synopsis 𝜗𝜚 dean wants to stake claim on his girls after catching them with other men, but vixen sees through his possessive bullshit.
warnings 𝜗𝜚 possessive!dean | controlling | manipulation tactics | pregnancy coercion (?) | power imbalance | marijuana use | stalking behavior | emotional manipulation | gaslighting | using wealth/security as bargaining chips | objectification | period-typical misogyny (this is based in the 60s).
please take note! this fic depicts unhealthy relationship dynamics and should not be viewed as romantic or normalized.
sticky notes 𝜗𝜚 bree and i were talking about how this man would try and baby trap both of his bunnies because they have been sneaking around with other guys. he’s a certified d1 crashout.
the private lounge smelled like weed and expensive leather, afternoon light filtering through heavy curtains drawn halfway shut. dean sat sprawled across the red velvet couch like he owned the world—which, in a way, he did. at least this corner of it. the playboy mansion was his kingdom, and everyone in it played by his rules. or they were supposed to.
vixen sat cross-legged on the opposite end of the couch, filing her nails with thorough precision. the soft scrape of the file against her nails was the only sound besides dove’s soft humming as she held up another dress against her body in front of the mirror. vixen’s long black silk dress pooled around her, the thin straps showing off her shoulders, her bouncy curls framing her face. dove was already wearing one of her new purchases—a white corset-style mini dress with delicate lace-up details in the back, the soft silk bow tied at her neck to hold the dress altogether catching the light.
dean took a long drag from his weed cigar, the sweet smoke curling around his face as he watched them through half-lidded eyes. his white button-up was rolled to his elbows, the last button of his dark-colored vest unfastened, matching blazer thrown over the arm of the couch. he looked relaxed, casual even, but his mind was racing. had been for weeks now.
sam and anthony were in san francisco handling some distribution deal he couldn’t care less about. the other bunnies were scattered throughout the mansion, probably gossiping by the pool or raiding the kitchen. which meant he had vixen and dove all to himself. exactly how he’d planned it.
“that dress makes your ass look incredible,” dean said, voice rough from smoke as he watched dove turn in the mirror. the white corset mini dress hugged her curves perfectly, the lace-up back adding something innocent and sinful at the same time. she was barefoot, her french tip pedicure pristine against the persian rug.
dove glanced over her shoulder at him, cheeks flushing slightly. “you think so?” she asked sweetly, doing another little spin. the fabric moved with her, that soft silk bow bouncing slightly on her neck. she’d already tried on half the boutique bags scattered across the floor. all charged to his card, of course. he liked spoiling them. liked the way they looked in things he’d bought.
vixen snorted without looking up from her nails. “he’d say that about a potato sack if you were wearing it.” her voice was dry, unimpressed. she’d heard all his lines before, knew all his games. that’s what he loved about her—she never made anything easy. her black louboutin mules caught the light as she shifted, red pedicure visible through the open toes.
“jealous, doll?” dean asked, letting smoke drift toward her. she finally looked up, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow raised. her dark eyes held that familiar challenge, the one that made his blood run hot. she was wearing his favorite shade of red lipstick today. probably on purpose, just to fuck with him.
“of what? your recycled compliments?” vixen went back to her nails, but he caught the slight smirk tugging at her lips. “i’ve heard better from the pool boy.” she was baiting him. she always did this, pushed his buttons just to see him squirm. most days he loved it. today it made his jaw clench.
the pool boy. right. he’d fired that kid last week after catching him staring a little too long at vixen’s legs. not that she needed to know that. just like she didn’t need to know he’d been keeping tabs on all her little midnight wanderings lately. her and dove both.
dean leaned back further into the couch, arms stretched along the back, taking up as much space as possible. marking his territory without moving an inch. “speaking of the staff,” he said, voice deceptively casual, “how’s our new security treating you girls? simon settling in alright?”
dove froze mid-twirl, and vixen’s hand stilled on her nail file for just a second. gotcha, he thought, taking another drag to hide his satisfaction. he knew exactly how simon riley was settling in. knew about the way dove’s eyes followed him when he did his rounds. knew about the kisses they shared on the back terrace when she thought no one was watching.
“he’s... professional,” dove said carefully, turning back to the mirror but no longer really looking at herself. her fingers fidgeted with the lace-up details on her dress. sweet little dove, terrible at lying. he could read her like one of those romance novels she kept hidden under her pillow.
“very professional,” vixen added, and now she was the one with that casual tone that meant she was full of shit. “does his job. keeps his mouth shut. what more do you want?” she met his eyes again, daring him to push it. but there was something else there too. guilt? nah, vixen didn’t do guilt. but she was definitely hiding something. her bronx accent slipped through just a little, the way it did when she was defensive.
dean let the silence stretch, watching them both squirm in their own ways. dove kept adjusting her already perfect dress. vixen filed her already perfect nails with newfound intensity. his girls. his beautiful, lying girls who thought they could sneak around behind his back and he wouldn’t notice.
“just making sure everyone’s... happy,” he said finally, putting enough weight on the word to make dove’s shoulders tense. “want my girls taken care of. speaking of which—” he paused, pretending to examine his cigar, “—haven’t seen much of anthony lately. he been keeping himself busy?”
dove clumsily dropped the hanger she’d just picked up. it clattered against the mirror before hitting the carpet, and she scrambled to pick it up, face burning red. “i wouldn’t know, de,” she said, voice pitched just a little too high, her valley girl accent more pronounced when she was nervous. “why would i know what anthony’s doing?”
vixen actually laughed at that, short and sharp. “smooth, dove. real smooth.” she looked at dean with something like amusement. “you fishing for something specific, winchester? or just throwing nets to see what you catch?”
he loved how she called him by his last name when she was being difficult. like they were adversaries instead of... whatever they were. he’d been inside her just three nights ago, had her saying his first name like a prayer, but now she was back to ‘winchester’ like it was armor.
“can’t a man ask about his brother?” dean said innocently. “just worried about him. kid’s been distracted lately. coming home late. smelling like perfume.” he let his eyes drift to dove. “expensive perfume. the kind i buy for certain people.”
“lots of women wear perfume,” dove said quietly, still not meeting his eyes. she’d given up on trying on more clothes, was just standing there in her white corset mini, barefoot and looking like she wanted to disappear into the carpet. dean almost felt bad. almost.
“and lots of men notice,” vixen said, setting down her nail file with a decisive click. “including you, apparently. what’s this really about, dean? you bored? sam leave you with too much time on your hands?” the silk of her dress whispered as she shifted her legs.
she was deflecting, turning it back on him. classic vixen move. but he could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she kept glancing at dove like she was trying to protect her. from him. the thought made something ugly twist in his chest.
“just thinkin’ about the future,” dean said, stubbing out his cigar in the crystal ashtray. “about legacy. about family.” he let the words hang there, watching their reactions. dove looked confused. vixen looked suspicious. perfect.
“family,” vixen repeated flatly. “since when do you think about family? last i checked, your idea of family planning was making sure there were enough condoms in the nightstand.” she crossed her arms, the thin straps of her dress shifting with the movement. defensive posture. she knew him too well, could smell bullshit from a mile away.
“people change,” dean said, standing up slowly. he stretched, making sure they both noticed the way his shirt pulled across his chest. physical presence was a weapon, and he’d learned how to use it. “man gets older, starts thinking about what he’s leaving behind. what’s gonna last.”
dove had turned back to the mirror, but she was watching him in the reflection. “you’re twenty-six, dean. not exactly as old as you say.” her voice was soft, cautious. she could sense the shift in energy but couldn’t quite place it. vixen, though—vixen was already on high alert.
dean moved closer to dove, casual as could be. like a predator who didn’t want to spook the prey. “twenty-six and building empires,” he said. “but empires don’t mean shit without heirs. without family to pass it down to.” he was behind dove now, could see the way her breath caught in the mirror.
“heirs,” vixen said, and now her voice was dangerous. “is that what this is about? you having some kind of midlife crisis? want to play daddy all of a sudden?” she stood up too, all five-foot-three of curves and attitude. in her louboutin mules, she had a few extra inches, but he still towered over her.
“nothing wrong with wanting a legacy,” dean said, reaching out to touch dove’s silky soft dark hair. she didn’t pull away, but he felt her tense. “man builds something this big, he wants to know it’ll last. wants to know the right people will inherit it.” his fingers trailed down to her shoulder, playing with the delicate strap of her corset.
“the right people,” vixen repeated, and now she was moving closer too. “and who would that be, exactly? cause last i checked, you’ve got two brothers who—“ she stopped, understanding dawning on her face. “oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”
dove turned around, looking between them with those big eyes. “what? what’s happening?” sweet dove, still not quite catching up. dean loved that about her—the innocence. made him want to wreck it and preserve it at the same time.
“go ‘head,” vixen said, crossing her arms again. “say it. whatever insane thing is rattling around in that head of yours, just say it.” she was mad now, really mad. he could see it in the set of her jaw, the way her perfectly manicured nails dug into her arms.
dean grinned, couldn’t help it. she was magnificent when she was pissed. “just thinking,” he said slowly, “that maybe it’s time to make things more... permanent. you two are my best girls. my favorites. why not make it official?”
“official,” dove repeated, still confused. she looked at vixen for help, but vixen was staring at dean like he’d grown a second head. “what do you mean, official? we already work for you, dean.”
“he wants to knock us up," vixen said bluntly, and dove’s mouth fell open. “wants to put his babies in us. isn’t that right, winchester? got tired of us having lives outside this mansion?”
“now that’s a harsh way to put it,” dean said, but he didn’t deny it. why would he? it was true. the thought had been eating at him for weeks now. every time he saw dove slipping out to meet simon. every time that little shit monty came sniffing around vixen. every time anthony looked at dove like she hung the fucking moon.
“harsh but accurate,” vixen shot back. “you see us talking to other men and suddenly you want to brand us? that’s what this is, right? you can’t stand that we might want something else. someone else.” she was in his space now, close enough that he could smell her perfume. close enough to touch.
“would it be so bad?” dean asked, voice dropping lower. his hand found her hip through the silk dress, thumb brushing over the expensive fabric. “carrying my kid? knowing you’re mine?” he could feel her breath hitch, just for a second, before she covered it with a scoff.
“jesus,” dove whispered, sinking down onto the arm of the couch. “dean, you can’t just—that’s not how things work. you can’t just decide to... to…” poor girl couldn’t even say it, face flushed as red as vixen’s pedicure.
“c’mon, baby,” dean said, turning his attention to dove while keeping his hand on vixen’s hip. “lemme put a baby in you. both of you. think about it—set for life. no more worrying about anything. just my girls, in my house, carrying my kids.”
vixen slapped his hand away. “what the fuck, dean?” her eyes were blazing now. “you can’t just—this is insane, you know. actually insane.” but she didn’t move away. that was the thing about vixen. she pushed and pushed, but she never quite left.
“it’s because he’s jealous,” vixen said, turning to dove. “anthony, simon, monty—he can’t stand that we might want them instead of him. so now he wants to trap us.” she laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “my god, you’re predictable.”
“oh come on,” dove said weakly, “it’s dean. he’s just…” she trailed off, unable to defend him even in her sweet way. because they all knew what this was. vixen was right. she was always right about him.
“that man would tattoo his name across our asses if we let him,” vixen continued, pacing now, her heels clicking against the hardwood. “trying to get us knocked up is just another way for him to let everyone know we’re his. like we’re property. like we’re things to own.”
“would you rather me tattoo my name across your ass?” dean asked, and he was only half joking. the thought had crossed his mind more than once. vixen in his bed, his name permanent on her skin. dove too. matching marks for his girls.
“get away from me, dean,” vixen said, but when he reached for her again, she didn’t pull away. his hand found her ass over the silk dress, squeezing possessively, and she just glared at him. she was used to his hands, his need to touch. they both were.
“you haven’t said no,” he pointed out, thumb rubbing circles through the silk. “all this outrage, all this shock, but you haven’t actually said no.” he looked at dove. “neither of you have.”
“because we’re processing,” vixen snapped. “because our boss just propositioned us with the wildest shit i’ve ever heard, and i’ve heard some wild shit in this place.” but her voice was less certain now. he could work with uncertain.
“think about it,” dean said, pulling them both closer. dove came willingly, always did. vixen resisted but not enough to matter. “no more sneaking around. no more hiding. just us, here, building something that matters. a real family.”
“you don’t want a family,” vixen said, but she sounded tired now. “you want possession. you want control. you want to know we can’t leave.” her eyes met his, and for once, there was something vulnerable there. “what happens when you get bored, dean? when the next pretty thing walks through that door?”
“there is no next pretty thing,” dean said, and he meant it. “there’s you two. that’s it. that’s all i want.” his hands were on both of them now, holding them close. “let me prove it. let me show you how serious i am.”
the room was quiet except for their breathing. dove was slowly leaning into his chest, always unable to resist comfort. vixen was still tense but not pulling away. his girls. his beautiful, complicated girls who drove him half insane with want.
“this is crazy,” dove whispered. “sam would lose his mind. anthony would—“ she stopped, biting her lip. anthony. always came back to anthony. dean’s jaw clenched, but he kept his voice steady.
“i don’t care what they think,” he said. “i care what you think. both of you. so what’s it gonna be? keep playing these games, sneaking around with men who don’t deserve you? or let me take care of you the way you should be taken care of?”
vixen pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. “if—and this is a massive fucking if—we even considered this insanity, it would be on our terms. not yours. ours. you don’t own us, dean." her words hung in the air like a promise and a threat all at once. she was considering it. they both were. and dean winchester always got what he wanted. always.
currently thinking ab yearner!dean who’s secretly crazy in love w you, his bsf. he can’t tell anyone, not even sam (who clearly knows since deans crush on you is so adorable n obvious). he hates himself for noticing how good your ass looks in those skimpy little shorts while you’re lounging around in the bunker (he literally wants to take a bite out of it, you just look so edible), for noticing how pretty your eyes look when you’re sleepy and dazed while on long road trips in the impala (and how badly he wishes you were looking up at him with those pretty eyes while sucking him off), and he hates himself & his deep obsession with your tits that is simply unholy (he’ll even go super fast over speed bumps just to see your tits bounce, imagining how good they’d look bouncing in front of him while you’d ride him). he’s so obsessed to the point the faint smell of your perfume lingering around drives him insane. who could blame him? how could he not be so obsessed with you?
———————————————————————
hi guys! this is legit my first time posting or writing a drabble ever and idk how to feel about it but jensen ackles has me in such a chokehold it’s insane. dean winchester the man that u are.
