mostly fluff, nerdy yearning bf!clark x partner!reader
guys! i desperately need ideas on who/what to write about! give me requests pleaseeeee
· · â ·ÊÉ· â · ·
۶ৠclark kent who would whine and whine to jimmy anytime heâd see you talking to another man, despite you two not even dating yet.
۶ৠclark kent who memorizes everything that you like, giving you random gifts of your favorite flowers or books just to receive your attention.
۶ৠclark kent who basically begged for you to say yes when he finally grew enough confidence to ask you to be his girlfriend. correction, he asked if youâd let him be your boyfriend.
۶ৠclark kent who was too shy to do anything in the relationship at first, letting you take the lead in everything because he was so afraid heâd break you.
۶ৠclark kent who would kiss every part of your body while whispering praises in kryptonian, as if he was placing his mark on your very being.
۶ৠclark kent who stares at you like youâre the only thing in the universe that matters, telling you âyouâve cursed me, thereâs no universe where i survive without youâ
۶ৠclark kent who will dance with you in a pitch black apartment, the only lighting being from the street lights outside and the fridge light.
۶ৠclark kent who will playfully complain when you steal one of his shirts, but deep down feels a possessive feeling when he knows that everyone you wear it around will know your his
۶ৠclark kent who will kiss your tears away when you cry, whispering sweet nothings as he cradles you against his chest.
۶ৠclark kent who will fly across the damn globe to get a snack you said you wanted to try that you saw on some video on your phone, then laugh when you scold him for doing that.
۶ৠclark kent who will fall to his knees in front of you just to be eye level with you while you sat down after an argument, begging for you to not be mad at him because what is he if the only person he needs in the world isnât talking to him?
۶ৠclark kent who would immediately shower your face in kisses, cleaning you up right after finishing, offering to make you food or even bathe you.
۶ৠclark kent whose favorite thing in the world was to hold you, cuddle you, or just simply hold your hand. just loving having physical contact with you in general.
۶ৠclark kent who calls you nerdy names like baby cakes, baby, sweetness, sweet thing, etcâŠ
Summary: you ask Clark to choke you. He does. Kind of.
Tw: 18+ mdni, smut, pwp, Clarkâs pov, established relationship, size kink, praise kink, super safe choking bc itâs Clark, unprotected piv, squirting, cum inflation, creampies. No movie spoilers.
A/n: I need him, yâall. Fell hard and fast for this huge, kind, hot af nerd. Was literally screaming into the pillow while writing this story lol I hope youâll enjoy reading it<3 dividers by @/saradika-graphics
MASTERLIST
âPleaseeeeeee,â your needy whine rings loud in the bedroom, filled with golden morning sunlight. Clark shakes his head with a smile, standing at the foot of the bed, while youâre lying there naked, wrapped in the messy sheets. Heâs fighting with his tie, too distracted by you to make the right knotâ youâre so soft and sexy, lips puffy from his kisses, hair disheveled, thighs sticky with his cum. Heâs been making you scream all night, thanks to his super stamina, so your voice is a little raspy as you beg him,
âClark, please.â
You sit up, your lips in a pout, and his eyes dart to your gorgeous breasts. Golly, he wants to fuck you againâŠ
âBaby, you know Iâll do anything for you but ⊠you really want me to choke you?â
You nod eagerly, staring up at him with your pleading eyes.
âWhat if.. what if I hurt you.â Clarkâs face falls, panic grips his heart merely at the thought.
You stand on your knees and move to him, letting the sheets cascade down your body and reveal all of your beauty. How can he say ânoâ to you now? Or ever? And how in hell do you look so cute while asking a 6â4 foot man with infinite power to choke you?
âYou wonât hurt me,â you purr, sitting on your heels. âYou know my body better than I do.â
Your voice is the sweetest honeyâ it drips off your soft lips and gets into every crevice of his soul, charms him, makes him shiver with lust.
âGonna be late for workâŠâ Clark grasps at the last excuse, but heâs already goneâ his eyes are dark and hungry, his giant bulge is impossible to hide and needs to be dealt with. Why not kill two birds with one stoneâ give you what you want and quench his overwhelming thirst?
Clark throws the tie away, raises his big hand and wraps it around your neck, just under your jaw. Your heartbeat increases, your pupils dilate and your lips part as you breathe out, âOh, yes.â Your eyes are full of fiery triumph, the little minx knows sheâs won again, but Clark doesnât mind losing, at least to you.
With his palm resting over your throat, he gently pushes you down on the bed and climbs over your naked body. Heâs probably crinkling his pants, but to hell with them â his baby needs him.
âWould you like a cock with your choking, miss?â he smirks and you whimper a croaky âyes, sirâ, staring up at him with your blown out eyes.
âJesus,â Clark mumbles under his breath, impatiently unbuckling his pants with his free hand. He pulls his cock out, already hard and oozing precum, and wipes the wetness off against your folds. Your moan is interrupted with his kiss â soft and sweet, so contrasting to what you want him to do.
While his tongue is sliding over your lower lip, his fingers gently massage your delicate neck. He parts from you and watches your beautiful face, slowly pushing his giant cock into your wet little hole. Someone would say that taking this monstrosity is a rough sex as is, but nothing is enough for you, his little overachiever.
He begins feeding you his cock inch by inch, and you both whine when his fat crown kisses your cervix. Heâs not fully inside, he canât be â his member is so long, you usually jerk the leftover shaft with your hands, but right now he needs them elsewhere.
Clark rolls the shirt sleeve up and places your palms on his hairy forearm.
âScratch if you want me to stop, baby.â
Heâd never hurt you, youâre right, and he wonât take that risk, even if itâs minuscule. Even if you asked so nicely. So avoiding the major arteries and veins on the side of your neck, the Larynx, Hyoid bone, and Thyroid Cartilage in your throat, he moves his long fingers and thumb back and finds your neck muscles. Your eyes light up when he applies a slight pressure there, giving you a sense of total submission without putting your life in danger â a giant hand around a throat will make anyone believe that theyâre choking. Your breaths become shorter, more intense as youâre gripping his thick hairy forearm.
God knows heâs using 0.000000000001% of his strength, holding your throat rather than choking it, but you offered your neck, your life to him, and the thrill makes his cock throb harder in your cunt, his heart expanding with gratitude and love.
Clark pulls out just a little and thrusts in again, making your eyes roll back and your lips part with a loud moan. His cock is in heaven, your tits are jiggling, while heâs pumping in and out of your tight pussy. He grits his teeth, trying not to come before you and fucks you harder, your mewls and his groans filling the room.
âCâmon, baby, come on it,â he gruffs and applies pressure up to your jaw just slightly. Your core begins tightening around his thumping member, he tilts his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and⊠Here it is, he feels it coming â you squeeze your eyes shut and squirt all over his cock and thighs, wetting the sheets and his pants.
While endorphins are flooding your blood, ecstasy spreading fast all over your body, Clark lets go of your neck and kisses you. Youâre sobbing against his lips, shaking under him, tears of pleasure sparkling in your eyes, and he explodes inside your pulsating core, his fresh load mixing with last nightâs and visibly inflating your belly.
After a hard orgasm, you wrap your arms around his neck, breathing heavily, and he rests his head on your chest, holding his weight on the elbows, but covering you whole with his broad body, giving you comfort and seeking it, too.
Not pulling out he kisses the slightly irritated skin on your neck, and you giggle pushing his face away.
âStop it,â you grumble with a fake annoyance, then hold his clean shaven cheeks in your hands and whisper, âThank you.â
âYouâre welcome, my little freak,â he smirks, pinning you down, and starts peepering kisses all over your neck.
Thank you for reading! Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed the fic!
no thoughts just drunk sammy winchester staring at reader with those big ass hazel eyes. That's it. (Lmk if y'all like this)
The Hotel was creepy enough when the dolls werenât staring at you, but with the power flickering and the rain lashing against the window, it was downright suffocating. You found Sam at the small wooden table in the corner of the room, an empty glass in front of him and a bottle of cheap whiskey that was dangerously low.
"Sam?" you called out softly.
He lifted his head, and it seemed to take a monumental effort. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes, and his flannel was rumpled. When his gaze finally landed on you, his pupils were blown wide, pure, heartbroken puppy eyes.
"Youâre back," he slurred, the words tripping over each other.
"I was only gone twenty minutes to get ice," you said, crossing the room to pry the glass out of his oversized hand. "Sam, how much of this did you drink?"
"Enough to stop the⊠the 'visions' for a second," he muttered, reaching for the bottle again. You moved it out of his reach, and he let out a soft, wounded sound that nearly broke your heart. "Don't. Please. Itâs loud in here. Everything is too loud."
You sighed, setting the bottle on the high dresser where he couldn't reach it without standing up. which, in his current state, seemed unlikely.
You walked back and put a hand on his shoulder. "Come on, Sasquatch. Letâs get you to bed."
He didn't argue. He leaned into your touch, his forehead dropping to rest against your stomach. "Youâre so steady," he mumbled into your shirt, his voice muffled and thick with a crush he usually kept locked behind layers of hunter-stoicism. "Always so steady. Why are you even here? You should be⊠somewhere with normal dolls. Not killer ones."
"I'm here because I want to be, Sam. Now, up."
Helping a drunken, six-foot-four Winchester stand up was like trying to stabilize a falling redwood tree. He draped a heavy arm over your shoulders, his body heat radiating through your clothes. He was stumbling, his long legs tangling together, but he kept peering down at you with a lopsided, dazed smile.
"Youâre really pretty," he whispered loudly, his breath smelling like sharp alcohol. "Did I say that? Dean says I shouldn't say it because I'll 'make it weird.' Am I making it weird?"
"Only a little," you laughed, finally walking him toward the bed.
He collapsed onto the mattress with a heavy thud, dragging you down with him. He didn't let go of your hand, his grip was surprisingly firm for someone who couldn't see straight. He rolled onto his side, blinking slowly at you, those hazel eyes swimming with uncharacteristic tears.
"Don't leave," he breathed, his thumb tracing circles over your knuckles. "When I wake up⊠stay?"
The raw vulnerability in his voice was your undoing. You reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair away from his damp forehead. "I'm not going anywhere, Sam. I promise."
He watched you for a moment longer, his eyelids fluttering shut as the whiskey finally won the battle. Even in his sleep, he pulled your hand close to his chest, tucking his chin down as if he were trying to keep a piece of you safe in the middle of his nightmare.
hii! i hope this isnât too forward, but i wanted to ask if you might consider writing a dean winchester x reader story. the reader would be a young woman in her early 20s who struggles with an eating disorder (anorexia) something i personally struggle with, so it would mean a lot to see it portrayed with care. i think it would be really meaningful to show her struggles and dean noticing and supporting her in a kind, understanding way. i always imagine him being by my side and it would just mean so much to me to have something that goes into this direction to read about:)
i completely understand if this isnât something you feel comfortable writing, and i really appreciate you even reading this!! take care and have a great day!!:)
notes. i just hope you know that you're special. to me. to the entire spn community. and i'm sure jensen and jared would love you. so, take care of yourself, because you're precious â
The thing about disappearing is that you get good at it.
You learn how to fold yourself smaller. Quieter. Easier to ignore.
You push food around your plate at diners, laugh it off when Dean raises an eyebrow. âBig lunch,â you say. Or, âStomachâs weird today.â Or, âIâll eat later.â
Later rarely comes.
You tell yourself itâs control. That itâs strength. That itâs something solid in a life that has never been solid.
But Dean watches.
He notices when your jeans hang looser than they did last month. Notices when you get lightheaded standing up too fast. Notices the way your hands shake just slightly when he passes you a burger and you hesitate for half a second too long.
He doesnât call you out in front of Sam.
He doesnât joke.
He just⊠watches.
One night in a cheap motel room, you think youâre being quiet when you sit on the bathroom floor.
You donât mean to cry. It just happens. Silent, frustrated tears because youâre hungry and terrified of being hungry at the same time.
It doesnât make sense.
None of it does.
Thereâs a knock at the door. Soft.
âHey,â Deanâs voice says. Not demanding. Just there. âYou okay?â
You wipe your face quickly. âYeah.â
Silence.
He doesnât buy it.
The door opens slowly. He doesnât look angry. He doesnât look disappointed.
He looks worried.
Thatâs worse.
He crouches in front of you, careful not to crowd your space. Like approaching a wounded animal.
âYou wanna tell me whatâs goinâ on?â he asks quietly.
You shrug, staring at the tiles. âNothing.â
âSweetheart.â
Your throat tightens at that.
He doesnât use pet names lightly.
âYouâre not nothing,â he says. âAnd this? This isnât nothing.â
You shake your head. âIâm fine.â
He studies you for a long moment. And then, very gently, he reaches out and takes your hand.
Your fingers feel small in his.
âIâve seen you take on things that would break most people,â he says. âMonsters. Nightmares. Stuff no one your age should have to carry.â
His thumb brushes over your knuckles.
âBut this?â His voice softens. âThis is fightinâ you from the inside.â
The words land too close.
You look away. âI just⊠I donât feel right in my own skin.â
It comes out barely above a whisper. The truth you never say out loud.
Deanâs jaw tightens, but not at you. Never at you.
He shifts so heâs sitting on the floor with you now, back against the tub. Close enough that your shoulder brushes his.
âYou know what I see?â he asks.
You donât answer.
âI see the girl who outshot me at the range last week.â A faint huff of a smile. âWho patched me up after that vamp nest without flinching.â
His voice dips lower.
âI see someone I love.â
You inhale sharply.
He doesnât look embarrassed. Doesnât backtrack.
âI donât see numbers,â he continues. âI donât see flaws you think are there. I see you.â
Your chest feels tight. âItâs not that simple.â
âI know.â He nods immediately. âI know itâs not.â
Thereâs no fixing tone in his voice. No âjust eat more.â No frustration.
Just understanding that this is real. That itâs heavy.
âBut you donât gotta fight it alone,â he says. âYou donât gotta starve yourself to be worthy of takinâ up space.â
The word starve makes you flinch.
He notices. Of course he does.
âIâm not mad,â he adds quickly. âIâm not disappointed. Iâm just⊠scared of losinâ you to something I canât punch.â
Your eyes sting again.
Dean Winchester is not a man who cries easily.
But thereâs something glassy in his gaze now.
âYou matter,â he says firmly. âMore than whatever voice is tellinâ you you donât.â
You let out a shaky breath. âWhat if I canât shut it up?â
âThen we make it quieter together.â
He stands slowly and offers you his hand.
No pressure.
Just an invitation.
âThereâs pie in the mini fridge,â he says lightly. âWe can split it. No big speeches. Just⊠sit.â
Food still feels like a battlefield.
But his hand is warm. Steady.
You take it.
He doesnât comment when you hesitate over the first bite. Doesnât watch you too closely. Just sits beside you on the motel bed, knee pressed to yours, talking about some dumb classic rock trivia to fill the silence.
Halfway through, you realize youâre not shaking anymore.
Dean bumps your shoulder gently. âSee?â he murmurs.
You lean into him without thinking.
âIâm not goinâ anywhere,â he says, kissing the top of your head. âNot when it gets ugly. Not when it gets hard.â
For the first time in a long while, the voice in your head isnât the loudest thing in the room.
He is.
And heâs saying you deserve to stay.
ê. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule
ââ .⊠requests are currently closed.
i often see writers sharing a sentiment of struggling with writing kiss scenes which honestly bleeds into other portrayals of physical intimacy. i see it a lot in modernized styles of writing popularized by the recent trend in publishing to encourage short, choppy sentences and few adverbs, even less descriptive language. this makes intimacy come across awkward, like someone writing a script or clumsy recounting of events rather than a beautiful paragraph of human connection.
or just plane horniness. but hey, horny doesn't have to be mutually exclusive with poetic or sensual.
shallow example: they kissed desperately, tongues swirling and she moaned. it made her feel warm inside.
in depth example: she reached for the other woman slowly and with a small measure of uncertainty. the moment her fingers brushed the sharp, soft jaw of her companion, eliza's hesitance slid away. the first kiss was gentle when she finally closed the distance between them. she pressed her lips lightly to gabriella's in silent exploration. a tender question. gabriella answered by meeting her kiss with a firmer one of her own. eliza felt the woman's fingers curling into her umber hair, fingernails scraping along her scalp. everything inside eliza relaxed and the nervousness uncoiled from her gut. a warm buzz of energy sunk through her flesh down to the very core of her soul. this was right. this was always where she needed to be.
the first complaint i see regards discomfort in writing a kiss, feeling like one is intruding on the characters. the only way to get around this is to practice. anything that makes you uncomfortable in writing is something you should explore. writing is at its best when we are pushing the envelope of our own comfort zones. if it feels cringy, if it feels too intimate, too weird, too intrusive, good. do it anyway! try different styles, practice it, think about which parts of it make you balk the most and then explore that, dissect it and dive into getting comfortable with the portrayal of human connection.
of course the biggest part comes to not knowing what to say other than "they kissed" or, of course, the tried and true "their lips crashed and their tongues battled for dominance" đ. so this is my best advice: think beyond the mouth. okay, we know their mouths are mashing. but what are their hands doing? are they touching one another's hair? are they scratching or gripping desperately at one another? are they gliding their hands along each other's body or are they wrapping their arms tightly to hold each other close? do they sigh? do they groan? do they relax? do they tense? are they comfortable with each other or giddy and uncertain? is it a relief, or is it bringing more questions? is it building tension or finally breaking it?
get descriptive with the emotions. how is it making the main character/pov holder feel? how are they carrying those emotions in their body? how do they feel the desire in their body? desire is not just felt below the belt. it's in the gut, it's in the chest, it's in the flushing of cheeks, the chills beneath the skin, the goosebumps over the surface of the flesh. everyone has different pleasure zones. a kiss might not always lead desire for overtly sexual touches. a kiss might lead to the desire for an embrace. a kiss might lead to the impulse to bite or lick at other areas. a kiss could awaken desire to be caressed or caress the neck, the shoulder, the back, the arms etc. describe that desire, show those impulses of pleasure and affection.
of course there is the tactile. what does the love interest taste like? what do they smell like? how do they kiss? rough and greedy? slow and sensual? explorative and hesitant? expertly or clumsily? how does it feel to be kissed by them? how does it feel to kiss them?
i.e. examine who these individuals are, what their motives and feelings are within that moment, who they are together, what it looks like when these two individuals come together. a kiss is not about the mouth. it's about opening the door to vulnerability and desire in one's entire body and soul.
They deserved a chance, and sheâs the one woman Dean had that fully understood him! The one woman who actually saw him, who could go toe to toe with him!
It shouldâve been Cassie, not Lisa.
CREDIT: @/samgirlboy (the goat of supernatural edits!)
âŠRead on a03! - Masterlist - Dean MasterlistâŠ
âŠsummary: Dean is known for never forming attachments. Never doing more than a night, never leading on, just loving and leaving. It's better like that. Safer. But for you, he can't stop himself from coming back every time.âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, kind of friends with benefits to lovers, angst, pining, Dean Winchester needs to talk about his feelings and get a hug, fluff, love confessions, light smut, light jealousy, no use of y/nâŠ
âŠauthor's note: I've wanted to do a fic like this for such a long time please enjoy it thank youâŠ
You always open the door.Â
Deanâs told you not to. He has these stupid code-words and questions youâre supposed to askâriddles with strange answers like how do angels take their coffee, they donât they prefer liquor, and does the king of hell like Tuesdays, yes, unless itâs his motherâs birthdayâto make sure that itâs really him. Every time you open the door without asking them, he sighs and gives you a heavy look, refusing to cross the threshold until you play his little game.Â
âYou gotta ask-â
âBut I know itâs you-â
âCould not be me. Could be something wearing my face, sweetheart, weâve talked about this-â
âI know we have.â You cross your arms over your chest. âAnd I told you. I know itâs you.â
Dean makes a face, like he wants to smile. Heâs trying to fight it, to keep the upper hand in the argument, but he always caves. You smile at him, and hold a hand out.Â
âI could be a shifter.â He grunts, crossing his arms like he doesnât trust himself not to take your hand. âCould be possessed. You been keepinâ the holy water like I-â
You toss it on his face, and giggle the way he barely even flinches.Â
Dean wipes his face, eyes shining on yours, and you know youâve won.Â
Again.Â
For a game he insists you play, heâs quite bad at winning.Â
âAlright,â he smirks, slowly advancing through the door. âYouâre gonna get it.â
You back away, smiling widely the whole time, and squeal as he chases you into your tiny apartment. Thereâs not much space for you to runâthereâs barely enough space for Dean to fitâbut you make do. He kicks the door closed and you retreat into the cluttered living room. You try to jump over the couch, but he catches you around the waist and you both fall into the cushion. When you wiggle a little for the show of it, Dean groans and hold you tighter against his chest.Â
He noses at your neck, kissing the soft skin under your jaw, and you keep giggling.Â
His presence does that to you. Makes you feel airy and foolish, the thrill of the coming days already buzzing over your skin, the joy in his return making you dizzy.Â
Because youâre never sure heâs going to return.
Heâs told you that one day, he might not. That if that happens, youâre not allowed to look for him. If youâre lucky, heâll just be dead.Â
âThatâs lucky?â Youâd asked, and heâd chuckled.Â
Youâd been lying on his bare chest, his fingers mindlessly tracing your arm. You know about what he gets up to, when heâs not here. Know about the longer shadows in the world, know why the fifth time he was hereâwhen you both realized that maybe this wasnât the no-strings thing heâd claimed it had to beâhe spent the whole weekend quizzing you about monsters and installing security in your apartment. You have a strange circle on the ceiling of every room that your friends call an interesting decoration choice. Thereâs dead manâs blood in your freezer, holy water in a flask near the door, and an iron poker in your living room, no fireplace to pair with it.Â
And you ask questions. So many questions. Dean says youâre worse than his brother sometimes, and you just kiss his nose because if he really found you annoying, he wouldnât answer or bother to come back.Â
That night, youâd been asking about the worst thing heâd fought. Heâd paused, then said Godâs sister, and forbade you from asking follow-ups.Â
Youâd ignored him. He couldnât just say Godâs sister then keep talking like that wasnât fucking insane. It had only taken about two minutes to push him into saying the whole story. But when heâd finished, a long shadow had crossed his face. Heâd held you a little closer, and given you the order to not look. Youâd asked, because you always did.Â
And heâd entertained you, because he always does.Â
âWorse things than death, sweetheart.â
âLike what.âÂ
âYâknow. Things.â
Youâd given him a flat look. âDean.â
Heâd just smiled back, drawling your name, and youâd lowered yourself down over his face. Hovered an inch away, scanning over his smug, handsome face with narrowed eyes.Â
âIs there like, a Death two that youâre not telling me about?â
Heâd snorted, running his hand through your hair. âDeath two?â
Youâd nodded, and heâd smiled up at you fondly.
âNah. No death two.â
âThen what-â
âItâs- Nothinâ you wanna know about, baby, I promise-â
âHas it happened to you before?â
Dean had fallen silent. Heâd let out a heavy breath, scanning over your face, and youâd dropped your brow over his.Â
âPlease?â Youâd whispered, and back thenâalmost a year ago, nowâyou still hadnât understood why it was so important to know everything about him that you could.Â
Youâd both been playing another one of his games. The one where he reminds you that this means nothing, and you act like that doesnât split your soul in half. The one where Dean says that shit, then spends the whole weekend worshipping your body and treating it like it means everything, slowly stitching you back together. Then he leaves, and you promise him you wonât wait, and you both pretend to believe that you mean it.Â
You always wait. You always take everything he gives you. Collect every little fact and story and scar, and keep them in a special valve in your heart. A reserve, for the time that heâs gone. It acts as a fuel, keeping your love for him burning and alive, each little bit feeding into the others until youâre less spending the pieces like currency, and more adding water to the flow of a river. It sustains itself. It only grows and grows, sacred and gentle.Â
And youâre not sure if Dean feels the exact same. But he keeps coming back. He plays your games, letting you ask all your questions and collect your stories.Â
Dean had rubbed his mouth, looking at you like he couldnât believe what he was seeing, and caved.Â
âThere was this thing.â Heâd said slowly, watching you so cautiously as he spoke. âLittle while before we met. Whole shit with demons and Amara-â
âGodâs sister.â You jump in quickly, because you want him to know you pay attention.Â
Heâd smiled softly. âYeah. Her. Well, sheâd been shoved in a cage, and I was wearing the lock, and- It didnât do good things to me. It messes with your head, makes you⊠Angry. Angry and violent. Turned Lucifer into the devil, made Cain kill his brother, made me⊠Something.â Heâd swallowed, eyes dropping to your chest. âGot me killed. But it doesnât let you just die. It brings you back. Makes you a demon.â
âAnd⊠Did you-â
âYeah.âÂ
âOh.â
Heâd nodded, trying to smile, but it hadnât reached his eyes. Youâd climbed a little further over his body, and just hugged him tight.
The tension had eased from his chest, as he hugged you back. When youâd looked up, there was something shining on his face that you hadnât named as tears, but still wiped away gently.Â
Dean had caught your hand, giving you a desperate, almost pleading look.Â
 âYou gotta promise.â Heâd rasped. âIf I walk out and donât come back, you move on. âCause if that shit happens again, and you find me- It ainât me that youâd be finding, sweetheart.â
âOkay.â Youâd whispered. âPromise.â
It had soothed him. Heâd nodded, relaxed into the mattress, and pulled you down into a long kiss.Â
And there are some things you donât ask about. That you donât really want to know. The kind of thing the Mark turned him into, what hell was like, the specifics of those nightmares he gets, where he wakes up with his limbs flailing and a wild, almost inhuman glint in his eyes.
He doesnât seem to believe you, when you tell him that you like him how he is. He lets out that sad, huffing laugh and mutters you donât know me, baby, and you just roll your eyes, and remind him that you do.Â
You really do.Â
You know Dean so well, for a stranger whoâd been drowning in a bottle of whiskey at the bar downtown, and offered you the night of your life. Whoâd said one time, then showed up on your door a month later. Then two months after that. Then three weeks, then another three, the one month again.Â
Dean says he lies for a living. That itâs a big part of his job, and heâs pretty damn good at it.Â
So either heâs a lot worse at his job than heâs led you believe, or heâs just really bad at lying to you.
Because he reminds you that he might not come back, every single time he goes. Reminds you that thisâwaving a hand between your bodies, backing up a whole step like heâs trying to remind himselfâis still just fun. Thatâs it.Â
You nod, and let him do his little dance and show.Â
Then, like always, you end up like this. Tangled in his arms on the couch, his mouth tracing over your skin. Sucking small bruises where the last ones had faded. Slipping his hand under your shirt and rubbing, re-mapping your body, grinning whenever he traces a spot he knows is sensitive, proud of himself like he hasnât done this a million times before.Â
âMissed you,â he whispers, kissing the corner of your mouth.Â
You twist, pressing your lips fully over his. He melts over you, cradling your face, wrapping an arm fully around your stomach. You smile against his mouth, opening when he swipes his tongue over your lips, humming happily as his hand splays possessively over your stomach.
âMissed you too.â You whisper back, and he makes a deep, almost purring sound from his chest.Â
You end up rolled over under him. He kisses you into the cushions, pulling off his flannel and almost ripping your shirt away, before letting his mouth wander down your body. You run your fingers through his hairâitâs gotten longer than you know he likes, youâll cut it laterâand moan as his mouth finds your nipple.Â
âDeanâŠâ
âMissed you so fuckinâ much.â He mutters to himself, squeezing your hips and using his knee to nudge your thighs apart. âMy pretty girl. Still fuckinâ wet for me, still fuckinâ perfect.â
You beam, and if you ask him about it later, heâll say itâs just dirty talk. Youâre not really his girl. Youâre just fun.Â
But youâre not stupid. You mostly keep playing this game because itâs Deanâs, and itâs important to him, and you love him.Â
That was the first thing he told you not to do. Thereâs a long, long list of orders youâve received from Deanâdonât open the door, donât look for me, donât pray to anyone but this specific angel, donât mess with the safety measuresâbut this was at the top of the list.Â
âDonât fall in love with me, sweetheart.â Heâd said that first night. It had been teasing. Youâd laughed, because he was just a handsome man at a bar. You werenât there because you were looking to fall in love either.Â
âIâll try.â Youâd said back, and heâd smiled.Â
You really had tried.Â
The joke had turned into a warning. One that he gave over and over, after that visit where he started monster-proofing your place. Youâd kept smiling, and telling him youâd try.
Every time heâd walked out the door, youâd reminded yourself that he might not come back. Every time he had come back, youâd repeated to yourself over and overâin the shower, sleeping next to him in ed, watching TV with his head in your lapâthat you canât fall in love with him.
He might never come back. Heâll never be able to love you back in a way that matters. Heâll never be able to give you a real life. Heâs almost twice your age, he sleeps with a gun, heâs legally dead and a former FBI most wanted member, heâs been dead and tangled with demons and you still have to sit on the floor for twenty minutes to convince yourself to talk to your insurance company.Â
Deanâs a hero.Â
The hero doesnât end up with the girl whoâs barely ever left her village.Â
So youâd really tried. For your sake, youâd tried.Â
But he does this thing.
He leaves himself everywhere in your life. Hickeys on your neck that take a week to fade, a flannel he forgot on your bedroom floor, socks in the bathroom and half-eaten pie in the fridge. You downloaded songs he likes on your phone, because you spent a whole afternoon trying to convince each other to like your music. He made you a paper airplane that sits on the highest place of honor, the top of your fridge.Â
Once, after a long weekend where heâd fucked you on every surface of your apartment then lay on the floor counting fake stars with you until two in the morning, heâd tried to draw you.Â
Heâd been drunk. Youâd been laughing and moving the whole time, and for a man with such a steady hand, heâs not the best artist.Â
Your nose had been too small. Your lips had been too wide, and your hair had looked like pasta and your eyes had been crossed and heâd forgotten to give you ears. Heâd groaned, and crumpled it up before crawling across the floor to lie in your lap.Â
âI donât think of you like that.â Heâd grumbled, nose grazing your inner thigh, and youâd laughed.
âI know, De.â
âYouâre prettier, guess I just canât draw.â
âNo. You really canât.â Youâd leaned down, and kissed the top of his head. âI liked it anyway.â
Heâd smiledâsmall, but for Dean that was practically beamingâand the tips of his ears had turned red as he hugged you tighter. A few drinks later, heâd passed out in your arms. Youâd tried to draw him. Sketched with the pencil and paper left of the coffee table, then given up because his beauty didnât seem willing to be captured in the paper.Â
So youâd taken a photo of him. Snorting below you, his cheeks smushed and mouth hanging open. Still unreasonably handsome.Â
In that single moment, all yours.Â
Youâd smiled to yourself, and fallen asleep just that. With Dean all around you, hidden from the world on the floor of your apartment. Heâd left in the morning. Youâd kissed him, and made that same promise not to wait for him to come back.
But it had hit you, after a week of taking out your phone every few hours, and staring at the photo until your eyes were blurred with tears.Â
You always wait for him to return. You miss him so horribly when he leaves, itâs like part of you goes with him, and youâre just praying heâll bring it back so you can feel alive again. So you can smile, and not worry about work politics or the asshole who lives down the hall and hits on you or friends who are always busy.
When Deanâs here, heâs the best thing in the world.Â
When heâs gone, heâs the best thing in the world, and the only thing youâre not allowed to have.Â
Youâre not allowed to have him when heâs here either, though.Â
When he kisses you, or makes you breakfast, or pretends to watch TV while just staring at you the whole time. Itâs a game you play alone.Â
Dean is yours, but youâre still not allowed to have him.Â
Itâs not a fair game. Youâre his, and he has you. You sit around waiting for him when he leaves, and pull him in every time he returns. Thereâs no amount of time that could pass, where you wouldnât keep waiting for Dean, and itâs a rotten, torturous game.Â
He did warn you not to play it. He told you there was no winning.Â
But you keep playing. As hard a game as it is to lose, itâs a more fun game to play.
Itâs easy to love Dean. So easy, you donât know why you faked playing his game in the first place. He stopped warning you not to fall in love with him a while ago, but he seems to have his own game, where he lies to himself about you one day moving on without him.
âI got anyone to be worried about?â He asks at night, his arm tossed over your body, pinning you to the mattress.Â
You hum, playing with his fingers. âNo.â
âNo? Not even the- Whatâs his name, Hank?â
âHank?â
âThe asshole from your book club-â
âHeâs not an asshole, De. Heâs a nice man, and you know his name is Frank.â
âHm.â Dean grunts, his hand closing over yours. âSo not even Frank, huh?â
You sigh, twisting to look at him in the dark. Taking a deep breath, and scanning over his far too neutral expression. You wish he wouldnât torture himself like this. You know itâs his game, but he doesnât have to play it. He could just let you love him, even if it meant you spend the rest of your life staring at the door.Â
But heâs committed. He gives you a tight smile, and squeezes your hand.
âIf heâs⊠Nice.â The words sound like they pain him. âAnd you like him. Yâknow, you deserve the world, sweetheart-â
âFrank doesnât have the world.â
Dean jaw twitches. âHe could have it,â he mutters. âIf he wants.â
His words are low. Low enough youâre pretty sure youâre not supposed to hear.Â
And you reach out, cradling Deanâs jaw in your hands. He slumps into you with a sigh, dragging you a little closer. Holding you against his chest, face pressing into your hair, voice strained.
âYou should. If you like him-â
âI do. Heâs nice.â You swallow, leaning back to hold Deanâs hooded gaze. âBut I like him Dean. Not like like. Heâs nice.â
Deanâs mouth twitches. âYou said that already.â
âI mean it.â
âUh huh.â He pauses. âIâm not nice.â
âYes, you are.â
He laughs dryly. âSweetheart, I got a grenade launcher in my trunk-â
âYou got two grenade launchers in your trunk.â You press your knee up between his legs, and he hisses, rutting up against your thigh.
âFuckinâ- Woman-â
You giggle as he rolls you fully on your back, pinning your arms to the bed and looking down at you with a shine in his eyes. You smile freely up at him, because itâs so easy. Dean said donât fall in love with me like it was a joke, but itâs the easiest thing youâve ever done in your life.
He crashes down, kissing you deep and fervently, until your laughter is replaced by soft moans, and your legs are spread in invitation on the bed. Dean pulls up, licking his lips, and stares at you with something close to awe.
You just keep smiling at him. It always seems to make him soften within a few moments.
And it does. Like clockwork, Dean shakes his head, sighs, and leans down to kiss you a little more gently.
âYouâre gonna kill me one day,â he murmurs against your lips, letting go of one hand so he can cradle your neck, and you drag your fingers over his chest with a hum.
âIâm not worried about it.â You whisper. âYouâd come back to me.â
He nods.
The tiniest nod. You donât think he even knows he does it. There, all the same.Â
And you know. Neither of you are going to win your games.
But youâre both still so bad at playing them.Â
âDo you like like me?â Dean asks an hour or so later, when your legs are shaking and little Dean is twitching against your thigh from being slightly overworkedâthough he never complains.Â
âDo I like like you?â
âUh- Yeah?â
You laugh. Force yourself to roll over, and crawl forwards to your rightful place on Deanâs chest.Â
âCâmon, itâs not that dumb a question-â
âIt is a little.â
âWell, if you donât like like Frank-â
âI donât sleep with Frank.â I donât wait for Frank like the Earth waiting to get back to the Sun. âI sleep with you.â
âEh.â He smirks, squeezing your ass. âNot a lotta sleepinâ going on- Shit-â
You squeeze his still softening dick, and he moans, rutting into your hand. You almost giggle again, but it falls into a gasp when he sits up suddenlyâkeeping you against his chest but flipping you around so your head drops on his shoulders and your ass pressed on his cockâand drags his hand between your thighs.Â
âYouâre good at helpinâ me win arguments, baby.â He drawls in your ear, and you whine.Â
âDean-â
âMouthy girl.â He drags his mouth over your throat, and you shake in his arms. âYou know what you do me, sweetheart. Not real fair to tease, when you know Iâm barely keeping up.â
You try to squirm, to get just a little bit of friction, and Dean lands a firm slap on your pussy. Your whole body jolts, nails sinking into his arm, and he chuckles.Â
âI know, I know.â Heâs cooing, taunting, and it only makes you ache for him more. âIâll give you anything you want, baby. Just gotta say please.â
You nod, and manage to babble out the words. You didnât know you were capable of having so many orgasms, until you met Dean. You know heâs the only one who can do this. Reduce you to a drooling, cockdrunk mess, and still have you crawling back on your knees for more.Â
It would be nice, if thatâs all he does to you.Â
But he also makes you feel wanted. Desired. Loved, even if he never says the word allowed. Even if the idea is all but forbidden.Â
But you still wait for him at the edge of the mattress, while he brushes his teeth. Shifting restlessly until he comes out of the bathroom, and smiles at you.Â
Dean crosses the room, and takes your face between his hands. Stares at you for a momentâalways fondly, always like heâs not sure youâre realâthen leans down to kiss you. Slow, like you have all the time in world.
Like he wonât be gone in the morning.
âI like like you.â You whisper, still a secret with no one else around to hear it.Â
Dean smiles. Squeezes his hold on the back of your neck.
âThank you, baby.â
You nod, curling your fingers on the fabric of his shirt. If you get him to take it off, youâll be able to hide it before he goes in the morning, and you can wear it until it stops smelling like him.Â
It might not even take tricking him. Heâd just let you have it, if you asked. You know he doesnât want to go either, but he has to. And heâs going to tell you again, not to wait for him. And youâre going to agree, and youâre both going to know itâs a lie.Â
Heâll walk out the door. Look back once, before forcing himself down the hall.Â
Youâll watch until heâs out of sight. Run to the window, to wave at him as he pulls out of the parking lot. Watch until the Impala is out of sight, too.Â
The world with get a little duller. A little more painful.Â
And then youâll count down every second, until you see him again.Â
Dean had been a goner the first time he saw Her.Â
He remembers the moment clearly. How the world had slowed and heâd been sure heâd just been drinking too much, because heâd seen a lot of beautiful women but this one set off a bomb in his brain, wiping out everything but just the sight of Her. He remembers how Sheâd come up to him, and started talking with this voice that mightâve been made of every good song in the world. How Sheâd talked damn circles around him, and how Sheâd been young enough he felt a little like a perv, but then Sheâd said her name and it became the only thing heâd ever have to know again.Â
Dean remembers thanking Sammy for getting annoyed at Dean mark-induced anger, and telling him to go out and do something safe and productive. Thanking the Mark, for agreeing in the moment that drinking was a good thing to do. Thanking the vamp nest that had settled on the edge of the town, for bringing him here in the first place.Â
Remembers how Sheâd smiled in the light of the bar, how heâd tried to buy her a drink and sheâd teased him about trying to get in Her pants, how they hadnât even fully made it to the car before heâd been rubbing over Her underwear, and had barely been on the road for five minutes before Sheâd been taking him in her mouth.Â
But mostly, Dean remembers waking up the next morning, and feeling something dangerous blooming in his chest.Â
Peace.
Heâd reached over the mattress, traced his thumb over Her cheek as she slept, and heâd felt like the world was more than just blood and loss and another day to get through that turned into a night to survive. The Mark hadnât been burning in his blood and demanding more, more, more. Heâd just been in this soft bed, with a pretty woman heâd spent the night giving good things to, watching the morning light shine over Her face.Â
Dean hadnât wanted to get up. He hadnât been able to make himself, because every time he shifted, Sheâd make this sad little sound and it echoed in his damn chest.
So heâd just stayed, until he could explain that he had to go. She was so perfect, She at least deserved to think he wasnât running out after taking advantage of her.Â
But then heâd looked Her in the eyes, and asked if she wanted to get breakfast. And Sheâd smiledâit had too quickly became the sun for him, the center of everything, what moved him and offered him every bit of lifeâand heâd been more than gone.Â
He and Sammy had cleared out the vamp nest. Sheâd gotten caught in the middle, Dean had gotten Her outâthe Mark roaring louder than usual, and Dean not bothering to resist it at allâand heâd cleaned Her up after. Stayed an extra day to make sure She was on her feet.Â
Not for any selfish reasons. Like wanting to cling to the strange peace for a little longer. Like taking advantage of Her clearly growing attachment to him, and letting himself indulge the sweetest thing heâd. ever found before he ripped it out of his hands.Â
Heâd explained everything, in the desperate hope that Sheâd help him leave. That Sheâd do what Cassie and Lisa had done, and told him they wanted nothing to do with that life.
But Sheâd just⊠Understood. Gotten all pouty and sad-eyed, when heâd dragged himself out the door. Smiled at him, and waved goodbye.Â
And Dean didnât count himself a good man. He had blood on his hands and a lot of wounds that didnât seem to bother to heal. Hell, back then heâd been bearing the damn Mark of Cain, been made of all his worse thoughts and urges. But heâd always thought heâd made up for it by not being a douchebag. Maybe he had a body count so large he lost track, and maybe he lied and tricked and fought dirty, but he respected food workers. He tipped. He never touched a lady unless She wanted it, and he never judgedâmost ofâthe shit he heard.Â
He also kept upfront about what he wanted. Heâd given Her the usual speech, before theyâd started stumbling out of the bar laughing like teenagers.
One night.Â
He could give Her everything she ever wanted, for one night.Â
Sheâd agreed. Heâd made his donât fall in love joke, but it had sounded flat to his ears.Â
Dean thinks he mightâve known, even then.Â
He certainly knows now.Â
âYou remember what you said to me?â He asked last time, sitting at Her feet while she did something with string and his favorite flannel that made it look new again. âThat first night?â
âWhat I said to you?â Sheâd frowned. âNo? Am I supposed to?â
âNah. Just wonderinâ.â Heâd turned his cheek, pressing it into Her knee.Â
She looked almost delicate, in this kind of light. Like a mist that was going to blow away with the wrong wind. A dream Dean might forget if he dared to wake up, a trick of the light that would vanish if he blinked. He couldâve been happy there for the rest of his damn life. At Her feet, watching her softer hands work, right where he could keep Her safe and adored for the rest of his sorry life.Â
Sheâd paused Her work on his flannel. Smiled down at him, running Her fingers through his hair. Dean had felt like a damn dog, and turned into the touch.Â
âWhat did I say?â Sheâd asked softly, and he shouldâve guessed She would. She likes to know everything.Â
He still doesnât understand, how She can know him and still open the door every time.
âWas it stupid?â She asked softly, and Dean had chuckled. She couldnât be stupid if She tried.Â
âNah.â
âWell, what-â
âYou told me I had big shoulders.â
Sheâd stared at him for a second. Does that thing he loves, where She sorta blinks and gapes and flushes, like just a few words from his dumb mouth are capable of short-circuiting Her quick brain.
Dean had leaned up and cupped Her jaw to close her mouth. Sheâd swatted his hands away with a scowl, and heâd laughed.
âFuck off, I did not say that-â
âSwear you did.â Heâd kissed the back of Her hand, because it makes him feel more like a gentleman than the ass who just shows up and crashes in Her bed. âYou just sat down and started objectifying me, was pretty freakinâ rude-â
âShut up.â Sheâd said with a smile. âYou love being my object.â
Dean had chuckled and pushed up into a kiss.Â
She had no damn idea.Â
And when She finally shoved him gently away, reminding Dean that She had to finish Her work on his flannel, heâd gone back to watching at Her feet. She stitched that thing up like it had never been worn in the first place. Even gotten those complex seams that used to make him declare a shirt as good as dead. Gave him new buttons, too. Like he deserved something so small and important.Â
Dean had wondered, as he watched Her. Wondered if he should start ripping up flannels, so he had a better excuse to come back. If maybe Sheâd like a life in the bunker, stitching flannels and talking to him forever, and if Sheâd ever forgive him for daring to think something so selfish.Â
Heâd wondered if She knew. That She stitches him up like that flannel, every time She let him back into her arms.Â
And if Dean were a stronger, worse man, heâd just let himself take Her. Sweep Her fully of her feet with the love confession heâs been rehearsing in the shower and on longer drives, for damn near two years. The one that goes I canât offer you money. Or a real house. Or healthcare, or children, or even really damn pets. I canât promise you Iâll come home, every time I walk out the house, and I canât promise there ainât always gonna be a target on your back just for holding my hand.Â
But I can promise Iâll protect you. And love you. And take care of you until someone shoots off my hands, cause even if they shoot off my head Iâm gonna figure out how to keep my body working to take care of you.Â
In his imagination, Sheâd make a face and whisper like a chicken?
And Dean would laugh, and smile at Her because he remembered how to, when She was around.Â
Yeah. A chicken, sweetheart. Iâll be your chicken. And Iâll damn try, all the time, to come back. Iâll try to give you everything you want that I got, and if I donât got it, Iâll figure out a way to make it.Â
Please.Â
His confession always ended with please, because even in Deanâs fantasies he canât work out a world where She says yes.Â
There are moments, where She looks at him for a long enough moment that the words work their way to his mouth. The sit on the tip of his tongue like a sour candy he needs to spit out. He almost says it, then chokes it back down.Â
There are a lot of moments, where he almost tells Her.Â
Sometimes itâs only nights like these, that stop him.Â
He had a nightmare again. Itâs a reoccurring one, now.Â
She gets hurt. It started more abstract, but itâs narrowed down to one, horrible scenario.Â
Dean wakes up in Her apartment, and sheâs gone. He calls Her name, tears the place up, tears the town up, and Sheâs still nowhere to be found.Â
Then he turns, and Sheâs there. And the world feels peaceful again. He runs towards Her, reaching to pull her back into his arms.
And She dies.Â
Dean touched Her, and she just⊠dies.Â
He woke up in a cold sweat, fighting the pillows and reaching for his gun. It took him a minute to realize it wasnât real. Another three to calm down, after he looked at Her side of the bed and realized she wasnât there.Â
Because he was in his room. At the bunker.Â
The place heâd worked so hard to keep Her away from.Â
But now heâs just lying here. Staring at the ceiling and holding the sheets on Her side of the bed. Trying to close his eyes, but itâs damn impossible when he does and just sees her lifeless body again.Â
He fumbles in the dark and grabs his wallet. Stares at Her drawing for an hour, then tries to lie back down again.Â
Sheâs fine. She has to be fine. Â
He closes his eyes by accident. Shoots right up, and makes for his pants and shoes.Â
âWhereâre you going?â Sam asks when Dean storms past him, barely looking up from his book.
âOut.â Dean grunts, because itâs not worth even trying to lie to Sam anymore.Â
Heâs not even that good at lying to himself.Â
Because he tries to protect Her from afar. He swears up and down that he wonât go back to Her, wonât keep stealing Her time and affection, wonât tempt himself with something he can never have. With a love heâs never going to be able to hold.Â
But he has to see Her. Now. Just to be sure that sheâs safe.Â
So Dean goes.Â
Itâs three in the morning, when you hear the knock. You wouldnât have gotten up to answer it, if you hadnât recognized it as Deanâs. He knocks the same way every time. Sometimes you mimic it on the table, to torture yourself with the idea of him being there.Â
And he pops up whenever he pops up. Youâve long stopped trying to track his appearances, but you know he doesnât show up on your doorstep at the start of the week, and he doesnât show up in the middle of the night.Â
Itâs a Tuesday. Itâs been Tuesday, for three hours.Â
You walk a little faster, rubbing your eyes and grabbing the baseball bat he insists you keep in the closet. If it is your Dean, he might be in danger. If itâs not, youâre about to bash someoneâs brains in and sprint for the hills.Â
The knock repeats, a little louder than last time. You hear him call your name through the door, and it certainly sounds like Dean. When you lean up to look through the peephole, it looks like Dean.Â
Heâs swaying in the hall, eyes glossy and a little bloodshot. Thereâs a strangely relaxed look on his face, and sighs heavily when you still donât open the door, stumbling forward to drop his brow against the wood.Â
âI know youâre in there.â He mumbles, hand reaching up to trace the door. âHeard you walkinâ around. If you got someone in there, I can just sit on the couch or somethinâ. Wonât even talk, just wanted toâŠâ
He sighs heavily, and your chest aches. Your fingers move to the knob, begging you to just remove the barrier between you, but somethingâs twisting in your gut. Youâve never seen him act like this. Never seen him look so tired and desperate, and that doesnât seem like a monster thing, but he had told you to be careful-Â
âI was thinkinâ about you.â He mumbles. âMissed you. Always missinâ you all the time, and- I dunno. Had a dream, itâs kinda fuckinâ stupid, but- Can you cough for me, baby? Need to hear that youâre alright, then Iâll go.â He looks up, almost staring at you through the peephole, and you swallow. Your hand closes around the doorknob, the opposite one slipping on the bat, and-Â
You wait a little too long to respond. Dean sighs heavily, taking a large step back and shoving his hands into his pockets. The step alone takes a second for him to recover from, his whole body swaying from the motion. You let the bat fall from your hand, because you need both hands to reach for him, but-
âNever mind.â He says, shaking his head. ââm gonna go. Sleep well, baby. Love you.â
You almost kick the door off its hinges, his words like ice water being doused over your head.Â
Love.Â
He said he- He said-Â
Deanâs face splits into a wide, boyish grin the moment he sees you. He says your name, barreling forward, and pulls you into his arms. Heâs warm, holding onto you tight enough youâre being picked up off your feet. You hug him back, still dazed, the world moving too fast.Â
Love. He said love. He said-Â
He mumbles your name, pressing his face into your neck, and you brush your fingers through his hair lightly. Heâs still made of muscle and soft strength, but something about it feels delicate. Heâs not really saying anything, which isnât Dean at all. Heâs still swaying back and forth, and he smells like the same warm cologne and full, deep Dean smell heâs always had, but thereâs also-Â
Liquor. He smells like whiskey and beer.Â
Heâs drunk.Â
You sigh. The swaying and strangeness. For whatever reason, Deanâs just wasted, and he chose to come to you.Â
Itâs not something you can allow yourself to read into right now. That can happen in the morning, when heâs safe and sobered up, and you can try to read his reaction to waking up in your apartment. For now you just guide him backwards insideâyou try to pull away, but he makes a sound like a kicked puppy and holds you tighterâand slowly coax him out of his shoes and jacket.
âDid you drive here?â You ask softly as you work the jacket off his shoulders, and he nods.Â
âMhm. Youâre warm.â
You swallow. âThank you. Dean, baby, you shouldnât drive drunk-â
ââM not drunk-â
âYou really are-â
âOnly had like- Five drinks. Four.â He leans back, scrunching his face a little too adorably. âHow many are in the big pack thingys?â
âHow many⊠Beers?â
He shrugs, fingers reaching up to play with your hair. âUh huh. We can go count the bottles. I broke one when a freakinâ bird started shoutinâ at me, but the others. Got âem still.â
âYou- Dean.â You lean back, grabbing his face between your hands. He looks at you with a bright, hopeful adoration, and it only makes your chest ache more.Â
He says your name, leaning forward with a grinâa full, wide smile youâve never seen on his faceâand you take a deep breath.
âDid you drink them, then drive? Or drive, then-â
âI drove âem then drank.â He shrugs. ââM not that stupid. Not tryinâ to die before I can see you.â He leans down, pressing his brow against yours. âYouâre pretty.â
You flush. âThank you. I- I didnât think you were gonna, but- Shit-â He presses further over you, making you stumble back slightly.Â
Some of Deanâs usual instinct seems to kick in as you fall. He wraps his arm tightly around your back, and pulls you up before falling to the couch, forcing you to straddle his lap.Â
He grins up at you, still open and joyful, and sinks into the cushions so easily.Â
âI ainât drunk.â
You sigh. âDean-â
ââm not. Youâre pretty.â
âYouâve said that twice now.â
âDoesnât make it less true. Youâre so hot, itâs freakinâ crazy.â He drops his face into your chest, like itâs physically paining him to look at you. âYou donât get it, sweetheart. I havenât even been able to watch porn anymore âcause of you. âS not the same.â
You flush, opening and closing your mouth in a pointless attempt to try and find a way to respond to that.Â
There really isnât one. Not with the word love still ringing in your head like a church bell.Â
You settle for a soft. âOh.â
Dean just hums, and when you gently guide his head back, his eyes are heavy and a little dopey. Heâs still smiling at you, even as they droop. You run your fingers through his hair and he sighs happily.Â
âYouâre okay.â He murmurs, almost to himself. It cleaves your heart in half.
âYeah. Iâm okay.â You smile softly. âYouâre drunk.â
âNah-â
âYou had six beers, my love.â You let yourself call him that. If he said it, you can too, and he doesnât even really seem to notice at all.Â
He just makes another like face and shakes his head. âNo, I had the pack-â
âYeah.â Your smile grows. âThatâs six.â
âHm.â He pauses, clearly thinking a little too hard about this. âSix. Siiiix. Sex.â He grins at you. âWe should have sex-â
âNo.â You place a hand flat on his chest, giving him a stern look. âYouâre drunk, buddy. No sex.â
He pouts for a second, staring down at his shoes, then sighs. âFine.â
You giggle at his complete dejection, tracing your hands over the planes of his chest. His breath starts to pick up, fingers squeezing on your hips, and it might be rude to tease him like this but itâs so fun. Especially when he leans a little bit up like heâs going to try and take you, but then manages to pull himself back and flops down sadly into the cushions.
âCan we have sex in the morning please?â He asks hopefully, and you hum.Â
âWeâll see.â
That just makes him pout more. âWhy. If you donât wanna, just tell me and Iâll be super cool about it-â
âYouâre begging me right now,â you tease, and he makes a sour expression.Â
ââM not begging.â
âYou said please-â
âItâs beinâ polite. And,â he leans up, until his handsome, drunken face is only inches from yours. âI really wanna have sex with you.â
âI know.â You whisper, eyes wide on his.Â
And you shouldnât ask. You shouldnât. Heâs drunk, he doesnât know what heâs saying, he might not mean any of this at all.
But-
âWhy?â You say, so quiet you almost canât hear it yourself.Â
He frowns. âHuh?â
âWhy do you wanna have sex with me? We-â You swallow. âWeâve done it a lot before. In almost all the positions.â You smile weakly. âYou gotta be tired of me by now.â
Dean blinks at you. Like he doesnât even understand what youâre saying. âYeah, but⊠I love you.â
Thatâs what you wanted to hear. What you were fishing for.Â
It still knocks all the air out of your lungs when you hear it. In full, plainly like he canât fathom that there would ever be another answer, hanging in the silence of your living room as you just stare at Deanâs open face.Â
He said it. He said it. Youâre breathing too fast, your nails sinking into his shoulders like you can cling to the confession, like youâre trying to swallow it down before he can take it back.Â
But Dean just keeps blinking up at you, almost innocently adoring.
Heâs so drunk.Â
This isnât about you. Itâs about Dean. About forcing yourself to smile and kiss him gently, before standing up and guiding him into the shower. Checking him for injuries before getting him changed. Brushing his teeth then herding him into bed.Â
Some foolish part of you thought youâd be able to go turn off the living room light while he waited. You donât even get off the bed before Deanâs arms are around your waist, and youâre being yanked back down.Â
âDonât go.â He mumbles against the back of your neck, and you sigh.Â
âDean-â
âPlease.â
You swallow, then nod. Curl fully back, rubbing his forearms around you until his breathing starts to steady, his body slowly going limp.Â
âNever want you to go.â He says suddenly, right before you think heâs about to fall asleep. His voice is raw and tired.
Tears sting at your eyes. âIâm still here, Dean. Right here.â You squeeze his arm, and he sighs.
âYeah, but itâs gonna be gone.â He sighs. âWish I could stay. Or take you with me, but⊠Canât.â
âYou could.â You whisper, twisting to watch him in the dark. âI- Iâd go.â
He just stares at you for a moment. When he speaks, his voice is hoarse.
âYou shouldnât.â
âI would.â
His throat bobs. For a second, thereâs something new shining his eyes. Itâs clearer than everything else. Burning right into you with his attention, his hands a little tighter on your body.Â
âI keep a drawing of you in my wallet.â He rasps, and your heart does a little skip.Â
âI have a folder of your photos on my phone. I- I show them to my friends.â You flush. âThey think I made you up.âÂ
Deanâs mouth twitches. Heâs starting to sound like himself again. âDid you?â
âMake you up?â You whisper.
He nods.Â
âI donât know. I- I hope not.â
âI hope I didnât make you up either.â He traces his hand down your arm, never breaking your gaze.Â
You swallow. âI feel real.â
He hums. âThatâs good. Would suck pretty bad if you werenât.â
You laugh softly, and Dean watches you like youâre the most important thing heâs ever going to see. You smile at him. He leans a little closer.Â
âSometimes I just stand outside.â He rasps. âIf I got a night. Iâll drive up here and just⊠Sit in the fuckinâ parking lot.â
âI watched a documentary about you.â You offer. âIt called you a crazy serial killer.â
His mouth twitches. âI am-â
âI left it a one-star review.â You raise your voice over his. âAnd I- I still opened the door.â
âYou⊠You did.â He mutters. âEvery single time.â
âYeah. I did.â
For a second, you just stare at each other. Time doesnât feel like itâs moving. You donât want it to.Â
âWhen you sit in the parking lot.â You say softly. âWhy donât you come inside?â
He chuckles, rolling onto his back. âCause Iâm gonna do something stupid. Like this, and sayinâ that I-â
He cuts himself off, hand curling on his chest. You push up on your elbows, hanging over him, and he stares at you with a clear helplessness.Â
Dean mutters your name, clearly begging you not to say it.Â
But he said it first. And you need to know. If youâre allowed to stop playing games now.Â
If youâre allowed to have him.Â
âYou love me?â You finish for him, and Dean sighs.Â
âI- Donât say that, sweetheart-â
âYou said it-â
âI was drunk.â He mutters. He wonât look at you anymore. âI was drunk and talkinâ stupid and- Just donât. Please.â
You swallow, your heart caught in your throat. You could swallow it, and hope you digest it this time. That it finally passes through you, and the game is done like that.Â
But you donât want to.Â
Dean is looking at you like he expects you to kick him out. Like heâs bracing for you to spit venom and hit his chest and curse his name. Heâs almost shrinking away from you, one hand clinging to your wrist even as he makes a face like his heart is already breaking.Â
You wonât let it. Not here. Not when him breaking would break you too.Â
So you lie down next to him. Move your hand to tangle in his, your shoulders pressed together, Deanâs breathing shallow as he turns to watch you in the dark.Â
You look at him, and smile. Let all your love for him shine in it, squeezing his hand once.Â
He holds yours tighter. Holds onto it for dear life.Â
Says your name, and this. This is begging. Maybe for you to stop, or go, or just do the simple thing and kick him out.Â
You wonât. Not now. When heâs there, and maybe yours, and- And-Â
You could have him.Â
In all his broken, drunken and exhausted beauty, you can have Dean.Â
âWhat would you say?â You murmur, and his lips press in a tight line.
âI- I dunno-â
âCan I tell you what I would say? If- If youâd ever asked?â
Dean swallows, but nods. You smile again. Itâs so easy, when youâre looking at him.
âIâd tell you I love you.â You whisper. Deanâs grip tightens. âThat Iâve been in love with you for- Pretty much the whole time. That I hate watching you leave, and I hate when you pretend like you donât care if Iâm dating, and I hate when you remind me that you might not come back, because I need you. I need you to come back. Every- Every time you go-â You cut yourself off, your voice starting to ache. âEvery time you leave me I hate you. But I love you so much it doesnât matter. I- I like loving you so much more than I hate missing you. Dean, I-â
He says your name, words tight and choked, and you shake your head.
âI love you. I love you so, so much, Iâm never gonna-â You take long unsteady breath. âYou just leave me here. And I wait. Because I love you.â
And Dean just stares at you. Holds your hand and stares at you, his face pale and flushed all at the same time.Â
âNo.â He finally mutters. He still doesnât let go of your hand. âSweetheart, thatâs- You love the idea of me, you donât love the real thing-â
You snort dryly. âThe real you?â
âYeah.â He snaps, sitting up suddenly. âThe real me. Iâm not just some fuckinâ- Sex guy who drops in, fucks you, then runs off to a day job. I kill people, baby. I got a body count bigger than any documentary is gonna tell you, I got people who hunt me down for what Iâve done, there ainât anyone in my life because everyone who was there is fuckinâ dead, and I-â He shakes his head, starting to pull back. âIâm not lettinâ that happen to you. No. No way in hell-â
âWhy?â You demand, and your voice isnât harsh or even that loud, but it cuts Dean off completely. âWhy donât you want it to happen to me?â
He makes a sour expression. âBecause.â
âBecause?â
âYeah. âS what I said-â
âIs it because you love me?â
Dean scowls. âThat doesnât matter-â
âIt matters to me-â
ââCause you think youâre in love with me.â He spits. Heâs still holding your hand. âAnd Iâm tellinâ you, youâre not, so it doesnât matter-â
âI am in love with you.â You sit up, making your voice firmer. Unwavering. âAnd I know you, Dean. Iâm not just some girl who got the wrong idea about something, I know you. Youâve told me everything, even the ugly shit, and I kept opening the door.â You glare at him, and he freezes, staring at you with wide-eyes. âI sit with you after all your nightmares, I let you bring a gun into my house, I look you up on the news every day because I am terrified youâre going to die and come back all wrong or whatever, and Iâm going have to figure out how to be strong enough not to open the door.â
Deanâs mouth falls a little bit open, and you glare at him, far from done.Â
âBecause I would. Iâd let you in with those creepy black eyes and I donât even think Iâd regret it. Because I love you.â
Dean makes a strangled sound, and you poke his chest.
âYou show up covered in blood and talking crazy about angels and demons, you give me fuckinâ gun and booby trap my apartment and make me do codewords, and I let you in. I know who you are, Dean Winchester. I know exactly who you are.â
He catches your hand on his chest, expression fully broken, and pleads your name. You curl your fingers on his chest and hold his hand.
âYouâre a good man.â Your voice turns soft, and he cringes like you hit him. âYouâre a good man, Dean. I donât love you because of the sex, even if the sex is great.â You laugh softly.Â
Dean looks like he tries to laugh, but it comes out more in a sound like a wounded animal. Silent tears are streaming down his face, and you sigh.Â
Reach up to wipe them away, and let Dean bow into your touch. His eyes are hooded, and trapped on yours.Â
You offer him a small smile.Â
âI love you because you make me happy.â You say. âI love you because you keep trying to protect me, even when it hurts you. I love you because when I tried to hit on you at a bar by saying you had big shoulders, you gave me pointers about how to pick other guys up, then asked if you could be the first I try them on. I love you because when I laughed, you apologized and started just talking to me. And we talked for so long, and you called me pretty, and I- Iâd been called that before, but-â You give him a sad smile, tears staining your own cheeks. âYou didnât want anything. You just- You just said it because you wanted me to know, and it felt good to be known.âÂ
You shift toward, rising on your knees to press your brow to his.Â
âI like you.â You whisper. âLike like you. I like like knowing you. And I like like loving you. I- Never used those moves on anyone else.â You giggle softly, tears still falling. âThey worked once really well. And I donât want to try them again. I kind of really love what I have.â
Dean blinks at you slowly. His tongue darts over his lips, eyes flicking down to your own, breath still ragged. If he needs to kiss you, youâll let him.Â
But instead, he just starts to cry.
Dean folds over you, body shaking, and cries. It starts muffled and restrainedâlike heâs still trying to shove it back downâbut you rub his back and hold him close, and he slowly falls apart.Â
You move slowly, so that youâre lying against the headboard and Dean is in your lap. You keep him gently in your arms, kissing the top of his head every few moments and running your hands soothingly over his shoulders, his back, through his soft hair. Slowly, the choked sounds turn to heavy breaths, and he eases himself down.Â
His face presses into your stomach as his chest rises and falls. You wait, cradling the back of his neck and humming to yourself softly. Eventually Dean turns to look up at you, eyes still red, and lets out a heavy sigh.Â
âI- I do.â He says, voice rough, and you just smile.
âI know.âÂ
He heaves, crawling a little up your body. âI mean it, baby, I do-â
âDean.â You cup his face, and he freezes. âI know.â
His mouth twitches. You just smile in return. Dean grabs your hand, turning to press a kiss to your wrist. His eyes shine when you giggle, tension releasing from his shoulders.Â
He collapses over your body with a heavy sigh.
âIâm gonna feel like shit in the morning.â He grumbles, and you laugh.Â
âItâs six, De. Basically is the morning.â
âGreat. I feel like shit now.â
âYou could go to sleep. That might help.â
Dean hums skeptically. âAre you gonna sleep.â
âNo.â The whole night still has you too wound up. âNot tired.â
âHm.â He pushes up over you, elbows braced on either side of your head, pinning you to the mattress.Â
His nose bumps yours, and your eyes widen, hands flying to his chest.
âI could help with that.â He murmurs, and you swallow.Â
âDean-â
âI got a clear head.â He kisses the corner of your mouth gently. âSwear. Iâll do the alphabet backwards if you wanna hear it, but if Iâm beinâ honest I canât do that front or back-â
You tug him down for a full, deep kiss. Itâs slow. Lazy. His tongue traces your lips and you open with a soft moan, legs spreading as Deanâs mouth works you up quickly.Â
But still, you gently push him back. He goes easily, raising his brows, and you flush. Glance down to his shirt, where your fingers have started to play with the soft fabric.
âAre youâŠâ Your eyes dart back up to his. âAre you gonna stay? In the morning?â
Dean nods, no uncertainty in his voice. âYeah.â He grabs your hands, pulling them up to kiss your knuckles. âIâm gonna stay until you kick me out, alright. Might come and go, but- You can come if you want. An if you donât, I got a phone, and my brotherâs phone, and a laptop that I can steal-â
âDean-â
âPoint is Iâm yours.â He says quickly, sounding a little frustrated with himself. âI stay until you kick me out.â
âI wonât.â You say quickly, and Dean grins.Â
Truly, fully grins.Â
âGuess Iâm gonna be here a long time, then.â
âYeah. Guess you are.â
His grin impossibly widens, eyes darting down to your body. âAndâŠâ
You laugh. âWe can have sex in the morning.â
Dean collapses back over you with a dramatic groan of relief. âThank god. And- After that, too?â
You giggle, kissing the top of his head, and he curls further into your body. Looks at you like youâre more than an angel, his voice still teasing, but also just a little more.Â
Filled with affection, and hope, and love.
Heâs yours to love.Â
âYeah.â You say, and Dean beams. âWe can do whatever you want.â
âŠEnd note: thank you for reading i don't even have a joke for this one i really hope you liked it i hope it wasn't butt thank you.âŠ
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