can i please kindly request a fic based on the song making out by no doubt? either sam or dean. or both. ideally like s1-3 sam and dean as well, bc i think it just suits them so much
thank u beautiful!!
𐙚˙⋆.˚ making out,
pairing. sam + dean winchester x reader ( gn )
wordcount. 629 genre. h o t
warnings. explicit sexual content, threesome, dirty talk, kissing, teasing, a little bit of possessiveness, reader missing them while they’re away, reunion sex
It’s been twenty-two days.
Not that you’re keeping track or anything.
Okay—you’re absolutely keeping track. Your kitchen calendar has a tiny heart drawn around today’s date. You’ve been circling it for weeks, flipping through the pages like a teenager before prom. Sam’s handwriting is still scrawled in blue ink in the corner: back around 10. Dean’s contribution, in thick Sharpie, is just: be naked.
You sip your tea on the counter, trying to pretend you’re not vibrating out of your skin. It’s pathetic, how much you’ve missed them—how much you’ve missed the weight of Dean’s smirk pressed to your mouth, Sam’s warm hands sliding under your shirt, the way they both crowd you like they’re trying to erase every second they weren’t here.
The Impala’s engine purrs into the driveway before you hear the tires on the gravel. Your heart leaps into your throat.
You’re at the door before they can even knock, throwing it open to find them both standing there—dusty, rumpled, exhausted…and so, so gorgeous. Dean grins like he knew you’d be waiting. Sam’s eyes flick down your body like he’s already undressing you.
“Well, damn,” Dean says, stepping inside. “Guess you got my note.”
You don’t even get a word out before Sam’s mouth is on yours—deep, slow, like he’s trying to make up for every single mile between you. Dean’s right there behind him, his palm sliding up your thigh, his lips brushing the side of your neck until you can barely breathe.
“Missed you,” you gasp, and Sam hums against your mouth.
“Missed you more,” Dean murmurs, hot breath against your skin. “Been counting down the days, sweetheart. And now…” his hand squeezes your hip, “I’m not wasting another second.”
It turns into a blur—Sam pushing you back toward the couch, Dean catching your wrist and pulling you into his chest so he can kiss you, slow and filthy, tasting like whiskey and heat. Sam’s hands are already under your shirt, mapping out every inch of you like he’s committing it to memory.
Clothes go fast. Too fast to track. Dean drops to his knees first, his grin wicked as his hands slide up your thighs. “God, I missed this view.” He presses a kiss just above your knee, then higher, and higher—meanwhile, Sam’s behind you on the couch, lips brushing your ear, his big hands holding you open for his brother.
It’s overwhelming, the way they work together—Dean coaxing moans from you with his tongue while Sam keeps you anchored, murmuring low praises that curl into your spine.
“Still taste so good,” Dean says between kisses. “Could live on you.”
“Dean,” Sam warns, but there’s no heat in it. His voice is thick with want, his hips pressing into your back.
The rest is a haze of gasps, soft laughter, and the kind of heat that leaves you dizzy. Sam’s mouth replaces Dean’s, his tongue deep inside you, while Dean kisses you like he’s starving, his hand wrapped around your jaw. When they finally pull you into their laps—Dean seated first, Sam behind—you lose track of who’s touching where.
Dean rocks you against him, hands gripping your ass, his forehead resting against yours. Sam’s arm is locked around your waist, pulling you back into his chest, his mouth at your neck, whispering how long he’s been thinking about you, what he’s going to do when Dean’s done.
Every kiss feels desperate, every touch laced with weeks of pent-up hunger.
By the time you’re sprawled between them, panting and dazed, you’re sure you’ll never get enough. Dean’s thumb brushes over your lips, his smirk softening just a little.
“Worth the wait?” he asks.
You smile—wrecked, breathless. “Always.”
And then Sam’s kissing you again, like he’s already counting down to the next time they leave.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; support my work .ᐟ
The other night husband and I were watching a documentary about the yeti where they were doing DNA analysis of samples of supposed yeti fur, and every one of them came back as bears.
Anyway, the next night we watched a thing about some pig man who is supposed to live in Vermont. People said it had claws and a pig nose but walked upright like a man. Now, I happen to know that sideshows used to shave bears and present them as pig men. So every piece of evidence they gave of this monster sounds to me like a bear with mange.
So now the running joke in our house is that everything is bears. Aliens? Bears. Loch Ness monster? Bear. Every cryptozoological mystery is just a very crafty bear.
Bears. They’re everywhere. Be wary. Anyone or anything could be a bear.
As the OP of this post, I’m going to threaten that if this gets to one million notes by the 10 year anniversary on 1 June 2026, one year from today, I will get a lower back tattoo of the loch ness bear monster.
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions
Summary/Warnings: After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him.
Almost as much as he might love you.
Author's Note: Request from an anon! I love thinking a fic will be 5k and then. it's not.
Word Count: 8.3k
“Why’d you lock him in the car?”
“Uh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck, letting out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t. He sorta locked himself in there.”
Your nose wrinkles, and you lean a little further down, trying to get a better look at Dean.
He’s sprawled out on the back bench, knocked out and drooling onto the seat.
He looks adorable.
His hair is mussed, his eyes keep fluttering slightly, and if you climbed over him he’d probably be just as strong and warm as when he yanks you into his chest, making sure you don’t stumble or trip during a hunt.
You can’t crawl over him while he’s asleep. You’re not sure if he’d want you to, or if you’d just get shoved off his body with a grunt and glower. Ruining everything, and bombing the careful fantasy you’ve built where maybe Dean flirts with you a little more than other girls, and maybe he gets so pissed at you because he cares, and there’s a small, thin chance that he likes catching you just as much as you like falling into him.
And you’re never going to tell him you do it on purpose. That it’s dumb, and reckless, and pathetic, but sometimes you’ll be a little less cautious, just so Dean will grab you. So his arms will wrap around your stomach, he’ll glare at you with enough venom to make your skin hot, and you can smile up at him like nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be, as long as Dean was holding you.
But something is certainly wrong right now.
“And he let you drive?”
Sam shrugs awkwardly. “He’s sick.
You give him a flat look. “I’ve seen Dean drive when he was actively bleeding out.”
“From his stomach.”
“So?”
“It’s- He could still drive.” Sam’s voice is lame, as if he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. “This was a fever. He’s not lucid.”
“Sam.” There’s panic rising in your chest, hot and tight and suffocating, but you force your voice to remain flat. “If he’s not lucid, we need to take him to a hospital-“
“No! I-“ Sam’s eyes widen, darting between you and Dean at a frantic pace. “It’s- He’s fine! It’s a magic fever.”
“A magic fever-“
“Witches. He hates them.”
“I know that-“
“He just needs to sleep it off,” Sam’s voice is suddenly firm and determined, and something is very wrong. “It’ll be easier if we don’t bother him.”
“But-“
“Can you got get some ice from town?”
You frown. “We have ice.”
“Right.” Sam glances back to Dean. “What don’t we have?”
“I don’t know, I don’t do audits while you guys are gone-“
“Do we have soda?”
“I don’t know-“
“Pie?”
You let out a long, slow breath, and Sam is very close to being punched in the face. “We have pie. We always have pie. Sam, what’s going on-“
“I just- I need to get Dean out of the car. And I-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m not supposed to let you help.”
Your mouth falls open, something tearing up your chest that’s made of Dean doesn’t want your help, he knows how useless you really are and he can’t even imagine you carrying him to bed.
Sam must see the shatter of your heart, just a layer under your face, because he shakes his head, and his words are quick.
“No it’s- it’s not like that-“
“I’m fine.” You mumble, drawing yourself to stand tall, keeping your gaze firmly fixed away from Dean. “You don’t have to-“
“He might be contagious.”
You give him a dry look. “You’re still going to touch him, though.”
“I was in the car with him.” Sam mutters, not fully meeting your gaze. “I’m already exposed. And there are some, uh- Weird side effects. To the curse.”
“Weird? Weird like-“ You cut yourself off at Sam’s apologetic expression, letting out another heavy sigh. “You can’t tell me.”
“He just- You know Dean. It’s a weird curse, and doesn’t want you to have to deal with it-“
“I wouldn’t mind.” You mumble, frowning down at your hands, and you can feel Sam’s look of pity.
“I told him that, he… Didn’t seem to care.”
You glance up, and your voice has to remain neutral. You’re almost certain Sam knows—he must, he’s seen you trail after Dean like a shadow on every case, laugh at all his stupid jokes, run to him whenever he so much as stubs his toe, and glare at him every time he gets hit on and basks in it because you love him too much to hate him for it, and that makes your skin blister—but that doesn’t mean you have to admit it.
It doesn’t matter if you admit it.
Even if Dean flirts with you, it’s still just flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he’s never really shown that he’d want anything more with you. Maybe just skin on skin in the dark, but not his lips on your brow in the morning, and you head resting on his chest in the dead of night.
Not what you’d need. What you’ve needed, from the moment he appeared over you on the street, both of you drenched in the blood of a decapitated vamp, Dean offering you a hand that once you took, you never wanted to release.
But Sam knows that too. He was there when Dean asked you to stick with them, and you had an expression like the Sun had dropped at your feet and asked you to orbit around it forever. Sam’s noticed that you never even try to sleep around, and that whenever someone hits on you at a bar you never take it past smiles and words.
You think Sam believes you have more dignity than you actually do, though. That if Dean offered you just one night, you wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat. That you’d keep coming back like an addict, until Dean decided he was done giving you what you crave. Sam thinks you wouldn’t break yourself for Dean.
It’s sweet, that he thinks that highly of you.
That doesn’t make him right.
“Can you-“ You pause, trying to find the right thing to say, that will just give you a chance to help. “If there’s anything-“
“I’m gonna talk to him. He’s being- You know.”
Sam glances back to Dean, and you do know. Dean’s never been good at asking for help.
He’s still fully knocked out and snoring so loud you can hear it through the windows.
Still adorable.
And when he’s finally up, and feeling better, you’re going to shove his stupid, broad chest and yell at him that no magical side-effect could ever make you not want to help.
For now, you’re going to take one of the spare cars and drive in circles, until the ache in your chest hurts just a little less. And when Dean calls for you, you’ll be there.
You’ll always be there.
But he doesn’t call for you.
The day passes and turns into night, and the night turns into another day, and then suddenly it’s all blurring together and it’s been a week. And you haven’t spoken to Dean once.
You only know he’s in the bunker because you can see the light from under his door, and food is vanishing that Sam would never touch. When you wake up there’s enough coffee left over for you to have a cup, just like every morning, but usually Dean is leaning against the counter and waiting for you to join him. Now it’s just the mug out and the pot half-full. Same as how books keep going missing from the library before reappearing the next day, but Dean never once even wanders into the room. The Impala is gone for hours, and then you’ll check the garage again and it’s back. Dinner gets made, but you never see it. Dean doesn’t appear over your shoulder in the library and call you to dinner, you just wander into the kitchen and find it made.
“He’s avoiding me.”
Sam shakes his head, not looking up from his laptop. “No, he’s not.”
“I haven’t seen him once-“
“He’s still sick.”
“Sam-“
Sam says your name back, and when he looks up, there’s a heavy exhaustion in his gaze. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine, the fever broke, but Dean- I can’t tell you.”
“Why.” Your voice is desperate, but the ache in your chest has only grown. You miss him. Even ignoring the in love with him thing, Dean’s your best friend. You miss talking to him while he cooks, and bothering him with the books you’ve read, and trying to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth.
But he’s avoiding you. Even if Sam won’t say it, you know he is. You’ve tried to catch him. You get up an hour earlier, but he’s already gone. You try and stay up for a whole day just to see him—to make sure he’s okay, and that he didn’t die and Sam just hasn’t figured out how to tell you—but you pass out around 4am and wake up with a blanket over your body, and another three books gone. The next time the Impala is gone you sit in the garage all day, leave once to go to the bathroom, and come back to it returned and Dean nowhere in sight.
You don’t understand why.
“I-“ Sam exhales, shaking his head again. “I wish I could tell you. But that- You know I trust you. Dean trusts you. But explaining it- I’d be violating Dean’s trust. I’m sorry.”
He looks it. Sam’s expression is tired, and you can hear the strain in his voice, but it doesn’t make anything hurt less.
Dean’s avoiding you.
And you just want to see him. To know what’s wrong, so you can tell him you don’t care about the curse.
That evening, you try to camp the kitchen. Dinner never comes out that night, and around eight, Sam wanders in and asks if you can just order.
“No.” You mutter, sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Sam sighs.
“I’m hungry,” he says your name with a pleading tone. “I know you’re hungry too. And I’m going to order for myself, so just text me if you want anything and I’ll pick it up while I’m out-“
“I don’t want anything.”
Sam gives you a sympathetic look, and you want to curl into yourself and hide. It can’t be that obvious. Even if Sam knows, there’s no way he knows-
“If you’re waiting for him, he’s not going to come out.”
You scowl, shooting Sam a glare. “So he is avoiding me.”
Sam sighs your name. “I- Yeah. He is.”
“Why-“
“I can’t-“
“Tell me.” You finish for him, rubbing at your face as you continue, until it’s raw enough to hurt a little. “Yeah, I got it. Is he-“ You have to swallow on a lump in your throat. “Is he okay?”
“He will be.” Sam mutters. “I- I think I’ve almost got it.”
“Can I help?”
Sam shakes his head, and you swallow, leaning down until your back is flat on the table.
“Okay.”
“Do you, uh- Want anything?”
You want to help. To understand.
Dean.
You want Dean.
“No.”
There’s a silence for a second, and you’re convinced Sam is gone, right up until he mutters your name. His voice is impossibly soft.
It just makes this hurt more.
“He’s in his room. And he knows you’re in here. He’s not going to come out.” Sam sighs. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
You frown at the ceiling, trying to work out what that means, but by the time you sit up Sam is gone.
Dean’s in his room. And he’s not going to come out. And it does not take a few hours to pick up dinner, but Sam will be gone anyway, and-
Oh.
Okay.
You slide off the counter, keeping your steps soft as you walk down the hall, and stop in front of Dean’s room.
“Dean?” You knock, and he’s not a subtle as he thinks he is.
The noise from the TV turns off.
“Dean,” You knock again, still to no answer. “I know you’re in there.”
Nothing.
“Dean Winchester, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it in-“
“Don’t.”
His voice is barely a grunt. But it’s the first time you heard it in a fucking week, and a sob rises to your throat.
He’s alive. He can talk, and he’s been avoiding you, but he’s okay.
“Fuck, Dean, are you-“
“Don’t come in here.” His voice is rising slightly, and something starts to prickle over your skin.
It’s the same feeling you get on a hunt, when something is just a little off.
A warning.
“Dean-“
“Please.” There’s a desperation in his voice, and it just makes the prickle grow into a stinging itch. “Don’t.”
“Don’t-“ You swallow. “Don’t what?”
You can hear his deep breath through the door. “Come inside.”
“De-“
“Just- If you need something, go ask Sammy-“
“I don’t need anything, Dean.” I just need you. “I want to talk.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “We’re talking right now.”
“This doesn’t count, I want to see you-“
“No.”
“Dean-“
“I’m not dying,” Dean snaps your name. “You don’t need to help.”
There’s a harsh tone to his voice that you’ve rarely heard in your direction. The tone he uses on hunts and when he and Sam are fighting. His pissed tone.
He’s serious.
But it’s only making the itch feel like a burn. You need to see him. Just for one second, so you know he’s not lying, and he has to look you in the eyes and admit that he’s been avoiding you. He doesn’t get to be pissed when he’s been dodging you. That’s not how this fucking works.
You want to help, still.
But Dean does not get to be angry about that.
“I’m going to open the door.”
Dean hisses your name. “I’m tellin’ you, don’t-“
“I won’t if you give me a reason-“
“I don’t want you to see me.”
You freeze, your hand hovering up to push open the door, and your heart might have frozen and dropped into your stomach.
He didn’t want you. Doesn’t want you. Not just your help, but to see you at all. He doesn’t want you, and your heart is fracturing in strange places you didn’t know it could break—but you should have, only Dean has ever been able to touch them—and Dean doesn’t want you-
“Fuck, are you- Son of a bitch-“
There’s a shuffling and banging sound from the other side of the door, and the world is blurry. It might have something to do with the soreness in your throat and the choked sound you couldn’t stop from escaping.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart-“
“I’m not.” You take a step back from the door, your hand falling back to your side. “I- Sam’s out, if you need something, call him.”
“I know, it’s-“ He sounds closer than before. “It’s complicated, but I’m not pissed at you-“
“So why are you avoiding me.”
The silence is tight. Long. You can hear Dean’s heavy breathing through the door, and your fingers are straining to touch him, to make it better, but he doesn’t want you.
“I’m not crying, Dean.” Your voice has to be neutral. He already has your heart resting somewhere stronger than just the palm of his hand, he doesn’t get to have every other piece of you too. Not when he’d only toss it right back. “I know you got cursed, and I know you don’t want my help, but you don’t need to be- I would help. I’d always help. You’re my friend-“
There’s a dry, slightly muffled chuckle through the door. “Friend, huh.”
“Yeah, I am.” You raise your chin—he can’t see it, but it makes you feel better—and narrow your eyes at the door. “And I know you’re avoiding me, so don't try to deny it-“
“Can’t.”
You blink. “What?”
“Can’t deny it.” He grunts. “I’ve been avoiding you.”
“I- Oh.” The world is getting blurry again. He doesn’t get to have the rest of you. “Why?”
Dean groans, and you flinch as a heavy thud sounds from his room. “Fuck.”
“Dean-“
“Don’t ask me that.” He grunts, his voice right on the other side of the door. “Please.”
“I- Why?”
“Goddamnit, just stop asking me questions-“
“Dean, I need to know-“
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do-“
“Trust me,” he mutters your name. “You don’t.”
You scowl at the door.
He doesn’t get to do this. No matter what type of righteous shit he’s got in his head, no matter what this curse is, Dean doesn’t get to just say he’s avoiding you, then not say why. Doesn’t get to tell you what to do when he won’t look at you.
Doesn’t get to have all of you if he doesn’t really want it.
“Dean Winchester.” You move your hand back to the door, and you could swear you hear him stiffen. “You do not get to tell me what I need.”
He chuckles again, and you can hear it this time. The pain in the sound. “Then you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one-“
“I can’t trust you.” You cut him off with a snap. “Not when you won’t answer my questions. You can even lie, you just have to be convincing-“
“I- Fuck- I can’t!”
Dean’s voice has risen to a shout, and you pause. He sounds wounded. Like a distressed animal.
“I can’t goddamn lie.” He grunts, his voice lowered to something heavy. “The witch truth-roofied me, and I can’t say a lie.”
You frown. “Then why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”
“I- Shit,” he groans again. “There are some questions I don’t want you asking me. Safer for all of us.”
“Safer for you to ignore me-“
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“We haven’t spoken since you got back-“
“Cause I’ve been avoiding you-
“Which is better?”
He pauses, his voice falling to a mumble. “No.”
You let out a soft, insane sounding laugh. You’re going to strangle him, or hug him, or shove him off a cliff before diving after him. He’s not stupid, but he can be such a fucking idiot.
“What were you planning on doing, when the curse was broken?” You lean against the door, keeping your voice dry. “Just popping up and acting like nothing ever happened?”
“Uh-“ Dean coughs. “Yeah? Are you pissed at me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh-“
“But.” You hum, watching the door as if you might be able to see Dean through it. “I’ll be less pissed if you tell me why.”
You can feel his glare. “I told you why, truth curse-“
“That’s a stupid reason. I know everything about you.”
There’s the chuckle again. “No, you don’t.”
“Yeah, I do-“
“I told you to trust me-“
“And I told you I can’t.” You take a slow, stuttering breath. “Please, Dean, we’ll be fine if you just tell me the truth-“
“No.”
“Dean-“
“You don’t want to know the truth-“
“I don’t even know that you’re actually cursed with that!” Your voice is rising, but he’s such an idiot, and you love him, and most of what you can feel is hot. Worry or anger or stress or just want. You want to see him, to help him, to punch him in the face and trust him. But you can’t. “For all I know, you’re lying to me right now-“
Your words are cut off with a yelp as the door swings open, and you stumble a step forward, right into-
Dean.
He’s catching you. Keeping your upright by pressing you right to his chest, his hands framing your face and his eyes boring right into yours.
And he looks tired—bags under his eyes and his hair a little messy from lack of care—but he’s still Dean. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, strong and hot around you, a growl in his voice that you can feel vibrate through his chest as he speaks.
“Ask me something.”
You blink at him. “You said-“
“Not that. Anything else.”
“I-“ You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “Can you tell me something embarrassing?”
His jaw twitches, but you get a firm nod. “I used to hide hentai mags in Sam’s bag, so chicks wouldn’t see them and think they were mine. One time I ate a pie off a girl’s stomach, and I enjoyed the pie more than the sex. I tried one of Sam’s running smoothies and it wasn’t dogshit, but then I spent twenty hours of the toilet after. Body wasn’t ready for it, I guess. Uh- One time I got turned on by holding a book-“
“A book?” You frown at him. “What book?”
“Uh, Wicked.”
“Oh. I love that book.”
“I know.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Do I look like I’m lying?”
“No,” you whisper, your hands shoot up to hold Dean’s against your face. “I- No.”
“Good. You trust me?”
“I- Dean, I still need you to tell me why.”
Dean’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring slightly.
You might be about to melt. You’ve never been this close to him, he’s never looked at you like this—as if he wouldn’t mind only looking at you for the rest of your life, or maybe he’d just like to eat you alive—and there’s a firmness to his voice that’s lighting a fire in your core.
“I told you not to ask me that.” He mutters, and you shake your head.
“I need to know, Dean, please.” You pull your lips between your teeth. “You didn’t even talk to me, and you told Sam not to tell me, and it really- It wasn’t-“ You swallow, your voice turning to almost a whine, and you can’t stop it. “That wasn’t fair, I thought you were mad at me and I just- I wanted to help-“
“I know you did, baby.” Dean sighs, and your lips part slightly.
Baby.
“I’d never be mad at you,” he runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and it’s becoming really hard to not give him all of you. “I- You’re just- I-“
He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Diving down and pulling you up at the same time, crashing his mouth against yours with almost a bloody desperation, and you did melt. You’re all heat as your fingers curl against his chest, and his lips mold perfectly against yours, and he’s kissing you like you’re going to disintegrate and he’s going to die and he’s kissing you-
It’s over as soon as it starts. Your head is spinning, and your lips are already swollen from the bruising force of his kiss, but Dean’s drawing back with an almost frantic expression, stumbling back and leaving your swaying into the middle of the room.
“I- Son of a bitch- I’m sorry-“
You blink at him, still a little dazed. “You’re sorry?”
Dean nods, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Shit- I shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, I-“
“Why?” Your voice is soft, and he frowns at you.
“You- I didn’t-“
“Dean.” You force yourself to stand tall, wrapping your arms around your stomach. He can’t do this. Just kiss you like that then say it shouldn’t have happened. He fucking kissed you. “Please just tell me why. I- You can’t just ignore me then do that and not say- You have to tell me why-“ You won’t cry. “Please-“
“I love you.”
Time might not be moving. Dean’s just staring at you from across the room, and you can’t really feel your legs, and-
“What?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.
“I- I fucking love you.” He mutters, his gaze falling down to the floor. “And I know you deserve better, I do- But I always wanna tell you, and I would’ve, so I had to- I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off, and I- Goddamnit, I never wanna make you cry, but you shouldn’t have to worry about turning me down-“
It’s your turn to move. You cross the room before Dean can keep saying stupid things, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him back down into a kiss.
It’s even better than the first one. Dean falls into you in half a second, his arms flying out to hold you right to his chest, almost lifting you off the ground as he pushes his tongue between your lips, then groaning down your throat when you nip at it and wrap an arm around his neck. He tastes so good, and he fits better against you than you thought possible, and his hands are roaming all over you like he’s trying to check you’re real.
You’ve never felt more real. There’s a wildfire spreading through your body, building as broad fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and Dean’s mouth is starting to wander, sucking your upper lip between his teeth before starting to kiss down your neck, and his hand squeezes against your ass-
You move back, shoving his chest with all the strength you have, and he stumbles away, blinking at you with a wide, lust-blown expression.
“Never,” you poke his chest, glaring up at his dumbstruck, handsome face. “Do that again. I have loved you since I met you, Dean, you fucking idiot, and if you ever pull something like that again, I will shoot you with the gun you gave me.”
Dean blinks at you, and his face splits into a wide grin. “You love me?”
“Of course I love you-“
“Awesome.” He takes a step forward, and you stop him with a palm on his chest.
“Not awesome, Dean, I’m still mad at you-“
Your words turn into an unconvincing sigh as Dean grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, pulling you back into a longer, deeper kiss.
It’s slow and soft, like you have all the time in the universe, and you feel as if you’re floating. Like everything is only light and warmth and the taste of Dean, lingering on your tongue when he hums against your lips, and pulls back with another wide, boyish grin.
“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He tangles a hand in your hair, tipping your head back until your gaze is locked onto his. “You can kick my ass later, but right now I’d really like to give you a reason to stop being pissed at me. You want that?”
You pause, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I still get to be mad later?”
Dean nods, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your mouth.
“Dean-“
“Lemme show you how much I mean it,” he hums against your skin. “Can’t lie right now, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest things I’ve ever goddamn seen. Fuckin’ hated avoiding you, missed you so much-“
“I- Missed you too-“
“I know you did, c’mon, lemme take care of you-“
“Okay.”
He pulls back, watching you carefully. “You sure?”
You nod eagerly, and his face splits back into a grin.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” your voice is breathy, and Dean’s grin widens.
But he doesn’t get to get off that easy.
“What do you want to do to me, Winchester?” You give him a teasing smirk, and his hands tense on your waist. “If you’ve been thinking about it that much…”
You raise your brows in a silent suggestion, and Dean groans.
“That’s not playing fair,” he leans back down, and you dodge, moving to kiss along his jawline.
“Tell me what you want-“
“You’re starting something, sweetheart,” his words sound pushed through his teeth, and you giggle.
“And you’re dodging the question- Dean-“
You squeak as his hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks you back to meet his gaze.
He looks almost feral. Darkened eyes and full, swollen lips that are already parted with heavy breath. You’re pressed right against him, and his hand still on your waist is kneading your skin until you’re almost melted in the sheer heat and want, and-
He’s pressed right against your thigh. Hard. Big.
The ache between your legs is unbearable. You might come apart from nothing at all.
Or just from the sound of Dean’s voice, deep and rough and filled with hunger.
“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, baby,” he mutters, and when your hands shoot up to wrap around his neck and tug at his hair, a soft moan escapes his lips. “Son of a bitch, I want you all the fuckin’ time-“
“How?” You whisper, and his eyes flash.
“You really wanna know, sweet girl?” Dean starts to walk you backwards, towards his bed, and lets out a hiss when you yank on his hair again.
“I’m asking-“
“I’ve thought about everything,” his voice is almost a growl, and you squeak as he tosses you back onto the mattress. “Thought about eating you out until you screamed, or just touching you to see what kinda sounds you’d make,” Dean pulls his shirt of as you gape up at him, before crawls over you with a wide grin. “Had dreams about those freakin’ sounds, how you’d moan for me if I did this-“
One big hand slides under your shirt, palming at your breasts before rolling a nipple between two fingers, and you fall fully back with a gasp.
“Dean-“ You grab at his shoulders, squirming below him, and his grin grows, his hand wandering over to the other breast to repeat the movement. “Oh, god.”
“Nope.” Dean leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his hand starting to wander down your stomach, until he’s cupping you over your shorts. “Just me, sweetheart.”
You moan, shaking your head. “That’s so bad, De- Fuck-“
He smirks as his fingers slide under your shorts, and it falters for only a second as they find your bare pussy.
“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He grunts, and you flush, turning your face into the pillow.
“Laundry day,” you mumble, and Dean chuckles.
“Sure, baby-“
“It is,” you twist to glare at him, and his grin just grows.
“I believe you,” he leans down, brushing his mouth right over yours, and you squeak as one finger trails between your pussy lips. “But I also believe you’re always this wet for me. And sometimes,” his thumb presses right over your clit. “You’d go bare and hope I’d just pin you down and fuck you.”
You moan shamelessly, your eyes wide and trapped on Dean’s and his voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it.
“I think you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, just like I touch myself thinking about you.”
There’s no chance to respond before his finger pushes inside of you, his thumb starting to rub slow circles around your pussy, and you’re flying. The only tether between the earth and pleasure, white-hot and perfect and teasing, is Dean’s voice, right in your ear.
“Dream about your pretty mouth on my cock, babygirl. Or your hands, or being buried in the sweet pussy until you’re a perfect mess for me.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and your nails dig into his back. “Kinda like this, actually.”
“De- Shit,” a second finger pushes in with the first, and he’s still moving them so slow. “Feels good, so good-“
“Yeah, it does,” Dean groans, and your eyes flutter open to see him rutting against the mattress, his own face almost a mirror of your own desperation as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. “Jesus, you’re so pretty-“
“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and his eyes snap onto yours. “More.”
He blinks at you for a second, but then gives you a tight nod.
His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing against that hot, spongey spot inside of you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. His thumb is gone from your clit, only giving it quick, frenzied flicks as you’re dragged right up to the edge, and he won’t look away from you-
Then he’s gone. You’re dangling right on the edge of release, but Dean yanks his fingers away with a taunting grin, and a high, pathetic sound escapes your throat.
You start to grumble an incoherent protest, but it dies in your throat at the sight above you.
He’s pushing your legs up to help you out of your shorts. He kisses against your calf before tossing everything into a corner of the room, and shoves your knees back apart. Then the two fingers push back into your for only a second, long enough to pull another moan from your throat, and Dean settles back between your legs with a grin.
Then he’s gone again. And one hand grabs your chin to keep your eyes trapped on his as he brings his fingers up to his mouth.
Dean cleans his fingers of your arousal, his gaze never leaving yours, and a sound that’s awfully like a moan rumbling through his chest.
“Taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, and you shudder with pleasure as he goes back, dragging those same fingers back over your soaked core, dipping slightly into your cunt like he’s trying to gather as much as he can. “Shit, I would’ve let a witch get the jump on me years ago if I knew I’d finally get to have this.”
You blink at him, your voice so soft and needy you almost don’t recognize it. “Years?”
“Uh, yeah.” Dean nods, a slight blush seeming to creep over his cheeks, even as his thumb starts to drag slow circles around your clit. “Told you, sweetheart, you’ve been in since I saw you.”
“I- Why didn’t you-“
He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want it. Taste.”
You frown at him, opening your mouth to protest—your mind doesn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around not wanting Dean—but the sound falls into a moan as his fingers press on your lower lip. They’re soaked in your wetness, and asking for further permission, and under Dean’s almost adoring gaze, you don’t know how to do anything but grant it.
Dean groans as he pushes his fingers almost all the way down your throat, and you feel his still-clothed cock twitch against you when you start to suck.
“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back with another one of those moans. “You’re so freakin’ perfect-“
“Dean,” you whine, scratching at his chest and bucking your hips up to try and grind over his bulge, but he just grunts, dropping his full weight down to pin you against the mattress.
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
You shake your head, wiggling below him, and his eyes flutter shut.
“God-“ He moans your name as you manage to get your legs free, wrapping them around his waist and rolling your hips against his still hidden cock. “Shit- Alright.”
Dean grabs you by your waist, and you yelp as he rolls you over without warning. Suddenly you’re straddling his bare chest as he pulls off his sweats, his gaze locked on yours the whole time. Then your shirt is being all but ripped off your body, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s got one hand on your ass and the other back on your jaw, hold your eyes down to his.
He mutters your name, and your fingers curl against his bare chest. “I’ve got a condom in the side drawer-“
“I’m clean.” Your words are too quick, and his eyes flash. “And I- I’m on birth control. If- If you’re- If you too-“
He laughs, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and the sound rolls through his chest, vibrating against your pussy and making your mouth fall open.
“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Dean’s hands drift to grab you by the waist, and he shifts below you, making sure he’s more leaning against the headboard than flat on his back. “Hold on.”
His grip tightens, and a stupid, high sound leaves you as he picks you up and pushes you down onto his cock.
He’s big. And thick. And you’re being filled up so good, already cockdrunk and a little out of your mind at the feel of him splitting your open and pressing on all the right spots, but he’s not moving. Dean’s just watching you with a wide, adoring gaze, grunting whenever you try to grind against him and hissing when you clench around him.
“I said,” he lands a light slap on your ass, his eyes narrowing on yours. “Not yet. Wanna feel you, baby. We’re gonna stay just like this until you’re begging for it.”
You gape at him, every word coming up as only a gasp or whimper as you try to move again, and he hits your ass again, and Dean raises his brows.
“Good?”
You nod, leaning down to press your brow to his. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”
He frowns. “Fair- If you don’t-“
“I like this.” You mumble, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “A lot. Love it.”
Dean grunts, dragging you down into a full, deep kiss that makes it almost impossible not to squirm against him.
“What’s not fair, then?” He hums against your lips, and now that he knows you’re good, he seems to be all back on teasing. “C’mon, baby, you can tell me-“
You shove his chest, and he laughs. He can’t keep doing that. It’s like a small vibrator against your clit, and he’s so handsome, and you don’t know how to not clench around him. But all that gets you is another slap of your ass, and you might be starting to drip down your thighs and onto Dean’s.
“Asshole-“
He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You love it.”
You do. “Never should’ve told you that,” you grumble, and he laughs again, and you might be on the brink of insanity.
“Too late. I know it now. Never gonna let you or this pretty pussy go neglected again, babygirl, so watch out.”
He pokes your side, grinning as you let out a squeaking giggle, but it quickly falls into a moan as his free hand moves up to play with your tits.
“Dean-“
“I know,” he hums, flicking your nipple before leaning up to press a kiss over the hurt. “But you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Being such a good girl.”
You moan against, and Dean smirks.
“You like that, don’t you. Like being my good girl-“
“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind against him, and whimpering at the next slap on your ass. “Fuck, please-“
“That’s closer.” He hums, resuming his movements on your tits. “But you still have to tell me what’s not fair.”
“It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, trying to regather your thoughts. “It’s not important-“
“Anything you think is important.” He mutters, and you swallow at the intensity in his gaze. “Tell me, baby. Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Fuck.
He can’t lie.
And just from the expression on his face, you can almost feel how much he means it.
“It’s just, I-“ You take a slow breath, watching him carefully. “What about you?”
Dean frowns. “What about me.”
“You had, um- a lot of ideas.” You trace your fingers over his tattoo, trying to focus on your words instead of Dean’s cock, hard and pressed into you and making you almost burn with desire. “And I- I just don’t want it to only be about me-“
You’re cut off as Dean laughs again, your words falling into a high, gasping moan, and almost in a reward, Dean slams himself up to meet the rolls of your hips.
You still get a small spank for the movement.
Worth it.
Dean drawls your name, looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “You think having you sit on my cock under you’re begging me to fuck you is about you?”
You flush, shaking your head weakly, and he chuckles again.
You moan, fluttering around him, but this time the slap on your ass comes with Dean pinching your nipple, and slamming up until he’s hitting your cervix.
“Trust me, baby,” he grunts, squeezing your ass and tugging you back down into a long, slow kiss. “This is all about me.”
“But-“
“We’re gonna do all of that shit later,” Dean pulls back, just enough to hold your gaze, and his arm wraps around your back, pinning you firmly down. “Trust me, babygirl, I mean it. I’m gonna give you everything.”
“Dean-“
“But right now, I want you to come on my cock, and I want you to say please.” Something strange flashes over his expression, and his voice drops impossibly lower. “Need to know you mean it, sweetheart.”
Oh.
You’re not under a truth curse. And Dean is adorable and handsome and strong below you, but he’s still Dean.
And you can see it in his eyes.
He’s still not sure you do mean it.
You have nothing to do but prove him wrong.
“Dean.” You whisper, forcing your hips not to roll as you lean down, holding his gaze. “Please. I want it. Want it so bad. I dream about you and touch myself thinking about you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me, cause I love you and I need you, Dean. I’m going to go insane if you don’t fuck me, please.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters, his grip growing bruising on your hips. “Feel so good, baby, just need you to give me one more-“
“Please-“
Your voice turns into a long, heavy moan as Dean rolls your hips along his cock, and the whole world lights up with good.
“Good girl,” he mutters, and you throw your head back as he helps you repeat the movement, every single nerve in your body glowing with Dean. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
There might be something teasing to his voice, but you can’t really hear it. You can’t really think of anything past the feeling of him inside you, or the low sounds that you keep pulling out of his chest as you grind down. You’re riding Dean’s cock like your life depends on it, gasping his name whenever your clit rubs against his groin or his hips jerk, making him bump that sensitive spot deep inside of you.
And he’s a vision below you. Moaning your name and kneading at your ass, watching you move above him like he’s looking at all the stars in the sky. His lips are parted with heavy breathes, and one hand is drifting slowly up to the nape of your neck, squeezing slightly with his eyes wide on yours, and you tip your head back without a question.
Dean groans, his hand moving to grab your throat, and you move faster. He’s not holding you that tight, but there’s a possessiveness to his touch that’s like fire up your spine, and you want him to leave a mark. Want everyone to know that he’s yours, and he’s touching you, and-
“Fuck-“ Dean grunts your name, his grip squeezing slightly, and you move faster. “Shit- Sweetheart, you’re-“
His head throws back with a groan as you clench around him, chasing your release desperately, and you want him to come with you. You need him to. You need him to fill you up, to feel the burn of him in a week, to be so fucking ruined by him you can’t even walk-
“Dean,” you gasp, and his grip tightens even more. Stars are starting to dance behind your eyes. “So close, feels so good-“
“I know,” he grunts, and you gasp as his hips rut up. “Hold it, babygirl.”
You shake your head, grinding faster. “Can’t- Need you-“
You whimper as Dean squeezes your throat, and his eyes flash. “C’mon, sweet girl, be good for me-“
“I- Dean-“
He grunts, and you’re not sure when the shift happened, but you’re not in charge anymore. Dean’s arm is wrapped around your waist, pinning you against his chest as he surges up, his hand moving to your jaw to hold it still. The kiss is deep and bruising and all spit and teeth, and he’s fucking you. Drilling up into your aching cunt without relent, kissing all over your face and down your neck, over the small marks his hand left. Moving back to your mouth as you start to shudder around him, scraping at his shoulders in a plea for release and moaning down your throat.
“Gonna cum,” he groans, his pace growing uneven. “Where-“
“In. Inside. Dean, just- Fuck-“
You almost scream as his thumb moves back to your clit, leaving a featherlight touch that’s somehow too much and not nearly enough.
“Dean-“
“Cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, pressing his thumb down so hard it lights a firework in your whole body, and you don’t know how to do anything but listen.
Your orgasm hits your like a wildfire, sweeping through your whole body until your toes are curling and you’re slumped in Dean’s arms, and he meets you with one last, beautiful moan of your name and a slam of his hips home. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he fucks you through his release, making yours rise and crest once more, and when it’s done, everything feels sort of bright and dizzying. A high, cockdrunk giggle escapes your throat, and Dean groans.
“Shit-“ He mutters your name, and you realize you’d squeezed around him. “Goddamnit, that was-“
“Yeah.” You whisper, curling further into his chest. “Thanks.”
He chuckles, but it falls into another moan as you flutter around him once more. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”
Dean’s breathing is ragged in your ear, and you keep your arms wrapped tight around him as he pulls out. You don’t manage to stop your soft moan, feeling impossibly empty and raw from the absence of him, but it’s alright.
He’s still here.
And now, he’s yours.
Dean presses a soft kiss to your brow, his words soft in your ear. “You want me to clean you up, baby?”
You shake your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”
“We made a mess-“
“Later.”
He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
You smile, and grab him a little tighter. “Are you still truth cursed?”
“Course I am. Wasn’t a sex curse, this is just a benefit-“
“Shut up.” You tug on his hair, and all you get is a laugh in return.
You lean back, just enough to meet his eyes, and he can’t have looked at you like this before. Like you’re his whole world, and he’d never want to ever be anywhere else but you.
You would’ve seen it.
You hope you would’ve.
“Did you mean it?” You whisper, and he frowns.
“Mean what?”
“That you’ve loved me since we met?”
Dean’s jaw twitches, and he lets out a slow sigh. “I’ve wanted you since we met. Didn’t love you until a few months after. But it didn’t take much.”
You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re really taking advantage of how that I’m cursed, you know-“
“It was first sight for me.” You whisper, and his mouth snaps shut. “You saved me, then helped me stand up, and I felt like an idiot because I was in love with the stranger who just decapitated someone in front of me.”
Dean’s throat bobs. “You still feel like an idiot?”
“Yeah.” It’s only fair you’re honest, if he has to be. “But only because I spent years pretending, I didn’t love you, and didn’t get to have this.”
You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lip, and he lets out a soft sound that almost has you ready for round two.
“You punched me.” He mutters, and you lean back with a curious expression.
“Huh?”
“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He mutters, rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot, but you’d never held a gun so you were shit at it. And I already liked you, so I was, uh- Kinda being an asshole. Pushing you too hard. And I said somethin’ about you not being able to defend yourself, and you suckered me right in my fuckin’ jaw. Started shouting at me about how I was being a dick, but- Um-“ He’s blushing, giving you an almost sheepish expression. “Didn’t hear a word you said. Think I was making heart eyes or something. Remember thinking I’m either marrying you, or no one.”
You can’t stop your wide, almost idiotic smile, but it’s worth it. Dean mirrors it right back, and his eyes flutter as your run your hand carefully through his hair.
“I love you.” You whisper. “And I can punch you again, if you want.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, and leaning up to pull you down into a long, slow kiss. And you can feel it, in this one. How he really has been as hungry for this as you have. How—just as you don’t think you ever want to move from his lap, even if the rapture floods the world and the sky starts to fall—he never plans to let you go.
“That can be one of our later things,” he mutters, tracing his tongue over your lower lip. “Right now I just wanna sit with my girl.”
You beam, nipping at his tongue. “Who you love?”
“Yeah.” He snorts, squeezing your ribs and grinning as you jump, almost falling over him with a whine. “Who I love.”
End Note: The Dean Winchester mind cannot comprehend that he is lovable (I am going to force that knowledge down his throat).
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Word Count – 3377
Warnings – Some kissing
Prompt – Soulmate AU
Jensen, a tired actor navigating single fatherhood and co-parenting, and Y/N, a resilient veteran living with PTSD and her loyal service dog, meet on a red-eye flight. What begins as a simple act of kindness in first class unfolds into a powerful connection neither can ignore. After a missed opportunity, fate reappears at a family event at Jensen’s brewery, where Y/N reappears, revealing her hidden talent as a singer. As sparks fly and hearts open, they discover that love sometimes arrives exactly when and how it’s meant to.
Jensen boarded the plane with a baseball cap low over his eyes. Usually, when he caught the red eye, he didn’t have to worry about fans or paparazzi recognizing him, but old habits are hard to shake loose. The attendant took one look at him and smiled sympathetically as he showed his ticket to her.
“Right this way, Mr. Ackles. You’re in 3A,” she said, escorting him to the seat. Nodding his thanks, he settled into his window seat after stuffing his backpack underneath. “Would you like a pre-flight cocktail?”
“Whiskey, neat. Please,” he answered, his voice rough with exhaustion. The attendant nodded and stepped away. Minutes later, she walked back with his drink and a napkin. He muttered thanks as he accepted the glass and took a much-needed sip.
“I have to ask you a question, Mr. Ackles,” the attendant started. Jensen raised a brow as he swallowed. “Are you allergic to or afraid of dogs?”
“No…” he said, confused.
“I know, random question, but the person who has the seat next to you has a service dog, and she wanted me to ask you before coming to her seat. She requires the dog to always be with her,” the attendant explained. Jensen nodded in understanding.
“Of course. I’m completely okay with her sitting here with her service dog,” he said. The attendant nodded and walked away. Moments later, Jensen was met with a beautiful black German Shepherd and an even more beautiful woman.
“Hi,” she said, tucking a lock of dark brown hair behind her ear. The two stared briefly at each other before Y/N shook herself and spoke again. “Thank you so much for being so understanding. I can’t tell you how many people freak out when they see Chester with me, so now I just have the attendant ask before I even get on the plane.”
Jensen was stunned into silence as he watched the woman stow her military-looking bag in the storage bin above them. Chester, a black German shepherd with piercing blue eyes, waited patiently next to her, observing her. She then dropped into her seat and allowed the dog to sit between her legs, facing her. Once buckled in and settled, she scratched behind the dog’s ear and grinned at Jensen.
“I’m Y/N, by the way,” she said softly. Jensen blinked and gathered himself, shooting her a grin of his own. He pulled off his baseball cap and ran a hand through his longer-than-usual hair.
“Jensen,” he replied. His eyes darted to the dog, whose eyes were watching him curiously.
“This is Chester. He looks mean, but I promise he’s a big ol’ softie most of the time,” Y/N said as she looked at the loving blue eyes that turned away from Jensen to look back up at her.
“Most of the time?” Jensen asked. Y/N laughed lightly.
“Well, when he’s not monitoring me for my panic attacks or anxiety, he does a wonderful job of keeping me safe from creepy guys,” she replied easily. “I was in the Special Forces for a long time and ended up a prisoner of war for a bit. Sometimes I still have flashbacks, and Chester here helps ground me in the present.”
“Thank you for your service,” Jensen said sincerely, causing Y/N’s smile to turn bashful.
“Oh, thank you,” she said softly, brushing her hair behind her ear again. “I’ve been out for a few years now, but thank you.”
The two continued talking as the other passengers boarded the plane. Some looked curiously at a dog in first class as they walked through; others looked disgusted. Y/N simply turned her head away, facing Jensen to ignore their looks. She was used to them by now, but that didn’t make them sting any less. Soon, the plane was fully boarded and backed away from the gate. Chester sensed Y/N’s nerves and leaped up to place his upper body against hers. It caused a slight laugh to escape Y/N.
“Hey, you okay?” Jensen asked, eyeing Chester. Y/N wrapped an arm around the dog, scratching his neck. Her other hand gripped the armrest tightly.
“He knows I’m not a fan of flying,” she said. Jensen nodded, then took a chance and gently moved her hand from gripping the armrest, intertwining their fingers. Her grip was tight, but he brushed his thumb across the back of her hand in comfort. She smiled tightly, not letting go of his hand.
After takeoff and the plane leveled out, Chester hopped back down and lay at their feet. Jensen and Y/N chatted until they fell asleep on the flight, their hands still intertwined.
“Mr. Ackles? Sir?”
Moving slowly in reaction to hearing his voice, Jensen opens his eyes to see a smiling attendant looking down at him.
“Hi,” she said sweetly. “We’ve landed, and I think you’ll sleep more comfortably at home.”
Looking around, he realized that Y/N and Chester were gone. Disappointment flooded him as he realized he had missed his chance at getting her information. He nodded at the attendant, pulled his bag under his seat, and moved to exit the plane.
“Oh, and here. You might want this,” the attendant said, handing Jensen a note. He accepted the paper with a nod before exiting the plane, hiking his bag on his shoulder.
“Did you give him the message?” one of the attendants asked.
“No way. I gave him my number instead,” the other answered. The girls giggled as they went to work cleaning the plane before gathering their items and making their way home.
“Dude, where are you? You were supposed to be here like an hour ago!” Danneel chirped as Jensen answered his phone with a gruff ‘yeah?’
“What?” he asked, his voice clogged with sleep. Danneel laughed heartily.
“I know you caught the red eye back, and you’re probably exhausted, but you have three kids here looking for their daddy, and you promised to be here for Family Day,” Dee said politely. Jensen groaned as he rolled over and looked at the clock.
“Dee, it’s not even nine a m,” Jensen grumbled. Dee laughed lightly in his ear.
“Not my fault your kids are early risers,” she quipped. Jensen sighed as he hung up the phone with a huff. He and his ex-wife Danneel had been together for seven years until she found her true soulmate. They were at the Austin Zoo during one of Jensen’s random weekends home when their eyes met; that was all she wrote. Jensen recognized what had happened immediately.
Despite being heartbroken, Jensen gracefully left the marriage so Dee and Sean could explore their new bond. They remained close since they had three children together, and Sean gave the two space to figure out how the co-parenting would work. It took some time, but the three built a smooth dynamic.
He thought that was what happened with the girl on the plane, that he had found his soulmate. He had butterflies in his stomach, and his heart had started racing the moment he looked at her. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. But she was gone before he could speak to her about it.
“Maybe she didn’t feel it, and I’m imagining things,” he thought.
Grumbling again about his bad luck, he pulled himself from his comfortable bed and headed for a shower. It was Family Day at the brewery, and he knew Dee had let him sleep a few extra hours because of the red eye, but she was probably up to her ears in chaos and could use an additional set of hands.
When he finally got to Family Business Beer Company, the Family Day festivities were in full swing. There was live music, games, face painting for the kids, and various other activities for people coming to the brewery for the day. Jensen was stopped numerous times for photos and autographs as he entered the building to find Dee.
“Daddy!!” a chorus of little voices screamed.
“Oof!” Jensen grunted as he knelt just in time for three little bodies to plow into him. He hugged his children tight as they wrapped their arms around his neck. He hugged them back in return, a warm smile brightening his face.
“Hi, babies,” he crooned, kissing each of their heads. “You guys have grown since I last saw you two weeks ago! Who told you you were allowed to grow without me around?” Their giggles were like salve on a burn he didn’t even know he had. With one twin on each hip and JJ hanging on to his leg, he went further into the building.
“I see the horde has found you,” Dee said, laughing as she leaned against the counter. Jensen leaned over and pressed a kiss to her cheek. He then tilted his head in hello to Sean, who was behind the counter helping to serve drinks to people.
“It’s a good turnout,” Dee commented, sipping from the beer she poured herself. “We’re already busier than last year.”
“I’m glad we went with a stage this year and live music instead of a DJ,” Jensen said. “These events always sound better when indie musicians are playing here.”
“Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” Arrow cried, causing Jensen to look down at her.
“Yes, baby,” he said patiently.
“Can I get my face painted?” she asked politely.
“Oooh! Me too! I wanna be a dinosaur!” Zepp said.
“Well, I wanna be a princess!” Arrow answered.
“Yes, you can go get your faces painted,” Jensen answered. “JJ, can you take the twins and go get in line for the face paint?”
“Yes, Daddy,” JJ answered, jumping up to grab the hands of the twins.
“But Daddy, I don’t wanna wait in line!” wailed Arrow. Jensen frowned slightly. He set Zepp down for JJ but held onto Arrow so he could look her in the eye.
“Now, we’ve talked about this Arrow. Just because Mommy and Daddy own the brewery does not mean you get special treatment. You can’t skip the line; you have to wait just like everyone else,” Jensen explained firmly.
“But Daddy…!”
“No,” he reaffirmed. “Either you wait in line like you are supposed to, or you don’t get your face painted. Now, which will it be?”
“I’ll wait in line,” she said dejectedly.
“That’s the right choice. Now go with JJ and Zepp.” The adults watched as the three children made their way to the line for face painting, and while Arrow was pouting at first, she quickly started laughing with her brother and sister at some of the things happening nearby.
“She’s gonna be a troublemaker when she gets older,” a voice said, causing them to turn. Steve Carlson strode up to them, a drink in his hand and a smirk on his face. Jensen nodded.
“When she’s older? Try since she was born. I don’t know where it comes from, but she’s been a little spitfire for a while now,” Dani said, a hand on her hip.
“She’ll get over it. She’s still a baby,” Jensen said. “Hey Sean, pour me one?”
“Sure thing,” he said, pouring a beer for Jensen.
“Mind if I steal this guy away? A new artist is starting on stage that I want him to take a listen to,” Steve asked Dani. Dani waved her hand with a smile, and the two men walked off. As they made their way to the stage, Jensen filled Steve in about Y/N, the girl he met on the plane.
“Why didn’t you say anything on the plane then?” Steve asked, leading Jensen to the railing where they would be standing. Jensen shook his head.
“I don’t know, I just wasn’t sure if it was real. I had just spent the day shooting and was exhausted. It could have been me imagining things,” he explained.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it,” Steve laughed.
“Yeah,” Jensen said dejectedly.
“Well, if it’s meant to be, you’ll meet again, I’m sure,” Steve said as the musician Hunter Y/L/N started up with his set. The two men listened to him play mostly classic rock songs with an indie spin.
“Kid’s not bad,” Jensen said, swallowing his beer.
“Thought he could end up being a regular at the brewery, maybe a weekly thing,” Steve said. “During the day on Saturday or even a Sunday evening to get people in.”
“That’s a great idea,” Jensen said. “We’ll have to talk to Dani about it since she’s doing most of the work right now.”
“Alright, everyone, if you would indulge me… I’m going to invite a friend of mine up for this next song,” Hunter said with a smile as the crowd cheered. “If you follow me on Instagram and TikTok, you already know who she is. I force her to sing with me every chance I get.”
Jensen glanced at Steve, and he shrugged when he caught the look. When the crowd calmed a little, Hunter laughed at something he heard behind him. Then, they all listened to a dog barking.
“Chester, stay,” a female voice said before a few more barks were heard. The crowd cooed as they heard it, making Hunter shake his head at them.
“Y’all are too easy,” he said into the microphone with a chuckle. “Okay, now please allow me to introduce my step-sister and best friend in the world… Y/N Y/L/N.” Y/N walked from the side of the stage and waved at the crowd scattered across the lawn before hugging Hunter tightly. Jensen watched as the two laughed and separated with surprise, slapping his hand against Steve’s arm.
“Wait, wait a second! That’s her!” Jensen exclaimed, brightening as he saw her step away and grab a microphone. Steve looked over at Jensen in confusion.
“Her who?”
“The girl from the plane!”
“From your flight?”
“Yeah!”
“What’s happening, you guys?” Y/N said into the microphone. “Y’all ready for a little bit of sibling rivalry?” Y/N and Hunter stared at each other as the crowd cheered.
“Oh, it’s like that, is it?”
“He may have that sweet, soulful voice that has you ladies falling in love… but I got the rawness you really want.”
As the crowd cheered again, Y/N stepped away and looked at her brother. A quick conversation, a nod, a laugh, and suddenly, the two got ready to sing.
“Okay, we’re probably going to get ripped apart for starting with this song, but it’s one of my absolute favorites, so let’s hope the guys who actually sing it aren’t here yet, yeah?” Y/N said into the microphone before counting them in. The beginning notes of All My Living Time began, and the crowd went wild. Both Jensen and Steve looked on in surprise as Hunter started the song. That surprise turned to shock when they heard the smooth and smoky voice Y/N belted out as she picked up the second verse.
All My Livin’ Time
Spent in my own way
Whiskey, women, wine
Morning, night, and day
But you move me, baby
All my livin’ time
All my livin’ time
“Holy shit,” Jensen breathed, smiling widely. Her voice and how comfortable she looked behind a microphone blew him away. She hadn’t even hinted at being a singer on the plane, and to discover it like this… Jensen felt like he was in another universe altogether.
When they finished the song, the crowd exploded into applause. Y/N’s smile was bright as she thanked them. Jensen looked on, eyes wide with wonder.
“This next song is one of my favorites to play and sing. So I hope you’ll indulge me. Make sure you sing along at the right spots, alright?” she said, grabbing a purple acoustic guitar with a smattering of stickers all over it, and she began playing a Doobie Brothers song. Her voice played into the music perfectly; her brother partnered the song beautifully.
“Go to the back of the stage and meet her when she’s done!” Steve said, elbowing him in the side.
“Yeah,” Jensen said under his breath before moving. The two siblings played together for the next 20 minutes, and soon, she finally waved at the crowd.
“Thank you!” she shouted to everyone before heading behind the stage, where she ran head-first into none other than Jensen Ackles. The two stared at each other, Y/N surprised and Jensen in hope.
“Hi,” Y/N said timidly. Jensen’s smile grew as he stepped up to her slowly, a hand going to her neck and pulling her close, crashing his mouth to hers. A soft whimper escaped Y/N as she returned his passionate kiss. Her arms ended up wrapped around his neck, pulling him closer. They only broke apart at Chester, barking at them incessantly.
“You feel this, right?” Y/N asked breathlessly, her blue eyes wide. It was a stupid question, but she had to be sure. “Tell me I’m not the only one feeling this.”
“You’re not the only one feeling this. I felt it on the plane,” Jensen sighed, a hand reaching up to brush her hair away from her face. Y/N smiled slightly.
“Why didn’t you say anything then?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way. You acted so normal; I was afraid I was the only one who felt it,” he said quietly. Y/N shook her head.
“I knew the moment our eyes met that you were my soulmate. I’ve just been so used to acting like everything is normal, and nothing bothers me. When you didn’t say anything…” she trailed off.
“I should have said something. When I woke up and you were gone, my heart shattered. I didn’t even realize I had fallen asleep on you,” he smirked.
“You looked cute asleep,” she giggled.
“You look cute now,” he whispered, pulling her close for another kiss, this one more gentle. When their lips touched, everything else faded away, and all they knew was each other. What started as a gentle touching of the lips soon turned deeper, less frantic, and they tasted each other for the first time. It was new and familiar all at the same time. Jensen’s hands wound into her hair as Y/N clutched at his waist.
“Get a room, you two!” they heard a voice yell, causing them to break away, panting. Y/N escaped with a giggle as she ducked her head, her cheeks red in embarrassment. Jensen sent a mock glare over to whoever shouted at them.
“Daddy! Daddy!” a small voice cried. The group looked down at Arrow, her little face painted with swirls of white and pink with glitter. “Who is she?” With a broad smile, Jensen picked up Arrow and placed her on his hip.
“This is Y/N, Daddy’s soulmate,” he answered, looking at Y/N fondly. “Y/N, this is my daughter, Arrow. Can you say hi?”
“Hi,” she cooed quietly, waving shyly. Y/N grinned at the little girl, melting at the sight of Jensen holding a child.
“Why, hello there, Arrow. I love your face paint,” Y/N said. Arrow giggled delightfully.
“Can I pet your doggy!?” she asked excitedly. Y/N laughed lightly and nodded.
“Of course, you can. Chester, come here. Sit…”
Arrow dug her hands into Chester’s dark fur and giggled when Chester licked her on the nose, his tail wagging wildly. It was as if the dog knew these children would be important to Y/N.
“I have so many people I want you to meet,” Jensen said, holding her hand.
“Let’s get to know each other first,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Now that I’ve found you, I want to know everything about you.”
“Let’s start with a beer,” he said, gesturing to the brewery's main building.
“And stories,” she added, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “I want to know it all.”
Jensen smiled again, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. He scooped up Arrow, and Y/N called for Chester to follow her as they made their way to the brewery. Their hands found each other, fingers intertwining, and soon, it was as if they were in a world all their own.
Summary: Dean Winchester is an addict and an alcoholic, a USMC veteran, a father, and an older brother. As Battalion Chief with Lawrence Fire & Medical, Dean comes under investigation when he makes a dangerous and impulsive decision, defying his superiors and abandoning the team he is supposed to lead. He is given the choice to go to rehab for 28 days or jail. His lawyer insists on rehab, and Dean begrudgingly abides.
Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Emma Winchester, Jack Kline, Meg Masters, Billie, Pamela Barnes, Missouri Moseley, Gabriel, Lydia, Casey, Bobby Singer, Castiel, Jo Harvelle, Ellen Harvelle, Crowley, Rowena, Tessa, Victor Henriksen, Nick Iblis (Lucifer), Zeke Gadreel, Constance Welsh
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, sexually explicit, dubious consent, emergency action, fire, drug use, angst, thoughts of death and dying, flashbacks, teen endangerment, references to underage drug addiction and prostitution, drug and alcohol withdrawal, Dean Winchester goes to therapy
Words: 33K (epilogue to come)
Author’s notes: Inspired by the film 28 Days and following canon themes from SPN, this is a fic about Dean, a firefighter who goes to rehab, not about Dean as a firefighter. Many thanks and all my love to @brrose-apothecary and @stusbunker for their unending support, readings, and conversations about things that matter.
@quickreaver and I are bringing WinterNatural back for 2024 with gorgeous art by @aomasade as the event banner and promo pic.
Same event as last year; anyone can submit as many prompts as they like either anonymous or not. Anyone can claim to write or art for as many prompts as they wish.
Prompt meme hosted on AO3 Prompt Form || Profile
SPN or SPN RPF
Submit a prompt or 20
Take a prompt to art or write for or 20
All fills should be finished by December 31, 2024 but the collection and event will remain open beyond that.
Summary: One date with your best friend’s brother leaves you wanting more, even though his questionable job and vagabond lifestyle make you want to guard your heart. When your brother falls into trouble, however, Russell is the one you trust to help you find him.
AN: *Deep breaths* Are you ready? 😉
Word Count: 4.4K
Tags/Warnings: Angst, protective Russell, perilous situations, violence, character death, and another (literal) cliffhanger…
💜 Series Masterlist
Part 3: "Timer Starts Now"
As he drove away from the museum, Colter could see it even more clearly.
“You like her,” he said, giving his older brother a smile.
Russell glanced at him, then rolled his eyes.
“Focus on the road,” he said.
“Just admit it. You like her,” Colter smirked. “And the fact that she called you for help isn’t a coincidence.”
Russell made a sound of annoyance and shook his head. At this point, he knew Colter wasn’t going to drop the subject.
“All right, we went out on one date,” Russell held up a finger. “It was fun, but we agreed that I’m just not relationship material.”
Colter sobered at that, at the wry tone of his voice. It sounded like Russell liked you even more than he was willing to admit.
“Do you have a timeline on that brewery?” Colter asked.
Russell chuckled humorlessly. “Yeah, I’m just a few dollars short on that one.”
He stared out the window for a while, but he eventually turned back to his brother.
“She called me because her brother’s a vet. Because I know what it’s like to deal with the assimilation process, coming back to civilian life. Trying to figure out where you belong, you know?” he said.
“You think you’ve assimilated?” Colter asked.
Russell shrugged. “Best I know how, anyway.”
“You can’t really call yourself a civilian though, can you?” Colter pointed out.
Russell shot him a look. “Yeah well, neither can you, Colt.”
That created a kind of tension in the car. A call from Bobby, Colter’s analyst, mercifully broke the silence. He’d gotten some useful information on Eddie Mendez, the man Charlie was supposedly working with, or for.
“Well, he’s not the most upstanding citizen,” Bobby said. “He’s a cocaine dealer by trade. Other fun items on his rap sheet include illegal gun possession, theft, and domestic violence.”
“All right, thanks, Bobby,” Colter said.
Great, Russell shook his head. Just what had your brother gotten himself into?
They were getting closer to the bar, and it mentally brought him back to his date with you.
Okay, maybe he did like you. But he also respected and understood your reasons for cutting things short that night. Usually, he was okay with being in a new town every other week, the occasional one-night stands, the skeevy motel rooms and the fast food. It was all with a goal in mind, and that made the hustle easier.
He’d started to wonder though, what it would be like to set down roots somewhere. Doug made it work with his wife and still did his contract work, even if there were some major pros and cons to that too…
Russell was only broken out of his thoughts when he got a call himself, from Dory. He answered it and held the phone to his ear.
“Hey, D. What’s up?” he asked.
“Russell, something’s wrong,” she said. Her voice was panicked.
He frowned, his brows furrowing. “What? What happened?”
The more he listened, the more his eyes widened in shock. He looked to his brother.
“Colter, turn around. Now.”
Russell and Colter arrived back at your house, where Dory was parked out front. She came out of the safety of her car when she saw them. Russell got to her first. He laid a hand on her shoulder in the driveway.
“What happened?” he asked.
She tearfully explained that she found your purse in the bushes, but your phone was missing. She had just picked up your call when it suddenly cut off.
“But I heard her scream,” Dory said, with a stifled breath.
Russell’s mood darkened in response, and the longer he took in the scene. He looked over at Colter, who also wore a frown.
The tracker examined your car and driveway first. Already he found signs of struggle. He noticed a couple pieces of dark glass on the pavement, and when he scrutinized his surroundings further, he picked your broken phone out of the grass. The screen was cracked beyond repair.
Next, he climbed the three short steps of the porch, up to the front door of the house. There were marks on the doorknob, likely scratched by a key. He spotted the Ring Camera next.
Good. He took it right off the wall.
“Do you have her keys there?” he asked his sister. Dory handed them to him and he let himself in. “Let’s see what we’re dealing with.”
The three of them entered your house and found it dark and empty. Colter switched the lights on and got to work, after going back to grab his laptop from the car.
Russell stayed with his sister on the couch, a supportive hand on her back. He tried to shove his anger and upset deeper below the surface.
Meanwhile, Colter had Bobby retrieve the data from the camera. Within a few minutes, he sent Colter a video file, which Colter then played on his laptop. The three of them watched you approach the door.
Someone with a man’s build grabbed you from behind, wearing dark clothes and a mask that obscured his face. You screamed and tried to fight, but the man dragged you away as you struggled.
Russell’s frown deepened as his body tensed with anger again, his jaw ticking as it clenched. And then came the self-loathing.
Rookie fucking move. Should’ve made sure she got home safe, he thought. Better yet, should’ve kept her with me.
Dory covered her trembling mouth and dissolved into tears. Russell tucked her against his side, rubbing her arm. Colter laid a hand on her shoulder as well, but he continued to analyze the footage. He couldn’t make out the attacker’s face with the mask he was wearing, but Colter saw a blue sedan in the background. It peeled off after you were hauled off-screen.
“Why would they take her? What the hell is Charlie into?” Dory said. She sniffled and wiped at her face.
“To keep her quiet after she started digging into his disappearance, possibly. Or for leverage against him,” Colter said, leveling her with honesty. “Someone doesn’t want us to find Charlie. I’m betting it’s whoever he’s working for.”
He thought it was safer if he didn’t tell his sister exactly who Charlie’s employer was.
Dory shook her head in worry. “We need to call the police.”
Colter shared a grim look with his brother. He knew Russell understood the score here.
“If we get the police involved, it’s at least a 50% chance that whoever has her and Charlie…will kill both of them,” Colter said. Dory sucked in a trembling breath.
“Our best bet is to keep digging,” Colter said.
“Let’s go,” Russell said, nodding at him. He stood, parting from his sister with a hand squeezing her shoulder.
“Where are you going?” Dory asked. She got up to her feet along with her brothers.
“Howley’s. It’s our only lead on Charlie’s employer,” Colter replied.
“Okay, but wait—” Dory reached out for Russell’s arm. It was a reflex as she tried to wrap her mind around all of this.
Russell grasped her shoulders gently enough, but he made sure she saw the sense of urgency in his eyes.
“We don’t have time,” he said. “From here on out, every second counts.”
After a beat, Dory nodded in acceptance. She let go of his jacket.
“Okay, keep me updated.”
“Will do,” he said, and he swiftly followed Colter out the door.
The brothers drove in silence to the bar. Colter noted his brother’s tension, and the grim set to his jaw.
“Hey,” Colter said, earning Russell’s attention. Colter gave him a reassuring look. “We’re gonna find her. We’ll find both of them.”
Russell exhaled. “Yeah.”
Oh, he knew he’d find you eventually, and your brother. He just didn’t want to think about how he might find you.
Once they got back to Howley’s, they started by questioning the bartender about Eddie Mendez.
“He’s not here. But that’s a couple of his friends over there,” the bartender said. He pointed them in the direction of a couple of guys drinking near the back. Three of them were sitting at a table playing cards.
Russell recognized two of them. One was the same guy who made the mistake of hassling you by the pool table. He’d gotten a bloody nose for his trouble. Russell smirked at the memory.
“Pete, make a fucking move already,” said one of the guy’s buddies.
Russell caught it as he and Colter approached them. This time, Pete seemed at least somewhat sober, even with his second beer in hand. Another bottle sat empty beside his arm.
“Hey, fellas,” Russell greeted the table. “Little Blackjack, little booze. Looks like a good night you’re having.”
“Do I know you?” Pete asked. His face showed a spark of recognition when he took in Russell.
“Well, you’re about to. We’re looking for one of your friends, Eddie,” he replied.
Pete set his beer down on the table. Predictably, he crossed his arms and closed up.
“I don’t know no Eddie.”
Russell resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“I realize it’s hard for you, but don’t be dumb. Eddie Mendez,” he pressed.
Pete glanced at his friends, then he stood from the table, drawing himself to his full height. He was a bit bigger than Russell, but a beer gut wasn’t everything.
Russell seized up the man in front of him with an almost lazy grin. By contrast, his eyes were sharp, betraying his true thoughts.
“Now remember. Whatever you start, I’m gonna damn well finish,” he said.
That sure ignited Pete’s memory. He seemed to be remembering your smaller fist nearly breaking his nose. His face fell with an angry frown. Russell smirked.
Colter laid a warning hand on his brother’s arm.
“We’re not looking for trouble. We’re just trying to find someone Eddie might know. Charlie,” Colter said. “Do you know him?”
“No, I don’t,” Pete claimed.
“Like you didn’t know Eddie?” Colter replied, raising a brow. “Where can we find him?”
“Now you are looking for trouble,” Pete spat. “Fuck off, Timberlake.”
Just then, Colter’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out and saw a text from Dory, asking for an update. He ignored the message for now and put his phone away.
Hearing a commotion, he quickly looked up in time to realize that Russell had wrangled Pete into a stronghold with his arm behind his back and had slammed him onto the table. Drinks and bottles rattled and spilled; playing cards fell to the floor. Pete’s friends got up with angry, threatening gaits.
“I think you can point us in the right direction before I break this meaty arm of yours. How about that?” Russell said.
“Hey! No fighting!” the bartender called from the front. “Take that shit outside.”
Colter internally sighed, but he’d have to roll with this, even though this wasn’t how he’d wanted to play it.
“I wouldn’t test him,” Colter advised. “That’s gonna be a bad break. You got good health insurance, Pete? You’ll probably need surgery, expensive bills, a little physical therapy, a few months of recovery time.”
Pete seemed to weigh Colter’s logic, albeit with an angry huff. He waved off his friends and caught his breath while pinned against the table.
“I can’t talk to you,” he said. “I’ll get myself killed.”
“I’d worry more about your odds right now, Pete,” Russell said. He tightened his twisted hold on the man’s arm, earning a strangled sound of pain.
Colter weighed the options here in record time, and he came to a decision. He grasped Russell’s arm firmly.
“Let him go,” he said.
Russell gave him a look of disbelief. “Colt?”
Colter implored him with his eyes. Trust me.
After a few more seconds, Russell’s lips pursed, but he let the guy go.
“Ah, fuck,” Pete muttered. After he was able to straighten up, he rubbed his aching arm and shot them both a red-faced glare.
Colter steered his brother out of the bar before a real fight could break out. He knew it’d become a bloody mess, and they didn’t have time for a night stay in a county jail cell this time.
“You better have a damn plan,” Russell whispered, as they neared the front doors of the bar.
“You know I do,” Colter replied.
They later sat in his truck while it was still turned off. Just waiting in silence.
A few minutes went by before the back doors of the bar opened to Pete and his gaggle of delinquent friends. As Colter suspected, one of them made a call. It lasted no more than a couple of minutes. Then, they piled into Pete’s car and pulled out of the parking lot.
Colter started up his own car, and he followed them.
You were led into what sounded like a warehouse. You couldn’t know for sure with this musty bag over your head and your wrists bound together with zip ties, but you clenched your teeth and tried to stop sniffling. Your fear made your heart pump fast and loud in your ears.
Voices echoed around you, arguing, yelling about shipments. You were shoved hard to the ground, and you gasped, instinctively throwing your hands out when your knees hit the hard cement.
“No…”
That voice was all too familiar.
The bag was finally ripped off your head, the edge of it catching in your frizzy hair. You blinked wearily at the florescent lights above, and you wiped at your tears and smudged mascara. Your breath left your lungs when you saw your brother, Charlie.
He was tied to a chair, shirtless and shoeless, beaten and bloody. Some parts of his skin even looked burned. His jeans remained, at least. But his face was hard to look at. His left eye was swollen, his lip split, his cheek cut and bloody. Both his eyes were red-rimmed, and he was sweaty and dirty, as if they’d been keeping him down here like an animal. He looked thinner too.
He stared back at you in dismay, your name falling from his lips.
You tried to scramble over to him, but someone grabbed you by the hair and yanked you back. You cried out in pain.
“Eddie stop! Don’t hurt her!” he shouted. He drew enough strength to pull at his restraints. Your hands reached back on reflex to grasp at the hand holding your hair.
“No, you did this,” Eddie said. He clicked the safety off his handgun and pointed the barrel at your head, right between the eyes. You gasped and froze where you sat.
“You couldn’t make it easy, huh? Well now, I’m making it real simple for you,” he continued. “Even more simple, now that we cut out the middleman.”
Eddie gestured to what looked like a woven potato sack laid behind Charlie’s chair, but really, that was just part of it. As your eyes scanned over, you saw the narrow shoulders of a man with a familiar dark blue blazer. It was stained red with a bloody hole carved through the back. Your breath stilled in your lungs.
Eddie glanced over at you, his lips curving. He walked over to the dead body, turned it over with his boot, and dragged off the potato sack to reveal the lifeless blue eyes of Dr. Feinman.
Your eyes widened.
You let out a blood-curdling scream that startled a pigeon out of the warehouse, from where it had been perching on a high support ledge. You leaned back on your bound hands, but you could go no further as one of Eddie’s men grabbed your shoulder, pinning you on the ground. His annoyed face told you to shut the fuck up.
Charlie grimaced and turned his face from the sight of the body. Both shame and hate filled his eyes when Eddie bent down to face him.
“Tell me where you hid the goddamn weapons,” he demanded.
Your lips trembled as new tears brimmed over and streamed down your cheeks. You’d suspected the truth, but it was different from being faced with the reality. Charlie was the one who stole from the museum. He’d likely been doing a lot worse for the past few months. And somehow, Feinman had gotten in between. He’d also paid the price.
Your brother saw your disappointment, and he accepted it. But lacking an answer, Eddie pistol whipped you in the face, earning a pained cry from you as you fell back onto the ground. You had to blink the stars out of your eyes.
After his shock wore off, Charlie’s face hardened with fury.
“Oh, don’t give me that fucking face,” Eddie said. He grabbed you by the back of the neck, startling another sharp breath from you. “If you don’t tell me what I want to know, what I did to you’ll be child’s play, compared to what I’m gonna do to her. And you’re going to watch.”
Against your will, tears filled your eyes while you stared at your brother. You were terrified, and Charlie knew it. He was scared too, but he also knew then what he had to do.
“I buried them,” he admitted.
“You buried them?” Eddie repeated. He brushed back his dark hair with the same hand that held his gun. “Ain’t that ironic. All right, where did you bury them?”
“In the national forest, less than an hour out,” Charlie replied. “But you won’t find it without me.”
Eddie shook his head on a sigh. “Of fucking course.”
He gestured to his men waiting nearby. He wordlessly gave them the order to untie your brother.
“All right, Charlie. Let’s go for a drive,” he said, and gave you a sleazy smile. “You too, sweetheart.”
He hauled you up onto your feet and kept you close to him, with a hand like a vice around your arm. God, you hated a sweethearting man.
You held your breath. You could only pray that Dory had noticed you were missing…and that Russell and Colter could find you before it was too late.
Please…
It was still dark out, but the sky was beginning to lighten when Colter pulled to the side of the road. The car they followed had stopped in front of a warehouse near an industrial downtown area. Colter spotted the blue sedan from the Ring Camera footage. It was parked out front.
With a shared nod of understanding, Colter and Russell climbed out of the truck and took the time to arm themselves properly before scoping out the warehouse.
“What does a drug cartel want with museum artifacts?” Russell remarked as they were gearing up. “That’s still not adding up for me.”
“It is odd, but maybe the idea came from Charlie,” Colter said. “He had access. Maybe he saw it as a way to buy their trust.”
“Okay, then what went wrong? Why’d they take her?” Russell replied. “I don’t know, man. Something feels off here.”
Colter nodded in agreement. “We don’t have all the pieces yet.”
But they were about to get them. They moved closer to the warehouse, with Russell heading towards a side door and Colter going around the back. They saw a few men crowded around a TV in the corner of the warehouse. Behind them were crates upon crates of what surely was product. Probably tens of thousands worth of coke.
Jesus, Russell thought. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but still. This was a serious operation.
Colter caught sight of a lone chair under a bright corner of the room. It was stained with sweat and blood, and some cut ropes hung from the seat. He alerted Russell to the scene with a subtle gesture of his raised gun. Russell’s face turned grim. He nodded minimally, then pointed with his eyes at the group of unsuspecting men. The brothers drew in closer.
Russell fired a shot directly into the TV screen, making it crash onto the ground. The men startled like rats, but they soon faced Russell and Colter’s guns. When one of them reached for the gun tucked in their pants, Colter aimed directly at him.
“I wouldn’t do that,” Colter warned.
“Where’s Charlie?” Russell demanded. “And his sister.”
He aimed his .45 caliber M1911 at their friend Pete, who had Cheeto stains on his shirt.
“How about you, Pete. You finally wanna share with the class, before I blow your fucking face off?!” Russell shouted.
The depths of his voice reverberated widely in the warehouse. It set the tone for things to come, if he didn’t get some cooperation.
Pete shifted on his feet, betraying his nerves. His forehead was starting to sweat too.
“They’re not here,” he admitted. “They left a while ago.”
Russell flexed his finger over the trigger of his gun.
“Tell me where,” he said.
Eddie wasn’t exactly an outdoorsy kind of guy. He kicked his boot against a tree while leaning against it.
“Fucking rock in my shoe,” he muttered angrily.
He was getting more and more frustrated with the uneven terrain (and the mosquitos) the longer the five of you trekked onwards: including you, Charlie, Eddie, and two of his men, Rick and Kevin. Both of them had guns trained on your back and Charlie’s.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie said quietly to you.
You shook your head. Disappointment didn’t even begin to cover what you were feeling as you looked at him, but at least they’d given him a shirt to cover his beaten torso. His face wasn't so lucky.
He righted you when you struggled on the gravel and loose dirt in your ankle boots. Your hands were still tied together too.
“What the hell happened to you?” you asked, as you caught your breath.
“I needed the money,” he said, though he knew it wasn’t an excuse. “I was his bodyguard.”
“He’s a drug dealer,” you snapped. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“He was my dealer,” he admitted, though his gaze was heavy. “I’m sorry. I just couldn’t bring myself to tell you, but…a few weeks after I left rehab, I slipped. I never really did quit. Just got better at hiding it.”
You let out a sharp breath, and tried to blink past your tears. Another disappointment, another heartbreak for the books.
“But when he offered me a job to pay off what I owed, he wanted insurance that I’d stick around. To prove myself,” Charlie explained. “He came up with the idea to rob the museum.”
“Why was Dr. Feinman involved? Did he find out?” you asked.
Charlie nodded with a sigh. “He caught me the first time I tried to steal the artifacts. I…I lied. Told him we planned to sell them. So instead of turning me in, he wanted to be cut into the deal.”
“What? Why?” you said. Your former boss was many things—a stuffy, self-important man chief among them—but you’d never taken him for a thief.
Charlie gave you a wry look. “Owed his second wife up to his eyeballs. Alimony’s a real bitch.”
You shook your head. That explained why Charlie hadn’t yet been a suspect in the theft. Feinman had probably helped cover Charlie’s tracks. But whatever shortcomings Feinman had, he hadn’t deserved to die like that. A shudder went through your body, remembering his lifeless eyes. You breathed out slowly and tried to rid yourself of the nightmarish image. You managed to push past that to ask your next question.
“And who chose the Native American weapons?”
Charlie’s lips pursed. He glanced over his shoulder. “He did. Thought they looked cool.”
Eddie smirked and waved his gun at him, spurring you both onward. Charlie kept walking and turned his attention back to you.
“The way I figured it, the museum shouldn’t have them anyway.”
Your lips pursed at that. You sort of saw his point there, however convoluted his justification, but putting those artifacts in the hands of a drug dealer was even worse.
“And this is so much better for them,” you said pointedly.
“That’s why I couldn’t go through with it. Tried to get out of the whole damn mess,” he said. “I know what you would’ve said to me. And I knew if I ever saw you again, I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eyes.”
Your tears welled up again, when you saw the sincerity of his gaze.
“Okay, this touching little scene is making my balls itch,” Eddie said. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulder and turned him around. “Where the fuck are we going? If you’re trying to pull something smart here, Charlie, I promise you, you’re gonna regret it.”
He cocked the safety back on his gun and pointed it at Charlie’s chest. Charlie raised slow, placating hands.
“It’s just a little further,” he promised.
“If you’re giving me the runaround—” Eddie started.
“Then what? Without me, you’ll never find it,” Charlie barked back.
Eddie’s face tightened, and he pointed the gun at you instead. You sucked in a breath.
Charlie quickly held up his bound hands again in surrender. After a beat of tension, he pointed up when he heard rushing water.
“Hear that?” he said. “I buried it on a cliff near a waterfall. We’re getting close.”
Another stretch of silence filled the clearing.
Eddie weighed Charlie’s words. When he was mollified enough, he lowered his gun away from you. At his command, Rick and Kevin kept you and your brother moving.
Charlie glanced to his right side. He realized that you all were walking near the edge of a steep hill that careened downward. Taking in a breath to center himself, he turned to you.
“I love you, you know that?” he whispered.
Your brows furrowed. You opened your mouth to reply, but you found the look in his eyes suspicious. Like he was saying goodbye.
That was when he swiftly turned. He snapped the heel of his hand into Kevin's throat and grabbed his gun while he was choking. Charlie shot him in the chest, then he clipped Rick in the shoulder.
Just as Eddie began to raise his own weapon, Charlie met your look of shock with his own determination.
He pushed you down the hill.
AN: I know, I know. Two cliffhangers in a row is cruel, but I promise we're getting to even more fun action and cathartic moments in Part 4! 😘
Next Time:
Russell called your name as he searched through the dense trees. Sunlight was beginning to filter through their leaves in dappled color on the trail. It gave him a better view ahead.
He stopped short when he saw a splatter of blood on the ground, painting the dirt and some dead leaves. A well of unease rose in his gut.
He headed toward the sound of running water, and he soon found another cliff. Just beyond it was a waterfall, and river below. Seeing no signs of life, he pulled back and continued to call your name, and all the while, pushing down his worry.
Happy Supernatural day!
It's been ages since I've posted something SPN related, and I wanted to commemorate the occasion by drawing something Season 1 related!
I hope you all like it!
Series Summary: Y/N has spent her life trying to outrun her mother's reputation. When she meets the rich and successful playboy, Dean Winchester, how quickly can he get her to stop running?
Pairings/Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N, Sam Winchester, Jessica Winchester, Lucy Winchester (OC)
Warnings: Each chapter will have it's own warnings, but there will be smut, seduction, virgin!reader, playboy!dean, Edwardian era BS attitudes surrounding sex and women. (Technically it's set in 1900 and the Edwardian era started in 1901, but you get it.) Angst, Fluff, all the good stuff that regularly pops up in my series. 😁
Chapter Warnings: Implied smut, angst, attempted sexual assault - it's stopped, but there is non-consensual kissing and fondling. Misogyny and violence.
Word Count: 5,115
A/N: Here's Ch. 14, the penultimate chapter! I so appreciate all the love and support you're all giving this series. Hope you enjoy the latest installment. ❤️
Series Master List || Main Master List || Tag Lists
Dean bounded up the stairs leading to his front door, two at a time. He needed to get in and out quickly. He was already running behind and he didn’t need to be waylaid by his family. He just needed to change for the show before going to pick up Y/N. He had a lot of clothes stashed away in her hotel wardrobe, but not his tuxedo.
Just the thought of Y/N made anger churn in his stomach again, but he pushed it aside. Thoughts of her had kept him distracted all afternoon, and it was affecting his work.
It was pointless to be angry, anyway; it didn’t matter enough to be angry. There had always been a fifty-fifty chance of her staying or going. Sure, maybe her decision to let him bed her the night before had confirmed for him that she meant to stay, but she obviously didn’t see it that way.
So that was the end of it.
He walked carefully through his front door, happy to find his home quiet; no one was around as he crossed the foyer to the wide staircase that led up to his bedroom. When he was halfway up, however, he heard Jessica call to him from the bottom.
“Dean! You’re here.”
He sighed. “Evidently.” He said as he stopped and turned back, trying for a smile as she climbed the staircase to join him.
“Why are you here?”
“Well, I do believe I live here.” He said sardonically.
She cocked her head and gave him a look that said she didn’t think he was funny. “You know what I mean. You’ve barely been around since we’ve been here. Or should I say,” she raised an eyebrow, “since Y/N’s been here.”
Dean gritted his teeth. “I’ve been busy with work. Which is why I’ve gotta get going now.” He pointed upstairs. “I’m late.”
Jessica frowned. “You’re late for work at,” she checked the grandfather clock on the landing. “at seven thirty in the evening?”
Dean sighed. “I’m taking potential business partners to The Manhattan, the vaudeville theater, for a show tonight. I’m just here to get dressed.”
He’d invited George Taskett and Simon Brighton, the owner of Clearwater Pulp and Paper to come to the show with them. He refused to believe the small voice in the back of his mind that told him he only did it so he wouldn’t be alone with Y/N all evening. He’d simply done it as an apology for being utterly distracted in their meetings earlier that afternoon.
He turned away from Jessica to start up the stairs again, but she reached out to grab his wrist.
“Wait. I…I wanted to talk to you.”
Dean sighed. “Sure. What is it?”
Jessica let go of his wrist to cross her arms over her waist, stepping up one stair so that she was on the same step as Dean, leveling their heights. It wasn’t often that Dean found himself standing nearly eye to eye with a woman, but Jess was very tall.
Perfect fit for Sam. Dean thought, even as the fierce look in her eye had him bracing for an onslaught.
“I was wondering what…what are your intentions with Y/N?”
Dean frowned darkly. “Excuse me?”
Jessica raised her chin. “You heard me. Y/N is a respectable woman.”
Dean’s voice was low and strained. “Have I ever insinuated that she isn’t?”
Jessica made a scoffing noise. “I know about the offer you made to her, and I believe that it was less than respectable.”
Dean’s jaw hurt from clenching it so tightly as he spoke. “My private affairs are no business of yours.” He said, turning away and starting back up the stairs.
“They are my business when they concern my governess, a respectable young woman that we’ve taken under our wing.”
She followed him up the stairs to the landing. “Someone we see as family!” She called out to him when he started up the second half of the stairs.
He turned back to her. “Y/N is a grown woman and is quite capable of making her own decisions. In fact, I doubt very much she’d appreciate this little conversation.”
Jessica stomped up the steps after him. “I know for a fact she doesn’t want me to talk to you, because she told me not to. But I thought…”
She reached his level again and stared at him for a moment. Then her shoulders deflated and she shook her head. “I thought I could get through to you. Make you understand that you’re throwing away a remarkable woman, kind and caring, beautiful, intelligent.”
Dean waved away her words, running up the rest of the stairs. “I’m well aware of Y/N’s attributes, thank you.”
“Then why wouldn’t you marry her? I mean my god, you love each other, that much is obvious, so I simply don’t understand your reasoning.”
Dean went deathly still, alarm bells screaming in his head. The same bells that had been going off for weeks now, maybe longer.
He looked back at Jessica and knew his anger was obvious. “That is absolutely not true and you have no idea what you’re talking about! I am not ‘in love’ with anyone, and I have absolutely no intention of ever being married!”
He took a breath and attempted to speak calmly, but his voice was still raised. “Now, since you seem to know all about my life anyway, I’ll tell you straight out that Y/N has refused my offer and will be returning home with you in a couple of days. Seems as though continuing on as a ‘respectable woman’ as you put it, has trumped being ‘in love’.” He spat the words out, his stomach bound in knots and the now familiar panic climbing in his chest.
He turned away from her again and Jessica chased after him. “I simply don’t understand you!” She shouted at him.
He spun back to face her. “You don’t have to understand me! You just have to mind your own damn business and stop-”
“Mommy?”
Lucy’s little voice interrupted Dean and he turned, still breathing heavily, to see Lucy standing in the doorway to her room, rubbing her eyes. She’d obviously already been in bed and their shouting had woken her up.
“What’s wrong?”
Jessica walked over to pick her up and give her a shaky smile. “Nothing, poppet. Uncle Dean and I were just…talking.”
Lucy pouted. “Loudly.”
Dean reached over to pinch her cheek lightly, trying hard to keep his voice level. “Sorry, kiddo. Didn’t mean to wake you. I’ve gotta go now anyway, so you go on back to sleep.”
He turned away quickly before Jessica had the chance to say anything more. He tried desperately to erase her words from his mind, but they summed up one of his worst nightmares and he had a hard time wiping them away.
***
Y/N was just starting to wonder whether Dean was simply not going to come, when she saw him appear on the other side of the garden doors, knocking gently.
She stood up from her chair and waved him in. He opened the doors and stepped through, bringing the scent of cold air with him.
He nodded at her and she smiled a false smile.
He cleared his throat before speaking. “I apologize for being late. Work went longer than I expected. But we made a lot of progress. I hope you don't mind but I've invited George Taskett and Simon Brighton to the show with us this evening. Just as a gesture of goodwill while negotiations are being finalized.”
Y/N nodded. “Of course. That's smart.”
He nodded back and an awkward silence sat between them for a few seconds before Dean picked up Y/N’s coat from the chair and held it open for her.
“Well, shall we?”
***
As they jostled along the New York streets, Y/N found herself getting more and more annoyed at the continuing silence between them. If this was how the rest of their time together was going to go, she didn't think she could take it.
She turned to look at his stiff profile; it was gorgeous like a marble statue, and just as unmoving.
She sighed. “Are we honestly not even going to talk about this?”
She saw his jaw tick. Movement at last! “Talk about what?” He asked, dully.
Y/N refused to answer such a ridiculous and redundant question, merely staring at him until he finally turned his head slightly to look at her briefly before rolling his eyes and looking forward again.
“What is there to talk about, Y/N?”
Y/N barked out a laugh without humor. “A lot, potentially.”
He growled slightly under his breath, and shifted in the seat so his torso faced her.
“Have you changed your mind? Hmm? Ready to accept my offer after all?”
Y/N's heart squeezed tight and she heard a voice in her mind shout a resounding “Yes!” But she shook her head sadly.
“No, but-”
“Then that's it, isn't it?! It’s finished. There's nothing else to discuss because we’ve already discussed it. So that's it, and we're done.”
Y/N felt like she'd been kicked in the stomach. She knew he was referring to the discussion being over, but the words went much deeper than their current conversation and they both knew it.
She nodded slightly and turned to stare out the front of the carriage again. “Yes, fine.”
A few minutes later, they finally pulled up outside The Manhattan Theater, which was large and impressive. The lobby inside held a glittering chandelier and lively art on the walls; Y/N knew that under better circumstances she would have been excited and eager to be there. But the world seemed dim now, all of it lacking in color.
Then, afew minutes after arriving, her evening got much worse.
George Taskett was approaching them with a smile, and walking just behind him was Byron Temple; and he was smiling the way an alligator smiles, like he’s just waiting to swallow you whole.
The two men reached them and George held out his hand to Dean. “Good to see you Winchester and thanks again for the tickets. I don't get out very often when we come up to New York, so this is wonderful.”
He patted Byron on the shoulder. “Hope you don't mind, but Mr. Brighton sent word that he'd been called back to the mill on some urgent business and couldn't attend. So, not wanting the ticket to go to waste, I invited Byron along.”
Dean's smile wasn't echoed in his tone.
“Of course not. Good thinking.” He reached out a hand to Temple and the man shook it, his beady blue eyes calculating and cold.
Dean stepped back and put his hand on Y/N's lower back. “You both remember my companion, Miss Taylor?”
Y/N bowed her head towards the two men. Taskett smiled warmly. “Of course I remember. Couldn't forget such a lovely face.”
“Indeed.” Byron said, smiling again and making Y/N's skin crawl. “You seem to have bloomed even more since our last meeting.”
Despite everything going on between them, Y/N pressed herself into Dean's side and was immensely grateful when he slipped his hand around the side of her waist to hold her there.
The lobby lights dimmed briefly, letting them know the show was about to start, so they all filed into the theater. George and Byron were sitting a couple of rows behind them, so they parted ways and took their seats, agreeing to meet in the lobby afterwards.
Y/N was very glad to lose Byron Temple's uncomfortable presence. But as she and Dean sat down beside each other, she began to feel the tension grow between them once again.
The show began, and the first act was a dancing clown who did a lot more prat falling than dancing. Everyone else laughed and clapped at his antics, but even though Y/N clapped along, she couldn't force herself to laugh.
She smiled politely through the other acts; a man and a dog who performed tricks together, a comedian who told vaguely risque jokes that she wouldn't have understood a few months ago, a male and female dance act who were decidedly better than the clown, and many other interesting acts. Sometimes they were very talented, and sometimes just unusual.
But Y/N knew that a few days ago she would have loved them all. Now; however, her heart was simply too battered to enjoy any of it.
Then, just before the last act of the evening, Lillian Russell came on stage. Y/N knew her name; she knew she was a singer. But judging by the reaction of the crowd, she realized that she must be an incredibly popular singer. The audience cheered loudly, clapping for a full minute as Miss Russell stood on stage, graciously waving and curtsying to the crowd.
As the cheers finally quieted, the orchestra struck up and the soprano began to sing. Her voice was rich and sweet - certainly beautiful enough for Y/N to understand the reaction she’d received. She sang three songs, to the thunderous applause of the audience. But as she tried to leave the stage after the third, the crowd cheered for her to sing more.
Someone near the front shouted, “After the Ball!” And everyone around him picked up the cry, chanting for her to sing the popular song.
Y/N's stomach clenched as Miss Russell smiled indulgently and held out a hand towards the orchestra. “Alright, just the chorus through twice then, shall we?”
The familiar notes of the waltz began and Y/N felt tears come to her eyes, letting them fall as the soprano's beautiful voice gave heart wrenching power to the melancholic lyrics.
After the ball is over,
After the break of morn—
After the dancers' leaving;
After the stars are gone;
Many a heart is aching,
If you could read them all;
Many the hopes that have vanished,
After the ball.
As the orchestra played the closing notes and the crowd began to clap wildly, Y/N dipped her head towards Dean quickly.
“Excuse me.” She said, rising and making her way to the end of the aisle and then out into the lobby. Those lyrics had felt a little too relatable and the lilting melody brought back the memory of Dean waltzing with her around her hotel room.
Was that really only yesterday morning? Y/N thought. It felt like a lifetime ago.
She quickly made her way to the ladies room, incredibly grateful that it was empty while the rest of the audience watched the end of the show. She sat on one of the padded benches and tried to get ahold of herself. This whole evening had been a mistake. After their disastrous goodbye earlier, Y/N should have begged off.
As it turned out, pretending she was fine when her heart was splintering into tiny pieces was actually remarkably difficult.
After a minute or two, Y/N felt a little more in control, and splashed some cold water on her face at the sink, patting it dry with her handkerchief and then tucking it back in her purse. She took a big breath and walked back through the door, stopping dead in her tracks when she saw the man waiting for her just outside.
“I saw you run this way.” Byron Temple said in a dark voice. “I thought I should come make sure you were alright.”
Y/N squeezed her hands into fists, immediately disliking the fact that the ladies room was tucked away under the stairs, hidden from the main lobby. She supposed it was designed to give ladies some privacy, but that was the last thing she wanted right now.
She licked her lips and tried to smile. “That's very kind. But I'm fine, thank you. Just powdering my nose. If you'll excuse me, Dean will be waiting for me.”
She tried to step past him, but he snagged her wrist and pushed her further under the stairs. She tugged against his hold, trying to break it, but he held firm.
“Don't know why you're running back to that bastard. I can see that he's made you cry.” He ran his thumb across her cheek and she slapped his hand away. He merely chuckled.
“I told you before, pet, to call on me when Winchester sets you aside. And I'm guessing by the tension between you two, and the tears staining your cheeks now, that it's either happened or is just about to happen.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” Y/N said in a harsh whisper. “Now unhand me and leave me alone.”
“Don't be like that, pet. I promise that I can offer you a lot more than he can. I'll show you just how a woman like you should be treated.”
Y/N yanked on her wrist again, speaking quietly but angrily. “You are disgusting and vile and I want nothing to do with you, do you hear me? Now let go of me this instant, or I’ll tell Dean what you've said here and he’ll-”
Byron laughed. “No you won't, and if you did, so what? Do you honestly think he’d care when he’s done with you anyway? Do you really believe he's going to toss away the massive deal that’s been brokered between our companies, a deal that’s been six months in the making - just because I upset his little whore?”
Y/N clenched her jaw, embarrassment spreading through her at the degrading insult. But she had no doubt of her answer. “Yes. I know he would.”
But Byron ignored her, yanking her up against him and shaking his head. “I think what you really need is a taste of what you're missing out on.”
Before she could even squeal a protest he slammed his mouth over hers, shoving his tongue past her closed lips and making her gag. Acting completely on instinct, Y/N bit down on the slimy muscle invading her mouth, making Byron swear and rip his mouth away from hers.
She could taste the coppery blood he left behind in her mouth, and then he backhanded her and the sharp taste of her own blood mixed with his.
“Fucking bitch.” He growled at her with quiet rage, pushing her backwards until she was shoved up against the wall. “I would have treated you so nice. But I guess now I have to show you what a real man does with nasty whores.”
He slammed his hand over her mouth and nose, cutting off her air and making her panic instantly. He bent his head slightly, attaching his foul mouth to her neck, while his other hand was shoved up her skirts, grabbing at her thigh and pulling at the ties on her drawers as she struggled against him.
Then suddenly he was ripped away from her and she bent double, gasping air into her starved lungs.
She looked up in time to see Dean smashing his fist into Temple's face, a loud crunch indicating that his nose was now broken. The older man fell to the ground with a howl and Dean immediately jumped on him, pummeling him endlessly with left and right blows, as blood spewed over the marble floor beneath them.
Coming out of her stupor, Y/N ran to Dean, pulling on his arm, just as a crowd began to gather. George Taskett pushed his way through the crowd to pull on Dean’s other arm, just barely managing to pry him off.
“What on earth is going on here?” He shouted, obviously very confused.
Dean was breathing harshly, and his tuxedo was askew, but otherwise Temple hadn't managed to get in even a single blow.
“I'll tell you what's happening!” Dean shouted. “The goddamn deal is off.”
Both Y/N and George gave Dean wide-eyed, disbelieving looks.
“Dean, don't.” Y/N said softly, beginning to tremble.
“What are you talking about, Winchester? What has gone on here?” George asked again, looking down at his Vice President laying on the ground as Byron covered his bleeding, broken nose and, horribly, spat out a tooth.
“If you think for one minute I'm going to do business with scum like this, a man so lacking in moralality that he would-,” Dean cut himself off and then waved dismissively at Temple, “well, then you're crazy.”
He grabbed Y/N's hand and quickly hustled her out through the gathered crowd. Y/N looked back helplessly at George Taskett, who seemed to be completely knocked for a loop.
Dean quickly hailed a cab and helped Y/N up into it. “Rialto Hotel, quickly.” He told the driver as he climbed in behind her. The driver clicked his tongue at the horses and they sped away.
Dean tried to look at her more closely in the dim light of the carriage, pushing her disheveled hair off of her face. But Y/N was shaking too hard now, as the terror of the situation came crashing down upon her. She just shook her head and buried her face in Dean’s chest, weeping uncontrollably now that she was safe.
Dean gave up trying to see her face and just wrapped his arms around her and held her close. He lifted her out of the cab when they arrived, and refused to put her down until they were inside the room.
She stood in the middle of the floor, while he quickly lit all the lamps and closed the curtains. Then he returned to where she stood and gently peeled her coat off of her shoulders. He stayed behind her to take the pins out of her hair, pulling it back off her face while she inhaled deep, shuddery breaths, finally calming down enough to speak softly to him.
“Thank you.”
Dean just shook his head and turned her to face him, moving her into the light a little more and trying once again to see the damage. She watched his face contort with rage all over again as he saw her split lip and the angry bruise she could feel pulsing under the skin of her right cheekbone.
But he gritted his teeth and his voice was gentle as he kissed her forehead. “Just wait here, sweetheart.”
He moved off to the bathroom and she heard him running the bath. Tears began to fall again as he came back and led her into the warmly lit room, filled with the scent of lavender.
He removed her clothes gently, and then helped her step into the tub. She looked back at him as he held her hand.
“Will you hold onto me?”
Dean nodded and stripped away his clothes quickly, stepping in behind her and sitting them both down in the warm, fragrant water.
For a little while he simply held her as she’d asked, pressing soft kisses to her temple and along her hairline. Eventually he took one of the clean cloths and ran it under the cold water tap for a moment before pressing it to the side of her face that was still throbbing.
“Y/N, what happened?” He finally whispered to her.
So she told him. Her voice was quiet and halting at first, but she eventually told him everything, including what had happened at the poker game.
Dean clicked his tongue. “Sweetheart, why didn't you tell me that sooner? I would have ended things with that snake immediately.”
“Exactly.” Y/N said with conviction. “That's why I didn’t tell you. I knew how important that deal was, how hard you'd worked on it, and I didn't want you to have to end it simply because of some insults from a jackass.”
Dean shook his head. “That wasn't something you needed to worry about.”
Y/N shrugged. “Of course it was. It was important to you.”
“Yes, but not more-” Dean cut himself off and Y/N felt him tense before he continued
“You should have told me.”
Y/N nodded. “Yes, I should have.”
Dean was quiet for a minute before pulling the cloth away from her cheek and kissing her there gently. “Ready to get out?”
She nodded again and Dean stood up to help her out of the cooling water.
He dried her off and then combed gently through her hair before braiding it, pampering her in much the same way as he had that first night they’d spent in the hotel together. Y/N knew she would have started crying again, if she’d had any tears left to shed. But she'd finally cried herself out and now she was just exhausted.
Dean tucked her into bed and seemed to hesitate a moment before climbing in after her and pulling her back against his warm chest. Her heart hurt, and her head ached, but despite that, her tired mind slipped, fairly quickly, into a very restless sleep.
Some time in the middle of the night Y/N woke to find Dean wasn't beside her. She sat up quickly and sighed in relief when she saw him sitting in one of the green chairs. The light in the room was dim, just one lamp burning, and he was cast in shadows.
“What are you doing?” Y/N called to him softly.
Dean got up and came to sit on the bed facing her. “You punched me twice in your sleep, and I thought maybe I was making you have bad dreams, holding you the way I was.”
Y/N shook her head and shuddered. “No. You weren't the bad guy in my dreams.” She whispered.
Dean pushed her braid back off her shoulder. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry I brought him anywhere near your life.”
Y/N frowned. “But it isn't your fault. You couldn't have known. I'm just grateful for the rescue.” She took a deep breath. “You know…he's the reason - one of the reasons - I said no to your offer.”
Dean tensed. “Y/N…”
But she just continued. “Or, well, men just like him. He called me…” The word stuck in her throat and she cleared it. “He called me a whore, you know. And…he wouldn't be the only one. Most of the world would believe the same, if I stayed with you.”
Dean's jaw ticked, but he nodded. “Yes, I understand. And I’m sorry for that. The world can be an ugly, hypocritical place.”
He licked his lips. “But what I’ve offered you, Y/N, it's…it's all I can offer. I can't…I won't get married, and I won't love you.”
Y/N felt what was left of her heart shatter completely.
Dean spoke softly, shaking his head. “I can't, sweetheart. I won't.” He reiterated before taking a shaky breath. “But you and Jessica are right.”
Y/N frowned, trying hard to keep the ever present tears at bay. “Jessica?”
“Yeah,” he scoffed slightly, “she took me to task earlier tonight. Said I had no right to make an offer like that to a respectable lady.”
He shrugged and one corner of his mouth lifted. “And she was right. You deserve more out of life than to be ostracized by the world. You deserve to get what you always wanted, what you told me you wanted all those months ago.”
He smiled at her gently and ran his fingers along her jaw. “You deserve contentment, children, a respectable cottage and a…” He paused and cleared his throat, nodding as though he was answering a question in his own mind. “And a compatible husband.”
Y/N wanted to shout at him that he'd made those things impossible now, that she wouldn’t find contentment without him, that the compatible husband she'd always wanted was sitting right in front of her.
But she didn't say any of that; he'd made his feelings very clear, and she couldn't fault him for not loving her. It wasn't a given that just because she loved him with every fiber of her being, he was going to love her back.
“I won't love you.”
At least he wasn’t lying to her - trying to hold onto her under false pretenses.
She smiled at him now, through her brokenness. “Yes, I'll hope for those things, I guess. But…”
She swallowed hard and tugged on his hand. “Will you come back to bed, and do those things you do to me that make me forget everything else? Kiss me until the world fades away to nothing but you and me?”
As he leaned in to claim her mouth in a searing kiss, Dean's bright green eyes glittered like jewels and she knew in that moment, that emeralds would always make her cry.
***
Y/N woke late the next morning and she wasn’t surprised by the empty bed beside her. She'd felt Dean disappear from her before the sun had even broken over the horizon.
She sat up and saw the note that was tucked under her snow globe on the table. She wrapped the sheet around her and walked over to sit gingerly on the edge of the chair that was closest. She stared down at the folded piece of paper for a couple of minutes before picking it up and unfolding it.
Dean's neat, bold handwriting took up the whole page.
Y/N read over the short note several times, hoping to find something more than the words on the page, but that was it.
She folded it back up and let it flutter to the floor as she wound up her snow globe and set it down on the table, staring at it as she rested her chin on her folded arms. For a long time, as her tears flowed silently, she drank in the frozen scene of permanent joy that could never be hers.
Just binged this series..... and can't wait to find out what happens next. Hopefully someone comes to their senses! Love the blushing virgin falling hopelessly for Dean Winchester (haven't we all?).
cw : gn!reader, fluff, frenemies to lovers, petty arguments, ft. sam!, dean is annoying obviously <3, reader speaks latin (i used google translate and it is probably very wrong lol), kissing, one mention of a sexual innuendo, a few joking death threats, non-serious mentions of choking, poorly edited, 2.4K words. requested !
summary : you tend to compliment dean in the dead language of latin after fights so that he doesn't know what you really think about him.
“you’re being ridiculous,” you frown at dean, arms crossed against your chest as you stare him down in tonight’s motel room.
“ridiculous?” he parrots, indignant. “this is baby we’re talking about. my car. you know, the ‘67 black chevy impala i would kill a man over?”
“yeah, i know her,” you reply, sarcastic in tone. “and your homicidal tendencies when it comes to her. i’m very familiar, dean.” you roll your eyes at him because you just can’t help it. dean makes it very easy to get annoyed at, for a multitude of reasons.
reason number one, he’s annoying. reason number two, he’s very hot when he’s angry. reason number three, he’s very hot pretty much all the time. it does not help that sam got first dibs on the shower, so he’s still covered in a bit of grime and blood from the hunt you just walked away from. it’s his best look, aside from any time that he smiles.
“well, then you should know that getting her perfectly tended to and polished leather seats dirty with wendy’s barbecue sauce is like a goddamn felony and i should sentence you to life of never even stepping foot near my car again,” he fires back, and if you didn’t know him well, which you do, you’d venture to guess that he’s joking. he’s not.
you groan in frustration. “for the last time, i did not get barbecue sauce on your car seats,” you insist.
“i saw you sneaking fries before we got to the room,” he counters, narrowing his eyes at you. “you could have gotten grease on the leather too.”
“i ate two fries dean, and i was careful. i used a napkin and i did not open my barbecue sauce!” you spit back at him. you can’t believe you’re arguing about this right now. except that it is so believable and so like you and him. it’s not like either one of you is going to back down, certainly not about something so petty and meaningless.
“then how come i found some in the back seat?” he says for what feels like the millionth time.
you throw your hands up in the air. “i don’t know! i don’t even use my barbecue sauce for my fries. there’s no reason for me to have opened it!” you argue, huffing out a frustrated sigh. “and how do you even know it was barbecue sauce?”
“it looked like barbecue sauce, it wasn’t there yesterday, you’re the only one who orders it and the only one who’s sat in the back since then. therefore, barbecue sauce,” he admonishes, crossing his arms over his chest to punctuate his point. you can’t help but laugh at him a little bit. he just sounds so ridiculous.
“well then, let’s say it was barbecue sauce—which it wasn’t. did the leather get damaged?” you ask pointedly.
“that doesn’t matter!” he practically rages, taking a step towards you. god, he’s beautiful and you hate him for it (you really, really love him for it). “what matters is that you got it dirty!”
“jesus, dean! just drop it, your car is fine!” you chastise, your voice raising a little in volume as you take another step towards him. you can see his light freckles better now. they’re so goddamn pretty it makes you want to choke him.
“just drop it?” he repeats, fuming. “i will not ‘just drop it.’ this is about baby. i can’t ‘just drop’ something about baby! how can i even trust you enough to let you in my car again, huh?” this is the point where he’s serious, but not that serious. there’s clear frustration and anger in his voice, but he’s stuck with you and he knows it. and when he asks that final question, his volume lessens and he shrugs. he’s looking for you to grovel or offer something to appease him. the question is whether or not to give him that. your instinct is, of course, to not. you let out a huff of breath.
“well, maybe because i’m excellent company in the car,” you suggest, a gloating tone making its way into your voice. “and i like your music better than sam does. which means we always outnumber him. that’s very important.”
he’s unimpressed, clearly. “you gotta come up with something better than that, sweetheart,” he goads.
you curl your lip at him and roll your eyes. “you absolutely suck, dean,” you state. he raises his eyebrows and you groan and roll your eyes yet again. that’s not the word to use around him unless you want a sexual innuendo thrown in your face. “you are absolutely horrible, dean,” you amend.
he laughs at you and his annoyance mostly subsides. “which means i have no problem getting back at you tenfold for getting goddamn barbecue sauce on my car seat.”
“te respicere bonum cum iratus es, ita dampnas,” you grumble, shaking your head and glaring at him. like tradition, you end the argument with a certain latin phrase full of choice words.
now dean, sweet, lovely, silly, gorgeous dean, has no idea what you’re saying. he doesn’t care to learn enough latin for that. he doesn’t need to know, he thinks. your tone of voice says it all. he thinks those choice words are the type that one fills an insult with. today you tell him, “you look so damn good when you’re angry.” which, funnily enough, is not an insult.
it’s the perfect way of looking him in the eye and just spitting it out. you get to say without consequence what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling, what you want to tell him so badly. it’s not the same as him knowing, but it helps. it eases your tension until the next time, it softens the blow a little.
sam fails to hold in his laugh behind you. you whirl around and glare at him, freshly dressed and out of the shower. you hadn’t even heard him leave the bathroom. narrowing your eyes at him, you tell your long time best friend, say something and you die. he puts his hands up in surrender, still laughing at you a little.
“shut up,” you grumble, then turn back to dean with a scowl.
“what was that little nerd exchange?” dean teases, realizing sam understood what you said.
“nothing,” you glower. “i’m showering now!”
dean throws his hands up in protest. “you’re making me shower last after getting barbecue sauce on my car?”
“dean, i swear to the lord in heaven, if you–”
“fine, fine!” he relents, the sarcasm and teasing still clearly present in his voice. “you’re right, you should shower first, you probably have barbecue sauce all over ya.” you raise your fist in a threat and it’s dean’s turn to put his hands up in surrender. “i’m just saying!”
“stop saying!” you groan. “just– stop talking, i’m gonna lose my mind.” if i have to stare at your gorgeous face and listen to your gorgeous voice for another second i will go crazy. you sigh heavily. god, you wonder if you could survive not kissing him. monsters and demons and all the strange shit in the world… that’s fine. it sucks but, jesus, at least you know how to deal with them.
but doing it all with dean? you have no idea how to deal with that. so far, it’s by arguing with him, complimenting him in a dead language, and keeping him at an arm’s length. and so far, it’s not working out too well, because you still want him. you still want him to want you back. you still wish and wish and wish that the language of love isn’t dead, not for you and him, not yet, at least.
maybe the shower will help. this motel doesn’t have the worst showers; the water pressure is decent and the water stays hot for a while longer than some others.
you’re not annoyed when you finish, at least, not about his stupid accusations of you getting condiments on his car seats. unfortunately, you are still annoyed about how attracted you are to him. even more unfortunate, you suppose, is that you’re attracted to him, period.
you sigh because you can’t bring yourself to actually try not to be. not that anyone can reverse feelings, but you let your feelings run rampant, more than you should sometimes. you let him eat away at your heart like a goddman movie zombie that’s too stupid to remember it eats brains. then, you figure that the thought of him eats away at your brain too, because he messes with your rationality sometimes.
his eyes are on you as you leave the bathroom and you wonder if sam’s tattled on you. when you shoot him a look he shrugs and shakes his head. you’re not convinced, but you let it slide. you plop down on the pullout couch bed and pack your old clothes away, ignoring dean’s heavy gaze. only when the door to the bathroom opens and closes do you flop against the bed with a heaving sigh.
“i hate your brother,” you grumble, barely loud enough for sam to hear as the muffled sounds of the shower turning on hits your ears. you turn to your side and curl up, not even bothering to pull the sheet over yourself.
you can’t see sam, but you hear him scoff from his spot on his own bed. “sure you do,” he quips, completely sarcastic.
“no, i really, really do,” you insist, not meaning a word of it.
“well, he hates you too, then,” he answers, voice heavy with implication. you know what he means because he knows what you mean. hate, of course, is love.
“no, he doesn’t,” you counter, sad about it. you bet that no one’s ever sounded so disappointed that someone doesn’t ‘hate’ them.
“you’re hopeless.” sam’s probably shaking his head at you as he reads the words on the book in his lap.
“i’m hopeless,” you sigh.
⟢⟢⟢
it’s not until a few days later that dean confronts you about your little latin digs at him. sam did tattle, only because he’s tired of your pining, but dean won’t tell you that. he’s smart enough to know you’ll end up with your hands around sam’s neck if you end up finding out, and he’s not trying to have his… person strangle his little brother.
“hey, idiot,” he starts, the word layered with affection. “why do you always insult me in latin? sorta feels like you lose the point of insulting someone to their face like that.”
he’s leaning against the hood of his car, beer in hand like always. it’s oddly uncommon to find yourself like this; outside, alone with him. the motel’s not busy and there are barely any other cars in the parking lot, and even less people. it’s just you and him as far as you can see. the night air is mild, cicadas singing as summer begins to slip away.
“well… maybe the point is that you know i’m saying something about you, but you don’t know what,” you shrug, sort of proud of the smooth answer. you’re not even lying. inside, you’re panicking a bit. this is dangerous territory.
“the stuff you’re saying is that horrible, huh?” his tone suggests a joke. his eyes suggest otherwise. it makes you pause.
how unfair is it, to the both of you, to lie? to even joke that you’d say such mean things about him? about dean winchester, whom you know sort of hates himself. who has just two people by his side, you and sam.
and you, who only argues with him because it’s easier than being nice. you, who deserves what you want but won’t let yourself even try to have it.
“no,” you sigh out. “i’m not saying horrible stuff about you.” you don’t look at him, you don’t mess around. you take the joking in his voice and strip it away. you take the look in his eyes and put it in yours. it makes him look at you, for once. it’s easy to imagine his eyebrows raising, his lips caught somewhere between his signature smirk and a curious frown. “not in latin, anyways,” you add, letting a huff of laughter leak into your bitter voice.
dean keeps looking at you. you know you’re supposed to explain after saying something like that, but you’d much rather not.
“no?” he asks finally. now you have to say something more.
“no,” you confirm, still staring at the trees across the street instead of him. the street lights are orange in color, and it feels either cruel or hopeful that it’s such a beautiful night. “i… say it in latin because it’s something nice. and you can… ignore this, if you want. i say it in latin because i like you a lot, dean. y’know, more than a stupid, fucking friend.” you roll your eyes a bit, like you’re upset with yourself. then you swallow thickly and ignore the fact that you can see him in your peripheral vision. he doesn’t look like he normally does. he doesn’t look angry.
dean is torn between teasing you and kissing you. you sound mad about the fact that you have feelings for him, like you wish you didn’t. ‘more than a stupid, fucking friend’ is a real funny way to phrase things, if he’s honest with himself. the question is, does he say that to you, or does he look for something better to say? he’s not good with ‘better things to say,’ whatever that might be.
“a little aggressive for a love confession, no?” his voice isn’t even that teasing. it’s sort of gentle. he wants to slap his hand over his mouth for saying that godforsaken four letter word. you had said ‘like.’ it’s freudian slip, he supposes, since he loves you.
“this isn’t funny, dean,” you murmur, voice sort of defeated. and yet, you hear it. it’s not funny to him either. he wasn’t trying to be funny, he was trying not to feel. he was trying to say at least something, because he was having trouble coming up with anything else.
“i know,” he relents. he draws in a deep breath. “will you look at me?” your lips part, then close. you blink a few times. you turn your head and look at him. god, he loves you back. he’s got to, or there’s no other way to explain how he looks at you.
and there’s definitely no other way to explain him kissing you. he looks you right in the eyes and he leans in until his lips are touching yours.
his eyes flutter closed, yours follow. you kiss him back, he kisses harder. the language of love isn’t dead. all you had to do was say something.
Summary: (Y/n) is just like an other woman trying to function in this fucked up world - and she's starts her day with coffee. At least that was always the plan until Dean interfered.
Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, slightly Dom! Dean, and if you squint there's maybe possessive/jealous Dean
MDNI! 18+
Word Count: 4470
A/N: So this is technically my first ever one shot! Woop! I've written this as part of my competition from a few weeks back, and this is for the wonderful winner @spookyysinsanity ! Hope you enjoyyy.
“Seriously, Dean? What the actual fuck!?” The audacity of the older Winchester brother had me throwing my hands up in frustration, my irritable tone bouncing off the walls in the kitchen and landing on ears that couldn’t possibly care any less.
“Should’ve got here sooner, sweetheart. You know how it is; first come first serve,” he tauntingly raised his coffee mug to my dishevelled figure standing over the empty coffee pot. The lack of caffeinated bean-water had brought a panic-sweat to my temples, knowing all too well how things would pan out if I didn’t get what I needed.
“How many cups have you had?”
“What?” He blinked frustratingly slowly - he knew what I’d asked.
“Jerk - I said ‘how many cups have you had’?”
“Hmmm…” he tapped his finger against the side of the mug, lips pursing over feigned thoughts.
“DEAN.”
“Maybe… three?” He shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly - although the nonchalant bubble popped when a sly smirk slipped through the cracks. My mouth opened and closed a few times, words forming and disappearing too rapidly through my mind to even make it past my lips as desperation sizzled into rage.
“You DICK!”
“Hey don’t yell at me - just make another pot,” he held his hands up defensively.
My eyes flitted over to the empty tin on the side - an empty tin left tauntingly in plain sight.
“You know damn well I can’t do that! We’re out of coffee, totally out. Zilch. Nothing. Empty.”
“Well,” he lifted his mug to his lips, “not totally empty.”
“What do you- oh…OH,” I felt my razor sharp glare zero in on the mug at his lips - there had to be at least half a cup in there with how little he had to tilt it up before taking a gulp. I took a step forward and jabbed my finger towards the prize.
“Give me that.”
He offered me nothing but raised eyebrows and a loud slurp.
“Dean.”
Again, silence only echoed back, however my frustration towards him started to buzz in my head as he slowly lowered the mug to unveil a slap-worthy grin.
“DEAN.”
He gently placed the mug on the table and turned to me, large arms crossing over his broad chest as he settled in his chair, thighs spreading wide for comfort.
“Wow, I thought I was grouchy in the mornings before coffee but damn, sweetheart you’re really claiming first place with that one.”
I took a step closer, my eyes practically burning a hole in the cup next to him on the table. His grin widened as he noticed me stalking forwards, like a predator ready to pounce on its unsuspecting prey. However my prey was incredibly suspecting and, in all honesty, not really prey at all. My bare feet padded quietly towards him, each tentative step raising more suspicion in Dean as my desperation for caffeine became all-consuming and my honed hunting skills became sloppy. I gave myself away when I tore my gaze from the mug and glanced over at Dean, catching his amused smirk and playful eyes before I lunged forward, hands grasping at air where the liquid-treasure should have been. Spinning on my heel after almost colliding with the table I turned to face Dean, now standing a few steps behind me with one hand wrapped around the ceramic and the other dipping lazily into the pocket of his jeans.
“Come on darlin’ you’re better than that.”
“Fuck you.”
A low whistle floated in the air between us before he tutted at me, shaking his head slowly.
“So mean.”
“Says you!”
“Hey I got here first - I'm the victim here. You're the one trying to rob me.”
“Don't play that game - you are not the victim here. All of your bullshit has been calculated,” I narrowed my eyes up at him as he traced his tongue over his bottom lip.
“Maybe it has been. Not much you can do about it now though is there?” His eyes glinted like the tricksters before he took another gulp of his coffee. I could feel my palms growing sweaty in apprehension, knowing all too well that the coffee level was dropping inside that cup.
Time to try a different approach. Something more… tactical.
“You know…” I pulled a lock of hair between my fingers, twirling it around, “you're my favourite Winchester.”
I paused and he raised his eyebrows, suspecting yet silently urging for more.
“Sam is just so nice and tall but…” I quietly stepped towards him, inwardly cheering when he made no attempt to move away.
“But?”
“But I mean look at you, so ruggedly handsome… and with that authentic ‘tough guy’ personality to make all the ladies swoon. And don't even get me started on these broad shoulders and big arms of yours…” I padded around him, tracing a single finger delicately up one arm, over the back of his shoulders and down the other arm. I almost missed the small shiver that ghosted over his skin and raised the hairs on his exposed forearms.
“Oh, so you like what you see?” He raised an eyebrow, his voice subtly dropping to a deeper tone.
I chewed my bottom lip slightly before stopping in front of him, a hair's breadth away. From here I could smell the masculine scent of his cologne - the same one I'd only ever known him to wear - and the subtle, intoxicating scent of leather and gunpowder. Combined, those three items were the very essence of Dean, the warmth of it all clinging to his clothes and practically seeping from his pores. I couldn't stop myself from taking a deep breath and letting the hypnotic scent travel straight to my brain. He’d always smelt divine, but I was never going to give him the satisfactory access to that information.
Upon tilting my head up to lock eyes with him, I could feel his coffee-scented breath fan over my face, the smell of what I wanted most almost making my mouth water. I couldn't let myself become enveloped in the addictive haze around him - I needed to remember what I was here for without letting myself become distracted.
Evergreen eyes flitted between mine, unsure of my next move. But the more I looked into them, the more dilated his pupils became. I couldn't help but grin a little to myself, relishing in his reaction.
“Come on Dean, just hand over the coffee. I know deep down that you really want to…”
He hummed, the sound a little gravelly as it emanated from his chest.
“You see sweetheart,” he smirked a little as he gripped the mug, lifting it to his lips. The action immediately caused me to take an urgent step forwards, a part of me truly believing that he would drain the cup right there and then. He must've seen the panic jolt through me as he released a small, breathy laugh.
“I see what?”
“You see… I don't think it's coffee that you need to stop being such a bitch in the morning.”
My eyes immediately narrowed towards him at his choice of words. He can make it so easy to look past his good looks when he acts like such an ass.
“What the actual fuck does that mean?”
“Oh I think you know what it means.”
“Fuck you, Dean.”
“If you want.”
“Go to- wait what?” I felt my heart leap in my chest, my mind unsure if I wanted to have heard him correctly.
His smirk spread across his face as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth, his mossy green gaze dragging over my figure as though I were totally naked.
“You heard me,” he took a step forward, his boots heavy on the hard kitchen floor. My cheeks burned, and I wasn't sure if it was from whatever scandalous thoughts of him I'd pushed to the back of my mind that I never intended to humour, or the rage bubbling to the surface at the sheer audacity from him, thinking I'd just accept this sort of shitty attitude.
“You’re crazy if you think that I’d let you in my pants,” the bewilderment in my voice was evident, and so was the growing frustration. This conversation had taken a wild turn and it’s safe to say that I didn’t like the direction it was headed. It was a rocky path of buried desires and a cocky male ego - a male ego that somehow knew what buttons to press to get my temper sizzling.
“Oh but sweetheart I could make it so good…” his voice was like caramel, becoming harder to ignore as he took another step forward, backing me into the table. I swallowed the almost nervous lump that had started to form in my throat, my heart rate quickening with every second he looked at me with those darkening eyes.
“And why would you want to do that?” I did well at hiding the slight nervous wobble in my voice. He chuckled slightly before breaking eye contact and looking down at his boots, thinking for a moment before shooting his eyes back to me, his intense gaze burning into mine.
“Because for once, I’d love to see that smart mouth of yours moan my name.”
I couldn’t stop that small gasp that escaped between my parted lips at his sudden bold statement, and that small gasp seemed to be all that it took to invite Dean in. In one fluid movement he drained the remainder of the coffee into his mouth and took a final step forward, closing the gap between us and wrapped a single strong arm around my waist, pulling me firmly against his body. His other hand quickly discarded the mug before grasping my face, his thumb pushing into my cheek and urging me to open my mouth. Before I was able to conjure a single thought he’d pulled my mouth to his, his plush lips covering mine before transferring that mouthful of coffee over to me. My eyes widened at the sudden appearance of warm liquid gliding over my tongue, the flavour of coffee, sweetened with sugar, would have soothed my senses if it wasn’t for the way it was administered. I hurriedly swallowed it down, not caring for the trickle that escaped the corner of my lips, now more preoccupied with Dean Winchesters mouth pressing onto mine. He allowed one… two… three heated kisses before pulling away, leaving me gasping and gripping the edge of the table for dear life. As he pulled away, he released his grip on my jaw, spotting the trickle of coffee and catching the droplets with his thumb. I didn’t intend to dwell on the action too much, at least not until he pushed his coffee-coated thumb past my lips and into my mouth, pressing lightly on my tongue. Still taken aback by the kiss, I stared up at him dumbly, my mind simultaneously racing whilst emptying itself of all logical thoughts. On instinct, I licked the coffee from his thumb, hearing a gruff hum of approval from him.
“Look at you - quiet for once.”
Before I could retaliate to his comment he pulled his thumb from my mouth and grasped my jaw again, a little softer this time as he guided my face to his. His lips grazed mine as he spoke.
“Have you finished acting like a bitch?”
I nodded.
“Are you sure? Because I think I should fuck you on this table here - just to be sure.”
The involuntary shiver that shimmied down my spine gave my innermost thoughts away when Dean noticed it; another smirk gracing his lips as he pulled himself between my knees and grasped under my thighs to lift me onto the table. I hissed slightly as the cold surface bit at my bare rear, the oversized Metallica t-shirt doing nothing to shield me as it rode up on my hips. There was a short moment, like a breath taken and held as we paused to look at each other. His eyes darkened like a forest at dusk, piercing into my own before studying my lips. I found myself doing the same to him, watching how his gaze darted up and down, frantic to find a focal point on my face whilst his lips parted, tongue poking out to wet them. We shared each other's hot coffee-scented breath, my heartbeat starting to echo in my ears as my blood began to run hot at the thought of him taking me right here on this table. He chewed slightly on his bottom lip, the fantasies of my own prurient mind running rampant at what that mouth was capable of doing to me. What I undeniably wanted it to do to me. Before another thought appeared he hastily leaned in and planted a searing kiss on my neck, his stubble tickling my ear whilst one large, strong hand planted itself just below my shoulder blades; his whole arm crushing me against him. Everything he did made me want to purr. His lips exceeded expectations as he kissed red-hot paths up and down my neck; my skin prickling when he pressed his lips below my ear and jaw, pulling pathetic whimpers from my lungs. He kneaded the silky-soft flesh of my thigh with his other hand, eventually causing me to gently hook my legs around him to ease the desperate need to writhe at his every touch.
“Dean…” his name left my lips as an airy gasp when the hand on my thigh travelled up, his thumb hooking under the waistband of my panties.
“What happened to that big, tough girl persona? Can’t really take it huh?” His taunting words went straight to my brain when he spoke them with his lips pressed right to my ear.
“Fuck, Dean… I hate you.”
He chuckled, placing a kiss on my cheek before uttering over my lips:
“Of course you do, sweetheart.”
As his sentence ceased as his mouth claimed mine, muffling the moan bubbling in my throat as his tongue pushed against my own. I reached one hand up to tug on his hair, dragging my nails across his scalp when the strands at the base of his skull were too short to grasp. He groaned into the kiss, lips moving faster at the sensation of my fingertips. His broad chest became a resting spot for my other hand, the taught muscle flexing beneath soft skin as I glided my delicate fingers up to clutch his shoulder. It was like being in a trance; the only thing I was capable of thinking about was him. Dean. The strength of his hand on my back contrasting the tenderness of the one on my thigh. The heat of his mouth, his tongue on mine, consuming my gasps and ragged breaths. His devouring reduced me to naught but lustful putty in his arms, especially when an assured hand slid from my hip to my ribs and a gentle thumb smoothed over the softness of the underside of my breast. The feather-light touch caused goosebumps to erupt on my skin, the warmth of his palm doing nothing to soothe them away. When a groan passed my lips at his actions, he gripped tighter, my legs instinctively pulling him closer. This time it was Dean that groaned, as pulling him towards me had pressed the ever-growing bulge in his jeans against the soft cotton of my panties. The sensation was electric, igniting the fiery ache between my legs as my thighs twitched when he didn't pull away - instead pushing himself against me harder. I sucked in a breath where I could, his lips refusing to leave mine, even to let me breathe. He was hungry. Animalistic. Dominating. I don't know what I'd been imagining when I was alone in my room in the depths of night, but this… this was something I'd never fantasised about. How commanding he was, how he pulled me in with stern words and an air of authority. Gone was the boyish charm and playful pickup lines - this was something that could easily suck me in and pull me under. He could drown me in sharp comments and tantalising games.
And I would let him.
“Look at you, twitching like a virgin,” he pulled away enough to huskily speak against the corner of my mouth. I moaned slightly, biting my lip when his thumb moved from the underside of my breast to my nipple, delicately toying with the perky skin.
“Who's to say I'm not?” My voice was more breathy than I'd anticipated, my head lolling back when he started to trail kisses down my neck again. My comment pulled a laugh from his chest, the sound almost cutting through the sexual haze.
“Oh darlin’, don't think I don't know about your motel room escapades - I was always in the room next to yours,” he finally pulled back slightly to look at me, the cool air flooding between us in his absence. As my eyes met his, my heart hammered in my chest at the raw blackness of his irises - pupils blown wide with hot arousal and leaving no soft greens in sight. I could feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment, realisation creeping in. Dean took it all in with a grin on his lips.
“That's right sweetheart - I heard it all. Every little noise you made when those jerk-offs touched you. When they tried to make you feel good,” his smile faltered slightly before he leaned in a little closer, “but you know, I never heard any of them make you cum. I only ever heard you finish when they were gone and you were all alone.”
He pressed more of those red-hot kisses just below my jaw, the hand on my breast descending, trailing a path down the soft skin of my abdomen before disappearing down the front of my panties. A moan tore from my throat when he slid his skilled fingers through my folds to gather my pooling wetness, his hum of approval ringing in my ears when my mind emptied at his fingers tracing circles around my clit. My grip on him was vice-like, whimpers already tumbling off my tongue.
“You know (Y/n), you should've just come to me. You should've told those useless bastards to fuck off and let me do everything you needed me to do,” his breath was hot against my neck as he spoke, and he finished his sentence off by finally pressing a rough finger against my clit. I whined like a bitch in heat as he went around and around and around, making me clench around nothing and crave him in his entirety.
“I would've done this to you every night - made you forget everything but my name.”
“Dean…”
“Thas’right sweetheart. Never would've left you unsatisfied.”
“Please, Dean… please… I need you to fuck me,” my words were desperate and I could tell he relished in that, suddenly plunging two thick digits inside me without so much as a word. My hands flew to his back, nails digging into broad muscle as I leaned into him, burying my flushed face into his neck and breathing in his intoxicating scent. He curled his fingers up and pushed against the pleasure-cushion inside me, knowing exactly what to look for and what to do with it. My legs tightened even more around him as I was unable to stop the euphoric twitches jolting through my limbs. He removed his hand that was pressed below my shoulder blades and lifted it to my hair, unclipping the claw-grip to let the unruliness tumble out. He practically chucked the plastic clip to the table before threading his fingers through my hair, grasping close to my scalp before tugging my head back to make me look at him.
“Now that you've dropped your attitude and asked nicely, I'm going to fuck you until you can't walk.”
He pressed his fingers inside me one final time, drawing another pathetic whimper from my lips before pulling his fingers out and lifting them to his lips. I watched, mouth agape and breaths ragged as he licked my slick from his digits, savouring the taste of me with a satisfied groan.
“That’s the best shit I’ve ever tasted,” his deep, gravelly tone had me reaching desperately for his belt buckle as Dean claimed my mouth again, his own eagerness starting to show. As I finished unzipping his jeans I pushed them down his hips just enough to dip my hand into his boxers and pull his cock free. A deep moan pushed its way into my mouth as I curled my fingers around his length, his size already intimidating as his cock rested hot and heavy in my palm. I wasted no time on gripping him tight, starting gentle motions going up and down again, and again, and again, causing Dean to move both hands to my thighs - his grip on me threatening to leave bruises. I dragged my thumb over his tip, urging a blissful shudder to surge through him as I smeared the gathering precum up and down his length. His lips never once left mine. I could feel him becoming breathless as I slowly increased the speed of my hand, so I caught his bottom lip between my teeth as a means to pull away for a moment. As I breathed in his contented groan, I pulled back slightly further to get a look at his face.
“Dean… Dean please - I need you inside me-”
“Stop fucking around then and c’mere.”
I squeaked a little at his harsh tone, unable to stop the next words from tumbling out.
“Yessir.”
I watched his brows knit together and his eyes almost roll before he dropped his head to my neck, grabbing the underside of my thighs and dragging me right to the edge of the table. With one hand he grabbed his cock and used it to move my underwear to one side before lining up and sinking in. The lascivious moans that spilled from our lips were almost harmonious, Dean pushing in to the hilt and forcing me to wrap one arm around his neck and the other to prop me up behind me - both stopping me from losing my balance under Deans intensity. Dean looked as though he was getting lost in a sexual haze as he crushed me against him again with one arm, having the decency to remain still for a few moments so I could adjust to his size as he eye-wateringly stretched out my insides - the sensation almost burning.
“Jesus- fuck-” his breath was slightly strained as he groaned into my neck, “now I’m mad that you decided to fuck lonely jerk-offs instead of me - with a pussy like this- shit- I would’ve been crawling back for more.”
He started to move slowly, pulling out gently before slipping back in - easing me into it with sexual expertise.
“Oh fuck- Dean- you don’t mean that-”
“(Y/n) you’d have to shoot me to stop me - you feel too fucking good.”
He started to up the tension - dropping every ounce of softness as he lost control of that part of him. He fucked the same way that he hunted monsters: raw, skilful and always in control - my mind racing with the knowledge of how dangerous this man actually was. He was Dean fucking Winchester, and here he was - fucking me over the breakfast table whilst I wore nothing but a band t-shirt. As he pounded into me and the intensity grew I was unable to stop the lewd noises tumbling from my lips. Such lewd noises however seemed to spur Dean on, the power of his thighs and hips inching the heavy wooden table across the floor.
“How are you still so fucking tight-” his words were almost slurred, his sexually inebriated mind seemingly becoming obsessed.
“Shit- Dean, I’m getting close already,” my eyes squeezed shut as I began to feel that familiar knot in the depths of my core. With every thrust he dragged over every over-sensitive nerve ending, unravelling me quicker than I’d even been unravelled before.
“Oh yeah? You wanna cum?”
I nodded my head vigorously, loose strands of hair falling around my face as tears started to well in my eyes. Dean glanced down at me without so much as a stutter in his hips, a slight grin playing on his lips even in a moment like this.
“Tears?”
“Fuck-fuck- you Dean, it's not my f-fault you're the first one to fuck me properly- oh God-”
“Well I'm glad it was me sweetheart,” he tried to keep up the slightly playful tone but I could see in his eyes that he was on the brink as well. Without another word he moved one hand to push lightly on my lower belly, his thumb dipping down to rub soft circles over that oh-so-sensitive bundle of nerves. I gasped at the contact, Dean taking the opportunity to plant uncharacteristically soft kisses on my parted lips before whispering:
“I need you to cum for me - I need you to let go. I've got you darlin’.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
The circles drawn with his thumb increased in speed and as did the pounding of his hips against mine.
“Dean- Dean please-”
I could feel him winding that knot tighter, and tighter, and tighter; lifting the euphoria coursing through my veins to its highest peak before the white-hot heat of orgasmic bliss erupted inside me. Wave after wave after wave of pleasure cascaded down, drowning me in the most earth shattering climax I'd ever experienced. I could feel myself tightening repeatedly around Dean, his thrusts becoming frantic before his own release rolled through him.
“Oh Fuck- (Y/n)-”
His guttural groan into the crook of my neck sent a shiver down my spine and goosebumps across my skin, the sound of him cumming making me clench even tighter around him.
“You squeeze me any tighter darlin’ and you're gonna kill me,”
“I-I’m not- I mean- I'm sorry?”
He groaned again when I twitched slightly, this time he pulled back to look me in the eye, taking note of the drying tear-tracks and smudged mascara.
“You good?”
“Y-yeah, I'm good,” I huffed out a deep, contented sigh, "I am so, so good.”
He grinned, the assertiveness from earlier seeming to dissipate and the good ‘ol Dean was returning.
“Best you've ever had?” His green eyes twinkled mischievously.
I playfully slapped his shoulder, not impacting the smirk on his lips whatsoever.
“Easy there cowboy - if your ego gets any bigger there'll be no living with you.”
“You didn't answer my question.”
I chewed on my bottom lip slightly, making him wait a little for the answer before I replied with a grin of my own.
