⋆˙⟡♡ sophia. 20. lover of arctic monkeys, led zeppelin, pink floyd, fleetwood mac, harry styles, paramore, & the smashing pumpkins. dean winchester enthusiast. oat milk enjoyer.
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˙⋆✮ CHARACTERS ✮⋆˙
⋆˙⟡♡ mallory hawthorne. dean winchester enthusiast. august 4th, 1981.
likes : cherry flavored things. fleetwood mac. guns. classic literature. the smashing pumpkins. root beer. maroon lipstick. candlelight. 2am. led zeppelin. the glow of red stoplights. sleeping with the windows open. leather jackets. the sound of the impala’s engine. bourbon. black sabbath. iced coffee. silver jewelry. dark red, dark blue, dark green, and dark brown. her porsche. the sound of crickets. thunderstorms. fur coats. pink floyd. fountain pens. poker. bonfire smell. the creation of adam painting. big dogs. paramore. vinyls. the smell of leather. slightly smudged eyeliner. skipping rocks in a lake. ten things i hate about you. marlboro reds. onion rings. stuffed animals. horses. learning. being right. silence. sprawling her signature across napkins. playing with dean’s fingers. lollipops. electric guitar. deftones. autumn. playing pool. partying. breaking laws. dante’s inferno. raspberries. making out with dean winchester. hello kitty. cinnamon rolls. lucky brand jeans. film photography. out of tune pianos. astronomy but not astrology. record stores. the smell of rain. dark chocolate. driving too fast. leather-bound journals. classic muscle cars. watching people. military time. chess. lace bras + matching lingerie sets. black cats. snoopy + woodstock. drummers. rotary phones. cathedrals. zippo lighters.
dislikes : john winchester. having her hair tucked behind her ear. movies with any sort of violence against animals. beer. most bugs. bananas. painting. acoustic guitar. running. people that are too optimistic. disorganized spaces. male authority figures. people who talk too much about nothing. sappy romantic gestures. bright, neon colors. overly sweet desserts. people who judge her for being blunt or direct. talking about her feelings. superficiality. when dean gets out of bed too early. being told what to do. small talk. people who can’t spell. board games. anyone other than dean touching the back of her neck.
the phone rang early, slicing through the quiet of bobby’s kitchen. mallory was curled up on the couch, mug of coffee balanced against her chest, hair still mussed from sleep. dean was across from her at the table, flipping through lore with that frown he got when the words weren’t lining up the way he wanted them to.
she picked up the call, half-expecting a telemarketer. instead, a calm voice said: “miss hawthorne?”
mallory straightened, her pulse stumbling. “yeah?”
“i’m calling to inform you that your grandmother, lucille hawthorne, has passed. i’m sorry for your loss.”
the words hit like a punch. for a second, she just stared at the far wall, everything around her going still.
dean’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing as he clocked the shift in her face. “mal?”
she swallowed hard, pressing a hand to her chest. “what... what happened?”
“she passed peacefully in her sleep,” the woman continued. “and per her instructions, the entirety of her estate is to be passed down to you.”
dean closed the book without another word and crossed to her, lowering himself on the arm of the couch. his hand slid to her thigh, warm and steady. “talk to me.”
mallory clutched the phone tighter, staring blankly ahead. “she left me everything. the house. the money. all of it.”
dean’s brows rose, but his voice stayed calm. “huh. guess that makes you a very rich pain in my ass.”
her laugh cracked in her throat, shaky at best. “dean—”
“hey.” his hand squeezed her leg, grounding. “doesn’t change a damn thing. we’ll go down there, sort it out, raise hell if we have to. you’re not doing it alone.”
she turned toward him finally, her lip caught between her teeth. “you don’t even need me to ask, do you?”
he smirked, leaning down to brush a kiss against her temple. “sweetheart, i married into this circus. you think i’m gonna let you walk into it without backup?”
the next morning, mallory tossed a duffel into the back of her porsche with a scowl that didn’t quite hide the nerves eating at her. she hated how her hands shook when she zipped it shut.
dean leaned against the hood, arms folded, sunglasses perched low on his nose like he belonged in a car commercial. “look at you, hawthorne, all loaded up for your billionaire wife debut.”
she rolled her eyes and threw the keys at him. “don’t fuck up my car.”
he caught them easily, smirk tugging at his mouth. “sweetheart, i’m the safest driver you’ve ever met.”
“that’s a lie and you know it.”
“mm, maybe. but you like it.” he winked and slid behind the wheel.
mallory sighed, climbing in after him. the leather seats were cool against her thighs, the hum of the engine low and steady. for a second, the weight of everything waiting in south carolina pressed too heavy on her chest.
dean noticed. of course he did. his hand reached over, curling around hers on the console. “hey. it’s just a road trip. we’ll crank zeppelin, eat gas station food, and you can glare at me every time i sing off-key. piece of cake.”
her lips twitched despite herself. “you’re insufferable.”
“and irresistible,” he shot back without missing a beat.
she snorted and leaned into the seat as he pulled out of bobby’s drive. the sunrise stretched over the road, the hum of tires and dean’s bad singing making the silence feel less like dread and more like home.
hours later, they slid into a booth at some no-name diner off the highway. dean tore into a burger like he hadn’t eaten in a week, while mallory just pushed fries around her plate.
“you’re quiet,” he said around a mouthful, watching her with those sharp green eyes that caught everything.
“just thinking,” she murmured.
“dangerous habit.” he reached across the table, stealing one of her fries. “what’s in that pretty head?”
“my family,” she admitted. “they’re gonna want answers. why her will was written the way it was. why i’m the one who got it all. and then they’ll look at you and—”
“and what?” dean leaned back, smirk playing at his mouth. “think their niece married above her pay grade?”
she gave him a flat look. “think you’re after the money.”
his grin widened, wolfish. “baby, if i was after money, i picked the wrong damn job. or the wrong car.”
despite herself, she laughed, the tension in her chest loosening.
“let ’em look,” he said, softer now, nudging her foot under the table. “we know what’s real. screw the rest.”
by the time the porsche rolled through the wrought-iron gates of the hawthorne estate, dean had one hand on the wheel and the other resting comfortably on mallory’s thigh. he gave a low whistle as the mansion came into view —
a massive colonial-style mansion, its white facade gleaming in the midday sun, columns lining the front porch and a sprawling lawn stretching out before them.
“jesus, mal,” he muttered. “you didn’t tell me we were driving up to the white house.”
“annoyingly huge, right?” she said, forcing a smile.
“annoyingly huge,” he echoed, leaning forward to take in the manicured gardens. “you sure there’s not a butler named jeeves waiting inside? maybe a batcave under the basement?”
she snorted, rolling her eyes. “sorry to disappoint.”
“don’t be. batcave or not, this place is insane.” he squeezed her leg again, a little grounding pressure. “but hey, still your place. ours, technically. i married into the madness, remember?”
her chest ached at that — in a good way.
the front hall was already crowded when they stepped inside. marble floors, high ceilings, gold trim — and a chorus of voices cutting off the second mallory crossed the threshold with dean’s hand steady at her back.
“well, well,” aunt betty’s voice rang out, sharp as ever. “look who finally decided to show up.”
mallory didn’t miss a beat. “nice to see you too, betty.”
the eyes in the room shifted. narrowed. then landed on dean.
dean smirked, sliding his arm around mallory’s waist and pulling her snug to his side. “husband, actually.”
aunt catherine tutted under her breath. “interesting. we weren’t aware you’d settled down, mallory.”
“you weren’t aware of a lot of things,” mallory shot back, voice cool as steel.
“is it true?” another cousin piped up. “that you’re the one who inherited everything? the house, the money, the cars?”
mallory lifted her chin. “yeah. it’s true.”
the silence that followed was thick, heavy with judgment. dean’s thumb stroked lazily over her hip, the motion small but deliberate.
“and what does that mean for the rest of us?” uncle eddie asked, his voice edged with bitterness.
before mallory could answer, dean spoke up, voice easy but dangerous in that way only he could manage. “means what it says. her grandmother made a choice. and last i checked, her word’s the only one that matters.”
“you’ll forgive us if we’re skeptical,” cousin cheryl drawled, wine glass in hand. “seems awfully convenient, doesn’t it?”
dean’s smirk sharpened. “you calling my wife a liar?”
the room went still.
mallory reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together to steady herself — or maybe him. she turned back to the circle of relatives, voice cool but steady. “the lawyer reads the will tomorrow. you’ll hear it all for yourselves. until then, drop it.”
betty huffed, but said nothing more. the tension lingered, crackling in the silence.
dean bent his head, lips brushing her temple in a kiss meant for her but loud enough for everyone to see. “hell of a welcome party,” he murmured.
mallory smirked, squeezing his hand. “told you they’d love you.”
after everyone else had bled out of the house, they wandered the property for a while, the vastness of it all making mallory feel both small and significant at the same time. the gardens stretched wide across the back, blooming with wildflowers in colors that reminded her of summers long gone.
her gaze snagged on the old oak tree near the fence line. the swing had rotted away years ago, but the branches still stretched high and sure. she slowed, a wave of memory cresting over her.
“used to climb that one,” she murmured. “me and my cousins. spent hours up there until someone fell and broke an arm.”
dean followed her stare, lips quirking. “let me guess — you were the ring leader.”
she smirked faintly. “always.”
“figured.” his hand found hers, fingers slotting easily between. “bet you were hell on babysitters.”
“you bet your ass i was. made it my personal mission to torment every poor girl that ever came in.”
they kept walking, the crunch of gravel under their shoes the only sound for a while. the air smelled like rain and jasmine, thick with the kind of summer heat that clung to skin.
dean tugged her closer, draping his arm over her shoulders. “y’know, it’s not so bad,” he said, glancing at the sprawling lawn. “kinda peaceful.”
“you mean boring.”
“i mean, if i had a place like this growing up, i’d have turned the fountain into a swimming pool and built a go-kart track through the roses.”
mallory snorted, leaning into him. “that sounds about right.”
“what?” he grinned, pressing a kiss into her hair. “you telling me little miss oak tree queen wouldn’t have joined in?”
her lips twitched. “fine. maybe.”
“maybe,” he echoed, smug.
the sky shifted orange, the day bleeding into evening. for the first time since the phone call, mallory felt the knot in her chest start to loosen. with dean’s arm heavy around her and his thumb brushing idle circles into her shoulder, the estate didn’t feel quite so suffocating. it just felt big. and hers. and his, because he was always hers.
they continued their walk, winding through the gardens and back toward the main house. mallory pointed out the greenhouse, its glass panes fogged with age, then the orchard in the distance, neat rows of trees heavy with fruit. beyond that, the stable loomed quiet, weathered but sturdy.
“your grandma had horses?” dean asked, peering through the half-open stable door.
“mm-hm. thoroughbreds. she used to race them.”
dean let out a low whistle, pushing his sunglasses up into his hair as he stepped inside. “man, i grew up thinking a fancy pet was a turtle. you’re telling me you had racehorses?”
mallory leaned against the doorway, smirking. “i didn’t. she did. i was just the kid sneaking apples and sugar cubes out of the kitchen to feed them.”
he turned back toward her, a grin tugging at his mouth. “you were a spoiled little princess, weren’t you?”
“watch it,” she warned, though the corner of her mouth betrayed her.
he crossed the space in a few strides, wrapping an arm around her waist. “nah, i mean it in the best way.” he kissed her cheek, lingering just enough to make her roll her eyes. “spoiled suits you.”
“you knew that and married me anyway.” she shot back.
he barked out a laugh. “touché.”
they lingered a little longer, dean brushing dust off old tack and pretending he knew what half of it was for, before heading back toward the main house. the sun was starting to dip lower, casting long shadows across the lawn.
“this place is like its own world,” dean said, sliding his hand into hers as they walked. “you could get lost out here.”
mallory gave his fingers a squeeze. “i already did once.”
he glanced at her sidelong, brow furrowed.
“when i was a kid,” she clarified. “ran off after some stupid fight with my cousins. got stuck out in the orchard after dark. scared the hell out of myself.”
“bet you didn’t tell anyone, though.”
her smile was crooked. “never.”
dean shook his head, fondness in his eyes as he tugged her closer. “you’ve always been a pain in the ass.”
“and you love it.”
“you’re damn right.”
“this place is like a damn castle,” he muttered as they passed a hedge maze at the far edge of the property. “how do you even keep track of all of it?”
“i don’t,” mallory answered dryly.
dean laughed at that. “i don’t know, mal. i think you’d make a pretty good manager for all this. if you decided to stay.”
mallory stopped in her tracks at that, the words hanging in the air between them. stay. it was a word that had never really meant much to her, not in the context of this place. but now, standing on the edge of the land that was now hers, the idea of staying felt less foreign.
“maybe,” she said quietly, her gaze shifting toward the house. “i don’t know yet. i still don’t know what i’m supposed to do with all this.”
“well, you’ve got time to figure it out,” dean said, his voice lighter now. “i mean, who knows? maybe you’ll end up turning this place into your personal hunting base.”
“right, like a lair.” mallory snorted, rolling her eyes. “as if i’m going to live here permanently. i can’t even imagine having to deal with all this day in and day out.”
“well, as long as i’m around to help you with the ‘dealing’ part, i’m sure you’ll manage,” dean said, grinning again. “you’ve got me, remember?”
they walked in silence for a moment, and for a while, it felt like they were just two old friends wandering a familiar landscape, catching up on everything and nothing.
they reached the steps of the house, the massive columns casting shadows that made the doorway feel even taller, even heavier. mallory slowed, staring up at it.
dean slipped his hand from hers only to rest it on the small of her back, thumb moving slow against her spine. “ready?”
she drew in a breath, steadying herself. “as i’ll ever be.”
the next room mallory led him to was the library. double doors opened onto walls lined floor to ceiling with books, the air thick with the smell of old paper and polish.
dean stopped dead in the doorway, eyebrows climbing. “mal, this isn’t a library. this is—hell, i don’t even know what this is. the beast’s castle?”
she smirked faintly. “grandma called it her sanctuary.”
he wandered in, trailing a hand along the spines. “you could hide in here for a year and no one would find you.”
“tempting,” she murmured.
dean tugged the sliding ladder down and hopped onto it without hesitation.
“don’t you dare,” mallory warned.
“oh, i dare.” he gave himself a push and rolled halfway down the wall, grinning like a kid. “yep. best room in the house.”
mallory shook her head, biting back a smile. “you’re impossible.”
“and fun,” he shot back, hopping down.
they left the library and wound their way to the dining room. a long mahogany table stretched the length of the chamber, high-backed chairs neatly arranged as if waiting for a feast.
dean whistled low. “so where’s the king sit?”
“head of the table,” mallory said dryly, pointing.
“and i’m guessing you spent every holiday at the kids’ table in the corner?”
she arched a brow. “try banished halfway down. hawthornes aren’t exactly big on equality.”
he pulled out a chair at the head, motioning with a flourish. “well, looks like the crown’s yours now, princess.”
“don’t call me that.”
he smirked, leaning in close enough for his breath to brush her ear. “fine. queen, then.”
she shoved at his shoulder, heat crawling up her neck despite herself.
their next stop was the sunroom, glass walls looking out over the gardens, light pooling across the tiled floor. dust coated the wicker furniture, but the air still smelled faintly of jasmine and lemon polish.
mallory lingered by the window, staring out at the horizon. “she used to sit here every morning. tea at seven sharp. didn’t matter if it was pouring or freezing, she’d be right here.”
dean came up behind her, arms slipping easily around her waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “can’t picture you sipping tea in here.”
“i didn’t.”
“course not.” his lips brushed the curve of her jaw, lazy and warm. “but i can picture you stretched out on that couch in the afternoon sun. maybe with me keeping you company.”
she laughed, elbowing him lightly. “you’d just fall asleep and snore.”
“romance, baby. it’s what i do.”
she let herself lean back into him for a moment, the weight of his arms anchoring her.
they lingered there until the shadows stretched long and gold across the glass, then drifted back into the hall.
at the end of the corridor, a heavy oak door waited. dean arched a brow as mallory pushed it open.
inside was a cavernous space — polished wood floors, cues racked neatly on the wall, the centerpiece a maroon-felt pool table lit by a chandelier overhead.
dean’s grin spread slow and wicked. “well, well. guess i just found my new favorite room.”
dean circled the table like a predator, cue in hand, eyes gleaming in the low light. “so, tell me — were you any good back in the day, or were you the kid who broke cues over her cousins’ heads?”
mallory leaned against the wall, arms crossed, smirk tugging at her mouth. “i was the kid who won. every time.”
“oh, sweetheart.” he leaned over to chalk the tip of his cue, voice dripping with mock sympathy. “you’re about to be humbled.”
she pushed off the wall, sauntering closer, and plucked the cue right out of his hand. “you sure about that?”
his brows shot up, but his grin only widened. “feisty.”
she bent over the table, lining up the break, and dean’s gaze shamelessly dropped to the curve of her hips.
“eyes up, winchester,” she said without looking at him.
“hey, married man,” he shot back, sliding up behind her to rest a hand on her lower back. “got every right to look.”
the crack of the break echoed through the room, balls scattering. mallory straightened, smug as the solid dropped neatly into the corner pocket.
“lucky,” dean muttered.
“skilled,” she corrected.
they traded turns, the game quickly devolving into snipes and laughter. dean leaned in close when it was her shot, murmuring just enough in her ear to throw her off. she retaliated by brushing past him with exaggerated slowness, trailing her hand across his stomach as she went.
“cheater,” he accused, eyes darkening.
“winner,” she countered, sinking another ball with a smirk.
by the time dean finally lined up his last shot, they were pressed shoulder to shoulder, her hand curled around his wrist as if daring him to miss.
he did. spectacularly.
“damn it,” he groaned, throwing his head back. “you’re evil.”
she laughed, triumphant, and leaned in close enough for her lips to graze his ear. “and you love it.”
his cue clattered to the floor as he spun, catching her by the waist and hauling her against him. “hell yes i do.”
her laughter cut off into a soft gasp as he kissed her, rough and hungry, right there against the edge of the table.
when they finally broke apart, both breathless, dean’s grin was boyish and wicked all at once. “rematch?”
“you couldn’t handle another loss,” she teased, tugging him down for another kiss anyway.
they stopped in the hallway outside the last door, the silence stretching. mallory’s hand hovered over the knob, but she didn’t move.
dean leaned against the wall, arms folded, studying her. “you don’t have to,” he said softly.
“i know.” she drew in a breath, steadying herself. “but i should.”
he gave a little nod. “then i’m right here.”
with that, she pushed the door open.
the room was bathed in soft pink, frozen in time. white frilled bedding still dressed the four-poster bed. stuffed animals lined the pillows, some faded with age, others untouched. against one wall stood a dollhouse bigger than the motel bathrooms they’d shared, every miniature window glowing faintly in the low light. a glittering vanity gleamed under the weight of crystal perfume bottles and a row of hairbrushes that had never seen dust.
dean stepped in after her and stopped dead. “holy—” his gaze swept the room, disbelief and something warmer mingling in his voice. “mal, this is… you?”
“what’s left of me,” she muttered, crossing to the bookshelf crammed with well-loved volumes, her fingers trailing along the spines.
the walls were crowded with photographs: mallory in a tiny tutu at a dance recital, grinning in front of disneyland’s castle, perched proudly on horseback. there was one of her in a debutante gown at sixteen, smile brittle under the weight of expectation. medals and trophies gleamed on the shelves, art projects tucked between porcelain trinkets, snapshots of a childhood too curated, too preserved.
dean turned slowly, taking it all in. “you were—” he stopped, chuckling under his breath. “princess, ballerina, horse girl, debutante. damn, sweetheart, you were busy.”
she gave him a look over her shoulder, half amused, half raw. “don’t.”
“not judging,” he said quickly, holding his hands up. “just… never pictured it. you with pigtails and glitter.”
mallory sat heavily on the edge of the bed, sinking into the frills. “i hated most of it. wasn’t allowed to say no.”
dean crouched down in front of her, resting his hands on her knees. “yeah, but it’s part of you.” his gaze flicked to the photos again, softer this time. “tiny mal, kicking ass in ballet slippers. kinda adorable, if you ask me.”
she snorted, though her throat felt tight. “you would say that.”
“hell yeah, i would.” he squeezed her knees, steady and grounding. “because whoever that little girl was, she turned into the woman sitting in front of me. and she’s the one i married.”
her chest ached, sharp and sweet all at once. she reached for him, tangling her fingers in his hair as he leaned closer, and for a moment the frilly room, the ghosts of her childhood, all faded into the background.
mallory sat there on the edge of the bed, her hands knotted in the frilled blanket like it might swallow her whole.
dean slid up beside her, the mattress dipping under his weight. “kinda wild,” he murmured, glancing around again. “this is where you grew up. where you slept. dreamed. planned your great escapes.”
she huffed, eyes stinging. “mostly where i learned how to keep my mouth shut.”
his hand found hers, prying her grip loose from the blanket and weaving their fingers together. “and look at you now,” he said, voice low, proud. “mouth wide open, never shuts. drives me insane on a good day.”
despite herself, she laughed, shaky but real.
he leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “i like it better this way.”
her throat tightened, the weight of it all pressing down — the house, the memories, the people who’d never seen her for who she really was. and then dean, steady as gravity, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered.
“i hate this room,” she admitted, voice breaking.
he tugged her sideways until she was sprawled across his chest, his arms wrapping tight around her. “then let’s make some new memories in it.”
she swatted his chest, half sob, half laugh. “dean.”
“what?” he grinned, not letting her go. “you think i’m joking, but i’m dead serious.” he kissed the crown of her head, lingering. “place doesn’t get to own you, mal. not if you don’t let it. we’ll make it ours. together.”
she buried her face in his shirt, breathing him in. his cologne, his soap, the warm thrum of him under her cheek. “you always know what to say.”
“nah,” he murmured, fingers combing through her hair. “i just know you.”
they lay there for a long while, wrapped up in each other, the silence softened by the hum of cicadas outside the window. eventually dean tipped her chin up, catching her mouth in a kiss that was gentle at first, then deepened with the kind of hunger that came from years of being starved for peace.
her hands fisted in his shirt, tugging him closer until he shifted, easing her back against the pillows. the stuffed animals watched from the headboard, ridiculous sentries over something achingly human.
his mouth traced her jaw, her throat, until she was laughing and breathless beneath him. “dean—”
“yeah, sweetheart?”
“this is so wrong.”
he grinned against her skin. “then it’s perfect.”
her laughter tangled with the sound of his low chuckle, both of them collapsing back into the frilled sheets, tangled up and unbothered.
for the first time all day, mallory felt the weight ease. maybe the house wasn’t home. maybe it never would be. but here, in the middle of all the ghosts, dean made her feel safe. seen. hers.
the morning crept in slow, sunlight slanting through lace curtains and painting the room in pale gold. mallory stirred first, nose tucked against dean’s shoulder, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek.
for a moment, she just lay there, listening to the rhythm of him — his heartbeat, the soft snore he’d never admit to, the warmth radiating from his skin. it felt surreal, waking up in this room again, her childhood walls crowded with trophies and photographs. but this time, she wasn’t alone.
dean shifted with a groan, arm tightening instinctively around her. “mm. morning, princess.”
she lifted her head to glare halfheartedly at him. “don’t call me that.”
his grin was lazy, lopsided, eyes still heavy with sleep. “fine. queen, then.”
she rolled her eyes, but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at her mouth. “worse.”
“mrs. winchester?” he offered, smug.
“barely better.”
he laughed, brushing a kiss into her hair before stretching like a cat, the sheets slipping dangerously low on his hips. “damn bed’s too soft,” he muttered. “back’s gonna pay for it later.”
mallory shifted closer, pressing her face against his neck. “then we don’t get up.”
his chuckle rumbled through her chest where it pressed to his. “tempting.”
they lay tangled for a while longer, the world outside the door forgotten. eventually, mallory tilted her head back to study the room again — the pink walls, the stuffed animals still lined like soldiers, the photographs capturing versions of her she barely recognized.
“feels different now,” she said quietly.
“good different?” dean asked, voice gentling.
she nodded, fingers curling into his shirt. “because of you.”
his smirk softened into something smaller, steadier. “damn right.” he kissed her slow, easy, like a promise. “always.”
outside, the cicadas sang, the estate stretched on forever, and for the first time, the room didn’t feel like a cage. it just felt like theirs.
by the time they dragged themselves out of bed, it was nearly noon. mallory padded barefoot down the grand staircase, drowning in dean’s flannel shirt, hem brushing the tops of her thighs. her hair was a mess, her mouth still kiss-swollen, and she didn’t care in the slightest.
dean trailed after her in loose pajama pants slung low on his hips, the black band of his calvin kleins peeking out just enough to make her mouth go dry. the dark line of hair disappearing beneath it only made things worse.
she glanced back at him over her shoulder, smirk tugging at her lips. “you’re indecent.”
he stretched, muscles flexing deliciously as his grin turned smug. “what, this?” he hooked a thumb under the waistband just to watch her eyes flick down. “nah, sweetheart. this is breakfast.”
“you’re insufferable,” she muttered, heat curling in her stomach as she shoved the kitchen door open.
the room was cathedral-sized, all marble counters and gleaming copper pans hanging overhead. she drifted to the massive fridge, pulling it open to find rows of untouched produce and neatly stacked containers.
“place is like a hotel,” dean muttered, wandering in after her. “bet there’s a walk-in freezer. maybe a staff of invisible chefs.”
“you offering to cook?” she teased, shutting the fridge with her hip.
“hell no. i burn toast.” he leaned back against the counter, arms folded, watching her with that lazy green-eyed heat that always made her feel like prey. “but i’ll eat whatever you hand me. or…” he let his gaze drag deliberately over her bare legs, “…whoever.”
she rolled her eyes, trying to hide the flush climbing her throat. “you’re starving.”
“always,” he said, voice low, and it wasn’t about food.
her pulse jumped. she crossed the kitchen slowly, until she was standing between his knees. his hands found her thighs instantly, thumbs stroking just under the hem of his shirt, close enough to make her breath hitch.
“mal,” he murmured, gaze locking on hers. “we could skip lunch.”
“and waste this kitchen?” she teased, though her fingers were already curling into the waistband of his pants.
his grin was wolfish, wicked. “baby, this kitchen’s seen worse.”
mallory barely had time to smirk before dean’s mouth was on hers, rough and hungry, his hands sliding higher beneath the hem of his shirt. she gasped against him, fingers tangling in his hair as he lifted her easily onto the marble counter. the cold stone hit the backs of her thighs, making her shiver.
“dean—”
“yeah, sweetheart?” he rasped, kissing down her jaw, nipping just hard enough to make her gasp again.
“we shouldn’t—”
“mm, pretty sure we should.” his grin curved against her skin, his hand slipping under the fabric to cup the curve of her hip, thumb brushing dangerously close to where she needed him most.
her breath hitched. “this is — this is my grandmother’s kitchen.”
“she’s not here,” he muttered, dragging his mouth back to hers, swallowing her laugh, her protest, everything.
her legs hooked around his hips on instinct, dragging him closer. the low hang of his pajama pants slipped even further, the sharp lines of his adonis belt cutting into her vision like a weapon.
“god, mal,” he groaned when she tugged at his waistband, knuckles grazing the dark trail of hair leading lower. “you’re gonna kill me.”
“that’s the idea,” she whispered, biting his lip.
his answering growl vibrated through her chest as his hands slid to her thighs, spreading her open against the counter. the clatter of a copper pan somewhere overhead barely registered.
she clung to him, nails raking down his back, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer. he pressed his forehead to hers, breathing hard, every movement desperate and deliberate, until the whole world narrowed to heat and marble and the two of them.
when it finally ebbed, the kitchen was silent again — except for their ragged breathing. dean stayed pressed against her, his grin crooked and satisfied, lips brushing hers between words.
“breakfast of champions,” he murmured.
she smacked his chest, still breathless. “you’re disgusting.”
“and you love me.”
“unfortunately,” she said, but her smile betrayed her.
he kissed her again, softer this time, one hand cradling the back of her head. “fortunately,” he corrected.
by the time mallory slid down from the counter, her legs still shaky, dean was smirking like the cat who got the cream. she shoved him toward the stool at the island with a muttered “out of my way, winchester” and started rummaging through the fridge again.
“you cooking for me?” he asked, leaning on his elbows, eyes following her like he couldn’t help himself.
“somebody has to. you’d set the place on fire.”
“that was one time.”
she shot him a look over her shoulder. “three times.”
he grinned, unrepentant, and reached out to snag the end of her hair as she passed. when she tied on an apron, he tugged gently at the strings just to watch her roll her eyes.
“you’re a menace,” she muttered, cracking eggs into a skillet.
“and yet,” he said, lazy and smug, “you keep feeding me.”
while she worked, dean lounged against the counter, stealing little touches whenever she got too close: fingers trailing along her hip, thumb brushing the bare strip of skin where the shirt rode up. she swatted at him a few times, but didn’t really mind.
eventually, she plated scrambled eggs and toast, carrying them to the sunlit breakfast nook tucked against a wall of windows. dean followed with mugs of coffee, setting them down before sliding onto the bench. mallory tucked herself into his side automatically, curling one leg beneath her as she stole a piece of toast right off his plate.
“hey,” he protested halfheartedly.
“tax,” she said around a bite.
he chuckled, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
for a while, they just ate in silence, the sunlight warm on their faces, the house strangely quiet around them. then mallory shifted, setting her mug down with a little too much care.
“dean?”
he glanced at her, mouth still full of eggs. “hm?”
she hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against his forearm. “do you think maybe we could live here one day? like… after we hang up the hat on all the hunting stuff.”
the question landed heavy in the air, so soft and simple it almost hurt.
dean swallowed, eyes searching hers.
dean swallowed the last of his bite, setting his fork down slow. his arm stayed heavy around her shoulders, thumb brushing the curve of her collarbone like he was buying himself a second before speaking.
“you serious?” he asked, voice low.
mallory’s eyes flicked up to his, searching. “i don’t know. maybe. just… it feels different with you here. like it could actually be ours.”
he was quiet for a long moment, just looking at her. then his mouth tugged into that crooked smile that always undid her.
“mal, you could stick me in a cardboard box under the freeway and i’d call it home if you were there.”
her laugh caught in her throat, shaky, almost a sob. “dean.”
“but this?” he tipped his chin toward the high windows, the sunlight spilling across the marble counters, the sheer space of it all. “yeah. i can see it. you in the garden, me fixing cars in the driveway, us finally sleeping in the same damn bed every night without some monster breathing down our necks.”
his smirk softened, something achingly sincere in his eyes. “sounds like heaven, sweetheart. so yeah. one day, when we hang it up? we could live here. if it’s what you want.”
mallory curled tighter into his side, burying her face in his shoulder so he wouldn’t see the way her eyes burned. “it is.”
dean pressed his lips to her hair, lingering there. “then it’s done.”
the house groaned around them, old and sprawling, full of ghosts. but in the sunlit corner of the kitchen, tucked against dean’s chest, it felt like the future.
she’s dressed in a black, lacy little tank top and jeans she looks like she was poured into, along with black cowboy boots and her usual silver jewelry, looking a little too alternative to fit in.
dean gawks when she steps out of the bathroom — jaw slack, brows raised, that little whistle slipping past his lips as he rakes his eyes up and down like it’s his birthday, not hers.
“jesus christ, sweetheart,” he mutters, stunned into reverence.
she just smirks, pops her gum, and twirls the keys to the impala around her finger. “what? you said i needed the full kansas experience, didn’t you?”
the place is all neon beer signs and wood paneling, the floor sticky with spilled drinks, the air humming with country music and lively conversation. she doesn’t fit in, not really — not with her dark eyeliner and silver rings and sultry scowl — but that’s half the fun. she knows all eyes are on her, but she only cares about one green pair. and dean? he’s got his arm around her waist, wearing that smug little smirk like a badge of honor. cowboy hat tilted low, sleeves rolled to his elbows, belt buckle big and stupid.
“what?” she says, catching him staring again.
“nothin’,” he hums, giving her hip a little squeeze. “just can’t believe you’re real.”
they drink and flirt and do a two-step that devolves into a spin-and-cling mess of laughter. he twirls her, catches her, dips her too low and kisses her too long. she tells him he’s being ridiculous. he tells her she likes him like that. she threatens to leave him in the parking lot, and he grins like he knows she won’t.
three whiskeys in, grinning like the devil, his hands all over her waist, and he spins her one too many times — misjudges the catch, or maybe just gets too distracted by how her top slips low when she twirls. she yelps, legs flailing a little, boots skidding on the scuffed-up floor.
“dean!” she squeals, laughing and breathless, arms flying around his neck as he stumbles forward to keep her upright.
“i got you, i got you!” he wheezes between cackles, clutching her like a lifeline, his cowboy hat falling right off his head. “jesus, woman, you gotta warn me when you’re gonna be that gorgeous mid-spin.”
“you almost killed me because you were looking down my top.” her voice is high with laughter, head thunking against his shoulder. “this is why we can’t have nice things.”
“i’m the nice thing,” he mumbles into her hair, breath hot and whiskey-sweet. “you’re just real bad at keeping me.”
she punches his chest without much force and mutters, “shut up,” even as she nuzzles in closer.
they sway there for a minute, both of them still catching their breath, and then she leans back to look up at him — cheeks flushed, lips glossy, hair wild. and god, he looks at her like the stars just blinked on for the first time. thumb brushing under her jaw, palm heavy against her lower back.
“you like me,” he says again, smug and sing-song.
“you’re lucky i do,” she replies, nose scrunching, “or i would’ve left your ass in the parking lot.”
“you still could,” he teases, leaning in close, his lips brushing hers. “but then who’d dance with you like this?”
and just like that, they’re spinning again, clumsy and tangled and completely gone for each other — her boots squeaking on the floor, his hat getting trampled somewhere behind them, the band playing on like it’s a soundtrack just for them.
guys keep coming up to them, asking if they can steal her for a dance, and dean keeps scowling, telling them to get lost.
oh, and mal loves it. she’s kind of an attention whore, as dean so lovingly calls her.
she plays it up too — leans back against his chest like he’s a porch post in the sun, twirling a piece of her hair around her finger, all sultry-eyed and smug. some guy in a button-down with pearl snaps and a belt buckle the size of texas sidles up and tips his hat, all polite southern charm and a little too much confidence.
“mind if i steal you for a dance, darlin’?”
dean stiffens behind her immediately, arm winding tighter around her waist, his hand splaying possessive over her stomach. “yeah,” he grits out, jaw ticking, “she does mind.”
the guy gives a tight-lipped smile, raises his hands like he means no harm. “just a dance, man.”
“and she’s just my girl,” dean snaps, eyes narrow and dangerous beneath the brim of his hat. “so you can back the hell off.”
mal presses her lips together to hide her grin, turning her face so dean can’t see how thoroughly amused she is. she reaches up, lets her fingers play with the curls at the nape of his neck. “you’re so cranky,” she whispers, just loud enough for him to hear.
“you like it,” he mutters, low and hot against her temple, still glaring daggers at the guy as he backs off.
and then, not even five minutes later, another one strolls up. this one younger, cleaner cut, more nervous — like maybe he thinks she’ll say yes if he asks nice enough. “hey, ma’am,” he starts, all bashful charm, “would you—”
“nope,” dean says immediately, without even letting him finish.
“dean,” she drawls, fighting laughter now.
“what? i’m just cuttin’ ‘em off at the pass. save everyone some time.”
“i can dance with someone else if i want to, you know.”
he turns to face her, mouth tugging into a crooked little smirk. “sure you can, sugar. just means i’ll have to start a bar fight in your honor.”
she makes a show of sighing dramatically, like he’s being such a pain, but she’s practically glowing. loves the attention, loves how he huffs every time someone so much as glances at her, loves that he wants to keep her tucked against his chest like she’s some prize he won in a high-stakes poker game.
and when he yanks her back into another twirl, dipping her low just to kiss the hell out of her, she laughs against his mouth and mutters, “you’re insane.”
“just for you,” he quips, not missing a beat, voice cocky as hell and soft as velvet.
he spins her around again and again, completely enamored by the way her curled hair twirls around with every blurry rotation. three whiskeys deep, the whole world’s a bit softer around the edges — stars in his eyes and adoration in his heart.
and he’s laughing, loud and unrestrained, that beautiful, gravelly sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in his chest like it’s always belonged to her. his hands don’t leave her waist — even when he spins her, even when she stumbles a little and crashes back into him, breathless and glowing and so fucking pretty it makes him ache.
her hair whips around her shoulders like silk ribbons, catching the light, wild and free and his.
“you’re beautiful,” he slurs softly, his cowboy hat tilted back just enough for her to see the unguarded wonder in his eyes. “have i told you that yet tonight?”
she grins, cheeks flushed, breathing hard. “twice during the line dance. once during your impromptu karaoke. and—”
“not enough, then,” he murmurs, dipping his head to kiss her, slow and syrup-sweet. he holds her like he’s afraid she’ll drift off with the music, like if he doesn’t tether her close she’ll vanish into the night air and the sound of steel guitar.
she melts against him, legs slotted between his, palms sliding up the rough denim of his shirt. her voice is barely a breath. “i love you.”
he stills, just for a second. and then he’s spinning her again, a little slower this time, gentler — a dance just for the two of them now, the rest of the world blurring out. “yeah?” he whispers, chin resting on her shoulder, mouth warm at her ear.
“yeah.”
he lets out a shaky breath, hand curling possessively at her back. “then i’m the luckiest bastard on this side of the mississippi.”
“and the other side.” she teases softly, barely loud enough for him to hear over the noise.
his smile turns crooked, real slow, like dawn breaking. like he’s trying not to let it split his face open. “yeah?” he drawls, voice all warm amber and smoke, tightening his arm around her waist until there’s no space left between them. “that so?”
“you bet your ass.” she winks, crinkling her nose amusedly, the way she always does when she’s feeling too sweet.
he groans, low and affectionate, burying his face in the curve of her neck like it physically pains him how much he loves her. “jesus, woman. you tryin’ to kill me?” he mumbles, the words muffled against her skin.
she laughs, soft and bright like windchimes swaying in the summer air. “don’t be dramatic.”
“dramatic?” he pulls back just enough to look at her, his eyes all glassy with whiskey and moonlight and her. “mal, you’re wearin’ boots that could stomp on my heart, and you’re lookin’ at me like i hung the stars. i am dramatic.”
she hums thoughtfully, hooking her fingers through his belt loops to keep him close. “i do think you hung the stars.”
his breath catches — just for a moment — and he swears he feels the floor sway beneath them, or maybe it’s just the way she says that. like it’s the most obvious truth in the universe.
“you wanna get outta here?” he murmurs, nose brushing hers. “drive out somewhere real dark where we can actually see ‘em?”
“only if you keep the hat on.”
his grin’s all teeth now, boyish and smug, a little crooked. “darlin’, you think you can handle me in this hat and nowhere else?”
she just smirks, tilts her head, leans in like she’s gonna kiss him — then says, “guess we’ll find out.”
“i’m not sure you can drive.” she snickers.
“meh.” he shrugs, slinging his arm across her shoulders, tugging her into his chest. “bet i could find a horse.”
she lets out a snort, tucking into his side, cheek pressed against the fabric of his shirt. “you on horseback. that’s a sight i’d pay money to see.”
“please,” he scoffs, grinning down at her. “i’d look damn good on a horse. real marlboro man type deal. hat, boots, all of it.”
she peers up at him, slow and skeptical, amusement curling at the edges of her smile. “you’d fall off.”
“would not.”
“you absolutely would.”
he narrows his eyes playfully. “you really doubt me, sugar?”
“every day.” she shrugs innocently. “but especially when you’re drunk and trying to ride livestock.”
he laughs, loud and delighted, and dips to kiss her temple. “fine. no horse. but i am stealin’ you away somewhere tonight. even if i gotta carry you.”
“you threatening to sweep me off my feet, cowboy?”
“not a threat,” he winks. “a promise.”
“i’m pretty sure you can still get a dui on horseback, cowboy.” she teases. “riding under the influence, i suppose.”
“how could i forget? that’s your job.” he smirks, so endearingly proud of himself for such a witty retort.
she groans, loud and theatrical, flopping her head against his shoulder like she can’t believe she even entertained this conversation. “you are so pleased with yourself right now.”
“you kidding?” dean grins, eyes crinkling with the kind of boyish mischief that could set a barn on fire. “that was gold. pure gold.”
“mm. solid bronze at best,” she mutters, biting back a smile.
he leans in, nudging his nose against her temple, voice dropping low. “you still laughed.”
“i didn’t.”
“you did, mal. i felt it.”
she tries to look away, tries to be unimpressed, but he’s close and warm and full of stupid cowboy charm, and the night smells like beer and hay and dust and him. “you’re lucky you’re hot.”
“damn right I am.” he drawls, tugging her close again as the country music spins on behind them, all lazy twang and slow drums. “c’mon, sugar. give the people what they want — one more spin for the road.”
“i swear, if you drop me again—”
“never,” he interrupts, already lifting her hand, already swaying. “scout’s honor.”
“you were never a scout.”
“sure, but doesn’t that make it more impressive?”
she laughs. god help her, she actually laughs.
“if you say so.”
she gets spun around four more times, or maybe it’s five, she’s not really counting, just watching him, all starry-eyed and whiskey-warm.
the world spins in a haze of warm amber and dim light, the air thick with the smell of dust and summer night. her heart thuds in time with the music, matching the rhythm of his every step as he pulls her close, twirls her, catches her again like she’s the only thing in the world worth holding.
she doesn’t care how dizzy she gets, doesn’t care that her boots are slipping on the floor or that she’s laughing too loudly. all she cares about is the way he’s looking at her, like she’s the center of the universe and he’s so damn proud to have her in his arms. like nothing else could possibly matter but this, this moment.
“you’re still ridiculous,” she says, breathless, but it’s a soft laugh that escapes her lips, no bite behind it, just pure joy.
“and you love it,” he murmurs, spinning her again until she’s dizzy with both the alcohol and the way he makes her feel. he pulls her back in close, so close their chests press together, his voice a low hum against her ear. “you love me. told me so a minute ago.”
she grins, head thrown back, eyes closed for a split second as she lets herself feel the weight of him against her, the way his fingers slip around her waist like he never wants to let go. “maybe i do,” she admits, voice soft, teasing, but there’s something real behind the words, something deeper than the whiskey-soaked haze.
he pulls her tighter, kisses her temple, his breath ragged against her skin. “figured as much,” he murmurs, and before she can even respond, he’s dipping her again, low, pulling her into a kiss that tastes like bourbon and bad decisions.
a sharp wolf-whistle breaks through the bubble they’ve created, and for a split second, it’s like reality slaps them back. but mal doesn’t miss a beat. she giggles against his lips, the sound sweet and a little breathless, her arms slinging around his neck like she can’t get enough of him, pulling him closer, flush against her body.
his smirk only deepens, that playful, cocky grin that makes her want to kiss him harder. with a low chuckle, he hikes her thigh up around his waist, his other hand settling on her hip as he presses up against her just a little bit, making sure she feels every inch of him. the movement is slow, deliberate, but it’s enough to make her breath catch.
“what?” he teases, voice low, like he’s daring anyone to challenge them. “didn’t know you were into being watched, sweetheart.”
“there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” she winks.
dean raises an eyebrow, amused and intrigued all at once. he leans in closer, his lips brushing against her ear as he murmurs, “maybe i need to learn a bit more then, huh?” his voice is low and dangerous, full of that playful edge that makes her pulse quicken.
she meets his gaze, eyes darkened with desire and mischief, lips curling into a wicked grin. “you’re welcome to try,” she shoots back, voice thick with teasing challenge.
with a soft growl, dean presses his lips to hers again, but this time, the kiss is deeper, more urgent. his hand on her hip pulls her closer, the heat between them turning molten as they move together, the music blurring into the background. there’s no more crowd, no more noise, just the pulse of her heart and the weight of him against her, making her forget everything else.
the wolf-whistle from earlier might have been a joke, but dean’s entirely serious in this moment. he’s not letting anyone in — not even the guy who had the nerve to make them the subject of his attention. as if to make a point, he presses into her just a little harder, his body flush against hers, his mouth working along her jawline, down her neck.
“you sure you wanna keep this up?” he murmurs, lips trailing over her skin, his hand firm on her thigh, giving it a little squeeze. “i’m not exactly known for playing nice when i’m this worked up.”
she gasps, fingers gripping his shoulders as she leans into the kiss, her body betraying her as much as her words. “i don’t need you to play nice,” she whispers back, a playful edge to her voice but the heat in her chest giving her away.
dean pulls back just slightly, his eyes searching hers, gleaming with that dangerous fire. “that’s what i thought,” he mutters, before capturing her lips again, this time with no intention of letting her go until she’s completely out of breath.
mal’s fully aware of the eyes on them, the whispers, the stares, and the silent approval from every corner of the room. she can feel the heat of it, the way the crowd shifts to make space for them, how their gaze lingers longer than it should. but she doesn’t care. she’s too busy looking up at dean, her lips curled into a grin, her body moving in time with his. they’re not exactly graceful, but there’s a rawness, an energy between them that makes everyone else seem irrelevant.
dean, oblivious to the heat they’re generating — or maybe just not caring — keeps his eyes locked on hers, his smirk only growing with every accidental misstep, every off-beat move they make. there’s something electric about it, the way they fit together despite the lack of perfection. his hand on her waist pulls her in closer, and her fingers dance along the back of his neck, the touch intimate despite the open space around them.
she’s acutely aware of the way other people watch, the flickers of admiration and jealousy crossing faces. but as they spin, clumsy and carefree, it’s like they’re in their own little world, shut off from the rest of the bar. it’s him, and it’s her, and everything else is just noise.
“don’t know if you noticed,” she teases, her voice low and playful as they stumble slightly, “but i think we’re kind of stealing the show.”
dean chuckles, his hands tightening around her as they sway in the middle of the floor. “oh, i noticed,” he drawls, eyes glinting with that familiar cocky gleam. “they’re all just jealous they can’t keep up.”
“i think they’re just mad they’re not as hot as us,” she replies, her grin widening as she looks around, daring anyone to prove her wrong.
“you got that right, sweetheart.” dean pulls her in tighter, his lips brushing her ear as he adds, “but i’m pretty sure they’re mostly mad that you’re mine.”
mal laughs softly, leaning into him with a shake of her head. “god, you’re such a dork,” she mutters, but there’s no heat behind it, only fondness. she knows that no one else matters, not when she’s here with him.
mal pulls dean by the hand, guiding him off the dance floor with a mischievous glint in her eyes, still flushed from the heat of their shared little world out there. she’s grinning like she’s just won some unspoken victory. when they reach the pool tables, she doesn’t hesitate to rack the balls, the sound of them clicking together echoing in the space.
dean follows her, still wearing that playful, cocky smile. he leans casually against the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest, watching her with that half-amused, half-admiring gaze. his gaze flicks to her, his eyes tracing over the curve of her hips in those tight jeans, the way her boots click against the floor as she moves with purpose.
“pool now, huh?” he smirks, eyes narrowing in that familiar teasing way. “and here i thought we were gonna just make out in a booth for a while.”
“maybe later,” she shoots back, not looking up from her task as she expertly positions the cue ball. she doesn’t mind the attention, especially from him. “but for now, i’m gonna school your ass. again.”
dean lets out a short, impressed laugh. “oh really? you sure about that?” he uncrosses his arms, stepping closer, his fingers brushing against hers as he picks up his own cue stick. “i remember the last time you said that, doll.”
“don’t get cocky,” mal warns, raising an eyebrow as she picks up her drink, leaning back against the side of the table. “i’ve been practicing.”
dean grins, all confidence, but there’s a flicker of something else in his eyes — something that says he’s not worried. “we’ll see about that,” he says, tapping the side of the table like it’s a challenge, a silent promise of something more.
mal takes the first shot, sinking a ball into the corner pocket with a flick of her wrist. she looks up at him with a smirk, her eyes glinting as she takes a slow sip from her bourbon.
“not bad,” dean mutters, clearly impressed. “but i’m gonna win this one, sweetheart. don’t get too comfortable.”
she just shrugs, her lips curling into a teasing smile. “we’ll see about that,” she echoes, her tone light but with a spark of competitiveness in her gaze.
“be right back.” she says, kissing his cheek and sauntering away. dean smiles, slow and dazed, watching her walk away.
dean’s gaze never wavers from her retreating form, her hips swaying with that effortless confidence he can’t help but admire. his smile is soft, almost fond, and there’s a warmth in his chest that stretches wider the longer he watches her. it’s the way she moves, how she carries herself, like she knows exactly what effect she has on everyone — and doesn’t give a damn. she’s his, and that makes everything feel right.
just as he’s lost in his thoughts, the voice of an older man interrupts, cutting through the hum of conversation around them.
“son,” the man says, his drawl heavy, like he’s been holding onto this for a while. dean turns his head, finding a weathered face, a cowboy hat tipped low, and an approving smile. “you best keep her around, you hear?”
dean blinks, momentarily thrown off by the sudden attention. he takes a beat to process the stranger’s words, then glances back over at mal. she’s standing by the bar now, ordering another drink, her posture so naturally relaxed it’s almost like she’s a magnet for attention. dean’s heart gives a little lurch in his chest, an all-too-familiar tug that never goes away when it comes to her.
he laughs quietly, shaking his head as he meets the older man’s eyes. “trust me, i don’t plan on letting her go anywhere,” dean says, his voice low but steady, a hint of affection threading through his words.
the man chuckles, his grin widening as he takes a long look at dean. “well, son,” he says, “you better keep her close. not every guy gets someone like that.” there’s a knowing look in his eyes, something almost fatherly, before he gives a nod and walks off, leaving dean with his thoughts.
dean’s gaze flicks back to mal, a softer smile tugging at his lips now.
“yes sir. wasn’t planning on it.” he nods slowly.
his heart feels full — more than full, actually, like it might burst if he doesn’t keep it together. yeah, he thinks, i’m not letting her go. ever.
she crosses the room again, another drink in hand, and the same man winks at her as he walks away. “who was that?” she hums, pulling a box of marlboro reds out of her back pocket.
dean’s smirk is still lingering, lazy and fond, as she saunters back over, her drink in one hand and that familiar box of marlboro reds in the other. she looks like sin in a dive bar — jeans clinging like a second skin, tank top showing just enough to ruin him.
he watches her with hooded eyes, head tilted just slightly back in that way he does when he’s letting himself enjoy the view, letting himself be adored by it.
“old timer,” he mutters, tilting his chin toward the door the man had just exited through. “called me ‘son.’ told me to keep you around.”
she quirks a brow, tucking a cigarette between her lips and passing him the box, offering him one without a word. he plucks it from her fingers, grinning. “guess he’s got good taste.”
she beckons him down, cupping her hand around the flame as she lights them both. the closeness lets him breathe her in — whiskey, smoke, and something uniquely her. she’s focused on not catching something on fire, he’s focused on her.
“keep me around, huh?” she exhales slow, blowing smoke past his cheek. “guy doesn’t even know how much trouble i am.”
“he must’ve caught a glimpse,” dean says, leaning in, voice low and thick with amusement, “or maybe he just saw the way i was looking at you like you hung the damn moon.”
she takes a drag, smirking around it. “you’re getting sentimental on me, cowboy.”
“i’m a little drunk, sweetheart,” he shrugs, smoke curling from his lips as he talks. “i get poetic.”
“mm.” she hums like she’s considering it, stepping between his legs again, hooking a finger in his belt loop. “you better mean it.”
“every damn word.” and he leans forward to kiss the corner of her mouth, just below where her cigarette hovers, the softest brush of lips before he pulls back with a grin. “now rack ‘em. i’m about to embarrass you.”
“dream on, winchester.”
“y’know,” she drawls, grabbing his chin and tugging him down a little, taking her cigarette from her lips and his from his lips, holding them between her fingers. “i think i’m gonna get you some chaps.” she muses against his lips, pulling back and slipping his cigarette between his lips once more.
his grin twitches the second she takes his chin — lazy, crooked, utterly captivated. he follows her pull like he always does, ducking his head until they’re breathing the same smoky air, lips brushing but never quite kissing. the second she takes both cigarettes in hand, he huffs a little laugh through his nose, hands finding her waist like muscle memory.
“chaps, huh?” he mutters, voice all grit and low heat, cigarette barely hanging on between his teeth as he speaks around it. “is that what gets you goin’ now, darlin’? cowboy fantasy kickin’ in?”
she leans in just close enough that her breath ghosts across his lips. “mm. maybe.” her thumb strokes the curve of his jaw, teasing, slow. “you must be rubbing off on me,”
he groans under his breath, more a growl than anything, the sound curling low in his throat like it’s been pulled straight from the pit of his stomach. “fuckin’ better be,” he mutters, voice thick and honey-drenched, laced with something darker. he dips his head again, just barely brushing his lips against hers — not quite a kiss, more a promise of one. “s’bout time you admitted you like the hat.”
she smirks, smoke curling between them like the air itself is thick with heat. “never said i didn’t,” she murmurs, and the way she says it — smooth, amused, a little breathless — makes something tighten in his chest.
he lets his hands drift lower, dragging down the back of her jeans until his fingers slip beneath the waistband, calloused fingertips skating over the top of her underwear. “gonna have to get you a hat too,” he says, voice low and wicked. “whaddya say?black, to match your boots. wear it while you ride me.”
“dean,” she warns, but it’s not really a warning, not with the way her mouth twitches, the way her eyes flash.
“what?” he grins, unrepentant, tugging her flush against him. “i’m just sayin’—you in that little top and a cowboy hat? you’d bring a man to his knees.”
“you’re already on yours half the time,” she fires back, cocking her head sweetly, cigarette still perched between her fingers. “but go ahead, cowboy. keep talkin’. see where it gets you.”
he exhales a low laugh, full of want. “god, you’re trouble.”
she kisses the corner of his mouth, cigarette smoke clinging to her lips. “so are you.”
his thumbs brush across her stomach, fingers splayed out, curled around her hips, pulling her closer.
“alright, cowboy. i still gotta kick your ass.” she snickers, never letting the cigarette drop from her lips.
he chuckles darkly, the sound rolling from deep in his chest as he tugs her in tighter, his body pressing up against hers, his chest brushing the curve of her back. “yes ma’am,” he purrs, voice low and teasing, hands firm on her hips, sliding lower. “anything you want.”
dean barely has time to blink before mallory’s there, climbing into his bed like she belongs. she tucks herself against his side, curling into him, warm and pliant, her breath slow and steady against his skin. her fingers, delicate and deft, start tracing the thick vein running up his forearm, following the path absentmindedly, like she’s mapping out something only she can read.
he hums, lazy and content, letting his arm curl around her, hand splayed across her back.
“i wish i could sleep between your ribs,” she mumbles, focused on his skin.
“…doll. what the fuck.” he snorts, and she just looks up at him with big green sparkly eyes, all innocent and confused as to why he’s laughing at her.
“what?” she frowns, her voice soft.
dean can’t help but grin, shaking his head as he adjusts his arm around her to pull her in closer. “nothing, just— you’re a weirdo, that’s all,” he chuckles, running his fingers through her hair.
she pouts slightly, but the corners of her mouth twitch up as she burrows into his chest. “i just think it would be comfy,” she murmurs, her voice growing sleepier as she settles against him.
dean laughs again, his chest rumbling with the sound. “yeah? well, if you think so, maybe i’ll let you try it sometime.” he presses a soft kiss to her forehead, still smiling as she relaxes further into his arms, her hand tracing lazily up his arm again.
she sits up for a moment, pulling off her shirt and chucking it away, struggling for a moment when it got stuck. then, she lays back down, burying herself inside his shirt, laying her head on his chest.
“what on earth are you doin’, baby?” he snickers as she makes herself at home inside the black tee he’s actively wearing.
“laying on you.” she hums, her lace bra the only thing separating their skin.
“i coulda taken my shirt off, baby.” he muses, his hand taking up residence on her lower back.
“you’re so smart.” she stares up at him in full seriousness after sitting up, her gaze lidded and a dopey smile on her lips.
he snorts, taking his shirt off and tossing it away, watching with an amused smirk as her eyes widen.
“you’re so pretty, dean.” she whines, taking his face in her hands, squishing his cheeks like a disgruntled housecat.
dean’s smirk widens, his hands sliding up her back as she settles back into his lap, squishing his face. “yeah, yeah, doll, keep talkin’ like that,” he teases, his voice low and amused as he lets her squish his face. “but if you keep starin’ at me like that i might think you’ve got a crush on me or somethin’.”
she doesn’t respond right away, her eyes still wide with a touch of admiration as she studies him, her fingers tracing over his jaw, her expression soft but playful. “i mean it,” she mumbles, pushing his face back and forth like she’s petting a cat. “you’re so stupidly handsome and perfect.”
dean chuckles, his hands roaming over her skin as he pulls her a little closer, one of his hands threading through her hair. “you’re pretty damn gorgeous yourself, y’know,” he murmurs, his voice dropping to something a little more sincere, but still playful. “now stop messin’ with my face, i need it to stay handsome.”
she grins up at him, her fingers gently running over his cheeks before she lets go, curling up against his chest again. “fine, fine,” she sighs, settling in, completely at home. “but you really are the prettiest.”
dean can’t help but smile, one of those soft, rare smiles that only she gets to see. “well, i’ll take that.” his arms wrap around her tighter, content. “now shut up and cuddle with me.”
she sighs dreamily, curled up against him, playing with his necklace. “dean?” she asks quietly, her free hand finding his and wrapping around his middle and ring finger.
“hmm?” dean murmurs, his thumb lightly stroking the back of her hand as he adjusts slightly, pulling her closer into the warmth of his chest. he can feel her soft breath against his skin, her fingers tracing absently over the lines of his hand.
she pauses, a small, thoughtful frown tugging at her lips as she gazes down at their intertwined fingers, her mind clearly working something over. “what do you think love is?” her voice is soft, almost vulnerable, and there’s a hesitation in it that makes dean’s chest tighten.
he’s quiet for a moment, trying to read her tone. “love, huh?” his fingers idly play with her hair as he takes a moment to think, the hum of the conversation mixing with the comfort of her warmth. “i think… love’s pretty damn complicated. but for me?” he chuckles softly, his thumb moving in slow circles on her hand. “love’s all this… stupid shit we do. messin’ around, teasing each other, holding each other when we need it.” his voice grows more serious, almost reflective. “It’s in the way we keep comin’ back to each other, no matter how much we fight or how crazy things get.”
mallory’s breath catches in her throat, and she shifts slightly, her gaze flicking up to meet his. “yeah?” she whispers, her eyes soft as she studies him closely.
“yeah,” he answers quietly, his hand moving to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering there longer than necessary. “it’s all the little stuff. the stuff you don’t even notice until you start looking. that’s what I think love is.” he pauses for a moment before adding with a small smirk, “but i’m probably just a sap.”
mallory smiles, that same dreamy look in her eyes, and she leans into him even more, her lips brushing softly against his chest. “you’re not a sap,” she says, the words soft and warm. “i like it.”
“well that’s reassuring.” he teases gently, pinching her hip.
“dean?” she asks again, gazing up at him with that incredibly fond expression.
“yeah, doll?” dean murmurs, his voice low as he tilts his head slightly, watching her with a soft, affectionate smile that matches hers.
mallory just stares at him for a moment, her hand still gently holding his, the warmth of her fingers pressing against his skin. she tilts her head a little, as if considering something.
“do you ever think you’ll get tired of me?” her voice is barely above a whisper, a question that feels almost too vulnerable to ask.
dean’s expression falters for a second, the question catching him off guard, but then his gaze softens, and he leans down slightly, his lips brushing against her temple.
“hey,” he murmurs, his voice warm and reassuring, the tip of his nose brushing against her hair. he pulls back just enough to look into her eyes, his thumb gently caressing the back of her hand. “i could never get tired of you, mal. not a chance.” his words are steady, firm, as if he’s trying to convey every ounce of sincerity he feels in the moment.
mallory’s brow furrows slightly, unsure, and she searches his face as though looking for some kind of truth. “but… what if i annoy you? or get too much?” she asks, the vulnerability in her voice almost imperceptible, but dean can feel the weight of it. it’s not the typical teasing mallory he’s used to, but something deeper, something she doesn’t show often.
dean’s heart tugs, and he leans in again, pressing a kiss to the top of her head, letting it linger there. “baby,” he hums, “where’s this comin’ from?”
she pauses, biting her cheek and avoiding his gaze. “i’m scared, dean.” she confesses, barely above a whisper. “that you’ll leave me.”
dean’s chest tightens at her words, and for a moment, he’s silent, processing the rawness of what she’s just shared. his hand, still holding hers, tightens slightly, as if anchoring them both in that space.
“mal,” he breathes out, his voice thick with emotion, “listen to me. i’m not goin’ anywhere. not now, not ever.”
he shifts, pulling her up so that she’s sitting more fully in his lap, her body against his. he gently takes her chin in his hand, lifting her gaze to meet his, his eyes steady and serious. “you hear me?” he asks, his voice rougher than usual.
mallory’s eyes are wide, almost startled by the intensity of his words. she wants to look away, to hide, but she can’t. not when he’s looking at her like this, his face open, vulnerable in a way she’s not used to seeing.
“i don’t care how much you tease me, or how many times you test me. you could drive me absolutely crazy, and i’d still stay,” dean murmurs, his voice softening, “because i want to stay. you’re not too much, mal. you never will be.” he brushes a thumb across her cheek, his gaze unwavering. “i’m not gonna leave. you’re stuck with me.”
for a long moment, mallory doesn’t say anything. she just stares at him, her breath slow, the vulnerability in her eyes slowly fading, replaced by something warm and almost relieved.
“besides… what kinda man would i be if i left my best girl, huh?” he adds, his voice soft enough to get her to smile.
mallory lets out a quiet, shaky breath, her chest rising and falling as she absorbs his words. her lips twitch, and despite the weight of her insecurities, she can’t help but let out a soft laugh — a quiet, almost embarrassed sound.
“yeah?” she murmurs, a hopeful look in her eyes.
dean’s lips curl into a grin, the sincerity in his eyes softening as he tilts his head, watching her with an expression that’s all warmth. “yeah, baby. my best girl,” he repeats, his voice playful but with an undercurrent of something deeper, something far more serious. “the one who’s got me wrapped around her little finger.”
mallory’s chest tightens with the warmth of his words, and she feels a flicker of something deep inside her, something that’s been buried under layers of teasing and bravado. she lets herself smile, that smile that’s all soft and unguarded, the kind of smile she only gives him. “i like when you call me that,” she admits quietly, her fingers finding his collarbone, tracing it absently.
dean pulls her in just a little closer, his hands shifting to her back, his lips brushing against her forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. “then i’ll do it more,” he hums, his voice full of contentment.
mallory’s heart flutters at the sound of his words, and she can’t help but lean into him even more, letting the familiar comfort of his touch settle around her. there’s something about being in his arms that makes everything else fade away, leaving just the two of them in this bubble of quiet intimacy.
dean’s hand gently cups the back of her neck, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles as he presses his lips to her temple again, his touch grounding.
she tilts her head just enough to look up at him, her green eyes meeting his with a softness that catches him off guard.
dean’s heart skips a beat, and for a moment, he just holds her there, both of them lost in the quiet understanding between them. he leans down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead, then pulls back to meet her gaze again.
a beat of silence passes, and she’s still biting the inside of her cheek, a small frown tugging on her lips as she looks back up at him, tears welling up in her eyes. “i’m sorry,” she mumbles, “i don’t mean to doubt you.”
dean’s expression softens immediately, his thumb gently brushing away the tear that escapes down her cheek. he pulls her even closer, cradling her face in his hands, his gaze steady and unwavering. “hey, no. don’t apologize,” he murmurs, his voice firm but full of understanding. “you’re allowed to feel how you feel. but i need you to hear me, okay? i’m not going anywhere. i’m not gonna leave you, mal. no matter what.”
he presses his forehead against hers, his breathing slow and steady as he holds her there, offering her his presence, his reassurance. “you’re not a burden to me. and you never will be.”
mallory blinks rapidly, trying to hold herself together, but the weight of his words settles over her like a warm blanket. she lets herself lean into him, her chest rising and falling with the soft, shaky breath she takes. “i just… i don’t want to push you away,” she admits quietly, her voice fragile, like she’s not used to being this vulnerable.
dean’s heart tightens at her words, and he pulls her even closer, wrapping her in the safety of his arms. “you could never push me away, mal,” he breathes, his voice thick with emotion. “you don’t have to be perfect. you don’t have to have it all together. i’m here, no matter what. and i’m not going anywhere.”
mallory clings to him, her face buried in the crook of his neck as she lets the weight of her fears fade away, replaced by the comforting, undeniable truth of his words. she doesn’t say anything more, just holds him tighter, letting him be her anchor.
a little while later, she’s sufficiently reassured, his hand splayed across her back, sliding up and down her spine soothingly. her cheek is pressed to his shoulder, her fingertip tracing his profile with a quiet awe and a tender reverence.
dean’s breathing is slow and steady, his hand continuing its gentle caress up and down her spine, the rhythm of his touch as calming as the silence between them. he can feel the warmth of her body pressed against his, the weight of her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw, and it’s the most peaceful he’s felt in a long time.
he lets her trace him, eyes closing for a moment as he lets himself simply be, her presence grounding him in a way nothing else does. the soft pressure of her fingertip on his skin is a quiet reminder that, for all the chaos and the danger that surrounds them, this is real, and it’s something that he’s not willing to let go of.
“you’re so goddamn beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, almost a whisper, as he finally breaks the silence. he’s not looking for reassurance, but the softness in his voice carries a depth of affection he doesn’t always say aloud.
mallory stops tracing for a moment, her hand pausing at his jaw as she looks up at him. there’s a softness in her gaze, something tender and open that she doesn’t often let people see.
“you really think so?” she asks quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she’s still not entirely sure she believes it.
dean doesn’t hesitate, his hand reaching up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. “yeah, mal. i do,” he says with a certainty that makes her heart skip a beat.
the warmth of his words sinks in, and for a moment, she feels her doubts slipping away, replaced by a quiet, unspoken bond between them. she smiles softly, leaning into him just a little more, letting herself feel safe in his arms.
“you’re so nice to me.” she murmurs.
dean’s chest tightens at her words, a warmth spreading through him that has nothing to do with the heat of the room. he tilts his head slightly, looking down at her with a soft, affectionate smile. “you deserve it, mal,” he murmurs, his voice low but steady, as if he means every word. “you deserve every damn bit of it.”
her heart flutters in her chest, and she’s suddenly aware of just how much she’s relying on him in this moment. the vulnerability she’s showing, the way she’s allowing herself to lean into him completely — it’s not something she often does. but with him, it feels natural.
“i don’t always feel like i do,” she admits, her voice quieter now, as if the admission is just for him. “i guess I’m still trying to figure out how to… accept it.”
dean gently runs his hand up and down her back again, the motion soothing, almost instinctual. “you don’t have to figure anything out, baby,” he says softly. “just let me take care of you, yeah? let me remind you how damn important you are to me.” his thumb brushes over the back of her hand where it rests against his chest, the gesture so tender, so real.
mallory’s breath hitches slightly, her eyes fluttering closed as she lets the warmth of his words settle into her. she doesn’t answer right away, but she shifts just a little, pressing her cheek into his chest again, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her. it’s enough for now.
“okay,” she finally murmurs, her voice a quiet acceptance. “it’s kind of scary, though.” she breathes after a moment.
dean’s hand freezes for a split second, then continues its gentle caress up her back, as if to reassure her without words. he doesn’t push her to explain, just gives her the space she needs to process whatever it is weighing on her mind.
“what’s scary, baby?” he asks softly, his voice low and patient, a hint of concern threading through it. he shifts just slightly, making sure she feels his presence even more, grounding her.
mallory takes a slow breath, her forehead resting against the side of his chest as she tries to find the right words. “letting someone in like this,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper, “trusting them with everything… with me. i guess i’ve never really done it before.” she lets the words linger in the air between them, feeling the vulnerability she’s exposing and hating how raw it feels, but also, paradoxically, how much she needs it.
dean’s grip on her tightens just a little, pulling her even closer. “i get that,” he says quietly, his voice full of understanding. “but you don’t have to be scared of me, mal. i’m not gonna hurt you. not now, not ever.”
he presses a kiss to the top of her head, soft and warm, as though trying to imprint that promise on her heart. “i’m right here, and i’m not goin’ anywhere.”
the quiet stillness settles around them, and the sound of his heartbeat becomes the only rhythm she can focus on. mallory lets out a soft sigh, her body relaxed against his, feeling completely enveloped by his warmth, his steady presence. she’s completely pacified, the tenderness of his love like no other medicine. there’s a calm in her chest that she hasn’t felt in a long time, the weight of her worries lifting in the security of his arms.
dean’s hand continues its soothing path up and down her back, each movement deliberate, almost as if he’s trying to give her peace in the only way he knows how. his fingers slip into her hair gently, tugging it just enough to tilt her head so he can press a tender kiss to her temple.
“how you doin’, baby?” his voice is quiet, a little rough around the edges from the way they’ve been holding each other, but filled with genuine care.
mallory lifts her head slightly, meeting his gaze with soft eyes, the warmth in her expression saying more than words ever could. she smiles, that rare, vulnerable smile he’s come to cherish. “better,” she whispers, her voice full of quiet gratitude.
“good,” dean murmurs, his thumb brushing across her cheek. he lets the silence linger, content with just being there with her, knowing that sometimes, no words are needed.
“dean?” she hums, resting her chin on his chest.
“yeah, doll?” he answers, his voice warm, his fingers still tracing slow, absentminded patterns against her back.
mallory tilts her head slightly, her green eyes flickering over his face, studying him in the low light. “why do you like me?”
dean huffs a quiet laugh, tilting his head back against the pillow as he looks at her, amused but not dismissive. his fingers pause for just a second before resuming their slow, comforting patterns against her spine. “that’s a loaded question, sweetheart.”
mallory shrugs, her chin still resting on his chest, her eyes steady on his face. “humor me.”
dean looks at her like she just asked him why the sun rises in the morning, like the answer should be obvious — but the thing about mallory is, she never sees herself the way he sees her. so he takes a breath, lets it settle in his chest, and watches her, her green eyes glowing soft in the dim light, her mouth just the faintest bit pouty in that way it always gets when she’s trying to look unaffected but really cares more than anything.
he exhales through his nose, the corner of his mouth twitching up. “where do i even start?” he muses, pretending to think, but she can see the way his gaze softens, how easy the answer actually is for him.
“alright,” he murmurs, voice low and sincere now, the amusement giving way to something tender. “i like you because you’re you, mal,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“i like you because you don’t take shit from anyone. not even me. because you’re smart as hell, and sharp, and you don’t pretend to be anything you’re not. because you’ve got this fire in you, this… spark that never burns out, no matter how bad things get.”
his hand moves up, fingers threading into her hair as he looks down at her. “because you drive me up the damn wall, but i wouldn’t want it any other way. because you’re the smartest, sharpest pain in my ass i’ve ever met.” his voice is full of warmth, teasing but completely sincere. “because you keep me on my toes, make things interesting. because you’re gorgeous, and you know it, and you make me suffer for it.”
“i like the way you look at me like i’m more than just the screw-up big brother with a death wish. i like the way you fight for people, even when you say you won’t. i like how you laugh, and how you kiss, and how you always smell like something sweet and dangerous all at once.”
he glances down at her again, brow softening. “and i like how, even when you’re quiet, even when you’re still, i can feel you loving me. in your hands, in your eyes, in the way you breathe when you’re next to me. it’s not loud. it’s not a show. it’s just… constant.”
mallory bites her lip, her expression unreadable, but her fingers are still tracing slow, delicate patterns against his collarbone. “that all?” she asks, her voice quiet.
dean hums, shifting slightly, his arm tightening around her waist. “nah,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the top of her head. “i like you ‘cause you see through me. ‘cause you never let me get away with anything. ‘cause you make me laugh when i don’t wanna. ‘cause you take up space in my life and don’t apologize for it.” he pauses, his voice dropping lower, more serious. “i like you ‘cause when you’re not around, it don’t feel right. like i’m missing somethin’ important.”
mallory stares at him for a long moment, her expression softening, like she’s trying to absorb his words, hold onto them. then, she pushes herself up just enough to lean in, pressing her lips to his, slow and lingering, like she’s trying to tell him something without saying it out loud.
dean hums against her mouth, his hand sliding up to the nape of her neck, fingers curling in her hair. when she finally pulls away, she rests her forehead against his, exhaling a soft, content breath.
“that was a good answer,” she murmurs, and he chuckles, low and fond.
“yeah?” he muses, his thumb brushing along her jaw.
mallory nods slightly, her nose brushing against his. “yeah.”
“plus, you’re the prettiest girl i’ve ever laid eyes on.” he adds, a fond, amused lilt to his voice.
mallory huffs a quiet laugh, her lashes fluttering as she tilts her head slightly. “you’re just saying that,” she murmurs, but there’s no real bite to it — just something soft, something vulnerable she’s not quite sure what to do with.
dean hums, his fingers tracing absentmindedly along the small of her back. “no i’m not,” he says, his voice low, earnest, steady. “i mean it.”
she just looks at him for a moment, like she’s trying to find the lie in his face, but all she finds is that easy, unwavering affection in his eyes — the kind that makes her stomach twist up in ways she doesn’t know how to handle. so, she does what she always does. she teases.
“so, i’m the prettiest girl you’ve ever laid eyes on, huh?” she muses, tilting her head. “you tryna tell me i got you beat? mister ‘devilishly handsome,’ ‘heartbreaker of the century,’ winchester?”
dean grins, his thumb sweeping up her spine in a slow, deliberate motion. “oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, “you didn’t just beat me. you wiped the damn floor with me.”
mallory lets out a breath of a laugh, shaking her head as she buries her face in the crook of his neck, her arms looping around him a little tighter. “you’re ridiculous,” she murmurs against his skin.
dean just grins, pressing a kiss to the side of her head, his voice quiet, playful, but completely sincere. “yeah,” he muses, “but you love it.”
mallory huffs a soft laugh, tilting her head slightly as she watches him, her fingers still tracing the curve of his jaw. “you’re such a flirt,” she accuses, but there’s no real bite to it — just quiet amusement, maybe even something a little pleased.
dean smirks, squeezing her waist. “yeah, well. you love that, too.”
she pretends to consider, her lips pressing into a thin line. “hmm. debatable.”
“oh, c’mon, baby,” he drawls, his voice warm and teasing. “you love it when i call you pretty.”
mallory rolls her eyes, but he doesn’t miss the way she presses just a little closer, her fingers slipping into his hair, playing absentmindedly with the strands at the nape of his neck. “maybe,” she allows, her voice quieter now, like she doesn’t want to give him the satisfaction.
dean grins, all lazy and smug. “uh-huh,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth before she can protest. “thought so.”
her lips quirk up into a mischievous smirk. “well, i’m only here for the sex, so..”
dean scoffs, his grip tightening on her waist as he rolls them suddenly, flipping her onto her back and hovering over her in one smooth motion. she barely has time to react before he’s grinning down at her, all cocky and self-satisfied.
“that so?” he muses, his voice low and teasing, his fingers digging into her sides just enough to make her squirm. “and here i was, thinkin’ you liked me for my charm.”
mallory smirks up at him, completely unbothered, her hands sliding up his arms, fingers pressing into the solid muscle. “your charm’s a bonus,” she hums, tilting her head, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. “but let’s be honest, winchester — you’re pretty easy on the eyes.”
dean huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “damn, baby, you sure know how to make a guy feel special.”
she grins. “just tellin’ it like it is.”
he watches her for a moment, his expression softening, something warmer slipping into his gaze despite the teasing. “yeah, well,” he murmurs, dipping his head slightly, brushing his nose against hers. “i know i’m supposed to be offended, but i’m not. i’m flattered, really, that you think i’m the best lay you’ve ever had.”
mallory snorts, rolling her eyes as she tugs lightly at the hair at the nape of his neck. “bold of you to assume you’re the best.”
dean’s brows shoot up, his grin widening into something downright smug. “oh, sweetheart,” he drawls, pressing his weight down just enough to make her feel it, “now you’re just lyin’ to hurt my feelings.”
she hums, feigning deep thought, dragging her nails down the expanse of his back just to watch the way his eyes flutter for a second. “hmm. maybe.”
he scoffs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t look the least bit offended. If anything, he looks even more entertained, like he’s enjoying the challenge. “y’know, for someone who claims she’s only here for the sex, you sure do spend a lotta time in my arms.”
mallory grins up at him, her fingers tracing idle patterns against his shoulders. “well, you’re warm,” she murmurs, “and i like warm things.”
dean chuckles, shaking his head as he dips down, his lips grazing the shell of her ear. “lucky for you, baby, i run real hot.”
“yeah, you always kick off all the blankets.” she snickers.
“because i gotta pick between covers or my girl, and i’m not choosing fabric over such a pretty thing,” dean protests.
mallory laughs, the sound light and airy as she nudges him with her shoulder. “you’re such a dork,” she teases, but her smile softens, her fingers running over his chest as if she can’t help herself.
“hey, it’s a sacrifice i’m willing to make,” dean grins, leaning in to plant a quick kiss on her forehead. “besides, what’s the point of blankets when i’ve got the best thing in bed already?”
she rolls her eyes but the warmth in her chest is undeniable, her heart skipping at the way his words make her feel. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters, though she’s not really complaining.
dean grins wider, leaning back down to kiss her lips, his thumb brushing her cheek as he pulls away, rolling onto his back once more. “i know, baby. i’m aware.”
“you got me. i’m not actually ‘just here for the sex’.” she teases softly. “it’s just a nice bonus.”
dean plays up his relief, rolling them over once more and wiping the back of his hand across his forehead theatrically. “whew. that’s good news, sweetheart. you had me scared for a second there.”
mallory smirks, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. “well, you should be scared. i could be with anyone, but i’m here with you.”
dean arches an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eye. “oh? so, what’s the deal? you just keep me around for my charm and good looks, then?”
“basically,” she shrugs nonchalantly, but her eyes are soft, the teasing edge gone. “you’ve got a lot of perks, winchester. i’m not blind.”
“good to know,” he chuckles, pulling her closer, his lips pressing a kiss to her forehead. “i’m lucky, then.”
“you are,” she agrees, a little breathless, as she lets herself sink into the comfort of him.
“dean?” she breathes, tracing a finger over his chest.
“yeah, doll?” he hums, his voice low and warm as he tilts his head down to meet her gaze, his hand settling on her hip.
“can we kiss for a little?” she murmurs, her gaze flicking up to meet his.
dean’s lips curl into a soft smile, his heart skipping a beat at the sweetness of her request. he leans in, his forehead gently resting against hers. “of course, baby. always.”
his hand slides up to cup her face, his thumb grazing her cheek as he presses his lips to hers, slow and tender. the kiss is soft at first, a quiet, intimate moment that speaks volumes. he deepens it just slightly, his other hand slipping around her waist to pull her closer, the warmth of her body melting into his.
she leans up, finding a more comfortable position, her lips never straying more than an inch from his.
dean shifts with her, his hands gently guiding her closer, his lips staying right there, brushing against hers as if savoring the closeness. he can feel her breath warm against his skin, the steady rhythm of their kisses grounding him. each kiss lingers, soft and slow, a shared intimacy that doesn’t need words. he’s lost in the feeling, in the quiet space between them, just existing in this moment.
his hand moves to the back of her neck, his fingers curling gently into her hair as he deepens the kiss, letting the warmth of her body against his fill the empty spaces.
her delicate hands cradle his face, her body draped across his lap as he sits halfway up against the headboard.
dean’s hands find their way to her waist, holding her close as she settles against him, his lips still tracing hers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. the warmth of her hands on his face, the softness of her body across his lap, it’s enough to make him forget everything outside of this moment.
his thumb brushes across her cheek, eyes fluttering closed for a second as he deepens the kiss again, drawing her closer. he’s completely lost in her, in the feel of her skin under his touch, the way she fits against him like she’s always belonged there.
“you’re always so damn beautiful,” he murmurs against her lips, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath mingling with hers.
she smiles softly against his lips, bashful and tender. it’s shy, like she doesn’t think she’s worthy of it.
dean notices the subtle shift in her, the way she softens against him, and it tugs at something deep inside him. he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes, his gaze steady and filled with affection.
“don’t look at me like that, mal,” he murmurs, his thumb gently brushing over her cheek. “you are worthy of every damn thing, you hear me?”
his voice is low, soft, but unyielding, and his hands slide to her shoulders, holding her gently as if to emphasize the sincerity in his words. “you’re more than enough.”
“you’re the prettiest thing in this room, in any room. don’t you forget it. but you’re more than just the pretty parts.” he presses a kiss to her forehead, lingering for a beat before pulling back to look at her again. “and i’m gonna keep reminding you.”
the weight of his words sits heavily on her chest, and for a brief moment, she feels almost exposed, like she’s standing in front of him without her armor. she’s always known she’s attractive, but hearing it from him — so real, so unfiltered — has a way of cutting through the layers she’s so carefully built.
she glances away for a second, her fingers playing nervously with the hem of his shirt. “you don’t have to keep saying stuff like that,” she mumbles, her voice almost self-conscious, but it’s clear she’s not upset — just unsure, a little caught off guard by how genuine his praise is.
dean tilts her chin back to meet his gaze, his eyes soft but steady, his touch gentle as it brushes across her cheek. “yeah, i do,” he says quietly, his thumb tracing her lower lip. “because you need to hear it. you deserve to hear it.” he pauses, his gaze unwavering. “and i’m not just sayin’ it to make you feel good, mal. i mean it.”
there’s a sincerity in his voice that leaves her a little breathless, and for a moment, she can’t quite find the words to respond. it’s as if, in this quiet, intimate space, his love is too much to process all at once. she simply nods, the weight of his affection sinking in, and leans into him, seeking the comfort of his presence.
“okay,” she whispers, her voice barely audible, but there’s something tender in the way she says it, something that says she’s accepting it, just a little at a time. “i love you,” she whispers, gazing up at him with big, starry eyes, practically fawning over him.
dean’s heart skips a beat at the quiet confession, his breath catching for a second. he’s heard her say it before, but this time it feels different — so much more vulnerable, so much more real.
he’s still holding her close, his hand resting against her back, and he’s suddenly struck by how much he feels it too, how much it’s true. he leans down, his lips brushing against her forehead, lingering there just a moment longer than usual, as if he wants to imprint the softness of this moment in his memory.
“i love you too, baby,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, the sincerity in it making his chest tighten. he pulls back just enough to look at her, to meet her gaze fully, his thumb caressing the side of her face. “more than you’ll ever know.”
her gaze softens even more, and she smiles at him, the weight of his words making her heart feel full. she doesn’t say anything else — no need for more words right now. just the silence between them, filled with everything they’ve never had to say but always felt.
she leans in, slow and careful, pressing her lips to his.
dean’s breath hitches at the gentle pressure of her lips, and he responds just as carefully, a tenderness in the kiss that’s almost fragile. it’s soft, unhurried — like they’ve found something in each other that’s too precious to rush. his hand moves up to cradle the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair, deepening the kiss just a little, savoring the closeness. the world outside feels distant, like nothing matters more than this moment.
she knows it’s late, but she can’t bring herself to care. she’s so unbelievably content, happy to stay here until she dies. kissing him is genuinely her favorite thing in the entire universe, she can’t seem to get enough of him.
dean feels it, too — the weight of the moment, the soft, almost consuming way she clings to him. every kiss, every little touch feels like it’s something sacred, and he’s more than willing to let it linger, to hold onto it just as long as she wants. her lips against his are the calmest, most natural thing in the world, and he can’t help but respond — slow, deliberate, his hands moving with purpose, as if he’s trying to memorize every sensation.
it’s not just the kiss — it’s the way she makes him feel, the way she lets him hold her, the way her presence wraps around him like a comforting, steadying force. he’s not thinking about anything but her right now.
when they finally pull away, it’s only by a breath, and he presses his forehead to hers, his hands still cradling her, fingers tracing patterns on her skin. “you’re real damn addictive, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice a little rough, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
it’s all-consuming — the comforting scent of him, the feel of his lips against hers and his hands on her skin. it’s everything. the quiet intimacy, the way his breath mingles with hers, the steady rhythm of their connection. every second feels like it’s stretching into eternity, a perfect, unspoken understanding between them. the weight of his hands on her skin, the warmth of his touch, is grounding, but it’s also electric. it feels like she’s sinking deeper into him with every kiss, every moment, and she doesn’t want to pull away.
she lets her fingers drift across his chest, tracing the lines of muscle and warmth, as though memorizing every inch of him. he’s everything she’s ever wanted and needed, and in this moment, nothing else matters.
dean pulls back just enough to look at her, his green eyes dark with desire but also with something softer, something deeper that’s always there when they’re like this. “you’re my favorite thing, you know that?” he murmurs, his voice low and full of affection.
“you’re mine,” she breathes, gazing up at him tenderly.
it’s even later now, and she’s laying on his chest again, her lashes kissing her cheeks as her eyes flutter closed, his heartbeat lulling her to sleep. meanwhile, dean can’t help but watch her, his finger ever so softly tracing her brows, the slope of her nose, her cupid’s bow, and full lips.
he’s mesmerized by the way she relaxes in his arms, the way she trusts him so completely. the steady rise and fall of her chest against his, the soft flutter of her lashes, the quiet sighs she breathes in her sleep — it’s the kind of peace he never thought he’d have, but now that he’s found it, he knows he’ll never let it go.
his finger trails gently along her face, tracing the outline of her features as if committing every detail to memory. he loves the way she looks when she’s this relaxed, this vulnerable. it’s a side of her she rarely lets anyone see, and yet here she is, with him, letting him in.
sam is steady. he’s the rock when everything else is falling apart, and right now, mallory is falling apart.
she’s bleeding — badly — and sam’s hands are pressed firm against the wound, his jaw clenched as he watches her wince. her skin is too pale, her breath too shallow, and she’s trying to act like it doesn’t hurt as much as it does
“you’re okay, mal.” his voice is firm, but not unkind. reassuring, not coddling. he knows her well enough to know she doesn’t want to be fussed over.
mallory lets out a shaky breath, but her eyes flicker up to his, sharp even through the haze of pain. “you suck at lying, sammy.” her voice is quieter than usual, but the teasing lilt is still there, buried under exhaustion.
sam exhales sharply, his lips twitching, but there’s worry in his eyes. “i’m not lying. you are okay. you’re still breathing. still talking. still giving me shit.” he presses down a little harder to slow the bleeding, and she barely bites back a groan. “you’re gonna be fine.”
mallory hums, closing her eyes for a second, and sam doesn’t like that. his big hand gently taps her cheek, just enough to get her attention. “hey. stay with me.”
her eyes flutter open again, barely. “bossy.”
“yeah, well, deal with it.” sam swallows, his grip tightening. he wishes dean was here. dean would know exactly what to say to keep her focused, to make her laugh even as she’s bleeding out. but dean isn’t here. sam is. and he needs to make sure she stays awake.
“talk to me,” he says, his voice softer now. “tell me about… i don’t know, something dumb. what’s the first thing you’re doing when we get out of this?”
mallory huffs out a weak chuckle, and for a second, she almost looks like herself. “dunno. probably gonna kick your ass for letting me get stabbed.”
sam snorts, shaking his head. “i’ll let you. just gotta stay awake so you can do it, alright?”
her smile fades just a little, and she looks up at him, her gaze heavier now, something unspoken lingering there. “i’m scared, sam.” it’s so quiet, so unlike her, that it nearly knocks the air out of his lungs.
sam doesn’t hesitate. he grips her hand, firm and unwavering. “i know. but it’ll all be okay,” his voice is steady, his presence grounding. “i’ve got you. and dean’s on his way. you just have to hold on.”
mallory blinks up at him, her breath a little steadier now, like she believes him — like she has to believe him. and sam? he won’t let her believe anything else.
she nods slowly, green eyes lidded and drowsy as she wraps her hand around his fingers. sam lets out a quiet breath, tightening his grip on her hand just a little, just enough to keep her anchored. “that’s it, mal. just stay with me.” his voice is softer now, steadier, like he’s trying to will her to stay awake through sheer force alone.
mallory’s fingers flex weakly around his, her grip not as strong as it should be, and sam feels something twist sharp in his chest. he hates this. hates seeing her like this — she’s supposed to be larger than life. but she’s not that right now. she’s small and vulnerable when she’s usually all sharp edges and fire.
“y’know,” her voice is barely above a whisper, a lazy smirk tugging at her lips, “you’re real sweet when you’re worried.”
sam scoffs, shaking his head, but he doesn’t let go of her hand. “yeah, well, don’t get used to it.”
mallory hums, her eyes fluttering again, and sam curses under his breath. “mal.” he pats her cheek again, a little firmer this time, just enough to keep her tethered. “no sleeping.”
“m’not,” she murmurs, but it’s weak, almost slurred. she shifts slightly, like she’s trying to keep herself awake, and winces at the pain. her fingers twitch in his grasp. “hurts, sam.”
his chest tightens, and he squeezes her hand. “i know. but you’re gonna be okay. dean’s almost here.”
mallory swallows, nodding slightly, her gaze still hazy. “think you could tell me i’m smarter than you, just once?”
sam lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “nice try.”
she pouts — just barely, but it’s there. “worth a shot.”
“it was.” he watches her for a moment, making sure her eyes don’t close again, then squeezes her hand one more time. “just hold on, mal. just a little longer.”
she’s losing a lot of blood, and sam’s more worried than he’s letting on; but she notices. even bleeding out, she clocks it.
mallory’s vision swims, her body too heavy, too cold, but she still sees it — the tightness in sam’s jaw, the way his brows knit just a little too much, the muscle ticking in his jaw. he’s trying to hold it together for her, trying to be steady, but she knows him too well. she can hear it in his voice, the slight shake beneath the forced calm.
“sam.” her voice is weak, barely there, but she tugs at his fingers with a concerning lack of strength. “you’re freaking out.”
“i’m not freaking out,” he lies, too fast, too flat.
mallory huffs a breathy laugh, though it barely comes out, more air than sound. “liar.”
sam doesn’t answer right away, just presses harder against the wound, and she groans. he winces at the sound, his throat bobbing as he swallows. “m’sorry, i know it hurts. but i need you to stop talking and stay awake.”
“can’t do both,” she murmurs, blinking slow.
“mal.” it’s not a plea, not quite, but there’s something raw in the way he says her name, like he’s this close to breaking. her fingers twitch in his grasp, and his grip tightens, like he’s afraid she’ll slip away if he lets up even a little.
her lashes flutter again, and his breath hitches.
“don’t you dare.” his voice is lower now, firmer, his fingers flexing around hers. “dean’s almost here, okay? just — just keep your eyes open for me.”
mallory hums, drowsy, but she forces her gaze back to his, searching his face. “you’re real bad at hiding it, y’know.”
“hiding what?”
“you’re scared.” her lips curve just slightly, like she’s amused by it, like she finds some twisted comfort in the fact that even sam — big, strong, steady sam — is scared of losing her. “s’okay. you can admit it.”
his jaw clenches. “just shut up and stay with me, mal.”
her smirk fades slightly, but there’s still a softness in her eyes as she studies him. “i’ll try.”
she blinks, slow and focused, her breathing labored, feeling his big hand shoot up to steady her face from falling forward into his chest. she’s worryingly pliant in his hands, one arm wrapped around her side to keep her upright and the other keeping her chin up and patting her cheek.
“hey, hey — stay with me, mal.” sam’s voice is firm, but there’s a thread of panic beneath it, fraying at the edges. his fingers press against her cheek, just enough to keep her from drifting too far, his other arm locked around her like an anchor.
mallory hums, barely, her lashes fluttering like she’s trying to focus but can’t quite hold on. her head tilts forward again, too heavy, and sam catches it, tipping her chin back up with careful but insistent fingers.
“no, no, none of that,” he mutters, his palm pressing against the side of her face, his thumb sweeping over her cheek in a desperate, grounding motion. “you gotta stay awake, mal. you hear me?”
she blinks slow, too slow, and his grip tightens just slightly. “barely,” she murmurs, lips sluggish. “you’re kinda loud.”
“good,” he breathes, the ghost of a relieved chuckle slipping through despite the tension in his chest. “i’ll be louder if it keeps you conscious.”
mallory exhales, shaky and uneven, her fingers weak against his jacket. her body sags a little more into him, and he shifts his grip, his hold turning almost cradling without him meaning to.
“dean’s almost here,” he says again, a mantra now, something to keep her tethered. “you just gotta hang on a little longer, mal.”
her lips part like she wants to say something, but all that comes out is a faint hum of acknowledgment. her green eyes, hazy and dim, find his, and despite everything — despite the blood, the pain, the way she’s barely holding on — there’s something soft in her gaze.
”’m not so scared anymore,” she lies, a whisper, but the way she grips at his sleeve betrays her.
sam exhales sharply, his fingers pressing a little firmer against her cheek. “you take that back.” he says, not humoring her, his voice quieter now.
she nods, or tries to, but her body is getting heavier, her breaths slower. sam feels his pulse spike.
“mallory.” his voice is sharper this time, urgent. “don’t.”
she blinks again, sluggish and unfocused, but she listens. just barely. “thanks,” she hums, her voice softer than sam wants it to be.
“don’t thank me yet,” sam mutters, voice thick, his grip tightening just slightly around her. “just stay awake.”
mallory hums again, the sound barely there, and it makes something cold settle deep in his chest. her head tilts slightly, like she’s trying to rest against him, but he doesn’t let her. his fingers press into her cheek again, firm but careful.
“mal,” he says, more insistent now, his voice bordering on desperate. “keep talking to me, okay?”
her lashes flutter, and she breathes out something that sounds like a laugh but comes out too exhausted to be convincing. “what… you wanna chat?”
“yeah, sure,” sam says quickly, anything to keep her talking, “tell me something. anything.”
mallory is quiet for a long moment, too long, and just as sam is about to shake her, she exhales slowly. “your hair looks dumb when you stress. you run your hands through it too much and it looks dumb.”
sam actually lets out a weak, breathless laugh, shaking his head. “yeah? well, you look like shit right now.”
her lips twitch, the faintest hint of a smirk. “still pretty hot, though, huh?”
“always, but don’t tell dean i said that.” sam murmurs, his voice softer now, his hand still pressed against her face, like he can keep her tethered with touch alone. she breaths out a chuckle, and her grip on his sleeve tightens for just a second before going slack again, her breath shuddering. sam feels his stomach drop.
“mallory.” his voice is sharp again, panic bleeding through. “stay with me. you hear me?”
she hums, but it’s weaker this time, her body sinking further against him.
“dean!” sam shouts over his shoulder, urgency cutting through the air like a blade. “hurry up!”
“where is that handsome fuck?” she slurs a little, but despite her evident exhaustion, there’s a fond, almost amused lilt to her voice.
“he’s comin’,” sam assures her, shifting his grip to hold her up better. “just hold on, alright?”
mallory hums, her fingers twitching weakly against his jacket. ”’m holdin’…” she murmurs, eyes fluttering. “but he better hurry, ’cause—” she trails off, blinking slow and heavy, her head lolling slightly before sam steadies her again.
“mal,” he snaps, sharper this time, shaking her just enough to keep her conscious. “hey. no sleeping. you don’t sleep until dean gets here, you got it?”
mallory exhales a soft, breathy chuckle, her mouth twitching like she wants to smirk but doesn’t have the energy. “he’s gonna be so… fuckin’ dramatic,” she slurs, her words getting softer. “bet he’ll — he’ll yell at me.”
“probably,” sam agrees, his voice tight, his own panic barely masked. “so you better stay awake so you can yell back.”
mallory’s fingers weakly curl around his sleeve again, and she breathes out another laugh, this one barely audible. “yeah… okay. sounds fun.”
sam’s jaw clenches, his pulse thundering as he glances toward the door, willing dean to appear. “c’mon, man,” he mutters under his breath.
mallory swallows, her throat bobbing, and then she sighs, long and slow. “where is that handsome fuck?” she whispers again, like she’s just remembering she asked.
“mal!”
dean’s voice cuts through the air like a gunshot, and sam barely has time to turn before dean is dropping to his knees beside them, eyes wide and wild, hands already reaching.
“hi,” she hums, a tired smile pulling on her split lip.
“hi?” dean echoes, his voice sharp, his hands already on her — one pressing against the wound, the other cradling her face like he can hold her together just by touching her. “that’s all you got for me?”
mallory blinks at him, dazed, slow, and syrupy, her lips twitching like she wants to smirk. “you’re so handsome,” she murmurs, words slurring just a little, but there’s something undeniably warm in her gaze, something soft and still stubborn, even in the face of death.
dean lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh, almost a sob, his fingers tightening around her. “yeah, baby, i know,” he mutters, his voice thick. “now stop bleedin’ all over the place so i can kiss you properly.”
mallory hums, her eyes slipping shut for a second too long, and dean shakes her just enough to pull her back. “hey, no, uh-uh, you stay with me,” he demands, frantic. “you’re not checkin’ out on me, mal. i didn’t race all the way here just for you to—” his voice cracks, and he swallows hard, his grip on her tightening.
“m’not,” mallory whispers, and despite how weak she is, she somehow manages to squeeze his wrist, the smallest bit of pressure, but it’s enough. “wouldn’t do that to you.”
dean clenches his jaw, his throat bobbing. “damn right, you wouldn’t.”
sam exhales, slightly relieved for the first time in the last twenty minutes. “we need to get her stitched up,” he reminds, his voice calm but firm, grounding.
dean nods, just once, but his eyes never leave hers. “you hear that, sweetheart?” he murmurs. “you’re gonna be just fine. we gotcha,”
mallory blinks up at him, a ghost of a smirk on her lips. “sammy and i knew it.” she whispers, “you’re so fuckin’ dramatic about this.”
dean laughs, breathless and shaking, pressing his forehead against hers. “damn right, i am. can’t help it.”
“we need to get her to a hospital, dean. she’s lost a lot of blood.” sam urges, pleading his big brother.
“no.” dean shakes his head, firm, unrelenting. his grip on mallory tightens like he can anchor her here, like if he holds on hard enough, she won’t slip away. “no hospitals.”
“dean—”
“no, sam! you know what happens if we take her in.” his voice is sharp, defensive, but there’s panic underneath, raw and wild. “cops, questions — look at this wound, for christ’s sake! you really wanna risk that?”
sam’s jaw clenches, frustration bleeding into fear. “i want her to live, dean!”
dean flinches like sam just cracked him across the face. he looks down at her, sees the blood smeared across her lips, the slow, unsteady rise and fall of her chest.
mallory stirs weakly in his grip, her fingers twitching where they rest against his wrist. “i hate hospitals anyway,” she murmurs, words thick, barely there. “fucken’…. fluorescent lighting.”
dean lets out a wry, humorless laugh, blinking hard. “yeah, baby, i know.”
sam exhales sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. “okay,” he concedes. “then we need supplies.”
dean nods, but he doesn’t let go of her. “you go. i’m not leaving her.” his voice is steel, absolute, brooking no room for any sort of argument. sam hesitates for only a second before he nods and bolts for the door.
as soon as he’s gone, dean presses his lips to mallory’s temple, his breath shaky against her skin. “you stay with me, mal.”
mallory hums, barely there, her fingers twitching again. “wouldn’t dream of leavin’ you, handsome.”
“good, baby. don’t go anywhere, kay?” dean murmurs, keeping pressure on her wound.
“i won’t,” she promises, slurring her words a little bit more. “you’re too pretty. all frantic and worried about little old me. ‘sides, i can’t die yet. you still have that ring to buy me.”
dean’s warm gaze softens as he leans over, pressing gentle pressure on her wound.
for a long moment, the only sound in the bunker is the steady hum of the ventilation and the soft, labored breaths of both of them. then, with a small, wry smile, dean brushes a stray lock of hair from her face and adds, “about that ring… just you wait. you’re my best girl, and nothing’s gonna change that.”
mallory’s eyes, though heavy, sparkle with a mixture of defiance and vulnerability. “you better not screw that up,” she teases, her tone light even as her grip on his hand remains tight.
dean chuckles softly, the sound a balm to the tension between them. “wouldn’t dream of it. besides, who else is gonna put up with me?” he jests, his arm tightening protectively around her.
she snuggles closer, her head resting against his chest, and for a fleeting moment the harshness of their world seems to fade away into nothingness. their quiet promises mingle with the unspoken truth between them — that no matter how much chaos life throws their way, they’d always have each other. in that dim light, as she drifts between wakefulness and sleep, and as his steady heartbeat reverberates softly in her ear, mallory knows one thing for sure: she isn’t going anywhere, and neither is dean.
“mal,” he starts, after a beat of silence.
“yeah, yeah. still here.” she mumbles, her head lolling back against his bicep as she gazes up at him, all starry-eyed and heavy-lidded.
dean exhales sharply, like the tightness in his chest won’t let him breathe right. “don’t do that,” he mutters, voice thick, his grip tightening around her like he can anchor her here, keep her tethered to him just by holding on tight enough.
mallory hums, a slow, sleepy sound, and blinks up at him. “do what?”
“scare me like that.” his jaw clenches, his fingers flexing where they press against her side, keeping pressure on her wound. “you scared the hell outta me, mal.”
she smiles, small and tired, but teasing. “didn’t mean to, pretty boy.” her fingers twitch weakly against his forearm, like she’s trying to squeeze but can’t quite muster the strength. “you look real nice when you’re all worried about me, though. real handsome.”
dean lets out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, but there’s no amusement behind it — just pure, aching relief that she’s still talking, still here. “yeah, well,” he grumbles, “you keep this up, and you’re gonna give me gray hairs before i hit thirty.”
mallory hums again, nuzzling into his arm. “wouldn’t mind. you’d still be pretty.”
dean swallows hard, his free hand cradling her cheek for just a second before brushing a strand of hair from her face. “you’re ridiculous.”
“but you still like me.”
his throat tightens around something unspoken, something he’s never been good at saying out loud, not when it matters. so he just leans in, presses a firm kiss to her forehead, and murmurs against her skin, “yeah, baby. i do.”
sam rushes back in, dumping first aid kits on the table and dropping the bottle of vodka on the motel bed.
dean barely glances up, his focus entirely on mallory as she blinks sluggishly up at him. “took you long enough,” he grits out, his voice tight.
“i got here as fast as i could,” sam shoots back, already tearing through the first aid kits. “how bad?”
“worse.” dean’s jaw is clenched so tight it looks like it hurts. “she’s lost a lot of blood.”
sam swears under his breath, grabbing the vodka and uncapping it, pouring some over his hands before drenching a clean rag. “mal, you still with us?” he asks, leaning in.
mallory hums, blinking up at him. “dunno, sammy. you look a little blurry.”
“not what i wanna hear,” sam mutters, handing the bottle to dean. “keep her talking, this is gonna hurt.”
“baby, look at me,” dean coaxes, shaking her a little. she hums again, slower this time, like the exhaustion is creeping in too fast. dean tilts her chin up, his voice sharper now. “mal. open your eyes.”
she does, barely, looking at him through heavy lids. “m’here,”
dean huffs out a breath, brushing his knuckles against her cheek before gripping her hip, grounding her. “yeah, you are. and you’re gonna stay here, got it?”
“you’re the boss,” she murmurs, blinking lazily.
“okay,” sam interjects, already pressing the rag to her wound. “this is gonna suck.”
dean braces her before she even has a chance to react, his free hand threading through her hair. “i got you, baby. i got you.”
“ooh, vodka,” she hums, eyes opening a little wider at the sight.
“not the time, doll,” dean mutters, though there’s the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips despite everything.
mallory just blinks up at him, her expression somewhere between dazed amusement and exhaustion. “i dunno, there might not be a better time.”
“mal,” sam warns, pressing the rag harder against the wound, making her jolt with a sharp hiss.
“shit—okay, ow, fuck, fine,” she grits out, her fingers gripping dean’s sleeve. “but if i have to suffer through this, i at least deserve a sip.”
dean lets out a short, incredulous laugh. “baby, you’re bleeding out, and you wanna take shots?”
“might make this suck less,” she reasons, voice a little slurred, blinking up at him with wide, imploring eyes.
sam sighs, exasperated but focused as he works. “she’s gonna pass out if she drinks, dean.”
“she’s gonna pass out anyway,” dean grumbles. but despite himself, he swipes the bottle off the bed, unscrews the cap, and brings it to her lips, tilting it just enough for her to take a small sip.
mallory hums appreciatively, her lips curling into a lazy smile. “now that’s love.”
“damn right it is,” dean mutters, setting the bottle aside before she gets any ideas. “now stay with me, okay? you’re not checkin’ out yet.”
“m’not goin’ anywhere,” she promises, though her grip on him is weaker than he’d like. “still gotta haunt you for a few more decades. just don’t hunt me, okay?”
“no haunting. you’re stayin’ alive. ya hear me?” dean tells her, now employing that stern voice that is only required for the most dire of situations.
“you’re using the voice, dipshit.” she snorts, wincing slightly at the sting as sam starts to stitch up her side.
dean narrows his eyes at her, but there’s a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, even as he leans in a little closer, his hand gently brushing her hair back from her face. “yeah, i’m using it. and you’re gonna listen to it, got it?” he says, his voice low and steady, like he’s trying to ground her, make sure she knows he’s right there with her.
she smirks, her eyes fluttering open just enough to meet his gaze, her voice a little raspy. “you know, you’re real fucken’ handsome when you’re all bossy.”
“yeah, yeah,” dean mutters, his thumb stroking the back of her hand. “don’t start flirtin’ with me now, doll. you’re barely hangin’ on.”
“not barely,” she protests weakly, her lips curling despite the pain. “i’m here, aren’t i?”
sam glances up at them from his work, his brow furrowed in concentration. “as much as i love the two of you getting all sentimental, i’m trying to keep her alive here.”
she tugs on dean’s lapels slightly, wanting him close enough to lean on. dean doesn’t hesitate, shifting closer to her, his strong arms wrapping around her as she pulls him in. he leans in, pressing his forehead gently against hers, the warmth of his body a steady, grounding presence as she leans into him.
“you okay?” he murmurs, his voice rough, low, filled with that undercurrent of worry he can’t quite shake, even though he’s trying to hide it. his fingers brush over her cheek softly, just grazing her skin.
mallory hums, her eyelids fluttering as she lets herself relax against him, the pull of sleep threatening to drag her under. “yeah,” she whispers, her voice thick with exhaustion but still carrying that soft, teasing edge. “just wanted you closer, that’s all.”
dean’s grip tightens, pulling her a little closer, careful of her injury. “i’m here, baby,” he murmurs, brushing a thumb across her jawline, his lips barely brushing hers as he speaks. “i’m not going anywhere.”
she tilts her head slightly, eyes half-lidded as she looks up at him with a faint, tired smile. “good,” she replies softly. “you’re better at this than sam. no offense, but… you don’t make me feel like i’m gonna die.”
he snorts quietly, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. “yeah? i think i’m just better at everything.”
she chuckles softly, her hand resting over his heart. “s’why i like you.”
“i’m right here, y’know.” sam snorts, nearly done with the stitches.
dean’s head tilts slightly, his smirk curling at the corners of his mouth as he shifts his gaze to sam. “yeah, we know, big guy. but mal likes my charm better.” he says, voice light, even though his eyes are still heavy with concern as he looks back down at her.
mallory, still leaning into dean’s chest, offers sam a tired, playful smile. “sorry, sam. but dean’s got the magic touch.” she teases, her voice still thick with exhaustion but the usual mischief never fully disappearing.
sam rolls his eyes, finishing up the last stitch with a sharp, professional motion. “yeah, yeah. just don’t bleed out before he can work his magic, okay?” he mutters, stepping back to give them some space.
dean glances down at mallory with a soft smile, his thumb gently stroking her cheek. “you hear that? magic touch. can’t say no to that, can you?” he teases, the playful spark returning to his voice even though the situation’s still serious.
“you’re lucky i’m so fond of you,” she mumbles, her eyes half-closed as she lets herself melt further into him, already feeling the pull of sleep again. “otherwise, i’d never let you talk like that.”
dean chuckles lowly, brushing her hair back with a careful hand. “i know, baby. you love me too much to stay mad at me.” he teases, though the affection in his voice is undeniable.
she reaches back, holding a hand open for sam and waiting there with a little wiggle of her fingers until he notices, gently taking her hand. “thank you, sammy.” she hums, looking up at him from where her cheek is pressed to dean’s chest.
sam’s gaze softens as he takes her hand, his thumb brushing over her fingers in a rare moment of tenderness. “you’d do the same for me, mal,” he mutters, his voice quiet but sincere. “but you’re welcome.”
he stands there for a moment longer, just watching them, the weight of the room heavy with everything unspoken. “just… take it easy, alright?” he adds, giving her a small, reluctant smile before turning to grab some of the supplies he brought in.
dean watches him go, a soft, appreciative look in his eyes, but his attention quickly shifts back to mallory. he pulls her in a little tighter, brushing a kiss to her forehead. “you’re gonna be fine, baby. i’m not letting you go anywhere,” he whispers, his voice thick with that promise.
mallory’s lips twitch upward, a slow, hazy smile forming as she gazes up at him. “i know.” and, despite the exhaustion, she squeezes his hand again, as if to reaffirm it. “but i’ll let you buy me that ring now… if you’re still game.”
dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to her temple. “you better believe it, doll. best ring money can buy.”
her eyelids flutter, fighting the pull of sleep, but she squeezes his hand again, content for now. “good. it’s about time.”
“nurse sam?” she chirps, a bit of humor back in her voice.
sam glances over at her, raising an eyebrow, his hands still moving carefully as he finishes up the last of her stitches. “what now?” he asks, trying to hide the smirk tugging at his lips.
“can i go to sleep now? also i want a lollipop.”
“you should be good to get some sleep.” sam nods, packing up the first aid kit and looking at dean now. “keep an eye on her, though.”
dean nods, his hand moving to gently stroke mallory’s hair as she leans into him, her eyelids growing heavier by the second. “always do, sam,” he murmurs, his voice low and reassuring.
mallory lets out a little hum, her lips curling into a sleepy smile. “lollipop first,” she insists, voice slightly slurred from the painkillers and exhaustion. “then sleep. deal?”
sam raises his hands in mock surrender, clearly amused. “fine, fine. you’re lucky you’re cute.”
dean laughs softly, his fingers brushing through her hair again. “you heard the man, baby. we’ll get you a lollipop.”
she smiles, a drowsy, satisfied grin, and snuggles deeper into dean’s chest, clearly done with the world for now. “good,” she murmurs. “i like when you spoil me.”
dean presses a kiss to her forehead, his voice steady and warm. “you’re worth it, doll. always.”
as sam finishes gathering the last of the supplies, he shoots them one last glance before heading out to find the lollipop she requested. dean, content with keeping mallory in his arms, leans back against the bed with a small sigh. with that, mallory lets out a soft breath, her hand still curled around his, and finally drifts off into the restful sleep she’s been needing.
she sleeps for nearly fourteen hours, finally blinking awake in the late afternoon, to see dean sitting next to her on the bed, thumbing through a book.
mallory blinks a few times, her eyes adjusting to the dim, hazy light of the room. she shifts slightly, wincing as the movement brings her back to the reminder of the pain from earlier. but as she blinks again, she spots dean sitting beside her, engrossed in a book, his brow furrowed in concentration.
she stirs, lifting her head a little, the pillow beneath her soft but still unfamiliar in the way she’s spent so many hours asleep. her throat feels dry, and her first instinct is to clear it, but she doesn’t want to disturb the quiet. after a moment, she finally lets out a small, groggy “dean?”
he doesn’t look up right away, but the corner of his mouth twitches, that familiar half-smile tugging at his lips. “’bout time you woke up, sleepyhead,” he mutters, still not lifting his eyes from the page.
mallory blinks, her gaze slowly turning to him, half amused, half tired. “how long was i out?”
“fourteen hours, give or take,” dean replies, glancing up briefly. his voice is soft, warm, but there’s something else there — something protective, lingering.
“fourteen hours?” she repeats, her voice a bit scratchy. “guess i needed it.” she tries to sit up, her muscles stiff and sore, but she doesn’t quite make it before dean’s hand is on her shoulder, gently urging her to stay down.
“slow down, mal,” he murmurs, his voice low, more serious now. “you’re still recovering. you were in pretty bad shape yesterday.”
she frowns slightly but leans back, allowing herself to sink into the bed again, too tired to argue. “yeah, i know,” she mutters, her hand instinctively reaching for his. “thanks for staying. you didn’t have to.”
dean finally closes the book with a soft thud, his full attention on her now. “i wanted to,” he says simply, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. “don’t gotta thank me for that.”
mallory studies his face for a moment, still a little dazed from sleep, before a small, grateful smile tugs at her lips. “you’re a good man, dean winchester.”
his grin is easy, teasing, but there’s a softness to it that speaks volumes. “yeah, well. i try. besides, someone’s gotta look out for you.”
she lets out a breathy laugh, wincing slightly at the tug on her side but still finding the energy to chuckle. “guess i’m lucky it’s you.”
“damn right, you are.” dean leans forward then, pressing a kiss to her forehead, his gaze lingering on her. “you’re gonna be alright, mal. i’m right here.”
she moves just a little, laying her cheek on his thigh — more comfortable than any pillow in the world.
dean’s hand automatically comes down to rest on her hair, fingers threading through the softness as she settles against him. his gaze softens, watching her with a warmth that melts away the hardness in his eyes, a side of him that’s only ever fully visible when it’s just the two of them.
she shifts again, curling a little more into him, the weight of the world seeming to ease from her shoulders, even if just for a moment. there’s a calmness in the quiet, the kind that feels so rare and sacred, and it’s here with him, with her, where she feels the safest.
he looks down at her, his fingers lightly tracing over her scalp, the rhythm slow, steady. “how’re you feelin’?” he asks softly, his voice low, as though speaking too loud might break the spell of peace that’s settled over them.
her eyes flutter closed, and she smiles against his leg, a small, contented hum slipping past her lips. “better now,” she murmurs, the words barely more than a sigh. “you’re comfy.”
dean lets out a quiet chuckle, shifting just enough to get more comfortable himself, the gesture instinctive, as though he’s already made room for her in every part of himself. “guess i’m your personal pillow now,” he teases lightly, but there’s no bite behind it, just a softness in his tone that matches the way his fingers massage the back of her neck.
“best pillow i’ve ever had,” she murmurs, the words drifting in the space between them, carrying more weight than they should, but it’s all in the way she says them — like she’s not just speaking of comfort, but of something deeper, something real.
dean looks down at her, his heart tugging slightly at the quiet honesty in her voice. he leans down then, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head, a gesture that’s simple but speaks more than words ever could.
“don’t you forget it,” he murmurs, a promise wrapped in his easy, teasing grin.
the room is wrapped in a kind of quiet tenderness, the soft sound of their breathing filling the space between them. mallory, nestled against dean, lets herself drift in that gentle rhythm. the world feels a little smaller, a little safer, in these moments — like nothing else matters outside of this.
dean watches her for a moment, his thumb tracing idle patterns through her hair, feeling the weight of her against him. she’s breathing steady now, her body relaxed, her muscles unwinding as she settles deeper into the comfort of his presence. the steady, reassuring warmth of her resting on him gives him a sense of peace he didn’t know he needed.
he shifts just slightly, careful not to disturb her, and lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. the worry that had etched its way into his features over the last few days fades as he watches her sleep, her face softened by the exhaustion, the pain, but also by something else — something he can’t quite name, but that makes him hold her a little closer.
after a while, he leans back, eyes never leaving her, as if somehow afraid that if he looks away for too long, she’ll slip through his fingers. he can’t lose her, not like this. not after everything they’ve been through. not after how far they’ve come, how much they’ve fought to stay alive, to stay together.
his fingers brush gently over her cheek, his gaze tracing the freckles across her skin — some faint, some prominent — and the way her lips are parted just slightly in sleep. she looks so peaceful, so untouchable in her own quiet world, and yet so very real in his arms.
“don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear?” dean whispers softly, as if she might hear him in the depths of sleep. he presses a kiss to her forehead, his voice barely a murmur, a promise of protection. “you mean everything to me, mal. everything.”
he stays there for a while longer, fingers tangled in her hair, watching over her with a devotion so deep, it’s painful. but it’s also what keeps him going, what gives him the strength to face whatever comes next. because as long as she’s by his side, he’ll fight, and he’ll protect her, no matter what.
finally, as the sun begins to dip lower in the sky, he lets himself rest, leaning back against the headboard with mallory still nestled close. her breathing is slow and even now, and he closes his eyes for a moment, finally letting the weight of the past few days lift off his shoulders.
he doesn’t need words anymore. everything he feels for her is in the way he holds her, the way his heart beats a little faster whenever she’s near, the way he can’t imagine a world without her in it.
and, in this moment, as the light from the late afternoon spills across the room, dean knows without a doubt that whatever comes next, it’ll be okay.
mallory hums, the warmth of him soaking into her bones, easing the dull ache of her injuries. she knows she should probably drink some water, maybe try to sit up again, but right now, she just wants to stay here, tangled up in him, safe in this quiet little pocket of time where nothing else exists.
dean keeps running his fingers through her hair, slow and rhythmic, and she can feel the tension in his body starting to loosen now that she’s awake, now that she’s here. she wonders how long he’s been sitting like this, if he’s slept at all, or if he’s just been watching over her the whole time.
she cracks one eye open, peering up at him from where she’s curled against his leg. “you sleep?” her voice is still scratchy, barely above a whisper, but she catches the way his jaw ticks slightly, the telltale sign of a lie forming before he even opens his mouth.
“’course,” he says, too quickly, too easily. “out like a light.”
she huffs a quiet breath, not quite a laugh, but enough to make her chest rise and fall against him. “liar.”
dean smirks, but there’s no fight in it, no real attempt to deny it. he just keeps stroking her hair, his other hand tracing absentminded circles over the back of hers. “didn’t wanna miss anything,” he admits after a beat, voice quieter now, almost sheepish.
mallory shifts, pushing herself up just enough to look at him properly, ignoring the protest from her side. “you should’ve slept, dumbass,” she mutters, but there’s no real bite to it — just something soft and fond beneath the words.
dean shrugs. “wasn’t gonna sleep right anyway. not with you all banged up.”
she studies him for a moment, her tired eyes tracing over the lines of his face, the faint shadows beneath his eyes, the way his mouth twitches like he’s still trying to shake off the worry even though she’s right here. she knows that look, knows it too well — he’s still carrying it, still holding onto that fear like it’s woven into his bones.
so she reaches up, slow and deliberate, her fingers brushing against his cheek, just enough to pull his gaze back to hers. “hey,” she murmurs, voice softer now, meant just for him. “i’m okay, dean.”
he exhales, slow and measured, like he’s trying to believe her. his eyes flicker over her face, searching for something, and then he leans down, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath warm against her skin.
“yeah,” he murmurs, his voice low, steady, grounding. “you better be.”
mallory lets her eyes slip closed for a moment, just breathing him in, letting the warmth of him settle into her bones. she can feel the way he’s holding her, the way his touch lingers like he’s still reassuring himself that she’s real, that she’s here.
“dean,” she murmurs, her fingers curling into his shirt, pulling him just that much closer.
“yeah, baby?”
she cracks one eye open, her lips curling faintly. “you still owe me a lollipop.”
he huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly but never pulling away. “should’ve known that’s what you’d wake up thinking about.”
“i’m a simple girl,” she says, her smirk widening. “i want red forty and my handsome fuck”
dean grins, pressing a quick, affectionate kiss to her temple before pulling back just enough to look at her properly. “lucky for you, i got both.”
he reaches over to the nightstand, grabbing something and holding it up between them — a bright red lollipop, still wrapped, waiting for her.
mallory’s eyes light up, the tiredness in them momentarily replaced by something warm and teasing. “cherry?”
“you think i’d get anything else?”
she grins, plucking it from his fingers with a satisfied hum before popping it into her mouth. the sweet, artificial taste of cherry floods her tongue, and she sighs happily, settling back against him with a pleased little noise.
dean watches her, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. “you good now, princess?”
she nods, the lollipop clicking against her teeth as she smirks up at him. “y’know, i think i might just marry you after all.”
dean chuckles, tilting her chin up slightly with his fingers, his grin downright smug. “you’d better.”
“loosen up,” dean murmurs, his voice close, breath warm against her ear. his hands — big, calloused, steady — wrap around her wrists, adjusting her grip on the shotgun. “you hold it too stiff, and the kickback’s gonna fuck you up.”
mallory exhales sharply, but she listens, relaxing just a little. she doesn’t miss the way his fingers linger, the slow drag of his touch as he guides her hands into position. “you always this handsy, or am i just special?” she quips, her smirk sharp, but there’s heat beneath it — because it’s dean, and it’s always been like this between them.
he chuckles, low and easy, but doesn’t pull away. “you’re special, sweetheart,” he says, voice laced with something that makes her stomach flip. “but i’m also making sure you don’t break your damn collarbone.”
she rolls her eyes but doesn’t argue. instead, she shifts her stance, pressing back against him slightly — just enough to feel the solid warmth of him at her back. just enough to remind him she knows exactly what she’s doing. his hands tighten on her waist, a fleeting squeeze, like he’s caught between amusement and something else.
“feet apart,” he murmurs, nudging her shoe with his own. she follows his lead, but angles her head just enough to glance at him over her shoulder. “gonna buy me dinner after all this, or what?” she hums.
dean grins, slow and lazy, lifting his hand from her waist to gently grip her chin and tilt it back to the target. his fingers brush the underside of her jaw, the touch light but deliberate, and she swears she feels his thumb skim the hollow of her throat before he drops his hand back to her waist. “watch where you’re pointing’ that thing, darlin’. and i’ll buy you dinner if that’s what you want.” he hummed in her ear.
she hums, lowering the shotgun just a little, testing him. she hasn’t been here long, but it’s been long enough for her to realize how much she likes it when he corrects her.
his hand is back on her waist in an instant, firm and insistent as he tugs her back into position. “c’mon now,” he chides, voice a little rougher, a little deeper, like he knows exactly what game she’s playing. “you want me to teach you or not?”
mallory smirks, biting back a laugh, because oh, this is fun. “oh, i’m learning,” she murmurs, letting him settle her back against him, his body heat soaking into her spine. she readjusts her grip on the shotgun, flexing her fingers just to see if he’ll touch her again. sure enough, his hands are there, correcting, adjusting, lingering.
his lips brush close to her ear again, barely there but enough to make her shiver. “pull the trigger when you’re ready,” he says, voice low, like he’s testing her now.
she exhales slow, fingers tightening, and finally fires. the shotgun kicks, but she barely feels it, too focused on the way dean’s hand slides up her waist, the way he steadies her without thinking, the way he’s already leaning in again.
she tilts her head slightly, letting her cheek nearly brush his shoulder. “did i do good, winchester?” she purrs.
he huffs a laugh, the sound rumbling against her back. she can feel his other hand creeping up her waist almost absentmindedly, fingertips just grazing the sliver of bare skin where her shirt’s ridden up. his fingers squeeze at her hip, a touch too deliberate to be casual. “you’re gettin’ there, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and she can hear the smirk in his voice.
“so, what’s next? grenade launcher?” she snickers, tilting her head.
dean snickers, shaking his head. “yeah, sure. let’s give the newbie a grenade launcher. real smart.”
mallory grins, tilting her head back just enough to catch his expression. “c’mon, you said i was gettin’ there.” she bats her lashes, all mock innocence, but there’s a glint in her eyes, something playful and sharp.
dean raises an eyebrow, his gaze flickering over her face. there’s something in his eyes that’s almost a challenge, almost a dare. dean doesn’t take the bait — not exactly. but his hand, still warm at her waist, tightens just a fraction before he lets go. “you are,” he concedes, stepping around her to grab more shells. “but let’s not get ahead of ourselves, hot shot.”
she hums, watching him load the shotgun with practiced ease, the flex of his forearms, the roll of his shoulders. “so, what’s the real reason you won’t let me play with the fun toys?” she teases, leaning her hip against the table. “afraid i’ll outshine you?”
dean snorts, handing her the reloaded shotgun. “nah, sweetheart. i know you’d outshine me,” he says, a little too smooth, a little too easy, and it should be cocky, but there’s something disarmingly genuine about it. “that’s the problem.”
mallory blinks, thrown for just half a second, but she recovers fast, smirking as she steps back into position. “flatter me all you want, winchester,” she murmurs, raising the shotgun again. “still not gonna stop me from asking for the grenade launcher.”
“almost forgot, gotta teach ya how to pack salt rounds,” he hums, readjusting her stance again.
mallory exhales sharply, more out of amusement than frustration, but she lets him guide her — because even though she’s a quick learner, she kind of likes how much he enjoys correcting her.
“yeah? gonna hold my hands again? whisper sweet nothings in my ear while we do it?” she quips, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
dean grins, slow and smug, his hands firm on her waist as he nudges her back into position. “depends,” he murmurs, voice dipping just enough to send a shiver down her spine. “you want me to?”
her smirk falters — just barely — but she recovers fast, tilting her head to look at him fully now. “you really are a loverboy,” she drawls, teasing, but there’s something undeniably pleased about it.
dean scoffs, but the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “yeah, yeah,” he mutters, finally stepping back, much to her disappointment.
it’s hot in kansas, she’s dressed in little denim shorts and a tiny, cropped, black spaghetti strap, lined with cream lace and giving dean an unobstructed view down her shirt. it’s kind of hilarious to see her handling a shotgun in that outfit, complete with black and white high top vans. classic mallory, easy on the eyes, hard on the ego.
his gaze, as always, is hungry. it’s subtle though, the way his eyes track down her body in the summer heat, from the soft swell of her chest to the plushness of her thighs. the shorts, the top — all perfectly chosen to torture him, and he knows it. dean’s seen her in less, but there’s something about this, and this goddamn shotgun, that sets something off in him.
she’s only been at bobby’s for a few months, but they’ve been toeing this line for that entire time, stuck in a no man’s land somewhere between friends and lovers.
a land of stolen glances, heated looks, and a hell of a lot of tension. she knows how he looks at her, he knows how she looks back. it’s obvious in how his gaze flicks over her body or how he’s suddenly finding any excuse to touch her.
it's undeniably intimate, even though they'd both argue it's just some harmless flirting — except it's never just harmless, their words are sharper, their glances linger a beat too long, the physical contact is charged, like they're both daring the other to cross an unspoken line. it's an intoxicating dance, a game that neither is quite sure how to win.
sure, they've almost kissed a dozen times, but the line hasn't been crossed, not quite yet. there's been so many opportunities to cross it — stolen moments in the shadows, late night talks with hushed voices, the tension that's always simmering beneath the surface, just begging for someone to ignite it.
like now — they've both had a little too much to drink, some kind of whiskey that burns going down but the warmth that blooms in her chest and the chirping of crickets makes it more bearable. it’s humid, not so bad that it makes her skin sticky — but just the right amount.
but the alcohol isn't what leaves her throat dry, it's the way he's looking at her, something in his gaze that isn't just whiskey-warm, it's something molten and hot and intense. she can feel her cheeks flush, but it's the kind of flush that has nothing to do with the bourbon they're drinking from the bottle.
they're sitting on the hood of the impala, their thighs touching just enough to be comfortable. dean doesn't even remember how they ended up like this, his body pressed so close to hers, their thighs touching, the heat of her skin like a brand against his. he'd be lying if he said he didn't like it - the closeness, the way she's leaning into him, almost subconsciously.
she sighs softly, laying back against the windshield, her hands clasped on her stomach, staring at the stars.
while she’s gazing at the stars, his gaze roams over her, tracing the curve of her hip, the plushness of her thighs, the smooth skin of her stomach where her shirt has ridden up. she's the very picture of casual grace, laid on the hood of his car, and he's suddenly very aware of how close they are, how easy it would be to reach out and touch her.
"what?" she asks, feeling his gaze, her voice softer than usual.
he blinks, like she startled him, like he'd been caught staring, but he doesn't look away. "just lookin'," he says, his voice a low rumble. he's never been the type to give flowery compliments — he's better with action, but there's something about this moment that has him feeling uncharacteristically vulnerable.
she crinkles her nose, tilting her head a little. he grins, and for a moment the intensity of his gaze softens, a hint of affection seeping in like he can't help it. "what? i'm not allowed to look at you now?"
"never said that. you've just got a staring problem."
"i've got a lot of problems," he agrees, his gaze drifting over her again, like he can't help himself. "staring at pretty girls just happens to be one of the less hazardous ones."
she chuckles softly, her full lips pulling down into an amused smirk.
he shifts, angling himself towards her just a little more. he's all rough edges, but there's a softness to him in this moment, something that's rarely on display for anyone. "can't help it," he murmurs, shrugging one shoulder. "especially when they're all laid out on my car like that. practically begging to be looked at."
"you're awfully bold." she snickers, but there's no real complaint there, merely an observation.
his eyes rake over her body, taking in the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist, the way her shirt has ridden up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. "bold, huh?" he repeats, a hint of a challenge in his voice. "you don't seem too bothered by it."
"m'not." she shrugged.
he smirks, reaching out to lightly pinch the skin of her hip, snickering as swats his hand away. "that so?" he asks, the gesture both playful and teasing. "you're not even gonna tell me to stop? tell me i'm annoying?"
"do you want me to?" she hums, glancing up at him through her lashes.
he pauses, his gaze narrowing as he takes her in, all smooth lines and soft curves. "want you to call me annoying?" he muses, his thumb skimming the bare skin of her hip. "or tell me to stop?"
"either one."
he's silent for a beat, his thumb still tracing patterns into her skin as he considers. "i don't mind you callin' me annoying," he finally says, accompanied by a half-shrug and a smirk. "but i definitely don't want you to tell me to stop looking at you."
"well, you are annoying. but i wasn't gonna tell you to stop." she murmurs, her voice a low hum.
he hums, a sound that’s somehow both amused and dark, his gaze still fixed on her as his fingers press into her hip, just slightly, a little gesture that feels like a claim, subtle but not quite innocent. “yeah? don’t mind me lookin’ at you, huh?”
“you said it yourself, i like the attention.” she snorts, her tongue poking the inside of her cheek.
he laughs then, a low rumble that has no right to sound so attractive, his fingers flexing on her hip without even thinking about it. “you’re a little attention whore, aren’t you?” he says, teasing and playful, but there’s a heat in his gaze that betrays the casualness of his tone.
“rude.” she huffs amusedly, the back of her hand smacking his bicep.
he chuckles, catching her hand on his arm before she can pull away, gripping her fingers in his. “hey, i’m just callin’ it like i see it.” he smirks, his thumb skimming over her knuckles. “but it’s okay, i don’t mind entertaining your need for attention, sweetheart.”
“you’re worse.” she retorts, deflecting.
“what can i say?” he murmurs, his gaze flicking over her body again, like he can’t help himself. “i like lookin’ at you, and i like knowin’ you’re lookin’ back.”
“who says i’m looking at you?” she teases, gazing up at him through thick lashes.
his lips curve into a smirk, his expression cocky and confident as his fingers slide up her waist. “you’re lookin’ pretty hard, sweetheart.” he murmurs, the endearment rolling off his tongue in a way that feels almost deliberate.
“we should get your eyes checked,” she teases.
he laughs, a low, amused sound, his gaze flickering to hers. “my eyes are just fine, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his fingers still tracing along her waist. “and they’re tellin’ me that you’ve been lookin’ just as much as i have.”
“maybe it’s your ego that needs to be checked, then.” she quips, still looking at him with an expression that borders on bedroom eyes.
he chuckles, his hand sliding further up her waist, his fingertips skimming the underside of her breast. “my ego’s doin’ just fine, doll,” he says, his voice a rough rumble. “especially when i know how much you like lookin’ at me.”
“i don’t know what you’re talking about,” she hummed in mock defiance, crossing her arms.
“oh, really?” he murmurs, his gaze locked on hers, a spark of challenge in his eyes. he shifts, moving closer, his thigh pressing against her hip as his hand continues to skim over her skin. “you don’t like lookin’ at me, huh? not even a little bit?”
she shrugs, her lazy smirk barely contained. “you’re okay, i guess.”
he hums, the sound skeptical but not quite unbelieving. his hand slides up her hip, his fingers ghosting over her stomach through the fabric of her shirt. “just okay, huh?” he murmurs, still teasing, but now the touch is just a little more firm, the heat of his skin like a brand against hers.
“yeah. your ego doesn’t need anymore stroking.”
he snorts, a laugh spilling from his lips, but his hand keeps moving, his touch becoming increasingly possessive, his fingers digging into her hip. “my ego’s doin’ just fine,” he repeats, his gaze roaming over her face, her neck, her chest. “but i can think of other things that need just a little more attention.”
“dean winchester. you whore.” she giggles, pushing outstretched fingers to his chest.
he laughs, the sound low and rough, his gaze heated as he looks down at her. “you’re one to talk,” he teases, his hand sliding up to grip her wrist, his thumb brushing over her pulse point. “you’re the one who keeps walkin’ around in tiny lil outfits you know drive me crazy.”
“it’s hot!” she protests, her lips twitching in a drunken attempt to keep her grin at bay.
“i know, that’s the problem.” he chuckles, running his thumb over her palm.
“outside.” she clarifies with a chiding glare. “it’s ninety degrees,”
he snorts, shaking his head. “yeah, that’s really your only reason for wearin’ those shorts, huh?” he murmurs, his fingers skimming over the bare expanse of her thigh.
“what are you insinuating?” she hums playfully, a lazy, amused tilt to her lips.
“oh, you know. just wondering why you find it necessary to walk around dressed like a goddamn pinup girl.” he drawls, his hand sliding up, his fingers tracing the edge of her shorts, just barely slipping underneath.
“you wish.”
“damn right i do.” he chuckles, and there’s no hint of teasing now, just the raw sincerity of a man who can’t keep his hands to himself. he pushes her legs apart with his knee, his hand sliding over her hip. his palms span over her waist like he needs to touch her, like it’s a physical necessity. “so i’m askin’ again, sweetheart. you like me lookin’ at you?”
“i guess,” she hums, softer this time, doing nothing to stop him.
his hands flex at her waist, the rough callouses of his fingers a contrast to the softness of her stomach, then he leans forward, his gaze fixated on her face. he’s close enough now that she could count his freckles if she wanted to, his body pressing tight against hers. “you guess?” he asks, his voice a low rumble, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “you don’t sound very sure of yourself.”
“i don’t think you’re seeing what i’m letting you do,” she snickers.
he smirks, his gaze darkening as his hand slides up her side, skimming over her ribcage. “you’re lettin’ me touch you, huh?” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as if to better look at her — or maybe it’s just to get a better view of her neck. “that what i’m doin’?” his fingers brush over a sensitive spot on her side, and she’s not sure if he did it on purpose.
“you tell me.”
he chuckles, his thumb grazing the underside of her bra, a slow, teasing touch. “looks like i’m touchin’ you, sweetheart,” he says, his voice rough around the edges. “is that what you’re lettin’ me do?”
she nods, not breaking eye contact.
he smiles, a predatory gleam in his eye, like he’s won something, and maybe he has. he leans in close, his mouth close to her throat. “then why am i the only one touchin’?” he hums, letting his hand slide to her hip, his fingers teasing under the edge of her shorts again.
she swallows, sitting up so he’s leaning against the windshield. her delicate hands find his forearms, lithe fingers wrapping around them and sliding up as she climbs onto his lap.
he lets her move him, lets her climb into his lap without hesitation, his gaze fixed on hers, hungry and dark. his hands find their way to her hips, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of her thighs, holding her there, like he’s been waiting for this. “there we go,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough.
"this okay?" she mumbles.
he hums, leaning back slightly, his grip on her thighs tightening, his fingers skimming over her skin. "more than okay," he says, his voice low and dark, his gaze tracing over the line of her throat as he tilts her head back. "better than okay."
her breath catches in her throat, feeling his hand tilt her head back.
he smirks, his gaze taking her in, every inch of bare skin exposed and vulnerable. "you like this, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his fingers tracing over the sensitive skin of her neck, his touch like a brand.
she hums an affirmative, just barely audible. her eyes are big, green, and sparkly under the moonlight, looking up at him with an expression that could best be described as vulnerable.
his gaze softens just a bit, but there's still that hint of dark hunger that hasn't quite subsided. he leans in, his breath warm on her neck, his lips skimming over her skin with a feather-light touch. "you're real pretty like this," he murmurs, the compliment almost catching him off guard.
she almost whines as his lips graze her neck, her skin soft and sensitive. normally, he doesn’t fluster her, but the alcohol is ruining her.
the air between them crackles, something old and new all at once. they’ve been playing at this — testing, teasing, toeing the line — but now, with the whiskey warm in their veins and the quiet stretch of night wrapped around them, it feels different. heavier. inevitable.
mallory shifts just slightly, like she’s testing the weight of the moment, seeing how far it’ll tip before it tumbles over completely. dean watches her, watches the way the corner of her mouth twitches like she’s fighting a smirk, watches the rise and fall of her chest, the way her fingers idly trace the edge of his shirt like she’s daring him to comment.
and he does.
of course he does.
“y’know,” he drawls, his voice rough around the edges, “keep lookin’ at me like that, and i’m gonna start thinkin’ you want me to kiss you.”
she exhales a laugh, soft and slow, like she’s been waiting for him to say it. she tilts her head, her gaze flicking over his face, landing on his mouth before meeting his eyes again. “maybe i do,” she murmurs, and it’s not a tease, not a challenge — just a simple, undeniable truth.
something shifts in him then. like all the teasing, all the waiting, all the drawn-out moments that have been leading up to this suddenly snap into place. his hand tightens at her hip, the pressure grounding, steady. “you sure?” he asks, quiet but firm, because he needs her to be.
mallory hums, dragging her fingers down the front of his shirt, slow and deliberate, her touch like a match striking against him. “you really gonna make me beg?” she asks, her voice nothing more than a breath between them.
dean huffs a quiet laugh, but there’s no more hesitation. no more waiting.
his hand slides up, fingers brushing against her jaw, tilting her chin just enough before he finally — finally — closes the space between them.
it’s slow at first, like they’re both taking a second to realize that this is actually happening. that they’re not just toeing the line anymore, they’ve finally crossed it. and then mallory makes this soft little noise against his lips, and dean’s restraint unravels.
his other hand finds her waist, pulling her in like he’s afraid she’ll change her mind, like he needs to feel every inch of her against him. and she lets him — no, she encourages it, her fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer, deepening the kiss until there’s no space left between them.
she tastes like whiskey and cherry candy and summer, paired with something else, something distinctly mallory, something that makes him dizzy in a way no amount of booze ever could.
when they finally break apart, dean doesn’t move far, just enough to rest his forehead against hers, his breath uneven, his grip still firm like he’s not quite ready to let go.
mallory’s lips curve into a slow, satisfied smirk. “took you long enough,” she murmurs.
dean exhales a laugh, shaking his head. “yeah, yeah,” he mutters, but there’s no real complaint in his tone. just something warm, something easy, something that feels a whole lot like finally.
his gaze dips down, taking her in, her lips still spit-slick, her cheeks flushed, her eyes like pools of liquid emerald. she’s downright radiant, and it’s no wonder he can’t tear his eyes away, wanting nothing more than to bask in her glow.
his hands flex at her waist again, like he’s making sure she’s real, that he’s not just making this up in his whiskey-fueled imagination. “you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his gaze slowly roaming over her face, taking in every detail, every freckle, every fleck of gold in her eyes.
her lips twitch, the barest hint of a smirk playing at the edges, but there’s something softer underneath it, something warm. she tilts her head, studying him like she’s trying to commit this moment to memory just as much as he is. “you’re drunk,” she teases, her voice hushed, like she doesn’t want to shatter whatever fragile thing is hanging between them.
his fingers tighten at her waist, grounding himself. “maybe,” he admits, his voice rough, lazy. “but that doesn’t make it any less true.”
she exhales, a quiet little thing, and for a moment, all she does is look at him — really look at him. then, slow and deliberate, she leans in, brushing her nose against his, her lips barely ghosting over his. “good,” she whispers, “i’d hate for you to regret it in the morning.”
his breath catches. he wouldn’t. not in a million years.
he laughs, the sound soft and rough, his gaze locked on hers. “you think i’d regret kissin’ you?” he asks, his voice almost a tease, but there’s something tender underneath it, something that feels so much bigger than either of them.
she hums, her fingers tracing mindless patterns into his chest. “can never be too sure with you, can i?” she murmurs, a lazy smirk toying at the corner of her mouth.
his fingers press just a little firmer into her waist, like he’s trying to steady himself, like he’s trying to keep her right here, close enough to feel the warmth of her, the shape of her against him. his head tilts, that smirk of hers making something molten curl low in his stomach. “sweetheart,” he drawls, voice thick with whiskey and something softer, something dangerously close to reverence, “i’ve done a lotta stupid things in my life, but kissin’ you?” his thumb sweeps slow over the curve of her hip, deliberate, certain. “that’s gotta be the smartest thing i’ve ever done.”
her smirk lingers, but there’s something else there now, something deeper in the way she looks at him. like maybe she believes him. like maybe she wants to. her fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, nails just barely dragging against his chest as she leans in again, slower this time, testing, teasing. “guess you better put your money where your mouth is, then,” she murmurs, voice like silk, like smoke, right against his lips.
he doesn’t need to be told twice.
bright lightning flashes across the dark sky, the crack of thunder only intensifying the moment.
his hand finds the side of her face, his touch like a brand on her skin, holding her in place as he closes the space between them, kissing her slow, so slow, his lips a feather-light pressure against hers, like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he’s not careful enough, if he kisses her too hard, too deep.
she hums, her fingers flexing in his shirt, her body moving to mold against his like it’s second nature to her, like she was made to fit into him.
the rain hasn’t started yet, but the air is thick with it, heavy and electric, crackling around them like a live wire. he can feel it in the way she moves against him, in the way her lips part just enough for him to deepen the kiss, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the shape of her, the taste of her. his fingers slide back into her hair, his thumb brushing just beneath her ear, and he swears he can feel her pulse there, quick and unsteady.
she exhales against his mouth, a sound so quiet, so content, that it nearly undoes him. his other hand finds her waist, his grip just shy of desperate, like he needs her closer, like he doesn’t trust the storm not to steal her away. another rumble of thunder rolls through the sky, closer this time, rattling in his chest, but he doesn’t pull away. he just tilts his head, drinks her in like she’s the only thing keeping him tethered.
“storm’s rolling in,” she murmurs against his lips, her voice low, teasing, but there’s something softer underneath it, something knowing.
he huffs a quiet laugh, but he doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t move away. “yeah,” he mutters, his fingers flexing at her waist. “think it’s already here.”
“backseat?” she hums against his lips, smirking against the pink fullness of them.
his lips twitch into a smirk, his breath warm against hers. “thought you’d never ask,” he murmurs, his voice rough, almost reverent.
his hands are already on her waist, already guiding her back, but he doesn’t rush, doesn’t pull away just yet. he kisses her once more, slower this time, savoring it, like he knows this moment is going to brand itself into his memory, like he’s already addicted to the way she tastes.
the storm rumbles overhead as he finally breaks away, his forehead pressing to hers for just a second, his breath uneven, his grip firm. then, without another word, he tugs her off the hood, the rain just starting to mist against their skin.
the rain is picking up by the time they reach the door, a light, cool mist against their skin, but neither one of them seems to notice, too caught up in the moment, in the feel of each other’s bodies, too focused on getting to the backseat of the impala.
the rain gets heavier, turning into sheets of silver in the light of the full moon, but they’re sheltered in the impala, shielded from the storm by the darkness and the glass windows. the rain sounds muffled now, like they’re in their own little pocket of space and time.
the world outside fades away, too caught up in the storm of each other to care about anything else.
dean’s hands are steady on her waist, tugging her toward him as he leans in again, his lips brushing over hers, slow and searching. the air in the car is thick with the kind of tension only the silence of the rain can create. their bodies fit together like they’ve always known how, like they’ve always belonged in this moment.
she hums, her fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer, tasting him deeper. there’s no more teasing now, no more games — just the pull of desire, the rush of the storm both outside and between them. his hands roam, tracing the line of her spine, the curve of her neck, and she shivers, not from the cold, but from the way he makes her feel so damn alive.
the rain patters against the tin roof of the car, blanketing the space in a soothing atmosphere.
he breaks away just a moment to catch his breath, his gaze roaming over her face, like he’s trying to commit her expression to memory, like he wants to capture this moment and keep it forever. her hair is starting to curl from the rain and her cheeks are flushed, a light dusting of pink painted across her cheeks.
she’s looking up at him like he hung the entire goddamn solar system, and if she wasn’t drunk, maybe she’d be embarrassed.
he’s not much better, his own vision hazy, his gaze focused on her face, his eyes tracing every contour in her expression, every flutter of her lashes, her pink lips, her flushed cheeks. his thumb brushes the skin of her neck, just beneath her jaw, and his thumb lingers there, feeling her pulse. it’s a soft, steady rhythm under her skin, and it puts him at ease. “god, you’re beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice so soft, so unlike him.
she swallows, her throat tight. it’s not like she’s a stranger to compliments — far from it. but the reverence with which he hums it has her feeling unbearably vulnerable.
he watches her as she swallows and he tightens his grip on her hip, an instinctive reaction, like he needs her closer, like he needs her right here, under his touch. there’s a sort of protectiveness to it, a possessiveness that would send her running any other time. but the alcohol and the storm and the dark of night has her feeling pliant, soft, open, like he could take her apart piece by piece and she’d let him.
it’s a strange feeling, the implicit trust.
he leans in, lips skimming over the line of her jaw, his body heat seeping into the skin there. “tell me to stop,” he murmurs against her throat. it’s almost like a challenge, but his voice betrays him — the words are almost pleading.
mallory shakes her head, slowly but steadily.
he exhales slowly, a quiet, ragged exhale, like he was holding his breath this whole time, and her answer just made it all come spilling out. his hand tightens at her hip, his lips brushing over her skin, soft and reverent like he’s still not sure she’s real. “you sure?” he murmurs, voice low and rough, like he has to ask just one more time, like he can’t trust himself not to take this too far, too fast.
“uh huh,” she breathes, nodding a little in earnest.
the words hang between them, fragile and weighty at once, as he pulls her in closer, his body pressing against hers in the tight, confined space of the backseat.
dean’s hand moves to her cheek, his thumb brushing over her lips, almost reverently, as if she might slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on tight enough. his gaze is dark, intense, but there’s something there, something soft, as though he’s trying to memorize the feeling of this moment — the way she fits into his arms, the way she looks at him like she doesn’t expect anything, like she just wants him, with all her heart, without hesitation.
he leans in, kissing her again, slow, so slow, his lips moving with an aching tenderness, like he’s savoring every inch of her, every touch, every soft exhale. it’s not hurried, not frantic, but a steady, rhythmic pull that makes the air around them thick with tension.
her fingers curl into his shirt, pulling him closer, meeting him halfway with a hunger he knows all too well. her breath catches as his lips move from her mouth to her jaw, his hands sliding down her back, pressing her even closer, feeling the way her body melts into his, how every inch of her feels like it was made for him.
dean leans forward, gently easing her back. but just then, she whines a little against his lips, having bumped her head on the door handle.
he pulls back immediately, eyes softening in concern as he looks at her, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “y’okay?” he asks, his voice low, laced with a mix of worry and amusement.
mallory lets out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of her head. “yeah, just… bad timing,” she mutters, a teasing smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth, despite the little wince still on her face.
dean grins, a playful glint in his eyes, but there’s still that protective edge beneath it, his hand lingering on her cheek as he carefully adjusts her position. “don’t want you knockin’ yourself out before we get to the good part,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing her skin in the most distracting way, as if trying to comfort her, while also making her heart race all over again.
“you think you’re the good part?” she quips, her voice a little breathless, but there’s that playful defiance in her tone. her eyes flick up to meet his, the challenge in them clear.
he chuckles, shaking his head. “oh, i’m definitely the good part,” he teases, leaning in to kiss her again, this time softer, slower, the playful tension still lingering. “but you’re a close second.”
“a close second?” she gasps softly, feigning indignation, but the softness of her gaze betrays her.
he nods, the smirk returning to his lips, his gaze flicking over her face, taking in every slight movement of her features. “yeah, a close second,” he murmurs, his hand moving to her hip, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of her shirt, his touch soft and deliberate. “i’ve got high standards.”
she knows he’s joking, but in her drunken state, it stings just the tiniest bit.
he senses the shift in her mood, even if it’s subtle, his expression sobering, his head tilting just a little, like he’s trying to get a better look at her. “hey,” he murmurs, his fingers pressing into the skin of her hip. “i was just playin’.”
she nods a little, knowing he didn’t really mean it.
he sighs, his hand moving from her hip to her cheek, his touch gentle, tender, as if he’s hoping to soothe her, despite the drunkenness, despite the lingering tension. “you know i don’t think that, right?” he murmurs, his fingers trailing over her neck, finding her pulse point.
“yeah, m’sorry,” she mumbles, biting the inside of her cheek.
he shakes his head, a soft, amused laugh escaping him as his fingers skim over her jaw. “don’t apologize,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over her bottom lip, just the softest, faintest touch. “i just like givin’ you crap.”
she nods, exhaling slowly to calm her nerves.
he watches her, his gaze drifting over her face, taking in the way her chest rises and falls, the soft flutter of her eyelashes, the flush in her cheeks. his hand is still on her neck, the pads of his fingers just barely skimming over her pulse point, feeling the way her heart beats a little fast. “your pulse is a little fast, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice low, a hint of teasing in it.
she huffs a soft chuckle, her eyelashes fluttering slightly as she looks up at him.
his gaze drifts to her lips, watching the way they curve into that soft smirk, the way her cheeks flush a pretty shade of pink. his thumb brushes her bottom lip softly, the touch of his fingers feather-light, but somehow still intense, like he can’t help himself, like he’s not used to being this gentle. “i think that’s just cause you’re nervous,” he mutters, his voice rough, like he’s barely keeping himself in check.
her lips twitch a little, and she doesn’t argue, doesn’t fire back some witty retort.
he notices, the smirk growing a little wider. her lack of verbal sparring isn’t lost on him, and if he were sober, he’d be taking pleasure in it. but the alcohol seems to have heightened something, heightened his need to be closer, to touch a little more. “you’re awfully quiet,” he murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of her jaw, his thumb skimming over her lip. “it’s not your first time, is it?” he asks gently, his smirk no longer present.
she shakes her head, biting the inside of her cheek. “only once, though.”
his gaze flicks to her mouth, his fingers still tracing her jawline. his eyebrows arch just the slightest, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lip. “once, huh?” he muses, the hint of a question in his tone. “did you like it?”
she winces a little, her brows furrowing. “not particularly,”
his expression softens, his fingers stilling on her skin. “then why do it?” he asks, his voice a hint quieter now, a thread of something like concern lacing each syllable.
she shrugs, her lips pulling into a hint of a frown. “felt like i had to.”
his gaze is fixed on her face, taking in her expression, the way her mouth quirks into a frown. his hand finds her waist again, fingers flexing into the fabric of her shirt. “‘had to?’” he repeats, his voice tinged with something like disbelief. “you felt like you had to?”
she shook her head, “we don’t have to talk about it,”
his gaze softens, his hand resting on her hip, his fingers tracing slow circles into her skin. “hey,” he murmurs, his voice firm but soft. “look at me.”
she swallows but does it anyway, a vulnerability in her expression that he hasn’t seen before.
he studies her face, his eyes roaming over her features, taking in every detail. he’s always known her to be strong and confident, but right now, she’s soft and open, like she’s letting him see all the parts of her she usually keeps guarded. his thumb brushes her cheek, the touch gentle, tender. “tell me,” he murmurs, his voice low and coaxing.
“i don’t wanna ruin the moment,” she mumbles.
his hand moves to her chin, tilting her face up to look at him. “you aren’t ruinin’ it, this’s more important anyway.” he mutters, his gaze locked on hers, refusing to look away. his voice is so soft, so tender, it’s almost unrecognizable. “tell me, please.”
she swallows thickly, followed by a shaky exhale. “what do you wanna know?”
he looks at her for a moment, his gaze intense but his touch still gentle. he’s not usually one to pry, to get this personal, but right now, he can’t seem to help himself. “tell me why you felt like you had to,” he murmurs, his hand still on her hip, thumb brushing over the fabric of her shirt. “tell me why you didn’t like it.”
“he just.. pressured me. and people kept telling me he would leave me if i didn’t.”
his expression hardens, his grip on her hip tightening instinctively, a wave of protectiveness surging up unbidden. “he should’ve taken better care of you,” he mutters, a hint of anger in his tone, his eyes raking over her face, looking for any sign of discomfort, any sign that he’s pushing too hard. “not been a selfish asshole.”
“it doesn’t matter anymore,” she shook her head.
he sighs, his gaze still locked on hers, his touch still as soft as it is firm. “yeah, it does,” he murmurs, his voice a little softer than before, almost tender. “you deserve better than that, sweetheart.”
“why do you care so much?” she mumbled, staring up at him with big green doe eyes.
he looks at her for a moment, taking in her soft, vulnerable expression, the way those big, green eyes look up at him with something that looks an awful lot like trust. and then he exhales a slow breath, his fingertips still tracing circles into her skin, unable to let go. “because it pisses me off,” he mutters, his voice rough around the edges. “because you should’ve felt good, not like you had to do something you didn’t want to.”
“i kind of wanted to,” she mutters, even though she knows there’s no sense in defending the situation.
his eyebrows arches just a little, his gaze locked on her face. “really?” he mutters, his touch still soft, but his eyes are narrowed a little, like he's not quite sure he believes her. "you wanted to?"
“tangentially,” she winces.
he huffs a quiet laugh, his expression relaxing a fraction. "tangentially, huh?" he repeats, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "that's not very convincing, sweetheart."
“i didn’t want him to leave me, okay?” she huffs, a slight pout pulling on her lips.
he hums, his fingers still tracing her jawline, his gaze still fixed on her. there's something dangerous to his expression, something sharp and possessive. "he threatened to leave you if you didn't put out?" he asks, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on hers. "sounds like a real charmer."
“not outright, but i didn’t really care. my mom was in the hospital, and i.. thought that he loved me…” she stopped, shaking her head. “i’m sorry, i don’t know why i’m telling you this.”
“because i asked, sweetheart.” he soothed, running his thumb over her cheek.
she lets out a resigned sigh, nodding slowly.
he takes the cue to continue, his gaze softening just a little, just enough to notice. “was he much older than you?” he asks, his hand moving to her face, fingertips skimming over the skin of her cheek, his touch still so tender, it’s like he’s trying not to break her.
“no, only a few months.”
he nods a little, his gaze still fixed on her face. "so why didn't you tell him no?" he asks, his voice rough, but not in the way she's come to know as anger. it's soft, tender, but there's a desperate undercurrent to it, like he needs to know.
“i don’t know. it’s not that i didn’t want to… i just, wasn’t quite ready, i guess. well, i thought i was, but then it was too late to back out.”
he hums, his brow furrowing a little as he processes her words, his thumb tracing over her skin, just soft, soothing circles. "you felt like you couldn't tap out, huh?" he asks, his voice quiet, almost low enough to be lost in the sound of the rain.
she hums, struggling to keep the conversation vulnerable, to not deflect or use humor as a defense mechanism.
he watches her for a moment, his gaze focused on every twitch of her features, studying her like he wants to commit every inch of her to memory. "that's not right," he mutters, his hand leaving her face to cradle the back of her neck, holding her gaze. "no one should ever make you feel like that, sweetheart." his thumb rubs soft circles into her skin, a gentle touch meant to soothe.
“i know.” she mumbles, her eyes downcast, like she was almost embarrassed about the whole thing.
he tilts his head, shifting closer, his free hand landing on her other cheek, a gentle touch that feels like it’s meant solely to comfort her. "hey," he murmurs, his gaze on her face, watching her reaction to his touch, watching the flicker of emotion in her expression. "look at me."
her gaze flicks up to his, her cheeks slightly squished between his big, warm hands.
he holds her gaze, his expression soft, tender, something protective behind his gaze. "you trust me, yeah?” he asks, his voice low, a rough whisper.
she nods a little, but it’s quick, like she didn’t have to think about it.
he exhales, slow and even, his gaze running over her face. "good," he murmurs, a hint of a smile tugging on his mouth, barely noticeable. "i’m gonna ask you somethin’ and i need you to promise you’ll be honest.”
she nods again, her gaze on his, eyes like two deep pools of green. “okay,” she swallows, her voice coming out quieter than she meant it to.
he notes the shift in her voice, the way she swallows, his gaze still locked on hers. “do i make you nervous, sweetheart?”
“just a little.”
he lets out a soft laugh, the sound low and rough, his gaze skimming over her face, taking in every subtle change in her expression, every flutter of her lashes. "why am i makin’ you nervous?” he asks, his tone lightly teasing, yet still soft, almost tender.
her gaze flits away, before coming back. “you just… you know what you’re doing. and i..” she sighs, blinking hard. “i want you to like me.”
his gaze flicks over her face, taking in the vulnerability in her confession, the way her voice trembles a little. "sweetheart, i do like you," he murmurs, this thumbs swiping over her cheeks, like he’s trying to commit the feel of her skin against his fingers to memory.
she swallows again, blinking hard, her gaze not meeting his, her fingers fiddling with the fabric of his shirt, and she shakes her head. “i don’t just want you to like me,” she mutters, her cheeks flushed a little, like she’s trying to fight this weird vulnerability, like she’s desperate not to feel this way. “i want you to… want me,”
he hums, leaning down so his face is close to hers, his hand tilting her chin up, coaxing her gaze to meet his. "i do want you," he mutters, his voice low, the words a promise, a vow. there's no hint of hesitation or teasing now, just the raw, unfiltered truth, his gaze locked on hers.
“no, like. really want me. not just want to have sex with me.”
he exhales, his gaze still locked on hers, his touch still just as gentle, his thumb tracing the contour of her jaw. "i really want you," he whispers, his voice low and rough, but there's no hint of a lie in his voice, no hint of deceit. he means it, every word, the way he looks at her, like she's the sun and the stars and the goddamn moon all at once.
“you mean that?” she breathes, looking up at him with an expression that could only be described as hopeful.
he hums, his fingers still tracing her jawline, his gaze fixed on her face, her expression making his chest clench with some emotion he’s not sure how to name. “yeah, baby.” he murmurs, his voice so soft, it almost matches the gentle rain falling outside. and he means it, he can’t remember a time he’s ever meant something more in his life. the look on her face, the vulnerability, the hope, it makes him want to keep her safe, to keep her whole, to make sure nothing ever hurts her again.
her throat tightens at the petname, the casual way it slipped off his tongue catching her off guard.
he sees the way her throat tightens, his gaze locked on her face, how she seems to falter, just a little, just in the slightest. he feels possessive at the sight, his hand still on her jaw, and he leans down a little, his gaze flicking over her face. "you like that, sweetheart?" he murmurs, his voice low and soft, a hint of a smile and something else in there, something he doesn’t want to acknowledge just yet.
her lips part, but no sound comes out, just a shallow breath, her fingers tightening in the fabric of his shirt like she needs something to hold onto. her gaze flickers, her lashes lowering for a brief second before she looks back up at him, something unspoken in her expression.
he watches her, every shift, every flicker of emotion, his thumb still tracing along her jaw like he’s memorizing her by touch alone. “thought so,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice rough, a little pleased. the sound of the rain outside fills the space between them, the soft rhythm a quiet contrast to the tension settling thick and heavy in the air.
she exhales, something shaky in the way her breath leaves her, her body still, like she’s waiting, like she’s bracing herself for something. his gaze drops to her mouth, his thumb pausing for just a second before resuming its slow path along her jaw, then down, tracing the column of her throat. his touch is light, barely there, but she feels it like a brand, like something she won’t be able to shake.
“you really mean it?” she asks again, but softer this time, quieter.
his lips quirk, just barely, his head tilting like he’s considering the weight of her question, like he already knows the answer but wants her to hear it again. “sweetheart, i don’t say shit i don’t mean.” his voice is quiet, but there’s something certain in it, something unshakable. “i want you. really want you.”
her fingers flex in the fabric of his shirt, her breathing a little uneven now. she looks at him, really looks at him, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, any trace of dishonesty, but all she finds is something devastatingly real. something solid. something terrifying in how much she wants to believe him.
he watches the way she processes his words, the way she swallows hard like she’s trying to push down whatever storm is building inside of her. his hand shifts, sliding back to cradle the nape of her neck, his thumb pressing gently into the soft skin there. “tell me what you need, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low, coaxing. “whatever it is. just tell me.”
her lips part again, but for a second, she doesn’t say anything, just breathes, just looks at him with something raw and unguarded in her eyes. then, finally, barely above a whisper—
“just… don’t go.”
something tightens in his chest, something sharp, something he doesn’t know how to name. he exhales slow, his thumb brushing over her skin like a silent promise. “i’m right here,” he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead is barely an inch from hers, his breath warm against her skin. “not going anywhere.”
her eyes flutter shut for a second, her shoulders losing some of that tension she didn’t even realize she was holding. when she opens them again, there’s something softer in her gaze, something tentative but real.
it shakes her to her core, and for the first time in a long time, she has to fight back tears.
his expression shifts, something deep and instinctive stirring in his chest as he watches the way her breath shudders, the way she blinks too quickly, like she’s trying to force it all back down. his hands tighten, just slightly, like he can physically ground her, keep her from slipping away into whatever storm is brewing behind her eyes.
“hey,” he breathes, barely more than a whisper, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles against the nape of her neck. “it’s okay.”
she shakes her head, just a little, her lips pressing together, like she doesn’t trust herself to speak. her fingers curl tighter in the fabric of his shirt, holding on, like she needs something solid, something real.
his heart clenches at the sight. she’s always been so damn untouchable, so good at keeping things locked down tight — but right now, she’s not. right now, she’s looking at him like she’s unraveling, like she’s scared of what he might see, and he doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to protect anything more in his life.
he shifts, his hands slipping lower, wrapping fully around her, pulling her against him without hesitation. her breath catches, her body stiffening for a split second before she just—melts. lets herself sink into it, lets herself be held.
he feels the exact moment the fight drains out of her, the moment she stops trying to hold herself together and just lets him do it for her. his fingers press into the small of her back, firm and steady, like he’s anchoring her.
“s’okay,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against her temple, his voice low and certain. “i gotcha,”
she exhales, slow and shaky, and this time, when she blinks too quickly, she doesn’t fight it. doesn’t stop herself from pressing closer, from burying her face in his shoulder, from letting out the smallest, quietest, most vulnerable sound he’s ever heard from her.
he just holds her tighter, presses his lips against her hair, breathes her in like she’s something sacred.
she’s tucked in his nape, her arms around his neck, one leg around his waist and the other slung over his thigh. he’s warm, solid, comforting. he smells good, and for a moment it’s like she’s five again, in her dad’s arms.
the thought sneaks up on her, unbidden, hitting her harder than she expects. it’s not the same — of course it’s not — but there’s something in the way he holds her, in the quiet, steady warmth of him, that reminds her of a safety she hasn’t felt in years. something old and instinctive, something she thought she’d outgrown.
her throat tightens, her fingers curling a little where they rest against the nape of his neck. he doesn’t say anything, doesn’t push, just keeps rubbing slow, absentminded circles into her skin like he’s got all the time in the world to sit here and hold her.
his grip shifts just slightly, his fingers spreading across the small of her back, pressing her closer. “you good?” he murmurs, low and rough, his breath warm against the shell of her ear.
she nods against his shoulder, but it’s not entirely convincing. she knows he knows. he doesn’t call her on it. doesn’t make her say anything she isn’t ready to. just hums a little, like he’s letting her know he hears her anyway.
her eyes slip shut again, her weight settling fully against him, and for once, she doesn’t feel the need to pull herself together. doesn’t feel like she has to keep up the armor, keep up the performance. she’s just… here. in his arms, in his warmth, in the quiet rhythm of his breathing.
mallory was stuffing things into a duffel bag, grabbing her keys from her dresser and running down the stairs. she grabbed a coat from the hall closet, and just then, heard the familiar rumble of baby’s engine. she dropped her things to the floor, flinging the door open to see sam helping dean out of the car.
she crossed the porch in less than a second, skipping the steps completely and holding back tears at the sight of him. sam smiled softly, giving them some space by going to help bobby.
“hey, sweetheart.” dean smiled tiredly, the exhaustion evident in his voice.
she didn’t say anything, biting her lip and wrapping her arms around his waist, hugging him with reckless abandon, barely even noticing the quiet grunt he made.
“s’okay, baby.” he whispered, slipping one arm around her waist and cradling the back of her head in the other, petting her hair soothingly.
mallory squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her face against his shoulder, inhaling the familiar, grounding scent of leather, gunpowder, and something distinctly dean beneath it all. she felt him kiss the top of her head, his lips lingering there as his fingers curled into the back of her jacket.
“you scared the hell out of me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled against his chest.
dean huffed a soft chuckle, though there wasn’t any humor in it. “yeah, well. scared myself a little too.”
she pulled back just enough to look at him, her hands gripping the sides of his jacket like she wasn’t ready to let go. his face was bruised, a gash just above his eyebrow, and the way he leaned into her told her more than he ever would.
“what happened?” her voice was quiet but firm, her eyes sharp as they flickered over his face, cataloging every injury.
dean exhaled through his nose, his lips quirking up just barely. “went a little sideways.”
she narrowed her eyes. “sideways?”
he tilted his head, giving her that boyish, trying-to-be-charming smile she knew all too well. “maybe a little more than sideways.”
she wanted to be mad, she really did, but she was more scared than anything, failing to hold back the tears that welled up in her waterline.
dean’s expression shifted the second he saw them, his smirk faltering as his hands tightened on her waist. “hey, hey,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over her cheek as if that alone could stop the tears from falling. “none of that, sweetheart. ‘m right here.”
mallory huffed a weak, watery laugh, blinking rapidly to keep them from spilling over. “you weren’t, though,” she whispered, voice shaking despite her best efforts. “you weren’t answering your damn phone, and you were supposed to be back yesterday, and i—”
her breath hitched, and she pressed her lips together, willing herself to keep it together.
dean sighed, his forehead dropping against hers as he closed his eyes. “i know, baby. i know.” his voice was softer now, edged with something raw, something guilty. “we got caught up. didn’t mean to scare you.”
she inhaled sharply, her hands gripping his jacket even tighter. “i thought—” she cut herself off, shaking her head. she couldn’t even say it.
dean’s throat bobbed, and he tilted his head, nudging her nose with his. “c’mon, mal. you really think some overgrown son of a bitch could take me out?”
she let out another weak laugh, shaking her head. “no, i think you’re an idiot who takes too many risks.”
dean grinned, his hands sliding up to cradle her face, his thumbs brushing against her cheekbones. “fair.”
she exhaled shakily, her hands slipping from his jacket to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath her palms. she hated how much she needed that, the tangible proof that he was still here, still warm, still alive.
“you’re okay?” she asked again, quieter this time.
dean nodded, his gaze soft, heavy-lidded with exhaustion but unwavering as he looked at her. “yeah, baby. ‘m okay.”
mallory searched his face for a long moment, as if making sure he wasn’t just saying that for her sake. then, with a sharp exhale, she shoved him — not hard enough to actually hurt, but just enough to make a point.
“ow,” dean huffed, though he barely moved, his hands lifting off her face in a placating gesture. “yeah, okay, i deserved that.”
“you’re damn right you did,” she muttered, sniffling as she swiped at her eyes, barely able to hold onto her frustration when he was looking at her like that — like he’d missed her just as much as she’d missed him.
“don’t pull that shit again, you hear me?” she huffed in the strongest tone she could muster, pointing her finger at him.
dean’s gaze was fond, giving her the smallest nod. “yes ma’am.”
dean watched her for a second longer before sighing, his hands dropping to her waist as he pulled her against him again, tucking his chin over the top of her head.
she nodded, biting the inside of her cheek and leading him inside, where he took one look at the duffel bag on the floor with her keys on top of it and chuckled.
“you were gonna come get me, huh?” he teased softly, nudging her arm.
mallory shot him a look, her lips twitching despite herself. “i thought you were dead or something, and if i had to do this without you—”
“hey, hey,” dean cut her off, his voice soft, a little more serious now, “i’m here. no need to go pulling any hero moves just yet.”
she sighed, her eyes softening as she looked up at him. “i’m glad you’re here.”
“me too, sweetheart,” he murmured, his hand sliding to the back of her neck, thumb brushing her skin. “you really were worried, huh?”
“worry doesn’t even begin to cover it.” she turned to finish putting her things away, but he grabbed her wrist, gently pulling her back to him.
“don’t go anywhere. stay with me for a minute.” his voice was low, tired, but there was an unmistakable sincerity in it, the kind that made her want to melt into him.
mallory bit her lip, trying to suppress the urge to smile at his softness, but she gave in anyway, leaning into him once more. her arms wrapped around him again, this time holding him a little tighter, as if trying to make up for the days they’d spent apart.
“don’t ever do that again, dean,” she murmured into his chest, the words so much quieter than she meant them to be.
dean pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his hands resting on her back as he held her close. “i promise, baby. i won’t.”
later, dean was in the shower, and mallory was sitting on his bed, her back to the headboard and her knees pulled up to her chest, her chin resting on them.
the steady sound of water running from the bathroom was the only noise in the room, but mallory couldn’t shake the heaviness in the air. she stared down at her hands, her fingers absently picking at the frayed edges of her jeans. it felt like everything had finally caught up to her — the worry, the fear, the tension that had been building up for days.
she wasn’t sure when it had happened, but she’d gone from just missing dean to feeling like she couldn’t breathe without him. it wasn’t something she’d ever admit out loud, but right now, with him so close but still separated by the thin bathroom wall, it was all she could think about.
the door creaked open, and mallory’s head snapped up at the sound. she hadn’t heard him step out, but she could feel his presence — feel the way everything seemed to shift when he was near.
dean emerged from the bathroom, pajama pants slung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. his hair was damp, slightly tousled, and he rubbed his face with a hand as he caught sight of her. his lips quirked up into that lazy, lovesick grin he only wore for her.
“you look lost in thought,” he said, voice low. “what’s on your mind, sweetheart?”
mallory bit her lip, not wanting to admit how much she needed him in this moment, how much she needed him to just hold her and make her feel like everything was going to be okay again. she shrugged, though the way her gaze softened as she looked at him told a different story.
“nothing,” she replied, though the word felt like a lie hanging between them.
dean didn’t buy it for a second. he crossed the room toward her with a smirk, plopping down on the bed beside her. “no way you’re sitting there thinking about nothing.”
her lips curled into a reluctant smile. “just… i don’t know,” she started, her voice quieter. “i just… missed you.”
dean’s expression softened, and he leaned over to hook a finger under her chin and tilt up her face. “i missed you too, baby.”
she could feel his warmth infiltrate her, the steady thrum of his presence anchoring her in the moment. she wasn’t sure what it was — maybe it was the exhaustion from the last few days, maybe it was the way he was looking at her like he’d come home from the dead just to be with her — but she leaned into him without thinking.
she swallowed her pride, crawling into his lap and burying her face in his neck, taking a shaky breath but not fighting the tears now.
dean’s arms instantly wrapped around her, pulling her closer, his body warm and solid beneath her. he didn’t ask questions, didn’t push her away. he just held her, letting her bury her face in his skin, her sobs muffled against him.
he could feel the trembling in her body, the way she was fighting to stay together but couldn’t hold it in anymore. dean’s fingers gently stroked her back, trying to calm her, trying to reassure her that everything was okay, even though they both knew it wasn’t. not yet.
“hey,” he murmured softly, his voice thick with concern. “hey, it’s okay. i’m right here, alright?”
mallory shook her head against him, her breath hitching as she tried to speak. “i—i was so scared, dean. i didn’t know what to do… you weren’t answering, and i thought—” she cut herself off, her chest tightening as she fought to get the words out.
dean’s hand gently cupped the back of her head, pressing his lips to her hair, feeling the weight of her fear. “i’m here, mal. s’okay, doll,” he repeated, his voice soft but firm, like a grounding force she could hold onto.
she squeezed her eyes shut, her arms wrapped tight around his neck as if she were afraid he might slip away. the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against her ear was the only thing keeping her grounded, and she couldn’t help but focus on it, as if it was the only thing that mattered in the world right now.
“i need you,” she whispered, her voice small, almost inaudible.
dean tightened his hold on her, his fingers trailing softly down her back. “i know, baby. and i need you too,” he said, his voice low, a hint of rawness slipping through. “i’m not going anywhere, i promise.”
mallory slowly lifted her head to look at him, her tear-streaked face soft in the dim light, her eyes searching his. she could see the sincerity in his gaze, the way he was holding her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.
dean’s heart broke at the sight of her so shaken, kissing her cheek tenderly. “and even if i do, i’ll always come back for my best girl, huh?” he whispered, so soft it just made her cry more.
mallory’s chest tightened at his words, and she couldn’t stop the fresh wave of tears that spilled over. the tenderness in his voice, the way he always made her feel like she was the one thing that mattered most to him, was almost too much to bear. she clung to him tighter, as if somehow, the harder she held on, the more real he’d be — like the lingering fear of losing him was still hanging over her, even now.
“don’t leave again.” she murmured, “don’t leave me,” a plea this time.
dean’s expression shifted, a deep, unspoken pain flickering behind his eyes as he pressed his forehead against hers. the vulnerability in her voice cut through him in a way nothing else could. he felt it in his bones, the weight of her fear, the weight of his own promise to always come back.
“i won’t, mal,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “i swear. not for anything.”
he let the words linger in the air between them, as if sealing them into the moment. his hands gently cradled her face, wiping away the last of her tears with the pads of his thumbs. he knew how hard it was for her to let him in, to show that kind of raw need, and it broke him to see it so plainly in her eyes.
she leaned into his hands, sniffling quietly. a small, nagging voice in the back of her head was screaming, admonishing her for failing to keep him at arm’s length, but she ignored it for once.
dean could feel the slight tension in her, that war between needing him and fighting it, but he wasn’t going to let her slip away this time. he knew her well enough to sense when she was holding back, trying to keep her walls intact, but he wouldn’t let her do it. not now.
“mal,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm, his thumbs tracing the curve of her jaw, “you don’t have to do this alone. not anymore. you’ve got me.”
he spoke the words like a promise, something more than just an empty reassurance. he’d lived a life of keeping people at arm’s length, of shutting down the parts of himself that might show weakness, but with her — he didn’t have to be that way. she’d seen all of him, the parts that made him feel unworthy, the parts that scared him. and yet, she stayed.
mallory’s eyes flickered up to meet his, her breath hitching slightly. she could see it in him, the way he was giving her all of himself without hesitation, without expecting anything in return.
she felt that familiar ache in her chest, the deep-seated yearning that had been there from the start, but now it was stronger than ever. she leaned into him once more, resting her head against his chest, closing her eyes as if that simple act would keep her grounded.
“i’m scared, dean,” she murmured, her voice small, barely audible, as she allowed the vulnerability to spill out. “scared of losing you.”
dean’s arms tightened around her, his breath shaky for a moment before he steadied himself. “you’re not gonna lose me,” he said, his voice rough but resolute. “i’m right here. and I’m not going anywhere.”
he kissed the top of her head again, his fingers curling into her hair, holding her close as if he could protect her from everything, even his own reckless tendencies.
“i’m not going anywhere, mal,” he repeated, the words a vow, a promise wrapped in a love that neither of them had ever been able to fully express, but both of them knew was there.
“can i sleep in here tonight?” she asked, her voice so soft it was almost inaudible.
dean’s heart softened at the question, the rawness of it sinking in. he’d never wanted to be anything but her safe place, her constant. and hearing the vulnerability in her voice, the unspoken plea, made him want to pull her even closer.
“of course, sweetheart,” he said, his voice steady but filled with the tenderness he felt in that moment. “always.”
she nodded, mumbling something about pajamas and reluctantly crawling off his lap and disappearing into her room for a few minutes.
when she came back, dean was sitting up against the headboard, opening his arms for her. “come ‘ere, doll.” he murmured, pulling back the covers. she crawled across the bed, tucking herself into his arms again, letting out a shaky exhale and resting her cheek on his chest.
“did you sleep in my room while i was gone?” he hummed softly, his voice low and fond as he ran his fingertips up and down her spine, his other hand cradling the back of her head against his chest.
“yeah,” she replied softly, the slightest hint of embarrassment in her voice.
dean chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “i don’t mind, mal,” he murmured, his hand continuing its soothing motions on her back.
mallory let out a small sigh, sinking into the warmth of his embrace, the sound of his voice grounding her even more. she wasn’t sure why she felt embarrassed — maybe because it was something she rarely admitted, even to herself. but with him, it felt like she didn’t have to hide anything, even the things she wasn’t ready to say out loud.
“i missed you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, the vulnerability there again, but this time, it wasn’t so overwhelming.
dean’s fingers stilled for a moment, his breath catching ever so slightly before he exhaled, his arms tightening around her. “missed you too, baby,” he murmured, his voice thick with affection. he shifted just enough to look down at her, his eyes searching her face.
“you sure you’re alright?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing over her cheek as his gaze lingered on her, soft and unwavering.
mallory closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into his touch, the simple gesture easing the tightness in her chest. she wasn’t sure if she could put it into words — not yet — but with him, everything seemed easier. “i’m just… tired,” she finally admitted, her voice soft, barely above a whisper. “tired of… everything, i guess.”
dean nodded, his hand moving to gently thread through her hair. “i get it,” he said quietly, his words carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken things. “you don’t have to carry it all alone, mal. not anymore.”
her breath hitched at that, and she pulled away just enough to look at him, her eyes searching his with a vulnerability she rarely showed. “i don’t know how to stop,” she confessed, her voice thick with emotion. “how to stop… needing you so much.”
dean’s heart twisted at the words, at the raw honesty that she rarely allowed herself to voice. he cupped her face gently, his thumb brushing her lower lip as he stared at her, his gaze full of tenderness and something deeper. “you don’t have to stop, mal,” he whispered, his voice low and full of meaning. “i want to be needed by you.”
for a long moment, neither of them said anything, the weight of his words hanging between them like a quiet promise. and in that stillness, with nothing but the sound of their breathing filling the space, mallory finally relaxed.
“how’d you know i slept in here?”
dean smirked, his hand still gently resting on her back as he looked down at her. “you cleaned my room, and your perfume is all over my sheets,” he teased lightly, though his voice was warm, not mocking. “besides, i kinda figured. you always end up here when you’re feelin’ out of sorts.”
mallory raised an eyebrow, though a small smile tugged at her lips. “stalker,” she teased back, but there was no heat in her words, just a familiar comfort in their playful back-and-forth.
“guilty as charged,” dean shot back with a lazy grin, his fingers tracing small circles on her back. “but i don’t mind. i like knowing where you are. keeps me from worrying too much. plus, you left mr. bunny.” he teased gently, pulling the stuffed rabbit out from under one of the pillows.
mr. bunny was a tan, stuffed rabbit that had seen better days, but she still kept him, and dean liked to tease her about it sometimes.
mallory rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “hey,” she muttered, though there was no real annoyance in her voice. she propped herself up on one elbow to grab mr. bunny from his hands, holding the stuffed rabbit close to her chest as if to protect him from dean’s teasing.
“you know, i don’t think you appreciate him enough,” she said, her tone mock serious. “he’s been with me through some tough times, and you’re just gonna keep making fun of him like that?”
dean raised an eyebrow, an exaggerated expression of innocence on his face. “hey, i’m not the one who left him abandoned on my bed,” he teased, his finger lightly tapping mr. bunny’s head.
mallory huffed, cradling the rabbit protectively. “i didn’t abandon him! and maybe he likes hanging out with you, did you ever stop to consider that?” she shot back with a playful grin. “he’s probably got a crush on you.”
she absentmindedly ran her thumb over the soft fabric of his ear, smoothing it out before folding it between her fingers, a subconscious habit she never grew out of.
“oh, he’s got a thing for me, huh?” dean smirked, pretending to look affronted. “well, i can’t say i blame him. but he’s gonna be real bummed to find out i’m taken.”
mallory gasped softly, feigning disbelief. “you gotta tell him, it’s cruel to lead him on.”
dean chuckled, leaning back slightly as he crossed his arms in mock contemplation. “yeah, i know, i’ve been stringing mr. bunny along for too long. i should’ve let him down easy.”
“it’s a tough situation,” mallory said with a sigh, pressing the stuffed rabbit even closer to her chest. “he’s probably heartbroken right now.”
“yeah, well, maybe i can make it up to him,” dean said with a grin, reaching over to ruffle mr. bunny’s ears. “we could hang out, maybe go for a drive, make sure he knows he’s still loved.”
“he’ll appreciate that,” mallory agreed, though her lips were twitching with the effort to hold back her smile. “you’re a real gentleman, dean.”
“i try,” he said with a wink, pulling her a little closer into his side. “but in the end, it’s you i’m after. mr. bunny will just have to learn to share.”
“he’ll get over it,” mallory replied, her voice soft but playful. “but just remember, he has a lot of history with me. i can’t let you steal him away that easily.”
“don’t worry, i won’t,” dean said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “but i get to be your favorite, right?”
“we’ll see,” she teased, snuggling into him. “i’ll have to think about it.”
dean laughed softly, the sound warm and comfortable as he held her tighter.
“maybe we’ll get joint custody, he was my bunny first.” she mused, resting her cheek on his chest and gazing up at him.
dean raised an eyebrow, a grin tugging at his lips. “joint custody, huh?” he mused, pretending to consider it seriously. “well, if we’re splitting time, i’ll need visitation rights. i’m not just gonna let mr. bunny slip away that easily.”
mallory smirked, her fingers lightly tracing the contours of his chest. “he’s been through a lot, you know. i’ll need to make sure he’s taken care of during the weekends,” she teased, her voice low and playful.
“weekends?” dean raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. “that’s some pretty heavy demands for a stuffed rabbit. what kind of deal are we making here, mal?”
“only the best for mr. bunny,” she replied with a mischievous grin. “he deserves it. he’s been through all my emotional meltdowns and heartbreaks. he’s practically a therapist.”
“well, if he’s got all that experience, maybe he can help me with some of my issues,” dean said, his smirk widening. “since he’s a seasoned pro.”
“careful,” mallory warned, her voice still teasing. “he’s very protective of me. you’ll have to pass a rigorous vetting process before he lets you into his circle.”
“oh, i’m up for the challenge,” dean said, his voice low and confident, as he playfully nudged her. “bring it on, bunny man. i’ll win you over. it’s just a matter of time.”
“bunny man?” she snickered, her nose crinkling up in the way that was reserved for dean and dean alone.
“yeah, bunny man,” dean said with a grin, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. “mr. bunny’s got a whole other side to him, doesn’t he? a little badass alter ego, ready to throw down with the competition.”
mallory shook her head, laughing softly. “you’ve got a wild imagination, you know that?”
“what can i say?” dean shrugged, his grin widening. “when you’ve got a stuffed rabbit involved, the stakes are high.” he pulled her in closer, his fingers brushing through her hair. “but seriously, you’re gonna have a tough time convincing me to share him, sweetheart.”
mallory raised an eyebrow, her grin still lingering. “oh, i’ll manage,” she teased, her voice light but full of playful challenge. “i think mr. bunny’s got a soft spot for me, and that’s something you can’t compete with.”
dean smirked like he had a comeback locked and loaded, but then his eyes flickered — just for a second — down to where her fingers curled a little tighter around mr. bunny’s plush body. his grin didn’t falter, but something in his gaze softened, like he knew where this was headed before she even said it.
“you think so?” dean smirked, the corner of his mouth twitching upward, his voice gentler now. “i think mr. bunny’s just trying to get in good with the big guy, y’know? playing the long game.”
“you’re ridiculous,” mallory muttered, though the warmth in her tone said otherwise. she snuggled a little closer, feeling his chest rise and fall with every breath, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the lines of his shirt that she was wearing.
dean’s hand lingered at the back of her neck, fingers gently massaging the spot there that always seemed to ease the tension in her shoulders. “you like ridiculous,” he murmured, his voice dropping a bit lower, teasing and sincere all at once. “you wouldn’t put up with me if you didn’t.”
she let out a resigned sigh, feigning exasperation as she shook her head and tucked mr. bunny into bed before crawling back into dean’s arms. “i missed you.” she whispered, playing with his necklace.
her voice was quiet, almost shy, like she didn’t mean to say it out loud. her fingers toyed with his necklace, tracing the familiar curve of the pendant as if grounding herself in the feel of it.
dean’s heart softened at the simplicity of her words, his arms instinctively tightening around her as she settled back into his embrace. he brushed a strand of hair from her face, his gaze soft as he looked down at her. “missed you too, baby,” he whispered back, his voice low and sincere. “always miss you.”
she rested her head against his chest, her fingers still absently playing with the cool chain of his necklace, the familiar rhythm of his heartbeat grounding her. mallory swallowed, her fingers still curled around the chain of his necklace, her grip just a little tighter now. “you really scared me, dean.” her voice barely made it past her lips, small and unsteady in a way she usually refused to let it be.
dean’s expression shifted, the easy smirk faltering for just a moment as he pulled her in even closer, his hand gently cupping the back of her head. “i know, mal,” he said, his voice rough with a mix of regret and sincerity. “i didn’t mean to scare you. i never want to do that.”
she closed her eyes, her breath catching for a moment as the vulnerability crept in again. “i just—i don’t know what i’d do without you,” she confessed, her voice quiet, but the weight of the words settled between them like a promise.
dean’s heart ached at the raw honesty in her voice, and he pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head. “you don’t have to worry about that,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “i’m not going anywhere. not now, not ever.”
mallory nodded against his chest, the warmth of his words wrapping around her like a blanket. for a moment, everything felt right. safe. she didn’t have to keep her guard up. here, in his arms, she could finally let herself breathe.
“good,” she whispered, her voice soft, as if the mere admission had given her some peace. “because i’m not letting you go, either.”
the sound didn’t even register at first, mallory only half-heard it, too caught up in the way dean’s hands were curled around her hips, his thumbs sliding beneath the hem of her shirt, and the slow, lazy press of his mouth against hers. she was perched in his lap on the living room couch, her knees slotted on either side of his thighs, his belt buckle nudging against her pelvis as she shifted closer. they’d been like that for the better part of thirty minutes, tangled up and unhurried, kissing like they had all the time in the world — which, they did. bobby was supposed to be out until nightfall, and sam was god knows where, leaving the house deliciously quiet and perfectly empty.
dean’s mouth was hot against mallory’s, his hands tangled in her hair, pulling her closer like he’s trying to melt her into him. her legs are slung over his thighs, fingers twisted in the hem of his shirt, and she can feel the tension in his grip — like he’s not planning on letting her go anytime soon. she’s perfectly content with that, until—
crunch.
the unmistakable sound of tires rolling over gravel outside.
dean freezes, his mouth still half-open against hers. “shit,” he mutters, pulling back abruptly, his eyes wide as he listens. another crunch. a deep rumble. “oh my god, it’s bobby.”
mallory blinks, disoriented, her lips still kiss-swollen. “you’re joking.”
“i’m not joking.” dean’s already pulling back, his hands frantically shoving her off his lap as the panic sets in. “he’s here, he’s here—”
“oh, for fuck’s sake. cockblocker,” mallory mutters, yanking herself off him, her hair mussed, her jeans rumpled from being practically glued to his lap for the last fifteen minutes.
“hide in the coat closet,” dean blurts out.
mallory whips her head around, staring at him incredulously. “the coat closet?” she hisses, already on her feet. “dean, it’s twenty degrees out what do you think the first thing he’s gonna do when he walks in the door is?”
dean stares at her, realization dawning like a slap to the face. “…put his jacket away.”
“yes, dumbass,” she snaps, scrambling to smooth down her hair as she heads toward the kitchen instead.
“okay, well—where are you going?”
“the kitchen,” she says simply, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“the kitchen?” dean’s still half on the couch, still rumpled and pink-cheeked and clearly trying to figure out how to get his dick to calm down.
“yeah. i’m looking for—i don’t know—orange juice or something. cover story, dean. keep up.”
“that’s a terrible cover story.”
“oh, and the coat closet was brilliant?”
before he can snap back, the sound of bobby’s keys jingling in the door makes them both freeze. shitshitshit. mallory doesn’t hesitate, yanking open the fridge door with an air of complete casualness, eyes fixed on the shelf like she’s deeply invested in its contents. dean, meanwhile, grabs the nearest pillow and yanks it into his lap, his hand clamping down over it like his life depends on it. his other hand snatches a book from the coffee table — some thick, dusty thing on demon lore — and he flips it open, forcing his face into a mask of laid-back boredom.
but the problem is he’s still flushed. his hair’s a mess. his chest is still rising and falling too fast from the intensity of what they were just doing. and worst of all—he still feels it pressing insistently against his zipper, hence the death grip on the pillow.
mallory, cool as ever, glances over her shoulder at him and immediately clocks it. her mouth twitches. “seriously? the pillow on the lap, dean?” she whisper-hisses, one hand casually smoothing her hair down. “could you be any more obvious?”
“oh, i’m sorry,” he whisper-snaps. “would you rather i just let him walk in and see it?”
“you could at least pretend to read the book, genius.”
“i am pretending,” dean grits, eyes glued to the page but clearly not processing a single word. “what the hell are you doing over there anyway?”
“looking for orange juice.”
“there is no orange juice, mal.”
“he doesn’t know that.” she straightens up, casually pushing the fridge door closed and running a hand through her hair like she hadn’t just spent the last fifteen minutes glued to his lap. “look alive, romeo.”
the front door swings open. “anybody home?”
dean forces his mouth into a neutral line, his eyes glued to the book like it’s the most fascinating thing he’s ever read. “yeah, bobby! in here!”
mallory bites her lip, barely suppressing a laugh.
bobby stomps in, shrugging off his jacket with a grunt. his eyes flick briefly toward dean — sprawled out on the couch, book in one hand, pillow very firmly in his lap — then toward mallory, who’s now rummaging through the pantry like she’s in desperate need of a snack.
“you two doin’ somethin’?” bobby asks, his tone suspicious but casual.
“nope,” mallory says easily, closing the refrigerator door and turning toward him with a neutral expression.
“right.” bobby squints at dean. “you readin’ somethin’ there, sport?”
dean doesn’t even blink. “yeah. demon lore. real interesting stuff.”
mallory, entirely unbothered, leans her hip against the counter, crossing her arms. “how was it?”
“cold.” bobby hangs his coat up, his gaze flicking toward them again — but here’s the thing. their confidence is so unshakable that it’s genuinely disarming. mallory looks like she’s been standing there for hours, cool and composed, and dean — despite the very obvious pillow situation — looks just relaxed enough to make it seem like he was the one who suggested she go find a snack. the combination of their synchronized ease is enough to immediately throw bobby off the scent.
“huh,” bobby grunts finally. “well. guess i’ll go unload the truck.”
mallory smiles politely. “need a hand?”
“nah. you two just keep… hangin’ out,” he mutters, turning toward the door.
the second the door shuts, dean lets out a massive breath of relief, his grip on the pillow finally loosening. “holy shit, that was close.”
mallory just laughs, crossing the room toward him, and without hesitation, she plucks the book from his hands. “you weren’t even reading,” she smirks, flipping it around to reveal it was upside down the entire time and smacking him with the old tome, a puff of dust coming out of it.
“yeah, well, excuse me for trying to hide the raging boner you left me with.”
she laughs harder, reaching out and yanking the pillow away too. sure enough, there it is, straining against his jeans, and dean lets out a pitiful groan of embarrassment.
“oh my god,” mallory snickers, doubling over. “you—oh my god, you could’ve just crossed your legs or something—”
“you think i didn’t try that?” dean huffs. “jesus christ, mal, you can’t do that to me right before bobby walks in—”
“me? you’re the one who grabbed my ass first!”
“i was being affectionate!”
“you were being horny,” she laughs, and then — because she has no mercy — she drops herself right back into his lap, slow and deliberate, grinning wickedly when he lets out a strangled grunt — half protest, half something else entirely.
“mal — can you not? i’m actually in distress here.” he huffs, but there’s no real bite to it.
“relax,” she grins, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “bobby’s never gonna catch us. not with how good we are at playing it cool.”
dean groans, letting his head fall back against the couch. “yeah. real cool, mal. real cool.”
“i know, now get upstairs and take care of that.” she hums, dragging her fingertip up his thigh tantalizingly.
dean groans again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “jesus, you’re evil.”
mallory grins, unbothered. “and you love it.”
“against my better judgment,” he mutters, but his hands are already gripping her hips again, like he can’t help himself.
before things can spiral right back into dangerous territory, the sound of bobby’s boots crunching outside snaps dean back to reality. “okay, okay, i’m going,” he huffs, lifting mallory off his lap and onto the couch beside him. he stands, adjusting his jeans with a wince. “but you owe me for this.”
mallory tilts her head, giving him a slow, teasing once-over, reaching to smack his ass. “oh, i’ll make it up to you. run along now.”
dean freezes for half a second, eyes darkening, but then bobby’s voice carries from outside, and he groans in frustration, running a hand through his hair before booking it upstairs.
mallory watches him go, utterly pleased with herself. she stretches out on the couch, still grinning, just as bobby walks back in, dusting off his hands.
he gives her a look. “where’d the boy run off to?”
she shrugs, expression perfectly neutral. “said he needed a shower.”
bobby narrows his eyes, but mallory only smiles sweetly, reaching for the remote like she hasn’t just been thoroughly entangled with dean for the last half hour.
bobby sighs, muttering something under his breath about damn kids again before shaking his head and heading for the kitchen.
mallory just smirks, already counting down the minutes before she can slip upstairs and really make it up to him.
it’s late now, maybe three in the morning when dean comes back to her room, fresh out of the shower, having donned dark blue pajama pants and black calvin kleins that were just barely visible over the top of his pants. she’s laying on her front, fast asleep, one arm draped off the bed lazily. dean crawls onto the bed, hypnotized by the way the pale moonlight shone into her room, highlighting her tanned skin. she’d kicked down the covers, the warm july breeze blowing through the open window.
he smiles at the sight of her in nothing but one of his shirts and black and maroon panties, his eyes trained on the expanse of smooth skin. her legs, the curve of her ass, the glimpse of her waist and dip of her spine.
he couldn’t help himself, leaning down to kiss the back of her knee, trailing up the back of her plush thigh and to her ass, smirking to himself before biting down on the fat of it.
“are you biting my ass?” she mumbles, not even stirring, her voice low but tinged with amusement.
dean freezes for a moment, his grin spreading wider despite himself. he’d been trying to keep it quiet, but the smirk on his face grows impossibly cocky at the sound of her voice — still half asleep, still unbothered.
“just making sure you’re still breathing,” he murmurs, his voice rough from the late hour, fingers brushing over her skin in slow, deliberate movements. “didn’t know if you’d fainted from my charm yet.”
her lips twitch in a smile even though her eyes remain closed, and she shifts slightly, not quite waking up but clearly aware of what he’s up to.
“uh-huh,” she hums, rolling over slightly, her body pressing up into his as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “sure, dean. that’s totally what you were doing.”
he lets out a quiet laugh, pressing a gentle kiss to the curve of her hip, his hand skimming up to the soft skin of her stomach.
“i’m an expert,” he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss against her cheek. “just thought i’d show a little appreciation for my favorite ass.”
“gee, i’m flattered.” she snickered lazily.
he chuckles, the sound low and warm in the quiet room. he shifts closer, his lips brushing over her cheek before moving to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. “you should be, sweetheart. i don’t give that kind of attention to just anyone.”
“uh-huh,” she hums again, her voice still heavy with sleep, but there’s an undeniable tease behind it. “i’ll be sure to send you a thank-you card.”
dean’s lips curve into a smile at that, the corners of his mouth tugging upward with the familiar mix of affection and mischief. he presses a kiss to her jaw, his hand sliding across her waist as he pulls her closer, the heat of her body making him feel like he could stay there forever.
“don’t think you need to,” he murmurs, the words slipping from his mouth with a kind of quiet confidence. “i’m good with just this.”
she shifts a little, her arm moving to drape over his chest, pulling him even closer, the rhythm of their breaths syncing as she settles back into the warmth of his embrace. the moonlight falls soft on their tangled forms, a quiet peace settling over them in the stillness of the night.
“yeah, well, i’ll still send one anyway,” she teases, her voice turning drowsy, the weight of sleep pulling her back down. “you deserve it.”
dean grins to himself, resting his chin on the top of her head as he tightens his hold around her. “you sure know how to make a guy feel special.” he presses a kiss to the top of her hair, letting the silence wrap around them like a blanket. in the stillness, he can’t help but feel like everything is exactly where it’s supposed to be.
the morning light filtered weakly through the curtains in bobby’s house, casting golden streaks across the wood-paneled floors. the place was quiet, still heavy with sleep. mallory padded down the hallway, her steps soft on the old floorboards, when she noticed dean’s door cracked open just enough to see inside.
she paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the frame as her gaze swept over him. dean was sprawled on his stomach, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, the other hanging off the edge of the bed like he couldn’t be bothered to care. the covers had been kicked down to his calves, leaving his broad back bare, the curve of his spine on display in the dim light. his muscles shifted faintly with every deep, even breath, his skin golden in the soft glow of dawn.
her eyes drifted lower, tracing the strong lines of his body — the taper of his waist, the broad stretch of his shoulders, the unapologetic way his thick thighs and ass filled out the loose pair of boxers slung low on his hips. the curve of his spine disappeared under the waistband of his boxers, which sat low on his hips. it was almost unfair, how effortlessly he existed like this, completely unguarded, utterly himself. everything about him seemed so dean — broad, sturdy, and maddeningly attractive in the way that only he could be.
her gaze lingered, tracing the curve of his spine, the way it dipped at the small of his back before rising again into the hard lines of muscle that stretched across his shoulders. the light played over him, catching on the dusting of hair along his forearms and the faint sheen of warmth on his skin. she swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. it wasn’t the first time she’d admired him like this, but something about seeing him so vulnerable, so unaware, made her heart twist in a way she wasn’t quite ready to admit.
before she could second-guess herself, she pushed the door open, her movements slow, deliberate. it creaked softly, but he didn’t stir, still lost in the kind of deep sleep only dean winchester seemed capable of, despite everything they dealt with on a daily basis. she slipped inside, shutting the door behind her with a quiet click, leaning back against it for a moment as she let herself take him in again.
his back rose and fell in a slow rhythm, the lines of his body so impossibly strong yet somehow peaceful in this state. his face was pressed into the pillow, lips slightly parted, and she couldn’t help but notice how boyish he looked like this, stripped of all his usual bravado. her chest ached, just a little, at how much she wanted him — wanted this, this quiet, intimate version of him that felt like it belonged to her and her alone.
unable to resist the pull of his orbit, mallory crossed the room, her bare feet brushing the cool floor as she approached the bed. she hesitated at the edge, her fingers brushing the sheets before she climbed in beside him, careful not to jostle him too much. the mattress dipped under her weight, and she slid in close, tucking herself under him, her body pressing into his side.
dean let out a soft sigh, his body unconsciously adjusting to her presence, leaning into her like he knew she was supposed to be there, even in sleep.
her hand found its way to the warm expanse of his back, her fingers tracing the muscles there, barely skimming the surface of his skin. he shifted slightly, a low, sleepy noise rumbling in his throat, but he didn’t wake, his breathing evening out again after a moment. she smiled softly, resting her cheek against his shoulder blade, the faint scent of him — soap and leather and something uniquely dean — filling her senses.
she let her hand wander, tracing the faint scars scattered across his back, the way his muscles flexed and relaxed under her touch, even in sleep. her fingers drifted lower, skimming the curve of his waist, and she bit her lip, feeling a blush creep up her cheeks even though he wasn’t awake to see it.
she pressed her lips to the base of his neck, soft and fleeting, before settling in closer, her arm draped over his back as her body molded to his. he was solid beneath her, real in a way that grounded her more than she cared to admit.
for a moment, she just listened to his breathing, matching hers to his, letting the quiet settle around them. it felt impossibly safe, like the rest of the world didn’t exist beyond this room, beyond him. she closed her eyes, her fingers still resting lightly against his skin, and let herself drift, content to stay like this for as long as she could.
mallory let her hand drift lower, her fingertips tracing the dip of his lower back, the edge where his skin met the waistband of his boxers. she didn’t press further, though the temptation curled in her chest, warm and insistent. instead, she let her fingers glide back up, her nails barely skimming over the muscles of his back as they shifted with every breath he took.
she shifted slightly, tucking her legs under her, letting the curve of her hip slot neatly against his side. her hand slid forward, smoothing over his arm, the warm weight of it beneath the pillow. she traced the line of his tricep absently, her fingers curling lightly against his skin. it was impossible not to marvel at him like this — the sheer strength of him, the unyielding reality of his body. dean winchester; larger than life even when completely still.
she turned her head, letting her cheek rest against his shoulder, breathing in the faint scent of his soap, mixed with the natural warmth of his skin. her lips brushed against him, the touch so faint it was almost accidental, but she felt a familiar flutter low in her stomach.
mallory let out a soft sigh, her fingers trailing lower along the curve of his spine before drifting back up again, brushing over the faint ridges of muscle. her hand moved with no real purpose, more absentminded than anything, like she couldn’t help herself from mapping out the parts of him she rarely got to see like this — so unguarded, so utterly at peace.
her gaze lingered on the faint freckles scattered across his shoulders, little constellations she was certain only she would ever memorize. she traced one with her fingertip, slow and deliberate, committing it to memory. it made her heart twist, the quiet beauty of him like this. the world hadn’t touched him here, not in this moment. he wasn’t “dean winchester, protector of the world,” or even the cocky, sharp-tongued boy who smirked his way through every situation. he was just… hers.
her fingers moved again, this time down the length of his arm, brushing over the faint scars etched into his skin — battle wounds he carried so casually. she let her hand settle over his, her smaller fingers curling lightly around his larger ones. his hand was warm, strong even in stillness, and she marveled for a moment at how easily it could hold a weapon or cradle her face, depending on what the moment called for.
her thumb brushed over his knuckles, tracing the faint ridge of a scar she knew by heart now. her lips quirked at the memory of him getting that particular one, a fight he’d won but still wouldn’t shut up about for weeks. she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing, not wanting to disturb the quiet.
dean shifted slightly in his sleep, a faint murmur escaping his lips as he adjusted under her touch. mallory froze for a moment, watching him closely, but his breathing evened out again, his body settling back into the mattress. her smile softened as she brought his hand up to her lips, pressing a faint, almost absentminded kiss to the scarred knuckle she’d been tracing.
“if you keep touching me like that, sweetheart, i’m gonna start thinking you want something,” dean’s voice came, low and gravelly from sleep, startling her.
she turned her head slightly, her lips brushing against his skin in a way that was more instinct than thought. and then, with a faint mischievous glint in her eyes, she bit down gently on the same knuckle, just enough to feel the weight of him against her teeth.
dean groaned faintly, a low, gravelly sound that rumbled in his chest as he stirred, his fingers twitching in her grasp. his eyes blinked open lazily, glassy and unfocused as he slowly registered her presence.
“i’m barely even awake and you’re already bitin’ me,” he scoffed, an amused quality in his voice.
“figured i’d get a head start on the day,” she hummed softly. his head turned slightly, his green eyes cracking open to stare at her more intently. there was a lazy smirk on his lips, but his gaze was heavy-lidded, still hazy from sleep.
“since when are you a morning person?” he murmured, his smirk widening. his arm shifted from under the pillow, wrapping lazily around her waist and pulling her closer against him. “what’re you doing in here, anyway?”
“just… couldn’t sleep,” she admitted, her cheek resting against his shoulder. “the door was open.”
“uh-huh,” he said, his voice teasing but thick with sleep. “so, you thought you’d just crawl into bed with me? that’s real innocent of you.”
she rolled her eyes, though her lips twitched with a smile. “maybe i just like the view.”
dean chuckled, the sound low and warm, as his hand brushed up her back, trailing over the fabric of her shirt. “you know, you could’ve just said you missed me.”
“missed you?” she scoffed, though the way she curled closer to him betrayed her. “you’re real cocky, you know that?”
“yeah,” he said with a grin, his hand slipping under her shirt to rest against the bare skin of her lower back. “but you like it.”
she sighed, her fingers resuming their path along his back as she mumbled, “shut up, dean.”
he chuckled again, and she felt the vibration of it against her cheek, a sound that somehow made the room feel even warmer. he didn’t say anything else, just held her there, his breathing evening out again as he drifted back into sleep.
mallory stayed like that, wrapped up in him, her fingers brushing idly over his skin, just thinking. for all his teasing, he didn’t let go of her, his arm keeping her tucked securely against him, like she belonged there. she’d been thinking about him a lot lately, memorizing all things dean winchester.
the way he always smelled — something inherently him — something warm and comforting, like the sun after a long drive, like the comfort of worn flannel. he was the kind of man who made her want to sink her teeth into him, to bite down and leave marks just to remind herself that he was real, that he was hers in moments like this.
it was the way he moved, too — unhurried, confident, like he had never second-guessed a single step in his life, even when she knew that wasn’t true. he leaned against doorframes like he owned the whole damn world, sprawled in chairs with his legs spread as if daring someone to take up his space. his smirks were slow, lazy things, like he had all the time in the world, and his hands? god, his hands — broad, rough, and capable, calloused from years of work, from holding guns and turning wrenches and gripping steering wheels with that casual, infuriating confidence.
and when he touched her — whether it was a guiding hand at the small of her back, fingers brushing against hers when he handed her a beer, or the way he so easily pulled her into his lap when they were alone — he did it like he had every right to, like it was second nature. like she belonged there.
dean winchester was such a man, and mallory didn’t stand a chance.
it was ridiculous, and it drove mallory absolutely wild. he was rugged, with calloused hands that knew their way around just about anything. he smelled like leather, motor oil, and a faint hint of cologne — something woodsy that lingered on his skin long after he had walked by. everything about him screamed confidence: the way he walked, the way he sat with his legs spread a little too wide, and the way his voice dipped into that gravelly tone when he was being serious or pissed off.
she loved how solid he was, how it felt to have his arm draped over her shoulders or his broad chest against her back when he pulled her into a hug. he didn’t have to try to be sexy — he just was, whether he was fixing the impala with grease smudged on his face or rolling out of bed with his hair sticking up in every direction.
and it was the little things that got to her, too — the way he tossed something with a lazy flick of his wrist, the sound of his boots on hardwood floors, and the way his jaw flexed when he was deep in thought or trying not to snap. the way he stood with his thumbs tucked into his belt loops, the perfect picture of effortless masculinity.
sometimes, it was just too much. like when he was freshly out of the shower, his towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water clinging to his shoulders and chest. or when he leaned against the impala, his legs crossed at the ankles and his eyes squinting against the sun, looking like he had just stepped out of a classic movie.
and then there were the moments when he was completely unaware of how hot he was — when he wiped his hands on a rag after working on the car, or chewed on the end of a pen while studying a lore book. the way he twisted off a bottle cap with one hand, barely paying attention, or the quiet grunt he let out when he was lifting something heavy. the way he held a knife, how his fingers curled around the handle, so damn competent it was almost cocky.
it was unbearable, really, because dean winchester wasn’t just a man — he was the man.
she couldn’t stand how good he looked when he was fixing the impala, grease smudged on his hands and forearms, a little streak across his cheek that he didn’t even notice. when he wiped sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, leaving a smear there, her brain just shut off. it was worse when he was under the car, his legs sticking out, and then he slid out, his t-shirt riding up just enough to show a sliver of that toned stomach.
and his voice — god, his voice — gruff and low when he was half-asleep or when he barked orders on a hunt. there was this weight to his tone that never failed to get to her.
and the way he stood—it was so maddeningly attractive, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, those broad shoulders making him look like he owned the room.
when he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes after a long day, his jaw clenched tight; when he licked his thumb to smudge something off her face without even thinking about it; when he picked her up like she weighed nothing and tossed her on the bed with a cocky grin.
it was unbearable, really. no frills, no pretense — just raw, unfiltered. and when he got a little rough, a little intense, whether in a fight or after she’d gotten under his skin, she was done for. it was like every inch of him was designed to ruin her in the best way possible.
and how was she supposed to think straight when he was bleeding just a little, all sweaty and roughed up after a hunt, his knuckles split? and that look in his eye — that dangerous, simmering heat?
but then there were the quieter moments too, like when he leaned casually against the counter with a beer in hand, his hair a little messy, his smile lazy and boyish; or when he sat on the edge of her bed, his shirt riding up just enough to tease her with a glimpse of that perfect, sturdy back.
he was every fantasy of what a man should be.
there was this raw, untamed, reckless energy about him, as if he was always on the edge of something — usually a fight, or an adventure, or just stirring things up for fun. he was dean winchester, the man of legends, but sometimes, just for a split second, he let that armor slip and a boyish grin or a chuckle appeared that made him look almost… innocent? almost.
like when he teased her, poking fun at her just to get under her skin, and that playful glint in his eye reminded her that, deep down, despite all the bravado, he was still the same boy who had spent his life trying to protect the people he loved. he was tough, sure, but there was a certain vulnerability in how he wanted to be wanted, how he craved her attention as if it were the one thing that could ground him in this chaotic world.
it was that exact mix of him being “the man” and yet still having that boyish charm that made him even more dangerous. because it was so easy to forget just how much of a force he was, until he pulled her in with that crooked smile and, suddenly, she was pulled into his orbit.
beneath all the bravado, the sarcasm, and the tough guy persona, dean was a guy who had been running on empty for so long, trying to fill the void with anything that would keep him from facing the truth — that he just wanted to be noticed, to be loved. not just for what he could do or how he could fight, but for who he was.
he had spent his whole life pretending to be okay, putting on this mask of the confident, charismatic guy who could handle anything. he was used to being needed, to being the one people depended on, but in his heart he just wanted someone to need him too. not because he was a winchester, not because he was a hunter, but because he was dean.
dean winchester’s love was consuming, all-encompassing, and fierce. it wasn’t subtle or quiet — it hit her like a freight train, overwhelming and impossible to ignore. his love felt like a roaring fire, all heat and intensity, something she couldn’t help but gravitate toward even when it threatened to burn. it was protective to a fault.
his love was raw, messy, and deeply human. it was in the way he showed up, time and time again, even when he didn’t have the words to say how much he cared. it was in the sacrifices he made, the way he carried more than his fair share of the weight, and how he’d tear the world apart to keep her safe. his love didn’t ask for permission — it claimed, fiercely and unapologetically, as if it had always known where it belonged.
dean’s love wasn’t soft, not in the way people might expect love to be. it wasn’t about gentle caresses or whispered sweet nothings; it was loud, fierce, and stubborn, like the rumble of his impala’s engine at dawn or the crack of a shotgun echoing through the woods. it was visceral, tactile — something she felt in her bones, in every stolen glance, in every gruff word that held more meaning than he’d ever admit.
his love was in the way he watched, sharp and assessing, as if he were memorizing every detail — the way her nose scrunched when she was annoyed, how she always hummed under her breath when she was focused. he never said it outright, but it showed in the little things, like the way his hand always found the small of her back in a crowd, guiding her without a word.
but dean’s love was also maddening, infuriating in the way only he could be. he could be reckless, stubborn as hell, and so damn self-sacrificing that it hurt to watch. he’d fight tooth and nail for the people he cared about, yet he never fought for himself. his love was a double-edged sword — unwavering and fierce, but never directed inward. he’d give her the world if he could, yet he didn’t know how to take it for himself.
his love was in the way he said her name, low and gravelly, as if it were both a prayer and a curse. it was in the way he looked at her when he thought she wasn’t paying attention, his green eyes soft and unguarded, as though she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the earth. it was in the way he kissed her — desperate and consuming, as if he feared she might slip away if he let go. and when he whispered, “i got you,” it wasn’t just a promise; it was a vow, unshakable and eternal.
to be loved by dean winchester was to live in the space between the light and the dark, where love wasn’t perfect, but it was real. it was messy, complicated, and sometimes painful, yet it was also beautiful and grounding. it was a love that burned bright and wild, like a flame that could never be extinguished.
dean loved with his hands as much as his actions — maybe more. his touch was grounding, deliberate, as if he needed the reassurance that she was real, that she was his to protect. he wasn’t shy about it, either: a hand on her knee under the table at some dive diner, an arm slung over her shoulders when they walked to the impala, his fingers tracing absent patterns on her wrist as she sat next to him, his eyes fixed on something far away while his touch reminded her that he was still tethered to her. when he touched her, it was as if he were trying to memorize the feel of her, to etch her presence into his skin. his hands, calloused and rough, lingered a little longer than necessary — a thumb brushing over her knuckles, his palm resting on her knee during long drives.
to be loved by dean winchester was to live in a paradox.
it was loud and relentless, like the roar of an impala engine tearing down the highway, music blasting, gravel kicking up in his wake. it was quiet, too — in the way his hand found the small of her back in crowded places, grounding her without a word. it wasn’t perfect — far from it — but it was achingly human.
to be loved by dean was to be protected, even when she didn’t think she needed it. he carried her burdens as if they were his own, sometimes so quietly that she wouldn’t notice until she saw how heavy his shoulders had become.
and yet, for all his rough edges, dean’s love was surprisingly tender when it counted. it was in the way he memorized every scar on her body, tracing them with his fingertips — not to pity her, but to know her better, deeper. his tenderness was quiet, understated, yet it had a way of sneaking up on her when she least expected it.
being loved by dean was infuriating, too, in the best way. he had a habit of pushing her buttons, teasing her with a smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. he’d steal fries off her plate, argue over who was right about some dumb movie quote, and then grin like a cat with cream when he won. he kept her on her toes, never letting her get too comfortable because he thrived on the spark, the banter, the fire. but beneath it all, there was an unmistakable warmth — a certainty that he was hers, just as much as she was his.
it was so beautiful. to be loved by dean winchester was to live in the space between the light and the dark, where love was imperfect but real. it was messy, complicated, and sometimes painful, but it was also grounding — a flame that burned bright and wild, unextinguished.
dean loved with his hands as much as his words, perhaps more. his touch was grounding, deliberate, as if he needed the reassurance that she was real, that she was his to protect. he wasn’t shy about it: a hand on her knee under a dive diner table, an arm slung over her shoulders when they walked to the impala, his fingers tracing patterns on her wrist as she sat next to him, his eyes distant while his touch kept her tethered. when he touched her, it was as if he were trying to memorize every detail of her, to etch her presence into his skin. his hands, calloused and rough, lingered a little longer than necessary — a thumb brushing over her knuckles, his palm resting on her knee during long drives.
to be loved by dean winchester was to live in a paradox.
it was loud and relentless, like the roar of an impala engine tearing down the highway, music blasting, gravel kicking up in his wake. it was quiet, too — in the way his hand found the small of her back in crowded places, grounding her without a word.
to be loved by dean was to be protected, even when she didn’t think she needed it. he carried her burdens as if they were his own, sometimes so quietly that she wouldn’t notice until she saw how heavy his shoulders had become.
being loved by dean was infuriating too, in the best way. he had a habit of pushing her buttons, teasing her with a smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. he’d steal fries off her plate, argue over who was right about some dumb movie quote, and then grin like a cat with cream when he won. he kept her on her toes, never letting her get too comfortable because he thrived on the spark, the banter, the fire. but beneath it all, there was an unmistakable warmth — a certainty that he was hers, just as much as she was his.
it was raw, it was relentless, and it was achingly beautiful.
dean and mallory found themselves in one of those dive bars — the kind where the music was too loud, the air too stale, and they didn’t bother id’ing anyone. the sort of place that didn’t care about appearances, but that didn’t matter because mallory could pull off anything. she was wearing a little red dress tonight, the kind that made dean’s breath catch in his throat when he first saw her. paired with one of his leather jackets and black boots that cut off just below her knees, she looked like something out of his most dangerous daydreams. and it was driving him fucking insane.
dean wasn’t one to get flustered, but mallory had spent enough time around him to know exactly how to get under his skin. sitting just a little too close in the car, bending over a pool table just the right way — the little things she did that always made his blood run hot. right now? she was fucking with him again.
dean shifted, trying to get comfortable, but it was pointless. his patience was thinning with every second. the way her back arched as she bent over the pool table, the sway of her hips, the slight tilt of her head as she lined up her shot — it was a lethal combination. he could practically feel the heat radiating off of her, and it was taking every ounce of control not to pull her into him. his gaze flicked from her to the ceiling, clenching his jaw as he shut his eyes in an effort to rein himself in, willing himself to behave.
she sunk the yellow-and-white nine ball with ease, then straightened up to take her next shot. she missed by a hair, frowning and scrunching her nose in that adorable way that always drove him crazy.
dean kept his gaze steady on her, but there was a familiar flicker of frustration in his eyes. mallory noticed.
“something wrong, winchester?” she asked, her voice light, playful.
but dean didn’t respond. his eyes were dark, his expression sharp, his jaw clenched tight. mallory recognized it immediately — the look of a man who was fighting to keep his cool. she let a smirk tug at her lips as she leaned back against the pool table, crossing her arms. she could feel the tension growing in the room like a thick cloud. he was losing control, and mallory was about to have some fun with it.
the bar around them was noisy, crowded with hunters swapping stories and knocking back beers. but mallory’s focus was fixed on dean. even from across the room, she could feel the weight of his stare. it was as if he was pulling her in without even trying.
she smiled politely at the older guy still rambling about a rougarou hunt gone wrong, nodding in all the right places while her mind was anywhere but with him. every now and then, she’d glance at dean, and there he was, standing by the bar, nursing his whiskey, eyes locked on her. at first, he’d been patient. well, as patient as dean winchester could be. but now? his jaw was tight, his fingers drumming a quick rhythm on the bar top, his whole posture rigid.
mallory watched as the older guy leaned in a little too close, gesturing animatedly, and that was it. dean’s nostrils flared, and his grip on his glass tightened, just enough for mallory to notice.
her lips curled into a smirk. she’d had enough of this.
she excused herself from the conversation with a light tap to the guy’s arm and made her way toward dean, her boots clicking rhythmically on the sticky floor.
before she could get a word out, his hand was already on her wrist, tugging her toward the back hallway.
“dean,” she laughed, letting him pull her along without resistance. “what’s the rush?”
he didn’t say a word, just pushed open the door to a dimly lit supply closet. she stumbled slightly as he pulled her inside, and the door clicked shut behind them. the space was small, barely enough room for both of them, and the only light was a flickering bulb overhead. the faint smell of bleach lingered in the air, making everything feel colder, more intimate.
she crossed her arms, leaning back against the shelves, a playful glint in her eyes. “you’ve got some nerve,” she teased, her voice soft but teasing. “dragging me into a broom closet like some kind of—”
but whatever she was about to say was swallowed up when dean stepped forward, his hands quickly bracketing her hips and pressing her against the cold wall.
“you know what you’re doing, mal,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down her spine. “standing there, smiling at that guy like you don’t know i’m losing my goddamn mind.”
mallory’s breath hitched, but she kept her eyes locked on his. “i was being polite,” she replied, her voice steady, though the fire in her gaze burned brighter now. “you don’t own me, dean winchester.”
dean’s lips curled into that signature smirk, but there was something darker in his eyes now. “never said i did,” he shot back, his fingers sliding into her hair as he pulled her closer. “but you’re mine anyway. and you know it.”
her pulse quickened at the way he said it, the possessive edge in his voice, the way his grip tightened around her. mallory held her ground, tilting her chin up defiantly.
“mallory,” he warned, though the smile on his lips made the warning feel like more of a promise.
“dean,” she shot back, sweet as honey, sharp as a knife, daring him to push her further.
his patience snapped. one moment, he was inches from her, his eyes burning with something fierce; the next, his lips were on hers, hungry and demanding, as if he couldn’t wait another second. his hands tangled in her hair, pressing her harder against the wall.
she melted into him, her hands slipping under his jacket, fingers brushing over the rough fabric of his t-shirt, nails grazing the warm skin beneath. she kissed him back with the same urgency, the same intensity, as if she couldn’t get enough of him either.
when they finally pulled apart, both of them breathing hard, their foreheads resting against each other, mallory couldn’t help but smile, breathless and teasing.
“this what you wanted?” she asked, her voice hushed, but the challenge was still there.
dean’s lips quirked into a grin, but this time, it was softer, quieter. “yeah,” he said, his thumb brushing slow circles against her hip. “this is what i wanted.”
and in that moment, mallory knew. for all the impatience, for all the fire between them, there was something deeper there. something that went beyond the thrill of the chase. dean wanted her. all of her. and that was something neither of them could deny.
the fun thing about dean winchester was that he never settled for just one kiss. never. dean doesn’t know how to stop at just one kiss — he’s greedy when it comes to mallory. one kiss turns into another, and another, and another, until it’s less about kissing and more about the way he completely consumes her. his hands roam, pulling her closer, tilting her chin up just so he can keep going.
sometimes it’s slow and lazy, like he’s savoring her, kissing her so deeply it leaves her dizzy. other times, it’s quick, playful, and teasing — he’ll press a soft kiss to her lips, then trail down her jawline, pausing just under her ear before pulling back with a smug little grin as she chases him.
“what?” he’d tease, lips hovering so close she can feel his breath against her skin. he’s riling her up, teasing her until she pulls him back in, just shy of rough.
dean kisses like he’s trying to memorize her, like every time could be the last, and the truth is, with their line of work, maybe that’s why he never settles for just one. one kiss isn’t enough for dean — it’s barely scratching the surface of how much he loves her, how much he wants her, how much he needs her. so he doesn’t stop. he never does.
and if mallory denied a kiss just to tease him? if she slightly moved her face so he kissed her cheek instead, dean would freeze for a second, lips lingering awkwardly against her cheek as his brain tries to catch up with what just happened. then he’d pull back, narrowing his eyes at her in mock offense.
“oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” he’d drawl, tilting his head as he stares her down. “too good for me all of a sudden, sweetheart?”
mallory would smirk, knowing exactly what she’s doing. “did I say that? i’m just keeping you on your toes, dean.”
he’d huff dramatically, clutching his chest like she’d mortally wounded him. “on my toes? you’re breaking my heart over here, mal. denying me a kiss? what kind of cruel, heartless woman are you?”
“the kind you’re madly in love with,” she’d quip, giving him a playful shrug as if to say, i told you so.
but dean winchester isn’t one to accept defeat, especially not when it comes to her. he’d lean in closer, crowding into her space, deliberately slow this time. “you can play hard to get all you want, doll. but you and i both know you’re gonna give in eventually.”
and she would, of course — though not without making him work for it a little longer, just because she can. but when she finally gives him what he wants, tilting her head back and letting him kiss her properly, he’d make damn sure it was worth the wait.
after leaving the supply closet, mallory stood leaning against the bar, waiting for her drink.
as she leaned against the bar, dean found himself standing protectively behind her, his body nearly, but not quite, pressed up against her back as he glanced around the room.
she stepped back slightly after ordering, surprised to bump into him. he let out a low chuckle, pinching her hip. "watch where you're goin', kid."
she snickered, nodding to one of the empty pool tables. dean nodded, following her gaze. he'd always had a bit of a thing for watching her play pool. there was just something about the way she moved, the way she handled the cue, that was impossibly sexy to him.
she grabbed her drink off the bar, walking to the table and watching as he racked the balls.
he racked the table, enjoying the way her hips swayed as she walked. there was a natural, almost seductive grace in the way she moved, and it never failed to draw his attention. he noticed the lingering gazes as others in the room watched her too, and he couldn't help the hint of possessiveness that sparked inside him.
ever observant, mallory noticed the gazes of a few other men, but she didn't care, knowing she was safe with dean.
he finished racking, noticing the attention she was drawing from a few other men in the room. he saw the way they watched the movement of her curves as she moved around the table, and it only served to spark the possessive fire that quietly smoldered inside him. he clenched his jaw, feeling a hint of jealousy and protectiveness as he watched them watch her, his eyes never leaving her. he knew she could handle herself, but he couldn't help the way his instincts kicked in, seeing others stare at her like that.
she chalked two cues, stepping close to hand him one, offering him a sip of her drink while looking up at him with a lidded gaze. her intention served to let the other men know she wasn't interested.
he accepted the cue, his fingers brushing against hers as she handed it to him. he felt a jolt of electricity shoot through his body at the contact, noticing the way she was looking up at him with those captivating, lidded eyes. he took a quick glance around at the other men in the room and saw the hint of disappointment on their faces as they watched her interact with him like this. he gave her a sly smirk before taking a sip of her drink, his eyes never leaving hers. he was careful to avoid the dark maroon lipstick mark on the rock glass.
she leaned against the table as he bent over to break, lifting the glass to her lips and watching him. she was closer than necessary, but he didn't seem to mind.
he was very aware that she had gotten closer now, her body nearly pressing up against his as she leaned against the pool table. he could feel the heat and presence of her body, and it took all his willpower to focus on the game and not on how much he wanted to just touch her.
the intention behind her proximity was multifaceted — partially because being close to him put her at ease, and partially to further deter any other person who was eyeing either one of them, marking her claim in a way.
he was aware of the dual purpose of her proximity. as he bent over to take his shot, he was hyper-aware of her body next to his. he could feel the warmth of her skin and the faint scent of her perfume, and it was making it hard to focus. but he was also deeply aware of the way her presence — standing so close to him — was both natural and putting off other people in the room. he could feel the looks on their faces, the disappointment at the sight of the two of them together.
they played pool for a while, their comfortable interaction littered with lingering gazes and easy proximity.
they fell into an easy, familiar rhythm, filled with playful banter and lingering touches. he teased her, playfully challenging her with witty remarks and light banter. his touch was casual, but intentional. he would brush against her slightly when he leaned over next to her to take his shot, or accidentally bump elbows with her as she took a sip of her drink. it was all playful, but there was an undercurrent of tension — a simmering heat between the two of them that only seemed to grow with each interaction.
it was nothing new to them, simply how she showed her affection for him. for sam, it was quality time. for dean, it was physical touch.
he was acutely aware of the way she showed her affection for him. he knew she liked to use physical touch, and he loved it. he loved the way she would casually brush against him when she walked by, or the way she'd playfully jab him in the ribs when she had something snarky to say. it was all familiar, comfortable, and he wouldn't have it any other way.
other than showing her love for him, her proximity to dean put her at ease. she felt safe around him, like nothing bad could happen if she was within a certain distance.
he knew how comfortable she was around him. he knew she felt safe and protected, like nothing bad could happen as long as she was with him. and he was glad he could be that for her, that she was so comfortable and at ease around him. he was protective by nature, and with her, it was no different. he wanted to keep her safe and make sure she was always taken care of.
currently, she leaned against the side of the table, sipping her drink and watching him with lidded eyes as he racked the table not even an inch to her right.
he noticed the way she was looking at him as he set up for the next game. her gaze was so seductive, her eyes half-closed and full of something unreadable. it made him feel things he couldn't quite explain, and he had to force himself to focus on the game. he cleared his throat, trying to sound nonchalant as he looked over at her. "you going first this time, doll? or you want me to break?"
"whatever," she shrugged, a relaxed smirk on her lips.
dean couldn't help but grin at mallory's nonchalant response, loving the way she always seemed so unbothered by just about everything. "well alright then, i'll go first."
he leaned over, taking his shot and pocketing two balls on the break. he glanced over at her with a cocky, satisfied grin.
"not bad," she hummed, pushing off the table to take her shot.
"just wait, i'm gonna kick your ass on this one." he hummed, watching like a hawk as she focused on the shot, appreciating the way she moved and the way she looked when she was in concentration mode.
"you say that every time." she snorted amusedly. it was clear to anyone with eyes she was better than him. and it wasn't like he was bad by any means, she was just a total pool shark.
he let out a laugh at her comment, nodding in agreement. "yeah, well i mean it every time. i'm gonna beat you one of these days."
he teased her, knowing full well she'd likely kick his ass like she always did. he didn't mind, though. he loved the way she handled her cue, the way she moved around the table, and the way she confidently pocketed balls one after another.
"it's good to have dreams, dean."
he snickered, shaking his head at her comment. "yeah, well, call me crazy but i'm not giving up that easy. i've got a lot of things i want in life, and one of those is to eventually beat you in pool." he flashed her a playful grin, loving the banter between them.
"what else you got on that list?"
he chuckled, his voice full of teasing laughter. "well, i've got a few other things, but i don't think saying them aloud is gonna increase the chances of them coming true." he gave a small smirk and went back to watching her as she took her shot.
"how mysterious."
he laughed warmly at her comment, his smile playful. "well, they don't call me a man of mystery for nothing, ya know." his eyes wandered to her body, watching the way she moved as she lined up her next shot.
"no one calls you that."
he chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he teased her. "yeah, well, maybe not out loud. but secretly, they all know it's true."
he took another sip of his drink, his eyes raking over her body as she took her next shot.
"yeah right."
he let out an exaggerated sigh, feigning defeat. "ugh, you're right. i thought i was being all mysterious and cool, but you saw right through it." he chuckled, his expression softening as he looked at her. "anyway, i thought you were supposed to be taking your shot. aren't you going to kick my ass already?"
"you just want to see me bent over the table," she teased with an affectionate crinkle of her nose.
his lips curved into a smirk, his eyes darkening with desire. he hummed in appreciation of the mental image she'd just put in his mind. god, she always found a way to drive him crazy, and he loved it, even if she was just teasing him.
"can you blame me?"
"i suppose not. i did wear this for you." she mused, handing him her glass and bending over the table in an exaggerated fashion to take her shot.
he snickered, raising a brow as she spoke. that sounded about right. his eyes raked over her body, taking in the shape of her curves as she bent over the pool table. his mouth felt dry, like all the air had been sucked out of the room, and he was suddenly struggling to swallow. he reached for her drink, taking a long sip to try to compose himself. he bit back a comment, just watching her play.
"cat got your tongue, baby?" she cooed sardonically, not looking back at him as she took her shot.
the term came out of her mouth with such ease. god, he loved when she called him that, it gave him butterflies every damn time. and the sound of her voice as she said it with that slight mocking tone—he was feeling weak in the knees, and the pool game was quickly becoming the last thing he wanted to be doing right now. he groaned, huffing out a whiny sort of complaint. "you're killin' me, mal."
she straightened up after pocketing a ball, turning on her heel to face him, a mocking pout gracing her almost annoyingly perfect features.
he was watching her with half attention as she made the shot. his focus was mostly dedicated to how unbelievably good she looked right now. his voice was a mix of annoyance and arousal as he spoke, his eyes locked on her. "you're doing this on purpose."
"you have no proof. invalid claim, handsome." she grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand up to drink from her glass before taking her next shot.
he was completely caught off guard and let out a small noise from the back of his throat, a mix of annoyance and arousal. a low rumble of a groan. he watched the way her body moved as she pocketed yet another ball, his eyes glued to her, and it was like there was a magnetic pull that caused his legs to move forward to stand behind her. he let her pull his wrist, pliant in her hands as he watched her drink from the glass he was holding. he huffed, a little annoyed with himself for giving in to her so easily but unable to help himself as he watched her play pool.
she took another shot, missing this one. maybe it was on purpose, maybe not. he’d never know.
he noticed the ball miss, and it made him smirk. he had no way of knowing if she was doing it intentionally or not, but he did notice the way she bent over the table, and the thought that maybe she missed it on purpose for his benefit only served to make him even more aroused.
“are you getting sloppy?”
“nah, it was a weird angle.”
“uhuh, okay.” he teased, his eyes still raking over her body. god, he wanted his hands on her right now. her curves, the outfit — she was driving him wild. he tried to focus on the game, rather than the hot waves of arousal coursing through his body. “maybe try to not suck so bad. just a thought.”
“i thought you liked it when i sucked.” she mused, leaning against the table as he took his shot.
he sucked in a breath, shooting her a brief look. god, she knew all his weakest points and loved to use them against him constantly. his eyes flicked to the table as he took his shot, not wanting to show how easily she was getting to him. “jesus, mal.”
“what’s the matter, dean?” she cooed, enunciating his name in the sultry way he so adored.
“you’re killing me, that’s what.” he whined, hating how easily she’d disarmed him.
“but you love me,” she pouted.
he scoffed, his expression clearly saying “obviously” as if that was the silliest question in the world. “shut up.”
she chuckled, walking around the table to stand next to him, grabbing his large hand, lacing their fingers, and pulling his arm over her shoulders, tucking herself into his side.
he felt his body practically sag with relief, letting himself breathe her in.
she leaned up to his ear, murmuring softly as he leaned down, “don’t worry, i love you too.”
a small smile flickered onto his face as she leaned up to his ear, sending a shiver down his spine. he was practically putty in her hands right now, and the only response he could offer was to pull her closer to his side and press a light kiss to the top of her head. he nuzzled his face against her hair, breathing in the comforting scent of her shampoo. she laughed as he pulled her into his chest, his thick bicep warm and heavy on her shoulders.
he felt as though he could stand there forever, his body and his mind immediately calming with her in his arms. before mallory, he’d never considered himself clingy, but lately, it felt like his skin was itching until he was touching her. and mallory? she was content to stay tucked in his chest, feeling him rest his chin on the top of her head.
he leaned against the pool table now, his chin resting on top of her head, his arms secure around her waist. one of his thumbs began to rub comforting circles against her waist, feeling the curve of her body against his. their legs were intertwined, like he couldn’t allow any distance to exist. he was relaxed, content, like this was where he belonged.
“wanna go?” she hummed into his chest.
he hummed quietly, not wanting to ruin the moment. he loved just sitting here and holding her, but he also recognized they were in a run-down dive bar right now. he could hold her at the motel. “yeah, yeah let’s go.”
he didn’t remove his arm yet though, letting it linger around her waist for as long as possible. she set their cues down on the pool table, leading him out of the bar by the hand, pulling his arm over her shoulders once more, keeping their fingers interlaced.
he followed her out like a dog on a leash, not letting go of her for an instant. he wrapped his arm around mal, keeping her close to his side. he was still feeling rather possessive, his arm remaining around her shoulders and never loosening its grip. she was his, and he wanted to make sure everyone in this bar knew it.
the cool air hit them as they exited the dive bar, and she tucked herself deeper into his side. “my personal space heater,” she chuckled, nudging his side. he felt his lips twitch up into a smirk, feeling her body push closer against him as she tried to gain warmth from his body heat.
“is that all i am to you? a heater?”
“no, but it’s a perk.” she hummed. “might as well take advantage of it while it’s cold.”
he smirked again, taking a moment to look over at her with a teasing smirk. he had to admit, he loved the way she tucked herself against him like that, seeking his warmth. it felt comforting, like he had someone wanting to be close to him, and his protectiveness over her only grew. “good. i wouldn’t want that to be your only reason for stickin’ with me.”
as the impala came into view, she looked up at him, catching his eye. “want me to drive? or do you wanna?”
he took a quick moment to consider before handing her his keys. he’d drive if she wanted, but truth was, he loved watching her drive. she looked gorgeous, and something about the way she handled his car was hot. “you can drive, sweetheart.”
“figured you’d say that. you just like seeing me drive, baby. it’s foreplay for you, huh?” she teased, taking the keys from his hand and spinning them around on her finger.
he laughed, not denying her accusation. he raised a brow, the corner of his mouth tilting up into a sly smirk. he let his eyes wander across her form, letting his gaze linger on the way her fingers spun his keys. “i won’t deny it. you do look hot behind the wheel, sweetheart.”
“you’re not so bad yourself.”
he couldn’t help but smile at her comment, his eyes still drinking in the sight of her — the wind catching her hair, his jacket hanging off her frame, and his keys spinning around her nimble fingers. jesus, she was like a wet dream coming to life right now, and he’d never complain.
“what?” she hummed, feeling him staring.
he hummed, not realizing at first that he’d been staring so long. his brain was just trying to take in the sight of her, the light of the streetlamp casting a faint glow in her hair, the curve of her lips, the way his jacket seemed to completely obscure her body — making her look so small and cute, so hot and enticing. he felt himself swallow, still trying to keep a bit of composure.
“nothin’. you just look good.” he offered a charming smirk, his eyes flashing with a hint of heat.
“just good?” she teased, crinkling up her nose affectionately. it was something she had done for a while now, and it was completely reserved for him and him only. he loved it, one of the hundreds of endearing things that made his heart flutter just the slightest bit.
“yeah, just good. nine outta ten.” he teased, trying to be coy. in reality, she was the most beautiful, sexy thing he’d ever laid eyes on, and he’d never not be floored by it.
“only nine?” she huffed in mock offense.
he gave her a mischievous smirk, his eyes full of amusement and teasing. “mhm. ten if you ask nicely.” he leaned in a bit closer, teasing her with the notion that he could easily go up a point. hell, she was the most beautiful damn woman he’d ever seen, he just liked to let her work for the full points.
“pretty please, dean?” she pouted.
he hummed, raising a brow. god, that damn pout always did something to him, especially when she said his name like that. he pretended to think for a moment, putting on a false air of contemplation. “hmm… i suppose i can raise it up to…. 9.2.” he teased, just wanting to hear the question again.
“that’s it? this is bullshit.”
he chuckled at her protest, raising his brow in amusement as she called him out on his lie. he loved seeing her get annoyed with him, if he was honest. it was adorable, and he wanted to see her reaction at being denied the full ten. “i dunno… not sure you’re quite there yet.” he teased, loving the banter between the two of them more than he wanted to admit.
“fucken stupid.” she grumbled.
a slow, sly smirk teased at the corner of his mouth, loving how worked up she got over it. and the swearing just made it even hotter — he loved how cute she was when she was all worked up. he clicked his tongue at her, chiding her playfully. “i’m gonna subtract points now for that attitude.”
“bitch.” she grumbled, elbowing his side lightly and slipping out from under his arm, walking a few steps ahead of him.
he chuckled, shaking his head slightly as he watched her storm off ahead of him, getting a perfect view as she stomped away. he hummed quietly, letting her grumble and walk away. “aww, mal. don’t be pissy, baby. i’m only playin’.” he teased, calling after her as he followed.
he couldn’t help but let his eyes roam over the curve of her ass, biting his bottom lip in satisfaction, he catches up to her in about one second flat, his strides considerably longer. she squeals as he grabs her waist, tugging her into his side again.
“don’t leave me like that, baby.”
“you’re lucky you’re so pretty,” she grumbles, but her fond, amused grin betrays her.
he snickers, shaking his head at her grumbling. he’s happy that she’s not actually mad, but he feels like teasing her still.
“yeah? you like my pretty face, huh?” he teases, nudging her side with his elbow. a soft smile teases at his lips at her amusement. he loves that he’s the only one who gets to see such a genuine reaction from her.
“don’t let it go to your head.”
“too late,” he hums as he teases, his arm still wrapped tightly around her waist. he doesn’t want to let go of her, like the feeling of her against him is something he can’t get enough of. he presses another kiss to the top of her head, unable to resist. “you still only get a nine though.”
“you’re incorrigible,” she frowned, rolling her eyes.
“you know i love it when you use big words, babydoll,” he smirks, humming softly. he knows he’s insufferable, and he loves it. he can be as much of an annoying bastard as he wants, and she’ll still come crawling to him — literally crawling, if he wants — by the end of the night. he keeps his arm secure, his thumb moving and absentmindedly rubbing little circles into her waist.
“we’re listening to my music,” she demanded, letting go of his hand to walk to the driver’s side of the impala. he raises his hands in surrender, the image of her making demands hot as hell. he can’t help but smirk at her, grabbing her wrist and tugging her back before she gets too far.
“okay but i want a kiss first, then i won’t complain,” he demands.
she sighs, rolling her eyes, but the amused smile tucked between shallow dimples betrays her.
he smirks, loving the fact that he can make her sigh and roll her eyes even though she seems a bit smitten with him. she tries to act like she’s annoyed, but he knows her way too well. he’s the only one who ever gets to see her this way, and god, he loves it. “quit rolling your eyes,” he teases.
“you like it,” she hums, raising her brows and putting her hands on her hips to emphasize her point.
he narrows his eyes, raising a brow in response, but he knows she’s right. the little things she does that annoy him usually make him hot. the eye rolling, the sighing, the way she pouts, or that damn crinkle of her nose. he’s quiet for a moment, trying to keep a straight face and maintain some semblance of control. “shut up.” his tone is a dead giveaway though, full of amusement and arousal.
“make me,” she challenges, taking half a step forward, nearly touching his chest. she tilts her chin up to maintain eye contact, and even still, she’s looking up at him through thick lashes.
he feels a wave of desire rush through him, and it takes all his self control to keep himself in check. and then that challenge comes out her perfectly kissable lips, and he can’t help himself. he steps closer, closing the distance between them. the height difference has him looking down at her, and if he’s being honest with himself, he loves that. he loves how small she is, how he practically towers over her. “don’t tempt me,” he warns with a sly, teasing tone.
“that’s what i thought,” she mused with an air of smugness that was uniquely and undeniably mallory. she walked to the driver’s side, getting in the car. he watches her, smirking as she walks away. he feels a small pang in his chest at the loss of her body pressed against his. he can’t keep his eyes off of her, even as he begrudgingly opens the passenger side door and gets into the impala. “you’re so infuriating,” he gripes, but his tone isn’t angry — it’s the exact opposite. he watches her start the engine, digging through the box of cassettes.
“am not,” she protested.
he scoffs as the car rumbles to life, sitting back and watching her dig through different tapes. he hums quietly, letting his eyes roam over her form. he loves watching how she moves, the way her hair falls across her shoulders, the expression on her face as she focuses. “pfft, yes you are. you’re a pain in my ass.”
“nuh uh,” she hums, looking up at him over her shoulder, a furrow in her brows. she puts the cassette in, one labeled, “xo.”
“you are too, you little shit,” he teases affectionately as he watches her.
she’s so gorgeous like this, sitting in his passenger seat —in his car. god, he feels a sense of possessiveness wash over him, and he wants to reach out and pull her onto him. he nods in appreciation to the music selection, a small smirk flitting across his lips.
she hums, adjusting the seat as the slow, sultry intro to “glory box” by portishead starts playing, seeping from the speakers. she puts the car in reverse, backing out of the parking spot with practiced ease, putting it in drive and snapping at him, holding her hand out and wiggling her fingers.
he hums to the soft tune of the music, the melody and lyrics flowing through the vehicle gently. he hums along quietly, his hands resting on his thighs as he watches her. he notices the way she adjusts the seat, and it makes him smirk.
and then she snaps her fingers at him, and he shoots her an annoyed yet amused look, raising a brow. “demanding today, aren’t we?” he teases, but he’s already reaching for her hand, intertwining their fingers.
“every day. why are you sitting so far?”
he hums, not missing the not-so-subtle hint. he scoots closer, leaving as little space as humanly possible. he’s not letting her off the hook that easily though, letting his words drip with teasing sarcasm. “is that better?” he hums teasingly, holding her hand with his free hand, his other arm draped along the back of the seat.
“yeah, gotta take advantage of the bench seat.”
“ah, right, silly me.” his mind immediately goes to all the things she could be implying, and his thoughts are anything but innocent. he can’t stop his mind from running wild. he hums, looking down at how he’s practically pressed against her. god, he loves anything that gives him the opportunity to be this close to her.
she drives comfortably, her left hand on the steering wheel. her right hand unlacing their hands and placing his warm, calloused one on her plush thigh, putting her arm on the back of the bench seat, running her fingers through the back of his hair.
he relishes in the feeling of her soft, warm thigh, his fingers resting on her leg as he lets his eyes flick over to her. he lets his hand trail up and down her leg, just feeling her warmth. it’s a small, subtle caress, just feeling the curve of her body.
he hums quietly, feeling a small shiver run through his body when her fingers move through his hair. he leans back against her touch, feeling the slight tugging of her fingers in his hair.
dean winchester at twenty was the kind of handsome that made heads turn. even covered in dried blood, his jawline was sharp enough to cut glass, and there was an effortless charm about him that couldn’t be dulled. with green eyes you could get lost in, and a smile that could charm the pants off just about anyone, he broke hearts everywhere he turned.
currently, he was sitting on the edge of the motel bed, his hands on mallory’s thighs while she hovered between his spread legs, holding a damp washcloth.
“hold still,” she muttered, grabbing his chin. her brows furrowed in concentration as she dabbed at the shallow cut slicing across his cheekbone, her other hand holding his jaw in place. “you’re worse than a five-year-old.”
“you try to sit still with someone pokin’ at your face.” dean quipped, but he obeyed, jaw tightening slightly as she worked. “feels like you’re out for revenge.”
mallory didn’t dignify that with a response, though the twitch of her lips gave her away. she turned to rummage through the little first-aid kit on the nightstand, taking a sip of her coffee as she did so. dean craned his neck, trying to peek over her shoulder. she handed him the mug, a silent offering.
“what the—” he nearly spit out the coffee when she spun back around, holding something in her hand. “is that…?”
“hello kitty,” mallory confirmed with a grin, peeling the backing off the cartoonish pink bandaid. “you’re lucky i restocked.”
dean blinked at her, then at the bandaid, and back to her face. “you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“do i look like i’m kidding?” she asked sweetly, leaning in closer. before he could protest, she pressed the bandaid over the cut, smoothing it into place with her fingers, letting them linger a moment too long. “there. all better.”
“mal,” dean groaned, pulling back just enough to gape at her. “you seriously just—”
“saved your life? yeah, you’re welcome,” she interrupted, her grin widening as she put her hands on his shoulders, shaking him a tiny bit for emphasis. “besides, it’s an upgrade. makes you look… approachable.”
“approachable?” he echoed dryly, giving her a deadpan look. “i’m not tryin’ to be approachable, mal. i’m a hunter, not a preschool mascot.”
“could’ve fooled me,” she shot back, her eyes flicking pointedly to the bandaid on his cheek. “but hey, maybe the monsters will take one look at you and think twice. who wants to fight a guy who openly likes hello kitty?”
dean huffed, though there was no real heat behind it. “you’re a menace.”
“hey, hello kitty rocks, okay? she’s five apples tall.” mallory snickered, grabbing his chin in one hand and tilting it up to get her point across. “and she’s got a pet hamster named sugar. you wish you were half as badass as her.”
“you’re makin’ that up,” dean said, narrowing his eyes, though there was an amused tilt to his mouth.
“am not, i know my stuff,” mallory replied, her grin widening as she leaned in closer, clearly enjoying herself. “she’s got a whole empire, dean. what do you have? a bandaid and a busted lip.”
dean snorted, shaking his head as he let his gaze linger on her. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”
“yeah,” she said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “and don’t you forget it.”she added, pointing an accusatory finger in his face, his face still in her hand.
he couldn’t help it — his grin cracked wide open, the kind that made his dimples pop. his fingers drifted to the bandaid, and while he muttered something under his breath about never living this down, the truth was, he didn’t really mind. not when it came from her.
she couldn’t help but grin lazily at him, patting his cheek and letting go.
"and plus, the girls’ll swoon." she hummed, and with a dramatic flair, she fell into his lap, throwing the back of her hand over her face as though she were overcome by emotion. "think of how many women you'll get, and it’s all because of me, your dearest darling best girl.” mallory smiled sweetly, really laying it on thick.
dean just smiled lackadaisically at her, letting her chat his ear off.
“you’re welcome, by the way,” she added, her voice dripping with mock martyrdom as she leaned her head back onto his broad shoulder, staring at the popcorn ceiling. “i’ve elevated you, winchester. you’ll be fighting them off in no time.”
dean rolled his eyes, toying with a strand of her hair, twisting it around his finger. "oh, yeah. nothin’ gets the ladies goin' like a hello kitty bandaid. thanks a lot, mal.”
“you’re not thinkin’ big picture here.” she turned her face towards him, smirking lazily. “they’re gonna see it and think, ‘wow, this guy’s tough, but sensitive. rugged, yet approachable. a man of taste.’” she grinned, slow and self-satisfied.
“and then you’ll have me to thank when you’ve got a whole swarm of ladies linin’ up to get a piece of you.” she waved her hand in an animated but vague gesture, her fingers smoothing over the bandaid, slow and deliberate, pressing just a little to make him wince. “and all because of little miss kitty there on your cheek.”
dean scoffed, leaning back on his palms, the picture of lazy confidence. “if i recall, i don’t need your help to get women, mal.” his lips twitched in that smug, self-assured way that made her roll her eyes.
“that’s no way to thank me, dean winchester.” mallory sat up fully on his thigh, crossing her arms as she gave him a pointed look, her lips curling into a mock pout. “i could’ve kept the power of hello kitty to myself, y’know. could’ve slapped some boring beige bandaid on your face and called it a day.”
“oh, yeah. what a tragedy that would’ve been,” dean drawled, shaking his head and pinching her bottom lip, his gaze just shy of patronizing. “how would i ever survive without your impeccable sense of style?” when he pulled his hand back, he grimaced slightly, his fingertips sticky with the lipgloss he pretended to hate.
“exactly!” she gestured theatrically, her face lighting up in triumph. “you’re lucky i’m lookin’ out for you. one of us has to have taste, and clearly, it’s not you.”
he leaned forward, his grin widening. “you really wanna go there, sweetheart? this from the girl who still wears socks with cartoon bananas on ’em?”
“first of all,” she said, holding up a finger, “they’re peaches, not bananas. big difference. second, you’re deflecting because you know i’m right.”
dean snorted, shaking his head again as he reached up to scratch the back of his neck. “you’re impossible, you know that?”
mallory’s grin only grew, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she flopped back onto the bed, still draped across his lap. “and yet, you still keep me around. wonder what that says about you.”
dean chuckled. “what can I say? glutton for punishment, I guess.”
“oh, totally,” mallory said without missing a beat, folding her hands over her stomach as he toyed with the hem of her jacket. “you’d be lost without me, winchester. who else would keep you humble? or fashionable?” she tapped her temple, smirking up at the ceiling. “face it, i’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you.”
dean shook his head, his grin softening as he let his gaze linger on her a moment before he reached up to pinch her side, his hand hovering over the ticklish spot he'd found, the one that made her squirm and try to bat his hand away. “yeah, yeah. keep tellin’ yourself that.”
“don’t need to,” she shot back, tilting her head to look at him. “you already know it’s true.” her voice had the same playful edge it always did, but there was a flicker of sincerity in her eyes, a warmth that made something in dean’s chest tighten.
he cleared his throat, looking away and scratching at his jaw. “well, for the record, if this bandaid does make me a chick magnet, i’m keepin’ the credit.”
mallory laughed, a sound so bright and carefree that it made his smirk widen. “deal. but if it works, you owe me. and i’m talkin’ big, winchester."
dean raised a brow, his tone mockingly wary. "i dunno, mal, i don't think i wanna submit myself to your whims."
“you already did by trustin’ me to patch you up,” she quipped, sitting up and patting his cheek just enough to make him flinch, her fingers trailing down the side of his neck as she slowly pulled them back. “but hey, you survived that, didn’t you?”
he caught her wrist before she could do it again, his grip firm enough to keep her still while remaining playful, his thumb brushing over the inside of her palm. “you’re lucky you’re cute, y’know that?” he hums, his lazy, lidded gaze lingering for a moment too long, his breathing a little heavier, like he was thinking something he shouldn’t.
she tilted her head, slow and assessing, clocking that shift in his breathing and deciding whether or not to call him on it. she decided against it, her grin turning smug and her brows lifting. “oh, i know. but it’s nice to hear you admit it.”
he hums, his gaze flickering down at her, taking in every little detail. “careful,” he says, his grip on her wrist tightening just a bit. “keep at that, and your ego’s gonna get bigger than that mouth of yours.”
she scrunched up her nose, sticking her tongue out at him.
he clicks his tongue, a sound that was mostly mocking but just a little admonishing, his thumb moving in idle circles on the inside of her wrist, his touch gentle despite his grip. “you just can’t help yourself, can you?”
“you’re just so easy to rile up. it’s like you’re asking for it.” she snickered.
dean’s grip tightened a bit more on her wrist, his other hand falling to her waist to hold her in place as he leaned in a little closer, the ghost of a smile on his lips as his thumb brushed over her hipbone. “i oughta take you over my knee, you’d learn some manners pretty quick.”
“yeah, right.” she scoffed playfully, grabbing his face again, squishing his cheeks in her manicured hand, just on the right side of rough.
he huffed, fighting back a smirk as she dug her lithe fingers into his cheeks, refusing to be the one to pull away first. “keep pushin' it, see what happens,” he warned, though the effect was ruined by the way he couldn’t help but grin.
“you don’t have the guts.” she mockingly cooed, leaning in a bit closer and reveling in the way his breath hitched.
he narrowed his eyes, his grip on her wrist tightening, his other hand falling to her hip and yanking her towards him. he leaned in close, his nose almost touching hers, his voice dropping to a low timbre. “yeah, you’re probably right.”
“i usually am.” she smiled softly, adjusting herself on his lap so she was straddling him now.
his hands dropped to her thighs, gripping them and holding her in place, his gaze flicking over her face, like he was taking inventory. every freckle, every little detail, he took in and filed away for later.
dean winchester wished he had a photographic memory. he’d kill for the ability to store every moment of her, every expression, every little shift in her face when she was thinking too hard about something or laughing at her own joke. mal does actually photograph insanely well — like, stupidly well, enough that it pisses him off a little — but he rarely had a camera. but never really needed one, since his mind was already a scrapbook full of her.
still, sometimes he wished he could take more pictures, something tangible, something he could keep in his wallet or tuck into the glovebox of the impala. not that he’d ever tell her that — she’d tease him mercilessly, call him a sap, and he’d have to act like it didn’t get to him. but he couldn’t help it. sometimes he’d catch her in the golden light of sunset, hair a little messy, laughing at him over the top of a beer bottle, and he’d think, god, i need to remember this forever.
so instead, he commits her to memory the only way he knows how — staring too long, soaking in every detail, tucking it all away for later like some desperate, lovesick idiot.
“what?” she hummed, letting go of his face to sling her arms around his neck.
“nothin’,” he murmurs, his gaze flicking down to her lips for just a moment, his grip on her thighs tightening almost imperceptibly before he pulled his eyes back up to meet hers, his voice a low hum. “just appreciatin’ the view.”
“good view?” mallory snickered, running her hands through his hair, making it stick up every which way.
he hummed, leaning into her touch, his eyes half-lidded as he enjoyed the way her fingers played idly with his hair, his hands continuing their lazy back and forth across her thighs, inching up a little higher with every pass. “yeah, you could say that,” he murmured back, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long, his touch a little more heated than it had any right to be.
“that was almost smooth, winchester.” she chuckled softly, practically turning him into a little hedgehog with the way she was messing up his hair.
“you wound me, doll.” dean frowned, tilting his head slightly as he stared at her.
“i fixed you.” she corrects, a cheeky smile playing on her lips as she lets her fingertips graze the bandaid.
dean leaned into her touch, a soft sigh escaping his full, pink lips. “a kiss would make it better.” he suggested mischievously.
mallory only smirked, leaning in and kissing the bandaid, a faint trace of her tinted, raspberry lipgloss left behind on his cheekbone.
mallory’s lip gloss drove dean a little nuts. it’s too sweet, too sticky, and no matter how hard he wipes at his face after, it clings to his skin like she’s branded him. he complains about it constantly, grumbling under his breath when she presses her mouth to his cheek or smears it against his lips. but the thing is — despite all his whining, despite the way he makes a show of wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand — he never actually stops her. she could kiss him a hundred times in a row, and he’d still just huff, roll his eyes, and let her do it again.
dean groans, scrubbing at his cheek with the heel of his hand. “stupid sparkly shit never comes off,” he complains, his nose scrunching up like he’s genuinely suffering. “tastes like fruit, too, mal. who wants to taste fruit all day?”
“you do, apparently.” mallory just snickers, reaching up to grab his face in both hands, fingers pressing into his cheeks until his lips purse. “and if you really don’t like it, then don’t have such a kissable face.”
he glares at her — or tries to, given that his face is still squished like an annoyed housecat — but it doesn’t last long. his mouth twitches at the corners, the threat of a smile breaking through, and she knows she’s won.
“anywhere else hurt, baby?” she cooed softly, her voice low and sweet.
“here.” dean tapped his lips, smirking lazily at her.
“thought so.” she hummed, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips, pulling back before it could escalate.
“still hurts, nurse.” he snickered, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably.
“of course it does.” she laughed softly, feigning exasperation. she kissed him again, lingering this time. he smirked triumphantly against her lips, his warm hands sliding from her thighs up to her waist, his fingertips meeting over her spine and spanning her entire back.
the motel room was quiet now, the only sound the low hum of the air conditioning and the occasional flicker of the tv. mallory lay on her side, one arm tucked under her head, the other resting by her side. dean was on his back, his hands behind his head, eyes half-lidded as he stared up at the ceiling. for all the teasing and joking, the quiet of the night left a space for their thoughts to settle.
but mallory’s mind wouldn’t quiet. it kept circling back to the sight of cassie, to the way dean had looked at her, the fondness in his eyes that normally wasn’t reserved for anyone but mallory. she’d brushed it off at first, pretending it didn’t matter, but now, lying beside him, the weight of it seemed to creep into her chest. it didn’t make sense. it wasn’t like her to feel this way. but in the pit of her stomach, there was a nagging ache.
she rolled over, curling in on herself just a little. dean’s hand brushed against her side, an absent touch that sent a twinge through her. she didn’t want to admit how much she needed him in this moment, how much she craved his reassurance. she just wanted to know that he was here — with her, not distracted by anyone or anything else.
a moment later, she felt him shift, and before she could react, his arm snaked around her, tugging her closer, his lips brushing the top of her head. “you’re so far,” he muttered against her hair, his voice soft but insistent. “get over here.”
she let out a quiet laugh, the sound a little broken but mostly genuine. “you’re such a dork.”
“eh, you like me anyway,” dean replied, his voice still low but carrying that familiar, teasing edge. she could feel the smirk on his lips even without looking.
she settled into his chest, the familiar warmth of his body soothing the tangled thoughts in her head. he fit so naturally against her, like he always had, like he always would. it was the kind of closeness that could fill every empty space in her heart, if she’d let it. and maybe that was the problem. maybe she did let it too much.
for a while, there was just the sound of their breathing, the rise and fall of their chests in sync. but dean, ever the restless one, broke the silence first. “you good?”
mallory hesitated for just a second before nodding against his chest. “yeah,” she whispered. “just tired.”
he didn’t buy it. he never did.
“you’re lying,” he murmured, his fingers tracing small patterns on her arm. his touch was soft, absentminded, but it was grounding. it made her feel like she could breathe again.
“i’m fine, dean,” she breathed, but this time, her voice was quieter, more fragile than she meant for it to be.
dean’s hand stilled on her arm, and he shifted just enough to look at her. his eyes, bright and intense, locked onto hers. “hey, talk to me,” he said, his voice low but insistent, like it always was when he knew something was off. “what’s goin’ on?”
it wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to him. she wanted to, desperately. she just didn’t know how to make the words come out without sounding weak. but he was here, holding her, and for once, she let herself lean into it fully.
she hesitated before speaking, swallowing down the lump in her throat. she was always good at pretending everything was fine, at keeping the mess in her head locked up. “nothing. just… i don’t know. i guess i wasn’t expecting…” she trailed off, unsure how to put it into words. “i didn't expect it to hurt like that. seeing you with her.”
dean was quiet, letting her speak.
“i just—” her voice faltered as she tried to gather her thoughts. “i don’t know, dean. i’m not—” she bit her lip, trying to focus on the way he was running his fingers through her hair. it felt soothing, but it wasn’t enough to clear the storm inside. “i thought i was gonna be fine when i saw you with cassie. but then, it just… it hurt, and i don’t know why.”
dean stilled, his hand stopping on her lower back and his body going a little tense, and mallory braced herself for a joke, for something to lighten the moment like he always did. but it never came. instead, he pulled back just enough to look at her, his brow furrowed in concern.
“i didn’t mean to hurt you, mal,” he said, his voice low, and for the first time, it wasn’t the usual playful teasing. it was real, raw. “you know that, right?”
mnallory nodded, blinking rapidly to chase away the sudden sting behind her eyes. “i know,” she whispered. “i just… it’s stupid. i don’t usually care about stuff like this. like, you flirting with girls doesn’t bother me, but i just… i don’t know.”
“hey.” his thumb stroked her cheek gently, brushing away a stray tear she hadn’t even realized had fallen. “it’s not stupid. it’s real. and i get it.” he took a deep breath, kissing her temple before speaking again.
“mal,” he said softly, his voice barely more than a whisper. “i’m not goin’ anywhere, alright? not now, not ever. i just… i’m not gonna pretend, you know? i care about you. a lot. you know that i do."
she closed her eyes, trying to hold back the surge of emotion that suddenly welled up in her chest. she wanted to believe him. she needed to. but the doubt still lingered. maybe not in the way he thought, but it was there.
“i know,” she said quietly, her voice thick. “i know you do.”
dean’s fingers gently brushed through her hair, soothing the restless tension that had coiled in her muscles. “you’re my girl, mal. just so you know.” his tone was firm, like he needed to make sure she heard it, understood it.
she didn’t say anything right away. instead, she let his words wash over her, let herself believe in the way he held her, in the way he always came back to her. maybe it wasn’t perfect, maybe it wasn’t easy, but it was real.
and for the first time in what felt like forever, she let herself relax, settling deeper into the curve of his chest, trusting in him. mallory didn’t know what to say. she had spent so long convincing herself she didn’t need anyone, that she could stand on her own, that she didn’t want anyone. but with dean? she wasn’t so sure anymore. and it terrified her.
dean’s arm tightened around her, and mallory didn’t resist, letting herself melt into his embrace for a moment. she buried her face in the crook of his neck, her breath shaky as she exhaled, trying to make sense of the rush of emotions swirling inside her. his warmth, his scent, the rhythm of his heartbeat under her ear — she let it all ground her, reminding herself that this wasn’t just temporary.
mallory let herself sink into him more deeply, her breath evening out. maybe she didn’t need to fight this. maybe, for once, it was okay to want someone, to need someone, to not have to do it all on her own.
it was the hour when everything quieted down, when the world seemed to pause for just a moment before the chaos of morning. and in that stillness, they could be more than the best friends who teased and pushed each other all day long. in the dark, they were allowed to be real, to slip into something softer, something that didn’t need to be explained.
dean was sprawled on the loveseat in his room, legs stretched out in front of him, one hand flipping through an old, dog-eared book. his knees were apart, the way he always sat — not carelessly, but just comfortable in his own skin. his jeans clung to his legs, and the sleeves of his faded band tee were rolled up.
mallory didn’t need the invitation. she never did. she just let herself into his room, her footsteps light on the worn floorboards. the door clicked shut behind her as she leaned against it for a second, catching her breath. it was quiet. dean didn’t look up, but she could tell he was aware of her presence without needing to glance in her direction. it was that pull, that familiarity they both knew too well. one of his hands left his book, reaching out for her with a face-up, open palm.
without a word, she crossed the room, dropping down onto the floor between his spread legs. her knees pressed against the front of the couch, and she leaned her cheek against the thick muscle of his thigh, the warmth of him sinking into her skin.
dean shifted slightly, letting the book rest in his lap, his free hand sliding down to brush a strand of hair out of her face. he didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch between them, the only sound the quiet rustle of the pages of his book. he was so used to her being here, but still, every time felt new in its own way. like this, at night, there was an ease, an openness in their proximity.
“you gonna read or just sit there?” he asked after a moment, his voice low and teasing.
she smiled against his leg, feeling the vibrations of his words through her cheek. “why read when i have the perfect view right here?”
he chuckled, the sound warm and easy. “what’s so great about this view?”
mallory looked up at him, her lips curling into a smirk. “well, for one, it’s you. and two, your thighs are seriously underrated.”
he snorted, the edges of his grin showing. “underrated, huh?”
“yeah,” she said, her voice light, teasing but soft. she traced her finger absently across the top of his thigh, right where the fabric of his jeans hugged the muscle, her gaze lingering on the way the muscle tensed beneath her touch. “these things could put anyone into a trance.”
he raised an eyebrow at her, but there was no protest in his posture, no sign that she was overstepping. instead, his hand found her hair again, fingers threading gently through it, the sensation grounding him as much as it seemed to calm her.
she let out a breath, shifting so her cheek was still pressed to his thigh but her eyes were on his face now, studying him in the dim light of the room. his gaze flickered down to meet hers, and for a second, there was no game, no teasing. just the connection between them — simple, uncomplicated, but deep.
dean’s hand moved to her back, tracing the soft curve of her spine through her shirt, as if he couldn’t resist touching her, grounding himself in the realness of her presence. his thumb brushed along the fabric of her shirt, not quite as casual as he might’ve tried to act in the daylight hours, but more like a man who was aware of how close they were, of how good it felt.
“you know, this is one hell of a way to spend an evening,” he said softly, his voice losing its usual bravado.
“yeah,” mallory whispered back, her hand shifting so her fingers curled around his knee, grounding herself further. “but i think it’s my favorite way.”
and then, she was nothing more than a blur of soft, oversized sweatshirt and smooth legs as she climbed onto his lap like it was the most natural thing in the world.
dean wouldn’t even try to hide the way it affected him. everything he felt was turned up to eleven and his self-control was practically nonexistent when it came to her.
his hands froze mid-turn of the page. “hi” he chuckled, voice thick, unsure if his brain had short-circuited or if this was actually happening.
“hi,” mallory said simply, like her crawling into his lap wasn’t a big deal at all. she settled herself like she belonged there, one knee on either side of his thighs, her hands resting on his shoulders as she gazed down at him, her head tilted just so.
dean’s breath hitched, and he swallowed hard, trying to regain some semblance of cool. “y’know, normal people give a guy a heads-up,” he teased, though his hands instinctively came to rest on her waist, his thumbs brushing the soft fabric of her sweatshirt.
she smirked, unbothered. “since when am i normal?”
“fair point,” he muttered, his book forgotten and his eyes dragging up from the curve of her bare thighs to her face. he couldn’t help it — he was only human, after all. “you gonna tell me what this is about, or…?”
mallory shrugged, her expression casual but her eyes holding that glint of mischief that always got to him. “didn't know i needed a reason to sit on your lap.”
dean barked out a laugh, though it was slightly strained. “mal, you know damn well you don’t do anything without a reason.”
“maybe i just like making you squirm,” she said, leaning in slightly, her hair brushing his cheek. her voice dropped a little, teasing, “you’re so easy, dean.”
his grip on her waist tightened just slightly, his fingers flexing as his jaw tensed. “careful,” he warned, though his voice lacked any real bite. the truth was, he liked her like this — liked how she always knew exactly how to push his buttons.
“or what?” she challenged, raising a brow as her lips curled into a smirk.
dean didn’t answer right away. instead, his hands slid up from her hips to her waist, holding her steady. he leaned in closer, their faces only inches apart, his green eyes locked on hers.
“you wanna find out?” he murmured, his voice low and deliberate.
for a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them charged with something neither could name but both felt to their core. mallory’s smirk faltered just slightly, her breath catching as she realized she might have pushed him just a little too far this time.
but she didn’t move — didn’t crawl off his lap or break his gaze. if anything, she leaned in closer, her eyes flickering down to his lips before snapping back up to his face.
dean’s lips twitched into a smirk, his confidence returning in full force. “yeah, that’s what i thought,” he said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
mallory rolled her eyes, but her slight smirk betrayed her.
he shot back, leaning back into the couch like he wasn’t just seconds away from completely losing his cool. “but, hey, if you’re comfy…”
“i am,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder and settling herself like this was her spot all along. “thanks for asking.”
dean just shook his head, biting back a grin as his hand came up to rest against her back, his thumb tracing lazy circles over the fabric of her sweatshirt. for all his teasing, for all his smugness, the truth was, he liked her there. liked the way she fit against him like she was meant to be there.
there was no need for anything else — no more words, no more jokes. just the two of them, lost in the moment, the soft pull of their connection making the silence feel more intimate than any conversation could. the room, the night, the darkness… it all felt like it was made for them.
dean woke to the faint, bluish light of early morning filtering through the thin curtains in her room. her bed creaked under their combined weight as he stirred, his arm instinctively tightening around her waist. his mind groggily reminded him that he needed to get up, needed to slip back into his room before bobby or sam wandered in and found him missing.
he shifted slightly, trying to disentangle himself, but as soon as he moved, mallory stirred. her nose scrunched up in protest, and one of her legs looped around his, effectively pinning him in place. “no,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by his chest.
“mal,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with sleep. “gotta go before bobby sees i’m not in my room.”
she only whined, clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. “don’t care.”
“mal,” he repeated, more insistent this time, but she only buried her face deeper into him, her arms wrapping around him like she was trying to fuse them together.
“too early,” she grumbled, her voice barely above a whisper. “you’re warm. stay.”
he let out a soft huff, amused and exasperated all at once. “you’re gonna get me in trouble,” he murmured, though he made no real effort to move.
“you’ll be fine.” her words were slurred, heavy with sleep, and her grip on him only tightened.
dean tried to sit up, but she clung to him like a koala, her leg locking tighter around his as she let out a pitiful little whine. “mal, come on—”
“no,” she mumbled stubbornly. “don’t go.”
dean sighed, dropping his head back against the pillow.
“that’s what i thought,” she muttered sleepily, her tone so soft and content that he couldn’t help the small, fond smile that tugged at his lips.
he gave up after that, resigning himself to her clingy grip and the cozy warmth of her bed. “fine,” he said quietly, his hand smoothing over her hair. “five more minutes. but if bobby catches me, I’m blaming you.”
she hummed in response, already drifting back to sleep, and dean shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him as he pulled her closer. five more minutes wouldn’t hurt, right?
dean groaned quietly as he felt the warmth of her body pressed so close against his. her breath was soft, steady, her cheek resting against his chest as she slept soundly, completely oblivious to the time passing by. he was wide awake now, but he didn’t want to move — couldn’t bring himself to shift, not with her so close, her limbs tangled around his like she was afraid he’d disappear if she let go.
but thirty minutes later, he was starting to feel the weight of the day pressing on him. he tried to adjust, but the second he moved, mallory whimpered, tightening her arms around his neck and pressing closer.
“mal,” he whispered, his voice rough from sleep. “come on, babe. gotta move.”
she muttered something incomprehensible, her leg brushing over his hip as she tried to pull him back down with a quiet, contented hum.
“seriously?” dean chuckled softly, knowing she was still half-asleep. “you’re like a damn bear trap.”
he felt her arms tighten even more, making it impossible to escape her clutches. “don’t go,” she mumbled, her voice small and vulnerable as she snuggled deeper into his chest, almost as if she were trying to burrow herself into him.
he sighed, defeated. he didn’t have the heart to push her off when she was so sweet, so trusting, and warm against him. instead, he shifted again, adjusting just enough to lay back down, his hands resting gently on her back.
“you’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, his voice low and fond, before he let his eyes drift shut again, allowing himself to settle into the warmth of the moment.
it was impossible to be mad at her when she was like this — quiet, sweet, and clingy in that way she only ever was when she was tired. and somehow, despite everything, he was content to stay there for as long as she wanted.
another twenty minutes passed, and he sat up this time, no longer letting her keep him down. she whined, rubbing her eyes at the shift, now sitting up in his lap, her forehead resting on his chest. he kissed her temple, pulling her off of him and getting up.
before he can get more than two steps across her dark bedroom, she huffs. “get back here and kiss me for real.”
he turns around with an amused expression, watching as she opens her arms, sitting cross-legged on her bed. he just smirks, walking back and leaning down to kiss her. she hums victoriously, a sleepy smile working its way onto her face as she gets up on her knees to reach him, before just standing up on her bed and climbing into his arms.
dean chuckled softly, catching her easily as she climbed into his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist like she belonged there. he grinned down at her, his hands settling under her soft thighs to steady her.
“you know, this is a little dramatic, even for you,” he teased, his lips brushing against her forehead before he pulled back slightly to look at her.
she just smirked, her fingers lightly tracing the edges of his jaw. “i’m tired of you trying to run away.” she said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world, her eyes narrowing playfully at him.
“i wasn’t trying to run away,” dean protested, though he couldn’t hide the way his smile softened, his arms instinctively pulling her closer. “just trying to get a head start before sam and bobby get up.”
mallory let out a soft huff, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. “nosy bitches.” she said, her voice laced with that mischievous tone he loved so much.
he raised an eyebrow, the corner of his lips quirking up as he brushed a strand of her hair behind her ear. “you sure about that? think you can keep this a secret from sam?”
“well, it’s not like he hasn’t noticed before,” she said, the smile in her voice evident as she pulled him down for another kiss, this time a little deeper, a little more lingering.
dean’s hand slid to the back of her neck, holding her there for just a moment longer than necessary, letting the kiss deepen before he reluctantly pulled away, the teasing grin back on his face. “you really are a handful, you know that?”
mallory just laughed softly, her arms slung around his neck. “good thing you’ve got capable hands.”
the impala hummed low beneath them, the gravel crunching softly under the tires as dean steered down a lonely kansas backroad. the world was bathed in moonlight, the golden wheat fields on either side swaying gently in the breeze, their tall stalks reaching higher than mallory’s head. it was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt sacred, broken only by the soft rumble of the engine and the occasional squeak of leather when she shifted in his lap.
mallory curled her fingers lightly around the steering wheel, though dean’s hands still rested on it too, steady and sure. her weight pressed against him, warm and familiar, as she leaned in close, her breath brushing his neck before her lips followed.
“you’re supposed to be helping me drive,” he muttered, though his tone was far from reprimanding.
“i am helping,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing as she nipped lightly at his jawline.
dean chuckled, the sound vibrating against her lips. his grip on the wheel tightened for a second before he let one hand drop, sliding it over her thigh where her legs draped over his. “you’re distracting is what you are,” he said, tilting his head just enough to catch her eye.
“you’re the one who said i could sit here,” she reminded him, grinning as she kissed the corner of his mouth.
“didn’t mean you could get handsy,” he shot back, though there was no heat in his words—only the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
mallory leaned back just enough to look at him, her hair falling over her shoulders as the wind slipped through the open window. “if you’re so distracted, pull over.”
dean’s eyebrows lifted, his grin turning slow and wicked as he glanced at her, then back at the road. “careful, sweetheart. i might just take you up on that.”
she rolled her eyes but didn’t stop kissing his neck, her hands braced lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palm. the road stretched endlessly ahead, the impala gliding through the night as if it had all the time in the world. they were reckless, young, and a little bit in love.
mallory pulled back, her lips leaving the warmth of his skin as she settled against him, laying her head on his shoulder. the impala rocked gently over the uneven backroad, but all she could feel was him—his solid frame beneath her, the faint scent of leather and aftershave, the low hum of his breath.
she didn’t say anything, didn’t need to. instead, she tilted her face up, her eyes tracing every line of his profile like she was memorizing it. no, more than that—like she was admiring him, like he was curated art meant to be studied and cherished.
his sharp jaw, the faint stubble catching the moonlight, the way his lashes curled just enough to soften his otherwise rough edges. his nose, slightly crooked from an old break, and the faint scar that cut through his eyebrow—flaws she thought only made him more perfect.
dean glanced down at her, his lips twitching in a small, almost shy smile. “what are you lookin’ at?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, as if he didn’t want to shatter the fragile moment.
“you,” she said simply, her voice steady but tinged with something deeper.
“yeah?” his grin widened, cocky now, but there was something vulnerable in his eyes, like he couldn’t quite believe the way she was looking at him.
“yeah,” she said, shifting her hand to rest lightly on his chest, right over his heart. “you’re kinda pretty, you know that?”
dean laughed softly, the sound rumbling through his chest, and she felt it vibrate beneath her palm. “pretty, huh? that’s what we’re goin’ with?”
mallory smiled, her thumb brushing absentmindedly against his shirt. “shut up and take the compliment.”
he shook his head, but his free hand drifted to her thigh, squeezing gently as his gaze flicked back to the road. “you’re somethin’ else, sunshine,” he murmured, but his voice was thick with something like gratitude.
mallory just stayed there, her head on his shoulder, soaking in the quiet rhythm of the moment. out there, on that endless kansas road, nothing else mattered.
the radio hummed softly in the background, filling the silence of the night with crackling old love songs. dean’s fingers drummed absently on the wheel, the other hand resting lightly on mallory’s thigh, where she still sat draped across his lap.
then the opening chords of “night moves” began to play, the unmistakable strum of the guitar filling the car. mallory perked up immediately, reaching for the volume dial with a knowing grin.
she turned it up, and dean’s head tilted slightly, the corners of his mouth curling into a lazy smile. “oh, you know me so well,” he said, his tone laced with playful affection.
“of course i do,” she shot back, settling back against his chest. “it’s one of your all-time favorites. like i’m not gonna turn it up.”
“damn straight,” he replied, his hand on her thigh giving a gentle squeeze as he began to quietly sing along under his breath.
mallory tilted her head, watching him as the words spilled from his lips—low and smooth, slightly off-key but endearing all the same. there was something so quintessentially dean about the way he sang, like he couldn’t help but feel the music deep in his bones.
she leaned up, pressing a kiss to the side of his neck before resting her head back on his shoulder. “you’re such a sap,” she teased lightly.
“and you’re sittin’ in my lap,” he quipped, his grin audible in his voice.
mallory laughed softly, her fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on his chest as the impala cruised down the empty road, the night air cool against her skin. bob seger’s voice crooned through the speakers, and for a moment, everything else faded away—just the music, the hum of the engine, and the two of them.
“yeah, well, it’s my spot,”
dean glanced down at her, a smirk tugging at his lips. “your spot, huh?”
mallory hummed softly in response, her fingers still tracing lazy patterns over his chest. she tilted her head just enough to meet his eyes, her expression calm but certain. “yep.” she murmured, her voice low and sure, like it was an undeniable fact of the universe.
he chuckled, shaking his head as his hand slid up her thigh, resting just above her knee. “guess i can’t argue with that,” he said, his voice teasing but warm. “fits you pretty good, doesn’t it?”
mallory shifted in his lap, testing just how much she could push him before he gave in. she tilted her chin up, her breath warm against his cheek. “can i drive?” she breathed, her voice low and sultry, the kind of tone that always sent a shiver down his spine.
dean exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening on the wheel. he knew this was a bad idea—knew exactly what she was doing—but that look in her eyes had him beat before she even asked. after a moment, he muttered a quiet, resigned, “fine.”
mallory smiled, pleased. she shifted his hand off the wheel, placing it on her thigh as she nudged his foot aside. instead of pulling up her knee, she shifted fully into his lap, pressing her back against his chest as she settled her grip on the wheel.
she pressed down on the gas pedal, relishing in the steady purr of the accelerating engine as the speedometer climbed steadily from forty to eighty.
“my lil adrenaline junkie.” dean snickered, resting his chin on her shoulder.
mallory tightened her grip on the wheel, a slow grin curling at the edges of her lips as the speedometer crept up. the impala handled like a dream beneath her hands, smooth and powerful, roaring beneath her touch like it knew exactly who was behind the wheel. the wind rushed through the open windows, tangling in her hair as she pressed the gas just a little harder.
“you tryin’ to get us killed?” dean muttered against her shoulder, though his voice was more amused than concerned. his grip on her thigh tightened, warm and grounding, but he didn’t make a move to stop her.
mallory just laughed, tilting her head slightly so her cheek brushed against his. “c’mon, it’s not that fast.”
“you’re pushin’ 90.”
“she’s got more in her.”
dean huffed out a chuckle, shaking his head as he leaned back against the seat, his arm draped lazily around her waist. “y’know, most people ease into driving someone else’s car. maybe take a few careful turns, test the brakes—”
“most people are boring. plus it’s not like i haven’t driven her before.”
dean let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “you’re somethin’ else, sunshine.”
mallory smirked, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “so you keep telling me.”
the road stretched on endlessly ahead, dark and empty, nothing but the glow of the headlights cutting through the night. the only sounds were the steady growl of the impala’s engine, the whisper of wind through the open windows, and bob seger crooning softly through the speakers. it was reckless and stupid and so inherently them.
mallory eased up on the gas, letting the speed drop back down to something more reasonable—not because she wanted to, but because she knew dean would start bitching if she pushed it much further. she relaxed into him, her weight settling more comfortably against his chest as she drummed her fingers lightly against the wheel.
dean, ever the opportunist, took full advantage of her momentary distraction, his hand slipping from her thigh up beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers splaying warm and possessive against her skin.
mallory sucked in a breath, her grip on the wheel tightening just slightly. “dean.”
“hmm?” his voice was the picture of innocence, but she could hear the smirk in it.
she turned her head just enough to catch his eyes, her own gaze narrowed. “you can’t distract me while i’m driving.”
he arched an eyebrow. “oh, so you can do it, but i can’t?”
“exactly.”
dean let out a low chuckle, his fingers tracing lazy circles against her skin. “double standard, sweetheart.”
“life’s full of ‘em.”
he huffed a quiet laugh, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her shoulder before finally—finally—letting his hand drop back to her thigh. she could still feel the ghost of his touch lingering against her skin, warmth blooming in its wake, but she ignored it, focusing on the road ahead.
they drove like that for a while, wrapped up in the easy comfort of each other, the hum of the impala beneath them and the night stretching on forever. mallory let the wheel shift easily beneath her hands, guiding the car with an instinct that was almost second nature, like she was meant to be there.
eventually, dean let out a content sigh, his grip on her thigh shifting just slightly. “alright, pull over.”
mallory blinked. “why?”
he tilted his head, giving her a pointed look. “because as much as i love this little joyride, we both know i’m not about to let you be the one drivin’ when we roll back into town.”
mallory rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, easing the car onto the shoulder of the road before shifting it into park. she let her hands drop from the wheel, stretching out her arms as she twisted slightly in his lap.
dean wasted no time reclaiming his space, his hands settling on her waist as he gave her a smug grin. “see? wasn’t so bad lettin’ me be in charge, was it?”
mallory snorted. “you let me drive.”
“yeah, well,” he shrugged, his fingers tightening against her hips as he pulled her in closer, his nose brushing against hers. “maybe i just like the view.”
mallory rolled her eyes again, but her lips twitched, betraying her. “smooth, winchester.”
“always.”
she shook her head, laughing softly as she curled her fingers into the front of his shirt, leaning in close until their lips were just a breath apart. “you’re lucky i like you.”
“oh, i’m the lucky one?”
she hummed, her lips grazing his just slightly. “mm-hmm.”
dean didn’t argue. instead, he just closed the distance, kissing her slow and deep, his hands firm and sure against her waist. the world around them faded, the empty road and the distant stars disappearing into nothing as the night stretched on, endless and infinite.
neither of them are in a rush to give up the moment, not when the night is this quiet and the impala is warm around them, smelling like leather and dean and something inherently theirs.
mallory shifts in his lap, her fingers tangled in the short hair at the nape of his neck as she kisses him slow, deep, like she’s got all the time in the world. dean hums against her mouth, his hands sliding up beneath her shirt again, greedy and unhurried, like he’s mapping out every inch of her skin just because he can.
“you’re gonna fog up my damn windows,” he murmurs, though there’s no heat to it—just that lazy, satisfied drawl he gets when he’s real pleased with himself.
mallory just grins against his lips, tilting her head slightly. “me? it’ll be a joint effort, if anything.” she scoffs lightly.
dean chuckles, his breath warm where it fans across her cheek. “oh yeah?” his hands squeeze at her waist, firm and possessive. “pretty sure you’re the one all over me.”
mallory scoffs, shifting deliberately in his lap, just to prove a point. “you’re the one who pulled me in, winchester.”
“mm.” his fingers slide higher beneath her shirt, dragging slow and deliberate up her spine. “and you let me. what’s that say about you?”
she smirks, letting her nails scrape lightly at his scalp, reveling in the way his eyes flutter shut for just a second. “says i’m generous.”
dean huffs a laugh, tilting his head so his nose brushes along her jaw, his lips chasing the skin just beneath her ear. “that what we’re callin’ it?”
“uh-huh.” her breath hitches slightly as his teeth graze her pulse point, his hands tightening against her hips. “got a problem with that?”
he just hums, nosing along her throat like he’s getting drunk off the scent of her, his fingers pressing possessively into her ribs. outside, the night stretches quiet and vast around them, but inside the impala, it’s nothing but warmth—skin and breath and the slow, inevitable fog creeping across the windows.
mallory exhales a slow, pleased breath, tipping her head to the side to give him more room. “see? generous.”
dean huffs against her skin, his lips curving against her throat. “yeah, yeah. real charitable of you.” his fingers slide along the bare skin of her sides, his thumbs pressing just beneath the underwire of her bra, not quite pushing but teasing, waiting for her to push back.
she does.
mallory arches into him, pressing her chest against his like she’s trying to fuse them together, her fingers curling tighter in his hair. “you love it,” she murmurs, her voice all smug and knowing.
dean groans, his head falling back against the seat. “damn right, i do.” his hands grip at her hips, dragging her closer, like there’s even an inch of space left between them.
the impala creaks slightly as she shifts again, her knee knocking against the steering wheel, and the sound is a sharp reminder of where they are. mallory pauses just long enough to glance over her shoulder, her lips already swollen, her breath coming in soft, uneven puffs. the windows are properly fogged now, the outside world blurred beyond recognition, wrapped up in nothing but heat.
she grins. “think we’re past the point of worrying about your windows, handsome.”
dean’s gaze flicks to the windshield, taking in the misted-over glass, the way their own breath has painted over every inch of visibility. he snickers, hands still warm and possessive on her. “well, ain’t that a damn shame.”
mallory laughs, tipping her forehead against his, her hands smoothing down the sides of his neck, over his collarbones. “yeah. real tragedy.”
his lips brush against hers again, softer this time, less hungry but just as deep, just as slow. it’s different now—less about the chase, more about the having.
his voice is quieter when he speaks again, like he’s speaking something true into the space between them. “y’know, we could stay like this forever, and i wouldn’t mind.”
mallory pulls back just enough to look at him, her fingers resting lightly at the base of his throat. her heart stutters at the weight of his words, the way his eyes hold hers like he’s already memorized everything about her but wants to look anyway.
she smiles, something small and private. “good thing we got all night, then.”
dean grins, wide and shameless, and pulls her back in.
when they pulled back into bobby’s property later that night, handprints covered the windows, along with little drawings — mostly hearts, smiley faces, and initials. it was a quiet kind of chaos, the kind that only seemed to make sense between them, and mallory couldn’t help but let out a soft, breathy laugh as she noticed the scribbled marks.
dean’s eyes flickered over the glass, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “guess we’re leaving our mark,” he teased, his voice still thick with the weight of the night.
mallory chuckled, her thumb tracing over the initials they’d both left behind in the fogged-up glass. “yeah, but you’re the one who’s always gotta make everything a damn statement.” she winked at him, her chest still warm from the way he’d touched her, kissed her, held her.
“guilty as charged,” he drawled, turning the key in the ignition to kill the engine. his hand brushed her leg as he did, lingering there for a second before pulling away.
neither of them moved right away, still caught in the warmth of the car, the hum of the moment settling in around them. the quiet was different now — easier, like they didn’t need words to fill the space.
“you’re not gonna let me live this down, are you?” dean asked, eyes flicking to the smeared windows with a playful glint.
“nah,” mallory replied, grinning. “but honestly? i think it’s kinda cute.” she slid out of the car, stretching her legs, her mind still buzzing from the feeling of being so close to him, of their bodies tangled together.
he followed her out, the faintest trace of a smirk on his face. “you’re lucky you’re cute, too, or i’d be offended.”
“right,” mallory teased, reaching for his hand as they made their way toward the house. “you wouldn’t know what to do without me.”
“probably not,” dean muttered, his voice barely audible, but there was something in it — something soft, almost shy.
mallory squeezed his hand, her heart skipping a beat. she didn’t need to say anything in return. she already knew.
mallory was standing in the kitchen, humming softly as she carefully worked the dough for the pie. she was in a sweater and jeans, her hair pulled up into a falling bun, and there was flour scattered across her hands, apron, and the counter. the kitchen smelled like cinnamon and apples, and she couldn’t help but smile to herself, feeling a little proud as she pieced everything together.
she had no idea dean had walked in, but when he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his gaze warm and soft as he took in the sight of her, she felt his presence. she glanced over, catching him staring, and raised an eyebrow.
“what?” she asked, trying to hide the smile tugging at her lips, but her heart was racing a little faster than usual. “it’s your birthday, and i was bored.”
he smirked, his eyes never leaving her as he stepped inside, taking in the scene—her, baking, the way her hair had fallen loose from the bun, how the kitchen felt more alive with her in it. it hit him all at once, and he didn’t even have to think twice before saying it.
“i love you.” he said, voice quiet, but the words were clear, heavy with meaning.
mallory froze, her hands stilling over the pie crust. she couldn’t help the heat that rushed to her cheeks, or the way her breath caught in her throat. she wasn’t expecting that. not from him, not yet. they’d shared more than a few stolen moments, flirted, teased, and gotten tangled in bed more than once, but nothing serious. this? this was different.
her eyes flicked from his face to the floor, and for a second, she wasn’t sure what to say. she was a little caught off guard, unsure of where to take the moment. she never expected him to go that far, even if she had feelings for him too.
“what?” she finally asked, her voice coming out softer than she intended.
dean gave a lazy, almost smug grin. “you heard me.” he didn’t approach her right away; he just watched her, waiting to see if she’d react the way he hoped, though he didn’t have any real expectation for her to say it back. not yet, anyway.
“it’s just a pie, dean.” her voice was quiet, soft.
he shook his head, walking closer. “no it’s not.”
she didn’t flinch at his proximity, forcing a smirk onto her lips. “well. you’re an idiot, but i love you, too, i guess.”
“glad to hear it,” he teased, stopping just close enough to smell the sweetness of the pie she was making. “this is some kind of birthday magic, huh? getting pie and love all in one day.”
she shrugged, smiling and turning back to her pie. “you’re lucky i’m baking for you at all,” she teased, but it was clear she was happy to do it, happy to be there with him in that simple moment.
he stepped closer, resting his hands on the counter next to hers, lingering just close enough behind her to cage her in. “i’m a lot of things, but mostly, i’m lucky to have you around.” his voice was quieter now, the teasing faded into something more sincere.
mallory’s heart gave a little jolt at the words, and she tried to hide it behind a playful smile. “you better appreciate the pie then,” she said, trying to keep things light, but the moment between them felt different now. there was something more there, more than the casual fun they’d shared up to that point.
“i do. trust me,” he said, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer, his hand brushing against hers. “now, put me to work, chef.”
she grinned, handing him a knife and rolling her eyes. “you’re dumb.” she muttered, but she couldn’t deny how good it felt, how right it felt, to have him standing there with her. he snorts, mumbling a “rude.” and pinching her side. even if they weren’t ready to label what they were, this moment was something she could hold onto.
he lingers closer, just enough so his presence is felt without overwhelming her. his arm slides around her waist, his hand resting lightly on her hip as he presses a soft kiss to her temple, the warmth of it sending a shiver through her. she smiles, focusing on the apples in front of her but grateful for the way he’s grounding her. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” she teases, even though she’s already melted under his touch.
“i’m aware,” he grins, pulling her just a little closer, his nose brushing against her hair as he watches her work, content just being near her.
“anything else, your lordship?” she snickers, crinkling her nose, her voice teasing but full of warmth. she can’t help but smile at the way he’s looking at her, like she’s the only thing that matters.
he raises an eyebrow, still holding her close. “well, since you’re offering…” he trails off with a mischievous grin, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear before tilting her face up, kissing her softly.
she snickered, giving him a playful shove as she pulls away to finish chopping the apples. “i take it back. you’ll have to work for it.”
he chuckles, shaking his head. “i’ll have to earn it, huh? fine by me.” he stays right behind her, just close enough to feel her warmth, his hand finding its way to her waist once more as he watches her finish her task, content just being near her.
“i’m just kidding.” she smiles, grabbing his chin in her manicured hand and pulling him down to press a kiss to his full lips, muttering a soft, “happy birthday, handsome.” into his mouth.
he freezes for a moment, his eyes fluttering closed at the feel of her lips against his. when he pulls back, his grin is lazy and full of warmth, his voice a little hushed. “you sure know how to make a guy feel special,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing her hip as he gazes at her, still slightly breathless.
she laughs softly, brushing her thumb over his bottom lip. “yeah, well. you deserve it.”
he leans in again, pressing another kiss to her lips, this time lingering a little longer, a promise of more to come, both playful and sweet. “yeah, i think you might be right about that.”
“what’s your favorite color again?” mallory mumbles against dean’s lips, lithe fingers still gripping his chin.
he hums, a lazy smile tugging at his lips as his hands settle at her waist, pulling her closer. “you don’t remember?” he teases, brushing his thumb over her cheek before answering, “it’s green.” he pauses for a moment, catching her lips again, this time with more intention. “but only when it’s in your eyes.”
“smooth, winchester.” she hummed.
“call it a gift,” dean smirks, his lips grazing her ear as he pulls back just enough to meet her gaze. “besides, you’re not exactly making it hard for me, sweetheart.” his tone drips with playful confidence, eyes glinting as he waits for her next move.
“then what’s pressing against my thigh?”
dean’s grin widens, the corners of his mouth curling up in that familiar smug way. he raises an eyebrow, his voice low and teasing. “could be a whole lot of things, darlin’,” he says, the warmth of his breath brushing against her ear. “but i’m thinkin’ you already know.”
“knife or gun? or just excited to see me looking like a housewife?” she purred.
“the third one.” he hums, pulling back and leaning back on the counter, taking a moment to look at her.
seventeen year old sam walked by, gagging when he saw them. “get a room.” he groaned.
“oh c’mon, sam,” dean grinned, shaking his head, “you’re just jealous you don’t have a best friend who bakes for your birthday.”
sam made a face, muttering something under his breath about “disgusting” before continuing down the hall, clearly eager to get out of their line of fire.
mallory smirked, her hand drifting down to the collar of dean’s jacket, tugging it just enough to pull him back into her space. “i’m sure we could find somewhere a little more… private.” her voice was sweet, but there was a challenge in her eyes, daring him to step up.
dean raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a grin. “private’s overrated,” he said, but he didn’t back away, eyes locked on hers with that familiar glint.
mallory raised an eyebrow, her lips curling into a teasing grin as she leaned in just a little closer. “oh, is that so? you’re happy with an audience?” her voice dropped lower, just enough for dean to feel the weight of her challenge. “because i’m pretty sure we could find somewhere a lot more private.”
dean’s grin never wavered, but the heat in his gaze flickered, his hand instinctively resting on her hip, pulling her just a fraction closer. “private’s overrated,” he repeated, his tone playful but with that undercurrent of something deeper. “but maybe we can find a happy medium. you’re not gonna bake me into submission, are you, sweetheart?”
mallory let out a soft chuckle, the tension in the room shifting just enough to make her heart race. “maybe i’ll try.” she leaned into him, pressing herself lightly against his chest, her breath a little quicker than usual as she traced a finger along the edge of his collarbone. “ou seem pretty cocky for someone who’s about to get a pie to the face.”
dean’s eyes narrowed, and before she could react, his hand shot out, grabbing a nearby apple and tossing it up and down in his palm. “i wouldn’t do that if i were you, mal. i’m not above using my charm to get what i want.”
mallory rolled her eyes, though the flush creeping up her neck gave away her excitement. “oh please, dean. you don’t need charm.”
the air between them thickened again, but this time, there was no teasing edge. mallory found herself searching his eyes, caught off guard by how soft the moment had become. she hadn’t expected this side of him today — no smirking, no witty comebacks. just dean, standing there with a quiet sincerity in his gaze, his hand still resting on her hip as if he were afraid to let go.
she swallowed, her heart beating just a little faster. “you sure about that?” her voice softened, giving away just a touch of the vulnerability she wasn’t quite ready to admit yet.
dean’s thumb brushed gently over her skin, a tender touch that made her knees feel weak. “yeah,” he murmured, “i’m sure. but you’re worth the fight.”
mallory’s breath hitched, and she almost forgot how to move. for a brief second, she was just there with him — no teasing, no walls up, just the two of them, tangled in something far deeper than either of them were ready to admit.
before she could respond, though, sam’s voice interrupted again from down the hall. “seriously, you two? enough, you’re ruining my appetite.”
dean groaned, rolling his eyes, but the warmth in his smile never left as he pulled mallory just a little tighter against him. “well, i guess we’ll have to continue this private conversation later, huh?”
mallory snorted, her grin returning as she pressed a quick kiss to his jaw. “you’re lucky i’ve got a pie to finish,” she teased, stepping back a little, though her hand lingered on his chest for a moment longer than necessary.
dean’s gaze stayed on her, his lips curving up in that cocky, self-assured way she couldn’t resist. “lucky doesn’t even begin to cover it,” he said, voice low, his eyes never leaving hers.
sam, by now fully aware that he was being ignored, huffed from the hallway. “yeah, yeah, enough already,” he muttered, but the sound of his footsteps faded as he left them to their moment.
mallory smiled softly, turning back to her pie, but her mind was spinning a little from everything that had just passed between them. for a second, it had felt like they were in a world all their own, no walls, no teasing — just… them. she wasn’t sure where that left them, or if they were ready to talk about it, but it felt like the kind of moment worth holding onto. she glanced up at him, catching his gaze once more.
“alright, winchester,” she smirked, turning back to her task with newfound energy. “quit distracting me.”
dean chuckled, stepping back as he grabbed a knife. “you sure you don’t want me to help with the crust? i’ve got skills.”
mallory arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into that mischievous smile he loved. “i’ll stick with the pie, you stick with making sure sam doesn’t walk in on us making out next time.”
dean’s smirk returned, brighter this time, and he leaned in just enough to whisper against her ear. “deal. but you better make me another pie when i come back from stopping him from ruining my birthday.”
mallory rolled her eyes, even as her heart skipped a beat. “you really are insufferable, you know that?”
“i know,” he said, his voice full of mock innocence as he straightened up. “but you love me anyway.”
for the first time, mallory wasn’t so sure she wanted to hide how much that was true.
the lines between mallory and dean had always been blurry — too blurry to make sense of. it wasn’t like they’d ever sat down and decided to define what they were. hell, most of the time they didn’t even try. they were best friends, of course. that was obvious. but, somewhere along the way, they’d crossed into something else. something deeper. something that wasn’t easily explained, but that didn’t make it any less real.
months of drunken kisses, late-night teasing, and waking up tangled in the same sheets. there was an easy, effortless intimacy between them that didn’t need words. they didn’t have to say it out loud, didn’t need to make some big declaration. the fact that they’d somehow ended up like this, in this strange, undefined space, felt… right. it was a quiet understanding that hung in the air every time she brushed against him, every time their fingers accidentally brushed and lingered. every time he caught her gaze, that half-smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, as though he knew exactly what she was thinking and didn’t mind one bit.
and yeah, sometimes, they’d stumble over things — words, actions, moments — but neither of them were in any rush to put a name to it. it was just easier that way, and besides, they had bigger things to deal with. hunters, for one. so, why complicate it with labels?
dean still flirted with girls in bars, of course. it was in his nature, something he couldn’t seem to turn off, even when he was standing next to her. and it didn’t bother mallory, not in the slightest. she wasn’t the jealous type. never had been.
she knew where she stood with him. dean might talk a big game, but when the night wound down, when the bar was emptying out and the music had faded into the background, he was the one who always came back to her. it didn’t matter who else had caught his eye or how many drinks he’d had, because when the sun came up, it was always her he’d find, lying in the bed next to him, wrapped up in her blankets, maybe still wearing the same shirt from last night, her hair a tangled mess.
they had a rhythm. a familiarity. it was just the way it was, and that was enough.
sure, they’d both had their moments. times when they found themselves stretched too thin, their emotions hanging in the balance, wanting more than they were willing to admit. but those moments? they passed, because deep down, both of them knew one thing: they had always had each other, no matter what.
there was a security in that, a comfort that didn’t need to be verbalized. it didn’t matter that they couldn’t figure out what they were. they were just them — and that was always enough.
mallory never worried about what dean did with anyone else, and he never thought twice about the quiet way she lingered close, her hand brushing his in passing, the way her eyes softened when they looked at him. he knew, in the same quiet way, that she was his. that she’d always be there, through everything — his stubbornness, his flirtations, and all the other messes he was constantly making. and that was something neither of them had to talk about.
