#then sam could pop in the library

[youchangedmedestiel]

After Cas is rescued from the Empty and him and Dean start getting together.

Dean lets himself flirt freely but Cas still doesn't get it all the time. After another fail, Dean thinks Cas needs some teaching time.

"No wonder you thought you couldn't have me." Dean mumbles to himself as he drags Cas to the library. "Sit there." And Cas obliges while he watches Dean disappear in another part of the room. A few seconds later, he comes back with a pile of books in his hands.

"I've read those." Cas says.

"You've read Chuck's books?" Dean asks, surprised.

"Not really, Metatron did and gave me the cultural knowledge of everything he read or watched." Cas explains.

"Great, it'll be faster then." Dean answers, sitting next to Cas. He opens a book and looks for a specific page, definitely focused considering he's wearing his serious face. "There!" He points at a sentence. "Read this."

"That's what you told me when you discovered I was a virgin." Cas realizes. He remembers those simple times when he just wanted revenge on Raphael.

"Yes, read it again!" Dean insists. Cas is confused but does as told. Then he looks up at Dean, puzzled. "Cas, come on. You don't see it?"

"I'm not sure what you're referring to, Dean." Cas remarks.

"I was flirting with you here. Come on, it's so obvious. There's hundreds of examples like that in those." Dean says, tapping on the pile of books. "Also not in those. Like the mixtape and - and me worrying about you all the time." Dean feels his cheeks turn a slight shade of pink, as he notices the way Cas is looking at him. "What?" Dean asks, frowning at Cas smiling.

"Thank you, Dean." Cas says, gaze tender and his hand touching Dean's softly.

"For what?" Dean wonders, his cheeks more pink now.

"For showing me how you flirt with me." Cas shifts on his chair and leans closer to Dean.

"Ain't nothing." Dean replies, pressing Cas's hand in his. After a moment, he adds, "Cas, you know, there are two things I know for certain?"

"No, tell me." Cas replies, winking exaggeratedly. Dean rolls his eyes, but smiles anyway.

"One, Bert and Ernie are gay. Two, I'm gonna keep flirting with you. For the rest of my life." Dean states proudly. It owes him a smile back from his angel and a soft kiss on the lips.

"And I'll try to understand it." Cas replies, and Dean laughs, a full body one, before kissing Cas back.

[gloomwitchwrites]

Dog with No Teeth // Chapter One

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Female Reader

Chapter Specific Warnings (MDNI): post-apocalypse au, swearing, canon-typical violence, threatening language, death of a minor character

Word Count: 4.6k

On a scavenging run, two unknown groups arrive unannounced. Through the gunfire, you’re separated, cornered, captured. A skull-faced Lieutenant makes a decision, changing your life forever.

Chapter Two

ao3 // main masterlist // dog with no teeth masterlist

Eden is a home.

It is a person. A place. A community

It is the scent of old musty books, and the quiet peace before the rising dawn.

You work by candlelight in the silent hours, an open book resting on the table in front of you. Wearing gloves to protect it, you carefully turn the page, gaze scanning the faded lettering. Most of it is legible, and with some time and care, you’ll be able to replicate it on new paper with fresh ink.

Preservation.

Not of your mortal life and those that live in your community, but the preservation of humanity, culture, and human history. Five years since the world fell apart, and yet you remain, carrying on with purpose, restoring books, transcribing those that are close to falling apart, and keeping records of the years that came before.

It is enjoyable, fulfilling work but you serve a greater need to your community. Here, within your sanctuary of several hundred people, you provide them entertainment and education. The children come to you for picture books and story time, and the adults visit when they need an escape.

You are but one piece of a large whole.

“What are you doing here so early?”

You glance up, smiling at your assistant. “Could ask the same,” you laugh, pushing back from the table. Standing, you remove your gloves and set them next to the book.

Sam, your archiving assistant yawns. “Thought I’d get here early since you’re going out today with Zac and his group.” They rub at their eyes. “Shouldn’t you be at the gate already?”

“Shit,” you mutter, checking the mechanical clock hanging on the wall. Sam is right. You should be at the gate right now. “Double shit,” you groan.

Sam laughs and reaches for their own gloves. “I’ll handle this.” Putting them on, Sam settles into your chair. “We doing a refurb on this?”

“No,” you say, running around the room, grabbing your jacket and backpack. “Some of the pages are too faded. Binding is also bust.”

“Transcribe then,” murmurs Sam, gently closing the book to inspect the integrity of the cover. “Where are you going again?”

“Zac mentioned a small town they scoped out. No activity.” You walk over to Sam, yanking your jacket on. “He said there’s a library.”

Sam’s head pops up. “Seriously?”

You nod excitedly. “Said the place was locked up tight. Windows still intact.”

“Untouched?” asks Sam, eyebrows rising in surprise. You nod. Sam whistles lowly. “What a fucking find.”

“I know!” you exclaim. “Could really use some encyclopedias.”

“And dictionaries,” adds Sam longingly.

Tugging on the front of your jacket and then smoothing the front, you zip it up. “Zac said I can bring back as much as I want.”

“Did he really?” Sam shakes their head and opens the front cover of the book. “That man is sweet on you.”

“Which is why I take advantage,” you giggle.

Sam bursts out laughing. “Go. They’ll leave you behind.”

With a grin on your face and a hop to your step, you wave at Sam before heading out the side door and into the early morning. The sun is just starting to rise. Most people are still asleep or starting their day. You walk by the communal buildings where the earliest risers are preparing breakfast. You sigh when you get a whiff of what they’re cooking, wishing you could snag a meal before departing.

As you approach the gate, Zac raises his hand in greeting.

“Have I held everyone up?” you ask tentatively, glancing around.

“Not at all. Still loading up a few things. Your timing is perfect.” Zac smiles, and though you find him pleasant, nothing stirs within you. There is no lust or even romantic interest.

You observe the line of cars queued at the gate. Usually there are only one or two, but there are at least ten vehicles here including the salvaged U-Haul. “Taking a whole convoy?”

“We’re going to need it.”

“For a small town?”

Zac chuckles. “I’m dropping you off at the library. Ben will come with you.”

“I get a security detail?” you ask excitedly and Zac nods. “Fancy.”

Zac scratches at his neck, gaze roaming over the convoy. “There’s a car assembly plant a few miles outside the town. Gonna strip what we can. If things go well, we’ll come back.”

“No activity then?”

“None,” confirms Zac. “We’ve had a scouting team out there for the last two months. Not a soul has passed through.”

“That’s fortunate,” you murmur.

While your community has been largely untouched and unbothered by the outside world, there are still so many unknowns. There have been stragglers that have shown up, and while several have been accepted in and integrated, there are many more that have been turned away or shot on sight. Sometimes you think it cruel, but there are all sorts of horrors in the world now.

Ben walks around the front of the nearest car, and beams in your direction. “Hear I’m looking after you today,” he says, going in for a hug.

You accept it easily. Ben is the comedian of the community, always having a kind word and funny joke.

“And helping me haul books,” you add.

Ben winks in your direction and then turns to Zac. “We’re ready.”

Zac nods. “Load up!” he shouts.

Everyone around you heads to their designated vehicle. Engines roar and car doors slam. You follow Ben, hopping into a dusty Jeep Wrangler.

It’s several hours of open road and clear weather.

You and Ben pass the time by singing songs and playing car games. It’s a good distraction until Zac comes on over the radio and tells Ben their exit is coming up. The rest of the convoy drives on as Ben cuts away to take an exit ramp. A few more minutes and he’s coming to a stop just on the edge of town, parking the Jeep amongst a cluster of trees. The vehicle is completely hidden.

“Ready?” he asks, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“Backpack? Check. Gun? Check. Foldable wagon? Check.”

Ben blows raspberries. “Can’t forget the foldable wagon.”

You playfully smack him on the arm. “You want to haul all those books back yourself.”

“No thank you,” he mutters.

The walk is pleasant, but overall silent. Ben carries an M4AI. The arsenal back home is massive, and whenever there are trips outside the compound, the military-grade weapons come out. He keeps his head on a swivel, but other than the occasional animal sounds and the rustling of leaves, all is quiet.

“Here it is,” sighs Ben, extending one arm toward a stand-alone building at the corner of an intersection.

The library isn’t overly big. If anything, it’s what you’d expect from a small town.

“Now I know you’re excited,” he begins, slightly leaning in your direction. “But you stay close. We’re entering from the back.”

All you can do is nod eagerly, words escaping you. It’s been almost six years since you’ve been inside a library. This is a treat. It takes an insane amount of self-control to not skip all the way to the back of the building.

While the front of the building faces the intersection, behind the library is a small parking lot and two dumpsters. Ben does a slow sweep of the lot as the two of you walk toward the employee entrance. Satisfied that nothing and no one is around, Ben lowers his gun. Removing his backpack, he sets it on the ground, and rummages around inside before withdrawing lockpicks.

Adrenaline surges within you.

A few wiggles.

And then—

Click.

Grinning like an idiot, Ben slips the lockpicks into his backpack and puts it on. Grabbing his gun, he presses himself to the brick wall. Slowly, Ben opens the door with the tip of the rifle. It gives under his touch easily, the hinges even silent as the door swings inwards.

“Draw your weapon,” whispers Ben. “We need to do a sweep first.” As you reach for your Glock, Ben shakes his head. “And leave the damn wagon.”

Leaning the foldable wagon against the wall, you remove your gun from its holster. Ben enters and you follow, shifting your body to watch for anything coming up behind you. It’s a slow sweep. Starting along the wall, the two of you walk the perimeter, checking the back offices, and then finally the center-most area.

Ben comes to a stop near a collection of dusty chairs. Lowering his gun, he sighs with relief. “It’s clear.” He turns in your direction. “I’ll be keeping a lookout at the door. If anything happens, you come directly to me.”

“Got it,” you say with a mock salute.

Ben rolls his eyes but he’s smiling. “And don’t drag those books along because I know you will. Leave them.”

You stare him down but Ben doesn’t budge, matching your stare with one of his own. “I mean it. If someone or something comes barreling through the front doors, you fucking run to me. Understood?”

“Sure. Got it. Understood.”

Ben checks his watch. “We have a few hours before we’re expected back at the meet point. Take your time.” He starts to walk away, and then abruptly pivots. “Wife packed a few sandwiches. Promise I’ll share.”

You snort and wave him off. “Bring me my wagon, Ben.”

“On it,” he calls over his shoulder.

As his footfalls recede, you linger in the quiet, dusty library, taking in the significance of the moment. Six years since you’ve stood inside an actual library. Five years since the world fell apart but a year before, third places were quickly disappearing. No one could spend money when wages were low and all the government’s resources were going toward the war effort. Libraries and free spaces shuttered first, losing all their funding.

This place is precious. Special. A rare opportunity.

Of all the books in your community’s collection, they’ve all come to you by the way of others, collected on routine trips and scavenging missions like today. Since stepping inside the walls you now call home, this is the first time you’ve left it. All the stories you receive of the outside world come from the mouths of those who witness it firsthand.

Like a jubilant child, you want to run around—to touch everything. The tips of your fingers buzz with an incessant itch. But you don’t dare remove anything from the shelves. Resisting is almost physically painful as you float through the aisles, taking it all in. To remove a book off the shelf, to open it up, the smell it and feel it would be paradise.

But you know better. You do.

Disturbing them without the right tools and care might cause damage or undo exposure. What you can do is look, to read the spines, and consider your options. Once you know what you want, you’ll drag your little wagon behind you and go about taking the books you want off the shelves.

Ben does leave you alone, and you’re left to wander.

Each step is light but purposeful as you move about the space. You think of everyone back home, of their likes and dislikes, of their needs and wants. More picture books would be helpful as well as some young adult novels. Some of the women have been asking for romance and few of the older folks would like some historical nonfiction.

“Where are you?” you mutter, digging around in your jacket pockets.

Crumpled paper brushes against your fingers. Withdrawing it, you smooth it out as best you can. Using the little light available to read your scribbled penmanship, you pull the wagon behind you, mentally reordering your notes by priority.

Sam wants dictionaries, and you need to grab a set of encyclopedias. Finding the “Reference” section, you survey all your options. Dictionaries and an encyclopedia set are a must, but you also consider the selections of atlases and then the thesaurus collection. The school could really use those resources, and your wagon is large enough to accommodate a few last-minute additions.

Kneeling, you admire the different editions of encyclopedias. Some appear a little worn but otherwise fine. Even though this place hasn’t had power or temperature control in five years, the place was sealed and untouched until you and Ben. It’s likely that everything inside is fine, and all you and Sam will need to do is a rebinding.

You’re completely absorbed, so focused on the tomes in front of you, that the whisper of your name has you spinning around and reaching for your gun.

Ben has his hands up in front of him in a placating gesture. A snarky remark sizzles on your tongue. Ben brings a finger to his mouth in a gesture of silence. Whatever you were going to say dissolves, leaving behind an acrid aftertaste.

Slowly, you swivel your head from side to side but see nothing.

Ben shifts closer, leans in, a glint of fear in his eyes.

“There are people outside,” he whispers.

That’s when you hear it. Distantly, you hear a car door slam, and a muffled shout. The marrow in your bones becomes ice. There are people. There shouldn’t be people.

You swallow, mouth becoming dry. “How many?”

Ben shrugs. “Not sure. But there’s two groups.”

“Two—” You shake your head slightly as that’ll clear your racing thoughts. “What do you mean two groups?”

Ben’s mouth turns downward. It’s an I’m sorry but even that is loaded.

We’re not getting out of this.

There’s a distant hoot of laughter, and then the breaking of glass as if someone’s thrown a beer bottle. It’s still far enough away that you cling to that one comfort. But if they stick around, they might come sniffing. If that happens, you and Ben will be cornered.

Ben nods his head in the direction of the front of the library. Staying low, the two of creep toward the front of the building. There are two sets of double doors. The first set open up into the library and the secondary set of doors lead directly outside. Sandwiched between them is a small atrium. Above the doors are massive windows that bring in natural light.

Out front in the intersection are several beaten up trucks. From what you can see, it’s all men, at least a dozen or two in total. They look haggard. Mean.

“Is that them?” you ask softly.

Ben doesn’t look back at you as he answers. “Just the one. These guys came in loud.” Ben shifts slightly to glance over his shoulder at you. “Surprised you didn’t hear them.”

“Lost in my books.” Ben snorts, and returns his attention to the glass doors. “What about the second group?” you ask tentatively. “Our people?”

Ben eases back a bit. He sits down on the floor, checking over his rifle. “No. Not sure who they are.” He licks his lips, gaze focused on the gun. “They’re all in black. Militarized by the look of them. Organized.”

Two groups. Two different groups.

Ben removes the clip and checks the cartridge. “Only noticed them when one of these guys went around back.” He gestures toward the men directly outside the front doors. “Fucker came out of nowhere and knifed him. Dragged his body away too.”

“Who are they?”

Ben shrugs and rummages in his backpack for a new clip. “No fucking idea. The ones out front might be marauders or slavers or—”

He pauses, gaze growing distant.

“Or what, Ben?” you prompt.

He doesn’t answer, only readies the rifle. “All I know is we need to go.”

All this work, all this effort, suddenly gone.

Your shoulders sag as the reality of the situation sets in. “I have to leave the books. Don’t I?”

“Afraid so,” replies Ben. But he smiles, and though he’s trying, you see the strain. “Next time I’ll make sure to bring you and Sam some books.”

“Promise?”

“Promise,” he affirms. “Let’s go.”

At the back door, you withdraw your Glock, posting up beside Ben. He cracks it open. Pauses. Opens it a little wider. He carefully sticks a small hand mirror out the opening. He turns it left then right then back again.

“Clear” he says, voice barely above a whisper.

He exits slowly, and then gestures with his hand. You step outside, squinting slightly as your eyes adjust to the light. Ben starts to cross the parking lot, heading for the exit furthest from the intersection.

The voices of the men are louder out here. A tiny bubble of panic blooms. Then simmers. Then boils.

There is no one around. No one. And yet—

A loud crack splits the air. The wall next to Ben explodes, tiny fragments of debris bursting outward. Ben stumbles backward. He grabs for you. And tugs.

You’re yanked to the side, and then spun around.

Time seems to slow, and yet everything occurs so quickly you don’t entirely comprehend what’s happened until Ben shoves the two of you behind a nearby dumpster.

“Oh, fuck,” you breathe. “Ben. We—”

Horror floods your lungs.

Blood.

Everything. Dripping from tiny holes in Ben’s body.

“Oh my god. Ben.”

You reach for him, but there are so many impact points. Too many.

“Go,” he gasps. “Go.”

“I’m not leaving you here.”

As the words leave your mouth, a barrage of bullets bite into the wall directly over your head.

“Here,” he rasps, handing you the keys to the Jeep. “Leave me and fucking run. I’ll distract them.”

Shouting breaks out nearby followed by what seems like a never-ending deluge of gunfire.

Your eyes burn. “You promised me books.”

He smiles, and there’s more red than white. “You know I always deliver on my promises.”

With a groan that’s more a cry of pain, Ben stands and reloads with a new clip.

“Go,” he whispers just as he steps out from around the dumpster, gun firing.

You turn. Take off. Gunfire follows.

It comes from everywhere, but you don’t falter, don’t pause to check your surroundings. You’re not a raging bull or an agile cheetah. You are pure frenzy, pure panic, like a rabbit running from fox teeth.

“Fucking grab her!” someone yells. “Grab her!”

You don’t know if it’s the marauders or the men all in black, but there is little reason to consider who.

Survival is paramount. Survival is eternal.

In a world like this, survival is lifeblood.

It is everything.

With lungs burning and muscles screaming, you aim for the houses, knowing you can lose them if you scuttle through the overgrown backyards.

The blow comes out of nowhere.

You witness a brief taste of freedom.

And then it’s yanked right from under you.

A body barrels into you, knocking you sideways. The ground comes up fast. You throw up your arms to protect your head and face. It cushions but protects little else. You hit hard.

“Come here,” growls a male voice. Hands are on you. Grabbing. Twisting. “Let me get a good look at you.”

You kick out. Throw your fists in all directions.

“Stop your fussing.”

A quick blow to the face and you’re circling, everything becoming temporarily blurry as the person atop you brings your vision skyward.

 “Look at you,” he laughs.

It’s one of the marauders. He smiles down at you, teeth brown and grey from decay.

“Pretty thing. Gonna look cute choking on my—”

His nefarious smile drops as the rest of him stiffens. You freeze, staring up in shock as you try to figure out what’s happened. It’s a slow unfolding. A trickle. Blood begins to pool in his mouth and then it drip drip drips onto your face.

With a soft cry, you wiggle out from under him as he tips over, falling into the grass. Scrambling backward, you start to push up onto your knees, muscles poised to keep moving.

“Don’t move.” A gun barrel presses into the back of your head. It’s still warm. “Get up.”

A pair of black boots come into view. Your gaze slowly ascends. Black boots give way to black pants to a black bullet proof vest to a black balaclava. The only part of him you can see are his eyes.

Someone grabs the back of your neck. It’s a harsh hold, and you’re yanked to your feet. You twist your neck and find another man, this one almost identical to the one in front of you. This is the other group Ben spotted, the ones tracking the marauders.

The one holding your neck squeezes and the other reaches for you. “Fucking move and I’ll shoot you.”

You remain perfectly still—perfectly silent as he pats you down. The knife in your boot is confiscated along with your Glock. When they snatch the Jeep keys, you instinctually reach to take them back.

“Told you not to fucking move.”

The man slaps your hand down and you feel the muzzle return to your head.

“Sorry,” you murmur.

He stares you down for a long moment. It gives you an opportunity to observe him, and his companion. They both wear identical all-black tactical even down to the patches attached to their biceps. The bottom one you recognize. Both American flags. The one above it is eerily similar but you can’t entirely place it. It’s an azimuthal projection of the earth but a top view from the North Pole. Beneath it are two olive branches.

The stranger’s gaze shifts to just above you. He jerks his head, and then you’re shoved forward without warning. With each of them holding an arm, you’re half-dragged back to the intersection the marauders were at.

While their rusty trucks are still there, they aren’t alone. Four armored trucks are parked in a semi-circle around the marauders’ cars. More men in all-black tactical gear prowl the area. Of the first group to arrive, those that aren’t dead have been zip tied and lined up in a row on their stomachs, faces pressed into the asphalt.

When one of them moves, they’re kicked until they fall back into compliance.

“Found this one out by the houses,” says the man holding onto your left arm.

Soldiers. They have to be. This isn’t some ragtag group. They wear uniforms, all of which are perfectly maintained. Even the armored trucks are in decent condition.

A small trio of them standing nearby turn.

The centermost soldier speaks. “A woman?” His surprise is clear. And like the two men who hold you, this man too has an American flag.

He nods toward the group of facedown marauders. “These fuckers don’t let their breeders out of their sight.”

Breeders.

You almost snarl, bite back with an insult. But you keep your mouth shut. Their intentions are unclear, and you’re without a weapon. Entirely powerless.

Survival. Always survival.

He takes a few steps forward, approaching you, gaze assessing. Behind the balaclava, he gives you a once over. “Looks healthy,” he observers. Without warning, he grabs your face. You jerk back, and he clucks his tongue. “Stop moving.”

Turning your face to the left and then to the right, the middle of his brow creases. “Open your mouth.”

You glower, and don’t comply.

He grabs your nose, shutting off your air. You gasp, mouth opening.

“Has all her teeth,” he announces, dropping his hand. “Can’t be one of theirs.”

“We need to show the Lieutenant,” says the soldier to your right.

The man before you stares, and keeps staring. “Do we?”

You don’t like the implication.

“What’s this?”

A deep, masculine voice cuts through the air. It is accented. British. Every head turns, and the soldiers straighten, shoulders back and heads held high.

The man holding your left arm speaks up. “Found her running toward the houses, Lieutenant.”

All the soldiers wear plain black balaclavas. Simple. Straightforward. But the man who steps into view has a skull face stitched into his. A fucking skull.

Instead of an American flag, it’s a Union Jack.

His brown eyes behind the mask narrow. “They don’t bring their women out.”

“That’s what I said.”

“Are their numbers that low?”

“With how we’ve been picking them off I wouldn’t be surprised.”

They bicker back and forth, arguing about you but not actually talking to you.

“I’m not with them,” you say, and they all go silent.

Skull Face glowers. “You’re not?”

“I was running from them.” You glance between the soldiers who shot the man. “They’ll tell you. They’re the ones that shot him.”

Skull Face appears unmoved. “Doesn’t mean you’re not with them.”

You laugh, and it sounds a bit hysterical. “Why would I be fucking running if I were with them? Wouldn’t I be shooting back at you?”

“No,” he replies flatly. “If you were with them, you’d be bloody running from them. Not shooting at us.”

“She has to be with them. There’s no one else here.” The man who speaks up this time is directly to Skull Face’s right. The accent is different. Scottish.

“I came with one other. Those men shot at us.”

Ben. Oh. Sweet Ben.

“And where are they?” asks Skull Face.

You swallow, knowing the truth. “Behind the library. Parking lot. Near the dumpster.”

Skull Face locks gazes with another solider and nods. Two men break off, heading in that direction. He returns his attention to you. “Who are these men?”

“What?” you ask, perplexed.

“These men.” He points to the facedown marauders. “Who are they?”

These men are strangers to you. “Slavers?” When no one confirms or denies, you guess again. “Cannibals?”

“She’s playing dumb,” mutters the Scots.

“Hush, Soap,” mutters Skull Face.  “Who are they? What name do they go by? It’s an easy question. Everyone knows it.”

You shake your head. “I—I don’t know.”

Lieutenant Skull Face leans in, lowering his voice. “If you don’t answer truthfully, you and I can have an extended chat in the back of one of these trucks.”

“She had these.” The Jeep keys are tossed, and he catches them without looking. “And this.” The Glock is presented.

Soap takes the Glock. He turns it over. “They don’t give their women weapons, Ghost.”

So, Skull Face is named Ghost. Fitting.

“No,” he agrees. “Makes it easier for them to fight back.”

The very idea sobers you.

“Who are they?” you ask, feeling safe enough to do so.

Ghost glances up from the car keys. “Your worst fucking nightmare.”

“Lieutenant!” The two men that left for the library return. Jogging forward, they speak in low voices.

Ben is not with them. Ben is—

Ghost nods and steps back. “We’re taking her with us.” The two men holding onto your arms let go and Ghost immediately grabs hold of your shoulder, pulling you forward.

“Pick three of these bastards at random,” he announces, gesturing toward the facedown men. “Put them in Delta truck. Shoot the rest.”

Ghost’s hand at your shoulder slides up, grasping the back of your neck. He leans in close—so close you can pick out the little flecks of gold in his brown irises.

“You’re riding with me.”

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[deansbite]

　　　　𝒥𝒞　　｡　　drink up, angel

pairings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　afab!reader x demon!dean winchester　,　angel!reader x demon!dean winchester

warnings　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　18+ mdni !!　kinktober (ish)　use of nicknames　use of "good girl"　unprotected sex (WRAP IT!!!)　p in v　guilt　degrading　demon!dean (he should have his own warning tbh)　mocking praise　consumption of (demon) blood　sorta virgin!reader (except the vessel isn't)　no prep　descriptive blood　dom!dean　sub!reader

summary　𓎟𓎡 ₊ ˖　despite dean going missing and mysteriously reappearing in the bunker — the thought of him and you together wasn't as bad as you initially thought. Infact, you were probably attracted to it. Despite being the angel everyone expects to be perfect and innocent.

READERS POV

⏝ 𝅄︶ ͡𑁬 ⚠︎ ໒ ͡ ︶𝅄 ⏝

It was unusual. Well, the eerie silence that filled the bunker from top to bottom. Except for when you stood up and took a step. Every tiny noise echoed — you could drop a feather in the Deans empty room and hear it all the way to the library. That was because Dean had the Mark Of Cain and just so happened to die — which caused the fucking mark to turn him to a demon. Not because of possession, no, it was purely Dean controlling his body.

It was no biggie, because the boys got through thick and thin — except there was maybe a little problem.. It was that you guys couldn't exactly help Dean without Dean there.. present physically — right..? And that's exactly what your problem was — Dean was M.I.A. and nobody had a clue on where he was or with whom he was. And that had a whole search party out for him. Castiel, Sam, Jody, Donna.. every and any hunter would call if they saw him.

That lead to why you were babysitting the bunker. If a hunter called, you'd simply fly there. And Castiel couldn't do it due to some struggles he had with controlling his flying.. and none of you guys could afford a fail. You needed some good news. And you agreed so now you were left pacing around the bunker, every step you took echoing through the bunker.

The clanks of your shoe against the pavement weren't as quiet as you'd expected. It was like you could set off an entire earthquake with each step. God — you were so bored you were analyzing everything and observing to the point where you see things you never did before.

For example, you noticed the amount of books that had a bunch of dust particles on their spines, the top edges and at the bottom of them. And — there was one particular wooden plank in the library that when you stepped over, would groan. There was also a continious hum of the fridge whenever you walked into the hallway and past the kitchen. Which would fade out further down and come at a complete stop when you stood infront of Deans room —

Deans room. A frown settled on your face. You weren't familiar with the human emotions — but you presumed this one could be connected to melancholy you think it was. You've read about that somewhere. It was connected to sadness. But you shouldn't know how that feels.

Like, you were a full blown angel. You shouldn't feel human-like things. You weren't exactly on the rocky, terrestrial planet which was earth every single day. This was actually your first time being here for a longer period of time. All you knew before was that it was a solid and active surface with mountains, valleys, canyons, plains and more. But you never explored much and never felt the desire to do so.

Not until you ended up being asked by Castiel to come down a couple of times. And you agreed hesitantly, it incredibly strange. You were in a vessel, that could describe how you'd look if you were human. But you weren't human.. whatever, that wasn't important. What was important was that during the period where he asked for help, you popped in here and there or when the boys prayed. Not every single time because you had your own things to tend too. But they were grateful for the help.

Despite basically being put on the blacklist now for all the angels and heaven due to you deciding to help the Winchester's and Castiel, which both of them had a reputation of killing a bunch of angels — you felt like it was a sacrifice that was up to you to make. Which you felt proud of making. Because checking in here and there became normal and even something you looked forward too, helping everyone — and may or may not aswell as seeing the older Winchester.

You hadn't known or seen him — heard of, yeah but not met until you helped them out. He was a bit rough around the edges, extremely rude toward you at first — because he didn't trust angels. Which was understandable. With time, he warmed up enough to you to pray as a form of communication on occasion. You'd sometimes move around some objects so he knew you heard. You both had a thing that felt very dear to you. You genuinely would get concerned when you didn't hear from Dean at least once a month.

And you didn't know how to feel about it. Because you weren't human. You didn't have the mind to feel emotions, feel what humans felt. You felt numb to most things. It was a scary thing to experience, because imagine being a loyal and obedient angel — a favorited angel, who was also beloved by many. And then you became fond of humanity. All because of a single human. Hell, if you hadn't met Dean and became who you are today, you'd just consider squashing him like a bug. That's how weak he truly was in comparison to you.

But here you were, have you had an idea of what happiness was? Nope. Sadness? No. Anger? What even are these words? Aren't they just here to describe how someone is acting that? Because your perspective of emotions were blurry — because you don't know what they are enough to really care. You didn't have a grasp on what it was, really.

You saw nothing special about them. Until now. Standing at the doorway of Deans room. Pondering and reminiscing. Your eyes flew from one part of the room to another. The sheets untouched but slightly messy and they had the same note Dean gave Sam before he left on the pillow. His handwriting. He wrote it before he willingly left. You just stood there, unsure of what to think or feel. A moment passed before Deans scent finally hit your nostrils. The aftershave smell, his cologne, a hint of alcohol and a bit of a.. cigarette smell that you could tell just in the slightest bit that humans wouldn't tell.

A memory you had that stuck to you. It was one where Dean would put his duffle bag on his desk before lazily throwing himself on his bed, settling in and getting all cozy. Then you knocked, he'd sigh before telling you an almost inaudible little 'come in' and you'd enter. Dean would ask what you were doing before you asked him a couple of questions. And that night you guys spoke the entire night. It was fun.

You'd genuinely do anything to be able to have a repeat of that event.

A sigh escaped your lips before you made your way back to the library. Just to make sure that nobody called during the time you'd been busy daydreaming or whatever. Once you made it, your hands reached out and grabbed the smartphones, clicking their power button so they turn on, just to get nothing. You were about to just place the phone back on the flat, wooden surface — until you sucked in quite a deep breath, inhaling a familiar smell.

You were about to just brush it off as nothing when it got stronger. Your eyebrows furrowed and you blinked. Thoughts filled your head and you turned your head over your shoulder. Nothing. The distinctive smell started to subside. Okay.. maybe your mind was just playing tricks and you were just paranoid after Deans absence.

Until it came back. Hell, you might even have to say stronger than the first two times. And then it hit you. Aftershave, a cologne you couldn't ever put your finger on what it smelt like, a heavy stench of alcohol and smell of sex — jesus christ, the same hint of cigarettes. And you knew this couldn't be a paranoid joke. Your hands grip tightend on the smartphone.

The recognizable voice chuckled behind you. "Sweetheart, I know you know that i'm here. Don't be shy, show me that pretty face." His voice was mocking, maybe even straight up cruel because of how extreme the way he said it. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up and you had goosebumps. You were certainly terrified — unknowing of what could possibly come your way when it came to Dean as a demon.

"I know you can hear me, c'mon. Pretty angel like you doesn't like to take orders? Hm? What if I was God? Told ya too obliderate all of humanity. Wipe the slate clean. Start over. Or told you to fucking look at me because I won't be asking another time." Deans — demon Deans voice boomed throughout the library. The old you would probably be ignoring him. But you weren't exactly 'the old you'. You were.. simply present you.

So, you spun around on your heels, your eyes taking a moment to drag up from his shoes. And then you met his emerald green eyes. Usually they were majestic and amazing to look at. But this wasn't Dean Dean. Because you saw his piercing eyes and the glint of dark, malevolent emerald green eyes. It left you speechless. And not in a good way. Nope, exactly the opposite.

"Uh huh, following instructions all proper. Makin' me feel all high and mighty, sweets." He let out a low chuckle, his eyes observing you. As if he had an idea that you were probably planning on just getting the hell away. He hummed, clicking his tongue. "Not too fast, Mary. We just reunited, I missed you real bad." He frowned — trying to impersonate being sad.

You just furrowed your eyebrows, clearly displeased. "What're you even planning on doing with me?" He shrugged, "That depends on what you want to do, sweetheart. I don't do shit without consent." You scoffed in amusement. "A demon refusing to do something without consent? What is this? A bad dream?" You quickly shut up when Dean simply glared at you. "I take that back." "Good girl." And that made your knees weak. I mean, fuck it was still the same looking same green-eyed man in front of you, with the same deep voice.

But it wasn't exactly him. You knew that. But was it bad a part of you just.. simply couldn't care less? "I don't want you to do anything." He simply let out a laugh. "Sure. You're a prude anyway, d'you even know what there is for me t'do to you? Like I don't know, show you what sex is, stick my fingers in you or my cock while i'm at it. Betcha would like that." You accidentally choked on your spit at that. "Huh?" You said between some coughs.

"Didn't ya hear me?" He asked, skeptical. A moment passed where you just stared at him, all wide-eyed. "I asked you a fuckin' question." He added, stern now. "Oh — I uh, no I wouldn't —" He didn't respond to that, just took step by step, every step slowly approaching you, the wooden floorboards groaning under his newly added weight. "Y'sure? You wouldn't want me t'just turn you 'round and slip in nnice 'n slow. Wonder if you're tight." You just stared at him, lips parted. He smirked, the right side of his mouth tugging upward.

He then decided to simply lean down, his head closer and closer to yours, lips almost touching. You felt his breath on your lips and he most likely felt yours on his. Your eyes slowly travelled down — they lingered over his nose with the small bump — then his cheeks and nose which had the faintest freckles dusted around and finally down to his plump lips. You cleared your throat. "Just say no 'n i'll leave y'alone." He spoke, his tone mocking as always. "But i'm sure an innocent, perfect little angel like you won't accept big, bad demon like me."

You just noticed him lean in closer, your lips basically touching if either you or him accidentally sneezed. "And? No complaints?" He chuckled, in a cruel way — which you hadn't noticed, but even if you did, you probably couldn't really care less. And he dragged it out, obviously. Just sucking in a deep breath, his eyes darting from your eyes down to your lips. You were sure you were slowly coming to a realization on what you were exactly doing.

But before you had any time to exactly protest, his lips came down, clashing against yours. His hand immediately touching you all over.. singular because his right hand was busy wrapped around your throat, squeezing lightly to make your airway a bit tighter. But to necessairily cut it off. He chuckled when your lips vibrated against his because you whined in the kiss — but the kiss trapped the noise from being any louder.

"Thought you were a good lil' angel. Seems like the exact opposite. 'Cause I ain't gonna be nice, baby. Gonna bend y'over on the table, fuck y'all nice 'n good, make sure your brain s'all fuzzy 'n fucked out." He promised. Your lips were chasing his as you both had a hot and sloppy makeout. Deans left hand paused at your clothed ass, just squeezing before pulling away from the kiss.

"Bend over the table." He ordered, his right hand leaving your throat and his left hand hesitantly letting go of your ass before he removed it. "But what about the door anyone could walk i —" He shot you a sharp glare, not before blinking and when his eyelids lifted, his eyes were pure black. No iris in sight. Pun not intended. You gulped and just decided to stay intact before turning back around. Mind you, phone still clenched between your fingers.

Dean wasted no time, his hips ground against yours. Around four layers of clothes not providing the friction he gave. His hand went to your lower back before he slowly bent you over. He had a smug smirk on his face as to how easily you followed along with what he made you do. But you didn't see that because your eyes were currently focused on the bookshelves in front of you. All you could do was hear and wait patiently for something to happen.

And honestly — this whole situation escalated so fast it would probably be a blur by tomorrow. As if it never happened and you would be like those.. drunk people you've seen on the television screens and in bars. At least you hoped so, because you were sure fucking a demon wouldn't exactly be a list of things of what to do as a fucking angel. Besides, maybe it was just the way demon Dean attracted you. He was simply Dean.. just less Dean and add some.. more insanity to him.

You were wondering what Dean was doing before you looked over your shoulder, seeing Dean take in the view. Before his right hand landed on your hip. You trapped your bottom lip between your teeth. "Uh-huh, a moment 'go you were all whiny 'n bitchy 'bout me fuckin' ya but now you're all slutty, ain't that right?" He just raised his brows. You just rolled your eyes. "Oh? Gonna act all bitchy again?" He tutted, his left hand going to your hair and his fingers wrapped around a good chunk of your hair, he tugged on it.

"Anythin' ya wanna add?" He sneered. You shook your head. Despite being an angel, you still felt the burn of the hair strands being tugged on your vessels head. "No — no." You managed to get out, he seemed pleased enough. "That's what I fuckin' thought." He let go of the pieces of hair, but his hand shoved your head down onto the table. It wad harsh. "Don't move or I swear t'god y'won't be able too anymore."

And you knew he was not joking so you just let the side of your face rest on the wooden table, your hand let go of that phone and they travelled down to the edge of the table, your hands gripped onto it and you weren't exactly experiences in this — but Dean knew what he was doing. You at least assumed — because you weren't sure how this whole thing would go down. "Will this hurt?" "What'dya fuckin' expect?" His response was filled with irritation.

You wiggled your hips as you just heard his belt clanking as he undid it. All you could do pretty much is just wait because you did not want to disobey Dean. "Y'fuckin' want this, right?" He asked which he then grumbled something under his breath. You nodded before he rolled his eyes. "A fuckin' verbal response please?" "Yeah —" And he immediately continued with what he was doing.

You couldn't see anything so after a little, Deans hands went on your body, his fingers hooked underneath the waistband of your pants. His hands were warm in contrast of your colder skin. He tugged your pants down as fast as he could. He seemed like he wasn't planning on wasting a single second. Because holy jesus the 180 turns that keep taking you by surprise just keep going. You sucked in a breath when Deans fingers now went to your panties. His index teased your entrance through the thin fabric seperating them.

He then — without much warning pulled your panties to the side with the same index finger, his left hand gripping your hip and his calloused thumb after years of hunting and labor scratched your skin a little. You felt something tease your entrance. A gaspy breath escaped Dean from behind you. "Y'feel so wet. Hopefully s'enough t'act as lube." And then you felt him push in. His tip was in and you let out a moan, eyes fluttering shut.

He chuckled. "Jeez, baby. That fuckin' cunt s'suckin me in perfectly. Clenchin' 'round me real tight, too. Sad your pretty lil' vessel ain't a fuckin' virgin. Woulda enjoyed poppin' two cherries at once." He now pushed in deeper. His right hand went under your shirt, you just now realized because he was groping your boobs, his index and middle finger twisting your nipple as you let out a whine. "Fuck." You exclaimed.

"Real filthy. Never expected an angel like you squeezin' my cock so tight." He taunted, he bottomed out. Your walls clenched around him and relaxed before repeating that action, pants escaped your lips. You could feel every vein, the size of him and the way he almost split you into two. Dean boasted about sex all the time after he slept with girls. You never knew how right he was until now. Because jesus fucking christ you weren't expecting it to feel this good. You were probably zoned out because Dean spanked your ass. "Come back t'me, whore. Stick a fuckin' dick in ya 'n you'll become all inresponsive like a cock whore." He scoffed.

"C'mon, as I was sayin', open up that mouth." He ordered, still deep in you without moving. You fluttered your eyes open, his wrist right in your eyesight. He folded himself over you, his chest flush against your back. His right hand no longer teasing your boobs. Which was probably why his wrist was right in front of you. But it was because he had sliced his skin open a little under. "You're enough of a slut t'take a demons dick. I'll fuckin' move when ya suck on demon blood. Like Sammy, except a pretty lil' thing like y'does it. Drink up, angel." The crimson red substance was right in front of you.

Your eyes widened. "I —" Jesus christ. You were an angel getting dicked down by a fucking demon. You were in far too deep right now. You leaned forward slightly. "That's it, atta girl." He praised, you didn't pay attention to it if it had an underlaying cruel tone under his words. You just focused on the disgusting demon blood you were about to consume. Your lips wrapped around the wound, the iron — y taste immediately sitting on your tastebuds. That's when you didn't even have time to complain about the thick substance you swallowed —

Because Dean pulled all the way out — well, almost because his tip was still in you. Then he slammed his hips forward, you would've moaned had his arm — and blood you were consuming with some dribbling down your chin onto the wooden table — not been muffling you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head. "Fuck, shoulda fucked this pussy a while 'go. Was actually thinkin' bout it." He panted and slowly started a harsh, relentless and fast pace from the get go.

You had time to adjust at the beginning, but now he was just careless, fucking away all and every thought you had. At some point, the table was shaking due to the hard thrusts. Your hips were probably gonna be bruised with the edge of the table digging into your skin.

You heard him groan and gasp behind you, a breathy chuckle escaping him. "So much for innocent angel."

That made you whine — well, as best as you could, still lapping up the blood that was basically like a faucet eacaping him. You were being fucked so good and hard — skin slapping against skin echoing — the light creaks of the table shaking and Deans pants were so incrediblely lewd and loud.

It seemed like there was no end in sight. Except you felt something build up in your abdomen — you weren't sure what it was. If you didn't know how to explain emotions, whatever this was you probably couldn't, either.

You were right there. Until the bunker door opened, your eyes widened and you were surprised Dean didn't even try to stop, he just hummed in amusement. "Hey! We're home —" Sam called out with Castiel whispering something to him. "Yeah — I know." Sam said — probably in response to Castiel. Before he started speaking up once more, his boots clanking against the metal staircase.

"Hello? Anyone home —" Sam's voice died in his throat when Castiels jaw dropped. "Oh." Your eyes flew to them as their eyes were wide. "Oh hey, look. We got an audience. Demon fuckin' an angel in front of their friends. Ain't that funny?" Dean kept going, not a care in the world.

You were fucking embarrassed. And that was for fucking sure.

⏝ 𝅄︶ ͡𑁬 ⚠︎ ໒ ͡ ︶𝅄 ⏝

I didn't proofread this shit and i quite frankly do not want too I HATE THIS SO SO MUCH but i gotta feed yall </3

tags: @pearlzier @fallbhind @beausling @deanswidow @gibson-g1rl @dollsltt

amab vers: im too fucking lazy for this rn...... leave me alone

[wolvietxt]

𝓕OR THE 𝓕IRST 𝓣IME …

pairing : dean winchester x female!reader warnings : crying, friends to lovers, fluff, really light angst (squint and you’ll miss it), hunts, food mentions, reader has implied insomnia (self indulgent sorry) wc : 6.1k😈

the gravel crunched under the impala’s tires as dean pulled into the parking lot of yet another roadside diner. the neon sign buzzed faintly overhead, casting flickering hues of blue and pink over the impala’s sleek frame.  

“another diner?” you teased, sliding out of the passenger seat. your boots hit the ground with a soft thud. “you know, there are other food groups besides pie.”  

dean smirked, locking the car with a flick of his wrist. “and i’m sure you’ll tell me all about them, kid. but i don’t need food advice from someone who orders salad at a steakhouse.”  

“first of all, that was only one time,” you shot back, walking alongside him toward the door. “and second, that salad was really really good.”  

dean snorted, holding the door open for you. “whatever helps you sleep at night, darlin’.”  

the diner was exactly what you expected: vinyl booths, laminate tables, and the comforting hum of an old jukebox in the corner. dean led the way to a booth by the window, sliding in across from you.  

“so,” you started, picking up a menu. “are you gonna do that thing where you order half of what’s on the menu? or just pie and coffee?”  

“both,” dean said without hesitation, his eyes skimming the options. “you know me. go big or go home.”  

the waitress appeared moments later, all smiles and a notepad in hand. dean ordered two burgers and, of course, pie. you went with something lighter, which earned you a raised brow.  

“you sure that’s enough?” he asked once the waitress left. “you’re gonna get hungry and start eyeing my fries. i can feel it.”  

“i am perfectly capable of ordering my own food, thanks.”  

“we’ll see.”  

the food arrived faster than expected, and you fell into easy conversation, catching up on the day’s events. the current hunt had been straightforward so far - just a basic salt-and-burn. still, you weren’t exactly looking forward to it. you never where when it came to hunts, they were more dean’s speciality. the looming anxiety and sense of impending doom wasn’t ever remotely enjoyable for you.

“so, what’s the plan for tomorrow?” you asked, grabbing a fry from your plate. “wrap this one up and hit the road?”  

“probably,” dean replied between bites. “unless we get more intel on that death omen case. sam thinks there’s a connection between the two.”  

“of course he does,” you said with a laugh. “guy can’t take a win without overthinking it.”  

“hey, that overthinking saves our asses sometimes,” dean pointed out, though his tone was more fond than annoyed.  

“true. but it also gets him hexed.” you grinned. “remember that time with the chickens?”  

dean barked out a laugh, nearly choking on his drink. “oh man, that was gold. i think we have a picture of him running from that rooster somewhere.”  

“we should frame it,” you said, smirking. “hang it in the bunker’s library for motivation.”  

“you’re evil, you know that?” he remarked, his smug grin widening further.

“takes one to know one,” you shot back, plucking the cherry off of his slice of pie and popping it into your mouth.

your conversations were effortless, the kind of back-and-forth that felt like second nature at this point. it wasn’t until dean reached over and grabbed one of your fries that you gave him a look.  

“you’ve got two whole plates,” you said, swatting his hand away.  

“what can i say?” he replied, popping the fry into his mouth with zero shame. “yours taste better.”  

before you could respond, the waitress returned to drop off the check. she hesitated for a second, then smiled warmly.  

“you two are such a cute couple,” she said, her voice casual but sincere.  

you froze, your mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.  

“we are not a couple,” you blurted out, at the exact same time dean said, “yeah, never.”  

the waitress blinked, clearly taken aback by your synchronized response. “oh, uh, sorry! my mistake.”  

she hurried off, and you stared after her, still processing what just happened.  

“well, that wasn’t awkward at all,” dean muttered, reaching for his coffee.  

“why does this keep happening?” you asked, more to yourself than to him.  

“beats me,” dean said with a shrug, though you caught the flicker of something in his expression - amusement, maybe? “guess we just give off the vibe.”  

“the vibe?” you echoed.  

“you know.” he waved a hand between the two of you. “like… a vibe.”  

“that explains nothing.”  

“then i guess it can just be one of life’s great mysteries, sweetheart.”  

you tried to let it go, but the waitress’s comment lingered in the back of your mind. it wasn’t the first time someone had assumed you and dean were a couple, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. still, it felt… different this time.  

you glanced across the table at dean. he was back to his usual self, leaning against the booth with a lazy grin and a smart remark on the tip of his tongue.  

he caught you staring and raised an eyebrow. “what?”  

“nothing,” you said quickly, looking away. “just thinking.”  

“about what?”  

“the hunt,” you lied.  

he didn’t press, but you could feel his gaze lingering for a moment longer before he turned his attention back to the check.  

“you ready to hit the road?” he asked, sliding out of the booth.  

“yeah,” you said, grabbing your jacket. “let’s go.”  

the drive back to the motel was quiet, the hum of the impala’s engine filling the silence. dean had turned on the radio, and metallica’s prince charming filtered through the speakers. you leaned your head against the window, watching the dark countryside blur past.  

“why are you being so damn quiet?” dean said after a while. “i know i’m always complaining about it but it really doesn’t feel right when you’re not yapping my ear off.”

“‘m just tired,” you replied, though that wasn’t entirely true. your mind was still replaying the waitress’s words and the way dean had brushed them off so easily.  

“well, get some rest,” he said, his voice softer now. “we’ve got a long day tomorrow.”  

“okay, dean.” you nodded, letting your eyes drift shut as baby rumbled on.  

the next morning, you were back on the road, this time heading toward a small, rundown cemetery. the salt-and-burn had gone smoothly, but the death omen case was proving to be trickier than expected.  

“so what are we looking for?” you asked as dean parked the car near the edge of the cemetery, trying to rub your eyes subtly so he wouldn’t notice your fatigue.

“old journal entries mentioned a spirit tied to a cursed locket,” he said, grabbing his duffel bag. “we find the locket, we find the spirit.”  

“sounds easy enough,” you said, though you both knew it rarely was.  

the two of you spent the next hour combing through the overgrown graves, your flashlights cutting through the dark.  

“anything?” dean called out from a few rows over.  

“not yet,” you replied, brushing aside some vines. “but this place gives me the creeps.”  

“aww, don’t tell me you’re scared, sweetheart,” dean teased, his grin audible even from a distance.  

“you wish,” you shot back, though you couldn’t deny the way your nerves prickled.  

as you moved to another section of the cemetery, you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone - or something - was watching you.  

“dean,” you called out, your voice quieter now.  

“yeah? you okay, sweetheart?” his voice softer now, a hint of panic sneaking through. 

“i think we’ve got company.”  

he was at your side in an instant, his flashlight sweeping the area. “stay close,” he said, his tone serious now.  

you nodded, your heart pounding as the shadows seemed to close in around you. whatever was out there, you had a feeling this hunt was about to get a whole lot messier.  

the night was heavy with an unnatural stillness, the kind that made your skin crawl. somewhere deep in the shadows of the cemetery, you just knew something was watching you.  

you stayed close to dean as the two of you scanned the overgrown headstones, flashlights cutting through the darkness.  

“you hear that?” you whispered, your voice barely carrying over the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.  

“hear what?” dean replied, his gaze darting around.  

then it came again - a low, guttural moan, echoing through the cemetery like a warning.  

“that,” you said, gripping the iron crowbar in your hand a little tighter.  

dean’s jaw tensed. “stay behind me,” he muttered, pulling out his gun.  

“you know i’m not great at staying behind,” you quipped, though your attempt at humor fell flat against the weight of the moment.  

“yeah, i noticed,” he said, flashing you a wry grin despite the tension. “but humor me, darlin’. just this once.”  

the two of you moved cautiously toward the source of the sound, your flashlights dancing over moss-covered graves and weathered stone angels. the air grew colder the closer you got, your breath puffing out in visible clouds.  

then you saw it - a faint, ghostly figure hovering near an old, crumbling mausoleum. its features were obscured, but its presence was anything but subtle.  

“that’s gotta be our spirit,” dean said, his voice low.  

“looks like it’s guarding something,” you observed, nodding toward the mausoleum door.  

“the locket,” dean guessed.  

“how do we get past that thing without getting our faces ripped off?”  

“i distract it, you grab the locket,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious plan in the world.  

“oh, sure,” you said, rolling your eyes. “because splitting up always works so well for us.” when you looked up at, him he finally noticed the twinge of fear in your tired gaze.

“trust me, sweetheart,” dean said, flashing you a soft smile he hoped appeared reassuring. “i’ve got this.”  

against your better judgment, you let dean take the lead. he stepped into the spirit’s line of sight, his gun raised.  

“hey, casper!” he called out. “over here!”  

the ghost turned toward him, its hollow eyes locking onto his figure. it let out an unearthly wail that sent chills down your spine, then began moving toward him with an unnatural speed.  

“anytime now!” dean shouted, firing a round of rock salt to slow it down.  

you darted toward the mausoleum, shoving the heavy door open with all your strength. inside, the air was damp and musty, the faint smell of decay clinging to the walls.  

your flashlight landed on an old wooden box sitting atop a stone altar. you didn’t have time to think - you grabbed the box and pried it open, revealing the cursed locket inside.  

“got it!” you called out, stuffing the locket into your pocket and running back toward dean.  

the ghost was still focused on him, though it was clearly losing its patience. dean fired another shot of rock salt, sending it reeling.  

“move it, kid!” he yelled, glancing back at you.  

“i’m coming!” you shouted, skidding to a halt beside him.  

together, you pulled out matches and a small jar of accelerant. you didn’t waste a second, dousing the locket and striking a match.  

the moment the flames touched the cursed object, the ghost let out a piercing scream, its form disintegrating into a shower of sparks before disappearing entirely.  

“well, that was fun,” dean said, lowering his gun.  

“yeah, a real blast,” you replied, still catching your breath.  

he turned to you, his expression softening slightly. “you okay?”  

“yeah,” you said, nodding. “thanks for the save.”  

“always,” he said with a small smile, clapping you on the shoulder. “come on, let’s get out of here before something else decides to show up.”  

the drive back to the motel was quieter than usual. the adrenaline from the hunt had worn off, leaving you both exhausted.  

“you’re really bad at staying behind,” dean said suddenly, breaking the silence.  

“and you’re really bad at not playing the hero,” you shot back.  

he glanced at you, his expression somewhere between exasperation and fondness. “you’re gonna get yourself killed one day, you know that?”  

“not if you’re around to save me,” you said lightly, though there was an edge of truth to your words.  

he didn’t reply, but the way his grip on the steering wheel tightened said enough.  

back at the motel, you both collapsed onto your respective beds, the exhaustion from the hunt settling into your bones. the cheap, scratchy sheets were far from comfortable, but you barely noticed, too tired to care.  

“you want first shower?” dean asked, already kicking off his boots and wincing at the creak of the bed frame beneath him.  

“you take it,” you mumbled, waving him off and stifling a yawn. “i’ll just... lie here for a sec.”  

he paused, giving you a look. “you good? you’ve been dragging all day.”  

“just tired,” you said quickly, forcing a small smile. “nothing a shower and some sleep won’t fix.”  

dean didn’t seem convinced. “you sure? you’ve been looking... kinda rough.” his voice was softer now, almost hesitant. “when’s the last time you actually got a decent night’s sleep?”  

“i sleep,” you said, avoiding his gaze by focusing on the ceiling.  

“yeah, but do you sleep?” he pressed, gesturing vaguely with one hand. “like, real sleep. out cold. no tossing and turning. none of that zombie stuff.”  

“i’m fine, dean,” you said firmly, though your voice lacked any real bite.  

he lingered for a moment longer, clearly unconvinced but unsure what else to say. eventually, he grabbed a towel and disappeared into the bathroom with a quiet, “if you say so.”  

the sound of the shower running filled the silence, but your mind was louder. it wasn’t that you didn’t want to sleep - it was just that you couldn’t. not really. the hunts, the adrenaline, the nightmares - they all tangled together into a mess you couldn’t quite escape.  

you stared at the water-stained ceiling, your thoughts drifting back to the hunt and, inevitably, to dean. the way he’d thrown himself between you and that ghost without hesitation, his instincts sharper than anyone you’d ever met. it wasn’t just about the hunt; it was about him.  

you sighed, shaking your head at yourself. this wasn’t the time to overthink things.  

when dean emerged from the bathroom, steam trailing after him, his hair damp and sticking up at odd angles, you were still lying in the same spot.  

“your turn,” he said, tossing a towel onto your bed.  

you groaned, forcing yourself to sit up. “if i fall asleep in there, it’s your fault.”  

he smirked, stretching out on his bed and crossing his arms behind his head. “just don’t drown, sweetheart.”  

rolling your eyes, you dragged yourself into the bathroom, the hot water doing wonders for your sore muscles and the lingering chill from the hunt. by the time you came out, the room was dark, and dean was already passed out, one arm draped over his face.  

you stood there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of his chest, his face relaxed in a way you rarely got to see.  

“goodnight, dean,” you murmured softly, pulling a blanket over yourself as you sank onto your bed.  

as you lay there, the quiet hum of the motel settling around you, you tried to let the exhaustion take over. but your thoughts wouldn’t quiet, your body still on edge despite how tired you were.  

at some point, dean shifted, his voice groggy but unmistakable. “you okay?”  

“yeah,” you lied, turning onto your side to face the wall.  

“you sure?” his voice was softer now, thick with sleep.  

“get some rest, dean,” you mumbled, not trusting yourself to say more.  

“right back at you,” he muttered, the faintest hint of concern lingering in his tone before his breathing evened out again.  

you closed your eyes, willing yourself to follow his lead, even as your thoughts refused to let you.

a storm rolled in by the time you and dean reached the next job. thick, gray clouds churned overhead as rain hammered against the impala's windshield, the wipers working overtime. the cabin in question - a decrepit thing that looked more haunted than it probably was - loomed at the end of a dirt road.  

"of course it's in the middle of nowhere," you muttered, peering at it through the rain.  

"yeah, because monsters love suburban neighborhoods," dean said, his tone dripping with sarcasm as he parked the car.  

you snorted, unbuckling your seatbelt. "remind me again why we couldn’t tackle this in daylight?"  

"because the kid who called us swears the thing only shows up at night," he replied, grabbing his shotgun and tossing you a flashlight. "come on, sweetheart. we’ve got work to do."  

the inside of the cabin was worse than the outside. peeling wallpaper, creaky floors, and an unsettling number of broken mirrors made up the interior.  

"i'm guessing the shattered mirrors aren't just bad decorating choices," you said, shining your flashlight across the room.  

"nope," dean said. "sounds like we're dealing with a vengeful spirit. probably tied to one of these." he gestured to the shards of glass littering the floor.  

"great," you muttered. "so, we find the mirror, salt it, and burn it. easy enough."  

"you say that now," dean said, smirking as he headed toward the stairs. "but nothing's ever that easy, is it?"  

you split up to cover more ground - though not without a bit of grumbling on your part. it was horrible hunting without dean, the anxiety looming over you multiplying by a thousand. the cabin had two floors, plus a creepy basement you were hoping to avoid.  

"why do i always get stuck with the creepy basements?" you whined after him as he ascended the stairs.  

"because you're the rookie," dean shot back, his grin audible even from a distance.  

"oh, real mature," you muttered, making your way toward the basement door, sucking in as many deep breaths as you could manage.

the basement was every bit as awful as you’d imagined. damp, dark, and filled with cobwebs. your flashlight flickered as you descended the creaking stairs, and you swore under your breath.  

"if this thing jumps out at me, i’m leaving dean to deal with it solo," you muttered to yourself, sweeping the light across the room.  

you spotted an old, ornate mirror leaning against the far wall. it was cracked but still intact - a likely candidate for the spirit's anchor.  

"dean, i found something," you said into the walkie-talkie dean had insisted you carry.  

"copy that," came his reply. "on my way down. don't touch it."  

"wasn't planning on it, boss," you said, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you.  

dean joined you a minute later, shotgun in hand. he gave the mirror a once-over, his expression hardening.  

"yep, that's the one," he said. "you got the salt?"  

you nodded, pulling the bag from your backpack.  

"good. i'll cover you," he said, positioning himself between you and the dark corners of the basement.  

"you know, for someone who calls me a rookie, you sure don’t trust me to handle things on my own," you teased, pouring the salt over the mirror.  

"nah, i trust you," he said, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "just don’t want you getting yourself killed. i'd miss you too much."  

the comment caught you off guard, and you glanced at him, trying to gauge if he was serious. but before you could say anything, the temperature in the room plummeted.  

a figure materialized behind dean - a translucent woman with hollow eyes and a twisted expression of rage.  

"dean!" you shouted, and he spun around just in time to fire a round of rock salt at her. the spirit screeched, vanishing into thin air.  

"you okay?" he asked, turning back to you.  

"yeah," you said, your heart pounding. "but she’s definitely not gone for good."  

"not until we burn this thing," dean said, nodding toward the mirror.  

you struck a match, lighting the accelerant you’d poured over the salt. the mirror went up in flames, and another anguished wail echoed through the basement before fading into silence.  

back upstairs, you and dean collapsed onto the dusty couch, both of you breathing heavily.  

"you know," you said, leaning your head back, "for a rookie, i think i did pretty well tonight."  

dean chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "yeah, you didn’t screw up too bad."  

"high praise," you said, feeling fatigue spread over you once more.

he glanced at you, his expression softening in that way that always caught you off guard. "i mean it," he said. "you did good, sweetheart."  

you couldn’t tell if it was the exhaustion or the way he said it, but something about the moment felt different. heavier.  

"thanks," you said softly, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious under his gaze.  

before either of you could say anything else, the walkie-talkie crackled to life.  

"hey, uh, guys?" sam’s voice came through, tinged with static. "you alive down there?"  

"barely," dean replied, grabbing the device. "but the spirit's toast. we'll meet you back at the motel."  

"got it," sam said.  

the drive back was quiet again, but this time, it wasn’t just the exhaustion. something unspoken lingered between you, making the silence feel heavier than usual.  

"so," you said finally, breaking the tension. "you think sam's gonna be mad we didn’t wait for him?"  

"nah," dean said, though his smirk suggested otherwise. "he’s used to it by now."  

you laughed, shaking your head. "poor guy."  

"hey, he knew what he was signing up for," dean said. "besides, he’s probably just glad you didn’t burn the whole cabin down."  

"oh, so now i’m a fire hazard?"  

"just saying, i’ve seen you with matches," he teased, and you couldn’t help but laugh again.  

back at the motel, sam was already poring over research for the next hunt.  

"how’d it go?" he asked, barely looking up.  

"spirit's gone," dean said, flopping onto one of the beds. "but the place was a real fixer-upper."  

"great," sam said, clearly not listening.  

"you know, you’re a terrible audience," you said, plopping down beside dean.  

sam hummed distractedly, still scrolling through his laptop.  

"don’t take it personally, sweetheart," dean said, grinning at you. "he’s just jealous he missed all the action."  

you rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling. despite the exhaustion, there was a strange warmth settling in your chest, one you weren’t quite ready to examine too closely.  

later that night, after sam had gone to bed, you and dean found yourselves sitting outside the motel, the night air cool and refreshing after the storm.  

“you still can’t sleep, huh? we really gotta get that checked out.” dean uttered, breaking the silence. “c’mon kid, what’s got your mind going so crazy?”

"you ever think about, you know, taking a break?" you asked, staring up at the stars, surprised with how he could always clock you so quickly.

"from hunting?" dean asked, raising an eyebrow.  

"yeah," you said. "just... doing something normal for once."  

he snorted. "normal’s overrated."  

"come on," you said, nudging him with your elbow. "you’ve never thought about it? not even a little?"  

he was quiet for a moment, his gaze fixed on the horizon. "maybe," he admitted finally. "but normal’s not in the cards for people like us."  

"i guess not," you said softly, though you couldn’t help but wish it were different.  

the conversation faded into a comfortable silence, the kind that didn’t need to be filled.  

"you know," dean said after a while, "you’re not half bad at this whole hunting thing."  

"high praise," you said, smiling faintly.  

"i mean it," he said, his tone more serious than you expected. "you’ve got guts. most people wouldn’t last a week in this life, but you - "  

he stopped, shaking his head like he wasn’t sure how to finish the thought.  

"but me?" you prompted, your heart pounding for reasons you didn’t quite understand.  

"but you’re different," he said finally, his voice barely above a whisper.  

you didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything. instead, you let the moment hang between you, heavy and unspoken but somehow perfect in its own way.  

the next hunt came quicker than expected - barely two days after the cabin job. a string of disappearances in a sleepy town near a dense forest had drawn your attention. while sam was still digging through lore, you and dean decided to scout the area.  

"we’ll take the impala and check out the woods," dean had said, tossing you your jacket.  

"because that worked so well last time," you quipped, zipping up your coat.  

"what can i say?" he said with a smirk. "i like to live dangerously."  

the forest was eerily quiet as the two of you trudged along a narrow dirt path. the afternoon sunlight barely filtered through the thick canopy of leaves above, casting the area in a dim, golden haze.  

"you know," you said, stepping over a fallen branch, "i don’t think i’ve ever seen you willingly go for a hike. kind of nice to see you in your natural habitat."  

dean shot you a look. "i’ll have you know i’m very outdoorsy."  

"oh, sure," you said, grinning. "nothing says 'man of the wilderness' like a guy who packs cheeseburgers for every meal."  

"hey, those cheeseburgers keep me alive," he said, pretending to be offended. "besides, you’re one to talk. what’s in your backpack right now? candy bars?"  

"no comment," you said, giggling as he shook his head.  

you reached a clearing after about an hour of walking. the ground was covered in strange markings - symbols carved into the dirt, arranged in an ominous circle.  

"well, that’s not creepy at all," you muttered, crouching to get a closer look.  

dean knelt beside you, his brow furrowed. "witchcraft, maybe?"  

"maybe," you said. "but why the forest? wouldn’t a house or barn make more sense?"  

"maybe they like the fresh air," he said, scanning the area with his flashlight. "either way, we need to be careful. whoever’s behind this probably doesn’t want us poking around."  

"yeah, no kidding," you said, standing up and brushing dirt off your hands.  

the rest of the day was spent investigating the clearing, but the markings didn’t offer many clues. frustrated, you and dean decided to head back to the motel.  

"we’ll regroup with sam, see if he’s found anything," dean said as you walked back to the car.  

"do you think this one’s human?" you asked, wide eyed with expectation.

he glanced at you, his jaw tight. "maybe. but something about it feels... off. i don’t like it."  

you nodded, falling silent. his instincts were rarely wrong, and if dean was uneasy, you knew better than to dismiss it.  

back at the motel, sam had made some progress.  

"the symbols in the clearing - they’re part of a summoning ritual," he explained, showing you a dusty old book.  

"great," dean said, flopping onto the bed. "so, what are we dealing with? demons? spirits? something worse?"  

sam hesitated, glancing between the two of you. "it’s a summoning ritual for a wendigo."  

your stomach dropped.  

"a wendigo?" you repeated. "seriously?"  

"yeah," sam said grimly. "and if the markings in that clearing are any indication, they’re close to finishing the ritual."  

"perfect," dean muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. 

the plan was simple: return to the forest, disrupt the ritual, and kill the wendigo if it had already been summoned.  

"simple," you said, your tone dry as you loaded your shotgun.  

"hey, it’s worked before," dean said, smirking as he handed you a flare gun.  

"yeah, and almost got us killed before," you shot back, though you couldn’t help the fearful expression that broke out on your face.

"what can i say?" he said, shrugging. "we’re good at not dying."  

the forest felt different this time - heavier, like the air itself was charged with something dark and unnatural.  

"stay close," dean said, his voice low.  

"i definitely wasn’t planning on wandering off," you replied, gripping your shotgun tightly.  

he shot you a quick glance, his expression softer than you expected. "just... stay close, okay?"  

"okay," you said quietly, feeling your heart skip a beat.  

the clearing was empty when you arrived, but the symbols on the ground glowed faintly, pulsing with an eerie red light.  

"that’s new," dean said, his jaw tightening.  

"you think the ritual’s already started?" you asked.  

"probably," he said, scanning the area. "we need to move fast."  

you started disrupting the symbols, kicking dirt over them while dean poured salt and lighter fluid around the edges.  

"almost done," you said, glancing over at him.  

but before he could respond, a bloodcurdling roar echoed through the forest.  

"guess that answers that," dean muttered, raising his shotgun.  

the wendigo burst into the clearing, its pale, emaciated form moving with unnatural speed.  

"stay back!" dean shouted, firing a shot that barely slowed it down.  

you raised your flare gun, aiming for its chest, but the creature was too fast. before you could fire, it lunged at dean, knocking him to the ground.  

"dean!" you screamed, panic surging through you.  

he rolled out of the way just in time, his shotgun skidding across the ground.  

"shoot it!" he shouted, and you didn’t hesitate.  

the flare hit the wendigo square in the chest, igniting it in a burst of flames. it screeched, thrashing wildly before collapsing into a smoldering heap.  

dean scrambled to his feet, his breathing ragged.  

"you okay?" you asked, rushing to his side.  

"yeah," he said, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. "you?"  

"fine," you said, though your hands were still trembling.  

he gave you a once-over, his eyes lingering on yours. "you did good, sweetheart."  

the drive back was quiet, the adrenaline slowly fading. when you finally reached the motel, sam was waiting anxiously.  

"did you - "  

"it’s dead," dean said, cutting him off.  

sam sighed in relief, but his attention quickly shifted to the way dean’s hand lingered protectively on your waist as you headed inside.  

later that night, as you sat outside the motel again, dean joined you, a beer in hand.  

"that was really scary. are you sure you’re okay?” you admitted, breaking the silence.  

"‘m fine, sweetheart,”  he said, his tone soft.  

"i know," you said, glancing at him. "but still."  

he met your gaze, something unspoken passing between you. "you know, you’ve got guts," he said, echoing his words from before.  

"so you’ve said," you replied, smiling faintly.  

he shook his head, his expression turning serious. "i mean it. you’re different. special."  

your breath caught, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak.  

"dean - "  

"just let me say it," he said, cutting you off.  

you nodded, your heart pounding.  

"i’ve been doing this job a long time," dean said, his voice low, almost like he was thinking out loud. "and i’m not exactly the kind of guy who’s good at this stuff, but… i like you. more than i probably should."  

your heart skipped a beat, your breath catching in your throat, but you stayed quiet, letting him keep going.  

"it’s not just because you’re super fucking cool or because you can keep up with me," he added, a small smirk tugging at his lips before fading. "it’s because you’re the one person who makes all this crap we deal with feel… worth it."  

his gaze locked on yours, steady and serious. "i don’t know what that says about me, but i know i don’t want to screw this up."  

tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, but you bit your lip, refusing to let them fall.  

"i… i don’t know what to say," you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding in your chest.  

"you don’t have to say anything," he replied, his lips twitching into a small, nervous smile. 

but you did anyway. "i feel the same way, dean," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.  

his lips quirked into a small smile. "yeah, baby?"  

"yeah," you said, and before you could overthink it, you leaned in, pressing your lips to his.  

the first kiss had barely ended, and you still felt breathless, the taste of him lingering like honey. you pulled back just enough to meet dean’s eyes, your hands still clutching the front of his jacket as if letting go wasn’t an option. he looked at you with a softness that felt rare, his usual bravado replaced by something raw, unguarded.  

"so," you began, trying to find words that didn’t feel ridiculous in a moment like this, "i - "  

but dean leaned in again, cutting you off with another kiss, this one slower but somehow even more consuming.  

"dean," you mumbled against his lips, trying to catch a breath, but his hands cupped your jaw, tilting your face up toward him as if the conversation could wait - like anything else in the world could matter right now.  

"mm-hmm?" he hummed, not pulling back. his mouth moved to the corner of your lips, then your cheek, trailing down to your jaw.  

"i’m trying to - " you started again, only to dissolve into laughter as he pressed a kiss to the spot just below your ear, his stubble grazing your skin in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.  

"nah, sweetheart," he murmured, his voice low and teasing. "you’re not trying to do anything but stay right here."  

you laughed harder, the sound bright and almost giddy, your chest shaking against his. you couldn’t remember the last time you’d felt this light, this happy.  

"dean," you said again, still giggling, "let me talk!"  

"nope," he said, his grin audible even as he kissed the side of your neck. "’m way too busy."  

"dean!" you squealed, trying to push him back, but he was relentless, his arms wrapping around your waist to keep you close.  

"what could possibly be more important than this?" he asked, finally pulling back just enough to look at you. his smile was cocky, but his eyes were warm, filled with a tenderness that made your stomach flip.  

you opened your mouth to respond, but instead, a strange mix of a laugh and a sob came out, and suddenly you were crying - just a little, just enough that he noticed.  

his face changed immediately, his smile dropping as he cupped your face with both hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that had escaped.  

"hey," he said softly, his brows knitting together. "what’s wrong? fuck… ‘m sorry baby, i - "  

you shook your head quickly, the absurdity of the question making you laugh again, even as more tears fell. "no, no, it’s not that. i’m not upset, i swear."  

"you’re crying, sweetheart," he said, his voice low and concerned. "that usually means something’s wrong."  

"i’m happy, you idiot," you said, laughing through the tears.  

he blinked, his hands still holding your face, as if trying to process the words. "happy?"  

"yes, happy," you said, your voice cracking a little as he wiped at your cheeks. "like... stupidly, ridiculously happy. i just - i didn’t think this would ever happen."  

his expression softened in a way that made your heart ache. "you really thought i wouldn’t want this?"  

"i didn’t know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "i mean, it’s not like you’re exactly forthcoming with your feelings, dean."  

he let out a breathy laugh, his forehead pressing gently against yours. "yeah, well, you’re not wrong there."  

his hands slid down to your waist, holding you close as he looked at you, his green eyes searching your face like he was trying to commit every detail to memory.  

"but for the record," he said, his voice serious now, "this? you? it’s all i’ve wanted for a long time."  

your breath caught, and before you could respond, he was kissing you again, his lips soft but insistent, as if he was making up for lost time.  

this time, you didn’t try to pull back or say anything. you just let yourself fall into it, your fingers tangling in his hair as his hands slid up your back, holding you like you might disappear if he let go.  

when he finally broke the kiss, his lips barely left yours, and he stayed close enough that you could feel his breath against your skin.  

"still happy?" he asked, a teasing edge creeping back into his voice.  

you laughed, your forehead resting against his. "stupidly, ridiculously happy."  

"good," he said, his hands slipping under the hem of your shirt to rest against your waist, his touch warm and grounding. "because i’m not letting you go now, sweetheart."  

"bold of you to assume i’d want you to," you teased, smiling up at him.  

"damn right," he said, his grin returning as he leaned in for another kiss, and this time, you didn’t even try to stop him.  

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[the-avengers-not-the-nazis]

Strange human emotions

Summary: Castiel has been experiencing some rather strange emotions, especially ones that revolve around you.

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: No one really writes about Cas, and it’s a shame because him, Sam and Dean are my absolute favorite. But I hope you enjoy ;)

༺═────────────═༻

He could feel it coming up again, that same burning feeling in his chest that keeps him up deep into the night. Not that he can sleep to begin with, but still the feeling invaded his every thought as he waited for you and the brothers to wake up. 

Cas didn’t know how to explain it, these strange human emotions that he had learned over the years, he didn’t understand them. He knew the ones that you and the boys had taught him, how it helped him learn to express how he felt to others. And he was truly grateful for it. 

But, the ones that he was never taught always worried him. Like when he could feel when someone is staring at him, even though nobody is in the room with him. Or even worse when you are near, or when you touch his shoulder when you walk past him, or how about when you speak to him so beautifully that he feels his stomach churning into a weird fluttery feeling. 

There must be something wrong, Cas would conclude, pacing the bunker’s library in the dead of night. Maybe you had been taken over by a shapeshifter and this was the universes way of warning him. 

Yeah, that had to be it, but how would he tell Sam and Dean that? For Chucks sake you are one of their closest friends, how could he tell them that they would need to kill you?

No. No, he couldn’t kill you. He just needs to figure it out a bit more by morning, he couldn’t just go on a killing spree. It wouldn’t be right. 

But if you were in danger or you are the danger then he would need to speak to the brothers about this. But, how?

Cas sat across from you and Dean, Sam to his right of the booth as he stared out the fogged window. The falling snow momentarily capturing his attention, the way each flake was built uniquely different from the other. 

It amazed him how something so beautiful could end up in a world like this. 

“Hey, Happy meal.” Dean suddenly spoke up, dragging Cas away from the window. “You gonna focus, or are we gonna have to tell you while we fight the sons of a bitches?”

“I’m focused.” Cas told the older man, his hands coming to rest in his lap. 

“Mhm, yeah sure.” 

Sam cleared his throat, turning his computer to face the others as he began to explain the current case to them. “So, Sophia Cocklen had reported her husband missing, nearly a month ago. And as of three days ago both her brother and eldest son have disappeared as well.”

“Has to have something to do with the men,” you spoke up, dipping a French fry in your ketchup before popping it in your mouth. “Because Sophia’s sister, mother and two daughters hadn’t been touched at all over the past month.”

Sam nodded, clicking on another tab as some police reports popped on screen. “That’s what I thought as well, but the thing is that none of them have any bad records on there name. And…”

Sams voice seemed to drift off, running farther and farther from his ears as the same burning feeling began to arise from his chest. He glanced at you for a quick second, the way you looked at your work and took it seriously. The way your eyes seemed to have a small sparkle in them when you spoke. 

And especially the way your hair slightly fell in front of your eyes, hiding that sparkle that made his stomach erupt. It made him want to reach over the table and push it out of your way, just so he could catch another glimpse of…

You pushed your hair out of your face, halting Cas’s thoughts completely. Why was he thinking that? What were you and the boys talking about? Why did his body’s vessel feel so warm and sweaty? Was it getting hotter? What if you had turned evil? What if this was your way to slowly kill him off?

Him. Castiel, an angel of the Lord. Struck down by a woman that was more than likely possessed by a monster. 

“Cas?” You questioned, facing the angelic being who seemed to be almost in a trance. “You alright? You look like your sweaty.”

Cas pulled at the collar of his trench coat, the feeling of sweat sliding down his neck. Boy, did he hate how the human body can physically act when you don’t need it to. 

“Yes,” He told you rubbing his hands against his pants legs. “Yes I’m fine it’s just a little warm in here is all.”

“Really?” Dean asked, taking a quick sip from his lukewarm coffee. “It’s pretty cold in here to me, what about you Sam? Y/n?”

“Dean.” 

“I’m just saying, you gotta focus in, Cas. You’ve been acting real edgy for the last couple of weeks.”

“I’m fine,” Cas told him, trying not to drag the situation down the rabbit hole. “It’s probably just… allergies.” 

The boys and you shred a quick look with one another, knowing well enough that angels don’t have allergies. “Cassie?” You questioned leaning forward onto the table. “You don’t get allergies.”

Cas felt his face warm up, “That was just the first thing that came to mind.” He told you, his fingers fiddling with one another. “That’s what you all do.”

Dean smacked his lips, letting out a quick ok before continuing with his conversation. “As I was saying we need to go and search every place that these men where last seen at. And normally I would say go by ourselves to save them, but I’m not so sure what we are up against just yet. So Sam and I will head down to the bar the brother was last seen and Cas, you and Y/n can go and search the junkyard.”

Everyone agreed to Deans order, quickly finishing up their lunch before they need to head back out. Well almost everyone agreed. Cas sat there in his seat, pondering if he should pull Dean or Sam aside and ask if these feelings he is getting about you is bad or good. Because he does not want to harm others but at the same time he didn’t want to hurt you either. 

He wanted to beat his head against the table, the thoughts that raced through his mind aggravated him. But what could he do about it? Wait… you and him were going to the junkyard to search for clues of the missing family members, he himself could interrogate you there. But, how?

༺═────────────═༻

At the junkyard, you and Cas kept you voices low, barley speaking a word to one another as you inspected the place. Your flashlight shined about the place, scoping out any and all items that could appear useful for the case. 

“So, Sam said that the dad and son used to work here. Almost like a father-son business, you know?” You told him, shining the light in the angels direction, mindful not to blind him in the eye. 

He nodded, unable to stop the fluttery filling the further he walked with you. It was killing him, he wanted to ask you what you were doing, because he knew for a fact it was neither of the boys. But, at the same time he didn’t know how to bring it up. 

On one hand he could slowly bring up the topic, have a simple conversation before he would ask you. Though, on the other hand, he could just flat out ask you if you were trying to kill him. Because, that’s what it surely felt like. That you were killing him slowly and purposefully.

Cas came to a quick decision, he would hold a conversation with you then ask you. Simple as that, no harm no foul. 

“Cassie?” You asked, that soft voice of yours causing his chest to burn and his stomach to twist into knots. What the hell were you doing to him? “Are you alright-“

“Are you trying to kill me?”

You were shocked by his sudden question, his straightforward tone and seriousness catching you off guard completely. “… No?”

“It sure doesn’t seem that way.” He continued to accuse, folding his arms over his chest like he’d seen Dean do plenty of times before. “Would you care tell why you are trying to kill me?”

“But, I’m not?” You told him, voice uncertain and slightly laced with worthy. “Why would you think that?”

Cas glanced around the junkyard, almost as if the answer was somewhere written in the piles upon piles of junk. “My chest has been burning every time you come close to me, or how about when my stomach make me feel like my vessel is going to induce vomiting. When I know for a fact that I don’t eat anything to make it do so.”

You stood silently, letting the words sink deep into your skin. His chest burned? His stomach felt like he was going to throw up? Why the hell would he have thought that you were trying to kill him? It honestly just sounded like his vessel was sick, or maybe he—

You cut your thoughts short, and it suddenly clicked in your mind. A sly smile gracing your lips as you walked towards the angel. “Oh, Cassie~” You sang out, free hand coming to play with the sleeve of his trench coat. “Do you have a crush on me?”

Cas furrowed his brows, eyes dancing across your face as you came closer. “…No? At least I don’t think so.”

A chuckle left your lips, standing up on your tip toes you gave the angel a quick kiss on his check. Watching as a light blush crept upon his cheeks. “I like you too, Cassie.” You turned back to the junkyard, flashing your light at an empty bathtub and broken mattress, leaving the poor angel stuck in his spot. 

Cas lifted a hand to where you had kissed him, the ghost of your lips making his heart stutter in his chest. Damn you, he thought to himself. Damn you and these strange human emotions. 

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

Hi!!

Can you do a Sam Winchester begging plus size reader to sit on his face. Whatever vibes you want :) Dommy Sam is always a fav but as long as Sam is reassuring and eating reader out, I’m happy :)

Thank you!!

.⋆｡Peaches and Cream｡⋆.

Sam Winchester x plus size reader

Dean made the mistake of leaving you alone with a very soulless version of your best friend who only wants one thing from you

Warnings: soulless!Sam, smut, friends to lovers?, oral (f receiving), mentions of condoms, praise, body worshipping, overstimulation, dom!Sam, almost getting caught, little bit of self-consciousness WC: 1.8k

Minors DNI

a/n: thank you all for being so patient with me, i promise i only have a couple weeks left of uni and i'm gonna come running back with some new fics!

Library- @hannibals-favourite-meal-library

His eyes burned into the back of your skull, as they had been for the past 10 minutes. And yet, you refused to look up from the book in front of you, even though you had not turned a page in that same amount of time.  You weren’t a stranger to Sam’s gaze, in fact you used to love it; the way his big puppy dog eyes trailed up your curves whenever he thought you wouldn’t notice never failed to have heat bloom across your cheeks.

But his staring was far different now.

Sam was different now.

You could hear him shift in his seat before the tell-tale sound of his boots against the cheap vinyl as he got closer. You swallowed around the lump in your throat though it did nothing to sooth the fear simmering inside you. 

“You’re not reading.” His warm breath tickled your neck. You shivered and squeezed your eyes shut. You knew what he wanted, and so badly did you wish to give it to him, like you always had but it was so wrong. His soul was gone, the very thing that made Sam Sam but it was still his body, his voice so tantalisingly close.

“Yes I am.” You bit back a whimper as Sam leaned in closer, his large hands planting themselves on the table in front of you, keeping you pinned to the spot. The tip of his nose brushed gently along your ear.

“No.” Suddenly the book was ripped from your hands and thrown across the motel room (something your Sam would never do). “You’re not.”

His lips closed around your earlobe. “Sam.” You cursed Dean in your mind, that man and his need for diner pie no matter how far out of his way he had to go to get it. “We can’t.” Fire pooled between your plump thighs, quickly soaking through your panties. 

He shifted closer, his strong arms now tightly pressed against you. He released your ear with a soft pop. “Can’t or won’t? Because I think we both know just how badly you want me, sweetheart.” You held your breath as Sam’s hands slowly moved from the table to your wide hips.

“Sam.” You tried again but this time he answered you with a deep growl.

“Say my name like that again and I promise that you won’t be walking straight for a week.” A moan escaped your lips before you could even think of stopping it. You could feel Sam’s plump lips curl into a devious smirk. 

“But-“ His grip tightened and all the doubts in your mind vanished.

“But nothing. Dean won’t be back for hours and you need to unwind and I happen to know the perfect way to do that.” 

As a last ditch attempt before your mind completely went fuzzy, you blurted out- “We don’t have condoms.”

His chuckle rumbled through your bones, sending a chill of excitement up your spine. “I’m not gonna fuck you, not today at least. I just want a little taste of this nice,” His right hand slid down the pudge of your stomach and wedged itself between your thighs, cupping you over the thick denim of your jeans, “juicy,” He nuzzled his face against your neck, “cunt.” 

“Be gentle?” You turned your head, encouraging the larger man to meet your gaze. His eyes shone with his victory.

“You want your Sammy don’t you?” He teased. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’ll give you exactly what you want.” And then he struck. 

His lips moulded perfectly against yours in a kiss long overdue. It was soft, almost sweet but you could feel the way he was holding back, forcing himself to relent to your wishes, even as he cupped your jaw with his other hand, deepening it. 

You whimpered against his lips and he reluctantly pulled away. You barely had a moment to catch your breath before Sam yanked you from your chair and lifted you into his arms. “Sam!” You tried to protest, but he silenced you with a kiss more determined than before. 

His tongue forced its way into your mouth as he strode to his unused bed. Your arms wound around his neck, Sam growling in approval. His knees bumped against the mattress and he fell forwards, catching himself with his right hand before he could crush you. Your pussy squeezed around nothing at the raw strength of the hunter you’d been pining for. 

You grabbed at the front of his flannel as he tugged on the hem of your jeans. Your teeth clacked together and the sound of ripping fabric filled the room. “Eager girl.” Sam groaned against your lips as you still held onto the now destroyed shirt in your grip. 

Your jeans button popped open. “Please Sam.” His long fingers grazed the wet spot on your panties and your hips bucked up, encouraging his touch to go just a little further down. He chuckled cruelly but yet he obeyed. The calloused tips of his fingers pressed into your throbbing clit, making your jaw drop with a silent moan.

He nipped at the frantic pulse along your throat, unbothered by the deep welts he was leaving behind. Your heart skipped a beat as you laid your palms onto his naked chest. “Sam.” His name was barely even a breath. 

“Good girl.” Your ruined panties were pushed to the side as his middle finger traced up your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. “So wet for me. You’ve been waiting so long haven’t you.” He cooed.

You tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t budge, content in teasing you. “Shhh let me play a little longer and then I’ll give you what you want.” His slender hips rolled against your thigh, letting you feel the monstrous bulge of his cock where it was straining against his own jeans.

You squirmed as he finally pressed his thick fingers to your clit, just barely dousing the fire between your legs. “Please.” Your eyes burned with tears of desperation. You needed him like it was the only thing keeping you alive.

Sam tsked and in response, pulled his fingers away. You nearly cried as your relief was ripped away from you. “Now, while I do love your begging, we’re doing this my way. You need to learn.” 

He leaned back onto his heels, his ripped shirt perfectly framing his toned stomach and chest. You couldn’t look away from him, never could you have even dreamed that your best friend was this good-looking. “Jeans. Off.” 

Your hands flew down to your hips, eager to obey. Sam smirked and pulled off the tattered flannel, his eyes remained on you though, burning with lust. Your hands shook as you finally got your pants off. Your panties quickly followed after.

“What a good little slut, listening so prettily. You just want your Sammy to take care of you don’t you.” You nodded desperately.

“Please, wanna be good.” 

He grabbed your wide hips and rolled onto his back, dragging you up the length of his torso until you were straddling his wide shoulders. “Then be good for me and sit on my face.”

“But-“ He shot you a lot from between your legs and dragged you up further so you had no choice but to plant your knees on the mattress next to his head. You caught yourself on the wall behind the headboard as you tried to rock forwards and pull yourself up. 

“Do this for me, sweetheart. Lemme drown in that pussy.” His teeth sunk into the soft fat of your inner thigh. 

“But Sam, I-I don’t want to hurt you. ‘M not exactly small.” 

“Sit. I won’t repeat myself again.” Your knees wobbled but you remained upright, determined to not harm the man beneath you. “Fine, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

His arms wound around your legs and forced you down onto his mouth. “Perfect.” He grumbled into your cunt.

“Sam!” But before you had the chance to even think of prying yourself from him, Sam’s lips sealed around your clit and it took every ounce of self-restraint you had not to court around his head and keep him right there, suckling at you, forever.

Your moans echoed through the cheap motel room, bouncing off the peeling wallpaper and soaking into the old carpeting. You couldn’t help but grind down onto his face, chasing the pleasure he had already denied you once before. Sam groaned in approval from between your legs. His tongue lapped at you, moving with a precision that had you asking yourself why you hadn't relented sooner.

“Are-are you spelling something?” He just winked at you and ducked his head down once more. Your eyebrows scrunched as you tried to concentrate on the fluid movement of his tongue against you though the blinding pleasure made it difficult.

S-A-M-U-E-L He took a breath. W-I-N-C-H-E-S-T-E-R

He was branding you, and that thought sent you catapulting to the precipice of your end. “Sam, Sam please. ‘M so close, please, please.” His right hand released your thigh and quickly slipped underneath his chin, letting his thick fingers finally breach your needy cunt. The knot in your stomach wound impossibly tighter and then just as he crooked his fingers, hitting the delicate bundle of nerves within you, Sam spelled one more word.

M-I-N-E

“Fuck fuck fuck!” You thrashed on top of him, wave after wave of euphoria washing over you, drowning you in it as Sam’s unrelenting ministrations pushed you right into another orgasm just as the first was dying down.

Your hands flew to his silky hair and tried to pry him off of you but he kept going, seemingly determined to make you pass out from the pleasure. “Too much.” Your whole body shook as your nerves lit up like fireworks.

“Oh god-“ Suddenly, the tell-tale rumble of the Impala had both you and the man you were straddling freeze. The car door squeaked and you both looked at each other. 

Sam grabbed your hips and rolled you onto your back before ripping his half-naked body from yours. You threw the covers over yourself and shut your eyes, praying that your heavy breathing wouldn’t be noticed by the other hunter. 

Just as Dean’s footsteps reached the motel room door, Sam had tugged on a new (non-ripped) flannel from his bag. Your eyes slammed shut as the door creaked open and Dean slipped inside.

There was a beat of silence. “She sleeping?” You breathed out a sigh of relief, you couldn’t imagine what he would’ve thought if he realised what was happening between his soulless little brother and you barely moments before.

“Yeah.” Sam responded in a clipped tone, a now regular occurrence with his brother. Dean hummed and you heard the sound of a plastic bag being placed on the kitchen counter.

“I got some food for us. You want any?” You could’ve melted from the genuine concern in his voice but as Sam answered, your stomach churred with embarrassment.

“I already ate.” He smirked as he wiped away the last remnants of your cum from his lips with his thumb.

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[smoky-lucine]

Back from the Dead

Dean Winchester & Little sister!reader After Dean dies, Y/N is stuck mourning for months. When he is freed from hell, he tries to call her. Angst, Sam's mentioned but not actually there, more Bobby than anything 💀 This is my first fic i'm posting omg! hopefully it turned out alright

After Dean died things quickly fell apart. Sam clearly wasn’t okay, and neither were you. You got new cases here and there, but it wasn’t the same without Dean. You and Sam decided to slow down on hunting for the time being to grieve. Days turned into weeks, crying turned into drinking, praying turned into attempting crossroad deals, and eventually you woke up one morning alone in the motel with no trace of Sam.

You tried calling his phone for days, tracing any of his aliases, looking into any cases nearby hoping he found one on his own. He was completely gone.

After a couple weeks of searching, you called Bobby. He hasn’t heard from Sam in weeks and offered for you to stay with him instead of living from a motel. You took a bus to his home, and he greeted you with a big hug. You both don’t like to admit it, but he’s been more of a father to you than your actual dad ever was.

He let you move into his spare bedroom, and that's where you spent the first few weeks. Bobby would leave food at your door. He would sometimes try to come in and talk to you, but you weren’t very talkative anymore. Occasionally he’d practically drag you down to the library. He either needed help researching for other hunters or would tell you, “Spending all your life in that damn room won’t help you at all. I know it’s hard. We’re both hurting Y/N, but please just talk to me instead of suffering up there all day.”

Most nights he could hear your nightmares. He wasn’t there when Dean died, but he was there when you all buried his body. He couldn’t even imagine what it looked like actually seeing him die. Bobby could hear you crying in your sleep, begging Dean to keep breathing. He would come in and wake you up when you would start to scream. He couldn’t stand hearing you relive your brother's death every night.

Eventually the two of you were able to talk and mourn Dean together, slowly grieving and beginning to move on. You started to spend more time downstairs, researching, watching TV with Bobby. He even got you to go out to dinner one night.

The two of you would talk about Sam sometimes. Bobby would hear you late at night sobbing on a voicemail to him hoping he would finally pick up. You both knew he was alive, making your confusion on why Sam wouldn’t talk to you even more saddening. Bobby didn’t have much to say to comfort you anymore.

“I’m sorry kid. I know he’s out there somewhere; he’s just trying to mourn and move on too.”

One day you were cleaning up the library while Bobby made lunch, when you got a call. Nobody calls you anymore. Looking at the unknown number you cleared your throat and answered, putting the call on speaker.

“Hello?” You say, still putting away books.

The person on the line gasped. “Y/N?”

“Who is this?” Bobby hears you on the phone and stands right outside of the library to listen in.

“Y/N! It-It’s Dean! I can’t get a hold of Sam where are you guys?”

Your eyes pop out of your head, and you drop the book you were holding. “Dean? You can’t be Dean.” Your eyes cloud up with tears and Bobby runs into the library.

“Y/N it really is me please listen to me kid. Listen I don’t know-” Bobby grabs your phone and takes it off speaker.

“You listen to me idjit I don’t know how you got this number or why you think this is funny, but I better never hear you playing these kinds of damn tricks on us ever again.” You hear the person on the line start to talk but Bobby ends the call. You sat down at the desk and broke down. You hadn’t heard Dean’s voice in months, but it really did sound like him.

Bobby pulled a chair up and put his arm around you. “Kid I know you weren’t expecting for that to happen but we both know that wasn’t him.”

“How was it not?” You sobbed. “That was his voice. I know that was his voice.”

You lean into Bobby, and he holds you as you sob. He tried his best to comfort you, but he wasn’t very good at it, and he wasn’t exactly sure what was happening either. It took a while, but eventually you calmed down and you guys decided to just relax and call it an early day.

Later that night you were in your room getting your things ready to shower. You grabbed your clothes and started to make your way to the bathroom when there was a knock on the door. You weren’t sure who could be here at this hour. You put your stuff in the bathroom and start going down the stairs when you hear Bobby grab his knife and you hear a fight break out. You take your own knife out of your pocket and run to the front room.

There you see Bobby and Dean fighting. “Bobby! It’s me!” “My ass!”

You couldn’t believe Dean was right in front of you. He looks completely fine, like he wasn’t torn apart by hell hounds just a few months ago. Like you didn’t bury him just a few months ago.

“Wait! Your name is Robert Steven Singer. You became a hunter after your wife got possessed. You’re about the closest thing I have to a father.” Dean looks terrified and Bobby stands still. You drop your knife in shock and they both turn to look at you.

“Dean.” Your face is white as a ghost, your heart pounding.

Dean’s eyes soften and he stands up. “Y/N.”

He starts to walk towards you and Bobby blocks him. He stares at Dean for a second and touches his shoulder. He still doesn’t believe it. You run up and push Bobby’s arm away, hugging Dean as hard as you can. Dean hugs you back and you both sigh a breath of relief.

You pull back and take it in. Deans alive. Right in front of you.

You can’t help but to start crying for the second time that day. Dean tears up a little too. “Baby I’m so sorry. I’m sorry you had to see that happen to me.”

“I knew it had to be you calling. I was right.” You both pull back into the hug.

The three of you sit down to talk about what happened. Dean asks where Sam is, and you have to explain how he left you with no warning and you had to come here. He can’t even believe it. Bobby explains the last few months and that in the morning we can start looking for Sam again.

In the meantime, Dean takes a shower and eats an actual meal. Bobby tells him that he can either take the couch or share a bed with you. He chooses the latter.

You and Dean get in the bed and it’s still a shock that your oldest brother is right here in front of you. You lay on his chest and take a deep breath. Months ago, he wouldn’t let you come close to him if he was tired, but he thinks that tonight and possibly the next few weeks could be an exception.

“Y/N, we’re going to fix all this. I’ll make sure of it. We’re gonna find Sam, we’re gonna figure out who brought me back, and I’m going to make sure you never have to go through this again. I promise.”

“I can’t believe you're actually back. I’ve been praying for this for months.” You yawned. It’s been a long day and you both were quickly falling asleep. “I missed you.”

“I know you did kid. I missed you so much.”

[mellowyellowdaydream]

Study Break

A/N: here’s a quick little thang 😉 not proofread cause I don’t have the time lol but hope y’all enjoy! I’ve been busy moving with my little fam up into the mountain!

Word count: just over 3k

Rating: mature audiences only because of mature themes! 18+!!!!

Warnings: smut(obviously), readers in control, so sub!dean?????, p in v, sorry if I missed anything

Summary: Y/N Singer helps Dean take his studying more seriously, hopefully

It was a humid summer day in Sioux Falls, almost all the windows were open to help pull in the breeze from outside. Minimal clothing was worn because well it was too hot and humid.

Bobby was out on a one of his rare cases, probably helping Rufus is a state not too far from here. Never being too far from home base.

Sam was sprawled out on the couch,his long legs dangling off the couch because of his size, with a book covering his eyes. Snores spilling from his mouth. He must have been up all night going through lore books. Y/N thought looking at the Sasquatch of a man.

Y/N and Dean were seated side by side at the big desk in the room. Surprisingly Dean was stripped down to just a plain black tshirt and his jeans. Y/N was in a pair of black torn up short shorts and fishnets, as well as a black cami top with the little lace edging and small rose in the center of the hem by her breasts. Y/N was always surprised that Dean was still somehow cool enough in a thick pair of denim. But then again it would be really weird to see him in shorts.

Dean was flipping through the book in front of him. Starting to get huffy because unlike Sam or Y/N he didn’t like to fill his free time with lore or research. He huffed one more time and then slammed the book shut. Resting his face into his palms, them rubbing soothingly over his eyes.

“What’s wrong Dean?” Y/N asked, her eyes not leaving her book, every once in a while scribbling something into her notebook.

“This is boring. Can’t we go out to the shop, I’m sure you could use some help on your truck.” Dean offered hoping they could sneak away.

“Dean, my garage would be an oven right now, maybe later once it’s cooled off.” Y/N answered, still flipping and scribbling away.

“Fine.” Dean said leaning back in his chair, taking a look at Y/N.

Mhhhmmmm that shirt does wonders for her, and those shorts-fuck. Don’t even get my started on her tights-what I would give to just rip through em here an- no Dean no dirty thoughts. Dean said admiring her but then stopping himself because he didn’t want to cross an unvoiced boundary of his.

Don’t fuck Y/N under her fathers roof. Because for some reason it felt like Bobby would find out and then once again it would be Dean’s ass.

“Why are you staring at me?” Y/N asked, feeling the weight of Dean's gaze.

“I’m not staring, I’m admiring sweetheart. There's a difference.” Dean said trying to justify his actions, adjusting himself in his chair.

“Ok Dean, sure.” Y/N said, pushing hair back and off her face. The little stray hairs sticking to her forehead.

“Why don’t we try something? Hmm, you trust me?” Y/N offered to Dean, finally looking up at him. Meeting his playful gaze.

“What do you have in mind?” Dean teased.

“Get a room!” Was grumbled from the book over Sam’s face.

“With pleasure!” Y/N said, getting up and stretching her body. The small pops and cracks making her release a small moan.

Which didn’t go unnoticed by Dean, him squirming in his seat. Y/N grabbed her notebook and started to exit the library area of the house, stopping in the doorway waiting for Dean to follow. She simply turned to look at him and just raised an eyebrow.

And when he realized she wanted him to follow her, he scrambled to get up, his chair doing an awkward scrap against the floor in his rush to stand. He met her at the doorway while she led him up the staircase, it shifting under their weight as they ascended.

Her room was at the top of the stairs and to the right. Posters of her favorite bands were taped to the door(think Siouxsie Sioux, Duran Duran, Korn, Slipknot), with the obvious angsty ‘keep out’ sign. She kicked open the door for them, and waited to close it after Dean. Flipping on the ceiling fan to help circulate the air, opening the one window that was by her door. A small breeze hitting her in her face.

He obviously made a beeline for her bed because it was not only inviting but it was like heaven on earth with how comfortable it was and that it smelt like Y/N. Which was dried roses, tobacco and something musky. He loved it, and wanted to just choke on the smell if it meant he would die happy.

Dean flopped down into the fluffy comforter face first so he could nuzzle to the pillows and blankets. He was too distracted to notice Y/N walk over to her small stereo in the corner to pop in one of her many cassette tapes. The soft melody of Dark side of the Moon by Pink Floyd filled the room as she crept over to her bed. Tripping on a pair of her forgotten platforms making her stumble and hit her toe on the bed frame.

“Son of a bitch!” Y/N said hobbling over to her bedside, sitting down to run her exposed toe.

“You ok?” Dean mumbled from the pillows.

“I’m fine, it doesn’t need to be amputated.” Y/N joked, climbing on the bed. She walked on her knees until she was straddling his waist from behind. Her journal still in her hand, that was now resting on his back.

“What are you doing?” Dean asked, wanting to flip over to look up at her.

“Well you need to learn more about what’s out there so I thought I could help you.” Y/N said matter of factually, poking her finger into his back muscle.

“And how are you gonna do that?” Dean asked, shifting under her slightly.

“I have my ways, now what do you want to learn about? I think Sirens would be interesting.” Y/N said starting to flip through her journal until she found the page she wanted.

“Fine, can I at least turn over?” Dean sighed, pushing up slightly. Y/N slipped off and let him turn over.

Once he was laying one his back Y/N swung her leg back over his waist, noticing a slight bulge starting to make its presence known. Deans hands found her thighs to rest on, his fingers picking slightly at her tights and loose strings from her jeans edge. She rested her hands back on his chest with her open journal.

“Alright sweetheart. How are you gonna help me remember Sirens?” Dean asked, his eyes drawing lines up and down her body. Admiring the position they were in. His hips making a quick roll to get closer and more comfortable under her

“Well it’s a surprise, but first I gotta do something.” Y/N said, a little smirk gracing her face. She gave her hips a testing roll, raising her eyebrow at Dean.

He just looked at her in awe-because no matter how hot or humid it was here he wanted to be closer to her. He wanted their skin to stick together, all sweaty. She looked like a work of art from his point of view. Her hair somewhat messy and thrown up on her head, random pieces of hair sticking out and falling from her bun. She had no makeup on, not wanting to fuss with the extra layer in this heat. But there were remnants of some black rubbed around her eyes making them pop from her paled skin.

Dean traced his hand from her thigh up her side, tickling slightly as a small smile graced her face. His hand didn’t stop when his finger felt all of her necklaces, different charms and gems dangling from different length chains. He finally stopped when his fingers started to brush her jaw and face.

She just smiled and rolled her hips again, looking deeply into his eyes and she bit her lip. “Little” Dean making himself very well know-even though he was anything but little.

“I think we have too many layers on for what I want to accomplish here.” Y/N said starting to unbutton her shorts hoping Dean would get the hint.

He caught on quite quick and reached for his own jeans, Y/N climbed off so she could wiggle the shorts down her body. Dean wiggled his jeans and boxers off while he laid down, very eager for what was gonna happen. Kicking them somewhere into her room. His member flopped onto his upper thigh, resting in all its thick veiny glory.

Y/N reached to take her tights off next but stopped when Dean's hand grabbed hers.

“What?” Y/N asked very confused.

Dean just smirked and grabbed her hand to bring her back on to his lap. She settled over him, her core brushing against his sensitive member as she straddled him again. She found her journal in the bed covers before proceeding. His hands finding her hips to pull her closer to him.

He noticed how her panties somehow matched the lace and little rose of her tank top. His fingers tracing along the pattern of the fishnets up to her panties, his finger coming up to the edges on her panties. While she was distracted he took his pointer and middle fingers on both hands to pull the tights apart, causing them to rip open at her crotch.

“Hey! I liked these!” Y/N exclaimed, slapping one hand onto his chest playfully.

“Well you can wear it as a shirt then. I know you alternative people love making shit your own way.” Dean said, his fingers starting to stroke at her pussy through the soft fabric of her panties, feeling a small wet spot forming.

“Fine, now before we get started. Are you ok with me being in charge? I remember you wanting to try it out sometime.” Y/N asked, starting to fidget with her journal that was still splayed out on dean's chest.

“Say less sweetheart.” Dean confirmed, letting his arms fall back to around his head.

Y/N just smiled at him brightly, reaching down between them finding her panties. She slid them to the side and stood up on her knees to readjust. She grabbed Dean's cock and sank down on him.

They both gasped, he was buried to the hilt, pelvises resting together. Y/N just took a deep breath to steady herself and picked up her journal. Ignoring the look on dean's face, him being utterly confused as to what they were actually about to do.

“Now sirens are tricky creatures. They usually never leave Greece. So if you encounter one it’s pretty rare. What’s hard is that they can read you mind and take a form that would appeal to you.” Y/N said, giving a small roll of her hips.

“What do you think Dean?” She added, making sure he paid attention to the lesson.

“Yeah, super rare.” Dean said, struggling to ignore the way her tight, warm pussy around his cock.

“Dean. Pay attention or I’m getting myself off and gonna make you suffer.” Y/N said, stopping her hip rolls and adjusting herself on top of him.

Dean just shut his mouth and nodded. He made his hands grasp the headboard above him, trying to ground himself.

“Good boy. Now while yes a siren could come to you as something you are attracted to it can also come to you as someone you care about. Whatever it can do to trick you into doing its bidding.” Y/N continued, started to roll her hips again. Dean gasped because he loved the praise and when she adjusted them, it created a new and deeper angle.

“Repeat Dean.” Y/N said, trying to get him to focus on what they were trying to learn.

“They can be an attractive person or resemble someone you know. They want to use you.” Dean said between gasps because while Y/N stopped reading out loud she didn’t stop the tortuous drag and fall of her hips against his thus creating a fire to form in both their bellies.

“Good, now once they have targeted you they are gonna do anything to get you in contact with their spit. It holds a venom that will make you so devoted you forget yourself as a person and just want to do what they want you to do.” Y/N kept reading, and riding Dean.

Her hips nor knees getting tired whatsoever because the fire in her belly was spurring her on. The power she held over Dean made her feel magical. A gasp left her lips at the thought of holding the power of orgasm over Dean and him just letting her do it adding to her fire.

“So don’t share drinks with strangers? Or kiss strangers?” Dean said, his grip tightening on the headboard.

“Correct, now there is one true way to kill a siren. And that’s to take a bronze dagger dipped in their affected victims blood.” Y/N finished with the page, flipping it to the next.

“Got it, bronze dagger, active victims blood. What else?” Dean said, getting impatient that he couldn’t just grab her hips and fuck up into her to bring them both to ecstasy. He could tell it was taking both of them a lot of strength to not do just that.

“Well that’s more modern lore. The older lore is that of legends from lost ships.” Y/N gasped, rolling her hips until he hit that spongey spot inside her. Them both gasping at the electric contact.

“Can I fuck you yet?” Dean asked very obviously impatient. “I’ve been a good boy so to speak.” He added hoping that would make her say yes.

“No I want you to repeat it all back to me first then you can fuck me.” Y/N said matter of factly.

“Fine. Sirenscanappearasanattraxtivepersonorsomeoneclosetoyoutogetclosetoyou. Youwannaavoidtheirspitorelsetheycontrolyou. Inordertokillthemyouneedabronzedaggerdippedintheafflictedsblood. Now can I fuck you?” Dean spit out so fast it took a second for Y/N to register the words flying out of his mouth. His hips bucking up into her, hitting her g-spot again. Making her gasp and stop herself, throwing her journal off the bed. Putting her hands on his chest to steady herself.

“Ok Dean, go ahead.” Y/N said, relinquishing her control of this whole situation to him.

Dean didn’t waste any time, his hands released the headboard and quickly grabbed her hips. He planted his feet and started to piston his hips up into her pussy. Them both way too worked up from all the teasing she’s been doing while he “learned”.

Y/N leaned down to bring her face into the crook of his neck, her hands wandering over anything she could reach-his face, hair, or chest. Her gasps muffled into his neck and shoulder. Her pussy squelching with each thrust because she got incredibly turned on having him at her will.

“Fuck sweetheart. I think we need to do these types of lessons more often.” Dean said panting between thrusts. He worked his hand between the two of them and helped move her panties aside so he could find her clit.

His thumb started to circle the sensitive piece of soft flesh. Making Y/N moan into his neck, she started to kiss where she could wanting to show her appreciation for the attention to her clit. Dean continued to circle, changing speed and how he circled her clit. Knowing if he didn’t change it up she would become too oversensitive.

His face found her neck as well and whispered sweet nothings to her. -Such a good girl, and fuck I love how you keep squeezing me! She would just gasp and clench, a flood of arousal adding to the mess they were making.

Deans hips started to stutter, not being able to hold back much longer. He quickened his pace of thrusts as well as the strokes of his thumb, wanting to bring you to orgasmic relief first. He hit a spot deep inside her, and circled her clit just right to do so, making her gasp and choke a moan out. Y/N pressed her face further into his neck, her hands finding purchase in deans hair.

Dean gave a few shallow thrusts, chasing his high. He let out a deep groan and spilled his hot cum deep into Y/Ns fluttering pussy, the wetness almost pushing Dean out completely.

“Fuck. Definitely how we’ll learn from now on.” Y/N said, panting into his neck. Her hands cradling his face, leaving small kisses on the skin she could reach.

“Definitely.” Was all Dean could say, completely blissed out.

“Bobby’ll be home in an hour you two!” Sam called out from downstairs. The reality setting back in.

“Oh fuck he’s gonna kill me.” Dean said pulling out and trying to scramble off the bed.

“What? Sam?” Y/N asked, resting back against her headboard, her face completely blissed out and flushed.

“No your dad. He’s gonna beat my ass and then mount it in the den.” Dean said scrambling around half naked. Y/N just pointed to the opposite side of where he was looking to show him where his pants landed.

He scurried over and quickly shimmied them back on.

“Now would love nothing more than to hangout casually in here but I just feel like he knows I desecrated his own daughter in his home. So I’ll be right back.” Dean said quickly exiting the room.

He came back shortly with a towel to wipe Y/N’s pussy clean. She simply hissed at the coarse texture to her soft folds. Dean tossed the towel into her laundry hamper and gave her a quick kiss on the lips and hurried out of the room.

He peaked his head in quickly, “I'm gonna shower, you should probably change.” Was all he said before making his final exit to down stairs.

Y/N just smiled, blissful with how things were turning out.

[xoxoavenger]

What Is This Feeling?

pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

summary: Y/N and Dean are certainly feeling something for each other, they just can't exactly put their finger on it. In the meantime, they'll rip each others throats out and annoy Castiel and Sam.

word count: 3003

warnings: a small mention of alcoholism, intense enemies to lovers, based on 'What Is This Feeling' from Wicked, you may think this is isn't Christmas themed but there is a grinch reference thrown around a couple times (I couldn't help myself)

12 Days of Christmas masterlist main masterlist

Dean had never felt this way about anyone before.

It was surprising, because he had been in a lot of relationships with a lot of women. But something about this woman made his head reel in a dangerous way. He wasn't quite sure what it meant, at least not until he talked to Sam.

"I swear, ever since the moment I saw her I've felt this way." He tells Sam as they drink beer in the library.

"Hm," Sam says, still looking at his book. He clearly is not too interested in what Dean has to say, which causes him to be a little upset.

"I'm being serious! I don't understand it." He knows he's whining, but he wishes there was a way for him to know what this feeling was. It's been driving him crazy for months on end. 

"Are you sure it's not love?" Sam asks as he looks over, and Dean makes a face.

"Definitely not love. More like," It's on the tip of his tongue, and his mouth turns down as he figures out what makes him dizzy about her.

Y/N and Castiel are having the same conversation in her room, just down the hall, at the same time.

"He makes my heart race. I've never felt anything like it. I can literally feel the blood leaving my face just talking about this." She tells him, swirling her wine in her glass. Cas frowns.

"It sounds like you're in love." He says in that stupid low voice, and she wants to hit him at just the word.

"Absolutely not. It feels more intense. Like," She narrows her eyes, because she knows exactly what the feeling is.

"Loathing."

~

After the two of them figure it out, their relationship somehow gets worse. Sam and Castiel can only sit on the couch of the hotel room, each holding a beer. The only thing that would make it picture perfect is if they were eating popcorn. Sam would get up and pop it if he didn't know that Dean would deck him for even thinking about standing and interrupting their argument.

"How could you let it go?" Y/N yells from her side of the room. Sam and Cas swing their eyes over to Dean as if this were a baseball game.

"Let it go?" Dean repeats, barely able to stop himself from sputtering. "What, did you want it to kill you? Or maybe I should have shot you and hoped the bullet went all the way through?" He yells, because the stupid werewolf had been able to run after they'd been track it the past couple days. Everyone knew the likelihood of them being able to find and track it again, especially so soon.

"I'm sorry, is your aim that bad that you couldn't shot it without shooting me?" She knows, deep down, that the werewolf was wrapped around her, that it would have been hard to get a clean shot with then way he was holding her like a shield. Cas had been able to swing and slice a chunk of the werewolf's arm with his angel blade, and the werewolf had made it's escape while Y/N fell to the ground and Dean had gone to her side instead of shooting at it, like Sam had been.

"Seriously? You know that thing was wrapped around you like a freaking slinky. Do you have a death wish?" He shoots, and she turns, putting her fingers to her forehead in annoyance. "Why are you turned around now?" He asks, and she explodes.

"Your face is annoying me!" She says it far too loud, and Sam and Cas exchange a look of surprise before looking to Dean. This has officially gone from arguing about the hunt to personal attacks.

"Ugh!" Dean groans, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer. "I need alcohol just to deal with your voice." He says, and she turns back around, steam practically coming out of her ears.

"Are you angry because they didn't have a new jacket at army surplus? Too bad the old one has a knife shaped whole in it. Although, that probably made it look better." She's going after whatever she can think of, and she knows this isn't going to stop any time soon.

"Alright," Sam stand, putting his hands up. It's gone on a little too long, and he's sure any minute now they're going to get a call from the front desk because neighbors started complaining about the noise. "Let's just say you two hate each other and call it a day, yeah?" He suggests, and Y/N shakes her head.

"It's so much more than hate." She's staring daggers at Dean, who is chugging his beer.

"Finally something we can agree upon." He says as he pulls the bottle away and wipes his mouth, and she just rolls her eyes.

"He makes my skin fucking crawl, Sam. I can't stand him." She says, as if Dean isn't in the room at all.

"What about him makes you so angry?" Sam asks, and she doesn't even need to look at him to answer.

"Everything. All of it." She says, and Sam takes a deep breath.

"Okay," Sam is trying to keep his cool, but he kind of wants to laugh. This entire situation is childish, and he can't believe the two haven't figured their shit out yet. "Y/N and Cas, you share a room tonight."

"I couldn't handle her being in here anyway." Dean says, finishing the beer and throwing it in the trash before immediately grabbing a new one.

"Is it wrong to call him an alcoholic?" Y/N asks as Cas grabs her arm and starts to walk her to the door. "Because personally, I think it's just saying the truth, but I know some people,"

"Please stop," Cas begs quietly, opening the door. Dean has fire in his eyes, and she's lucky her back is turned when Dean starts to stalk toward her. Sam has to grab him and pull him back as Cas pulls her out the door.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Dean?" Sam asks finally as the door shuts and he lets go of his brother.

"Me?" Dean asks incredulously. "She's the one who started it!" He argues, and Sam just shakes his head.

"Y/N is a nice person. She gets along great with everyone else, and she always makes friends with people on cases. She even somehow has demons that like her more than you do. So yes, I think you're the problem." Sam tells his brother, and Dean just gets even angrier.

"She hates me too! There's not much I can do here, anyway." He argues, grabbing his stuff and walking to the bathroom.

"Maybe she wouldn't hate you if you weren't such a dick to her." Sam says, because he knows his brother can be a little rough around the edges, but Dean usually isn't this rude or upset with someone. There has to be a reason why they loathe each other, and Sam doesn't think it has anything to do with loathing.

~

"So, why do you hate him?" Cas asks Y/N as they pack up the next morning. The angel had let her off the hook the night before, but he needed answers now.

"Well, ever since the beginning, there's just been something about him. And I usually get along with everyone. But he doesn't make it easy, exactly." She says. She doesn't like talking about it, because she doesn't have a good reason for the feelings that bubble up every time she sees Dean.

"It sounds like you don't hate him." Cas tells her simply, and she just blinks.

"You're right, Cas. I loathe him. Entirely." She frowns, zipping up her bag. Cas doesn't know what to do about this. He just wants Y/N and Dean to get along, because he's getting so tired of them fighting so much. It's every time they see each other, every time they're together. It doesn't even matter if they're on a case, or who's watching.

A point proven when a couple hours later, on the way back to the bunker, they stop at a diner and a fight ensues.

"Just because you're the one who lost the werewolf doesn't mean you have to take it out on us by making us stop at the shitiest place." She tells him after they'd ordered. True, this diner didn't exactly live up to any standards, but she was overreacting slightly because of her feelings.

"I'm sorry you're just so entitled that you have to have a five star meal, but we don't exactly have the funds for that. Maybe, if you put in a bit more of your own work, rather than just joining all of our hunts, we'd have more money for better food." Dean goes off, voice raising. Instead of sending him a glare to quiet the argument like she normally does in public spaces, she doubles down.

"We have plenty of money, you asshat! You just need the greasiest burger you can get your hands on, because it reminds you of life on the road with your dad." She shoots back, and some people near them have started to stare. She doesn't have it in her to care anymore, and can only barely stop herself from telling Dean that their cards are fake and so is their money.

"Seriously? You think you can read me? Well, you're not a closed book!" Dean yells, far too loud for the small diner. "You're only with us because you're lonely and terrifies you. You've lost everyone you've ever cared about, which keeps you from caring too much now even when you're nice to everyone. And if it were up to me, you wouldn't even be here." The words are barely out of his mouth before Y/N launches across the table, legs underneath her on the chair and arms out to choke him. One hand grabs his head and she's able to push it to the table once, hard, before Dean gets his bearings and puts his hands on her wrists.

"You think you're so smart, Winchester? You're a boy who grew up too fast and never had a childhood. Your whole adulthood has been you acting childish, because around your dad you were never allowed to. I get you had a bad life, but you think you're the only fucking one?" She grumbles into his face, fingers still twisted in his hair. He scowls, because she hit the nail on the head.

"I don't give a shit about what you think happened. I know a lot of people who were dealt a shittier hand than me. But at least I'm trying to make the world a better place. You act like you owe everyone you meet something, as if you're the reason their life ended up the way it did. News flash, the world doesn't revolve around you!" He yells in her face. She moves to get up onto the table to get better grip and maybe even choke him with her thighs.

"Okay!" Castiel grabs her leg as she tries to move, pulling her back. She's still got a grip on Dean's hair, so she pulls him too.

"Ow!" He yells as she grabs her fingers and unwinds them from his head. Y/N ends up on her back in the booth, Castiel holding her legs.

"It's time." Cas says as he looks at Sam.

"Time for what?" Y/N asks, getting up on her elbows and trying to kick her legs out of Cas' grip. He just holds on tighter, then nods at Sam before sliding out of the booth, his hands still gripping her ankles.

"Let go of me!" Dean yells, definitely causing a scene. And then, Cas gets up and pulls Y/N's legs with him, holding them over his head so she doesn't hit anything. Curse his stupid fucking angel strength.

"Cas!" She shrieks, grabbing her shirt to keep it from falling and revealing her stomach and bra to the entire diner, all of which were watching now.

"Which way to your bathrooms?" Cas asks calmly, as if he's not carrying a full grown woman upside down. The server points to the side, and Cas and Sam drag Y/N and Dean into the bathroom. Y/N's laid down on her back, confused out of her mind, and Dean is yelling at Sam as the younger Winchester pushes him into the small one-hole bathroom.

"What the hell?" Dean yells. Y/N turns on her stomach, and Dean turns toward the door just in time to see it slam closed.

"Fuck," She mutters, getting up and moving to the door. She tries to open it, but the handle won't even budge. "They're holding the door closed." She tells Dean, who instantly moves to where she had been to try and open it.

"Let us out!" Dean screams when it becomes clear that he won't be able to open it either.

"Nope!" Sam yells out, sounding far too excited. It makes Y/N even more mad than she is right now.

"You two need to work it out. And until you do, you aren't leaving that bathroom." Cas says through the door. Y/N wants to pull her hair out.

"Ugh!" Y/N screams, taking in the bathroom. It's old and a little dirty, and she hates the smell.

"You have no room to complain. If it weren't for you, we wouldn't be here." He tells her, leaning against the wall as he crosses his arms.

"Me?" She asks incredulously. She cannot believe the gall of this man. "You've got to be kidding."

"You started the whole fight!" He throws his arms out, and she thinks her eyes may pop out of her head. She takes a deep breath, because she wants to get out of this bathroom before she's forced to pee in front of Dean.

"Why did you let the werewolf get away?" She asks quietly. It's the softest tone she's ever used with him. He sighs, unable to look at her.

"How many times do we have to go over this? I didn't let it get away. Sorry your hunting standards are so high, but it's not like you were helping either." The way he says it, the tone so crisp and the words practiced, she knows he's lying.

"I'm not trying to make fun of you." She tells him, grabbing some paper towels and wiping off the water on the counter. "I just know you're lying, and I want to know why." She tells him, throwing the towels away before sitting on the counter.

"How would you know if I'm lying?" He asks defensively, and she rolls her eyes as she tries to tamp down her own snarky response.

"Dean," She groans, taking a deep breath. "I know that we aren't exactly close. But we aren't going to get out of this bathroom until we tell the truth, and I'm actually kinda hungry." She says, and she sees his exterior crack a little bit. He breathes out a long sigh, then looks from the ground to the wall.

"I did let the werewolf get away. You were right. I could have helped Sam go after it. I probably would have been able to shoot it." He admits, and it honestly surprises her. She didn't think he would tell her, at least not until they had been in there for an hour. She was about to push when he starts talking again. "I just saw you fall to the ground, and your eyes rolled back into your head, and I thought that you were more hurt somehow. I just needed to make sure that you were alright, and finding the werewolf was the furthest thing from my mind." It's silent in the bathroom, and Y/N is sure that Cas and Sam are listening. Dean looks at her, and they lock eyes for a few long moments.

"Why would you care?" She asks quietly, but it still echoes in the tiled room. Dean clenches his fists, rolling his eyes and walking towards her.

"I don't actually hate you." He says, standing far too close to her.

"Loathe entirely?" She asks with a small smile, heart racing. She's not sure why, exactly, but she can feel her face heating as well.

"No," He chuckles, shaking his head. "But I think it may start with an L." He walks even closer, his hands going to each side of her hips. She can smell his body spray, the smell of him that hangs around the bunker and usually infuriates her.

She realizes that maybe now she isn't infuriated with him. She's infatuated.

"I think I feel it too." She tells him, voice low as her gaze moves from his eyes to his lips.

"I'm sure you do." He says with a smirk.

"Alright." She chuckles, throwing her head back in fake annoyance. He grabs the back of her head however, and pulls her into a searing kiss. All their emotions, all the heart racing and dizziness and blushing has all lead up to this kiss, where their lips move in tandem and their teeth clack as they both open their mouths. Y/N's pushed against the mirror by Dean, one of his hands slamming against it. She moans as her body arches into his, and her groans into her mouth as he puts one hand behind her back, pushing her impossibly closer.

"Do you think they're physically fighting?" Cas asks from outside the door. Both him and Sam have their ears pressed the door, however Sam is slowly starting to lean back.

"They're physically doing something." He replies, frowning. Cas jerks back, letting go of the door handle as he realizes what Sam is insinuating. 

"I'm not sure if this is going to be better than them fighting." The angel says, and the two go back to their table, where food is waiting for them.

"Worse." Sam says, trying not to imagine all of the shit that's about to go down in the bunker. "Definitely worse." 

//

tags: @avada-kedavra-bitch-187  @one-sweet-gubler @theoraekenslover @king-of-milf-lovers @lyarr24

[thewriterwithsnakes]

Monsters Together

Avengers Loki x Avengers Female Reader

Summary: Loki and Reader are close friends, she's the angel to his devil and both have feelings for the other that they refuse to admit, but what happens when he finds out she's not as angelic as he thought?

Warnings: Fluff and angst, Jotun! Loki makes an appearance, comfort, Reader sees herself as a monster.

Note: Reader is Lucifer Morningstars (From the show Lucifer) daughter. No use of Y/N. This is my first story on here so please give me feedback!

Everybody at Stark Tower absolutely adored you. Making things for everyone once they got back from missions was your specialty but you also loved to just hug and be affectionate with everybody too. You had been on a small handful of missions but you hated hurting people and so your usual job was to use your wings to scout out places from above, though most times Tony just used his drones. You didn't mind missing out on the action, you often preferred to be sitting in and reading anyhow. Whether it was bear hugging Nat after a successful reconnaissance assignment, baking Thor some homemade pop-tarts, or making little origami figures for Sam, you loved to give. And that went for everybody, including Loki.

He began with pretending not to care about your affections, choosing to go to his room when you'd try to talk to him in the library or seeming indifferent about your baking. But your friendship slowly grew and blossomed. You were the only person at Stark Tower who actually treated Loki nicely and took an interest in the things he spoke about or liked. Though he'd never admit it, he was incredibly grateful for your seemingly never ending kindness. The two of you became quite close and you grew feelings for the asgardian rather quickly.

However, you knew you could never tell him how you felt. Because despite what everybody thought of you, you knew the truth. You were no angel, quite the opposite infact. You were the daughter of Lucifer himself and that technically made you a demon. You were determined to prove everybody wrong, you did not have to be bad because of your heritage. You were a monster when you were a teenager, it's why Fury put you on the team. He knew the harm you were capable of and talked you into helping, but you'd made him promise that your past stayed between the two of you. You'd let your anger get the better of you when a group of humans were committing horrific acts in the name of your father, claiming it's what he wished for.

You and your father had an rocky relationship but you still cared for him deeply, and you weren't going to let some humans make him feel responsible for their actions, even though you knew your father could handle it. So you slaughtered them. A whole group of satanists gone just like that. That was the day you'd realized you'd become exactly what everybody thought you'd be, and you vowed to never let that happen again. You would not become your father. So it was for the best that you were rarely put on missions, you wouldn't be able to hurt people that way.

Loki was also rarely allowed on missions, despite being at Stark Tower and causing relatively no trouble for nearly two years. It aggravated you that they treated him so. After the New York incident, he had done nothing but keep to himself and mostly do what he was asked. You had only ever know him as the introverted, sarcastic, and handsome man who would occasionally read to you if you had a bad day (even if he made you swear you'd never tell anyone). So the fact that they told you to 'babysit' him while they were on mission and make jabs at him or leave him out all the time made you livid. You had never really gotten angry with the avengers though, you controlled your temper and would reprimand them calmly for their behavior. Though, they never really listened.

You woke up on the wrong side of the bed one particular morning, neck aching from sleeping wrong and mouth incredibly parched. You stood from your bed and promptly tripped on your way to your closet. Okay seriously? Today's going to be one of those days? You thought to yourself. Getting changed into a comfy sweater and determined to make today a good day, you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. You found Bucky, Steve, and Sam in the kitchen chatting. You smiled at the welcome sight of your friend's.

"Good morning doll," Bucky gave you a soft smile. "Yeah good morning," Steve greeted. "Hey guess what?" Sam asked. You wanted to groan in annoyance at being asked a question right after you woke up but instead you entertained his antics with a smile. "What?" You asked tiredly. "Goooood morning!" He beamed. You giggled. "Good morning to you guys too," You couldn't help the smile spread across your face, despite the bad morning, you had your friend's to cheer you up even when they didn't know anything was wrong.

Bucky gave you a quizzical smile and a raised brow, before you could ask what was up he spoke. "Doll, is that my sweater?" You laughed, "Oh its yours? I saw it on the couch yesterday and took it. Finders keepers you know. It's so soft!" You smiled and rubbed the fabric of the sleeve against your cheek. You hadn't noticed Loki enter, which meant you also hadn't notice the frown that he bore at the notion of you wearing Bucky's sweater. He turned heel and left without anybodys notice. You weren't the only one starting off with a bad morning.

After breakfast you ran into Natasha whom you discussed a movie night with. She told you that she'd invite everybody to watch the new horror movie with you in a few nights. You made sure she meant everyone. Last time, unbeknownst to you, they didn't even tell Loki about it. When he didn't show, you went to his room and promptly realized what happened. You calmly informed everyone that the next time Loki wasn't included in any events invite, you wouldn't be going either. Everybody groaned and whined but you stuck to your guns and ended up skipping T's next party because of Lokis lack of invitation. The memory made you frown and want to go see Loki but you relented. The asgardian did enjoy his alone time and you didn't want to be too annoying or clingy.

You hadn't seen Loki all morning, and while it wasn't entirely unusual, it still saddened you a little. You were trying to ignore your rather disappointing and upsetting morning by watching your favorite movie on the couch when Tony walked in, laughing along with Thor. Thors voice boomed as he spoke. "Yes! I agree!" "I mean I think Loki is still just a sad little boy who can't accept who he really is." Tony laughed at his own statement. Today was not the day. White hot anger shot through you. You honestly didn't know what got into you but you were tired of people talking about Loki like that and especially tired of people taking your kindness as weakness. That bullshit was about to stop.

"What the fuck, Tony?" You snapped, standing from the couch. Both he and Thors eyebrows shot up in surprise. Not only did you just snap at them and swear, but you always called Tony 'T' as a nickname. Even when you were reprimanding him like you were his mother, you used the nickname. He took a step back wearily. "Uhm okay let's calm down for a second-". "No I'm not going to fucking calm down! You treat Loki like shit all the fucking time and you talk about him like he's nothing! And Thor! Condoning this? Loki is your brother! And you wonder why he despises you," You laughed cruelly, upper lip curling into a snarl. "My Lady I appreciate your concern for my brother but you do not know him like I do. He is fine and he can certainly handle a few jokes." "The way you treat him is not a joke, Thor!" Your fists were clenched and you chest was heaving. You could feel yourself shaking with anger and you took a couple deep breaths in a desperate attempt to calm down.

"Darling is everything alright? I heard you yelling?" Loki stepped into the room, Natasha and the super soldiers in tow. His brows were furrowed in concern as he stepped towards you. "Oh come on, you're a monster don't pretend like you give a shit about an angel like her." Your head snapped towards Tony's voice. You saw red and you couldn't think. You had made it vehemently clear when you showed the team your wings to not call you angel. Even as a nickname. You weren't an angel.

You lunged for him. Clamoring ontop of him and you did not pull any punches. You weren't even aware you were screaming until you stopped. Loki clamped his arms down over yours and pried you off of Tony. He led you away gently as Thor grabbed Tony and began leading him to the infirmary. You looked around. Eyes darting from the damage done to Tony's face to the people, your friend's, staring at you, they knew what you were. A monster. You looked up at Loki, wide eyed as tears began to well up. "Lokes, can we please go?" Your voice shook as you spoke, lips trembling. "Of course, dove, of course." You used to adore that nickname, now it just felt like a name born of a lie. Doves were innocent and beautiful, and you were, well, you.

Loki carried you to his room where he gently placed you to sit on his bed. He sat next to you but said nothing. You'd never known him to be the type at a loss for words but right now he said nothing. He shot you a few glances as you tried to hold yourself together. You will not cry infront of him. Do not be weak. You tried but you just couldn't keep it together. You began to sob. Loki pulled you into him, rubbing circles on your back with his left hand and lightly grabbing your waist with his right. You relaxed in his embrace and sniffled into his shirt.

"Darling, you don't have to defend me you know? Especially not if it makes you feel like this." That statement made you want to cry even harder, but you steeled yourself and pulled away from him, even if it broke you. "Loki defending you doesn't make me feel this way, they do. You don't deserve to be treated like that and they never listen." Your voice shook but you refused to cry again. "It's okay my little dove, I can handle it. And besides, I am a monster, I do deserve it." You stiffened. Your jaw clenched and you slapped him across the face lightly. "You are not a monster. You are amazing Loki. Do not ever let anybody tell you any different." You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. He stood angrily. "Yes I am! Do you not remember the attack on New York?! Are you dull?!" "Loki-" "No, you do not understand. I am a monster." "Really Loki? Because monsters don't read to their friends when they have a bad day. Monsters don't help their enemies, monsters don't try to fix their mistakes, Loki, monsters don't-" "Enough!" Loki changed. The once pale, green eyed, asgardian that you fell for became a blue-skinned, red-eyed, Jotun that was fuming with anger. You gasped. "Now you see. How monstrous I truly am. How worthy am I of your kindness now?" "Loki," You paused, debating on what to say. You took a breath and began to speak, slowly standing and stepping towards him as you did.

"Lokes, what you look like does not dictate who you are. Who you were born as is not who you are destined to be. I do not show you kindness because I think you're a saint. I show you kindness because I've been there Lokes. I know what it's like. And I know that hurt people hurt people. I don't care if you never tell me who hurt you but I refuse to become one of the people in that group. Don't let anybody but yourself tell you who you are going to be. I've never known you to let anybody tell you a damn thing before." You gave him a weak smile as you took his hands in yours. His skin was freezing but you didn't mind. "You are beautiful Loki, the most handsome being I've ever laid eyes on, yes even like this. It pains me that you cannot see that." His brows furrowed as his eyes searched yours. "Do you truly believe that darling?" He spoke softly, like he couldn't quite find his voice. You nodded. "How? Why do you not see me as everyone else does?"

Your wings carefully opened, usually everyone would speak about how the dark grey made you look beautiful, but not now. Now they were different. The once gray and beautiful feathered wings were now bat-like, deep red skin webbed between the black structures of the wings that pointed to a tip at the top, reminiscent of horns. "Because, I've been there too. I know what's it's like thinking your a monster, Lokes." You pressed your lips together in worry. Searching his eyes for a reaction. He pulled his left hand from yours as he brought it to your cheek. He lowered his head and pressed his lips to yours. Melting into the kiss, you reached up and tangled your hands in his hair. His right hand fell to your waist and pulled you into him. You wished you could stay in this moment forever. He pulled away, much to your disappointment.

"If we are monsters, Lokes, than we can be monsters together."

[deanbrainrotwritings]

— LIVIN IN YOU

SUMMARY : dean actually loves reading. it should have been obvious what he’d enjoy reading the most. he doesn’t hate all books. he likes fun ones, ones with spice and romance.

PAIRING : dean winchester x fem!reader

CHARACTERS : none

WARNINGS : nsfw(18+), smut, smutty thoughts, fluff, sub!dean, dom!reader

WORD COUNT : 4.9k

A/N : title from a song by radio company. I was doing research on erotic novels for this and Bared to You by Silvia Day was the first book that popped up so I started reading it as research and planned to read only one chapter. It was all I was gonna include but I ended up liking it, and finished it lmaooo X

Dean couldn’t sleep. His bed was too empty, too cold. He moved around trying to find a comfortable position to finally fall asleep in, before he groaned and stared up at the ceiling thinking of what to do to put himself to sleep.

Y/N was out really late with Cas and Jack getting dinner since Cas and Jack went out on a hunt together and succeeded. Dean had just showered and eaten when they came back and Jack was starving so Y/N kissed Dean goodnight and went to take Jack and Cas for a late night dinner.

He chuckled shyly to himself as his brain suggested something. He looked around for his headphones and then searched in his box where he had his porn. Y/N didn’t look inside because she wasn’t interested in it—having him and all that was her reasoning. He hasn’t looked at his porn in years but he still liked collecting it anyway and Y/N didn’t mind that he did.

He finally found what he was looking for at the bottom of the box, beneath the Busty Asian Beauties magazines he had. He was paranoid and embarrassed about the thought of Y/N finding this out. It was a book he hadn’t read when he first got it. He and Cas had gone to the library years back and he was looking for something to teach Cas about sex while Y/N and Sam stayed back at the Bunker, cooking.

Dean led Cas to the erotic novels sections at the bookstore in town and he started to pick random books for him to read, from LGBTQ+ to heterosexual couples, monogamy to polyamory, BDSM, and more. Even Dean learned a few new things and they made him realise how right Rowena was when she said he was “sheltered”.

Dean sat, cross-legged, in the middle of his bed and kept his sheets on his lap to keep him warm. He plugged his headphones into his phone and let Led Zeppelin play quietly as he tried to focus on the words of the book. He was shy about reading it, so he was barely on chapter six of the book titled Bared to You. It was intense and straight to the point while all at once being a slow burn.

The main character, Eva, reminded him a little of Y/N with her wit and stubbornness, while the love interest, Gideon Cross, reminded him of himself if he were rich and more intense.

He wanted to skip straight to the sex scenes, but since it was surprisingly good, he decided against it. Once he’d started reading it—thinking he’d fall asleep quickly a few days ago, he found himself enthralled and captivated page after page as if he hadn’t had much more intense and creative sex with Y/N at least every night and morning.

He enjoyed the book more by imagining it was him and Y/N as Gideon and Eva. It could at least explain the blush that flared up his neck to his ears and cheeks, and the way his cock stiffened and swelled inside his black boxers.

He never touched himself, he just kept reading the fucked up relationship between Eva and Gideon, grateful that—as fucked up as he and Y/N were, they didn’t have something as complicated or toxic as them.

He wasn’t very good at talking about his feelings or his troubles, but he got there eventually as he processed events. Y/N didn’t push, she was just there—waiting for him, and never complained. She trusted him and she was kind, which helped to make her trust him. It was easier since she knew how to handle her own emotions despite how powerfully she felt them. So much about her made him feel safe enough to feel whatever he was feeling without being judged, invalidated, or forced to talk about it.

He didn’t always tell her he loved her in the traditional sense—through words, but he hoped—when he kissed her, when he made love to her, when he cooked for her, when he held her hand, when he smiled at her, and everything else he did—that she knew it was his way of saying it when it was too much to say out loud.

The book wasn’t very long and it was occasionally real to him. He sometimes related to Gideon and Eva, to their trauma, the feeling of being undeserving of love, the fear of vulnerability and intimacy, the inadequate feeling self-hate caused, disgust, and using sex as a coping mechanism. Now, when he had sex, it was because of surges of love and lust from how kind and tender Y/N was with him.

He didn’t feel used or objectified by her, he didn’t feel good about himself only during sex. He felt loved, worshipped, beautiful, and worthy with every press of her lips on his freckled skin, with every movement of her hands on his body, with the adoring words whispered into his mouth, against his skin. He felt it outside of the bedroom when she gazed at him lovingly when he talked about anything at all—and there was a special little glint when he gushed about cowboys. He felt it when he ate and caught her looking at him already with warm and amused eyes, when she cooked and fed him, praising him and complimenting him for looking cute as he ate. He felt it when she listened and kept her eyes on him like he was the only one in the room worth looking at, the way she hung on his every word, and how she was kind to him despite all the hurt she’s felt. She was everything. There wasn’t a single moment he’s spent with her where he hasn’t felt it.

So, even though the story did stress him out sometimes, he liked comparing Gideon and Eva to himself and Y/N. It made him feel proud of their relationship and good about himself because Gideon was really frustrating to him—and yes, Dean was aware how he keeps stuff to himself as well. However, he had never inflicted such anguish on Y/N by doing so, and he can’t keep it inside very long when Y/N makes him open up like a flower when it’s kissed by the sunrise. It’s not forced, he’s not pressured, it's just natural that he does so, bending to her tender will.

He already knew, years ago, when he started to love her. But the moment he actually let it take him over was when he was fresh out of hell, when they stood by his car in the cold, outside that barn where they hid Anna from Uriel and Cas. And he knew he was done for when she looked at him like he was everything, even as she confessed to knowing what he’d done in hell, when he realised that it didn’t alter or affect her feelings for him.

His walls were obliterated as if they were hit by a meteor when she kissed him, when she stole his breath for the first time, when she touched him so tenderly. When he felt her naked skin against his for the first time, and she quietly chanted his name over and over when he claimed her inside the backseat of his car. He was devastated by the gentle caress of her touch, by her soft panting breaths as he teased her, by the taste of her, by the way she tasted him. He felt beautiful—like a star after its death—when he was inside her that night for the first time, when he’d made love to her like he’d never loved anyone else.

He’d always known she was the only person he’d truly love after that Djinn made her his girlfriend in the wish-dream many years ago. When he told her he loved her in that dream-state and as he said them, he thought to himself that those words were only for her, he swore to himself that he’d never say them to anyone.

He’d gotten to chapter thirteen in a breeze and he was still invested in the story. There was so much drama going on between the characters and he was blushing—not just from how hot the sex was, but because he was embarrassed that he actually liked the book.

Just as he got to another sex scene he shuddered when he felt a little draught and he jumped when he looked up and saw Y/N standing with the door open. She looked like she’d been caught, she was frozen and blinked at him with confusion and surprise.

Immediately, he closed the book and turned it onto its back to hide the cover, then removed his headphones. She relaxed and smiled softly at him, “I thought you’d be asleep.” She stepped forward, her eyes filled with love as she reached out for his face. He stared up at her with a deep blush on his face, he was anxious to be discovered by her, but he closed his eyes when her fingertips gently brushed across his cheeks.

“Couldn’t sleep without you,” he murmured and opened his eyes, glancing up at her through his thick lashes. Her smile widened slightly and she cupped the side of his jaw, letting him rest his breathtaking face in her soft palm.

“I’m here now,” she whispered. He smiled softly, lifting his hand to hold her wrist and moved it to his mouth so he could kiss her pulse. “Let me get cleaned up, I’ll be right back.” He nodded gently, closing his eyes when she leaned down to kiss his forehead. He leaned into her with a content smile, then offered his lips to her when she pulled away. A single press of her warm mouth on his made his lips tingle, but he let her walk away, and licked his lips as he watched her leave his room. He let himself bask in the aftermath of her tenderness for a few seconds. He just stared at the door she exited from, his eyes drifting away little by little as he bit his lip, deep in thought. Thinking of her—naked, mostly.

Shortly after, he made quick work of hiding his book where it had been and returned his headphones to where they were before as well. He sighed and threw his phone on the wooden bedside table carelessly. He felt a bit of adrenaline at the thought of being discovered and arousal from having been fantasising sexual encounters with Y/N.

Still, he innocently returned to his spot on the bed. He moved beneath the warm sheets of his bed—sitting, and rubbed his eyes when he heard his bedroom door opening again. Y/N was standing there for a while, smiling at the way he rubbed his eyes before she entered. She quietly closed the door behind her and walked towards him, “what were you doing before I interrupted you?”

He stared at the black shirt she wore. It was his Led Zeppelin shirt with a grainy black and white image of a zeppelin and orange coloured words. He smiled at how big it fit her—like a minidress. His adoring, honeydew eyes fell to her bare legs and her blue ankle socks with white clouds, to the grey slippers on her feet.

She climbed onto the bed and he bit his lip, shyly looking at his hands, “listening to music and reading some book about wraiths. It was interesting, so, uh, I couldn’t fall asleep after all,” he lied and she chuckled. She still raised a brow as she inspected his flushed state, and moved the sheets to straddle him, unaware that he was hard. He exhaled shakily when she sat back on his thighs and his hands flexed on her legs as she rested her arms on his shoulders. “How’d it go with Jack and Cas?” He cleared his throat and held her hips, hoping to change the subject even though he only wanted to pull her onto his cock.

“Good,” she murmured, “Jack wanted a burger, milkshake, and some fries.” She smiled down at him, then kissed his lips softly oblivious to the way it only fueled his lust. His eyes fluttered shut and he hummed softly. “Cas was just sitting there all stiff, but he relaxed a little when Jack started to ask questions about how all of the food they served was made.” She cupped his face in both of her hands, feeling his ticklish stubble on her palms and the heat of his blush. “You’re warm, are you okay?”

She sounded concerned and she brushed her lips against his forehead to see if he was sick. He only nodded to reassure her he was fine and captured her lips with his in a needy kiss. He brought her hips forward, finally letting her know what was going on down south. She gasped against his mouth at the friction against her clit and he groaned softly at the sound of it, tightening his grip.

“A book on wraiths made you hard?” She teased breathlessly, her eyes fluttering shut when he kissed the corner of her mouth. Her heart rate picked up with excitement and her skin started to get warm with the rush of blood through her body.

“Shut up,” he murmured, kissing across her jaw, nibbling gently on her jawline. He trailed his opened mouth down her neck, his tongue sliding against her soft skin, tasting her and breathing in the fruity scent mixed with the aroma of flowers in her soft hair. “I was thinking of you,” he told her, his voice deep and husky, it made her pussy quiver.

“What about me?” She whispered, her fingers buried in his short hair. He slowly moved his hands up her back beneath the shirt she wore and brought his mouth up to her lips, but he didn’t kiss her.

“The first time I was inside your tight, hot, wet little cunt,” he growled, taking a moment to see her reaction.

“Dean,” she gasped, her stomach fluttering with excitement. Pleased with her response, he pressed his lips against hers, passionate and thrilled with a newfound confidence. He pulled the shirt up and off her body quickly. Her hands returned to his hair to tug at the short strands, drawing out little grunts from him that went straight to her clit. He didn’t give her much time to catch her breath, instantly returning to her lips once he removed the shirt, not that she needed air as she robbed him of his own oxygen with the depth and passion of her returned kiss.

He gently prodded at the seam of her lips with his tongue and she opened up to him swiftly, a sudden neediness controlling their actions. He could taste chocolate on her tongue when he licked into her mouth, savouring the flavour of the milkshake she must have ordered as his fingers toyed with the hem of her panties. He felt his skin electrify when she moaned at the gentle strokes of his hot tongue.

“I wanna make you come,” he whispered against her lips. He pulled her closer, her breasts squeezed against his broad chest which was covered in a black Henley. The cotton rubbed against her breasts deliciously and made her nipples tighten. He turned her over onto her back with his arms around her waist and he watched her chest rise and fall with each breath she took.

He looked down at her, seeing her shiver now that she wasn’t warmed by his body heat and took a moment to admire as she laid naked beneath him. His eyes drifted away from her pink cheeks to look at her full breasts, down her slightly concaving stomach, and finally her pink underwear. His hands flexed on her thighs, slowly rising to her hip bones where her underwear was resting.

“Take me,” she whispered, reaching over to lift his shirt up off him as well, “however you want,” she told him quietly. He groaned softly at her words, quickly taking his shirt off to do as she clearly wanted him to. She stared up at him with wide eyes that swallowed him whole like beautiful, hungry black holes.

“Whatever you say, angel,” he murmured, looking away from her blushing face fro a few seconds just to remove his boxers. Like him, she’d looked away from his face to watch him strip completely, her little tongue dipping out to moisten her dry lips at the sight of his stiff cock. He looked up at the right moment, caught her quite literally salivating at the sight of his dick leaking at the tip. “Wanna taste?”

That was usually her line, when he’d stare at her glistening folds debating on whether to fuck her already or eat her out. Unlike him, she’d say it bashfully. She’d move his attention away from between her legs because she was just like that sometimes. He adored her to pieces with every fibre in his body.

As she crawled over to him, he sat back on his legs, his hands stretched out behind him as his cock bobbed with excitement. His eyes were on her, right where they belonged, watching her lower herself slightly and very teasingly dipped her tongue into his slit, tonguing away his precum. His breath hitched and his hands fisted the sheets, his hips instinctively moving upwards.

“Yummy,” she said playfully, moving up his body. He stared at her with parted lips, panting as his cock ached for attention, but her hands slid up his thighs and stayed there.

“Please,” he moaned impatiently. She blinked at him once, a little smile on her face making her even more irresistible. She shifted slightly, but his eyes were glued on her as she slowly trailed her fingertips up his cock. She became flustered and averted her gaze to his lips, leaning forward just a bit when he became a little too intense to stare at. Dean felt his lips tingle as they brushed against hers, but he let her have control, let her tease him by refusing to just kiss him senseless.

Her touch was teasing, light and slow as she moved her hand up and down at last. Her thumb swiped over the slit, spreading the warm precum that had started to bead out, her mouth watering at the sight. But instead of continuing to tease him, she moved onto his lap, pulled away from his face to guide his cock to her soaked entrance. And just with the sensation of her warmth around the tip, he whined.

The sound made her insides quiver and she cursed under her breath, a little smirk tugging at her lips. His hands clasped her thighs painfully, the tortuous way she slid down the length of him made him roll his hips up impatiently. The breath she took had caught in her chest at how good it felt to be this close to him once again.

Her lips were on his again, at last, swiftly aiding the passion that made her tummy warm, that made his body burn with so much heat he felt like a sun had started to burn inside of him. He loved it. Being loud on purpose. Losing himself in her completely and giving in, letting her take control and please him the way only she knew how to do.

A loud moan slipped past his lips, into her loving mouth when she sat fully on his lap. The way she tightened around him after each sound spurred him on. His hands moved up her sides, grasping tightly at her hips, hoping to mark her skin as he tugged her forward, fervently giving himself pleasure.

“Just wait,” she murmured against his lips, pulling away to push his shoulders until he was lying down on his back. He whined in response, bratty—cutely refusing to stop. His head tipped back, letting his body relax into the bed while he lifted his hips up, his lips parting to vocalise more of his pleasure. “You’re so fucking pretty,” she chuckled breathlessly, staring down at him—utterly enraptured by his impatience and his determination to make himself feel good.

“Need to cum so ba-Fuck!” He screwed his eyes shut when she lifted herself up and roughly slammed back down. She smiled and laughed, slightly amused and then leaned forward to kiss him, his eyes barely starting to open, only to flutter shut again when he got lost in her kiss.

“You’re so fucking desperate, D,” she teased, her lips brushing against his hairline. A whine from him at her words showed her that he liked it and she moaned in response, continuing to ride him as eagerly as he wanted her to.

His eyes were fixated on hers, heavy with lust, pupils dilated with both love and desire. The way she lifted herself with such agility tore more sounds of pleasure from his throat, deep and rumbling groans that came from within his chest and made her smirk smugly at him. It was so hot, it drew so much arousal from her that lifting herself up and down was embarrassingly smooth, the squelching sound of her pussy being filled by his cock echoed around his room and made his moans get louder.

His grip on her hips tightened, blunt nails digging into her flesh, his back arching from how rough she was fucking him, giving him so much pleasure he thought he’d explode. “Fuck, baby, ‘m so close,” he moaned. His mind was hazy, his skin burning hot and sensitive so that even the way she dug her nails into his chest added to his pleasure. He loved being on the bottom, more than he’d like to admit.

“I could cum just listening to you, Dean,” she panted, leaning over him slightly, one of her hands clutching the pillow his head rested on. She changed the angle of her hips, her clit rubbing against his pelvis, her other hand slid up his chest, wrapping around his throat and squeezing gently.

“Shit,” he gasped, his hips bucking upwards.

“You’re so kinky,” she chuckled, “how about you just cum already, D?” She clenched around him, a gasp slipping past his lips. He shook his head, his teeth digging into his plump bottom lip to hold back another moan, his stomach tightening as he tried holding back his orgasm. “Fine,” she chuckled, grinding down on him to stimulate her clit until he was whining, bringing herself closer to the edge as he squirmed beneath her.

“Oh… fuck,” he moaned loudly, his orgasm washing over him before he could even stop it. An arousing look contorted his face as he came, quick curses and whispers of her name puffing past his parted lips that left his mouth and lips dry, making him look so beautiful.

“That’s right, D,” she chuckled, biting her lip to muffle a moan when she felt the warmth of his cum inside her. She started to lift herself up and down again, hard and fast until she reached her own orgasm, her velvety walls squeezing him tightly, and he took it despite how sensitive he was starting to get.

He let her finish, his fingers bruising the flesh of her hips until she stopped shuddering completely. Her entire body turned to jelly, a little smile growing on her lips, gazing at each other in the slight darkness of his room. Only one lamp allowed him to see the state she was in, flushed and a little sweaty like him.

Her gentle eyes swept over his face, watching neutrally as he sat up tiredly, a languid smile on his face when their breaths became normal again, “I didn’t expect that,” he murmured hoarsely, brushing her hair to the side and kissing her cheek. She relaxed in his arms, placing a little kiss on his lips before resting her cheek on his shoulders.

“Y’know I don’t believe you, right?” She mumbled against his shoulder, smirking when his hands stilled on her back. He recovered quickly, his hands continuing to venture up and down her spine, ignoring the feeling of their cum oozing out of her.

“What do you mean?” he chuckled deeply, “I didn’t plan on us having sex tonight.” He knew he sounded unconvincing, but mostly he knew that she wasn’t talking about that at all.

“What were you reading?” She asked, pulling away to analyse him. He swallowed nervously, licking his dry lips as he thought about what to say, but he still felt dazed from his orgasm that no lie to get himself out of the situation came to his mind to rescue him. “Tell me, if it gets you this worked up, I might have to give it a read,” she teased, lifting herself off him.

“Fuck,” he hissed, smacking her ass when he saw she was purposely lifting herself up slowly. She plopped down next to him, rubbing her thighs together as her pussy continued to throb with. He bit his lip gently and admired her, dragging his hand up her soft and warm thighs to reach between her legs where she was completely soaked. “I’m too embarrassed to tell you,” he chuckled, gently massaging her sensitive clit.

“That’s okay because I already know,” she whispered, moving his hand away from between her legs so she could return to his lap. His lips parted, a look of confusion and embarrassment turned his face red, his lips parting with no words being formed. “I clean your room, D, it’s not just magically without dust all the time.. Plus I’m curious about your porn, okay? Some of those ladies are crazy fine,” she chuckled, kissing him passionately.

He pulled away from the kiss, giving her a dirty look that made her laugh. “I’m going to throw them out if you say that again,” he pouted, his fingers mindlessly caressing her thighs.

“Don’t be jealous of them, you know you're my only girl, Dean,” she teased, burying her fingers into his hair and tugging him forward to give him one of the best kisses of his life. He moaned softly, his hands flexing on her thighs, instinctively bringing her closer so her body was pressed against his. He whined against her mouth, pouting at again. Her teeth dug into his plump lower lip, seductively pulling it before she let it go and smiled down at him.

She snickered when she saw the confused look on his face. “I don’t even know what that means,” he mumbled cutely, tracing a few freckles on her legs. She sighed dramatically and grinned at him, getting up to clean herself with a random hand towel he had in his drawer.

He watched her naked body move itself away from him with another pout on his face, waiting for her to look back at him. She did eventually, smirking and shaking her head. He blushed, becoming a little shy, he turned over onto his side to watch her but also to stop himself from doing things to get her attention.

She turned the water on in the sink and leaned against it to clean herself up, letting him see his work. He held his breath, heat spreading over his face like a fire in the forest, his hands clutching his pillow. His eyes were fixated on her every movement, inspecting the way she spread her folds open to clean herself thoroughly despite the sleepiness that made his eyes heavy.

“Enjoying the show?” She smirked, glancing up at him. His eyes snapped up to her face and he shrugged with a little laugh.

“Always.” She stood normally and walked towards him again, into his soft bed until she was right next to him. The towel was slightly wet, and she folded it to use a clean part on him, carefully taking his soft cock to clean him. He hissed quietly, watching her face at first, and then watching how gentle she was with her hands, reaching down to his balls to clean where their cum and her arousal had dripped down. “Round two?” He whimpered and she smirked, pulling her hands away from his dick.

“As horny as I still am, you need to sleep, baby.” Her shoulders shook with silent laughter and he nodded, a lazy smile growing on his lips. He loved this. She moved out of bed to place the dirty towel somewhere to remind herself to wash it tomorrow, and then to wash her hands before she made her way to his drawers to pick a clean pair of boxers for him and clean panties for herself.

She slipped the Led Zeppelin shirt on again and handed him the Henley he’d been wearing, but he childishly put it on the nightstand, “no, I want easy access in the morning,” he whined, stopping her from taking his boxers to him. She laughed softly, then returned their underwear to the drawer neatly.

“Does that mean I’m the little spoon tonight?” She asked, amused, taking his shirt to fold it neatly and placed it back in place. He nodded, fixing the blanket so she could join him beneath them. “Okay, pretty boy,” she murmured, smiling as she made her way to him beneath the sheets, kissing him softly and mumbling goodnight against his lips before turning around. His arm slung over her waist, a happy smile growing on his lips, snuggling closer to her warm body as he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

taglist

@candy-coated-misery0731 @stxrgazer03 @spnfamily-j2 @globetrotter28 @deansbbyx

main masterlist

dean winchester masterlist

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do not steal, plagiarise, translate, or republish my work on another platform

[cherry-holmes]

From Salt, Iron, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓮: A Supernatural Series

(Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader)

Part 8: Heat of the Moment

MAIN MASTERLIST

Summary: If the Impala could talk…

SERIES MASTERLIST

Previous chapter

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader

Word count: +7.1K

Warnings: I prefer to not give details to prevent spoilers. You’re on your own, kids.😉

A/N:🫣

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For the next three months, your life with the Winchesters and Castiel had settled into something that felt truly belonging.

And the family just kept growing around, when you finally met Bobby. He welcomed you into his house and the family business. He gave advices, lectured you on everything he knew, and gave you the confidence to reach for him whenever you need something.

Sammy was patient, endlessly. He would sit with you at the library for hours, explaining how the world had changed since your time: technology, laws, gender roles and equality, and modern slang. He was the one who taught you how to use a laptop, though he sometimes had to hide his laughter when you got frustrated and poked the screen like it might obey you faster.

Castiel, though, became something else entirely. A best friend. Maybe because, in his own way, he was just as out of place as you were. He didn't judge when you marveled at microwaves or stared too long at the flashing lights of a city skyline. He answered every one of your endless questions without growing tired, or if he did, he never showed it.

Sometimes, you and Cas would just sit together in silence, sharing a kind of wordless understanding that didn't need to be explained. He was your anchor on the days when the world felt too loud, too fast, too unfamiliar.

And Dean... he was something different.

He took it upon himself to introduce you to 'the important stuff.' Rock music: Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, Metallica, Bon Jovi. Movies: Star Wars, Die Hard, Back to the Future. You name it. He was there, more than excited and willing to show the new world to you.

Late nights would find you both sprawled on the worn motel beds or the bunker couch, Dean grinning like a kid as he watched your reactions.

"You've never seen this? Oh, sweetheart, we're fixing that right now," he'd say, popping in a VHS tape or queuing up something on an DVD player.

And you soon discovered that you also had your own stuff to share.

One day, Sam found you curled into the far corner of the bunker's library sofa, knees drawn up beneath you, entirely absorbed in the worn pages of Pride and Prejudice. The copy had a cracked spine and yellowing edges, but you cradled it like treasure.

Sam's voice interrupted the silence, warm with surprise. "Didn't know we had that one in here."

You looked up, startled, but smiled. "I used to read this by candlelight... I never thought I'd hold it again."

Sam's brow quirked. "You know it's a movie now, right?"

Your eyes widened. "A movie?"

He chuckled. "Several, actually. There's the BBC miniseries and the 2005 version."

You blinked. "People still know this story? They watch it?"

"Yeah," Sam said, amused. "It's kind of a big deal."

And it was the end of Dean Winchester's movies era.

That night, Dean was sprawled across the bunker couch, TV remote in one hand, a beer in the other, deciding if he wanted you to see Lethal Weapon or Terminator when you bounced into the room, clutching the DVD case Sam had handed you.

"Dean," you said brightly, "we're watching Pride and Prejudice tonight."

Dean froze. "We're what now?"

You held up the case with the same reverence he reserved for classic rock vinyl. "It's a book I love. Sam told me it's a film now. Will you watch it with me?"

He looked at you, hopeful, radiant, practically glowing with excitement.

Dean groaned dramatically. "Fine. But unless there's a car chase, I'm gonna need extra pie for this."

You sat beside him, barely breathing as the film unfolded. His initial jokes dissolved somewhere around the proposal scene, and he started commenting about the movie like he was getting really interested in the story.

You glanced at him with a triumphant grin.

Later, as the credits rolled, he leaned back with a long exhale. "So... when Darcy said, 'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you'—that was smooth. I might use that."

You laughed, giving him a playful shove.

Dean nudged you with his shoulder. "Hey, don't look at me like that. If I'm gonna suffer through 19th-century foreplay, it might as well be with you."

Your laughter softened into something warmer as you rested your head on his shoulder.

"I'm glad you liked it."

He tilted his head, voice low. "Yeah... me too."

He was close. Always close: an arm thrown casually around the back of the couch, a shoulder brushing yours when you laughed too hard, a hand steadying you when the crowd of a new town felt overwhelming.

You didn't stay behind, either. After the incident with the creature by the motel pool, you had insisted on joining them on more hunts as an active member, and to your surprise, they had agreed.

Maybe it was your bravery. Maybe it was the fact that you refused to be treated like something fragile.

But little by little, you became part of the team.

You trained harder with Sam and Dean, practiced with Castiel, learned everything you could about the monsters that haunted the modern world.

At first they gave you easier tasks: research, backup, lookout. But it wasn't long before you were right there in the thick of it: salt rounds loaded, blade steady in your hand, heart pounding in rhythm with theirs.

The adrenaline, the fear, the victories—saving people and hunting things... it bonded you even tighter to them.

Especially to Dean.

You didn't sleep together at the bunker, it would have been too much, maybe, to cross that invisible line there. But during hunting trips, as the motels usually had only two beds, it became natural for you to share one of them.

At first, Sam felt like the most awkward third wheel, and insisted on take his own room. But neither you or Dean seemed to make it look like a serious thing. So you both will just justify it saying there was no need to waste money resources on a second room, and Sam wouldn't push anymore.

Dean would kick off his boots and fall onto the mattress with a groan, then look over at you with a smirk and say, "C'mon, deer, I don't bite."

The first few times you stayed stiff and awkward on the edge of the bed, afraid of getting too close. But Dean never pressed, never teased, he just offered his quiet presence, and somehow that was enough.

As time passed, you grew comfortable. You stopped worrying about the way your arm brushed his when you shifted at night. Stopped pulling away when you woke up with your legs tangled loosely under the covers. Stopped pretending you didn't notice the way your heart sped up when he was near.

There was tension, of course. But Dean never pushed. Never crossed a line. And somehow, that made it worse: made you ache for him even more.

You didn't know exactly when it happened, maybe it was one night when he stayed up until dawn patching up a cut on your forehead, hands trembling slightly; maybe it was the way he remembered you liked your coffee sweet and loaded with cream in the morning.

But somewhere between the laughter, the long looks, the soft silences... You realized you were falling for Dean Winchester.

Or maybe it was there from the beginning. Even before that very first kiss.

And even though the thought scared you, it also felt like the most natural thing in the world.

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"Oh my goodness," you laughed, your face lighting up with amusement as you clicked through your own laptop.

Of course, you had your own now. The Winchesters had bought it for you after you accidentally stumbled upon downloaded porn on Dean's. Sam was really pissed at him.

"Dean, you've got to see this!"

He looked up from where he was cleaning one of his knives, arching a brow. "What now? Another animal video you think might change my life?"

You turned the screen toward him with a grin. "Nope. Almost better. A pie convention two towns over this weekend. Apparently it's like, the 'pie event of the year'? There's a cherry pie competition, a blindfold taste test... It's like Disneyland made of pies."

Dean stood up so fast he nearly knocked over the salt canister on the table. "You're not messing with me?"

"Would I lie about pie?" you teased, and his grin stretched wide, boyish and awed.

"We're going. You and me. Sam can handle things here, he won't appreciate it."

Right on cue, Sam strolled into the room, coffee in hand, and Dean spun toward him. "Hey, Sammy. Claire and I are taking a little road trip. Couple days. Important business."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess, pie?"

Dean didn't even bother denying it. He just smiled and shrugged in a funny way.

Sam rolled his eyes, but there was something fond in the way he glanced between the two of you. "Fine. I was planning on heading out with Charlie and Cas anyway. They roped me into some kind of lore convention... don't ask. Just don't die in a pie-eating accident."

Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "No promises."

You caught Sam's gaze as he turned to leave, and he gave you the tiniest smirk and wink before disappearing down the hall.

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Next weekend, the pie convention turned out to be everything Dean dreamed of and more. Booths stretched for blocks, each one offering free samples, contests, and flavors that had Dean acting like a kid at Christmas. You trailed behind him, your fingers sticky with berry filling, laughing as he tried (and failed) to talk a judge into giving him an extra slice of bourbon pecan. So he stole it from him, anyway.

By the end of the day, you both collapsed into the Impala parked just off a quiet country road. The sun was setting behind the trees, golden light spilling through the windshield, painting the car in a soft, amber glow. Dean handed you a beer, and you took a sip, still not convinced of the taste.

"I'm not sayin' it was the best day of my life," he said, eyes closed. "But if I die tomorrow, I'll go with a smile."

You laughed, turning in your seat to face him. "You really love pie that much, didn't you?"

He cracked one eye open and smiled at you. "I love anything that makes me forget the crap for a while."

There was a long pause then, not awkward, just quiet. The kind of silence that let you feel things you didn't know how to name yet.

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, suddenly more serious. "Y'know... back there. All those people. Families, couples, kids..." He glanced at you. "Sometimes I wonder what it would've been like them. Normal. If I hadn't grown up the way I did."

You tilted your head slightly, sensing the heaviness behind his words.

"My dad... he trained us to hunt before we even knew how to live. And I... I did things. Made choices that stick with me." He let out a shaky breath. "It's hard not to think I've screwed everything up."

You didn't say anything, just let your fingers gently brush the back of his hand resting between you. He didn't pull away.

You knew some things about their past: their family, the hell they'd been through. Dean was the one who told you, bit by bit. Glimpses of what they had done, what they had survived. The people that had lost. It was hard not to cry when you saw the hurt, the pain, and sometimes even fear in his eyes.

It made you want to free him from all of it... to lift the weight off his shoulders and make him feel safe. Cared for. Loved.

After a while, he looked down at your touch, then back up, his voice quieter. "Don't you ever want to know more about where you come from? About who you were before all this?"

You hesitated, eyes flicking to the windshield, watching the fading light turn to dusk.

"I used to," you said softly, that British accent sending shivers down his spine. "But it frightens me. What if I find out I was someone I wouldn't even like? What if I came from a world that wouldn't let me return here?"

Dean looked at you, listening intently, his breath caught in his throat.

"If I'm here now, it's for a reason," you continued. "And I don't want to waste time chasing shadows when I have a real life now. With Sam, with Castiel, and..." your voice faltered for a second, but you met his gaze steadily, "with you."

Dean didn't say anything at first, just stared, something unreadable in his eyes. Then he let out a quiet, breathless laugh; not mocking, just overwhelmed.

"You're something else, deer," he murmured.

And maybe it were the stars beginning to blink into the night sky above, or just the mere heat of the moment, but you felt the urgent desire to kiss him.

Dean's eyes were still on you, something soft and stunned flickering behind the green of them. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Just the low hum of cicadas around you, the distant rustle of trees in the night.

You swallowed hard.

"I mean it," you said, voice quiet but certain. "This... all of this. It matters to me."

Dean gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable. Maybe he didn't know what to say. Maybe he didn't believe it, not really. That someone like you could want someone like him.

So you kissed him. To proof that for you he was worth of love as much as anyone else.

You weren't even sure what possessed you. Maybe it was the moonlight, or the pie, or just the way he looked at you like you were the one thing he didn't want to break. Your lips brushed his, tentative at first, barely more than a breath. But he didn't pull away.

He stilled.

And then he kissed you back.

Slow, warm, reverent... not like the rushed, careless kisses you'd seen in films. Not like the ones full of teeth and tongue that made you hide your face behind a pillow when they played on motel televisions. This was just different.

But still, your thoughts wandered to those scenes. The ones where the characters ended up tangled in bedsheets, breathless. You remembered the way Dean's jaw would tense slightly when those parts came on, how he'd glance over at you to see if you were watching. You always were.

So am I doing this right? Was it supposed to feel like this... like my whole body was trembling, but not out of fear, but something raw and primitive?

You didn't know, but you wanted to.

You pulled back slightly, breath hitching, your hand resting against his chest. "Dean..." you whispered, nerves tightening your throat. "I... I don't really know how this works. I've never..."

Dean's eyes widened a fraction, and you felt him tense beneath your hand. But not in a bad way, more like he was trying very hard to stay still. Just like you.

You cleared your throat. "But I... I want to."

He blinked at you, processing that. "You mean...?" His voice cracked just a little, and for the first time, Dean Winchester looked genuinely nervous.

You nodded, cheeks flushed. "I trust you."

Dean exhaled, slow and careful, and then gently squeezed your hand. "Okay. Then we're gonna take it slow. Real slow, alright?"

You nodded again, heart pounding.

He looked around, then jerked a thumb toward the back seat. "Gimme a sec."

You watched as Dean opened the back door, and started rearranging the Impala's interior with almost military precision. He took off his jacket, folded it into a pillow, pulled a blanket from the trunk, then ducked back inside to make sure the door locks were set.

When he was done, he opened the door for you like it was the most natural thing in the world. No pressure, just patience. Just Dean.

And before he could say more, you reached for him. Your hand curled into the collar of his flannel, tugging gently, and then your mouth found his.

It was clumsy at first, more instinct than anything, but it was yours. Hungry in a way that surprised even you.

Dean froze for a heartbeat, caught off guard, then responded with a low sound in his throat that sent a rush through your body. His hands came to your waist, steadying, anchoring.

You broke the kiss just enough to whisper, "I want this, Dean. I want it with you."

That was all it took.

He helped you into the backseat carefully, never taking his eyes off yours, and shut the door behind him. You settled back against the makeshift bedding, nerves fluttering wildly in your belly. He joined you, hovering above, and you welcomed him between your thighs.

It was overwhelming in the best of the ways: his breath against your face, his fingers brushing your temple like a question. And you answered by reaching up to guide him down to you.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time. His lips moved gently against yours, coaxing rather than taking, and the warmth of him poured over you like sunlight after a long storm. His hand cradled the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek in a touch so tender it made your chest ache.

You clung to him, not just from inexperience or nerves, but because it felt like the only place you wanted to be. His weight above you was grounding, protective, and arousing way.

"Tell me if anything feels wrong," he murmured, voice barely above a whisper against your skin. "We stop the second you want to, I swear."

You nodded, your breath shaky, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. "I trust you, Dean."

Dean lowered his head to kiss your neck, his pelvis already pressing yours into the seat. Your hand slipped beneath his shirt, caressing the warm skin underneath.

He groaned softly against your skin, the sound rumbling through your chest as his lips traced a slow path along your throat. Your fingers explored the curve of his ribs, the rise and fall of his breath under your touch grounding you more than anything else ever had.

Then he straightened up, managing to pull off his shirt.

You sat up slightly, breath catching in your throat as your eyes traced the lines of his body: the muscles beneath his skin, the constellation of old scars scattered across his arms and torso. Each mark told a story, and though you didn't know them all, you wanted to.

Your gaze lingered on the tattoo over his chest, the black anti-possession symbol, bold against his skin. Your fingers brushed it gently, the warmth of his slightly tanned skin beneath your touch. A few freckles dusted his shoulders, unexpected and endearing.

Dean leaned in and started with your boots, crouching low in the cramped space of the Impala's backseat. He unlaced them slowly, then slid them off one by one, his touch warm and steady.

Next, his fingers moved to the hem of your shirt, peeling it up gently, lifting it over your head, careful not to startle or rush you. When your skin met the cool air, you shivered, and he immediately reached your arms, caressing. His hands paused, reverent, before moving to the button of your pants.

He undid the button, then the zipper, moving slowly, giving you every chance to stop him. But you didn't. The fabric slid down your hips, tugging carefully until the pants pooled at your ankles, then helped you shift to pull them free.

And there you were, semi-naked beneath Dean Winchester. Trapped in his car while he just looked at you with a quiet awe in his expression that made you feel more beautiful than you ever had before.

He guided you onto your back again with a soft kiss. His hands didn't waste time, caressing your exposed skin, tracing a delicate path along your shoulders, down your breasts, your ribcage, and over your hips.

"Tell me something, baby," his voice was a soft, warm whisper. "Have you ever touched yourself?"

"Touch myself?" you asked shyly, like you weren't sure what he meant—but deep down you had an idea. You flushed, like you'd just been caught in the act.

"Yeah," he purred. "You know, when you're in your room, alone, and you get that feeling right here." One of his hands caressed the soft flesh of your tummy, just above the hem of your panties. "Like you're feeling now. Have you ever tried to ease it, baby?"

"I might have," you confess in a whisper. You had, maybe. In your bed, when the thought of Dean was too loud, too overwhelming to ignore. You'd tried to soothe the instinct.

"Then show me."

Dean took your hand in his, guiding both into your cotton panties. You let out a gasp, a sound of surprise and pleasure, as he pressed your whole palm against your core.

"Move your fingers, sweetheart. Show me what feels good."

Your breath caught in your throat as you began to move, slow and uncertain at first. Dean stayed close, his palm pressed against the back of your hand, mirroring every motion, feeling every hesitant stroke.

"That's it," he murmured, his voice low and full of heat. "Nice and slow. Let me feel you, baby."

Your fingers explored with timid curiosity, guided by instinct and the memory of lonely nights. But this time, it felt different. This time, Dean was watching. Feeling you. Breathing with you. Encouraging you.

His hand never left yours, he followed each movement, memorizing the rhythm of your touch, the little shifts that made your breath catch.

"You like it right there," he said, more statement than question. He could feel it in the way your hand paused, circled, lingered. "Show me everything, sweetheart. I wanna learn what gets you off."

He tightened his fingers just slightly, applying the gentlest pressure behind yours, enough to remind you he was right there.

"Feels better when I'm here, doesn't it?" he whispered.

You nodded, barely able to form words. "Y-Yeah..."

Dean's smile was slow, wicked, and full of adoration. "Then take more. Go deeper. You know what your body wants, baby. Don't be shy."

You obeyed, breath hitching again as the sensation intensified. Dean kissed your shoulder, his touch reverent, worshipful.

"That's my girl," he murmured. "So damn beautiful when you're like this."

You moved with a little more confidence now, spurred by his praise and presence. The heat between your legs was pulsing, building, and the knowledge that Dean could feel every tremor, every stutter in your motion, only made it burn hotter.

"You gonna come for me, baby?" he whispered. "Wanna feel you fall apart in my hands."

You felt his fingers taking the lead, thicker and rougher, parting your wet folds with ease, quickly finding al the perfect spots that he just learned, making your whole body tremble under his touch, utterly at his mercy. Your sticky fingers clenched into the muscles of his arm, seeking for relief.

Soft circles, and up and down, teasing your entrance like a menace. But he didn't push farther yet. No, he wanted you dripping, begging, ready for him first.

After a few more movements, you finally came undone with a soft cry. You felt your honey dripping thick out of you, and your whole body trembling beneath his.

He kissed your neck and collarbone, his fingers still working you—softer now, but still making you squirm beneath him, your hips shifting, chasing his touch.

"...Dean... more..." you moaned right into his ear, and you felt his still-clothed pelvis brush against the bare skin of your thigh, seeking friction, seeking release.

So your hands moved downward, searching for the buckle of his belt. Your fingers worked quickly, and you felt his body shift, helping you along, letting you work him open.

Dean's breath catched the moment he felt your delicate, tentative hand find him inside his boxers. He never left his place there, though.

You were amused by the expression on his face: his eyes fluttering shut, jaw tensing, and body surrendering over you.

He hardened in your hand, thick and warm, and the reaction made you even wetter around his fingers.

"Holy shit... deer," he groaned, low and rough under his breath.

Your hand started moving on his length— clumsy, inexperienced — but he seemed to like it. A lot. He started moving his fingers again, sinking both of you into a mess of hands, moans, and whispered names.

After a few minutes, he looked up at you, breathless. "Wait..." he growled. "If you keep going, I'm..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, the mere thought made him shudder.

"You what?" you asked, the almost innocent tone in your voice making him twitch in your palm.

"Oh, sweetheart," he groaned, "you're gonna be the death of me."

A shaky breath escaped your lips at the unexpected sight of Dean bringing his slick-coated fingers to his mouth, savoring your taste.

"You taste so sweet, baby," he whispered. "If I had more space, I swear I'd eat your pussy out right here."

You didn't quite understand what he meant, but God, you wanted to find out right now.

He made room to work on his own jeans, pushing them down along with his boxers. And once he was completely naked in front of you, the sight made your face flush an impossible shade of red.

You couldn't help but look away. You thought about his size... which definitely left your mouth dry.

For the first time that night, real nervousness settled in. Reality hit you, mixing with anticipation and desire. You wanted to feel him, but the thought of what it might be like to have him inside you made your stomach twist with nerves.

He noticed your wide eyes and gave you a soft, crooked grin. One hand reached up to gently brush your hair behind your ear. "You okay?" he asked, voice low and tender.

You nodded, even though your heart was pounding. "I just... I've never done this before."

His expression softened even more. "Don't worry. I'll take good care of you," he promised.

Then he leaned down and kissed you gently, while his hands slid under your back to work the clasp of your bra.

His green eyes darkened the moment he saw your breasts for the first time. One of his broad hands cupped one, squeezing gently, his thumb tracing slow circles over your delicate nipple. You moaned, feeling heat pool between your legs, your thighs instinctively pressing together.

"You're so damn beautiful, deer," he whispered, warm and sincere. "Fuck, you're more perfect than I imagined..."

Then his hands moved to the last piece of clothing still on you. You lifted your hips, letting him slip your panties down and off, leaving you completely bare beneath him.

Dean sat back for a moment, just looking at you, jaw slightly clenched like he was trying to hold himself together. Then he reached over to the glove box, flipped it open, and pulled out a small foil packet.

You blinked. "What's that?"

He paused, smirking a little. "A condom."

"...A what?"

Dean's brows shot up, amused. "You've never seen one of these?"

You shook your head slowly, eyes fixed on the tiny package like it might bite.

His grin widened as he tore it open. "Damn, sweetheart, you really are from another time."

You flushed, but the way he looked at you, warm and patient, made it hard to feel embarrassed. He held it up like he was giving a lesson. "This goes on me. It, uh... keeps things safe. And clean. You know, in case of babies, diseases, apocalypse-related mishaps..."

Your eyes widened even more. "Oh. That's... practical."

Dean laughed softly, low in his throat. "Very."

You watched, curious and fascinated, as he rolled the condom on. Once he was done, he looked at you again, his smile softer now.

"I didn't know there were tools involved," you breathed, heart pounding.

He kissed your temple, chuckling. "There's a lot I want to teach you. But tonight? Just this. Just us."

Your nod was soft but sure. Dean leaned over you, supporting his weight on one forearm as his other hand slid carefully down your side.

His lips found yours, slow and deep, and he whispered against them, "Listen, this might hurt just a little. I can't help it, but I promise it'll feel good soon after. Just tell me if you want me to stop, okay?"

You whispered a shaky "Okay," and wrapped your arms around him, grounding yourself in the steady beat of his heart against your chest.

Then, with a patience you hadn't expected, and a tenderness that nearly broke you, he began to guide himself against you.

You felt his tip brushing against your core, drawing soft whimpers from your lips, especially when he took his time to caress your most sensitive spot.

Your body responded instinctively, already stretching around him, a reaction born purely from need.

"Dean..." you breathed, almost desperately. You didn't even know exactly what you were asking for, just that you needed something, anything, to ease the ache burning inside you.

"I know, babygirl," he murmured gently. "I'm just making sure you're ready for me."

And then, after a few more heartbeats, you felt him shift, lining himself up at your entrance, and slowly begin to push into you. You gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders as a deep stretch filled you, unfamiliar and overwhelming. It didn't exactly hurt, but it wasn't easy, either. Your body trembled beneath his, adjusting to him inch by inch.

Dean kissed your jaw, your cheek, your lips, whispering praises in between: "You're doing so good... I've got you... just a little more..."

Finally, he was fully inside, still and patient, his forehead resting gently against yours.

"You okay?" he asked again, his voice strained now, clearly holding back for your sake.

You nodded, breath shaky. "Yeah. Just... don't move yet."

He smiled faintly, brushing your hair back. "Take all the time you need. I'm not going anywhere."

It didn't take long for him to start feeling you moving your hips. Timidly at first, just a small shift, testing how your body responded to the fullness.

Dean froze, groaning softly into the crook of your neck. "Fuck, sweetheart..."

The sound of his voice sent a spark straight through your spine. Encouraged, you shifted again, a little more this time, and his hands immediately found your waist, steadying you with a reverence that made your chest tighten.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled back just slightly and eased forward again, watching your face the entire time.

"God, you feel incredible," he whispered, kissing your temple. "So damn perfect around me..."

His hands gripped your hips, guiding your rhythm, matching your pace with slow, deliberate thrusts. It was overwhelming: his body, his heat, the way his mouth found yours between soft curses and whispered praises. The way he held you, like you were something precious.

"Dean... Dean..." You couldn't do anything else but say his name like a prayer, especially as he teased your limits, pushing harder, deeper into you.

The sound of skin against skin, moans, and whimpers from both of you soon hushed even the rain tapping on the roof of the Impala. Every improper, filthy sound you made only encouraged him to take you rougher... yet he still held back, still careful, still trying not to hurt or scare you.

Dean was also trying to keep himself from finishing too soon. You didn't know it, but he hadn't been with anyone in months. Sure, the need had been there, but his mind always betrayed him, because if it wasn't you, he didn't want it. It wouldn't make sense to be with someone else while thinking of you.

And now that he had you, it only confirmed that he didn't need anyone else.

"It feels so good," you breathed out, voice trembling. "Dean... please! Don't stop..."

Dean buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hot and ragged against your skin. His movements grew more intense, more desperate, until you could feel every tremble in his body.

His mouth traveled to your breasts, taking one of your nipples, his tongue tracing soft circles around it, his mouth leaving sucking marks on your soft flesh. Marking you as his. Your own breath hitched, the pleasure building to a crescendo that made your fingers dig into his back.

"C'mon, deer, cum for me," he groaned, feeling your pussy clench harder around his cock. "Feels so good, baby..."

You clung to him as the waves crested, your body tensed, then unraveled all at once, a soft cry escaping your lips as your world seemed to splinter in the most beautiful way.

Dean wasn't far behind. You felt him still, groaning your name like it was the only word he knew, holding you so close it was hard to tell where he ended and you began. His whole body shuddered against yours before he finally collapsed, breathing hard, his forehead pressing gently to yours.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breaths and the distant patter of rain against the Impala's roof.

Then, softly, he smiled. "You okay?"

You nodded, still dazed, your voice a whisper. "I've never felt anything like that."

"Me neither, baby." Dean kissed you slowly, tenderly, like a promise. "You did amazing."

For a long, long time, he had wanted you. You were the one who lived in his deepest dreams, the one he whispered about in the solitude of his bedroom. Having you beneath him felt like the most natural, meant-to-be, thing in the universe.

And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he realized he might actually be feeling something.

Not a whim, not just a fleeting attraction, or a desperate lifeboat he clung to just to keep from drowning in his own misery.

No, this was real, and raw, and pure.

For the first time in his life, he knew that if you asked him to, he'd leave everything behind just to be with you.

He kissed you again, slow and sweet. "I'm not letting you go, deer."

"I'm not going anywhere, Dean," you promised back.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The sun was already high when you stirred, warm light pouring in through the fogged-up windows of the Impala. The air around you was heavy with the scent of wet earth, leather, and lingering sex. You couldn't tell where you ended and he began, limbs tangled in the sweetest kind of chaos.

You blinked, the world slowly coming into focus, and that's when you realized three things in quick succession:

1. You were still naked.

2. Dean was still naked.

3. Someone was knocking on the window.

A loud, authoritative knock.

Dean groaned, half-asleep, and shifted against you under the thin blanket. "Five more minutes," he muttered against the top of your head.

"Dean," you hissed, your heart sprinting, trapped between the seat and his body, "Someone's at the window!"

"What!?" he sat up too fast, the blanket slipping off his shoulder.

Then came the knock again, louder this time, followed by a voice: "Sir? Ma'am? Step out of the vehicle. Now."

Dean swore under his breath. "Oh, son of a bitch."

You scrambled to clutch the blanket around you, and Dean fumbled to cover both of you with the rest of it, twisting around to squint through the window. Sure enough: a very unimpressed-looking sheriff, mirrored sunglasses and all, stood outside with a notepad in one hand and what looked like a ticket book in the other.

"Oh God," you whispered. "Dean... what do we do?"

"I got it. I got this," he said, trying (and failing) to sound confident. He rolled the window down two centimeters. "Morning, officer."

The man stared, jaw tight. "Morning. We got a call from the farm owner. Said he found your car fogged up and occupied. You do realize you're trespassing, right?"

Dean cleared his throat. "Right. Yeah. Look, uh... there's a very romantic explanation for this."

The officer looked pointedly at the crumpled clothes in the front seat and your sock stuck to the gearshift.

Dean winced. "Okay. Not a great explanation. But I swear, we're consenting adults. Nobody's in danger here."

"You're also naked in public," the officer said flatly. "Which puts us in indecent exposure territory."

"Okay, okay... technically, we're in a car..."

"You're not helping," you whispered.

Eventually, the officer gave five awkward minutes to "dress and compose yourselves" standing with his back turned. Dean struggled to get his jeans on while still inside the cramped backseat. You accidentally elbowed him in the ribs trying to find your bra. And your dignity.

"Romantic night under the stars, huh?" he muttered, wincing.

"Romantic until the part where we get arrested."

Once (mostly) clothed, you were herded into the back of a patrol car like a couple of teenagers caught skipping curfew. You just wanted to cry, humiliation creeping up your whole being.

At the station, Dean was allowed one call. Of course, he dialed Sam.

"Yeah?" Sam answered, groggy.

"I need you to come to the county sheriff's office."

Pause. "What did you do?"

"It's not... okay, yes, technically it's public indecency, but..."

"Oh my God," Sam groaned.

"Also, bring bail money. And pants. Mine have a strange stain on it."

"Dean, I don't wanna know..."

By the time Sam arrived, looking smug and far too well-rested, you and Dean were sitting in plastic chairs, trying not to make eye contact with anyone.

"So," Sam said, barely suppressing a grin, "Romantic getaway, huh?"

Dean glared at him. "Shut up and pay the damn fine."

Sam turned to you. "You okay?"

You buried your face in your hands. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Fair."

As Sam paid the bail and the receptionist handed over a brown paper bag with your boots inside, Dean leaned toward you with a sheepish smile.

«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»«»

The door to the bunker groaned open as you and Dean stepped in, both red-faced, tired, and still vaguely humiliated from the morning's events. Sam followed behind, biting his tongue to keep from laughing out loud for the hundredth time.

Castiel looked up from the map table as you entered. He tilted his head, his brows furrowing at the sight of you two slinking in like teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew.

You passed him by, unable to even look him –or Sam, or Dean– to the face, and go sit down in a chair. Castiel sat across from you, watching you with intense curiosity as you shifted on the hard wooden chair, trying not to wince. "Claire, are you injured?"

Instinctively, your eyes turned to Dean, who somehow seemed to read your mind: you were sore. His gaze softened, a silent apology in his eyes. Cheeks burning, you quickly shifted your gaze to the table.

"No, Cas. Just my dignity."

"What happened?" Castiel asked, his voice low and steady, like the head of a household demanding the truth from his daughter.

Sam, already sipping coffee and waiting for the explosion, said casually, "They were caught... romancing in the back of the Impala. By the police."

Castiel's gaze snapped to you. "You were compromised in a vehicle?"

You sank lower into your chair. "It's not..."

"I trusted him," Castiel said solemnly, pointing a very slow, accusatory finger at Dean. "I left you alone for one evening and this is the result?"

Dean held up both hands. "Whoa, okay. Let's not go full Puritan ghost here."

"She's from 1815, Dean. That is practically the Regency era. Have you any idea what this would do to her dowry?"

You choked. "I don't even have a bank account, Cas."

"And now your reputation is in ruins," he added gravely, looking mildly offended on your behalf.

Dean, trying not to lost control of the situation, ran a hand down his face. "Cas, I didn't seduce a nun. I took Claire stargazing and then... things happened."

Castiel turned to you, eyes softened but authority still on them. "Did he declare his intentions? Did he offer marriage, or at the very least a respectful courtship letter?"

Dean choked on his own saliva the moment the word "marriage" reached his ears.

"I don't think people write letters anymore," you mumbled.

Castiel's jaw tightened. "They should."

"Cas," Sam said, nearly wheezing, "You're reacting like she was ruined in the middle of a ball."

"She was ruined in a Chevrolet, Sam!"

"Okay, that's it. It's enough, dude," Dean replied.

But Castiel wasn't done. He stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your shoulder. "If you are with child..."

"CASTIEL!" The three of you shouted at unison.

He blinked. "Then I shall smite him accordingly."

"No one is smiting anyone, Castiel," you intervened, somewhere between a nervous laughter and wishing the floor would swallow you whole.

Dean stood up. "Listen, Cas, I really appreciate your concern about my girl, believe me, I do."

Your cheeks burned and your heart flipped at the expression he used to refer to you: my girl.

"But this is the 21st century, and she's a grown, consenting woman. We don't need divine supervision every time we get a little close. So, now I'm going to take a shower, and when I come back, everyone's going to pretend this never happened."

Castiel tilted his head, visibly processing the statement.

Sam cleared his throat and stood as well. "Alright, I think that's our cue. C'mon, Cas. Let's give them a little privacy."

Reluctantly, Castiel nodded. "Very well. But if she is harmed..."

"She won't be," Dean cut in gently, but firmly. "Ever."

The angel gave Dean one last glare before walking out of the room in a swirl of dramatic disapproval. Sam snorted, giving the both of you a knowing smile before following Cas to the kitchen.

Dean turned back to you, that cocky little smirk softening as he approached.

"Except you, sweetheart," he murmured low, only for you to hear. "I want you to remember everything."

Dean brushed his knuckles gently along your arm. "So... shower?" he offered, a glint in his eye that made your stomach flutter.

You nodded, smiling, heart thudding when his fingers laced with yours. He led you to the bathroom, and the door clicked shut behind you.

NEXT PART

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PART 3: Good Things Come in Threes

Story Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

'Twas the night of fake Christmas and all through the halls, creatures were stirring, eventually on all fours... or ...Mrs Butters isn't just messing with Dean's underwear drawer. She's messing with your love lives, too. MDNI 18+ only 5.7k words

Tags: SMUTfriends to lovers, love potion, language, dubious consent, pining, eggnog, Mrs Butters is a terrible wingman

PART 1 || PART 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

…and Dean have been hit by some kind of lust spell, the message read, but Sam hit the backspace, scrapping it all. He tapped that screen almost as fast as your finger had done under your panties when he—nope!! He wasn’t going there.

He couldn’t send a message like that to Eileen, either. It would just lead to more questions, and he didn’t want to think about the situation, let alone go over the details of it all. Didn’t matter that Dean’s arm pumping action was enough to douse any fire, now and in the future.

Yeah. Dean. It was better to tell her about him, so, Dean’s been cursed, he tried, leaving out the part about you being hit with it, too.

Only, what if it got out you had? What if someone let slip what the actual curse was, and how Sam had walked in on you both?

He sighed and erased the text again, typing out, Mrs Butters is missing, instead. It didn’t explain Dean desperately calling him away from their phone call, but it was the truth.

God. Why was this so hard?

Because it’s Dean, he chided.

He’d been de-aged, lost his memory, kidnapped in his car and had her chase him twice, so if anything, this shouldn’t be a surprise. This kind of shit always happened to Dean.

His thumbs hovered over the screen, still contemplating what he should type next, when Jack appeared in his peripheral, popping out from the junction in the long corridor.

He shuffled down the hall towards Sam with a worried look on his face. All that twinkled overhead, lighting up the stray pieces of glitter he’d caught on his forehead and cheeks.

If only the wood nymph had left a trail through the remaining sparkles on the floor. Little heel shapes would be mighty helpful to find her, but no. It’s like she’d vanished into thin air.

“Hey,” Sam said, and hit send. He was quick to add, Dean pissed her off, and sent it straight after. “Any luck?”

He looked up just in time for Jack to step into his personal space. His drained eyes, hopeful and ready to cling to any good news Jack threw his way. Anything was better than the fat-load of nothing he had to show for.

But, “No,” Jack said, brow creasing in the middle in concentration. “And I checked all the closets and opened all the cubicle doors just like you told me to. Maybe we should call Cas?”

They were not calling Cas. Keeping Jack occupied was hard enough without another angel not understanding how consequential Dean and you having sex under a curse could be.

“Yeah. No, ah. You know what?” Sam shoved his phone back into his pocket and rejigged his Taurus in his hand. “Why don’t you check on them? Make sure Dean’s ropes are still tight.” He found Jack’s eyes and gave him his best reassuring smile, ignoring the niggle in his gut that knew Dean was a flight risk and probably busted out already.

“What about you?”

Sam cocked his gun and patted Jack on the shoulder. “She came out when Dean hit the reset button. I’m gonna see if I can lure her out by shutting this place down.”

And with that, Sam left Jack, and Jack headed towards the library, a little apprehensive about going in alone. Being told to check the ropes, even though he could smite Dean if he wanted to, was no easy feat. He respected him a great deal.

He was strong, knowledgeable about the world, and had taught him a lot. They’d even got around to “the talk,” so Jack was also knowledgeable about what was happening in the bunker that night.

Dean’s body, not the spell.

No, Jack had no idea why everything was happening as it was.

Just the physicalities.

He knew all about courting and fucking and the differences and similarities between them. It was all thanks to Dean. They hadn’t covered masturbation because Dean had said, “he was better left on his own there,” but Jack understood the basics of what Dean was going through.

Blood was pumping through Dean’s penis. He’d busted his nut three times (Sam had stopped him on the fourth), and was still erect now. Oh. And in pain. Which was difficult to understand because Jack had only ever experienced an erection when he woke up and it had just gone away on its own.

But he also didn’t sleep much, and he shrugged, considering his options as he walked the halls to you.

He wanted to ask Dean what it felt like. He was curious about you too, but from their talk, he knew not to ask you anything relating to your breasts or your vagina. It was okay to ask your partner, but it wasn’t okay to ask someone you weren’t courting, dating, or fucking.

Right. Yes. That’s definitely what Dean had said.

Coming from the lower levels meant Jack came into the war room via the eastern corridor, on the opposite side of the kitchen.

Besides the vibrant tree, still littered underneath with presents no one was supposed to open yet, it was Dean he spotted first.

His legs, from his calves to his ankles, were tied to his seat and not outstretched, as you’d expect. There was no manspreading going on, as you would say, either.

No. He was far from his usual relaxed self, calling out Jack’s name in irritation. Unbeknownst that his attempt to hide his relief was thwarted by Jack’s keen senses.

Jack rounded the edge of the map table and stepped up the stairs with a patter and a frown. Losing the squeaks his sneakers made when moving from the polished floors to wood always disappointed him.

“Hello Dean,” he said back to the hunter, hand waving in greeting, before setting his sights on you.

You looked no better. Eyes half lidded. Chest heaving. The skin that dipped below the neck of your shirt was lined with sweat, and tracing the curves of your breasts made Jack’s stomach feel funny. It also made his throat dry.

Why did it do that?

He popped his ears. Tried clicking his tongue and swallowing, but neither helped and his voice came out croaky like a frog’s. “Sam asked me to check on you both.” He rubbed his lips together.

“And where is Sam?” Dean asked. His sarcasm wasn’t missed. “Have you found her yet?”

“No. But he’s going to try the boiler room.”

An ominous clank cut Dean off mid eye roll. The lights cut him off, too. Well, the lamps and ceiling ones around the library and beyond in the halls did, but not Mrs Butters’ Christmas tree. It shone brighter. Rivaled only by the baubles, looped, and still blinking, ‘round the balustrades and staircase.

You could hear a pin drop if it weren’t for the train’s whistle and Dean’s groan. “For the love of… What’s he planning to do?”

“Reversing you doofuses letting her out, obviously,” you said with a wheeze, and Jack decided it was time to get to work on the ropes. He did not want to be here any longer than he needed to be.

Dean was angry. You weren’t much better, but you were the best choice to start checking. The low lighting thankfully covered your breasts, but it wouldn’t for long. “She’s nowhere to be found.” He pulled on the ties that held your arms in place. “Sam thought she might appear if he tried restarting her.”

“Restart,” Jack felt Dean’s aura flare. He heard the blood as it pumped through his veins. “Okay, you know what? Jack, you need to untie me right now.”

“I can’t do that, Dean.” He wouldn’t. Sam had told him to check the ropes and make sure Dean was secured, and it was imperative that he did. “Sam said you two needed to stay separated.”

“And Sammy needs your help more than we do. Angel trumps wood nymph.”

“But I’m a nephilim.” And he was very confused.

“Yeah. Okay, sure. Son of Lucifer,” Dean quipped, but soon changed his tone to one of pleading. “Look. We’ll behave, alright? I promise.”

He promised? Dean never promised. At least he never used the word itself. He hadn’t exactly promised when he’d said they’d have the talk, and he’d kept his word then, so maybe it would be okay?

“She’s not looking too good there, Jack,” Dean added, and it was true, you weren’t.

Your breathing was slow and shallow. A sheen of sweat covered your forehead on top of your breasts now, and Jack could feel the heat radiating off of your body.

“Speak for yourself,” you said, but it was so quiet and lacking your usual pep, Jack’s stomach flipped. His mind did, too.

He stood tall and turned to face Dean. His eyes narrowed as they had when he’d questioned Sam’s plan in the first place.

He could trust Dean, couldn’t he?

Yes. Yes. Of course he could, and he nodded. “I’ll go back to Sam,” he said, and without even checking on Dean’s arms, rushed away to the boiler room to help there. Mrs Butters needed to be found, after all.

In his haste to be useful, however, even though he’d been reading both your auras; even though he’d heard Sam’s spiel about how dangerous the situation was; Jack was oblivious to the smirk that graced Dean’s face the second his back was turned.

Yeah. Dean was proud of himself. Oh-ho, yeah, he was, and his smirk only grew wider as Jack’s footsteps trailed away.

He’d been working on the ropes since the moment Sam had left the room. In control enough to know you were off limits, not enough that he could stay here any longer. Nope. He’d been watching your rack, too, though unlike Jack it’d been more than a few seconds, and he was not going there with you. Not when he’d probably come the second his dick got wet.

He had a reputation to uphold. That and you’d never let him live it down, knowing you. He’d be the butt of your jokes for as long as he lived.

So, rather than bothering to talk or check in with you, he let his dick and its needs lead. As soon as Jack left, he got back to it, shimmying his wrists back and forth, only it wasn’t doing much good.

Stupid nightgown. Why the hell hadn’t he put on his jeans and jacket? Oh right. Because then it would’ve chafed. Caught on fire like flint and tinder.

Screw this. The floor was below him and with enough force, he’d break the chair just like he’s done in Texas. Sam and Jack wouldn’t notice that with all the concrete, rebar and wiring layered between them and him, giving Dean plenty of time to escape. Plus, the boiler room was at the other end of the joint.

Perfect!

He tested the waters, pushing his toes into the polished wood below them, and when he was certain he wouldn’t add injury to the insult, he braced himself.

‘Okay,’ he breathed out a puff of air. ‘You can do this, Deano.’

Huh. Deano? Your nickname for him was cute, but why the hell was he using it? He was gonna count to three, but after that he gave up and just went for it.

He gripped the right arm of his seat and swung himself to the left, lifting the leg an inch if he was lucky. Shouldn’t have had that second helping of turkey or ham.

He sighed louder than the first time, eyes flicking to you when he realised you’d said nothing since Jack left. Not even a squeak of surprise at the thump he’d made.

“You okay there, sweetheart?” He had trouble pulling himself away from your rack to your chin. “Sweetheart?” he tried again, and a small choke answered him.

You see, while Dean was doing alright, you weren’t so much. It was bad enough Sam’d tied you up, but leaving you smack bang across the table from him was the stupidest, most inconsiderate thing Sam had ever done.

You were going to kill him. You were no longer sorry Mrs Butters had told you his business. Eileen deserved her privacy. Sam did not.

Just being in Dean’s presence had doubled the pain. You thought it was excruciating before? Hah! Think again.

You’d dropped your head just to avoid his sultry gaze. A mix of concern and dilated pupils you’d mistake for him being high had it not been seeing him equally affected by whatever she’d done to you.

“It hurts, De.”

Your white knuckles and sweaty palms held on too tight to the arms of the chair. Damn. That Pink song knew a thing or two, even if the lyrics and your body had differing opinions.

You didn’t want Dean to blow you one last kiss. No. Oh no. You’d settle for blowing him, or better yet, him blowing his warm breath over you because everything was on fire. The depths of your panties, the worst. The stiff wood under your ass and your pyjama shorts weren’t doing nothing for you. Neither were your knees rubbing together.

“Would you quit it?” Dean growled, and the echo went straight there.

A shiver. A trickle. A shock? Whatever it was, your cooch clenched tight to trap it and you had to stifle the moan you almost couldn’t.

Fuck. Your head wanted to explode. Your front teeth bit so darn hard into the meat of your lower lip, they grazed the bottom set below them.

“It really hurts,” you said again, as if saying so was the magic chant you needed to tell the spell uncle.

“Yeah, well. You squirming like that ain’t exactly a picnic for me, either.”

The gravel in his voice had your head flicking back up. It moved to follow his staring at your boobs.

Your nipples, unlike in the kitchen earlier, were now visible through your sleep shirt. Hard and perky. You’d be insulted, but all you saw besides the lights flashing in the other room was a dick on legs, and what it could do for you.

Those fingers of his, just below the ledge of the table. Those lips, pink and plump, rivaled only by his tongue that swiped over them, could wrap around the girls any day, and, “Fuck.” Your body shuddered through the long squeak it released, elongating the word even further, like a balloon neck still pinched tight.

Nothing. There was nothing you could do to make this better. Had the knots not tied you to the chair, you’d have crumpled in a heap on the floor, shuffling and moaning. Probably would’ve pissed yourself by now.

The pressure was severe enough, and your head dropped once more. Shoulders rising and falling beside your neck as you pulled the air back into your lungs with deep breaths.

“Hey. You okay?”

No. No, you weren’t. Your body needed physical stimulation. You knew it, Jack knew it, and you’d settle for a brush of Dean’s pinky finger against your own at this point.

His fingernail. The hair at the end of his knuckle. The cool metal of his 1911 would get him and you both off if you were smart about it.

So you fluttered your lashes and let the tips fan your cheeks. Your eyes peeked through them with your best wanton gaze. “There must be something you can do,” you said. “If you get us out, I’ll scratch your back, and maybe you can scratch mine?”

Not only did you hope that would get Dean’s attention, you sure as hell fucking meant it.

And you got it.

His cock twitched below his nightgown. A bead of cum spilled out from its tip, and Dean planted his feet on the ground and tried rocking again.

To the left, to the right, adrenaline was an amazing thing. Each new lift of the chair legs had him swinging and swaying, and the floorboards making god-awful sounds. But then inertia gave way and kinetic energy kicked in, and Dean’s right arm and shoulder pummeled into the floor with a thump.

His funny bone twanged. His throat gave a grunt. His dick bobbed up and down. It re-pitched the tent in his purple polyester blend the second he bounced back, tall and proud.

Fuck yeah! He was free, and scrambling on his bow legs to free you, too.

“You really wanna?” His question trailed off as you licked your lips. Your eyes, drawn to the tent of his giant hug.

He’d be insulted, but his small brain and actual brain were fighting for dominance. That moan you made when his pinky grazed your thigh was porn for his ears, and with the added ambiance, your face belonged in one. But did you just?

Wow. Well, if that didn’t do it for a guy (or girl), he had some questions. He’d barely touched you.

Screw Miss January. Mrs Butters could get stuffed like her turkey. He was gonna fuck you if you were going to let him, and his lips found their way to yours, crashing down with force and heat, before you could say no.

They seared, unrelenting, not letting you leave your seat. He’d jump you like a dog, but he wasn’t that far gone. Or was he?

Chuck. Fuck the spell. Mrs Butters had done him a favour. He’d die happy if that’s what this was. Satisfied with the taste of you on his tongue. The power he had over you with just his fingertips.

He just had one question - could he keep it?

No! Absolutely not, if Sam had anything to say about it. This night was the worst.

Seeing Dean’s junk, seeing you touch yourself, seeing an old wood nymph cry.

Oh yeah, he’d found Mrs Butters. Or rather, she found him, having apparated before him the second he shut the power off. She now stood in the corner, cowering, her hoot high in pitch when Sam pulled his gun on her, beady eyes only likening her more and more to an owl as they widened in terror.

You were right about her making a mean Merlin, or whatever his name was, but Sam was at his wit’s end, and about ready to shoot.

“So it was you?” His gaze pierced those peepers of hers back, finger trembling on the trigger of his Taurus. Unaware of what might happen if he shot at her. Very aware not to show it.

He should’ve checked the lore.

But then she dropped her head into her hands, remorseful or conniving, Sam wasn’t sure, and “Yes,” she said. “But it wasn’t supposed to do this…and…and—”

“And what?” Sam’s nostrils flared.

“It’s too late.”

And it was.

Too late to stop you, that is.

Dean had you on your feet and you were walking. Hands grabbing, fingers caressing, your bodies stepping in time like a practiced dance.

Through the halls he led you, lips nibbling and sucking your neck, your collarbone, the top of your cleavage. Wherever he could reach, he attacked, and wherever he went, you welcomed. Your hips and pelvis especially.

Yes, you undulated against him while your hands fumbled with his nightgown. His bedroom door slammed shut behind you, but you were too busy to bat an eyelid. Wrapped in hugs? No. That thing, with its excessive amount of fabric, wrapped Dean up like a chastity belt, protecting him from you and your aching heat from him.

It still burned. Still throbbed. Sweaty palms and fingertips, leaving prints that’d put crime-scene investigators outta their job if they used it for evidence. Not that he cared. He was too busy helping you with your clothing.

Your shirt, your shorts, he pushed you forward and soon had your lust-drunk-ass tumbling onto the memory foam of his bed with a bounce and grin from ear to ear. And when he pulled that lilac monstrosity off and over his head himself, he gave you little warning or vantage to take a decent peek at that part of him. You sure felt it, though.

Dean pinned you beneath him and pushed a knee flush between your legs. Anyone would think you were going somewhere, but you weren’t. Your pussy lips spread open wide, trying to draw him in.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck.

Fuck indeed. It was all too much. The length of him glided over your hip, electrifying everywhere it touched. You’d gone from seeing it, to feeling it, hard, hot and more than ready for you in a matter of hours. You’d tear apart into a million pieces if he didn’t tear you with it soon.

So, without a word, your arm snaked its way between your bodies to grip him, experimenting with a soft tug or two, pleased when he grunted under your touch.

You’d high five yourself, but your hands were busy and you didn’t have the resolve to stop. Neither did he.

No. There was no checking in. No questioning. Who cared if you were on birth control or not? He just pulled up, shifted himself to claim your lips, and prodded your lower ones with his blunt tip.

Your sloppy kisses struggled to return his intensity, more focused on pulling him closer and encouraging him to move by opening your legs even wider, hooking your ankles over his. You really were a floozy, and Dean only exemplified it.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, I can’t,” he said against your chin, before snapping his hips forward with a groan that rumbled straight up your spine.

Just as his pinky had left your panties a mess, that one thrust was all it took. Your inner walls spasmed ‘round him. The rest of you clung where you could as he set his pace, chasing the high Sam had interrupted two hours ago.

Your muscles contorted; skin tingled. Your back arched off the mattress. But even though you’d just come, your clit, your cunt, your whole being demanded more. Fingers dragged down Dean’s back, scraping, raking down and around to knead the soft flesh of his ass.

“Oh god. Don’t do that. I’m not gonna—”

But it was too late. His mouth opened into a tightened O and ropes of his cum painted your insides. Each throb pulsing against your still clenched walls.

“Shit.” He panted, chest heaving against yours. “I never blow that quick.” He swallowed, then grunted. The primality of it, the sexiest damn thing you’d ever heard.

“Me either.” You huffed. He’d given you two orgasms with little foreplay. Hell, you hadn’t even spoken. That had to be a record for any girl, not to mention he’d come, what, four times himself? The guy was over forty, and still his flesh burned molten hot.

Then again, so did yours.

You let go to star-fish underneath him, rolling your neck backwards into the pillow to draw air into your lungs. “You, ah, you good?” you asked. Though why you bothered when even Dean, with his world-renowned game and prowess, couldn’t break the spell, was beyond you.

“Are you?” He cocked his brow.

“It’s manageable,” you said, which was better than no.

Of course, Dean looked down at you. His eyes searched for the truth. He found it too, when he gave up on your top half to watch between you, drawing another couple of slow pumps in and out.

“Manageable, huh?” He chuckled at your whimper. Even gave you a devious wink. “Think you can manage switching positions?”

Sam wished he could switch positions, too.

No, not like that.

Thankfully, he wasn’t aware of what was going on behind Dean’s door. Well, no, that’s not true. He did. He stood above the evidence you’d left behind in the library, put two and two together, and now stood, staring dumbstruck at the broken seat.

Why did he bother?

“I told you to check the ropes,” he said to Jack, who was looking mighty sheepish. Of course, Sam should’ve known he’d been rather quick returning to the boiler room.

“Dean promised he—”

“And you believed him?” Yeah, Sam was wrong. Cas might’ve been useful. At least he wasn’t so gullible.

He thought.

Honestly, Sam could only scoff. His grin, wide in disbelief, as he stretched thumb and pointer over his eyes.

Blowing his brains out would be easier. Then he wouldn’t have to face your wrath when you realised what you’d done. Screw Dean’s. Though he guessed it was in his best interests to fix things.

“Okay.” He turned to Mrs Butters, cuffed and still looking sorry for herself. Whether the cuffs worked on her was another matter altogether. She hadn’t fussed about them at least. Though her beady eyes still stared into the depths of his soul as if this was all his fault. “Say you did it right. What was supposed to happen?”

“Does it matter? Aren’t you going to stop them before th-th-th-they—”

Sam scoffed. “Yeah. Even you said it was too late.” Though she’d made it sound like you were going to die.

He tucked his gun into the waistband of his sweats so as not to be tested. “But if you want to,” his arm stretched out wide in the general direction of room eleven, “Be my guest.”

Like Mr Bean and his incompetence or Mr Magoo, well past his prime, she’d messed up the love potion, not him. He couldn’t be held responsible for what you guys did because of too much henbane from a housekeeper who needed glasses.

Her thrill was less impactful. Her whole body shuddered. The woman, old-fashioned and teetering on sexist, was more disgusted than Dean was going to be once he learned he’d lost his free will to food.

“I can’t,” she whispered.

“Then sit.” He pointed at her, then at the table. His other hand ran through his hair, waiting as she did what she was told with a slow step and a pout.

“So will it wear off?” Jack asked over his shoulder, and honestly, Sam didn’t know what to say.

He was tired. His experiences with love spells sealed shut years ago for good reason, so unless he looked up the lore or called Rowena, he was leaning along the path of, was it fatal and could it be left until morning?

But Mrs Butters whimpered. “A kiss would have made or broken the spell,” she said.

“So that means Dean just needs to ejaculate inside her?” Jack chimed in before Sam could, seeming very proud of his speculation, and, yeah, that did it. Sam was going to bed. Part of him wanted to know why she’d done it, but he’d had enough.

As much as he hated to admit it, he and Mrs Butters were on the same page as Jack. If her beet-red cheeks were anything to go by, you’d both be fine come morning, assuming Dean had enough juice left.

Embarrassed, yes, and ready to kill Mrs B. But maybe, just maybe, dare he say, you’d be happy about it? He would when she was gone.

Dean was still oblivious to the mystery being solved, still seated in your sweet heat. Sure, he was doubting how much longer he could keep it up, but the squelch was heavenly. You, on all fours before him now, crying in pleasure with your continued eagerness for him to touch and taste you; he wondered if you’d do it again? Or was this a onetime thing?

“That’s it,” he drawled, trying not to let thoughts of what happened next bother him. He watched himself push in and out. Watched his spend and your juices mix and get pushed back inside, too, savouring the sight for his mental spank bank. This one would be a treat.

“Give me another one,” he cooed.

“Listen to your own advice,” you clapped back, and he fucking loved it.

He reached around to your clit and thumbed the now over-sensitive bud, proud of himself yet again when your body betrayed you.

You squirmed on his cock, and he was spilling into you with more ropes of his special sauce soon after. Your sweet pussy gripped him like a vise.

Yeah, that joke was long past its use-by date, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t continue to use it.

He pulled you in close and rolled you over before he could fall on you, exhausted, keeping you flush against him. A sheen of sweat, the only division between. Whatever the old bitch had done, if she was out to get you, he’d deal with it, but he’d also thank her, maybe…it depended on what happened here with you.

“You good?” He cursed the croak in his voice, but if you noticed his moment of weakness, or the repetitious irony, you said nothing towards it, first answering with a contented hum.

“It’s manageable.” You chuckled, wheezing when he gave a soft slap to your ass cheek. “Okay, it doesn’t hurt as much.”

“But you’re still hurtin’?”

“Just chafing.”

You shook your head, and Dean frowned, raising himself on his elbow to lean over you. His dick slipped free, although with the sight of your rack before him, it wouldn’t take long.

“You wanna make a run for the showers? Get cleaned up?” He might even consider getting you ice from the kitchen, though he couldn’t see that helping when he shuddered at the thought of putting some on his junk.

At first you were silent. Eyes refused to look back up at him. He felt your heart pick up its pace. The tightening movement in your limbs and chest, too, before you’d even moved.

“Guess I should get outta your hair,” you said, sitting up, and Dean was foolish to let you. Or maybe just a genius. A stupid one, but a genius nonetheless, recording more footage to his brain for further use, because it looked like he was going to need it.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He stood up, too, not caring that little-Dean was also on display.

He strode over to where you stood, drawing you in with a hand on both hips. His fingers traced the marks they’d left earlier, electrifying your skin all over again.

“No. No.” You took a step back. “It’s okay. It’s weird, right?”

Least, it was for you. This all happened because of a stupid spell. Something well beyond your control. It wasn’t like he’d wanted to fuck you before all this. He’d never even made a move on you until now, and now didn’t count.

But his hands gripped your flesh tighter. Bound to indent the little calluses you’d discovered on his hands the further you got throughout your evening. Your overused cunt even fluttered with interest when he said, “Only if you keep walking away.”

His eyes darted to the floor, and yours followed.

Oh god. You’d left a trail of cum there. One large dollop even hung just below the edge of your slit. Now you really wanted to die.

Your hand tucked down into your folds, slipping through the mess you’d both made. “How many times did you—”

“Three,” he boasted.

“And before we?” Your free hand, not holding everything in, swept the air between you.

“Three.”

Oh god. Even on birth control, you weren’t taking the risk if three times one way and three the other meant making stuff with love. You searched his eyes and found them, still wearing his cheeky grin. “First thing tomorrow, you’re taking me to a pharmacy.”

“Why?”

“To get Plan B.”

“You’re not on anything?” His voice hitched.

“Course I am!” Living a hunter’s life? You’d be stupid not to. “And now that my heads screwed on, I ain’t risking it given the circumstances.”

Dean blinked and flicked his head down. “What? you think my special sauce is extra special now?”

“That’s not funny.”

Fuck! You needed a shower. An actual douche would be better. But unless Mrs Butters’ boys had vaginas and kept them in the infirmary with all the other outdated equipment, one of those was coming from the pharmacy, too.

You looked to Dean in horror, expecting to see mirrored panic. Expected him to at least hide the pearly whites in his mouth, but no, those lips of his flattened into a thin line. One that curled on the end.

“Okay. Would you relax?” he said.

“Don’t tell me to relax. You’re not full of,” you couldn’t say those two words again. Cum seemed worse outside the act. Baby gravy? Jizz? Spunk? Oh god.

“I made it!” And he looked insulted, too. “Look, I’ll take you first thing, alright? But we’ve still got a few hours before they open.”

You didn’t miss the wag of his brows or the suggestive tone that further accompanied the suggestion to relax, either. Typical Dean. He’d just been up close and personal with your cunt, yet he struggled to open up.

“We’re past the awkwardness, don’t you think?”

“Look who’s talking.”

He had a point, but the phrase just brought on memories of babies sounding like Bruce Willis, and that ship needed to set sail. So when those calloused hands of his grazed your skin further to grab the globes of your ass, your body and mind welcomed them. Yup. Floozy.

He pushed you flush against him, much like he had throughout the night. Fingers embedded into flesh from both sides. His lips, no longer tasting of cinnamon and snickerdoodles, pressed into yours with the taste of him and you. The squelch, more delectable than anything made down below.

“I gotta sink right there,” he said between kisses. “Plenty of clean shirts.” He chuffed through another. “Wanna stay the night?”

And what did your floozy do?

Yeah. She agreed.

She didn’t even need to think hard about it. Better leaving hardness to other things. Yes, he was crude. Yes, he liked to wear his underthings inside and out, but the man had already reeled you in with an oversized purple nightgown. And the way he made his special sauce.

Or should you thank Butters for that?

PART 1 || PART 2 || Part 3 || Part 4

There was another scene on the end there, but it didn’t feel like a satisfying conclusion when I was getting ready to post so I scraped it last minute which means - there might be a part 4? Mrs Butters needs some consequences right?

Leave it with me 😉

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[fanfictionalraven]

Love Drunk

Title: Love Drunk

Summary: The reader doesn't drink but has never been honest with Dean about it. What happens when he finds out?

Characters: Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester

Word Count: 1,778

Warnings: Alcohol, misunderstandings

Authors' Note: This was an anonymous request. I hope this is what you were wanting, anon. Enjoy!!

It was a delicate process, an art form honestly. You should receive an Academy Award for your performances. Subtly raising a glass or bottle, the liquid never actually coming close to your lips. Managing to make the drink disappear in a variety of creative ways. Your favorite was always switching your drink with Dean’s. He somehow never even noticed his magically refilling beverages. It was more difficult when Sam was around, the always more observant brother. But you hadn’t been caught yet. Why all the smoke and mirrors? The reason was so ridiculously simple but you couldn’t bring yourself to confess.

You didn’t drink.

It wasn’t for medical or religious reasons as most people assumed. You just couldn’t stand alcohol. You never had been able to. Your 21st birthday had been spent on a hunt with your mom while all of your friends used theirs as an excuse to get absolutely wasted. It just didn’t appeal to you. Whiskey, beer, wine…you never touched any of it.

Dean on the other hand…he drank it like water.

You had planned to tell him, especially when the two of you became a thing. But it wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. Any time you did people assumed you were either sick, pregnant, or a religious nut. So you perfected the art of pretending to drink whenever Dean popped a bottle or cracked open a six pack to celebrate a hunt well done. Like now…

“That shot you took, Y/N,” Dean starts, sliding a beer in front of you. You catch it and smile at him. “It was risky but damn. You nailed it, Sweetheart.”

“Just doing my job,” you laugh, bringing the bottle to your lips. Dean smiles and shakes his head, glancing away. You set the bottle back on the table. Sam sits across from you in the library of the bunker, picking up his beer as well.

“If Dean had listened to me to begin with, you wouldn’t have had to take that shot,” he says. Dean rolls his eyes and you smirk.

“You’re just jealous cause neither of you could have done that in a million years,” you tease. Dean laughs as he takes the seat next to you, his hand coming to rest on your knee under the table. You take another fake drink, gauging the level in Dean’s own bottle. He was already halfway through. Another long drink from him and you could make the switch before calling it a night. You sigh heavily and stretch. “I’m exhausted from picking up ya’ll’s slack all the time.” Dean rolls his eyes at your quip and gives your knee a squeeze before taking the drink.

“Pretty sure I remember saving your ass too,” Dean remarks, setting the drink back down. You roll your eyes but smile as you lean back in the seat, allowing the two brothers to become occupied by their own conversation.

Ever so subtly, you reach for the two bottles sitting just close enough on the table. You pick up Dean’s practically empty bottle slowly sliding your own full one into place. Bringing the empty bottle to your lips, you smile as Dean picks up the fresh one, not realizing anything.

“Alright. I’m going to take a shower. I would recommend you do as well before you come to bed,” you tell Dean, giving him a playful shove. He laughs and shakes his head, watching as you leave the room. When he turns back to continue his conversation, he finds his younger brother frowning at him.

“What?” He asks.

“She switched your drinks,” Sam tells him. Dean looks at the bottle in his head and the one you had left sitting on the table.

“Huh?”

“She did. She took a couple of drinks then she grabbed your bottle and switched them,” he says. Dean picks up the second, empty bottle and looks between the two.

“Why would she do that? This one is completely full,” he says. “Honest mistake?”

“I don’t think so. I saw her. It seemed deliberate,” Sam tells him. 

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Dean says, still looking at the two bottles in his hands.

“Unless…”

“Unless what?” Dean asks. Sam gives him a slightly embarrassed look as he shifts uncomfortably in his chair.

“Unless she’s…ya know…” Sam turns a hint of pink. “Pregnant?” Dean stares at his younger brother, unblinking. The two sit in silence for what feels like an eternity before Dean finally pushes his chair back to stand.

“Need some air,” he chokes out, heading for the stairs out of the bunker as fast as he can. Sam frowns as he watches his older brother.

“Oh boy,” he mumbles, reaching to clean up the bottles.

Half an hour or so later, you’ve finished your shower and dressed for bed. You’re just towel drying your hair when there’s a cough at the bedroom door behind you. Turning, you find Dean, his hands behind his back and the goofiest of grins on his face.

“What’s gotten into you?” You ask, laughing. He steps into the room and carefully closes the door behind himself. “I think I like where this is going…” He freezes and looks at you. Confusion and fear mix on his face.

“Is that safe?” He asks. That takes you aback. Is what safe? Is sex safe? Had he completely lost his mind?

“Wh-what??”

“I know,” he says with a sigh. You continue to stare at him in confusion. What the hell was he on about?

“I’m glad someone does. Care to enlighten me?” You ask. He lets out a small laugh as he steps over to you. You realize now that his hands were still behind his back. “What have you got?” He takes a deep breath before holding up the item he’d been concealing. Your eyes widen in absolute horror.

A pink onesie.

Daddy’s Princess written in the most god-awful, golden, glittery script.

“I know,” Dean says again. You take a moment to steady yourself, still trying to figure out what is happening. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you inhale deeply.

“What exactly do you know, Dean?” You ask.

“You…you’re pregnant, right?” He asks. “Sam noticed that you switched our drinks and…”

You cut him off with a curse and collapse onto the edge of the bed behind you. What you had assumed was a masterful performance had been seen through. You were busted.

“I’m not pregnant, Dean,” you confess, running your hands over your face.

“Oh.” He looks at the tiny garment in his hand and awkwardly lays it on top of the desk beside him. Without saying a word, he walks over and sits next to you on the bed. “So…what’s going on then?”

“It’s so stupid,” you mutter.

“Y/N, come on. We tell each other everything,” he says, hand coming to rest on your knee once again. You look up at him and nod. He was right of course.

“I don’t drink. I’ve been pretending to since…since we met. Cause it was easier than having this conversation. No. It’s not because of some religious thing. It’s not because of some health thing. It’s not because I’m pregnant,” you say, giving him a pointed look. “I just…don’t like it.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. He hesitates for a moment before speaking again. “I’m sorry if I…made you feel pressured or anything.”

“No. Dean,” you sigh and shake your head. “Of course not. You didn’t know. You were just…being polite.”

“I…I get that you didn’t really want to have this conversation but…I just don’t understood why you hide it from me of all people,” he says. He was hurt now. You could tell. Of course he was. You’d been lying to him for years at this point. You’d be hurt too.

“Honestly?” You ask. “It…just…seems to be…a fairly large part…of your life…” You say the words slowly, trying to find the right ones. You don’t want it to sound like…

“Are you saying I’m an alcoholic?” He asks. That. You didn’t want it to sound like that.

“No. Of course not. I’m just…saying…” You frown more. “You seem to like it as much as I dislike it.” He nods as he mulls this over for a moment. You bite your lip as you watch him, hoping you haven't overstepped.

“Does it bother you?” He asks. “How much I drink?”

“Sometimes,” you admit. He nods once again then shrugs his shoulders.

“Then I’ll cut back,” he says. You stare at him in disbelief and immediately try to disagree but he holds up a hand. “Hey. If we’re really committed to this, to us, then we gotta compromise, right? That’s what couples do. If I’m doing something that bothers you, I need to fix it.”

“You would do that?” You ask, suddenly on the brink of tears. It was such a sweet gesture, you almost couldn’t believe it.

“I’m not saying I’m going cold turkey or that I’ll ever fully stop but…I’ll ease up,” he says. You smile widely as you throw your arms around him. The two of you fall back onto the bed, tangled up in each other’s arms.

“Everyone else has either laughed me off as being childish or just didn’t care about my opinion at all,” you tell him. He smirks and shrugs.

“That’s what you get for comparing me to all those losers in your past,” he teases, squeezing your sides. You laugh and try to get away but he only pulls you closer. Your head comes to rest on his chest and you sigh heavily.

“Is there anything I do that bothers you? It’s only fair I ask in return,” you say. He’s quiet for a moment as he thinks.

“Yea, actually,” he says. You look up at him, expectantly. “Your clothes are highly offensive. I don’t think you should wear them anymore.” Before you can even react, he begins to undress you. You can’t help but laugh as he peels your shirt off.

“Idiot,” you mumble before kissing him. His fingers thread into your hair as he deepens the kiss. He finally breaks away from your lips and begins to make his way down your neck to your collarbone. “Thank you for understanding,” you tell him softly.

“Of course,” he says between kisses and gentle nips. “Besides…I’d rather just be drunk on you.” You throw your head back laughing and shake your head, pushing away from him.

“No. No, that was way too cheesy. I’m out,” you tell him. He gives you a crooked smile before quickly flipping you onto your back on the bed. You had to admit…getting drunk on Dean was just your kind of wasted.

***

Forever Tags: @roseblue373

Jensen Tags: @call-me-mrs-winchester

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

Sam Week Day 1: Fusions: your culture, field of study, science, space, favourite shows/books, interest, etc, & Sam Winchester

I thought how to do a story with Sam and archaeology (my field of study/job), and I felt that having it as an elective at Stanford was the easy way out, so I decided to take a bit of a different route with it that I think is hopefully a more interesting take. I acknowledge that the DK Archaeology book was published a bit late for this to make sense with the age I'm picturing Sam here, but I am taking creative license for the sake of a book I could actually picture the inside of having had a copy myself as a kid lol.

----

Also on Ao3

----

Sam crouched by the payphone, gloved hands clutching at his forearms, crossed tight across his chest, back pressed up against the wall, in the hopes that he could, somehow, absorb some of the dim warmth, last of the day’s sun captured in the rough brick. It was the eighth night. The eighth night of the same routine. Six o’clock, sharp, Dad liked punctuality, made a point of it, (except for himself, a treacherous voice whispered at the back of his mind). Every night, six on the dot, waiting, just waiting for the phone to ring, like Dad promised, like Dean promised.

Sam glanced at his watch, 6:40, he’d give it twenty minutes more; he always did. The cold was really starting to seep in now, fingertips turning numb even through the thick wool. He stood to his feet, stamping them, jumped up and down a couple of times, stopped, cupped his hands and brought them to his lips, blowing a puff of warm air into the pocket created between them, trying to trap it there. It didn’t work, of course. He looked at his watch again. Less than a minute had passed. He swept a glove through his bangs, pushing them back from his face, more habit than anything, a sigh escaping his chest, this time the precious warmth of his breath forming a fog, tiny water droplets twinkling in the glow from the streetlamp overhead. He reached into the worn leather satchel slung over his left shoulder and pulled out a book.

He squatted back down and ran his fingers over the cover, a copy of the Dorling Kindersley Eyewitness Guide to Archaeology, it had been laminated at some point, long enough ago that it was starting to yellow, crack, and peel at the corners. He thumbed it open, skipping guiltily past the rubberstamped library card at the front that gave away its origins. It wasn’t entirely his fault; they’d left in a hurry, in the dead of night, two days before he’d been expecting them to, in the circumstances, perhaps, he could be forgiven. He flicked through to the page that he’d been fixating on lately, a cleverly arrayed and neatly labelled double spread illustrating the tools of the trade. There were things he was all too familiar with, a shovel primarily amongst them, but what fascinated him were all the tiny, delicate little trowels, picks, and brushes. The book said they were used for excavating skeletons. 

Dad had brought him along on a ton of salt and burns in the last year, put Sam to work digging down, down, down, until THUNK the spade hit wood, or metal, depending mostly on the age and status of the person buried down there (something he’d learnt about in another book he didn’t accidentally steal). Once, they’d dug down expecting to find a coffin, but instead of a satisfying thud, there had been a snick, and a POP as the steel edge sliced through a crumbling shroud and struck the skull, the cranium, and punched a hole straight through it.

There was nothing careful or delicate about what they did.

He liked to imagine it, taking your time to reverently sweep away the dirt that had spent so much time accumulating, drawing and documenting, and gradually piecing together the puzzle. That was his favourite bit of researching ghost cases, finding out about the people, their lives, the places they had lived and died in, the things they had held precious, been buried with. It always seemed such a waste, just to burn it.

Dring-dring

Sam lept to his feet, hastily stuffing the book back into the satchel, scrambling desperately for the receiver. He lifted it to his ear, breath held tight in his chest, hoping, just hoping.

“Heya Sammy!”

“Dean!” Sam exclaimed, the air rushing back out of his lungs, his voice pitching higher, more excitable than he might have intended.

“Sorry about the wait.” Dean sounded slightly strained on the other end of the line, but not in pain, not trying to hide some catastrophe from him.

“S’ok” Sam replied softly, fighting to keep his voice steady, to stop the tide of relief and release of pent-up anxiety crashing over him and drowning him under it.

“Dad’s sorry too.” There was a long pause. Sam was sure Dad hadn’t asked Dead to pass on any apologies, but he appreciated the sentiment.

“When will you be back?” Sam asked, he hated asking that, his voice always sounded so small, needy.

“Good couple of days yet, Dad reckons.”

Sam’s heart dropped. He didn’t respond.

“Sam? You still there?” sudden sharp concern.

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry.”

He heard a little puh,  Dean letting out a sigh, the air hitting the speaker of the mouthpiece of his payphone receiver. Sam pictured him, probably also fighting off the cold, his fingertips pale blue because he never wore gloves, not even the ones Sam had given him for Christmas, whilst Dad sat in front of the TV in the motel, waiting for him to return. A strange kind of jealousy flared up in the pit of his stomach at the thought of having someone to return to, quickly tempered by the remembrance that the person was Dad in the middle of a hunt.

“Hey, Sammy, guess what?” Dean asked, suddenly animated.

Sam shrugged, and then remembered his brother couldn’t see him, and said “what?”

“There’s a video-store in town and I maaay have swiped something whilst dad was interviewing a witness couple of days back.”

“Dean!” Sam chided.

“Don’t get on your high and mighty, Sam! Anyways, it’s an Indiana Jones flick. Last Crucade, the one we haven’t seen yet!” Sam could feel Deam beaming even without being able to see his face, he smiled softly in response. “You’re still into that archaeology shit, right?”

Sam rolled his eyes affectionately. Dean never missed the opportunity to poke fun at Sam’s propensity to pick up and get absorbed in new interests. “Yeah, I am. You know, Indiana Jones isn’t really anything like what actual archaeologists -”

“Yeah, yeah. But it's got hot chicks, and snake pits, and nazis, and I’ve heard someone FACE gets melted off in this one!” Sam could practically hear Dean bouncing around on his toes at the thought.

“Sounds good.” It was really more Dean’s thing, but it was rare that he made any real effort to join in something Sam was into; this was close enough.

There was a faint noise somewhere on Dean’s end of the call, maybe a door banging shut. “Sorry, Sammy, gotta go.”

“Ok. Dean?”

“Yeah Sammy?”

Sam took in a breath, looked around at the vacant parking lot, leaned forward enough to see through the window of his bleak, empty room. He thought about returning there, to nothing and no one, just the whirring click of a broken heater for company. “Nothing. See you soon Dean.” It was almost like saying “I miss you” as close as he was allowed to get.

“See ya, Sammy.”

There was a click, the line went dead. @seasononesam @suncaptor

[aylacavebear]

Innuendos

Hunting with the brothers had been interesting at first. You were used to hunting alone, thanks to what you were. But when you crossed their path on a werewolf case, and after several hours of convincing, they decided to give you a chance. Luckily, Cas had helped on that front; the only angel you were friends with happened to be their friend as well. Two months later, they offered you a room in the bunker that was their home. Here it was, six months later, and you’d been trying and failing, to catch Dean’s eye.

Word Count: 4693

Dean x OC Reader/You

Warnings: Lots of Innuendos, some Fluff, some Angst, Dean being Dean (yes, this is a warning).

AN: Sorry I don't have the next Soulmate chapter up but wanted to give everyone something today. I hope you all like this one.

----------------------------------------- It was late afternoon, but being in the bunker, you couldn’t tell, thanks to the lack of windows. The library mostly quiet, the occasional clicking of keys from Sam’s laptop or the turning of the pages from the book in front of you. Dean was leaned back in his chair, flipping through another book, sipping a glass of whiskey like he didn’t have a care in the world.

You glanced up at him without moving, knowing the motion would have pulled his attention. The man was infuriating you. For the last month, you had done everything you could think of to get his attention. Bed shorts hadn’t worked, no matter what top you had paired them with. An elegant black evening gown paired with simple heels for a case hadn’t even earned you more than a single compliment.

Not even regular jeans with any top worked, either. I need something sweet. The moment you moved to get up, you felt both their eyes on you, but you ignored it and headed into the kitchen. In the freezer, hiding in the back behind the vegetables, were your freezer pops. You licked your lips, pulling out one of your favorite flavors. 

After slipping off the plastic covering and throwing it away, you slipped the chilled deliciousness between your lips and returned to your seat in the library, not even glancing at the brothers. You held the stick in your hand but would occasionally let go of it to turn the next page, holding it carefully in your mouth between your lips. 

Dean hadn’t moved when you returned to the library, but now his eyes were on you and the way you slid that popsicle in and out of your mouth between your soft lips. It was the only time he couldn’t keep his eyes off you, imagining something else between your lips. He’d spent the last six months trying to keep things to just friendship, just hunting, but you were making it utterly difficult for him.

Those damned sleep shorts of yours always made his cock stir, and he had to deliberately think of anything, but you pinned under him on any surface. It was that dress that had taken his breath away. He lost track of the demon they were supposed to be watching three different times that night, watching you just mingle with the other people there. The things you wore daily, though, that was where he was having the hardest time, literally. Your jeans hugged your curves in all the right places, sending his mind on tangents he knew he shouldn’t be having.

And to top things off, you were teasing him with a fucking popsicle. He swore you were doing it on purpose. Dean couldn’t give in, though, not after all the shit he gave Sam after the Ruby incident, even if you were nothing like her. You weren’t a demon, and you weren’t attempting to start the apocalypse. Then there was the werewolf Sam had slept with, who tried to kill him that same night. When you noticed him staring at you, you popped the popsicle out of your mouth, your elbow leaning on the table next to the book. “You okay?” 

Your voice instantly pulled Dean from his thoughts, clearing his throat and shifting in his seat, returning his gaze to his book. “Yup,” he replied, as casually as he could manage with what was going through his head, thanks to that popsicle and your lips.

Your brows dipped, now curious as to why he’d been staring at you. Was he just zoning off in my direction? He didn’t look back over at you, though. The way his nose was stuck in that book almost made you wonder if he had an issue of Busty Asian Beauties hiding inside. Just before the popsicle could drip, you stuck your tongue out, catching the drop before it could fall, then sucked on it sideways to get some extra juices.

The movement was not lost on Dean, but this time, you caught his gaze and the hunger in his eyes, which had nothing to do with the popsicle. It’s about fucking time, you thought to yourself as you deliberately teased him while sucking on your popsicle. All the while, you kept your attention on the book before you. 

Sam glanced between the two of you, wondering just how much longer his brother was going to manage to hold out. It wasn’t like your advances had been subtle, while at the same time, you weren’t throwing yourself at him, either. He’d confronted his brother about it a few times, but Dean always responded the same way, brushing the topic aside. 

While helping the two with research, your mind was in two places: the case and how you were going to tease the hell out of Dean until he couldn’t take it anymore. It wasn’t that you only wanted sex from him. If that was all you wanted, you would have just picked up some random guy from a bar for a night. Near dinner time, you needed to give your eyes a break. You’d been reading for hours and no closer to finding the information you’d been looking for. Dean let his gaze follow you to the kitchen, watching as your hips swayed gently as you walked, unable to keep from licking his lips.

“How long do you plan on ignoring her?” Sam asked without looking up from his laptop.

Dean’s head snapped to his brother, realizing he hadn’t been nearly as sly about watching you as he thought he had. “I don’t know what you mean,” deciding to play dumb on this one.

Sam chuckled, “Dude, she likes you. She has for a while. Why not-” 

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off in that tone that typically meant to drop the topic.

“I’m just saying,” Sam continued, ignoring Dean’s tone and finally looking over at him. “She’s nice. Plus, you two have a lot in common. What the hell are you so worried about?”

Dean sighed, knowing Sam wasn’t going to drop this, and straightened up in his chair. “She’s a Touched. I can’t.”

Sam just shook his head. “Really? That’s what this is about. She’s not human, so you won’t go past being just friends?” 

Dean set the book down, then picked up his drink, tossing it back and finishing it off, wishing it would help the thoughts in his head stop. “It’s one thing to be friends with certain supernatural creatures. It’s another to…” he paused, glancing briefly to the kitchen. “It’s just not right. She should be with her own kind.” There was a hint of longing in his tone that Sam didn’t miss.

“Kinda hard since she’s the only one of her kind,” Sam sighed, returning his attention to his laptop and the research at hand.

Of course, he’d have to say that. Now I feel guilty. Dean had hoped they’d find others like you, but even Cas had confirmed that you were alone. He also knew you couldn’t have a normal relationship with just anyone. The thought of you in a relationship with someone made his stomach twist in a weird way, and he didn’t like it.

It wasn’t much longer after that when you returned to the library, but you didn’t sit down. “I’m gonna go watch a movie, then hit the sack.” You had a sucker in your hand, then cupped your tongue before sucking on it for a moment, only barely keeping Dean in your peripheral view.

When his eyes found you, he clenched his jaw. She’s definitely doing it on purpose. He’d never wanted to be a sucker so badly in his life, the way you twisted it over your tongue, sucking it into your mouth, then pulling it halfway out to rest between your lips. Then, you’d do it all over again. Dean shifted slightly in his seat, trying to relieve the growing pressure against his jeans. Damnit woman.

“Alright. See you in the morning,” Sam replied nonchalantly, finally glancing over at you. An amused half-smirk found his lips when he saw the sucker, then he turned away, shaking his head a bit. She knows. Dean’s in trouble now. 

“Sleep well,” Dean coughed out, leaning his arms on the table and attempting to focus on the book again. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, he was conflicted. He wanted to be closer to you, but at the same time, it scared the shit out of him.

You smirked, knowingly, “Night, guys. Don’t stay up all night.” And with that, you headed to your room, a light skip to your step. Sam just waved you on while Dean watched you walk away.

Once in your room, you changed into sleep shorts and a slightly baggy shirt, your favorite pajama combination for comfort. You got comfortable on your bed with your laptop, pulled up a movie, and enjoyed it while thinking of all the new ways you were going to tease Dean until he gave in enough for you to confront him.

—--------------------------

Over the next month, you took every opportunity you could find with every item of food that you could eat in any sort of teasing way. The man had a stubborn streak, and now it was a battle of wills. Who would give in first? Him out of sexual frustration, or you out of just sheer frustration of feeling invisible to him.

There were all sorts of foods that you managed to find. Pickles had been interesting to tease him with, sucking the juices out while also needing to suck the juices off of it. Then there were bananas. Dean did his damnest not to watch or let you catch him watching, but he wasn’t always as slick as he tried to be. 

You kept suckers on hand, even keeping one or two in the pockets of your jeans to easily tease him at any given moment. One time, you thought you heard him groan before he shifted in his seat, but even with your hearing, it was nearly inaudible. Sam was doing his best to keep his composure, finding the entire thing hilarious while also wanting the two of you to be happy. Any utensil you ate with, you made sure to wrap your lips carefully around each bite. Strawberries and whipped cream had been fun to eat in front of him, even if he didn’t seem to be reacting outwardly much. You could smell the change in his scent, smirking slightly. Dean thought it had been difficult before to keep his thoughts in check, but now you were making it utterly impossible. He had lost count of how many times he’d had to take care of himself due to the way you were teasing him, incessantly these days. You had even managed to make eating bacon look far more delicious than just the flavor of it. He really wasn’t sure how much longer he could last before he finally snapped, mainly from sexual frustration and the fears that wouldn’t leave him.

Sam had finally had enough of it and needed a break a week into the second month. “I’m heading out to make a supply run,” he stated, already heading toward the garage.

“I’ll go with you,” Dean told him quickly, rising from where he sat in the library.

“No. You’re gonna stay here. I need a break from this- whatever it is between you and Y/N.” Sam stated bluntly, not even slowing down before disappearing into the garage, leaving Dean where he stood between the library and the war room. Thankfully for Dean, you were currently in the Dean Cave watching a movie.

With a huff, he returned to his seat and his drink, lost in thought. Things between the two of you had gotten quite tense. He just had no idea what the right course of action was. You were a supernatural creature, a Touched. He wasn’t supposed to get closer than friendship, and that was what he constantly told himself. It was far easier than letting the emotions surface that terrified him.

“Where’s Sam,” your voice behind him made him jump. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

Dean took a deep breath. He didn’t want to turn around, not with what you’d chosen to wear for the day. Those damned cut-off jean shorts and the tank top that hugged your curves and accentuated the plumpness of your breasts. It was driving him up the wall, even if he wasn’t letting it show.

“He went on a supply run,” he replied without looking over at you, sipping his whiskey and attempting to focus on his laptop. When you heard the frustration in his tone, you went over and sat adjacent to him, watching him for a few moments. “You okay?” concern laced into your words, pulling Dean’s gaze. The two of you were friends, after all.

The way your hair dipped partially over your shoulders, framing your face, made his breath hitch in his chest. Then there was the softness in your eyes, a stark contrast to the look you typically gave him when you would tease him. “Yeah. Just hope he doesn’t forget the pie this time,” Dean replied, trying to keep his thoughts from wandering.

Something in the way he looked at you made you tilt your head a bit, like there was something he wanted to say but was refusing to. “Why don’t you like me like you do human women?” you finally asked him, figuring now was as good a time as any to broach the topic.

It was the question he didn’t want to answer. Hell, how could he without sounding like a complete jerk? Dean had thought about it far too frequently since meeting you, and it only got worse as the days passed. “I don’t know what you mean,” he played dumb, trying to bide for time.

You deadpanned at his response, knowing he was playing dumb, but at the same time, not sure you wanted to call him on. With a sigh, you looked away from him, ignoring the hurt his words had brought. “Never mind,” you mumbled before just walking away, which had Dean cursing under his breath.

Two weeks later, it was your turn to go on a supply run, and god knew you needed to get out of the bunker before you went stir-crazy. There hadn’t been a single case, and it was driving you crazier than it was the brothers. Once you left, though, Sam was going to take the opportunity to confront his brother.

Dean was scrolling through a webpage, looking for a case on his laptop, sipping a glass of whiskey, and thankful you had been the one to go out. He needed a breather from you, even if you had stopped teasing him with anything you put in your mouth. At the moment, he was desperately trying to push aside the thought of you sucking on a popsicle. 

Sam was only partially paying attention to what he was scrolling through, glancing often at his brother, carefully debating his words before finally leaning back in his seat. “So, what’s up with you and Y/N?” 

The sudden break in the silence made Dean jump, “Nothing’s up. We’re friends and hunting partners,” he answered absentmindedly, not wanting to talk about it.

Crossing his arms, Sam continued watching him, wondering if he could get to the truth Dean was clearly hiding. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you. She likes you.” Dean gave Sam a dumb look, like he had no idea what he was talking about. Playing stupid was easier than arguing with him right now, at least for Dean. “No she doesn’t. She’s just naturally nice,” he countered, as it wasn’t a complete lie. You were naturally nice, to everyone.

“You really are an idiot,” Sam sighed, shaking his head. “That, or you’re playing dumb.” He met his brother's gaze, determined to get him to see the truth. “She likes you. She might even have a crush on you. I know you aren’t blind. Y/N has tried everything short of stripping in front of you to get your attention. What’s keeping you from seeing how things might go between the two of you? If only Sam knew that you’d almost done that, walking from the bathroom clad in only a towel on more occasions than Dean cared to admit to. “Just drop it, Sam.” Dean attempted to stop the conversation dead in its tracks. Sam just stared at his brother for a moment, debating his next set of words, carefully. “What are you so afraid of then? That you’ll lose her? She can’t die.” Dean practically glared at him, sucking his teeth as his jaw clenched slightly. “She may not be able to die, but that doesn’t mean a monster couldn’t use her to get to me.” “So, you’re going to take away her choice in the matter. If a monster wanted to use her, they already could because she hunts with us. Or did you forget about that part?” Sam countered, an almost proud, slightly smug smirk on his lips as he crossed his arms.

Far too many things went through Dean’s brain that he quickly dismissed letting out of his mouth. What argument could he use that Sam wouldn’t counter with some other sort of logic? Yeah, you were a Touched, a supernatural creature, but at the same time, you were so human. “I just can’t, alright,” Dean stated, but there was no conviction in his tone.

Sam’s expression softened as his heart went out to his brother’s plight. “Would you stop worrying about things you can’t control? I really think the two of you could be happy together. I wish you could see that.” The compassion in his words made Dean look away from him and back at the laptop.

Dean hated the logic his brother used and even though he was staring at the current webpage, looking for a case, his mind was elsewhere. He didn’t want to admit that he not only found you physically attractive but that you had one of the kindest souls he had ever met. Then, there was everything in between.

You were a smartass, sassy, stubborn, and confident. It was those moments when he had caught you purring that he had to fight against. The sound pulled at him, wanting to feel the vibrations against his body. He and Sam had both looked up information on cats, especially when you would sit on things that typically weren’t meant for sitting.

Dean ran a hand through his hair just as Sam opened his mouth again. “I know you don’t think you’re worth her affection or that somehow you’ll bring her down into your darkness. Personally, I think she’s exactly what you need, and you’re what she needs.” And with that, Sam went back to his laptop, letting Dean stew over the things he had said.

—---------------------------

The store had been far busier than your liking, but you did manage to get everything on the list. You weren’t much of a people person, but just being out of the bunker for a few hours had been precisely what you needed. A couple of guys flirted with you in the store, so you had flirted back, but left it at that. You didn’t want to admit that you more than liked Dean, feeling utterly stupid for falling for a hunter. When you pulled into the bunker’s garage and parked, you let your head fall against the top of the steering wheel. “Stupid emotions,” you mumbled as you turned off the engine with a sigh.

After taking a deep breath, you got out of your car and began grabbing the groceries, loading your arms up with several bags. You were trying not to be lost in your thoughts, but these days, that was nearly impossible, and when you stepped through the garage door, you bumped right into Dean.

He quickly reached out and held your upper arms to keep you from falling just as your eyes met his. “Sorry,” you quickly apologized, then moved past him toward the kitchen.

Dean followed you with his eyes as his brow furrowed slightly. To him, you seemed off. “Talk to her,” Sam told him in a hushed tone, walking past him into the garage to help unload.

An annoyed groan left Dean’s lips as he followed his brother, grabbing the last of the bags, but when he grabbed the last one, his heart fluttered. You hadn’t forgotten his pie. You never forgot his pie. That realization made his head snap up and to the garage door. Sam had been right, and it was in all the little things that had nothing to do with you teasing the hell out of him.

He sighed as his head fell a little, making his way into the kitchen to join you and Sam. The two of you were moving around each other as you both put things away. Sam teasing you at the moment because you were short and couldn’t reach to put the flour in the cabinet. Dean chuckled to himself as he set the bags down on the island, then began helping to put it all away.

Your focus was on the groceries, forcing yourself not to look at Dean. When he had kept you from stumbling earlier, you swore you had stopped breathing for a moment with as close as he was. Then there was the warmth of his hands through your flannel, and before you could let your mind or emotions wander, you had to pull away.

If I was human…

The thought made you frown as you put the six-pack of beer in the fridge. Just focus on the groceries, you kept telling yourself, and it helped you do just that. So much so that you didn’t notice Dean give his brother a look or that Sam had left the kitchen only moments later. You were focusing on the cereal at the moment, moving the open boxes so you could put the new ones in the back.

“Thanks, for remembering the pie,” Dean told you, both appreciative and tenderly.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, keeping your eyes on your task. Now is not the time to get lost in his eyes, you told yourself.

You felt him standing near you, but you couldn’t let yourself look over at him. “Want some help?” he asked, a little nervous that he was letting himself get this close to you.

“It’s okay. I’ve got it,” you replied, keeping your tone as normal as possible.

Dean frowned, This is harder than I thought. He watched you as you slipped another new box of cereal into the cabinet, standing on your tiptoes to do so. It brought a slight smirk to his lips, but he reached up, setting his hand over yours to help you push the box further onto the shelf. His touch made you jump a little, your heart sped up, and it felt like it was hard to take a deep breath. You opened your mouth to say something, but no words came out. He hadn’t moved his hand from yours, even after the box of cereal was put away and you tried to grab another one. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, still looking down at you.

Goosebumps danced their way down your arms as you dared to look up at him. There was something in his eyes that you were almost afraid to acknowledge. As your mind raced, you kept your emotions masked. “Sorry for what?” you asked, tilting your head just a bit in that curious cat way Dean always found adorable. Playing completely clueless seemed easier than hoping.

She’s gonna make me say it, he thought to himself, groaning internally. He’d never been good with words. “For the other day. I do like you. I just don’t want to…” he answered nervously, but still hadn’t taken his hand off yours even after you rested it on the countertop. You could see his internal struggle, although you didn’t completely understand why he’d be having one. The way you watched him curiously brought a small smile to his lips. He couldn’t help it since he’d said he liked you. “Don’t want to what?” you asked, more curious than you were a moment ago, especially when you saw that smile toying with his lips.

He took a shaky breath, giving himself a mental pep-talk that he could do this. Monsters were easy to deal with. Being vulnerable like this, with you, that scared the shit out of him. “...lose you,” he whispered, swallowing down the lump in his throat at the mere thought of it. 

Even though you weren’t his, he couldn’t lose you, not to a monster. But if you rejected him or walked away, that would have hurt more. He didn’t want more pain, more loss, and you could see it in his eyes. 

Dean watched as your expression softened and nearly jumped when he felt your palm against his chest over his heart. “You can’t lose me. I’m in here,” you whispered.

Without warning, he pulled you against him, one hand cupping your cheek, the other on your hip as his lips found yours. He groaned into your lips when you kissed him back with just as much passion as he had. Then there was the way your fingers tangled in his hair, and he knew he was a goner. 

Your other hand was still over his heart, but now you were holding onto his shirt as your eyes closed, getting lost in the moment. Please don’t let me be dreaming. Wanting to be that much closer to him, you stood on your tiptoes, deepening the kiss further. His lips felt like soft pillows against your own, and when his tongue teased your lips, asking for entrance, you parted your lips so your tongues could dance.

Neither of you noticed Sam leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen, arms crossed with the biggest smile on his face. It’s about fucking time. And with that thought, he went back to the library, back to his research, praying that the two of you would finally find some peace in each other’s arms.

He eventually pulled away, but only far enough so he could rest his forehead against yours. Your lips were everything he had imagined in his mind and so much more. His heart was pounding, his breathing ragged, his nerves buzzing, and you saw all of it when he looked into your eyes again.

A smirk slowly found your lips. It was playful, mischievous, teasing, and it had Dean’s heart fluttering as his breath hitched in his chest. There were questions behind your gaze, but there was something else, something he didn’t want to hope for.

You leaned up, “Bet you taste better than a popsicle,” you whispered teasingly, then pulled away, still smirking as you sauntered out of the kitchen.

Dean’s jaw nearly hit the floor as he watched you. He figured the two of you would take things far slower than what you had insinuated, and for a moment, all he could do was stand there, dumbfounded. A moment or two passed before he could shake his head and come back to his senses. Then he dashed out of the kitchen, finding you only halfway through the war room.

Minx. He licked his lips, a knowing smirk finding them afterward as he began to move toward you just as you looked over your shoulder. He’d know that look anywhere. That come get me look, and it was all for him. Just as he took another step toward you, you giggled and took off toward the hallway.

A deep, needy groan rumbled in his chest as he chased after you, your laughter only spurring him on. Sam just sat at the library table, trying to focus on his laptop, but upon hearing the two of you like this, he smiled, knowing that you’d both find something with each other that neither of you were ready to voice.

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