ mind, with that therapy bullshit, but-“ He sighs, tipping his head back to rest against the bed. “It’s not half bad.”

He glares at the ceiling, as if he can’t believe what he’s saying, and you take a risk. It won’t change anything. You’ve comforted him before, and he’s comforted you, so this won’t change anything.

“Dean.” You murmur, resting your hand on his thigh. “I believe you, I just- I don’t want that many things.”

“Everyone wants things.” He mutters, and you shake your head. 

“Not me.”

He finally looks at you, and that strange expression has returned. His eyes lock onto yours, and there seems to be a heaviness to him that you’ve never really seen before. You smile at him gently, and his lips only twitch. He’s looked at you like this before, as well. In the dead of night, when he woke up shouting and you were the only one who heard. 

But you’ve never seen it in the light before. 

And it’s the way he always looks at you, but more. His eyes are softer, but his jaw is clenched so tight you’re worried he’ll hurt himself. There are deep lines on his face that you want to trace with your fingers, and his lips are in a tight line you want to pry open with your tongue. 

“Nothin’ you want, huh.” his voice is deeper than only a moment before, almost a little hoarse.

You sigh, your eyes darting to your hand, still resting against him. “Nothing I can have.” 

He gives you a curious look. “What, going back to civilian life?”

“No. Never.” You bite on your inner cheek, playing with the fabric of his jeans. “You’re stuck with me, Winchester. Sorry.”

He lets out a low laugh, leaning back once more. “Don’t worry about me, sweetheart. I think I’ll live.”

———

Dean taps on the top of your head, and you look up to find him grinning down at you, holding your book. 

“What-“

“I read it.” He stands a little taller, seeming to puff out his chest. “You were right, sweetheart, it’s pretty good.”

“It’s- The book?” You blink at him. “You read the book?”

“All of it. Except the acknowledgments.”

“Yeah, you don’t really have to read the acknowledgments-“ You shake your head, chewing on your tongue. “Why did you read the book.”

“I dunno. You,” he gently bops your head with the book. “Fell asleep early. And you didn’t stop reading it yesterday, so- I dunno. Wanted to see what the big deal was.”

You nod, watching him carefully. “And you liked it?”

“Sure.” He pauses. “Did you like it?”

“Yes.” You whisper, and you’re not sure why this is hitting you in the chest so hard. It’s just a book.

But he read it for you. 

And he’s been looking at you all week. Laughing with you. Not pushing you away or shutting you out when the conversations get too serious. Acting like you’re the only two people in the word, which is what it feels like. 

It’s just you and Dean. In this room, and—even though you know that it’s not true, that he’ll probably turn around and walk right into another bed when you’re free—in the whole fucking universe. 

It’s really impossible to think that none of this is about you, now. It probably isn’t, but playing pretend is getting easier and easier. You’re not getting sick of him. He’s not getting sick of you. 

And if you never had to leave, you might ask him. If he’s happy here with you, or just happy here. If he thinks he looks at you differently, if there was any truth to what the cowgirls said. 

If he really was never going to go home with them. 

What the hell he was going to tell you, at the bar.

If he can feel how humid it is, here. How outside, the storm is still raging, but in here your skin is hot and sweaty because Dean’s been pulling your legs over his lap when you’re on the couch. And the steam keeps following him out of the shower and into your dreams. 

Last night you had to take an emergency shower, because you’d had a fucking wet dream. It had been all hands and lips, everywhere over your body at once. Soft on sensitive skin and rough on your neck and tits and between your legs. You’ll woken up with your hair stuck to your brow, and your hips grinding into the mattress. Chasing release in nothing, until you’d scrambled into the bathroom, turned on the water, and finished where he wouldn’t hear you. 

Couldn’t hear you. 

Didn’t hear you. 

Dean couldn’t have heard you. If he had, he wouldn’t be looking at you right now. He’s been trying to let you down gently, instead of sitting right next to you. Waiting for your attention. Pressing his thigh into yours. 

Best friend. 

He’s comfortable with you because you’re his best friend. And you’re getting really, really bad at remembering that. 

But he’s really not making it easy. 

“You- Uh-“ He clears his throat. “You ever think about how Sammy’s doing?”

“Like- Emotionally?”

“No, like-“ Dean lets out a slow breath, watching you so carefully it feels like he’s pulling you apart. “With this life he’s got goin’ for himself. Less hunting, more time with the missus. Thinking about that white picket fence, payin’ taxes, apple pie shit. You ever think about that?” 

You swallow, and speak slowly. This sort of feels like a warzone. You don’t want to misstep. 

“Sometimes.” With you. “I- I mean, I have the dream.”

“The dream?”

You nod, and he frowns.

“I thought you didn’t want things.” 

“I don’t want things I can have.” You correct, and Dean raises his brows.

“It’s a dream, sweetheart. Doesn’t gotta be something you can have, think that’s the whole freakin’ point.” He pauses. “I’ve told you about my dreams.”

Fuck. 

“I- Don’t know.” Your gaze drops to your hands, but Dean’s gaze keeps searing over your skin. “It’s dumb.”

“Nah. You’re never dumb.”

Fuck. “Dean-“

“You don’t have to tell me.” He mutters, something oddly edged in his tone. “But I’m here. If you wanna-“

“I’d like it.” You cut him off softly, and he stills at your side. “What Sam’s doing. I mean- Not exactly that. But we- I would kind of want both, I think. Keep helping, even if it’s mostly research. Having something good, my way.” 

You give Dean a small, nervous smile, and his mouth is hanging open. He’s closer than he was, only a second ago. You could lean forward and bump your noses together, if you tried. 

And you want to. 

But Dean’s just staring at you, and your knees are starting to feel weak, despite sitting down. 

“Why isn’t that something you can have?” Dean’s voice is so low you can almost feel it in your chest, and he only seems to be getting closer. 

“Because there’s no one I can do that with.” You say, before you can think about it, and Dean’s jaw twitches. 

He’s so fucking close. You can really smell that pine tree wash. Your heartbeat is in your ears, along with a strange rattle that’s bouncing around your skull with every heated thought—his hand wandering up your leg and between your thighs, his body covering yourself, his lips wherever the hell he wants them, as long as it’s on your skin—and most of your brain is just a haze of Dean. 

But you can’t move first. Things can’t change, when this inevitably ends. 

The rattling sound is getting too loud to just be the hunger, bouncing around your ribs.

“The heater is making noise again.” You whisper, and Dean licks his lips, his voice still low and hoarse. 

“It’ll be fine,” he mutters. “You fixed it.”

That is not a good enough reason for it to be fine, no matter how confident and smooth Dean says it. Even if it ignites in your lower gut, and spreads humid between your thighs. “But-“

“You want dinner?”

You frown. “It’s my night-“

“It’s fine.” He moves to his feet suddenly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Uh- Pasta. And those frozen meatballs, we haven’t used them yet.”

“At least let me help.” You try to stand up, but Dean just blocks you, shaking his head. “Dean-“

“I got it, baby. Don’t worry about it.”

You don’t argue with him after that. Not because he’s right—he’s not—but because you’ve forgotten how to walk. Or talk. Or do anything at all. 

Baby.

Dean called you baby. 

———

He doesn’t do it again. Not for the rest of the night, or in the morning. The next day is mostly spent making up a new card game, that’s mostly based on you and Dean yelling at each other, and trying to steal cards. At one point he tackles you, starting a mock wrestling match, and it’s like being tossed into a wildfire. You giggle too much. Give in too fast. 

Dean stands abruptly, and goes to the bathroom for twenty minutes after that. 

You don’t think that’s about you. Not when he immediately drags you to your feet and announces that he’s ready to learn how Zodiac signs work. If he was pissed at you—if something had changed—he wouldn’t be talking to you at all. But he doesn’t move from your side for the rest of the day.  

So the heat doesn’t die. 

Not until you crawl into bed, and the heater stops rattling.

Stops all together. 

And everything starts to freeze. 

For the first hour, you try to just bundle yourself as tight as you can, burrowing yourself in the blankets and curling up in a ball. But the temperature drops faster and faster, and these are motel sheets. Thinner than they should be, a little itchy, and not made to withstand the cold of a blizzard. Your fingertips start to go numb, and you can feel the cold almost in your bones, until you have to clench your jaw to stop your teeth from chattering. 

Dean’s snoring soundly, in his own bed. You don’t even think he’s realized how cold it’s gotten. 

But the man runs like a furnace. A warm, big furnace that could wrap around you, and make you warm, so fucking warm- 

You sit up, and stare at him in the dark. Just as handsome as always, with all the panes of his face cast in sharp long shadows that only make him more beautiful. You could easily lose yourself kissing along his jawline or running your finger through his hair. Sitting in his lap and pressing your face into his chest, just feeling him until the whole world is lighter.

And this isn’t about that. 

It can’t be. You roll out of bed—keeping the blankets wrapped around you—and this isn’t about how you’re in love with Dean. If it becomes that, you’ll spiral into what every single brush of his skin and breath means. You’ll stare at him all night instead of sleeping, and he’ll notice, and you’ll ruin everything. 

So it’s just about heat. 

You nudge his arm, and drop your voice to a loud whisper. “Dean.”

He grunts, and you sigh, poking him again. 

“Dean.” 

He rolls over, making a low sound like your name, and his hand rests over yours as his eyes flutter. He looks so comfortable. Peaceful. At complete ease, in a way you’ve almost never seen. 

It’s so fucking selfish to wake him up, just for you. 

But another chill runs through your body, and you don’t have another choice. 

“Dean.” You shove him gently, and he makes an adorable grumbling sound, slowly opening his eyes. 

“What- What’s’a matter.” He frowns around the dark, then up at you. His hand over yours tugs you a little closer.

It doesn’t mean anything. 

“I’m cold.” You whisper, he frowns, and this was stupid. “Never mind. I’m sorry, I just- I’ll go back to bed-“

“Wait, just-“ Dean pulls you back with a small yelp, and his hand rests over your brow. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re freezing.”

“I- I know.”

“Well, we gotta-“ He cuts himself off, scanning over you carefully as his nostrils flare. 

You just stare at him back, and whatever he can see on your face, it’s what he wants.

Dean gives you a tight nod, and throws open his blanket. “C’mere.”

“No- It’s okay- I’ll be fine-“

“You’re already not fine-“

“But you don’t have to-“Dean grunts your name, and it’s a good thing he can’t see the flush of your cheeks. “Get in the fuckin’ bed. Please.”

Please.

He did say please.

You crawl onto the mattress, and before you can build any sort of safety barrier between your bodies, Dean’s pulling you right into his chest. And that’s enough to make the heat spike and return, stronger than before. But then he bows his head so his lips brush over your hairline, and his hands dive just under your shirt to rub your skin, and his legs tangled with yours until all you can feel is Dean. 

Hot. 

So fucking hot, you’re worried you’re going to evaporate and turn into nothing but steam. 

“Relax.” He mutters, deep and right in your ear, and you almost go limp in his arms. “There you go. Warmer?”

You hum—speaking feels like a taller order right now—nodding against his shoulder, and Dean lets out a slow breath. 

“Good. Go to sleep, sweetheart, I’ll fix it for you in the morning.”

He’ll fix it. For you. Dean will fix it for you. 

That’s about you. 

And he’s fixing it now. But not in the way he probably thinks. 

You’re warm, but you can’t fall asleep. Also you can think about his Dean’s fingers, brushing over your spine and spending smaller, pleasurable shivers through your body. His knee is pressed far too close to the painful ache between your legs. His breath his fanning over your brow, and he’s wrapped an arm around you to pin you right against him. Every inch of your body feels alight, just in his presence. The heat between your legs is almost painful, and when you rub your thighs together, you can feel your arousal.

You’ve never been hotter in your life. You’re on fucking fire, trapped in Dean’s everything, and there’s no fucking way you’re going to do anything but memorize him. The way his body shifts, how it feels to be swimming in him, and the feel of his strength keeping you so tight. 

You can hear his heartbeat.

It’s faster than you thought it would be. 

And when you wiggle in his arms a little, trying to get more comfortable, his fingers curl on your back and he holds you tighter. 

“Don’t move.” He almost growls in your ear, and you swallow.

“Dean?” You whisper, and he grunts, the sound vibrating through your whole body. “My leg is falling asleep.”

He moves you without another word, but the friction just makes you hornier. And now his lips are pressed against your neck, making your core molten and forcing a soft, high sound from your throat. 

Dean tenses around you, immediately pulling away and readjusting you again, but you don’t get the chance to over think it. 

Because you feel it, first. 

His erect cock, pressed right over your pussy. 

You lean back to stare at him, your mouth hanging open, and Dean looks at you like he’s looking at the sun. His jaw is clenches, his features blown out with hunger, and his fingers on your spine have started a soft, slow dance that makes you arch into his touch. 

His eyes flick down to your lips, and then expression he gives you is almost pleading. His thumb traces over the shape of your lower lip as you try to remember how to speak, or move, or do anything. 

Then he mutters your name, dropping his brow against yours, and you grind fully into his knee. 

“God, fuckin’-“ Dean groans, his lips so close you can almost feel them. “Tell me I can, baby. Please. Let me- Fuck-“

You can’t remember how to speak. 

But Dean’s knee pressed right against your clit, and it jumpstarts your memory of how to move.

You grab his face, and slam your lips over his. He responds in a second, flipping you flat on your back and dropping his hips, keeping you pinned beneath him. He’s rough, hot and wet and desperate, with grabbing your jaw and angling it back, using his tongue and lips and teeth until you’re slack in his hands. 

He pulls back suddenly, examining you for a second before starting to kiss on your neck. Sucking small spots that feel like flares, sparking through your body and making you squirm with a desperation for more. 

“Dean-“ You gasp, tugging at his hair as you try to spread your legs. “I- I need- Dean-“

“I know.” He growls against you, his teeth grazing over a soft spot, and you arch off the bed with a high whine. His free hand finds its way between your legs, cupping your pussy over your clothing, and you gasp, wiggling until his palm is pressed against your clit. “Heard you callin’ for me last night, baby. Christ, you have no goddamn idea how much I- Fuck-“

You start to grind into him, and Dean rises over you, something like awe written all over his face. 

“That bad, huh.” He mutters, and you nod weakly. “You want me? Gonna let me warm you up?”

You don’t know why he’s doing this. Don’t know what it will bring in the morning. 

All you know right now is that Dean’s pulled your pants down, and is teasing your slit over your underwear with two broad fingers. That he’s above you, and looking at you like he wants to eat you alive. 

So you nod, letting your brain turn into only a fog of Dean and good, so fucking good.

And Dean grins. 

A sharp, almost predatory grin that makes your breath hitch in your throat, and your hips jolt as he flicks your clit. He gives you a deep, heavy kiss, pressing his tongue between your lips and down your throat, all while circling his thumb right around your clit, and you’re melted within seconds. 

“Can you say it?” He drawls, his lips still brushing right over yours, and you just blink at him through the daze. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you want.”

He rests his thumb right over your clit, his fingers playing with the wet spot on your panties, and you just manage to whine out what he wants to hear. 

“Touch me.” You gasp, and he chuckles, giving you a soft, rewarding kiss. 

“Good girl.” He hums, and you don’t even have time to register how that makes your moan before Dean’s moving. 

Your shirt gets pulled over your head, as he kisses down your neck and over your shoulders. Dean makes a small stop at your tits, taking one in his hand to palm and knead, the other being almost attacked by his mouth. Licking and sucking and kissing everywhere he can reach, before pulling your nipple between his teeth. He groans as you shiver and writhe below him, switching his attentions until you’re flushed and tugging at his hair, silently pleading for more.

He hums, kissing over the curve of your breast before continuing down. Under the covers where you can’t see him, making every single touch even more electric. Your eyes close as he gently works over your stomach abdomen, gasp when he nips at your inner thigh, and fist the sheets as you try to guess where he’s going to be next. 

Dean kisses your clit softly, over your panties, and he squeezes your ass as he slowly pulls your hips off the mattress. 

You hold your breath, when you feel the cool air hit your dripping cunt. 

And Dean doesn’t move right away. 

His breath is warm over your pussy, his stubble brushing sensitive skin as he kisses your thigh, but he’s not touching you. All you’re getting is his hands on your ass, the phantom feelings when he’d been before, and it’s starting to make you go cold again. He could not like what he sees. You might have pushed this—whatever the hell this is—too far, and he’s going to come up and tell you this was a mistake- 

Dean licks a rough stripe up your pussy, and you almost fly off the bed. His arm plants over your lower stomach, pinning you to the bed as he swirls his tongue around your clit, and pinches your ass gently. You flop back down with a deep breath, shooting a hand under the covers to tug at his hair—unsure if you’re trying to move him away or urge him on—and Dean moans against your pussy as he starts to eat you out like a man starved. Sucking your clit and rapidly flicking his tongue until you’re panting, before starting to lick your pussy as a feverish speed. 

You never know where he’s going to be next, and it’s driving you out of your mind. It doesn’t take long for you to feel that coil in your gut tightening, set to snap any second, and Dean seems to know that. His hand on your ass rolls and squeezes as he tongue fucks and licks you, his arms holding you firm against his mouth. Every yank of his hair only makes him groan, and the sound vibrates in your pussy, making your eyes roll back in your head. 

“Dean.” Your voice is high, almost whiny, and Dean hums. “Please, I- I’m going to-“

He presses his tongue flat over your clit, shoves two fingers into your pussy, starting to pump them at a brutal, rapid pace, and your mouth falls open as the heat flood through you. You see white, your thighs clenching around Dean’s head and toes curling as he eats you out through the orgasm. 

Dean gently pries your legs away, as you float back down, and presses an almost mockingly sweet kiss over your clit—making you shudder in his hands, and earning you a second one—before shuffling up your body. 

You stare at him, as he reappears from under the covers. His chin is shining with the wetness from your pussy, and you take a ragged breath as he wipes it with his thumb, and hold your gaze as he sucks it clean. 

“I-“ You take another breath, almost grabbing at the air to try and get him up, with you. “Dean, Dean-“

He crashes up, angling his lips over yours for a sloppy, open-mouth kiss, and you moan, tangling your fingers in his hair. You can taste yourself, on his tongue, and just like that you need more. 

You need to taste him. 

Dean pulls away first, resting his brow against yours with a wide grin. 

“Hi.” He mutters, and there’s something soft in his voice you didn’t expect. “Anyone ever told you how good you taste, sweetheart?”

You flush, fingers curling on the nape of his neck. “No.”

He hums, giving you another soft kiss on the nose. “Well, you do. Taste like fuckin’ heaven, make so many pretty sounds.” He rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and grins when you squeak. “So sensitive, baby. Even better than I imagined.” 

You blink at him, your sex-addled brain not really able to understand what he meant by that, so you just say the only thing you can think of. 

“You’re really good at that.”

He gives you a look that’s awfully close to pride, and kisses up your neck, stopping to whisper in your ear. 

“Easy when I got such a pretty fuckin’ pussy to worship.”

You take a sharp breath, and Dean trades it with his own, almost pushing his tongue fully down your throat. He keeps kissing you like he’s trying to mark you, or maybe just fuse you together. 

You really wouldn’t mind that. 

But you have something else to do first. 

“Dean,” you whisper, and he pulls back with a tight expression. 

“What’s-“

“I wanna put it in my mouth.”

You say it fast, before you can lose confidence. Dean stares at you for a long beat after, his eyes dark and jaw clenched, and you suck on your lower lip, trying not to focus on how his cock is pressed against you. It feels thick. Big. You need it. 

“Please.” You add, and Dean’s eyes flash, his voice hoarse. 

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You manage to push up on your elbows, and Dean swallows. “Please, Dean, I- I want it so bad-“

He slams you back down into the bed with a kiss, and you grab his face between your hands. You want to feel him. Have this passion branded into you, until you can feel it forever. 

“Fuck,” he grunts, pressing a softer kiss to the side of your mouth. “You wanna suck my cock, baby?”

You nod, and Dean hums, leaning back to give you an almost strict look, after. 

“I’m not comin’ in your mouth. If I finish, it’s in you.” He pauses, then adds. “Long as that’s- I don’t wanna make it something you gotta give me, just like- Head would be awesome-“

You rise up to meet him this time, hooking your arm fully around his neck and cutting him off with another kiss. 

“I’m on the pill.” You say, nipping at his lower lip. “And I- I’d like you to- Do that.”

Dean looks like he just won the lottery. You even get one last kiss, before he’s flipping you over and helping you settle between his legs. He is big. Mostly thick, but still big. And pretty.

You want to choke on him. 

Dean smirks at you as he lazily strokes himself. “Like what you’re looking at, sweetheart?”

Somehow, that gives you whatever little jump you needed to move. You roll your eyes, swat his hand away, and take him into your mouth in one, quick movement. Dean grabs your hair with a grunt, as his cock bumps against the back of your throat, and you take what you can’t fit in your free hand. It’s easy to set a pace, rubbing his cock as your tongue swirls and you suck him off like he’s candy. He’s heavy and perfect on your tongue, and even moan of your name only makes you speed up. You hum around him, grinding your hips into the sheets, and Dean makes the most animalistic sound you’ve ever heard. 

His hips jerk, making you gag, and he tries to pull back. 

You squeeze his leg, and go faster. Faster. He’s twitching in your mouth and saying your name like a prayer, and- 

Dean yanks you off with a grunt, and you giggle as he drags you up his chest, glaring at you with a lustful, dark expression. 

“You think this is funny, baby?” He mutters, and you smile at him, nodding. 

His lips twitch, and he reaches up to grab one of your breasts, smirking when your breath catches in your throat. 

“You want to fuck you?”

“Yes.” You whisper, and Dean hums. 

“Gonna be a good girl for me?”

You nod, and Dean’s hand trails between your thighs, slowly circling your clit until you’re grinding on his abs, nails digging into his chest. 

“Felt how tight you were.” He says under his breath. “But you’re fucking soaked, sweetheart. Think you can take it?”

A whine leaves you, and Dean chuckles, the sound rolling through your cunt.

“Yeah. You can take it.”

He picks you up, and your mouth falls open as you’re driven slowly down onto his cock. The stretch burns, but it’s so good. Dean lets out a deep moan as he bottoms out, and he doesn’t waste any time. He guides you up and down, helping you bounce on his dick, and you try to roll to meet him but you’re alight, high on the feeling of him dragging every needy spot inside of you, gasping whenever he slams you down and you feel fuller than even in your life. Dean slams up to meet you, every time, and you arch in his hands, starting to set your own, desperate pace of grinding on his dick.

Dean groans, and he looks at you under hooded eyes, hands starting to roam and grope anywhere they can find. You roll your hips and he grabs your throat, hissing when you clench around him. Dean starts to jackhammer up into you, and you whimper as he hits impossibly deep, squeezing hard. He sits up, taking your breast back into his mouth, and you yank on his hair, trying to warn him that you’re close. You can’t remeber how to do anything but whimper his name, though, and he somehow understands. 

Dean sucks on your neck as he starts to tap on your clit, and you go slack in his arms, trying to fight it off. 

“Come on,” He growls, pressing down hard as he slams up. “Give it to me baby, fucking cum on my cock-“

You gasp, as your orgasm crashes into you. Stars dance behind your eyes as white-hot pleasure washes through your body, and Dean gives you one last, bruising kiss as he groans your name with his own release. It paints inside of you and sends you over the edge one last, shivering time, and you whine as he stills inside of you. 

And this doesn’t feel real. 

It’s the type of heat that feels like steam. Like a drug. As if, when Dean kisses your brow and pulls out, it could only be a dream. 

You’re too fucked out to think about it. You can only let Dean move you around—clean up, bathroom, back to bed—in a trace like state, before you’re tucked back into his chest. In his bed. 

Warm. 

You drift easily off into sleep with your body spent, and you’re so easily, happily, perfectly warm.

———

The world is slow, when you open your eyes. There’s a deep comfort you haven’t felt in a while, a comfortable warmth settled in your body—not wired, not goin to burn you, but just peaceful—and you take a deep breath, settling into the covers. 

Dean groans, and his lips brush over your ears. He shifts behind you, tugging a little tighter against his chest. 

You still. 

His chest. His arm, wrapped over your stomach. Because you slept with him. 

You fucking slept with him.

And he’s still here, in the morning. Still holding onto you. When you roll over, his features are relaxed, and his mouth is hanging open as he snores. His chest rumbles with each breath, and his fingers trail over your waist in his sleep, and you slept with him. 

You can’t stay here. In his arms. You don’t want to sit in it too long, let yourself get too high on the smell and feel of him around you, then have him wake up. Stare at you, then jump away. Tell you this was just a casual thing, you’d just been stuck together too long, and this doesn’t change that you’re just friends. You’ll have to pinch yourself, to stop from crying. And then the car ride back will suck, and Sam will come home and notice things are weird, and you’ll have to stop yourself from crying again.

It’s easier, if you just pretend nothing happened. Nothing will actually change. Your heart will remain in its fragile shape—made like glass, so fucking easy for Dean to shatter—and Dean won’t have to go to the trouble of rejecting you. 

So you, very slowly shift your way out of his arms. It takes longer than you thought it would. Dean keeps pulling you back, and grumbling in his sleep, and at one point his morning wood ends up pressed right against your bare ass, and you have to take about fifty deep breaths. 

But you manage. With a lot of help from the sheets, stuffed into his arms as you move away, you get out of the bed. 

Take a shower. Wrap yourself in blankets and layers, because the heater is still broken. Make coffee. 

Drift through the early morning, trying to think about anything but the thing. If you think about it, you’ll start crying all by yourself. 

And when you look out the door, it’s a small blessing. 

You won’t have to think about this at all. The storm has stopped. Someone cleared the roads, last night. 

You and Dean can leave. 

Dean groans your name, a few hours later, when he wakes up. Shoots upright with his gun, when he realizes you’re not in bed with him. 

“Over here.” You say, rubbing your hands against the quickly cooling coffee, and Dean grunts. 

His eyes still aren’t in total focus. He’s rubbing his face, his hair spiky and the sheets pooling around his lap. You have to stare at your coffee mug, because now all you can think about is how those abs had felt flexing under your fingers, how  his chest had looked above you, heaving as you sucked his cock- 

“What’re doin’ over there?” He mutters your name, and the heat isn’t need anymore. It’s prickling. Sore. You just want to leave this behind. To give him the out he’s probably looking for, and not think about how it’s not you. Dean doesn’t regret sex with you.

He just doesn’t want to do any sex that leads to expectations in the morning.

“It’s safe to drive.” You mutter, glaring at a carving of a flower Dean did on the table. It’s making you think about his hands. On your tits, holding your neck, inside of you. Focus. “Heater’s broken. We should probably go.”

Dean stares at you. You can feel it. And when you look up, there’s an expression you’ve never seen before. You don’t even know how to read it. His face is tight, but his brows are relaxed, and his mouth is open. It’s not even there long enough for you to analyze it. Dean just shakes his head, runs his hand through his hair, and stands up. 

You flush, biting your lip and looking back to the table. His cock is hanging between his legs, and you can still taste him, still feel him when you shift in the chair, and it’s going to maybe haunt you for the rest of your life.

“Right.” Dean mutters—not seeming to notice how you’re squirming in the chair—and you can see him pulling on his boxers in your periphery. “We should. I’ll start packing-“

“I already did everything.” You tilt your head to the couch, where you’d hauled the bags. “You just- Have the keys. And I need your help carrying them.”

He snorts, voice dry. “What, you gonna take off with the money?”

You frown at him. “We don’t have any money.”

“It’s- Never mind.” Dean shuffles to the bathroom. “Gonna take a leak. Get dressed. Then we’ll leave.”

You don’t know why he’s saying it like that. He wanted to leave. He wanted to beat the storm in the first place. And this has been perfect, this feeling of peace with him you haven’t known in years, but if you were still stuck here that would have to change. He wouldn’t have this clean, neat out. 

But it feels like he’s pissed at you. You’re not trying to talk to him, but he’s not trying to talk to you. Dean almost stomps out of the bathroom, grabs the bags, and hauls them outside without a glance in your direction. While you go to the front to turn in your key, he walks a pace behind you. When you grab a blanket from the trunk and slide into shotgun, he doesn’t tease you about being cold. 

Dean glances at you, his jaw ticks, and he starts the engine. It warms up quickly, but you can’t really feel it. Your fingers are still numb. Your heart feels like it’s going too fast and too slow, all at once. 

There’s only that hot, uncomfortable prickling sensation, and pure fucking cold.

Dean’s not moving at all. Not driving away, and leaving this all in the dust. He’s just drumming on the wheel, glaring out the windshield, and pressing his lips tight together.

He’s going to tell you no anyway. You did so much to avoid it, to get out before the change could sink and stick, but he’s just going to do it here-

“I just-“ He takes a long breath, and you swallow. “Before we go, you gotta tell me, sweetheart. Are we locking it?”

“Are we-“ You blink at him. “What.”

“Locking it.” He grunts, giving you firm, almost heavy look. “This. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.”

Oh. 

You don’t want to lock it. You don’t want to trap it and push it down, because it’s just going to bubble up and you’re going to explode. 

But you don’t want things to change. 

“If that’s what you want.” You mumble, and Dean huffs a low, dry laugh. 

“Yeah. Alright.”

It doesn’t sound alright. He sounds pissed, and tired, and he’s still not looking at you, but he usually looks at you all the time. Maybe he’s never going to look at you again, maybe your friendship is going to melt away with the storm if you don’t-

“Is that what you want?”

You speak before you can think. But it gets Dean to look at you. 

Stare at you. 

With that same strange expression from before. Seeing it closer, for longer—his breathing heavier than it should be, his grip on the wheel white-knuckled—it looks almost broken. 

Almost as cold as you feel. 

And you shouldn’t speak again. You should just let it go. Speaking it will change everything, without any way to stop it. The water will run, and you’ll either be smoothed out and locked into the riverbed, or you’ll be swept away with the current. 

But everything has already changed. Dean’s never not looked at you for so long. You’ve never felt this hot discomfort around him. 

So you take the leap. 

“I- I don’t want it.” You whisper, and his jaw ticks. “I want it to be more. I want to go back to bed, and I want to wake up next to you, and I want you to pee with the door open and make up stupid games together and order me cherries- Everything else we’ve always done but you kiss me after. Like- I cut out paper stars and give them to you and you kiss me, and you take a shower, and I kiss you, and you keep making me breakfast but now it’s just me-“

“It’s always just you.” Dean grunts, and you blink. 

“What?”

“Breakfast.” He mutters, still staring at you. “I don’t really make Sam breakfast.”

Oh. “Oh.”

Your voice is barely a breath, and Dean chuckles. 

“Yeah, and, uh-“ He clears his throat, his ears going red again. “You’re the sex. The one I’ve kinda- Since I freakin’ met you, I- Yeah. So, guess I got two bucket lists this week.”

He gives you a small, crooked grin, and it’s like a spark in your chest. Warm. Bright. 

Maybe guiding you to something really, really good. 

“You know the bar we went to?” You say carefully, just because you have to be sure. “The girls who tried to flirt with you?”

“Not really.” Dean shrugs, and that just makes the spark start to catch fire. “What about them?”

“In the bathroom, I heard them talking, and-“ You give him a tight, nervous smile. “They thought you were my boyfriend. Because of how you look at me. Like you- As if you love me.”

You expect him to dismiss it. To say he has feelings you, but avoid the L word. To awkwardly tell you he just wants to keep having sex, and the cowgirls were just drunk. 

But he doesn’t. 

Dean just grins at you. 

The exact way he always has. 

“Y’know, Sammy says I do that.” He twists to fully face you, his fingers still drumming on the wheel. “Said it was obvious. So obvious I needed to man up and tell you out loud. But you never acted like you could see it, so I guessed he was just being a bitch. But I guess that’s kinda the only face I make, when I’m looking at you. Guess I can’t blame you for that one.”

He gives you a smaller grin, raising his brow, and you breathing heavy through your nose. 

Obvious. 

It’s been obvious. 

And he’s- He’s not say-

“Dean.” You whisper, leaning forward until your hand is braced on his knee. “Do you-“

“Yeah.” His voice is low, but not like it’s secret. Like he’s telling you something so critically important, it has to be said slow and deep, just to make sure you understand. “You?”

“Yeah.”

Dean’s jaw twitches, and his eyes flick down to your lips. “Can I kiss you, then? Whenever I want?”

You nod, and Dean crashes forward. It’s slow, this time. With music in your chest and a high feeling in your head, as Dean pulls you closer and hold your face like it’s something priceless. There’s no rush, to try and imprint yourself upon each other. You’re already molded into him, and he’s already branded all over you. 

And things have changed. 

But you’re never going to go back. 

End Note: Thank god for that snowstorm. I choose to believe Sam summoned it to trap them together.

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[devilsqueen722]

Chibs Telford

Prompts - if you don’t turn that alarm off i’m gonna throw it out the window.  ”

Action - for our muses to go another round in the morning

title; alarms (Chibs Telford x fem!reader)

prompts; “if you don’t turn that alarm off i’m gonna throw it out the window” and 2) for our muses to go another round in the morning — from morning after starters 

warnings; established relationship, morning after, they’re naked at the start, smut, minors do not interact!!!, p in v, unprotected sex + creampie (truly can’t help myself), allusions to another round, but if i missed any lmk!!! (938 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— thank you for celebrating my one year!!! | submissions are now closed

the alarm had been going off for a couple minutes already by the time it finally woke Chibs, but instead of turning it off straight away, he moved around the room to start getting ready. 

you watched him for a minute, alarm still blaring before you threw a pillow in his direction. 

“if you don’t turn that alarm off i’m gonna throw it out the window”

Chibs chuckled at your words, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned back to you. 

“easy love, no need for that”

he told, moving back to you and settling between your legs on the bed. he leaned over you to turn off the alarm, chuckling to himself again as you gasped at his closeness. 

once the alarm was finally off, his arms were bracing himself on the bed on either side of your head. 

“what’s got ye all annoyed, eh?”

you huffed at his words, it was obvious what had annoyed you.

“stupid alarm, that you never turned off right away”

Chibs chuckled as you poked a finger at his chest, easily catching your wrist and pulling your hand away from him.

his smirk was still firmly planted on his face as he held your hands to the bed above your head, watching in amusement as you wriggled under him.

“was grabbing clothes first, that alright with you?”

without waiting to answer, he leaned in to kiss you. his lips on yours muffled your surprised gasp, before he was whispering against your lips.

“or would ye prefer i just don’t get ready for the day?”

he pulled back to meet your eyes, watching your eyes darken with the proposition. 

Chibs gave a small roll of his hips to test the water, earning a shaky breath from your lips while you tried to pull your hands from his hold.

“baby please..”

you murmured softly, watching as he let go of your hands to push your legs further apart with his own darkened gaze.

“yeah ye want it?”

he settled in between your legs, thighs flush with yours as he positioned himself at your entrance, pulling another breathy noise from your lips.

Chibs always knew when you wanted it, the subtle cues your body gave him.

“please”

was all he needed to hear before he was pushing into you in one smooth thrust, groaning into your shoulder as inch after inch sank into your warmth.

both of you moaned as he bottomed out, his arms stayed on either side of your head as his body blanketed yours.

his hips pulled back before he was pushing back in, starting a steady pace while your arms went around his neck, holding him as close as possible.

you clung to him as best as you could, one hand on the back of his head while the other moved across his back.

he grunted, rocking his hips again while his lips found yours in another kiss. his tongue flicked along your bottom lip in a silent plea for entry, giving a sharper thrust to make you moan as you didn’t let him in.

Chibs kissed you deeply, his thrusts picking up their pace as he lost himself in kissing you.

“baby..”

you mewled out into the kiss, moaning with every deep thrust he gave.

“i’ve got ye love, promise”

he murmured against your lips, giving another deeeo thrust before he angled his hips to hit that one spot with more precision.

your fingers tightened in his hair, pulling him down into another needy kiss. it was needier than before, a mix of everything stroking the ever lasting flame between you.

“fuck baby!”

you moaned out, pulling a grunt from him as your walls fluttered around him, drawing him in closer with every thrust he had to offer.

his cock dragged along your walls just right, hitting that one spot over and over, pushing you closer towards your climax.

he knew you were there, always did.

“that’s it baby”

Chibs murmured, kissing you again as he doubled down on his sharp thrusts. 

each thrust he gave had the head of his cock hitting that one spot over and over again, driving you closer and closer to the edge.

“close..”

you warned, your walls fluttering around him again as he made no attempt to change or alter his pace.

his hips rolled a couple more times, pushing you over the edge and into your climax with a breathy cry of his name.

the feeling of your walls spasming around him had his own climax teetering on the edge, his pace growing sloppy as your climax rippled through your body, your release soaking his cock and easing his now desperate thrusts.

“fuck love, gonny cum”

he groaned into your shoulder, giving a shallow thrust before he was following you over the edge with a moan.

your name fell from his lips as he spilled himself into your warmth, earning another flutter of your cunt around him.

Chibs grunted, burying his face in against your neck as he settled on top of you, earning a small giggle from your lips.

“yeah?”

you laughed as he murmured a ‘yeah yeah’ against your skin, though he made no attempt to move.

instead, he stayed like that.

your fingers brushed through his hair, curling a longer strand around your finger as he mumbled out.

“feels too good”

Chibs shifted slightly, settling against you more as he moved his head to rest on your shoulder.

he met your eyes with a lazy smirk on his face, continuing on with his satisfied grumbles.

“gonny need ye to call Jackie ‘nd tell him i’ll be late”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[devilsqueen722]

Chibs - can’t find my shirt with come on, come back to bed. 

title; take what he wants (Chibs Telford x fem!reader)

prompts; “can’t find my shirt” and “come on, come back to bed” — from morning after starters 

warnings; unestablished relationship but they hook up frequently, morning after, some teasing from both of them, they’re both naked, allusions to sex, so minors do not interact!!!, but that’s it?? (388 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— thank you for celebrating my one year!!! | submissions are now closed

you’d taken Chibs back to yours last night, a crash of lips on lips the whole way back to your room.

neither of you left the bed until now, as the sun crept in through your curtains.

Chibs stayed in bed while you moved around the room, despite his best effort to keep you in against his side.

“can’t find my shirt”

you murmured, earning an all but pleased look from Chibs as he leaned back on his elbows in the bed.

“don’t need it love”

he murmured, smirking up at you as you glanced over your shoulder at him.

of course his eyes had started to trail shamelessly across your body.

“and why’s that Telford?”

his lips curled into a smirk at your question, continuing to let his eyes wander your body like he had many times before.

Chibs loved admiring you, he didn’t care when or where you were. hell, he’d gotten shouted at for it loads of times by Clay at the garage.

he just couldn’t help it.

if you were around, his eyes were on you. 

“you know why sweetheart”

always with the petnames.

you turned to him, hands on your hips as you gave him a pointed look. 

“explain it to me”

his left hand lifted to run down his face, before he was beckoning you closer.

“come on, come back to bed”

you laughed, shaking your head.

but still, you moved towards him, crawling up the bed before stopping between his legs.

“that’s not explaining it”

Chibs tilted his head, smirk still on his face as he admired you again, all while pushing the blankets away from him.

“can’t i want some more loving?”

it was your turn to wear a smirk.

you moved closer, hooking a leg across his lap before settling against him. your hands rested on his shoulders while his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

“you know you can, but you need to work on the asking part”

Chibs chuckled, shaking his head as amusement painted his features.

“do i, aye?”

he drawled lowly, leaning in to kiss you before he flipped your position, settling you on your back.

his body settled between your legs, his thighs flush with the backs of yours while he leaned over you.

“rather take what i want love”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[devilsqueen722]

Chibs Telford- “is- is that tig’s shirt?” - oh, kill me now - you’re getting so grey. i’m kind of liking it.

title; Tig’s shirt (Chibs Telford x fem!reader)

prompts; 91) “is- is that [name]’s shirt?”,  96) “oh, kill me now” and 122) “you’re getting so grey. i’m kind of liking it” — from three hundred assorted dialogue prompts

warnings; established relationship, readers wearing one of tigs shirts, mention of tig staying at their house before, allusions to oral (m receiving), so minors do not interact!!! (539 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— thank you for celebrating my one year!!! | submissions are now closed

Chibs had come back from a long run, finding you on the couch wearing a tired smile.

“hey baby”

you greeted, humming as he shrugged off his kutte before moving towards you.

on instinct, he pulled you into him until you were settled in his lap, resting your head on his shoulder.

“shouldn’t have waited up for me”

he whispered, soothing a hand along the length of your back while you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“missed you and wanted to see you when you came home”

Chibs chuckled at your words, letting his head fall back against the couch as you sat upright in his lap, your hands moving across his chest as he watched you.

it was quiet for a minute, before you whispered out.

“you’re getting so grey. i’m kind of liking it”

he raised a brow at your words, tilting his head to the side while your fingers brushed through his hair.

“awk don’t say that”

you giggled at that, leaning into him and kissing him softly.

“why not? i like it”

Chibs pulled back, a knowing look on his face while he moved his hands across your sides.

his hands squeezed at your hips as your fingers made another pass through his hair, his words coming out in a low grumble.

“i’m getting older love, it’s no fair on you”

you shook your head, shushing him with a kiss that was more intense than the last.

“i still want you, wether you’re getting older or not”

he huffed at your words before he let you deepen the kiss, his hands wandering across your sides as your tongue moved against his.

his lips stayed on yours until he was breaking the kiss to tug your t-shirt off over your head, stopping once it was off and he seen the design on it.

Chibs looked between you and the t-shirt, his words a cautious grumble.

“is—is that Tig’s shirt?”

you paused, looking to the t-shirt as he held it up.

“shit, yeah but it’s from when he stayed. it was the first thing i grabbed after getting out the shower”

he gave you a sceptical look before he sighed, tossing Tig’s shirt aside.

you looked to where it fell before looking back to Chibs, an apologetic look on your face.

“oh, kill me now”

Chibs grumbled, squeezing your hips again.

“baby i’m sorry, it was the first thing i grabbed. i wasn’t paying attention”

his eyes flicked up to yours, searching for any hint of a lie, but he found nothing but the truth looking back at him. 

he sighed again, before cradling your face in both hands, pulling you down into another kiss.

“i’m sorry love, been a long day”

you kissed him again at his words, before trailing your kisses lower and lower until you were settled on your knees between his legs.

“let me make it up to you, take care of you”

his breath hitched at your words, a groan falling from his lips as your hands started to work open his belt.

he lifted his hips, helping you pull down his jeans while you trailed kisses along his thigh.

“i only want you, and i only ever will want you”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[devilsqueen722]

Chib Telford prompt - you left this at mine with how do you remember where all my jewellery goes? And you kept it.”

title; to love is to remember (Chibs Telford x fem!reader)

prompts; 240) “you left this at mine”, 109) “how do you remember where all my jewellery goes?” and 103) “you kept it” — from three hundred assorted dialogue prompts

warnings; semi established relationship, they’re seeing each other, soft!chibs, a little love confession, but that’s it? (533 words)

one year masterlist | main masterlist

— thank you for celebrating my one year!!! | submissions are now closed

you were getting ready for bed when there was a knock at the door, pulling you away from your aftershower care.

when you opened the door, you smiled as you were met face to face with Chibs.

“thought you were spending the night at yours?”

he chuckled, a smirk tugging at his lips as he shook his head.

“you left this at mine”

your eyes flicked to his hand and were he was holding the necklace you had left at his apartment, making a smile grace your face.

his fingers brushed against yours as you took the necklace from him, stepping back to let him in.

“you kept it”

Chibs chuckled, as if it was obvious.

“course i did, no gonny get rid of something that’s no mine”

you hummed, shutting the door behind you both as he moved further into your house.

he turned to you, cradling your face in both hands as he leaned in to kiss you, earning a muffled giggle against his lips.

“what’s that for?”

his lips curled into a smirk, his words soft against your lips.

“haven’t seen ye all day, that okay?”

you nodded, kissing him again before his hands fell away from your face.

instead, Chibs laced his fingers with yours, transferring the necklace from your hand and into his.

“go finish getting ready for bed, i’ve got this”

you quirked a brow at him but did as he said anyways, moving back into your bedroom while he followed behind.

he moved around your room until he got to where you kept your jewellery, putting it into it’s respective space while you watched him through the mirror in front of you.

the sight made you smile, turning towards him as he turned back to you.

“how do you remember where all my jewellery goes?”

Chibs hummed at your words, moving back towards you and leaning over you, a small smirk tugging at his lips as his hands braced himself on the vanity behind you.

“i remember everything about ye love, watched ye take that necklace off loads of times before”

his words had you smiling again, your hands moving across his chest.

he leaned in closer, until his lips were pressing to yours in another kiss.

“i love ye, and i don’t want this to just be a fling anymore. ye’re special love, but i don’t want ye thinking i’m no serious about this”

that made you smile, a knowing look in your eyes.

“bringing my necklace home brought all this on, huh?”

Chibs huffed, but not in annoyance.

it was never annoyance with you, more at himself for bottling up how he felt.

“you bring all this on, i’ve never felt like this for anyone before”

your smile widened at his words, cradling his face in your hands to pull him down and into another kiss.

if Chibs Telford was one thing, it was special, and you wanted that for the rest of your life.

you wanted him.

“stay the night? talk more about how you feel?”

he hummed, stealing another kiss from you.

“aye love, i’ll stay the night and talk all about how bringing yer necklace home brought on all my feelings”

reblogs are highly appreciated !

[devilsqueen722]

hsmyonlyangel: i never posted this look how sweet harry is with this little girl i was SO SOFT

[devilsqueen722]

Jensen Ackles | AHBL 12, MelbourneAustralia, March 9 2024 [shorty_1981]

[devilsqueen722]

💣 Dion Rome - 7.1.25

[devilsqueen722]

SORRY GIRLS I'M LATE TO THE PARTY I WAS ASLEEP BUT HIS LITTLE TONGUE AND POUT I'M GOING INSANE HE'S SO CUTE ☹️💞

[devilsqueen722]

Jensen Ackles (Soldier Boy), Mason Dye (Bombsight) and Elizabeth Posey (Private Angel) filming the first episode of Vought Rising, "1x01 Red Scare", in Toronto, August 17, 2025 (Hi Q Movie)

[devilsqueen722]

Weight of My Sins Masterlist

You thought life on the ranch was over. Couldn't bear the sight of Kayce anymore, so you fled all the way to Texas. You found a new relationship. You lived. You got a degree. But you missed Montana more than anything, but he wasn't leaving Texas. Now you're back on the ranch, and you and Kayce both lived your life. But that draw to him is still there, even if you're terrified to let those walls back down again. No matter how much you crave him.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5

A/N: This fic will have themes of cheating, growing up and growing apart, second chance at love, possessiveness, shameless flirting, dating brother's boss, and of course smut. Read all warnings before each part. Minors DNI.

[devilsqueen722]

My Forever - R. Wheeler 

Pairing: Rip Wheeler x female!Dutton warnings: pregnancy, horseback riding while pregnant, protective papa Rip word count: 1.3k Note: my Yellowstone and Outer Range requests are open. If you saw me post this yesterday. . . ya didn't.

It has always been a dream of yours to become a mother. From the time you were a little girl, running around with Kayce and Lee on the ranch, you had always played “family”, your old brothers playing along with you. Every doll and teddy bear that you had gotten became your baby and you treated them as such. Your mother wanted more for you than to become some rancher’s wife and raise the next generation of Duttons, but it was what you wanted. 

Rip knew that that was your dream, and he was more than willing to help you achieve it. First thing though, was marrying you. John put the fear of god in him on what would happen if he knocked up his little girl before marrying her. So Rip did right by him, and married you in a small ceremony on John’s front lawn. You wore a simple white sundress and your boots. Kayce stood by your side as you exchanged vows with the love of your life. Everyone knew it was only a matter of time until you were sharing the news that you were pregnant. 

You were currently six months along and were bursting at the seams with excitement about the little girl you were carrying. Rip was terrified when you told him the baby was a girl. He didn’t know the first thing about raising little girls, and prayed that if she turned out anything like you or her aunt. . . God save the man who pisses her off. But there was one thing that you missed the most since becoming pregnant, was being able to ride your horse. 

It wasn’t that you couldn’t go ride, it was just strongly recommended that you don’t. You had asked at your first OB appointment if you could, and your midwife advised against it. And Rip took that like it was the word of God. Anytime he saw you getting anywhere close to the bunkhouse or the stables, he was directing you away. He was already protective of you, and now that you were carrying his little girl, it was amplified by a thousand. 

But somehow, you had managed to get around his ruling, and found yourself in the stables before anyone else, well besides Jimmy, who was cleaning the stalls. Your boots clicked on the cement as you walked by the horses, getting to the stall where your first baby was. The brown and white Appaloosa that had been gifted to you for your 18th birthday, stood up from his lying position and made his way over to you. 

“Missed me, huh,” You smiled and pet his nose, “I missed you too.” 

“Uh, are you supposed to be-” 

“Jimmy, shut up,” You said, “Saddle up ol’ Jesse here.” 

“Rip told us not to-” 

“Does it look like Rip is fucking here,” You turned and put your hands on your hips, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to piss off a pregnant woman? A pregnant Dutton woman, at that?” 

“N-no, ma’am.” 

“So stop fucking stuttering and saddle up my horse, Jimmy!” 

Jimmy nodded and moved quickly to get Jesse out of his stall. You sighed in content and fixed the hat on your head. You were at the point in your pregnancy where wearing Rip’s jackets fit better than your own. You knew that when he woke and looked for his classic black Yellowstone jacket, he'd start cursing up a storm but you couldn’t be bothered with it. 

“Horse is saddled ma’am, where should I put him?” Jimmy asked. 

“In the arena,” You said. Jimmy nodded and followed you out to the arena with Jesse on the reigns. The horse seemed excited as they neared the arena, knowing that he would be able to stretch his legs and get a good run in, “Alright,” You sighed, and took the reins from Jimmy, “Stay near.” 

“Why?” 

“In case I fall off this thing or Rip comes down,” You climbed up on the fence, giving yourself a little extra leverage to get up on Jesse’s saddle. You couldn’t swing up on him like you used to, not with a growing belly. Jesse let out soft huff as you mounted and adjusted yourself in the saddle, “Alright, easy now boy.” You kicked his belly softly, “Precious cargo on board.” 

As if Jesse could understand you, the horse started to gently trot around the arena. It wasn’t like you were used to, being able to take off with incredible speed and ride him up through the mountains and valleys of the ranch, but the soft, gentle trot was enough to bring a smile on your face. You let out a laugh as you felt your baby kick within you. You pulled on Jesse’s reins, stopping him. 

“Good boy,” You cooed and pet his mane, “Soon enough you’ll have another little handler who will be begging to take you for a spin. Come on,” You kicked his belly once again, getting the horse to start to trot. 

Jimmy watched you amazed, how easily you took all the turns and led Jesse around the ring. He didn’t notice that the rest of the bunkhouse had woken up, or that Rip was storming his way up to the arena, looking for both his jacket and his woman. 

“What the fuck is she doing?” Rip asked, seeing you in the arena, “Jimmy, what the fuck is she doing?” 

“Uh,” 

“Oh!” You stopped Jesse’s small run, “You’re awake.” 

“Yeah, I’m fucking awake,” Rip said, “What the hell are you doing on a goddamn horse?” 

“Well, what does it fucking look like?” You sassed back. 

“Ryan, get her the fuck off that damn horse,” Rip ordered. You rolled your eyes as you watched your husband walk away and back into the stables, but not before stopping and thumping Jimmy upside the head. Ryan gave you an apologetic look and grabbed Jesse’s reins, pulling you over to a ladder that Colby had brought out. 

“Sorry, miss,” Lloyd said, giving you his hand to help you off the horse, “You know how he is.” 

“A stubborn asshole,” You said, your feet hitting the steady ground, “If this kid pops out with his stubborn attitude. . . so help us all.” You squeezed Lloyd’s shoulders before walking into the stables to find your husband pacing the ground. You sighed and leaned up against the wall of an empty stall. 

“I told you to stay away from here. From the bunkhouse, from the stables and from the-” 

“I can not stay locked away in the foreman's house any longer, Rip!” You yelled, “I’m losing my fucking mind being in there all fucking day. Between you, and my dad and my brothers being so god damn over protective I am losing my fucking mind. I just wanted one second of freedom. Just one.” 

Rip felt a pang of guilt and took a step forward. Before he had met you, he never thought he could have anything good in his life. He had seen all sorts of evil, he had been a part of that evil. But you showed him that he could have something good in his life. You showed him what it felt and meant to love someone unconditionally. And Rip was going to fight for that until his dying breath. 

“I can’t lose you or her,” Rip said and gently placed his hands on your growing bump, “You two, are my forever. My everything. And everytime you leave my side, I think the worst. I almost lost you once,” The memory of the day the whole family got attacked plays in his mind every time you walk away from him. He spent hours trying to get ahold of you, wanting to know if you were dead or alive. Your dad was barely alive, your brother had been shot, your sister nearly blown up, and you had been run off the road by a semi. 

You grabbed Rip by the back of the neck and brought his lips down to you. You pulled back and Rip rested his forehead against yours, “You’re not losing us. We are right here, forever. You’re stuck with us now, baby.” 

“And there ain’t no better way I’d have it.” 

[devilsqueen722]

The Beauty fell for The Beast || Whumptober Day 20 - R. Wheeler

whumptober masterlist

synopsis: Rip has no idea what John saw in you to keep you at the ranch, but he quickly finds out that it's got nothing to do with how you cowboy

word count: 2.2k

@ailesswhumptober prompt: mutilation

warnings: domestic violence, mentions of scars and injuries, cursing, slight sexism

Rip wasn’t sure what John saw in you. Apparently, you had been picked up on the side of the road by Beth, literally shaking in your boots out in the rain. Somehow she worked her magic on John and agreed to let you earn your keep to stay on the ranch. You were weak, you were quiet, you were. .  . well, you were just you. You stuck out on the ranch like a sore thumb amongst the foul-mouthed, loud, adrenaline-fueled cowboys who walked around with their heads held high. You looked like a dog that had been kicked one too many times. 

“She’s weak, she’s slower than the rest,” John had barely been at the bunkhouse for an hour before Rip started in on his spiel on why you should get fired, “I have to tackle half her workload plus mine-” 

“Looks like you need to teach her,” John said, sipping his coffee casually. John had a soft spot for strays, it was clear by the misfits that he had on his ranch. He knew good and well that you were the weaker link, having watched you struggle to keep up with the rest of the cowboys. But it wasn’t very often that his daughter begged him for a chance. Begged him to give you a chance. You didn’t have to say the reason why you were standing on the side of the highway in the rain, John could tell by one look at you. 

“But sir-” Rip argued. 

John looked over his shoulder at him, “Make her take the lead with pushing the cattle to the north pasture.” Rip’s jaw dropped as John clapped him on the shoulder before sauntering off towards his truck. 

You hadn’t expected anyone to stop that night. All you wanted to do was get as far away from that house, from him, as you possibly could. You didn’t get very far in your car, breaking down only a mile outside of town. You knew that you couldn’t just sit there, he’d certainly find you. So, you ditched the car, leaving your phone in it, and took off walking. It was raining so hard that night, you could hardly see ten feet in front of you. Every passing semi and truck on the road made you jump, praying that you wouldn’t become roadkill. You just wanted to get away. Wanted to be somewhere safe and warm. That’s when a blacked-out SUV slowed to a stop beside you and a woman with a scar on her face rolled down the window. 

“Are you fucking insane?!” She yelled. The moment you turned to look at her, her hard facial features softened. She clenched her jaw and looked towards her driver, before reaching over and opening the car door, “Get in. And if you think about killing me, I’ll haunt your fucking ass until you die.” 

Beth had been the literal angel sent straight from hell. She had given you a place to stay, taking you to the bunkhouse and making all the men in there shake in their boots. She had given you fresh clothes and some toiletries, giving you a bunk with another female, Teeter, who reminded you a lot of your mother. 

“You’ll stay here, got it?” Beth said, and you knew better than to argue with her, “Run out on me and I’ll kill you,” You nodded your head. She then looked at Teeter, “Rip doesn’t find out about this until after I talk to my dad.” 

“I’ll hide ‘er,” Teeter nodded. 

Beth nodded and looked back at you, her heart cracking in her chest a bit, “Get some sleep kid.” 

Teeter had tried her best to ward Rip off, keeping him away from the bunkhouse that first morning, but there was no hiding the loud screams of terror that came from inside. Rip pushed away from Teeter, storming into the bunkhouse to find you, a small frail thing shaking and crying while Kolby and Ryan stood utterly confused. 

“What the fuck is that?” Rip seethed as he pointed at you. 

“Fresh blood!” Ryan smiled, while you were holding your knees to your chest and sobbing. You raised your head gently and looked into the warmest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. He clenched his jaw tightly, looking away from you, “Get her fed and saddled up. We got work to do,” Rip paused and turned back towards you, “And do something about the screaming shit. Gonna scare the fucking horses.” 

You got to work quickly, not knowing a single thing about being a cowboy. Hell, you couldn’t even remember the last time you rode a horse. But thankfully, Teeter and Kolby took you under their wings, almost as if they were your proxy parents. Ryan fell into the spot of being the older, annoying brother that you wished you had. The three of them looked after you and made sure that you were doing alright, eating well, and getting your workload done. The only thing the three of them could not stop was the nightmares. 

It was like clockwork, every single night. The same dream would plague you, the feel of his rough hands on your body, slamming your head against the wall, threatening to kill you, holding his hands tightly on your throat while black spots filled your vision.  You would wake up in the middle of the night screaming, sending the whole bunkhouse into a frenzy. Teeter would quickly jump down from her bunk, crawling into yours and holding you tightly, while Kolby made his way over. He’d always make sure that you were okay when there really wasn’t anything physical happening. Teeter would lay in your bed until you were asleep and then would crawl back into hers for the last few hours of shut eye. 

It wasn’t until about two weeks into your working on the ranch that you had another run-in with Rip. 

“You’re waking the bunkhouse,” He said gruffly. You looked down at your boots, trying to bite back the tears in your eyes, “My cowboys look like they haven’t had a solid night’s rest in weeks. I would fucking fire you if I could but. . .” You looked up at him, heart in your ears. You couldn’t get fired. You had nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. Rip pinched his nose and sighed, “I can’t cause for some reason, John thinks your worth a shit.” 

“But you don’t?” You said softly. Rip had to hide his stunned expression cause he was starting to think you don’t actually talk. 

“No, I don’t,” Rip nodded, “So pack your shit and follow me.” 

“I-I. . . I have nowhere to go,” You weren’t sure why you had to say that, but it felt like if Rip was going to tell you to disappear, you might as well try to plead your case. 

Rip sighed, “Pack you shit. . . You’re coming to stay with me.” 

You had been staying in Rip’s house for the past two weeks, and you hadn’t woken up screaming at all. Yes, you still had the same recurring nightmare, but it wasn’t so terrifying that it had you screaming in the dark. You weren’t sure what the cause of it was, but there was something about knowing that Rip was under the same roof that helped you sleep easily. You had seen the way that Rip jumped to stop a fight between Kolby and some rowdy ranch hand at the bar. 

Rip had a soft spot for you, whether he liked to admit it or not. It made his chest hurt when he heard you whimpering and crying in your sleep from down the hall. He tried his best to ignore it the first night, but it got to the point that he couldn’t just lay in his comfortable bed, while you were fighting with something in your sleep on the couch. So, Rip found his way to the living room, gingerly lifting your head and laying it on his thigh. He would stroke your hair until you were back into a deep sleep. And then, he’d turn around and leave before your alarm sounded, going to the bunkhouse and telling John that he should fire you. 

— — —

There was one thing that you loved about being away from the city, and that was the calm serene mornings. Watching the sun poke its light rays through the dark night. Seeing the purples and reds fade into bright blue skies. You hadn’t been on the Yellowstone ranch long, but you already fell in love with the sunrises. It was getting a bit colder out, as the sweltering summer was fading into the brisk fall. The leaves turn from green to vibrant reds and yellows. You felt calm out here. You felt in control. You knew you were needed down at the bunkhouse, but you didn’t care at this moment. Not after what you faced last night. 

Rip was grumbling as he walked towards the stables, taking note of all the ranch hands walking around, seeing that you were nowhere to be found. You hadn’t come home last night after saying you were going into town with Ryan, Teeter, and Kolby. Rip hadn’t bothered to get your number, which he was starting to regret. He cursed himself for being worried about you, knowing you were a full-grown woman. But you were also a woman who looked to be scared of their own shadow. 

“Carter!” Rip yelled as the young boy was walking out of the stables, “Why aren’t you saddled up?” 

Carter paused for a moment, huffing up the heavy saddle in his arms, “I got a late start. I’m sorry Rip.” 

Rip cursed under his breath as he watched Carter continue to struggle with his saddle, “God didn’t add extra daylight to Tuesday, Carter,” Rip rolled his eyes at the boy, who started to break into a jog, “Where’s the other Kid?” 

“Still in the barn,” Carter nodded his head towards the white building, “She just got there.” 

When he spotted you, resting your head against your house, Rip’s blood was boiling, “Do we just show up whenever the fuck we want to now? Where the hell have you-” You slowly lifted your head and turned to face Rip. 

His jaw clenched shut tightly. His anger was now directed off of you and towards whoever the fuck bashed your face in. Your right eye was swollen shut, an ugly cut above your eyebrow. You had what looked like handmarks around your neck, and your nose was clearly broken. 

“Who did this?” Rip seethed. 

You shrugged, “It doesn't matter.” You grabbed your horse’s reins, going to walk out to the ring, but Rip grabbed your arm. 

“That wasn’t up for an argument,” He spoke lowly, “Who did that to your face?” 

You gulped and looked up at Rip, “My husband.” 

It took all the willpower in Rip’s body to hold back the shocked expression. Why hadn’t you said you were married? Is that why you ran away? Well, clearly it was why you ran away, but how long had this been going on? Did he not know where you went? Was he looking for you?

But none of that mattered to Rip. All Rip wanted to know was, “Where is he?” 

“I. . .” You closed your eyes and shook your head, “Dead.” 

Rip didn’t ask any more questions, releasing your arm and running a hand down his bearded face. He looked over his shoulder, taking in a quick glance of his surroundings, before grabbing your arm and pulling you into the stall. 

“Listen,” Rip whispered, “You’re gonna tell me where you left him and then you’re gonna go back to the house and stay there. I’ll handle this.” 

“But-” 

“Go put some ice on your face,” Rip didn’t leave any room for argument as he walked out of the stable, leaving you there alone. 

— — 

You did what Rip told you, leaving the stable and heading back to the house. You weren’t surprised that he didn’t have any ice packs in his freezer, so you were stuck with putting a frozen steak on your eye. The house was eerily quiet as you sat on the couch, frozen meat to your face as you waited for Rip to come back. You wondered what he thought about the house. You wondered what he was going to do to your husband’s body. You wondered if he was wishing that he had never agreed to help you. Maybe he was going to turn you in to the police as you sit. 

But all those worries melted away as the front door opened, and Rip walked in. You stood up quickly as he stood in front of you. 

“I-” 

“How long?” Rip asked. You bit your lip, “How long has he been fucking using you like a punching bag?” Tears filled your eyes as you looked down at the ground, “Jesus Christ.” Rip huffed and took a step closer to you. He gently grabbed your chin in his hand, “Look at me,” You looked into his brown eyes, “You should’ve said something. You should’ve not gone to the house by yourself.” 

“He was going to file a missing persons report,” You sniffled, “I thought that I should just go, get the rest of my things, and tell him that I’m leaving. But he got so mad and. . .” Cries fell from your lips and Rip pulled you into his chest. 

You felt secure in his arms, his chest strong and comforting at the same time. You melted into his touch as he held you. 

“You’ll never have to worry about him or anyone else again,” Rip spoke, making his chest rumble with the dip timbre of his voice, “You’re a part of the Yellowstone now.”

taglist: @els-marvelvsp @sarahsmi13s @topgun-imagines @cassiemitchell @xoxabs88xox @seitmai @a-reader-and-a-writer @bradleybeachbabe @kmc1989 @senawashere @beautifulandvoid @ohtobeleah @rogersbarnesxx @oatmealisweird @dempy @devil-angel-winchester @gillybear17

[devilsqueen722]

can't fight the moonlight

in which kayce dutton is in love with his father's assistant…

PAIRINGS: kayce dutton x fem!reader

WARNINGS: given last name (Allen), pet names (darlin, baby), flirting, fluff, yearning, banter galore, hurt/comfort, oblivious idiots in love, allusion to nsfw, forbidden relationship (ig)

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

🎶 : can’t fight the moonlight - leann rimes

AN: 🩵💛💗 - literally love writing for kayce - that charm, that face - like come on!! hope you guys enjoy it!!

You’d been working for Mr.Dutton for eight years this October. He was a wonderful boss, understanding, thoughtful (for a man his age), and respectful. Sure, he raised his voice on occasion, but it was nothing you couldn’t handle. You fixed everything, from the ranch’s issues to his campaign slogans. From time to time, you even cleaned up the messes Beth left scattered around Montana.

You’d grown to have a courteous relationship with every one of his children, even Beth. You had a certain respect for all of them and their unique personalities. 

Even his youngest, the bane of your existence. 

Kayce Dutton had made it his personal mission to follow you around like a lovestruck puppy. Beth liked to joke - on the rare occasion you two talked - that he was so eager he could explode. You wanted to joke that he was a bigger menace to society than any land developer in the Wild West. 

You didn’t mean it, not really. 

While he did annoy the ever living daylights out of you, he was kind and funny, a good man at his core. He knew all of his hands' names and made it a point to get to know them, to become true friends with them. Sometimes, on the rare occasion when you walked back to your car by yourself (he normally escorted you, the irritating gentleman that he was), you would find him playing cards with the hands, drinking, and causing a fuss. 

Today, he was making you forget why you secretly admired him. 

You were finishing your meeting with his father when he’d walked in, giving you his award-winning smile, effortlessly charming. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, darlin.” You ignored the manchild, eyes twitching as you fought the urge to roll your eyes. 

“Take the rest of the day off, will you?” Mr.Dutton smiled lightly, used to his son’s antics by now, used to the way he was always near you.

“Are you sure, sir?” 

He nodded, waving you off. “Positive. Have a good night, Miss Allen.” 

“Thank you, sir. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Kayce trailed after you, always a step behind. “Well, well, well. Don’t you look stunning today.”

You scoffed, waving in his general direction. “This is sad.”

“What is?” 

“The way you follow after me like a lost puppy.” 

He clutched his heart. “You wound me, darlin.” 

“Is there anything you need, Mr. Dutton? Or are you simply bothering me for your own entertainment?” 

“When are you gonna start calling me Kayce?” 

Your heels clicked against the old wooden floor, echoing through the old house. “How about never?” 

He frowned. “Ouch, baby.” 

“I’m not your baby, Mr.Dutton. Don’t make me rat you out to your father. Again.” 

“Won’t happen again, darlin’.” He smirked, holding the door open. “After you.” 

You grit your teeth, forcing out a small thanks. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mr.Dutton.”

“Kayce!” He yelled after you. “Call me Kayce!” 

The stallions, which Mr.Dutton, John, not Kayce, had recently bought, were, in your opinion, some of the most stubborn he’d ever bought. After working for the man for the better part of ten years, you’d watched plenty of stallions get broken in, but these were different. 

They were wilder, freer. 

Of course, they were no match for the much wilder, and much freer, Kayce Dutton. 

You hated to admit it, but the way he was with them was hypnotizing. You weren’t the only one to think so; just about every other hand agreed with you, all trailing around the gate to watch the cowboy work. It was tradition at this point to watch him work. And each time you continued the tradition, his ego grew ten times larger. 

Sometimes, you came by the ranch to simply watch the Duttons work. You weren’t from Montana, and everything about this way of life intrigued you. Mr.Dutton hadn’t minded, respecting that you wanted to understand the way of life you worked so diligently to defend. 

The first time you’d ventured down to the yard, you’d worn a skirt and button-up shirt. It was the perfect work outfit for your job and the August weather, but out here, standing still for hours, it was not. You were freezing cold in about thirty minutes, visibly shivering. The hands had laughed, teasing you mercilessly, but Kayce hadn’t taken part. Instead, he gave you his Carhartt off his back. You’d been so cold you’d accepted without argument. 

You had your own Carhartt now, one that you pulled close to you as the cold autumn breeze blew across the land. “I could warm you up real nice, darlin.” 

“Shut up.” You glared, rubbing your arms. “I’m doing just fine, thank you.” 

“Alright. If you say so.” He was so smug, so full of himself as his face peered through the other side of the gate, inches from yours. If you were weaker, if you didn’t know the man as well as you did, you would have blushed. Kayce Dutton was a flirtatious man, smooth-talking and charismatic. He looked at everyone like they were the most important thing in the world. 

At first, it had startled you, but now, now you were used to it. 

“Stop flirting with my assistant, Kayce.” Mr.Dutton grumbled.

“Yes, sir.” Kayce grinned, tipping his hat. “You watching, darlin'?” 

“I have a name, Mr.Dutton.” You hissed. “And yes, obviously, I’m watching.” 

“He just won’t leave you alone, will he?” Lloyd laughed. “You must be tired of it by now.” 

You shrugged. “I’m used to it, unfortunately. At this point, it would be more shocking if he actually listened.” 

“Part of his charm, huh?” 

You smiled as you watched Kayce work, your heart clenching as the man winked at you. “You could say that.”

He’d lasted about thirty minutes without bothering you, a new record. “Darlin!” 

You murmured a quick apology into your phone before yelling back. “Can’t you see I’m busy, Dutton?” 

“Look!” He was in the middle of riding the horse in circles.

You raised an eyebrow, obviously unimpressed. “Riveting. I’m sorry, but I have to go.” You smiled quickly at Mr.Dutton. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sir.” 

“Drive safe.” 

“You can’t just leave!” Kayce practically whined. “Watch me!” If you were more childish, you would have stuck your tongue out. Instead, you opted for a more mature approach, one you knew would reduce him to a stuttering mess. You could feel his eyes on you, fixed like nothing could peel them away. Using this to your advantage, you swayed your hips dramatically, laughing to yourself as you imagined his reaction.

Lloyd simply shook his head as the young Dutton’s cheeks flushed, stuck in a trance.

“You’ve outdone yourself, darlin.” 

For one of the first times in your employment, you were genuinely pleased to hear his voice. You turned around, smiling gratefully. “Thank you, Kayce.”

He nodded. “F’course. Want a drink?” You tilted your head, watching him curiously. His cheeks flushed under your inspection. “Something on my face?” 

“No.” You shook your head. “Just-” 

“What?” 

“Something’s different about you.” You whispered, pulling your shawl tighter around your arms.

“Good different or bad different?” 

“Couldn’t tell you.” You wrapped an arm through his, pulling him toward the bar. “I’ll take that drink, though.” 

“Yeah.” He nodded, swallowing thickly. “Yeah, whatever you want, darlin.” 

You stopped, leaning against the bar. The bartender was attractive, smiling sweetly at you. You smiled sweetly back, but you didn’t even try and flirt with him, simply ordering for the pair of you. “I’ll have a Jack and Coke, and he’ll have a double whiskey.” 

“Of course.” The man looked slightly disappointed, shocked that his normal routine hadn’t worked on you.

“Thank you.” 

Kayce stared, jaw dropped ever so slightly. “You know my drink?” 

“I’ve known you long enough.” You shrugged like you hadn’t just made Kayce fall deeper in love with you. “I know a lot about you, Dutton. Probably more than you’d want me too.” 

“I want you to know everything about me.” 

“What?” You tilted your head, like you hadn’t believed what he’d said. 

Kayce laughed, slightly embarrassed at his slip-up, his moment of weakness. “What is it that you know about me?” 

“Well…” You ignored how close he was, how you could practically see every freckle, every scar, and every wrinkle on his perfect skin. “I know that you’re a charismatic man, never one to miss the opportunity to flirt with anything with legs.” 

He scoffed. “Only really flirt with you, baby.” 

You raised an eyebrow. “I just watched you flirt with that beautiful woman for twenty minutes.” 

“Don’t know who you’re talking about.” His eyes were intense, bearing into yours. “Go on.” 

“As I was saying, you’re a flirt.” You took your drink off the bar, taking a sip before continuing. “Yet, you haven’t told me how beautiful I look.” 

“Do you want me to?” 

“That’s up to you, Dutton. It’s just interesting.” You shrugged. “Normally, that’s the first thing you do, compliment me. Today…” Your stomach fluttered. “You didn’t say anything.” 

“Figured it was time to stop chasing an impossible dream.” 

You placed your drink back on the bar, smiling. “Who said it was impossible?” 

“Huh.” He couldn’t fight the smile that broke, boyish and giddy. “I didn’t want to scare you away.” 

“You couldn’t scare me away if you tried.” You laughed. 

“You know you’re beautiful.” He whispered. “You’re always beautiful.” 

Your mouth opened, but you couldn’t find the words to fight back. You didn’t even know if you wanted to. His smirk was still there. You hated to admit it, but you wanted to wipe that smirk off his face, to leap up and kiss him, just once. Just so you knew what it would be like. 

“Something’s different about you today, too.” He went on as if he hadn’t just broken your resolve.

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. I think so.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to do something about that.” 

“I guess so.” He was so close his hate nudged against your hair, messing it up ever so slightly. You stayed like that for a moment, just staring into each other's eyes, waiting for someone to make a move. “Dance, with me, darlin.” 

“I thought you’d-” 

“Miss Allen!” 

You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. Kayce frowned, hand twitching to reach out and hold your hand, to stop you from leaving. Standing straight, you grabbed your drink, kissing his cheek gently. “M’sorry, Kayce.” 

“I-” You walked away, standing diligently beside his father as he introduced you to his new employees. “She-” He held his cheek, practically clutched it as if he didn’t, your kiss would fly away with the wind. “She kissed me.” 

Your mind reeled constantly after that night, stuck on that one moment. It played over and over and over, haunting your every move. Kayce was different, too, now, softer, sweeter. Not that he wasn’t before, but it was different in a way you couldn’t quite place. 

Mr.Dutton was out inspecting some State park, one of the many duties of being a governor (or so he’d said), and told you he’d rather you stay back and finish up on paperwork. You’d made yourself at home, lounging on the couch as you swam through the mountain of forms he’d yet to fill out. With a Reuben in one hand and a coffee shake in another (courtesy of Gator), you were prepared to be there for a while. 

The universe, it would seem, had other plans. The front door slammed open, pained grunting echoing through the otherwise empty house. You sat up, placing your food on the end table, your computer on the couch. “Are you okay?” 

Kayce groaned, eyes squeezed shut. “Didn’t think you’d be here.” 

“Well, I am.” You ran over, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. “What happened, Dutton?” 

“Nothing to worry your pretty little head over.” 

You rolled your eyes, helping him to his bedroom. “Not the time to flirt, Kayce.” 

“Dunno.” He hissed as you opened the door. “It’s doing wonders for me.” 

“Alright, wise guy.” You scoffed. “Lean against the counter for me.” He nodded, not having the energy to argue. “Where’s your first aid kit?” 

“Under the sink.” 

“Okay.” You smiled reassuringly, grabbing it quickly. “Take off your shirt.” 

He smirked, and if he wasn’t injured, you would have smacked him. “Rather forward of you-” 

You opted for slapping a hand over his mouth. “Please, Kayce.” 

“Alright.” He mumbled, peeling your hand away. He was fast, obviously too in pain to tease you further. What exactly had he gotten himself into? His side was cut, slashed, horribly. 

“Jesus, Kayce.” You frowned, heart beating hard against your chest. “What did you do, fight a mountain lion?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” 

“I’m gonna wipe away the blood, clean the wound.” You took a deep breath. “It’s gonna sting.” 

“That’s alright, baby.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “Just do it.” 

He was relatively quiet as you worked, every so often hissing. He just squeezed the counter, and you weren’t sure if it would hold any longer. He looked like he was about to break through the solid marble. “All done.” 

“Thank god-” 

“With that part.” You winced, making your voice sickly sweet, as if that would soothe his pain. “Sorry, still have to disinfect and wrap it in gauze.” 

“Alright.” 

“Do you want-” You felt your cheeks grow hot; why, you couldn’t quite decipher. “What would help distract you?” 

“Distract me?” He tilted his head. “From what?” 

You raised an eyebrow. “From the pain, Kayce. We could talk or-” 

“Talk.” He nodded. “Let’s talk.” 

“Alright.” You grabbed the last of the disinfecting wipes, carefully touching around the wound. “You’re doing so well, Kayc. So well.” 

He swore his heart stopped. You were going to be the death of him, the way you said ‘Kayc’ would forever haunt him. “You still owe me a dance.” 

“I know.” You smiled. “I wanted to. I hope you know that.” 

He smiled back. “We could dance after this.” 

“Yeah?” You laughed, eyebrows furrowed as you concentrated on helping him. Your tongue stuck out of your lips ever so slightly, too worried to think about looking good. “With what music?”

“Don’t need music to dance with a girl like you.” 

“Kayce…” You laughed. “The pain has you all gushy.” 

He just watched you, eyes bearing into you as you wrapped his torso in gauze, kissing over the wound gently. That had caught him off guard, the action that you probably didn’t think twice about. His breath hitched, cheeks hot as your gaze moved up. “What are you doing?” 

“Taking the pain away.” You said it like it was so obvious. And maybe it was, but right now, Kayce was short-circuiting. There was no way the woman he’d been chasing after for years was kissing his cuts, treating him like he was this precious thing. You pushed his hair behind his ears, kissing his cheeks in the process. He was sure you could tell he was holding his breath, scared to move and spook you. “Kayce…” 

“Yeah, baby?” 

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Of course.” He nodded. “I’ll try.” 

“Wish you would tell me.” Maybe it was cruel of you to use his crush to your advantage. But you wanted to know what happened, who had hurt him, or what. “I don’t like seeing you hurt.” Your eyes were halfway open, lids heavy as you reached up, your lips a breath away from his. “Is it helping?” 

“What?” 

“The kisses.” 

“Maybe one more-” His eyes fluttered to your lips. “One more wouldn’t hurt.” 

You grinned, nodding. “Okay.”

His eyes fluttered shut, waiting for the kiss that never came. It was worse than a real kiss, when your lips met the corner of his mouth. It was like you were teasing him on purpose, your lips that were so soft and smooth, like temptation itself. He opened his eyes to see you walking away, leaving like you hadn’t just done that to him, like you hadn’t just changed everything. His hand reached out before he could think, grabbing your wrist. 

“Stay.” 

You refused to face him, refused to break. You couldn’t. Your job would be at stake, your livelihood, all because you couldn’t resist the cowboy’s charms. “I’m sorry, Kayce. I can’t.” 

He felt his heart breaking. “Baby-” 

“Please. I crossed the line.” 

“You didn’t.” He practically growled. “Honest, you didn’t.” 

“I did.” You whispered over your shoulder. “I should have never done that.” 

“C’mon-” 

“I have work to do.” 

“Alright.” He let go, watching as you went back downstairs, content with pretending none of that had happened. “Sorry, darlin.”

He’d left you alone.

It was like a part of you was missing; you’d even caught yourself looking over your shoulder with a smile just to realize he was nowhere to be seen. Just gone. 

You understood, if you were being honest with yourself, you would have done the same. You’d led him on, and when he finally grew the courage to ask you to stay, you turned him down. 

You felt horrible about it. It kept you awake, sleep a distant memory. You couldn’t close your eyes; the memory of your lips on his skin etched on the other side of your lips. 

Food was hard to eat, all of it dull and tasteless. You were constantly nauseous, sick to your core. You had done this, all of this. You had told him that the dream wasn’t impossible, that he should keep pursuing you, and then you chickened out at the last second. 

You were a coward.

“Miss Allen?” 

Shit. Had you been spacing out? “I’m so sorry, Mr.Dutton-” 

“Something boring you?” He leaned back in his chair. 

“Not at all.” You felt your cheeks grow hot with embarrassment. “It won’t happen again, I swear.” 

“Alright. I was sayin’ that-” That meeting had felt like forever. He’d let you go after about forty-five minutes, mumbling something about family business and his ‘goddamn kids’. You hadn’t questioned it; Jamie and Beth were always causing some sort of issue for their father, and if they weren’t fighting each other, they were fighting some other large issue, one that the whole family just had to get involved in. 

You’d been so distracted, so lost in your thoughts, you’d missed the hand that grabbed yours, pulling you out of the hall and into a dark room. You immediately recognized the silhouette in front of you, raising an eyebrow. “What the hell? Mr.Dutton, you can’t just-” 

He stalked toward you, pinning you against the door. You gasped, your binder falling from your grasp as your mind melted, his touch overwhelming your senses. He hadn’t even spoken before he kissed you so deeply you thought you’d become one with the door. Your eyes fluttered shut, hands reaching up to grab his collar and pull him closer. He grinned, tipping his hat up to gain more access, hands roaming your hips. “Kayce-” 

“That’s right.” He kissed down your neck, reveling in the way you pulled his hair at the nape of his neck. “Don’t even want to hear you call me Mr.Dutton again.” 

“What-” You sighed as he pulled you flush against him. “What’s gotten into you?” 

He walked you over to the bed, sitting you down as he peeled off his shirt. “You said it wasn’t impossible.” 

“Kayce-” Your mouth went dry at the sight, his abs causing your heart to skip. “You can’t just pull a girl into a dark room and expect her to fall to her knees.” 

“Fall to her knees, huh?” He crawled over you, his hat crooked. “Maybe another time, baby.” 

“Kayc-” 

“Love when you call me that, darlin'.” His eyes were dark, the warm brown practically gone thanks to his blown-out pupils. “Never want you to stop.”  

You reached up, pulling his hat off and throwing it somewhere, anywhere else. “Just get over here.” 

“Thought you’d never ask.” 

Your limbs felt so heavy that you felt glued to the bed. Your hair was all over, messed up from the hours of- your cheeks felt hot as you looked down at Kayce’s arm, securely wrapped around your waist. 

God, this wasn’t fair. How did he look so angelic? You pulled the sheets closer to your body, suddenly feeling very insecure about the position you were currently in. The angel cowboy groaned, pulling you closer, nuzzling his face into your arm. You just stared, disbelief clouding your features. 

What would Mr.Dutton say? Shit. You were in his house, with his son. You would most definitely be getting fired if he found out. You squirmed under the man’s hold, whispering with a hint of fear. “Kayc? Kayce, wake up.” 

“Mm.” He mumbled, voice gravely. “Five more minutes, baby.” 

He was going to give you a heart attack. 

“Kayce, I need to leave.” 

His eyes had shot open at that, face still sleepy as he stared at you, looking rather offended. “Why do you need to leave?” 

“I need to go home, I have to change and shower and-” Chills ran down your spine as he kissed up your arm, stopping every once in a while to speak. “Kayce…” 

“You can shower here.” Kiss. “With me.” Another. “Can’t I convince you?” He was at your lips, hovering over you as he teased you. “C’mon, darlin. Stay.” 

You reached up, pecking his lips quickly. “I can’t, Kayc.” 

“Why? Are you scared my dad’s gonna find out?” 

You nodded. “That’s exactly what I’m scared of.” You gestured down to his hold on you. “Could you let me go?” 

“Don’t want to.” He nudged your nose with his, breath warm and hypnotizing. “This is mean.” 

“Too bad.” You smirked, grabbing the sheet and pulling it with you as you got out of bed. 

He sat against the headboard, laughing. “Nothing I haven’t seen before, baby.” 

“Kayce, can you just allow me this one thing?” 

“Don’t know why you’re freaking out.” He shrugged, taking too much pleasure in this. 

“I can’t afford to lose my job, Kayce.” You raced around the room grabbing your clothes, which, thanks to the smug man watching you from bed, were spread out around the room. “I need this. And I enjoy my work.” 

“I know.” He smiled. “It’ll be okay, you know?” 

“You don’t know that.” You scoffed. “This can’t happen again.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Alright.” 

“And don’t try to-” You stilled, tilting your head. “What?” 

“I understand.” He smiled. “You can’t lose your job.” 

You nodded. “Exactly.” 

“And I don’t want you to either. So this-” He gestured between the two of you. “Consider this a one-time thing.” 

“I’m glad you agree.” You sounded hesitant, like you’d expected him to fight against your decision. “Thank you.” 

He nodded, knowing full well you’d come back. “Of course.” 

“Kayce.” 

“Yeah, baby?” He looked too casual about this whole thing. 

“What if-” You shook your head, pulling yourself back to reality. “Never mind.” You pulled on your skirt over your stockings, only buttoning three of your clasps on your shirt. “I’ll see you.” 

“Bye, darlin.” 

You felt so confused, so desperate to just confess it all to your boss and be done with it. You tiptoed the entire way out of the house with the stealth of a super spy (or so you liked to believe.) Your boss, who had been standing in the hallway when you ran out the front door, connected the dots almost instantly, shaking his head to himself. 

Kayce had descended the steps five minutes later, hair still a mess from the number your hands that had done it. He wore it like a badge of honor, a reminder that he’d finally gotten what he’d wanted after so long. “Morning.” 

His father grunted, taking another sip of his coffee, black with no sugar. It was practically jet fuel, but it did the job. Kayce grabbed himself a heaping plate of food: sausage, bacon, three eggs, and toast. A practically overflowing mug of coffee, cream, and too much sugar made him sigh in satisfaction. 

“Good night?” 

Kayce fought the grin that begged to pull the corners of his lips upward. He just shrugged, taking another sip of his coffee. “Guess so.” 

“Saw her sneaking out.” Kayce choked on his drink, coughing. “She looked skittish.” 

“Makes sense,” he nodded. “She didn’t want you to know.” 

“Too late for that.” John glared at his son. “Next time, try to contain yourself. That’s my assistant.” 

He laughed, slightly embarrassed but not nearly enough to cower. “Sorry.”

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[devilsqueen722]

when i picture you

in which kayce dutton sees his childhood sweetheart after sixteen years…

PAIRING: kayce dutton x fem!reader

WARNINGS: ANGST ANGST ANGST, awkwardness, CRAZY amounts of yearning, cussing, arguing, regret, did i mention angst?

WORD COUNT: 3.1k

🎶 : when i picture you - chappell roan

AN: ♥️ - i do not endorse holding onto first loves, it's crazy and will only hurt you and everyone else in your life in the process!! THIS IS THE SECOND PART OF IM TOO SCARED TO SAY!!

“A call for you.” 

“Thank you, James. Did they say what it’s regarding?” 

He shook his head. “He just kept asking for you. I told him you don’t take unscheduled calls, but he… he said that you were old friends.” 

Y/N's heart dropped. He had some nerve, to call her after all this time. After pushing her away. 

“Would you like me to transfer them?” 

“That would be great, thank you.” 

“Alright. He’s on line one.” 

She took a deep breath, picking up the phone. “Y/N Y/L/N, partner of Phillips and Y/L/N, how can I-” 

“Y/N.” 

Her eyes widened, ignoring the feeling of disappointment building. “Mr. Dutton?” 

“I told you-” He coughed. “Call me John.” Yes, he had told her that. He’d told her that sixteen years ago. “I need you back at the ranch.” 

“Sir…” Her heart fluttered even thinking about Kayce. “After the way I left, I don’t know if that’s wise. Besides, I can’t just-” 

“Your boss is an old friend of mine.” She’d almost laughed. He still walked over her like it was nothing. “I already talked to him, everything’s taken care of.” 

“Well, that’s wonderful. If you don’t mind me asking, why haven’t you asked Jamie? He’s your current lawyer, correct?”

She and Jamie had always had a kinship; leaving Montana and going to law school so close allowed them to become closer than they ever had while at home.

“Jamie’s no longer on speaking terms.” 

“I see.” She squeezed her eyes shut. She couldn’t even imagine what shit they’d gotten into in the nearly twenty years she’d been gone, and she didn’t want to. Unfortunately, it looked as if she had no choice. “When would you like me there?” 

The sunset was magical, perfection in her opinion. While she’d fallen for the New York skyline, Montana’s view had been her first love. Montana held a lot of her first loves, actually. 

She walked through the arrival gate, smiling when she met Beth’s eyes. They’d never gotten along, but it was nice to see a familiar face after so long.

Beth looked as if she felt the same, smiling as Y/N hugged her quickly. “Little Y/N.” 

“Beth. How are you?” 

“Just dandy. Daddy’s dead, and I’m playing chauffeur.” 

“I-” He just called her, what did she mean he was dead? She frowned. “I’m so sorry Beth.” 

“He knew what he was doing, calling you. It's very impressive; the career you’ve built for yourself.” 

“Thank you.” She felt wrong smiling after learning the news. “I assume we’re going back to the ranch.” 

Beth nodded. “While we have it.” 

“What?” Beth turned around, and Y/N chased after her. “What do you mean, while you have it?”

The car ride had been quiet, not that she minded. Her flight had been full of crying babies and annoying passengers, the last thing she wanted to do was talk to Beth for an hour and a half.

Her breath caught as the lodge came into view; all her memories from the first 18 years of her life came flooding back, along with the realization that she would be seeing Kayce sooner rather than later. “How is he?”

“You know how he is. Pissy, but fine.” 

She didn’t know him anymore, that was the thing. She’d loved him for so long, and now he was just a figment of her imagination, a stranger. “Has he-” 

“Miss Y/N?” She looked out the window, grinning as she threw the door open, practically jumping into the man’s arms.

“Lloyd! Look at you.” She felt like a kid again. “You haven’t changed a bit.” 

“You have. All grown up now.” He smiled. “All the Montana’s left you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” 

Beth whistled, drawing her attention away from the stable hand. “I- I’ll see you around.” 

“Well, I hope so.” 

She grinned, kissing him on the cheek quickly. “You can bet on it.” 

Being here, it felt like she was transported back to 2007. It was like a museum, exactly as she’d left it, imagined it in her mind whenever she got homesick. The fire was still going, even though it was late July. 

Beth pulled her from her thoughts, walking further into the house. “You hungry?” 

“Not real-” 

“Don’t worry, he’s not here.” Ah. So Beth was aware. She even looked almost sorry for her. “I can have Gator warm up some leftovers.” 

“That sounds perfect, thank you.”

Beth looked tired, more tired than Y/N had ever seen her before. Normally, the ginger was a ball of energy, well, more like a bomb of energy, waiting for her fuse to be lit. Still, it was odd seeing a spitfire dimmed to a mere spark. “How have you been, since all of this?” 

“Fine. As fine as I can be.” She poured herself a drink, and Y/N ignored the fact it was only 2 in the afternoon. “I have a plan.” 

There was the Beth she knew. “I knew you would.” 

“Gator!” Beth called out. 

“Yes, ma’am-” The man’s eyes lit up, and he walked over. “Miss Y/N!” 

“Gator!” She stood from her seat, hugging him tightly. “It’s good to see you.” 

“You too.” He smiled. “Can I-” 

Beth cleared her throat. “Could you warm her some leftovers?” 

“Anything. Anything at all. Would you like a chocolate milkshake? Just a hint of coffee?” 

Her heart melted, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “You remembered.” 

“Of course.” Beth raised an eyebrow, and Gator nodded, walking back out of the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.” 

Y/N waited until the chef had left before looking at Beth. “Why am I here, Beth?” 

“Getting straight to business. What happened to little Y/N?” 

“Just wondering why your father called me days before his death to come back home.” She crossed her arms. “I feel like I’m missing something.” 

At that comment, Beth had cackled. “You have no idea.”

“What’s going on-” 

The front door creaked open, and Beth smiled. “In here, baby.” 

Maybe business could wait until later. Y/N smirked. “Baby?” 

Beth nodded. “Baby.” 

“I’m assuming baby is Rip then.” Y/N wiggled her eyebrows. “You two were always-” 

“Y/N?” 

She froze. Beth’s normal smirk grew tenfold, taking another sip of her bourbon. “Reunions are so fun, don’t you think?” 

“Y/N is that you?” 

She forced herself to stand up, turning around. “Kayce.” 

He was smiling, which she was surprised by. “It’s been a while.” 

She swallowed, nodding. “Yeah, it has.” 

Beth groaned. “God, can one of you just address it?” 

“Address what?”

She was beautiful, there was no doubt about it. Y/N felt deeply insecure just being in the same room as her. She was effortlessly perfect, and the way she looked at Kayce- God, she was wearing a ring. Her head started to spin, grabbing the counter to center herself. Kayce’s eyes widened, and he stepped forward, reaching an arm out. “You okay?” 

She nodded, god that was all she could do right now. “I’m-” 

“Dad, who’s this?” 

Dad? She pulled her eyes from Kayce’s taking in the teenager that stood in front of her. He had to be fifteen, or sixteen years old. Just around how long she’d- pulling her arm out of Kayce’s hold, she fixed her blazer and cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to unpack.” 

“Y/N-” 

“Excuse me.”

Kayce waited until she’d gone upstairs to glare at his sister. “What the hell, Beth?” 

“What?” 

“Why is she here?” 

Monica looked lost. “Who is she, exactly?” 

“Yeah, Kayce,” Beth smirked, wiggling her eyebrows. “Who is she?” 

“Beth, what did you do?” 

“Oh, I didn’t do anything. This-” She waved her finger around in the air. “Is all Daddy’s doing.” 

“What do you mean-” 

“I mean, Dad called her before he died, and asked her to come back to the ranch.” 

She grabbed the first Carhartt jacket she’d seen, pulling it closer as she walked toward the stables. She couldn’t stay in the lodge any longer, knowing that Kayce and his wife and son were there. It was a hard reminder of what she could’ve had, what she should’ve had if Kayce hadn’t broken her heart that day. 

The stable was warm, the perfect respite from the cold of the afternoon air. Her eyes gazed at the names on the stall doors, desperately hoping one horse was still there from her time. JR. 

She pushed the door open, grinning as the horse almost immediately recognized her. “Hey, JR.” 

The horse nickered, rubbing its snout against her palm. “Wanna go on a ride?” 

She showed no sign of protest as Y/N removed her shawl, tightened the saddle, and led her out of the barn. “I’ve missed you, you know.” The horse just stared into the distance. “You’re an old girl now, aren’t you?” At that comment, the horse visibly protested, and Y/N laughed for the first time since her arrival. Hooking her foot in the stirrup, she hoisted herself up, petting JR’s side gently. “Let’s get out of here, huh?” 

She should’ve never came back, she thought to herself. She should have never rode out here either, without anything to protect herself with. She could hear the wolves howling in the distance, but she couldn’t find it in her to leave.

If she left she would have to see Kayce again. He was just as perfect as the day she’d left him, although, she laughed to herself, he finally grew that beard he’d always wanted. 

“Well look at that.” 

She’d thought she was going crazy for a second, but his voice was unmistakeable. She made no movement to turn around, she couldn’t look at him without going crazy. 

Kayce laughed, carefully approaching her until they were face to face. There went her plan of not looking at him. “I thought I’d find you here.” 

She scoffed. “I came here for some solace, Dutton.” 

“Oh, I’m Dutton now?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Well, I don’t think your wife and child would enjoy me calling you pet names, now would they?” She retorted, enjoying his shocked expression. “Just leave me alone.” 

“Can’t do that, now can I?” 

“Yeah,” she jutted her hip. “And why’s that?” 

“So much catchin’ up to do.” His smile peaked through, and she fought the blush she knew was growing on her cheeks. He had this horrible effect on her after all these years. “Why’d you come here?” 

“I think you know why.” She glared as hard hard as she could at him, sitting beside the creek. Kayce got a horrible sense of deja vu as he watched her, but he continued on, sitting right beside her. “Are you happy?” 

He nodded. “I am.” 

She smiled. “That’s good. Really good Kayce.” 

He ignored how his heart fluttered when she said his name. “And you?” 

“I’ve been better.” 

“You got anyone?” 

She laughed, actually laughed. “No one’s interested.”

“Well, they’re missing out.” 

She looked over, blushing when she realized he’d been staring at her the entire time. “What are you doing, Kayc?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“What is this? Why can’t we just- let’s just not talk to each other.” She stood up, dusting off her pants. “Just pretend we never knew each other. Okay?” 

He sat there in shock for a moment, before following after her. “No.” 

“No?” She whipped around, and he almost smiled at the fire that blazed in her eyes. There she was, the girl he knew. “Excuse me?” 

“You heard me.” He stepped toe to toe with her. “I can’t go on like this any longer. I lost you sixteen years ago, and now that you’re back, I can’t do it again.”

“Yes, you can.” She nodded. “You can, because you have a whole life now. You can’t just leave because I came back once.” 

“Well, then what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to be the good man you’ve always been.” Her heart broke as she said it. “That woman loves you, and your son would never forgive you. I know it.” 

“What about the letter?” 

“It- That was a goodbye letter. It was meant for closure.” 

He laughed. “Well shit. It didn’t work, because all I’ve thought about for years was that letter.” He grabbed her hand, holding it over his heart. “It haunts me.” 

“I can’t do this, Kayce. You can’t do this.” Her voice was small. “You have a family, a son. Who suspiciously-” She laughed humourlessly, feeling like a broken record at this point. “Is about as old as how long I’ve been gone.” 

“You can’t- you can’t be mad at me for that! You told me I was dead to you, that you couldn’t even look at me-” 

“Well, you told me you didn’t love me!” She yelled. “What was I supposed to say? Alright with me. Fine? You’re a real bastard, Kayce Dutton.” 

“Well, shit, baby-” His eyes widened. “I couldn’t have you settlin’ for me-” 

“Well, it looks like your life went pretty well. Wouldn’t you say?” Tears were now streaming down her face. “By the way, fuck you for taking that away from me.” 

She whipped around, stalking toward her horse. He yelled at her disappearing figure. “That’s my coat you got on!” 

She gasped, pulling it off as if it was on fire. “Take it!” He stood there in shock, good. Served him right. Walking up to the tree she’d tied JR to, she pulled the reigns loose, walking her out of the woods. 

Kayce sighed, walking after her. “Come on. You’ll freeze without it.” 

“I don’t-” 

He grabbed it, trying to put it back on her frame. “Just-” 

“Kayce, stop!” She shoved him away, getting on the saddle. “Leave me alone.” Not even bothering to wait for his reply, she kicked JR’s side, sending her into a full gallop. 

“Y/N!” Kayce kicked the dirt, jumping up on his horse and following after her. “Goddamit.” 

JR was old, there was no doubt about it, but she was fast, and Kayce was struggling to catch up to her. “Just slow down, let’s talk-” 

“I swear to god-” She groaned, urging JR to run a little faster. “C’mon girl, just a little faster.” 

He reached out, grinning when her reigns laid in his hands. He pulled, and JR slowed down to a slow walk, much to Y/N’s dismay. She jumped off the horse, stalking up the hill. 

“Stop running!” 

She scoffed. “I should stop running?” 

“That’s what I said, isn’t it?” He barked back. “Goddamit, you won’t even look at me for more than a few seconds.” 

“Do you blame me?” Tears were still falling down her cheeks. “You broke my heart, Kayce. Broke it completely in two. Excuse me for being erratic. You can’t just tell a girl you imagine her as your wife one day and then break up with her the next!” 

“We could have never had that!” He yelled. “You had too much potential, and I love you too much- I loved you too much to hold you back in life. I belong here, and you belong out there.”

“For the last time, you don’t get to decide that for me. I am a grown woman, Kayce John Dutton.” She pinched her nose, squeezing her eyes shut. “I swear to god, that argument didn’t hold up 20 years ago, and it doesn’t hold up now.” 

"I was right, wasn't I? Look at the career you've built."

"I never wanted that. I wanted you!" She practically hissed at him. "You’re a coward. That’s what you are.” 

“Oh yeah?” He scoffed. “I’m the coward? You're the coward, returning your ring. Writing that ‘goodbye’ letter!” 

A sob wrecked through her. “It’s over, Kayce. It’s been over for sixteen years.” 

“NO!” His voice rang through the valley. “It’s not over. It’ll never be over.” 

“Kayce-” 

“Baby-” 

“Dont! Don’t call me that.” She pushed at his chest. “Just leave me alone-” 

“I can’t.” He whispered, holding her wrists gently. “All because of that goddamned letter.” 

“Get rid of it then if it 'haunts' you.” She leaned her head against his chest, tiring out. “I should have never come back.”

“Don’t say that.” 

“I mean it. You were right, when you pushed me away. We would have torn each other apart. We would have-” 

“No, we wouldn’t have. We would have been happy-” 

“Kayce!” She sobbed. “Just stop it. Stop the ‘would’ve,’ it’s not going to help either of us.” Reaching up, she pushed a strand of hair behind his ear. “Can you promise me something?” 

“Anything.” His voice sounded desperate. 

“Don’t think about me anymore. Love your wife, love her properly, without me in your mind.” 

“I-” His face looked positively heartbroken. “Why?” 

“You married her Kayce, not me! In the grand scheme of things, I was just a high school girlfriend. You have a whole life with her. I will not-” She hiccuped. “I will not be a homewrecker.” 

“I- I can’t.” 

“Yes you can.” She smiled through the tears. “Because you’re a good man, Kayce Dutton.” 

“I-” 

“Swear to me.” 

“I-” He sighed, kissing the inside of her hand that still lingered on his cheek. “I swear to you.” 

“Good.” She nodded, forcing herself to smile. “Now guide me back to the ranch. I’m lost.” 

“Of course you are.” He laughed, still standing in place, relishing in her touch for the first time in sixteen years. “I missed you.” 

“Stop.” She shook her head. “You swore.” 

“Sorry, sorry.” He muttered. “Let’s go back home, yeah?” Holding her hand in his, he walked them back down the hill, their horses waiting diligently at the bottom. 

“What’s her name?” Her voice was a whipser, he had barely heard it.

“Monica.” 

“She’s beautiful.” 

He smiled, nodding. “Yeah, she is.” 

“And your son?” She sounded like she was holding back tears. “What’s he like?” 

“Reserved. Kind. Loves horses.” 

She laughed. “Just like his father.” 

“Nah.” Kayce shook his head, hoisting her up on JR’s back. “He’s like his mother.” 

Y/N had left two days after that, figuring out his father’s will and saying her goodbyes in record time. She’d shook his hand, when she left. It almost made him laugh, their last interaction was a handshake. 

She’d smiled at Monica, saying niceties. When she looked at Tate, her eyes softened, and Kayce's heart almost broke all over again. “You’re a lucky kid.” 

Tate had laughed. “Thank you?” 

“Take care of your parents, yeah? You only get two of them.” 

Monica smiled. “You should listen to her.” 

Beth yelled out from the car. “You coming?” 

That was the last he’d seen of her. The first love of his life. He’d tried hard to keep her promise, but she was everywhere. She was in the letter, in the ring that lay on the chain holding his dog tags. The ring that got him through his tour.

“Kayc?” Monica called out. “You coming in? Dinner’s ready?” 

“Yeah, baby.” He smiled, tucking his dog tags back in his shirt. “I’m coming.”

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[devilsqueen722]

There really isn't anywhere near enough yellowstone fic on here someone please correct this thanks 🙏

[devilsqueen722]

Headcanon: I'm Just A Jealous Guy

Characters: Russell Shaw, Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy/Ben, Mark Meachum and Boaz Priestly

Scenario: He gets jealous (Girlfriend Reader)

pairings: Russell Shaw x Reader, Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader, Mark Meachum x Reader, Boaz Priestly x Reader

Russell Shaw

He’d only gone to the bathroom. Couldn’t have been gone longer than five minutes. You were still at the bar, nursing your drink, when he came back, only to find some guy in his seat trying his hardest to impress you.

Russell saw the way your polite smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. You weren’t the type to flat-out tell someone to get lost, no matter how badly you wanted to. That was fine. He could do it for you.

The familiar sound of his boots striking the hardwood floor caught your attention before you even saw him. You’d already told the stranger you were here with your boyfriend, but he’d been too busy bragging about his glory days as a college fraternity president to care.

Russell stopped behind the man, clearing his throat. No response. With deliberate ease, he stepped closer, resting one arm across the back of your stool, claiming you without even touching you. "Look here, Malibu Ken," he said, voice low and edged in amusement. You had to bite back a laugh. Now that you were looking, the bleach job was… atrocious. "Either get out of my chair, or I’ll pull you out,” Russell continued. “I’m having a night out with my girl, and I don’t need you ruining it."

The stranger blinked up at him, glassy-eyed. "You’d… pull me out of my chair?" Russell took a slow step forward, letting his height and build do most of the talking. The man shrank back instantly. "Uh… okay. Sorry, dude." He slid off the stool and slunk back toward a group of equally inebriated friends in the corner.

"Malibu Ken?" you asked, arching a brow as Russell sat back down.

He smirked, taking a sip of his drink. "You can’t tell me he didn’t look like him." You laughed, leaning against his shoulder.

Dean Winchester

You and Dean knew you were it for each other. After all the years of sidestepping the obvious tension, you’d both waited, and now that you had each other, neither of you was letting go.

That’s why, whenever Dean caught sight of you talking to another guy, he had to remind himself you were his, and he was yours. The jealousy always burned quick and fast before melting into that warm, steady feeling in his chest.

Bars during or after hunts were the worst. Leave you alone for a minute and some cocky idiot who’d been eyeing you all night would swoop in. The lines were cheesy, the bragging unbearable, it was almost funny. Almost.

Dean would stroll back over, calm as ever, but only because of the look. Every single time, the second you saw him, your eyes lit up and that slow, knowing smile curved your lips. It was the kind of look that made his heartbeat trip over itself.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he’d ask.

"I’m better now," you’d purr, just loud enough for the other guy to hear. That was usually when the stranger realised his mistake and backed off, tail firmly between his legs. You’d flash Dean a smile as he re-joined you at the table. "Asserting dominance?" you teased, fingers finding his on the tabletop.

He chuckled, squeezing your hand. "Something like that," he said with a wink.

Beau Arlen

Beau had brought you, his girlfriend, to a work party celebrating the station’s success in their latest case. You were excited, nervous, too. His deputies had never met you, and tonight was your first chance to put faces to the names he mentioned. The gathering wasn’t just deputies; friends and family mingled in the mix, laughter and music filling the space.

At some point, Beau stepped away to thank a few colleagues, leaving you with a drink in hand and a friendly smile for anyone who passed. From across the room, while chatting with Poppernak, he spotted a man approaching you. Beau kept talking, but his attention shifted, his sharp gaze tracking the exchange to make sure nothing crossed the line.

After a few minutes, Poppernak noticed where his boss’s focus had gone. "Is that the famous girlfriend?" he asked, grinning.

"Yeah," Beau replied, his voice low, eyes never leaving you.

Poppernak glanced over his shoulder. "Looks like some guy’s trying his luck with the Sheriff’s girl. Might wanna head over there." Beau clapped him on the shoulder in thanks and moved through the crowd toward you.

He didn’t say a word when he reached the man. Instead, he caught his eye, tapped the badge clipped to his belt, and then tipped his head toward you in a silent warning. Recognition dawned instantly. The man’s eyes widened, and he muttered something under his breath before making a hasty retreat without so much as a goodbye. You felt Beau’s arm slide around your waist, warm and solid, and you didn’t even have to look to know what had happened.

"Did you just use your authority to scare him off?" you asked, glancing up at him with a teasing smile.

He only shrugged, eyes twinkling. "Maybe." He gave you a slow wink, and you laughed, leaning into him.

Soldier Boy

Ben didn’t handle people thinking they could have what was his. Like most things, he handled it violently.

The two of you were at a Vought gala, an appearance you’d been ordered to make. At least now that your relationship was public, you could attend together. Not that it stopped a few Supes from trying their luck with Soldier Boy’s girl.

Edgar had pulled Ben aside to schmooze with a group of potential investors. Big fans, apparently, and the kind of people Vought wanted on their side. Ben played along, all charm and handshakes.

You, meanwhile, were cornered by a new Supe. He was full of compliments about your “work” and “presence,” but the way he said it made your skin crawl. Cocky. Slippery. Arrogant. Not quite Soldier Boy arrogant. More like the knockoff brand.

You’d tuned out halfway through his pitch when you heard the unmistakable sound of heavy, angry stomps behind you. Ben’s hand was on the guy’s collar before you even turned. He hauled the younger Supe up like he weighed nothing.

"You think you can flirt with my girl?" Ben’s voice was low, lethal. "You think I’m gonna let you get away with that?"

The kid stammered, scrambling for excuses, but Ben wasn’t hearing any of it. He was seconds away from turning the Vought gala into a crime scene.

"Baby, it’s okay." You stepped in, laying a hand on his arm. Ben’s head snapped toward you, his grip loosening just enough to let the guy drop to the floor like a bag of bricks. The would-be flirt scrambled off, wisely disappearing into the crowd. Your focus stayed on Ben. Your hand slid from his arm to his chest, grounding him. "You know," you murmured, trailing your fingers upward, curling them lightly around his neck, "you’re the only man for me." You smirked. "But you are so hot when you get jealous."

"I wasn’t jealous" he growled, pulling you closer with one strong arm. A pause. "Okay, maybe a little. But I like to look after what’s mine."

Mark Meachum

Mark Meachum didn’t do jealousy. At least, that’s what he told you. You knew it was bullshit. He never said it outright, Mark rarely wasted words, but his actions? They gave him away every time.

After the task force wrapped a major case, he decided to take you out to a swanky lounge in LA. It was an excuse for both of you to get dressed up, escape for the night, and maybe forget the world for a few hours.

The place was heaving with the Saturday night crowd. Mark headed to the bar to get drinks, only to find himself stuck behind half the city. With only two bartenders working, the wait dragged on. Ten minutes later, finally holding a glass in each hand, he turned to head back to you.

His eyes swept over you slowly, taking in every inch. Then he saw him. Some corporate suit leaning in, grinning like he had a shot.

Fuck that.

Mark didn’t bother with excuses or niceties. He crossed the room with a controlled stride, set the drinks down hard enough to make the table wobble, and caught the guy’s attention with nothing more than an unblinking stare.

Without a word, he cupped your face and kissed you deep, unapologetic, in the middle of the crowded lounge. You melted instantly, the noise and chatter around you vanishing. Mark opened his eyes just enough to see the suit backing off, disappearing into the crowd. His lips curved against yours.

"Jealous much?" you teased, breathless as you pulled back.

That smirk, sharp, knowing, entirely Mark, slid onto his face. "Shut up," he muttered, pulling you into another toe-curling kiss that told you exactly how he felt without a single extra word.

Boaz Priestly

Priestly did get jealous. Jealous, and then insecure, almost instantly.

The guys in Santa Cruz were all beach-god surfers, the kind any girl might swoon over. So, of course, he felt a pang every time one strolled in.

Day after day, they’d show up just to flirt with you or Tish. You’d give them a polite smile, nothing more than good customer service, and they’d melt like butter on hot sand.

But Priestly wasn’t like them. His hair changed colours depending on the mood or the week. Piercings glinted when he moved, tattoos inked stories across his skin, and half the time he wore a kilt just because he could.

And that, exactly that, was why you loved him.

Still, you could feel his gaze whenever you chatted with those surfer boys, taking their orders. It wasn’t about control, and it wasn’t about who you were talking to. It was about the voice in his head, the one whispering that one day you’d realize you could do “better.”

But to you, no one was better. No one was hotter. No one was Priestly.

Sometimes the guys leaned in while you scribbled their order, convinced you’d fallen for their lazy charm. You never had. You never would.

You’d turn and pass the ticket to Priestly, letting your eyes linger on him just long enough to send the message. "Don’t worry, babe," you’d murmur, glancing up at his hair. "I like my men a little more…" You smirked. "Spikey."

He’d snatch the order from you, trying to hide the pink creeping into his cheeks. Which, of course, only made you lean in on tiptoe and kiss him, making his blush deepen.

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