Threats, Pain--The Usual
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Word Count: 1,210
Summary: It’s Hunters’ Night at the roadhouse and a newb makes a move on Y/N despite clear warnings.
A/N: I do not own the picture used!
Quarters tink into the jukebox as the next round of tunes are chosen, boisterous laughter nearly drowning out the melody. It’s Hunters’ Night at the roadhouse, a gathering coming off of a recent win from bringing the world back from the brink of yet another apocalypse, and spirits are at an all-time high.
Glass clinks and pool balls clack while everyone is in their groups, regaling each other with their wins and close-calls and relishing in the memories of hunters who paid the ultimate price for the safety of the world.
A young hunter who has yet to find his footing with a clique edges his way into a conversation during a lull. “Boy, I might give my right arm for a night with that one,” he gestures with his beer bottle to a woman playing pool across the bar. Though the room is packed, patrons steer clear of the woman as they mosey around.
“That wouldn’t be all you give, Tommy,” Fred chuckles, elbowing his partner who joins him in laughter when he realizes who the topic of conversation is. Tommy, not happy with being laughed at, purses his lips and shoves himself up from his barstool aiming to walk toward the woman calling her shot for the 8-ball to the corner pocket. “I’m serious, son,” Fred warns, grabbing the young hunter’s arm and tugging him back toward the table. “Her old man don’t play about her. Leave that one alone if you wanna stay breathing.”
Tommy yanks his arm from Fred’s grip, looking around the room with a cocky grin. “Old man, where? I don’t see him around, so he must not give a shit or she wouldn’t be here by herself and looking like that in a bar full of pent-up hunters.”
Fred’s mouth downturns and his hands open in surrender. “Better to die pretty than prudent. Eh, boy?”
Tommy scoffs, muttering under his breath about old men and their bullshit while he smooths his hair and straightens his shirt, locking onto his target. The woman who caught his eye is leaned against the pool table, finishing her beer while her recent opponent counts his cash a second time before handing her the money. “Pleasure doing business with you, Boyd,” the woman grins, tucking her winnings into her bulging pocket. The young hunter steps into her line of sight, inhaling to speak when he’s interrupted by a server bringing the woman her next beer and a double-shot of whiskey. She turns away from Tommy, only for him to maneuver into her path again. He sees her avert her gaze behind him for a long second before her face softens into a beautiful smile.
“That was a great game, gorgeous. Seems like you really know your way around a stick,” the young hunter sports a devilish grin, stepping closer to her and putting his hand close to hers on the pool cue she’s holding. Being new to the hunting world, Tommy doesn’t notice how the roadhouse has gone quiet, all attention shifting to this interaction.
“How about a game, then? What’s your name, honey?” she asks, her voice strong and sweet. She moves around him to set up the next game.
“Tommy,” he eagerly answers, grabbing a pool cue from the stand behind him and tracking to the end of the table where the woman is. “What’s yours, sweetheart?” he asks, lightly touching her chin between his thumb and index finger.
“Y/N,” she answers, turning her face out of his grip and stepping back to her beer. “What are the stakes, Tommy?” Y/N gestures with her bottle toward the pool table.
“One night.”
She chuckles, “Come again?”
“You’ll be cumming all night, if I have anything to say about it,” Tommy smirks. “One night with you if I win.” Laughter erupts nearby from drunken hunters. Not to be deterred, he pushes on. “How ‘bout it?”
“I’ll take that bet,” Y’N agrees, her siren eyes locked with Tommy. “Winner shoots first; step aside.” The young hunter moves a half-step away, leaving a narrow space between him and the table for her to navigate to the other side of the table to break the rack. Y/N takes her time bent over to line up her shot, sinking two balls. “You’re stripes, hotshot.” She takes one more shot and intentionally misses.
Each takes a few more shots, watching each other for different reasons as the game goes on. His back to the crowd, Tommy is aiming and pays no mind to a chair scraping across the floor near the table, only looking up when a worn boot steps onto the felted table.
“Hey! What the f--” Tommy grunts as his neck is damn-near flattened, pinned to the slate. Unable to move up or backward, the young hunter paws at the leg of his captor in an effort to get loose.
“I could've given you some grace before I found out you were warned better than to make a pass at my wife. Just because you don't see me doesn't mean I don't have eyes on her at all times to make sure chucklefucks like you don't try something she doesn't like.”
“P-ple--” Tommy struggles to plead for mercy with his lungs burning from lack of oxygen. His terrified eyes strain to meet the steady force of green glaring back at him.
“Dean,” Y/N says boredly as she inspects her nails, garnering the attention of both men and the room. “Don’t get blood on the table again, please.”
Rolling his eyes and sighing, Dean let up on Tommy’s neck. The young hunter sucked in a lung-full and tried to move back, only to be kicked in the face and knocked backwards.
“No, please!” Tommy exclaimed, blood spilling from nose and mouth already.
“I oughta take a finger for each time you touched my wife and another for every time you thought about it.” Dean glowered, twisting the heel of his boot on the young hunter’s knuckles, the tread tearing his skin. Dean kneels to get eye to eye with Tommy, who screams at the weight on his hand. Dean grips Tommy’s jaw and slams his head into the pool table behind him. “All ego and no skill is gonna get you dead, boy. Now get the fuck out of my bar.” He gets up and steps away from the young hunter, reaching a hand out to touch Y/N, who curls into his side.
“Tip your server, too. Thanks for playing, honey,” Y/N grins at Tommy, directing Dean back to his barstool to relax for the rest of the night. Chatter slowly starts to build again as patrons make way for the bloodied young hunter to head to the front door, finding it blocked.
His shoulders sag, expecting another fight but met with an upturned hand. Eyebrows furrowed, Tommy looks up sorely at the hunter blocking the door.
“Tab and tip,” Fred says simply. Tommy sighs, reaching into his pocket for his wallet to hand Fred some cash to cover his beers. The seasoned hunter counts the money, reaching into Tommy’s wallet and snatches a few extra bills for a tip before moving out of the way and handing the money to Kiara to settle the books.
Masterlist
AO3: BerettaJane