summary: you want nothing more than an excuse to sleep next to dean again
pairing: (pre-s1/s1) dean winchester x female reader
rating: R for language
word count: 2.1k
warnings: none really, language, bed sharing, kissing, mutual pining, idiots in love, brief mention of the death of reader’s dad
timeline: starts slightly before season one, ends near the beginning of season one
author’s note: a spin on the classic 'just one bed, what ever shall we do?' trope lol
You’d known Dean all your life, practically. You met him when you were six and he was eight; two lonely little kids stuck with absent (job-driven) fathers and baby brothers you felt responsible for. Over the course of the last eighteen-or-so years you ran into the Winchesters during hunts enough that you considered them family.
When Sam left for college you were there for Dean and when you lost your dad in a hunting accident Dean was there for you. He actually stayed with you, not wanting you to hunt alone since your brother was off at college too.
So, for the last six months you’d been hunting with Dean (who hadn’t spoken to Sam for over a year).
“One room, two queens,” Dean said to the woman behind the counter, placing “his” credit card on the space between them before sliding it toward her.
“We’re all booked up I’m afraid,” she said.
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, I was actually about to turn on the no vacancy sign.”
“This is the third motel we’ve been to,” you said, “every one of them has been full—you’ve gotta have something!”
“I mean, there’s technically one room left but the heater’s out and my boss said not to let anyone sleep there because of that.”
There was a silent pause; you and Dean shared a knowing look.
“We’ll pay in cash, your boss ‘ll never know,” you told the woman. She smiled and nodded as you paid her with cash.
“Room 209, my boss gets here at ten tomorrow morning so please leave before then.” She handed you the key and you nodded in thanks.
You had underestimated just how cold the room could be, but when you unlocked and opened the door you understood why the owner didn’t want anyone staying here.
“Son of a bitch,” Dean mumbled, following you into the room and feeling the cold air. “We’re gonna freeze our asses off in here!” he quickly closed the door behind him, hoping the icy air hadn’t swept any snow into the room.
“It’s either this or we sleep in the Impala,” you shrugged, “and, no offense to your car, but it’s fuckin’ uncomfortable to sleep in.”
“And there’s only one bed,” Dean sighed.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower,” you told him, ignoring his complaints.
**
“Are you shivering or crying?” Dean asked.
You rolled over so you could meet his stare; “Shivering! It’s fuckin’ cold in here!”
“You wanna…cuddle up, maybe?” he asked hesitantly.
“Excuse me?” you laughed a little.
“Look, I’m not thrilled about it either, but it’s cold in here and unless we both wanna catch fucking pneumonia we better be smart and share body heat.”
You sighed, weighing your options; “Fine. But we never, and I mean never speak of this again, you hear me?”
“Understood.” He nodded.
You rolled back over as he scooted closer to you. He wrapped his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you into his chest.
“This okay?” he asked quietly, his lips ghosting the back of your head.
“Yeah,” you mumbled back. “Thank you, Dean.”
**
You woke up to the sound of Dean snoring loudly. You were used to his snores, sure, but he’d never been this close. He was laying on his stomach and resting on your chest; his mouth open and his hair tickling your neck. Your first reaction was annoyance but then it quickly washed away as you realized you didn’t want to move a muscle, so Dean could continue sleeping.
And the more you laid there, listening to his snores, the more you realized how comfortable you were…even in such a physically uncomfortable situation.
As the time passed and the sun began to rise, you cursed the light that was slowly but surely peeking through the curtain and onto Dean’s face.
“Morning,” he mumbled to you as he lifted his head up. He rubbed his eyes with the back of his right hand before wiping his mouth. “Sorry,” he chuckled, noticing the small spot on your gray sweater dampened with his drool.
“It’s okay,” you mumbled back. “I think it’s your sweater anyway.”
“I thought it looked familiar.”
He rolled off of you and out of bed.
You watched as he padded across the dirty carpet and over to the small kitchen. He turned on the coffee maker and the loud, off putting grinding noise made his face scrunch before he quickly shut off the (definitely broken) machine.
“So much for coffee,” he grumbled. “You gonna sit there all morning or you wanna get outta here? We’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“I’m getting up,” you replied. You would usually be annoyed at him for rushing you to wake up, but this time the annoyance was…different. Something about his bedhead, the way his lips were pouting over the lack of caffeine, and how he looked in his brown Henley and baggy sweats just made you wanna hold him again. All you wanted was to pull him back into bed with you and hold him in your arms forever.
**
You were beyond frustrated at this point. How many stupid fucking hotels had to have vacant rooms with two beds and a functional heating system!?
It had been nearly six months since you and Dean shared a bed and you had been looking for an excuse to sleep next to him ever since.
But the last couple weeks had been different—Sammy was back. Yes, you loved Sam like a brother, but you missed getting to be alone with Dean. You missed sitting shotgun in the Impala and watching him drive.
Sam definitely noticed the way you looked at Dean, but the younger Winchester didn’t say a word. Without being too obvious about it, he tried to do little things that would let you be close to his brother. He’d sit in a certain chair or part of the couch so that you and Dean had no choice but to sit together. Or he’d make some lame excuse so that he got his own room while you and Dean had to share. “I need to do some more research and I need the light, why don’t you two just sleep in the other room?” for example.
**
“Two rooms, please,” Dean said, reaching into his coat pocket for his wallet.
“Unfortunately we’ve only got one room left,” the cashier replied.
You almost couldn’t believe your ears, fucking finally!
“Oh, that’s too bad,” you faked your best frustrated look, of course Sam saw right through that.
“Well, I am not sharing with either or you,” he said with a teasing smile.
“There’s actually a pullout couch in that room, as luck would have it,” the cashier informed the three of you.
God fucking damn it, you thought to yourself.
**
It was barely after two when you felt the bed behind you dip, and you shook yourself awake.
“The hell?” you asked, still half asleep.
“The pullout couch isn’t working,” Dean mumbled quietly. “You mind sharing with me?”
You smiled a little and scooted closer into his arms, indicating you were okay with him sleeping next to you.
“Of course I don’t mind sharing with you,” you whispered and his grip tightened.
**
“I’m gonna go get breakfast,” Sam announced. “I’m assuming you want your usual?”
Dean put his right pointer finger to his lips and furrowed his brows angrily. He gestured to you as you slept and Sam got the message.
“Usual is good,” Dean whispered before Sam left.
Dean stayed laying perfectly still as you slept on his chest, soft snores escaping your lips and to Dean they were the sweetest sound.
As you stirred awake slowly, he rubbed your back a little.
“Morning,” you mumbled, a small smile on your lips. “Where’s Sam?”
“He went to grab breakfast,” Dean told you.
You furrowed your brows as you sat up, looked across the room, and realized something; “The pullout bed looks fine? I thought you said it wasn’t working?” You turned back to Dean, who had a sheepish grin growing on his lips.
“So…maybe I’ve just been looking for an excuse to sleep next to you again. Like we did back in that motel when the heat was out.”
“Really?” You attempted to hide the smile trying to find its way onto your face.
“When we were checking in last night I noticed how your face lit up when they said there was only one room left,” Dean admitted. “And I saw that disappointed look you made when they said there was a pullout couch. So, am I wrong, or have you been wanting an excuse too?”
“I really liked sleeping next to you that night,” you said, avoiding eye contact. “And you’re right, I have been hoping for another ‘oh no just one bed, guess we’ll have to share’ situation but…”
“But what?” Dean asked when you trailed off. You looked down at him.
“Dean, you and Sam have been like my brothers for as long as I can remember. I mean, Bobby practically raised all three of us and my actual brother as siblings! Your dad and my dad knew each other basically forever and I guess…I guess I figured our lives are too entangled for anything to ever actually happen between us. We’re family.”
“Chosen family, Y/n.” Dean smiled softly. “Doesn’t mean you have to be my chosen sister, you could be my chosen…you know…”
You leaned down and placed a soft kiss on his full lips.
“That,” Dean finished his previous statement.
“Let’s just keep this between us for now, okay?” you suggested. “If Sam finds out, then your dad will find out, and he’ll immediately tell my brother, then before we know it Bobby—”
“I get the picture, sweetheart,” Dean chuckled before kissing you again. He put his hands on your cheeks as he sat up. He pulled you onto his lap, your legs now straddling his hips. His hands moved to your shoulders then trailed down to your lower back as yours went into his hair. You pulled away from him after a moment, huge smiles on both your faces.
You looked into his eyes, his truly beautiful eyes, and you bit your bottom lip ever so slightly. Your right hand rested on his left cheek, your thumb stroking his skin lovingly.
“You’re awesome, Dean Winchester,” you whispered.
“You’re fuckin’ incredible,” he replied before he kissed you again. “And gorgeous, too,” he added. “You know how fuckin’ annoying it’s been, sleeping without you every night since that one time?”
“I do know, Dean, I’ve been just as annoyed about it.”
Dean kissed you one more time before he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, tucking his head into your neck. You wrapped your arms around him too, pressing your lips to his temple.
You pulled out of the hug so you could once again look at his face. Resting your forehead on his, you smiled before you kissed him again.
“Breakfast,” Sam called out as he opened the door, “is served!”
You and Dean froze for a split second before you hurried off of him.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” Sam said, “did I interrupt you two?”
“What?” you scoffed. “Of course not!”
“Interrupt? There’s nothing to interrupt?” Dean added.
“Oh…wow you two are fast,” Sam mumbled, shaking his head as he made his way to the kitchen before putting the food down. “Well, pancakes, eggs, and bacon from the continental breakfast.” He gestured to the food now on the table. “Hope you’re hungry.”
As Sam sat down to eat, you looked at Dean anxiously. Say something you begged him with your eyes.
“Sammy,” Dean started as he got out of bed, “would you mind uh…not telling dad? About me and Y/n…kissing just now? When we find him, I mean.”
“Dad’s never really been invested in your love life, but he’s not an idiot,” Sam laughed.
“So…you are gonna tell him?” Dean furrowed his brows in frustration.
“Dean, he knows you two are together, it’s not some big secret?” Sam replied, shoveling more food into his mouth. “Damn that’s good.”
“Okay, just hold on—what?” Dean asked. “What do you mean dad knows? There’s been nothing to know since like four minutes ago?”
“Wait,” Sam stopped eating and fully turned to face you and his brother, “are you trying to tell me this is the first time you two have kissed?” Sam furrowed his brows deeply as you and Dean both nodded. “So…never in high school?” You shook your heads again. “That prom we crashed?”
“Sam you were there the whole time? When would we have kissed?” you asked.
“Huh,” Sam let out a laugh. “I genuinely thought you two had been a thing since like… ‘98.”
Summary: Dean is your rock, but you’ve become his place of rest.
AN: Surprise! Just something short and sweet for Dean. 💜
Word Count: 600
Tags/Warnings: Established relationship; fluff, hurt/comfort, tinge of angst
On nights like these, the urge hits you the most.
You’re already in bed, wearing one of his old shirts and little else. You’re waiting for Dean, watching him finish brushing his teeth. He wraps it up by splashing some water on his face.
He stops for a moment, with his hands on the edges of the sink. He looks at his reflection and rubs a hand over the thick stubble on his face.
It’s halfway to beard territory. He needs a trim, he’s probably thinking.
(You don’t mind a little extra scruff.)
He hesitates, looking deeper at his own reflection. You notice the lines around his tired eyes, the weight of the last hunt still heavy on his shoulders. It's weighing on yours too, having carved out another small notch in your heart.
But you also know how many more layers this man carries, including the ones he adds himself.
“Dean,” you prompt quietly.
His head turns in your direction, and you give him a smile, beckoning him over.
Again, he hesitates. But he goes to you. After dipping his side of the bed with his weight, he smoothes a hand over your hair in affection. He takes off his father’s watch; the last piece of the hunter’s armor before he lays down on his back beside you. The old metal and leather watch clunks on the nightstand.
He then opens an arm to welcome you over, where you routinely find a place against his side.
“Come ‘ere,” he murmurs, his voice low and gravel. Your lips curve, but you gently push his arm back down to his side.
“Turn over,” you say, making a rolling gesture with your finger. Dean’s brows knit together in confusion, but he’s just curious enough to heed the encouragement of your hands on his arm and his back. He turns onto his side, facing away from you.
You settle yourself higher on your pillows, and you guide him backwards, until he’s resting against your soft upper body. You wrap your arms over his broad shoulders, and your hand moves, soothing across his chest. Even now, you feel the tension in his frame.
“Relax,” you say in a near whisper. You press a lingering kiss to his cheek. “I’ve always wanted to be the big spoon.”
A smile raises the corners of Dean’s lips. He even chuckles, shaking both of you.
“Yeah? Feels kinda weird,” he admits. He doesn’t think he’s been held like this since he was a kid.
“Well, give it a minute,” you say, with a bit of cheekiness.
Then you sigh and settle into this yourself. When your arms cross over his chest, Dean grabs your wrist, holding you there. He lets out another deep breath of his own.
Okay, he agrees, if only in his mind. Not bad.
He does relax against you, inhaling the floral scent of your body wash, feeling the tickle of your hair on his shoulder, and the gentle rise and fall of your breath. It's all familiar, and reminds him that he's home.
Dean leans over to turn off the light on his nightstand, but he returns to your embrace. He reaches back, just to stroke your cheek in a silent thanks. Smiling in the dark, you lay another kiss on the side of his head, and you close your eyes.
Dean does the same. He lets your warmth seep into his body, releasing the tension of a shitty hunt. He tries to let go of the faces he couldn’t save.
And he actually rests.
AN: Just one of my little daydreams that I finally got a chance to write down. 💜
Headcanon: How Dean, Beau, and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to you (getting caught) wearing his clothes.
Dean Winchester
Ugh, what a cocky SOB. 😆 (And yet, not the cockiest of them all.)
You've been doing it for weeks now, without comment from him.
But every time he sees you in one of his undershirts, getting ready for bed, it's always accompanied by a little once-over. A curve of his lips. A smirk, if you will.
He likes the look of you.
He likes that you're his.
And he likes the fact that you feel comfortable enough to steal his clothes.
He also likes welcoming you into bed next to him, with a hand running up your back, or venturing under whatever undershirt you've decided to slip on to feel the warmth of your skin.
"'S this mine?" he asks. You give him a quirking smile.
"You know it is," you say, with playful challenge.
Dean accepts that with a hum and leans in for a kiss as payment.
Sometimes that one stolen kiss leads to another, simmering with heat. And he’ll take great pleasure in taking back his shirt, casting it to the floor and rolling you underneath him on the bed.
But it doesn't stop at his undershirts. You steal his plaid ones if you want something to comfortably drown in when you're doing research, or just lounging in the bunker. The material is soft from several hundred washes. (The red and black one is one of your favorites.)
Rare though it is for him to wear hoodies, it's rarer still, because Dean can never even find one in his side of the dresser.
That's because you're keeping it hostage on your side, buried under your lingerie. (Even if he tried to find the hoodie, odds are he’ll get distracted.)
It gets to the point where he can hardly find anything of his.
His brows furrow as he rucks through his drawers for something clean to wear, while clad in only his most threadbare sweatpants.
"Damn it, woman. Where are my shirts?" he grouses.
You bite your lip and pretend to keep reading your book. You're already safe in bed, covered up to your chest by the blankets.
"I don't know. Have you done your laundry?" you ask, smiling to yourself. Dean catches you, with a suspicious brow raise.
He climbs into bed and snatches the covers away from you. You yelp at the suddenness and try to grab at them, but it's too late.
He discovers that you're wearing one of his newer shirts, which he had to buy to replace the ones he just can't seem to find.
"Are you kidding me? This is Theft in the First goddamn Degree!" he exclaims, even though he's close to laughing at the way you're already giggling. He manages to pin you underneath him on the bed, and he has half a mind to take this shirt back as well, by whatever means necessary.
And yes, tickling is one of those means.
"Sweetheart, for the love of God. Why do you keep taking my shit?" he asks, in a way that's half-serious in his frustration, but also half-teasing.
You shrug shamelessly, still smiling. You run your hands up his bare arms and shoulders, and back down his chest.
"I don't know. It's comfortable," you say. But your eyes lower as your face begins to warm with a blush. "Makes me feel safe...like you're always with me."
At that, the tension in Dean's shoulders eases. His smile can't help but soften around the edges as he looks down on you, now with fondness. After a while, he lets out a deep sigh.
"All right," he says.
You grin, because you know he's given up. You lean up for a kiss that successfully distracts him.
Dean still gets annoyed sometimes when he can't find a specific item of clothing in his drawer, but now, all he has to do is go over to your side of the dresser.
There he knows he'll eventually find what he's looking for.
Beau Arlen
Heh, in this episode of “Whose Hat is it Anyway”...
Beau's wardrobe reminds you of a cowboy in modern times.
Lots of browns and beiges, lots of slacks and buttoned-down shirts tucked in with an army of belts to choose from (even though the man only owns a few pairs of boots). Not to mention a slew of jackets that often pull the look together.
But being that he's new to Montana (specifically, Montana winters), you like to buy him sweaters. Cable-knits and soft ones in earth tones that you think bring out his eyes.
Beau accepts whatever you get him and graciously wears them. He trusts your judgment on what looks good on him, and he appreciates the way you think of him.
It's just one of those ways, however small, that you show that you care and that you're looking out for him.
One night while he's working late, however, you find yourself trying to reorganize the closet. The man is "organized chaos" at best, and you find one of his sweaters on the floor. It's a nice burgundy one that you bought him recently.
Ooh, so soft, you think, while feeling the fabric between your fingers.
You don't know what possesses you, but you decide to slip out of your pajamas and try it on yourself.
SO damn soft, you realize, as you practically drown in the sweater. It hangs about to mid-thigh.
Then you see one of his beige Stetsons hanging on the wall. A sneaking smile curves your lips, before you slip on his hat.
To complete the ensemble, you dig into the recesses of your closet and find a pair of your old cowboy boots. You go out into the bedroom and check yourself out in the mirror with a growing smirk.
"Hey there, darlin'," you try to impersonate your boyfriend's subtle Texan twang, and even his mannerisms by winking at yourself, tipping the hat forward.
You giggle at your own silliness in this moment, but alone in your own house, who freakin' cares? You should feel free to dance naked through the whole damn place if you feel like it.
So you spin on your heel and do a little twirl in your boots.
"Who's the sheriff now, huh?" You mime a pair of guns with your hands and shoot at your reflection. "Psh, psh!"
But that's when you catch sight of one Beau Arlen, leaning against the bedroom doorway with his arms crossed. An amused grin is plastered to his face.
You freeze in shock, still with your "gun hands" held up.
"Oh, don't stop the show on my account," Beau says slyly. He gestures at you. "Please, continue."
Your hot blush spreads from your cheeks and quickly begins to travel down your neck. "Uh...I was just...you know, cleaning the closet. You're very messy, you know!"
Beau snorts and draws closer. Those green eyes of his take in the full sight of you, down your bare thighs and cowboy boots, and back up to your embarrassed face. You bite your bottom lip on reflex.
"You know, I like what you got goin' on here," he says, waving a hand down your form. "But it's just...it's missing something."
He takes his badge with the gold star off his belt and pins it to your sweater.
"There you go. Perfect fit," he says, even as his hand slides up the slope of your back. You find yourself pulled further into his orbit as you try (and fail) to stamp down a smile.
"You're late, you know," you remind him. Beau bows his head and presses a kiss into your neck. You feel his smirk there.
"I'm sorry, Sheriff. Gonna arrest me, or let me off with a warning?" he teases. His other hand comes up to adjust the hat on your head. You smirk and cling to his arms over his dark brown jacket. It's one of his nicer ones.
"I think I can let you off," you play along. You lean up to skim your lips across his cheek, and closer to his ear. "But only for good behavior."
He has to chuckle then. "I can accept those terms..."
Beau's hands slip under your stolen sweater and begin to slide it up your body, inch by inch.
"Though I'm gonna need you to keep the boots on," he says lowly, just before he claims you with a searing kiss.
Soldier Boy (Ben)
Oh, here we go. 😅
As with most things, it's a point of pride for Ben.
He'd prefer you be too fucked out to move, let alone put on clothes after he's finished with you.
On the rare occasion that your body doesn't feel too much like warm molasses after a few hot rounds with your boyfriend, you like to at least grab one of his discarded shirts to cover yourself.
If he still has energy, he'll take that as a challenge. He'll try to slip his hands underneath whatever shirt you've found and divest you of it, so he can start devouring you again.
However. Ben does like seeing you in his clothes, in a possessive, claiming way.
There are days when you just want to be swallowed up in one of his large, comfortable shirts as you lounge about the house.
Ben sometimes watches you putter around, cleaning, working, cooking, reading, or watching TV in nothing but his clothes. He wonders if you're even wearing panties. You could be bare faced with a severe case of bed head, but his eyes will still occasionally follow you.
His expression doesn't reveal too much, but he likes it. (And because you know him, you know it too.)
Maybe he'll catch you as you pass by, hooking an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You startle with a yelp, but then you grab onto his arms and smile.
"Can I help you, sir?" you tease.
"Think you can just walk by me, looking sexy as fuck?" he remarks. He steals a slow, thorough kiss. You cup his face and bring him back in for more, tenderly stroking his cheek.
"You know why I like wearing your stuff?" you ask. Your smile hints at teasing.
Ben arches a brow. "Why?"
"Because it keeps you looking," you reply. And you reach a hand around to slap his ass, for good measure.
Then you saunter away from him to get back to what you were doing.
Or at least, you try to.
Ben grabs your hand and pulls you back towards him, back into the cage of his arms, where he falls back into the trap you've so often laid. And he finishes what you started.
AN: Well, then. 😂 I hope you guys enjoy this! Who had your favorite reaction: Dean, Beau, or Ben? 😘
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