warnings ! fluff. mild talk of insecurities. dean is literally so sweet.
wc ! 1.8k
author's note ! don't you worry my loves i have at least two more parts planned!!
to be added to my taglist.
part one.
You were nervous. A nervous wreck, really. Part of you was convinced this was all some ploy, but Hannah told you otherwise. "He's not like that, I promise," she said. And you chose to believe her. You had to believe her.
You wanted to.
You spent an hour getting ready, taking multiple pictures and sending them to Hannah and Allie for feedback. By the end, you were satisfied, even if still nervous. You waited anxiously on your couch for the text from Dean.
Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on your door. You swallowed. You hadn't expected him to actually come up to your door, but then again, you hadn't expected any of this. You stood up, walking over and opening the door.
Dean was holding flowers, a small smile on his face. His eyes raked over you, slowly and with no intention to hide his gaze. "Wow," he breathed out. You felt a little uncomfortable, not because of him, but because you weren't used to such an intense stare.
"Hi," you greeted softly, a small smile on your face.
"Hi," he repeated back. He held his hand out with the flowers, and you took them slowly. "I, uh, I asked Hannah what your favorites were."
You smiled a little brighter at that, sniffing the flowers and nodding. "That's sweet. Come in, let me put these in a vase."
He followed you inside, sitting on your couch as you searched your kitchen for a vase and set the flowers up on your countertop. Once you were done, Dean stood up, holding out his hand. "Shall we?"
You nodded. "We shall."
He chuckled, leading you out of your house, letting you lock your door, before leading you to his car. He opened the door for you, before rounding the car and getting in. "Where are we going?" you asked.
Dean smiled. "That's a surprise, sweetheart." You swallowed, not the biggest fan of surprises. Dean glanced at you. "Trust me. Hannah gave me all I needed to know."
That made you feel a little more at ease. You thought it was sweet he took the time to ask Hannah about you, but you tried not to let it go to your head. After all, you needed to be realistic. You doubted very seriously that you two were actually compatible.
Still, he let you pick the music and the talk in the car was easy and friendly, like it just flowed. You didn't get into deep conversations and you didn't ask many questions outside of the basic ones, saving all of that for when you got to wherever you were going.
Soon, you pulled up to your all-time favorite restaurant, and a small smile encompassed your face. Dean looked at you, a smile on his. "See, some surprises are worth it, hm?"
You giggled, nodding. Dean got out, rounding the car and opening your door, holding his hand out. You took it gladly, letting him guide you out of the car and into the restaurant. You were seated in a booth, Dean across from you as you both ordered your drinks.
"What do you like most about this place?" Dean asked once the waitress left.
"The atmosphere. I'm big on energy, and the energy here is always so good."
Dean nodded, eyes studying you. Not critically or anything, just a small glint in his look that made you aware he was taking notes. "I have to ask," you started. "Why'd you wanna go on a date with me?"
Dean tilted his head, like the question was the most puzzling thing in the world. "Why wouldn't I? You're beautiful and kind."
You shook your head, giggling. "No, I mean...you're not the type to go on dates, Dean."
Dean nodded, his throat working as he swallowed. "Well, maybe it's time to change that."
It was your turn to tilt your head, but the question remained unasked as the waitress brought your drinks. You both took a few minutes to look at the menu before ordering your food. By the time the waitress left once again, the energy had changed slightly.
Not bad. Just...different.
"So, hockey's not your thing. What is?"
Dean's forearms were on the table, him leaning in slightly as if what you were about to say was the most important thing in the world. You smiled slightly. "Peace."
The answer was simple, but somehow, Dean didn't need to ask any follow-ups. He just nodded, taking note of what you said.
"What's your favorite thing about hockey?" you asked.
Dean thought for a second. "The team. Nothing's better than a good team. Sure, the ice is nice, the game is cool, and the winning is amazing, but I'd be nothing out there without my boys. Don't tell them I said that, though."
You giggled, a genuine smile on your face. That was honestly the last thing you expected him to say, especially as a defenseman. "Secret's safe with me, Dean."
"Thanks, sweetheart." He smiled back at you, soft and small like it was the most raw thing he'd ever done. "Favorite place?"
You tilted your head in thought. "I think maybe the creek behind my old house. It's full of nature and peace and I really enjoyed reading out there. Like nothing could get me when I was with the Earth."
Dean smiled. "Hannah tells me you're an art major. Why's that?"
You shrugged. "It's just always drawn me. I get to be creative and speak through what I make. I can be anything, I can do anything, and I think that's pretty beautiful."
A nod from him. "That is pretty awesome."
You giggled. "You're pretty good at the whole 'date' thing."
His smile widened. "Yeah?"
You nodded. "Yeah."
"Well, good. I'm glad it's not miserable for you," he teased, but there was an underline of truth.
You shook your head. "Not at all."
The conversation flowed easily. It was comfortable and nice, like every word each of you said was meant to pass your lips and reach the other's ears. Dean's smile never faded, and neither did yours. He asked every question you'd never expected him of all people to ask.
You asked the ones you wanted to know the most. Things were easy and simple with him, and you were finding yourself a lot less skeptical than you were when the date started. Somehow, someway, it felt like you and him were compatible.
You tried to stay neutral, you tried not to get your hopes up, but it was hard. He was Dean, and he was staring at you like the world was at your feet. It felt unreal, truly. Like this was all some dream you'd wake up from and it'd be over.
But it wasn't.
The food arrived, and you took your time eating. You'd trained yourself in the art of eating slowly, to lessen the image that people automatically had over you. Dean, however, was not a slow eater. Nor did he care.
Nor did he have to.
You took a bite of your pasta, eyeing Dean as he cut into his steak. His thirty-five dollar steak. You honestly couldn't believe he'd pay that, but you should've known better. "So why Briar U?" he asked, taking a bite of his steak.
You raised an eyebrow, swallowing your bite of pasta. "Hm?"
"I mean, why'd you choose it? Hannah's mentioned just how smart you are."
You blushed slightly, shaking your head. "She's dramatic."
"I doubt that."
You giggled. The honest answer was a heavier one. One you weren't sure he really wanted to hear. Despite that doubt, you decided to tell him anyway. Honesty was something you were fond of. "Out of all the colleges I got accepted to, it was the best one that was furthest away."
Dean paused at that, questions in his eyes that you weren't sure he'd ask. "Furthest away from what?" You swallowed softly, like you were scared to answer, but were going to anyway. Dean noticed. "You don't have to answer that. I'm being nosy."
You shook your head, a soft smile on your face. "It's okay, I don't mind." You shrugged, taking a sip of your pink lemonade. "My family, mostly. They're...something. I dunno. It's best if we're on opposite sides of the country."
Dean nodded slowly, not pushing anymore. Even if it was clear he wanted to. "I assume you chose Briar for the hockey program?"
Dean smiled. "Yeah, couldn't really pass up that."
You giggled. "Guess not, huh?"
Dean was halfway done with his steak by the time you got a quarter of your pasta down, and honestly, you were already kind of full. You ate just fine in front of Hannah or by yourself, but right now? The thought of eating the entire dish made you slightly nauseous.
You weren't sure why, probably some deep-rooted problem you weren't putting effort into figuring out.
Dean eyed you for a second, eyes flicking down to your plate. "We can take that to-go, if you want," he said, his voice smooth and soft.
You nodded slightly. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry."
Dean furrowed his brows. "For what?"
You shrugged, chuckling softly. "Just feels like I'm wasting, even though I know I'm not."
He tilted his head. "Even if you did, I wouldn't care. Don't force yourself."
You looked at him, eyes searching his for a moment. "Yeah," you whispered.
Dean put his cutlery down, calling a waitress over for two to-go containers. "You don't have to—"
"No, it's okay. I'm already kind of full and I did promise Logan some steak anyway," he said, a smile on his face like this was no trouble at all.
You smiled back softly, even if you didn't really believe him. The gesture was sweet.
Once your food was in to-go containers and Dean paid for the meal, you were leaving the restaurant. Dean opened your door for you and you got in his car, watching as he rounded it. You let out a small, shaky breath before he got in.
Once he was in and the car was on, he looked at you. "Am I taking you home, or is there anything else you wanna do?" he asked genuinely.
You looked at him. "Honestly? I'd love to keep this going, but I have an assignment to finish unfortunately." You looked at him apologetically, and he nodded.
"No worries, sweetheart. There's always next time." He flashed his award-winning smile at you, and you giggled.
"Oh, so there's going to be a next time?"
"Only if you want there to be, of course."
Dean started down the street. You nodded. "Yeah, I do."
His smile widened, but he didn't say anything. The ride to your house was filled with random music from the radio and the occasional short conversation from the two of you, but it was comforting. Warm and soft like it was right where you were meant to be.
When you pulled up, Dean did what he'd done all night. Got out and opened your door, helping you out of the car and then walking you up to your house. You turned around and looked up at him as you reached your door.
"Thank you for tonight, Dean. Really."
He smiled softly. "Anytime, sweetheart."
You stood on your tip-toes, kissing his cheek softly, before pulling back. Your faces were close now, and you didn't miss the way his eyes glanced at your lips. He didn't make a move, though. "Goodnight," you whispered.
"Goodnight," he whispered back.
You turned around, unlocking your door and walking in, giving him one last wave before closing your door and locking it. You sighed out contently, a small smile on your face that stayed for the rest of the night.
Pairing: Dean x reader // Established relationship
Warnings: None. Enjoy the summer vibes with Dean! 🫶
The day arrived wrapped in the kind of warmth that made time feel lazy.
Golden sunlight poured across the water, a light breeze stirred the trees, and the waves whispered against the shore like the world was finally exhaling. No hunts. No omens. Just the slow, sun-drenched peace Dean had insisted you both deserved.
“No monsters, no drama, no saving the world,” he’d said, tossing a bag over his shoulder before giving you that familiar half-smirk. “Just you, me, and some serious relaxation.”
You had laughed because coming from Dean Winchester, “relaxation” usually meant sitting somewhere with a beer while pretending he wasn’t constantly watching the horizon for danger.
But today was different.
Today, he actually let himself be still.
You spent the morning barefoot along the beach, collecting shells you both pretended were pointless, arguing over whether the seagulls were secretly demonic.
“They’re too organized,” Dean had muttered, squinting at a flock.
You had looked at him, completely unimpressed.
“They’re birds, Dean.”
“Exactly. That’s their cover.”
You’d laughed so hard you nearly dropped the smooth conch shell in your hand. Dean watched you the whole time, eyes warm, like your laughter was the only sound worth listening to in the whole damn universe.
By the afternoon, the sun was high and the water was perfect.
Dean was already waist-deep when you waded in, the sun high and the waves gentle against your skin.
“What?” you asked, catching him staring.
“Nothin’.” A small smile tugged at his mouth. “Just appreciating the view.”
You rolled your eyes, fighting your own grin. “Smooth, Winchester.”
“Wasn’t even trying.” He shrugged. “Alright, yeah… maybe a little.”
You moved closer until the water lapped at your waist. Dean reached for you without urgency, just need. His arms slid around you, strong and sure, pulling you in until your legs wrapped around his hips and your arms circled his neck. You tucked your face into the warm curve of his shoulder, breathing him in—salt, sunscreen, and that familiar scent that always meant safety.
He held you like that, one hand splayed across your back, the other rising to cradle the back of your head. His fingers moved slowly through your hair, gentle strokes that said everything words didn’t need to. The waves rocked you both in a slow, effortless drift.
“You comfortable?” he murmured against your temple.
You nodded, melting deeper into him. “Very.”
“Good.”
No teasing. No walls. Just Dean—solid, steady, letting the ocean carry you while he kept you anchored. Every so often he pressed a soft kiss to the side of your head, almost absentminded, like he couldn’t help it. The sun warmed your skin. The water cradled you. His heartbeat thrummed steady beneath your cheek.
Sleep tugged at you, heavy and sweet.
“You fallin’ asleep on me?” he whispered, amusement threading through his voice.
“Maybe.”
“In the ocean?” A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest.
“You’re holding me,” you mumbled.
That silenced him. Because you trusted him completely, and Dean knew exactly how rare and precious that was. His arms tightened just a fraction, protective even in perfect peace.
“Okay,” he said softly. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
You believed him. Your eyes slipped shut, the world narrowing to the rhythm of the waves, the warmth of his skin, and the constant, soothing sweep of his hand in your hair.
When you were fully out, Dean moved with the same careful reverence he reserved for the few good things in his life. He carried you back to shore without jostling you, your body limp and trusting against him. On the warm sand under the shade of the trees, he spread the towel and lowered you down gently. You barely stirred, only curling closer to where he’d been.
Dean watched you for a long moment, something tender and almost disbelieving in his expression. “Yeah,” he whispered to himself. “That’s what I thought.”
He stretched out beside you, lacing his fingers with yours. For once, he didn’t scan the treeline. Didn’t brace for the next nightmare. He simply closed his eyes and let the breeze move over him, the ocean murmuring nearby.
No monsters today.
No missions.
No goodbyes waiting around the corner.
Just you, breathing soft and steady beside him.
Just the two of you, drifting together in a rare, golden pocket of peace.
And the quiet promise that, for as long as he could, he would always be there to hold you.
A/N: Thank you so freakin’ much for 1k! When I first started posting a year ago, I never imagined my stories would reach anyone, let alone 1k of you. Thank you for every like, comment, and reblog. Seeing you all loving my work warms my heart. 🥹
I have a question for you all! I haven't gotten much of a response on The Scars We Bear. It doesn't bother me because that's not why I write anyways, but I'm wondering if there's something I need to change. Are people just not interacting with it, are there not many of you seeing it? Or is it just not good? If there's something specific you all want to read, please let me know. I'll take a break from posting more chapters and try again later if you all would rather see something different!
Summary: Dean met the love of his life. Everything was perfect, until you disappeared. Two years later he runs into you in a small town diner at 2 in the morning, with another man, and you have no idea who Dean is.
Rating: 18+
Word Count: 3490
Warnings: Language, Violence
A/N: Please let me know what you think.
Gone Masterlist
The sun had been up for a while but Dean’s exhaustion kept him in a heavy, if not restless, sleep. Four hours later his eyes didn’t just drift open lazily, they snapped open and his head whipped to the left, looking for you.
You weren’t there. Then slowly, it started to come back to him. You waking up and reaching for Brian. Asking him to take you home and Dean reluctantly letting him, to not cause you even more stress in those early morning hours. Dean, not wanting to push you too hard too fast as it was already taking a physical toll on you and that was only enough to remember his name.
Dean sat up slowly, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and scrubbing both hands over his face. He glanced at the clock on the nightstand which read 7:23 a.m. and groaned. At least he’d managed to get a few hours of sleep. He had a feeling he was going to need it.
He walked to the bathroom and after using it and then brushing his teeth he finally splashed some cold water on his face. It didn’t help. Then he heard the three harsh raps on the door.
Sam.
Dean walked out and swung the door open, turning and walking back to the bed. “It’s really her, Sammy,” he said, voice still rough with sleep.
Sam walked in and surveyed the room, craning his neck to peek into the bathroom. “Uh, well, where is she?” he said, turning to face Dean who was now sitting on the edge of the mattress, shoulders hunched, elbows resting on his knees.
“Gone. Again.”
Sam looked alarmed. Either his brother was hallucinating the whole thing or something was very wrong that would make Dean let you out of his sight after everything that had happened. Neither option was a good one.
“Where, Dean?”
“With her fiance. To their home. Together,” Dean said, sounding completely defeated.
Sam stood frozen by the small wooden table, his jaw slightly slack as he tried to process what Dean was saying. “Dean... what do you mean, gone? You told me on the phone she had a fiance, yeah, but you didn’t say you were just gonna let her walk out the door with the guy.”
“I didn’t have a choice, Sammy,” Dean muttered, keeping his eyes glued to the faded carpet between his boots that he was tugging on.
“What do you mean you didn’t have a choice?” Sam stepped closer, his brow furrowed in deep concern. “Dean, she’s been missing for two years. We’ve been tearing the country apart looking for her. You find her in a random diner, bring her back to a motel, and then just let some guy drive off with her? That doesn’t make any sense.”
Dean finally looked up, his green eyes bloodshot and filled with a dangerous, simmering mixture of grief and fury. “She didn’t know who I was, Sam.”
Sam blinked, the words clearly not registering. “What?”
“She didn’t know me,” Dean repeated, his voice cracking on the admission. “She looked right at me, terrified out of her mind, and treated me like a dangerous stranger. Brian—the guy—said she woke up in a hospital two years ago with a chunk of her memory missing. The exact amount of time she knew us, Sammy. Someone did a surgical strike on her brain. Wiped out just me. Just us.”
Sam’s expression shifted instantly from utter bewilderment to intense, analytical shock. “A total block? Dean... are you sure?”
“No, that’s the thing,” Dean said, standing up aggressively and pacing the small distance between the bed and the window. “It’s not total. Right before she passed out cold in the diner, she looked right at me and said my name. Her head didn’t know it, but her soul did. And then in this room, she woke up, looked at me, and said it again. But she was totally blank. She couldn’t tie the name to a single face or memory.”
“If she’s saying your name, the block is cracking,” Sam said, his hunter brain automatically kicking into gear. “But Dean... why let her leave?”
“Because pushing her was hurting her!” Dean snapped, his voice suddenly sharp with the raw emotion he’d been trying to choke down since last night. He stopped by the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the cheap plastic frame. “She was having a damn panic attack or a seizure or something just trying to remember a flash of a feeling. She looked at me and begged him to take her home. What was I supposed to do, tie her to the bed? Force her until her brain turned to mush?”
Turning quickly, he put his fist through the drywall above the little desk and let out a roar. His knuckles were starting to bleed a little but he didn’t care. Dean let out a ragged breath, turning back to the window and looking out at the sunny gravel lot. “I had to let her go. For now.”
Sam flinched slightly at the sudden crack of the fist meeting drywall, but he didn’t move away. He just watched his brother breathe through the pain, the silence in the room stretching out until the only sound was the hum of the old motel mini-fridge.
“Hey,” Sam said softly, taking a step toward the window. “Dean. Look at me.”
Dean didn’t turn around. He just kept staring out at the gravel, his chest heaving, his bleeding knuckles resting against the sill.
“You made the right call,” Sam insisted, his voice steady and grounding. “If a witch or a demon locked those memories down with a heavy hex, forcing the barrier to break all at once can cause permanent psychological damage. It could literally bleed her brain out. You protected her, Dean. Just like you always do.”
Dean let out a hollow, bitter laugh, finally turning his head just enough to glance at Sam over his shoulder. “Yeah? Well, protecting her feels an awful lot like losing her all over again. You didn’t see the way she looked at him, Sammy. She called him babe. She wanted to go home with him.”
The words tasted like ash in his mouth.
Sam grimaced, the sympathy clear on his face, but he didn’t let Dean spiral. “We’re going to get her back. The fact that she said your name—twice—means whatever magic they used on her isn’t perfect. The human soul doesn’t just forget that easily. It’s trying to fight its way out.” Sam walked over to the desk, pulling his laptop out of his duffel bag and setting it down right beneath the newly minted hole in the wall. “Now, what did the fiance say about where she works?”
“A library,” Dean said, the hunter in him finally forcing the grief down into a cold, dark corner of his chest. He walked over to the bathroom door, grabbing a rough white hand towel to wrap around his bloody hand. “Said she’s been here almost two years. Works at the library. Didn’t give a town name, but this one is pretty small so if they have a library there’s only one.”
“Okay,” Sam muttered, his fingers already flying across the keyboard. “A small-town library within a fifty-mile radius of this diner just to be safe. That narrows it down. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll have a list of every local library employee matching her description.”
Dean leaned against the wall, watching the screen light up Sam’s face. “Find her, Sammy. Because the second she wakes up today, she’s gonna be looking at that guy, wondering why the hell a stranger’s name is stuck in her head. And I want to be there when she realizes the truth.”
Sam’s fingers didn’t stop moving, the rapid click-clack of the keys filling the tense quiet of the room. “Alright, I’m pulling up employment records for the county libraries first. If she’s using her real name, this shouldn’t take long. If they gave her a fake identity when they dropped her at that hospital, it’s going to take a little more digging into recent hires from two years ago.”
Dean stood by the bed, slowly unwrapping the towel from his knuckles. The bleeding had stopped, leaving a raw, angry scrape that matched the burning sensation in his chest. “She was using her real name,” he said, his voice completely certain.
Sam looked up from the screen, raising an eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Brian said her name in the diner, Sam. He called her by it. Whoever did this to her didn’t care about hiding her from the world. They just cared about hiding us from her.” Dean tossed the stained towel onto the nightstand. “They wanted her living a normal, white-picket-fence life, completely blank to the fact that she used to bleed and fight by our sides.”
“Which means whoever did this wanted you to suffer,” Sam murmured, his eyes dropping back to the laptop. “They didn't kill her. They just took the one thing that kept you grounded.”
A sudden, sharp chime echoed from the computer. Sam paused, squinting at a PDF file that had just loaded on the screen. A slow, triumphant nod came from him. “Got it.”
Dean was at his brother’s shoulder in a split second, leaning over the back of the chair. “Where?”
“Oakwood,” Sam said, pointing to a scanned employee profile on the screen. There was a tiny, low-resolution digital photo attached to the file. Even though it was grainy, there was no mistaking your hair or the familiar curve of your smile. “Oakwood Public Library. It’s a small town about thirty minutes north of here, right off the main highway. According to the database, she’s scheduled for the opening shift at nine o’clock this morning.”
Dean glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 7:42 a.m.
“That gives us just enough time to grab a coffee and breakfast and get to that library right as the doors unlock,” Dean said, his defeat instantly melting away into a cold, determined focus. He snatched his keys off the table, the metallic jingle sounding like a promise. “Let’s go get our girl.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mary had just unlocked the doors and you were in the back of one of the stacks, reshelving books when a tall man walked around the corner and said your name. Your head popped up. You didn’t recognize him. He was really tall, dressed in jeans, a black and blue flannel and t-shirt.
“Good morning. Can I help you find something?” you asked brightly. You didn’t feel nearly as perky as you let on but you enjoyed your job and were going to try very hard to shake off the lingering, swirling emotions from the early morning craziness. That’s something you could think about later tonight, in the tub while Brian was at his poker night.
He just stared at you. You placed a book on the shelf and then turned fully toward him, waiting.
“You really don’t remember, do you?” Sam said.
Your whole body tensed up. “Excuse me?” you said, voice smaller now.
Just then Dean came around the corner. Your eyes immediately shifted from the tall man to Dean and back.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to–” Sam trailed off with a sigh. “I’m Sam, Dean’s brother.”
You looked between them again as Dean stepped up next to Sam.
“Wh-what are you doing here?” you stammered, gripping a book tight in your hand.
Dean, eyes locked on you, gave you a small smile. “I just wanted to check on you. Last night was… a lot,” he said.
You turned and shelved the book just to give yourself a second to take a deep breath. Finally, you turned back to face him. You swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white against the spine of another book. The familiar, terrifying ache threatened to flare up behind your eyes again, but you fought it down, desperately clinging to the quiet safety of the library stacks and the smell of old books.
“I’m… I’m fine,” you lied, your voice trembling slightly despite your best efforts. You looked at Sam, trying to map his long face and kind, concerned eyes, but there was absolutely nothing there. Just a blank wall. Then your gaze drifted back to Dean, and that strange, phantom heat flooded your chest all over again. Your body remembered him, even if your mind was screaming that he was a stranger. “You shouldn’t be here. Brian is… he’s going to be dropping off my lunch in a couple of hours. If he sees you—”
“We don’t care about Brian,” Dean cut in softly, taking a single, tentative step forward. He kept his hands open and visible, completely non-threatening, but the sheer presence of him seemed to fill the narrow aisle. “We care about you. Look at him, sweetheart.” He gestured faintly to Sam. “Look at Sammy. Just try to think. Two years ago, the three of us were in Lebanon, Kansas. We were sharing a crappy takeout pizza on the hood of my car. You laughed so hard you choked because Sam tried to explain the plot of some nerdy sci-fi movie.”
A sudden, sharp static buzzed in your ears. Your eyes widened, and the book in your hand slipped, thudding loudly against the carpeted floor.
A memory—or the ghost of one—slammed into your brain. It wasn’t a clear picture, just a chaotic rush of sensory details: the taste of cold pepperoni, the deep rumble of Dean’s laugh right next to your ear, and the towering silhouette of a very tall man sitting across from you in the dark.
“Stop,” you whispered, pressing the palms of your hands against your temples as your breath picked up. “Stop doing that. Please. It hurts.”
Sam instantly looked at Dean, a heavy warning in his eyes, but Dean’s focus never wavered from your face. His heart was breaking watching you fracture right in front of him, but seeing the way you reacted proved what he’d told Sam in the motel room.
The block was cracking. And they were running out of time before whatever locked your mind away realized someone was picking at the cracks.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Dean murmured, his voice dropping into that incredibly gentle, protective tone that made your knees feel weak. He didn’t push any closer, respecting your space, but his green eyes were fiercely holding yours. “We’re not gonna hurt you. I promise. But you need to know the truth. Brian isn’t your fiance. This town isn’t your home. You’re a hunter, just like us. And someone stole you from me.”
“A hunter? I’ve never gone hunting in my life. I don’t even like camping,” you murmured, still pressing your hands to your head.
“Dean, they wiped a little more than just two years if she doesn’t remember hunting. She was a hunter long before she met us.”
Dean nodded to Sam and then turned his gaze back to you. “Sweetheart, I know this all seems impossible but it’s true. And you weren’t that kind of hunter.”
“Stop. Please,” you pleaded, eyes begging as your hands dropped to your sides.
Sam laid a heavy hand on Dean’s shoulder. Dean closed his eyes and nodded.
You felt the panic that had started to rise in your chest ease just slightly at his acknowledgement. You took in a couple of deep breaths and finally said, “I’m not a hunter, Brian is my fiance, and I’d like you to leave, please.”
Dean looked like he had been punched in the gut. That caused a heat and an ache to flood your chest although you still couldn’t pinpoint why he affected you so much.
Dean nodded again, and then his gaze fell to your wrist. His phone number was still written there. You hadn’t washed it off. You saw something unreadable shift in his eyes. Then he lifted his hands as if to surrender. You tugged your sleeve down over it. “Okay, sweetheart. We’ll leave. I know you’re working. But I’m not giving up on you,” he said soft but firm.
You didn’t reply. Sam didn’t say a word but he had a sympathetic look scrawled across his features and he waved a quiet goodbye.
You let out a heavy breath as they walked away.
You left your cart of books and walked back up to the front desk where Mary was sitting, just in time to see them walk out the glass front doors.
“They must be new to town. So handsome!” she whispered to you excitedly. “The short one is just my type. Maybe I should ask him out if I run into him again.”
Suddenly, a wave of nausea and what felt like jealousy surged through you.
Well, that was weird. I don’t even know him! Who cares if Mary likes him? I have Brian, who is sweet and loving and cares about me. … Dean seems to care about me too, though.
You shook your head trying to clear those thoughts away.
Mary looked up at you from her chair. “You don’t think he’s handsome?” she asked, catching you shake your head.
“Ohh. Um, yeah I guess he is,” you said quietly. You couldn’t really deny that he was truly attractive, almost beautiful, really.
Mary gave a soft, knowing chuckle, adjusting her reading glasses. “You guess? Honey, if I were twenty years younger and didn’t think your Brian was such a catch, I’d be dragging that man into the fiction section myself.”
You forced a small, polite laugh, but it felt hollow in your throat. Your stomach was still tightly knotted, the phantom jealousy refusing to fully simmer down. Mary’s words were meant to be lighthearted, but they only magnified the bizarre, magnetic pull you felt toward a man you supposedly met for the first time last night.
A hunter. The word echoed in your mind, sounding entirely foreign yet dangerously loud. You hated camping. You loved the quiet, predictable safety of rows of books and the scent of aged paper. You loved your cozy routine. Yet, when Dean had described the cold pepperoni pizza and the rumbled laugh on the hood of a car, your soul had literally ached with the memory of it.
“Are you alright?” Mary asked, her tone shifting from playful to genuinely concerned as she studied your face. “You look a little pale. Did that headache from last night come back?”
“Yeah,” you murmured, seizing the excuse gratefully. You rubbed a hand over your forehead, where a dull throb was still lingering like an unwelcome guest. “Yeah, I think the lights in the stacks are just making it a little worse today.”
“Oh, sweetie, go sit in the breakroom for a bit,” Mary urged, shooing you with her hand. “I can handle the front desk and finish up that cart. Go get some water. Brian will be here with your lunch soon anyway, right?”
“Right,” you said. Brian. Just the thought of his name usually brought a sense of absolute calm, a grounding reality. But right now, looking down at your wrist, your focus zeroed in on the dark ink of Dean’s phone number.
The handwriting was bold, slightly messy, and entirely authoritative. You’d had a shower this morning. You’d used soap. But subconsciously, you realized you hadn’t scrubbed that specific spot on your skin. You had protected it.
Stepping into the small, quiet breakroom, you closed the door behind you and leaned your back against it, letting out a long, ragged breath. Your hands were shaking again. Slowly, you walked over to the little sink, turning on the cold water and splashing it over your face, desperately trying to wash away the fog, the confusion, and the terrifying warmth that Dean’s green eyes had left behind.
You grabbed a paper towel, drying your skin, and then looked at your reflection in the small mirror above the sink. You looked like yourself. The same hair, the same eyes. But beneath the surface, it felt like a mirror fracturing, tiny hairline cracks spreading through everything you thought you knew about your life.
Almost two hours later, you were back in the breakroom again refreshing your coffee when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, expecting a text from Brian saying he was on his way with your favorite sandwich. Instead, it was a text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Sammy found something about the hospital you woke up in. We’re at the diner across the street from the library. I’m not gonna push you, sweetheart, I swear. But when you’re ready to hear it, I’ll be waiting.
Your heart hammered against your ribs. You looked toward the small breakroom window that faced the main street. Directly across the asphalt, the neon sign of the local diner flickered in the morning light, beckoning to you.
You meet Sam and Dean on a hunt in your town and things aren't the same afterwards.
(Dean X Reader, no y/n)
There was nothing unusual about a summer thunder storm, especially after the recent heat, but this one had been rumbling for a bit too long now. The first day of the storm was the day you moved in to your new house, the wind creaked through the wooden door, whistling cold air into your new house. Once the wind died down, the thunder and lightening came. It rumbled through the neighbourhood, sending bright flashes into the darkening sky.
After the first couple of days, the storm became boring. The perpetually grey sky was more of a disappointing annoyance than relief from the beating July sun, it was hot and sticky without any of the enjoyment that came with sunny days. Your friends invited you out to blow off some steam after unpacking all day, they said it would be fun to try somewhere new and Angela had heard good things about the bar around the corner from your house. Inside the bustling bar, the air conditioning whirred a welcoming breeze over your table, wicking the sweat from your face and neck which had accumulated on the walk over. The bar's hubbub aside, you could still hear the manager's conversation a few tables over.
"Yeah, he was a good guy, I have no idea why he'd do something like that..." Her face was scrunched up, trying to understand what caused his behaviour a few weeks ago, "I mean, it's not like he needed the money, he was earning a good wage, he had a full ride and perfect grades so he didn't need to pay for school..." She trailed off, the two suited men glanced at each other.
The taller one cleared his throat, "Thank you Marissa, here's my card in case you remember anything else that was out of the ordinary".
The shorter one thanked Marissa and turned around, adjusting his cheap tie, you hastily turned back to your cosmopolitan, pretending that you weren't listening to a conversation which definitely did not involve you. You hadn't turned quick enough, his green eyes met yours and with a flush of your cheeks, you reinserted yourself back into your friends' gossip.
"I'm not saying that I'm going to ever take him back, but what if he wants to settle down?"
You snorted, Fleur was talking about her pig of an ex boyfriend. Again. "Fleur. It'll be a cold day in hell when Gus decides to settle down. Don't reduce yourself to that." She shook her head with a smile and took a long sip of her drink. She knew better, and she knew that you knew better. Fleur and Gus had finally broken up for good around the time the storm started, he had been distant for a few weeks beforehand, but he seemed to get worse in the unbearable heat, and Fleur finally realised that she deserved better and sent him packing a few days ago. She had been helping you move in to distract herself from the chaos which seeped out from her love life.
Angela rubbed Fleur's arm, knowing that she was still hurting – douchebag or not, she had still fallen pretty hard for the guy. "I'm calling it," Angela hiccuped, "Girls night. Tonight, right now." The three of you laughed and finished your varying drinks in agreement. The rest of the night was a blur of tequila, cocktails and pounding music, with messy pictures cluttering your camera roll.
You woke up around nine the next morning, head pounding still in last night's makeup, you shuddered and stumbled your way to the cool bathroom, you wiped off the mascara which was now smudged underneath your eyes. As you patted your puffy face dry, something moved just out of the corner of your eye, but before you could get a proper look, it had vanished and the room suddenly felt all too warm. You shook it off as hangover chills and brushed your teeth.
BZZZZ BZZZZZZ BZZZZZ
Your phone rang, making you jump. You walked back to your bedroom and picked up, it was Angela and Fleur, asking you to come to Fleur's apartment. Angela had stayed there after your impromptu girls night, opting to share a bed with Fleur as she was too drunk to get home by herself. She pleaded you to grab breakfast on your way over. Begrudgingly, you slipped on your tired jeans and the nearest t-shirt after giving it a whiff, and stepped out into the muggy July day, making your way to the diner near Fleur's.
The bell above the door rang as you walked in to the smell of over-roasted coffee and sizzling bacon, stifling a hungover gag, you walked up to the counter and ordered yourself a breakfast muffin with extra bacon and a large coffee, pancakes for Angela, and a veggie scramble for Fleur. The aging lady who served you smiled and told you to sit and wait for a few minutes, you tapped your fingers on the countertop, your silver rings hit the surface softly while you poured sugar into your coffee. You turned to take in the Sunday morning scene, too soon for church goers, but not entirely empty, your eyes caught on the black car which roared into the parking spot outside the diner, your dad would have loved it's shiny black body and chrome accents, wanting to get a better look, you stood up as the doors creaked shut. The two men walked in, opting for jeans and flannel over t-shirts rather than the poorly fitting suits they had donned in the bar the night before, the tall one walked over to the counter, briefly glancing at your t-shirt. The other one walked in and flashed you a cheeky grin, seeing that his partner had gone in the opposite direction to you didn't deter him from walking up to you, staring at your now feeling too tight t-shirt.
"Nice, Blue Oyster fan?" He asked, leaning on the counter, getting a better look at what you knew wasn't just your shirt anymore. You nodded, but before you could reply, the waitress had returned.
"Here's your order honey, have a nice day now." Before you could acknowledge her, she had already disappeared, leaving you alone with the man.
"Uh yeah, they were my dad's favourite," You replied, standing up to leave. He moved back slightly, giving you just enough space to squeeze past. "It was nice to meet you..."
"Dean", he held out his hand to shake yours, you shook his hand as he passed you your freshly refilled coffee cup. You gave him your name as you made your way to the door, opening it with a struggle. You walked along the pavement to meet your friends and you couldn't quite get Dean's piercing green eyes out of your mind, you hoped you'd bump into him again.
Walking into Angela's house, you were met by her fresh out of the shower, her neat red hair sat damp on her shoulders. Fleur was lying on the sofa, she looked exhausted, water bottle in hand and messy brown ringlets stuck shoved up into a bird's nest on top of her head, she waved lazily as you made your way over, passing her breakfast didn't seem to make much difference. As the three of you sat and ate your breakfast, rejuvenating you all for a day of sitting and doing nothing.
After the first awful movie, and halfway through the second, you heard the roar of a car outside which wasn't unusual for the area but when it stopped outside, your ears pricked up, "Did you guys hear that?" You looked to your friends for an answer.
Angela nodded, "Did you order something for dinner?"
"No did you?" They shook their heads. You could hear a familiar voice coming from outside of the neighbour's house.
"Well no, Sammy, I don't think it was this Mikey kid, it's definitely a case now shut up" Dean knocked on the door and waited for a response. "Mrs Kessler? Detectives Plant and Rose, may we come in?" Then you heard the door shut.
"Angie? Who lives next door?"
Angela fiddled with the remote, "You know that Mikey kid we went to school with? His mom lives there, poor woman. Her husband dies and then her son does an Italian job around all of the jewellery stores, they think he killed someone too."
"Oh. Have they caught him yet?" You leaned in further and Angela shook her head.
"No, scary right?" You stared at her, mouth agape. You had no idea that Mikey would be the type to do that, he was always the nicest in the class, quiet, but he was nice.
You fiddled with your hands at the thought of someone so nice turning into such a bad person when you were shaken by the sound of knocking on the door. You got up and opened it, being the closest to it and there he was.
"Hi," There was that boyish grin and green eyes again, dressed in the same cheap suit from the night before. He was a tall drink of water that you couldn't help but take in, it had been some time since you had had that type of company.
His partner stepped in, "I'm sorry about him, uh we're here regarding your neighbour, Mikey Kessler, we're scouting the neighbourhood trying to find out more about him." He flashed you a detective badge whilst Dean searched his pocket for his.
"I don't live here sorry but I went to school with him, he was a pretty nice guy I guess." You poked your head back around the corner and beckoned Angela over, she invited the two in and made room for them on the sofa, Fleur got up and walked to the bathroom.
"Sorry for the mess, we went out last night." Angela apologised as the men shuffled in their seats. "What did you say your names were, sorry?"
"I'm Sam Rose," The taller one replied, "And this is Dean Plant. We're here looking into what happened in town, trying to get a feel for what he was like before the attacks."
Angela nodded and simply repeated what she had told you earlier, none of you had seen him since grade school, and Angela had only just moved back into her family's home after her parents passed. You sat watching the conversation unfold, spinning the ring on your thumb with nothing more to add to the conversation.
When the pair had asked all of their questions you followed them to the door, Dean held out a card and handed it to you, lingering for a second too long. "If you remember anything else just give me a call." He gave you a smile and they left.
Try all the flavors: Blueberry • Pecan • Cherry • Pumpkin • Rhubarb • Salted Maple • Strawberry • Lemon Meringue • Peach • Cranberry • Apple
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Summary: Sure Dean's young at heart, but his age is starting to catch up with him- not that you mind. In fact, maybe that's part of the charm.
Warning: smut, unprotected sex, dean's getting old lol
A/N: and what if I said I enjoyed hurting him, what then
For The Filling:
4 tablespoons unsalted butter
¾ cup mild honey, such as clover or acacia
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 tablespoon dark rum
¼ teaspoon freshly grated nutmeg
Pinch of salt
4 extra-large eggs
2 cups shelled pecans
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Dean's pretty sure this is happiness served hot.
A slice of pie- a sweet rich filling, a flakey crust. There's a small drift of steam still coming off it, where you'd reheated it only moments ago.
He's not used to being in the bakery while it's open- though it's technically not, the sign turned to closed the moment he walked in. But the lights are on and you're still here, wiping down the counter for the night.
He thinks of the first time he met you- it looked like this, your clothes were covered in flour then as well. A hunt with a baker as the star witness- as soon as Sam read that in the file he knew all hope was lost, he wasn't going to get a coherent thought from his brother for the next twenty-four hours. Dean didn't expect to fall so hard, though, and he's been pretending he didn't every second since.
"-but she didn't want the lemon meringue, turns out her daughter's in Florida so she was thinking about key-lime the whole time-" you're not looking at him you clean away empty pie tins, trusting that he's still listening, "-anyway I ended up giving her both."
"And that's why you got invited to spend last Thanksgiving with a stranger?" He takes another bite of pie.
"Weren't you listening-" you grin, "-she wasn't a stranger after I gave her two citrus based desserts."
You don't know how you got onto this conversation, but Dean's been listening carefully the whole time, enjoying your story, enjoying his pie.
You finally turn back to him, satisfied that the countertops are clear. You've got a soft smile on your face, more excited to see him than you're trying to let on. You weren't expecting him- not today at least. He'd texted a few days ago, telling you about the hunt he'd found himself in only an hour away- the implication of a visit obvious, but you'd normally expect a call from him before he actually turned up.
"The hunt- guessing it was easier than expected?" You say, making your way towards him from the other side of the counter.
"Simple salt and burn- would've been quicker if we didn't have to talk to the witness. Sorry I didn't call ahead."
Simple - I've got energy to burn.
Talk to the witness - I'm frustrated as hell.
Didn't call ahead - I'm desperate to see you.
You smile, "No- it's a nice surprise- always a nice surprise seeing you."
He smiles but looks away, back down to his pie.
"You owe me $3 for the slice by the way-" you look at him, then down at the plate, a serious expression.
His cheeks go red, a guilty feeling that he didn't even think to pay, tapping down his pockets to find his wallet.
You let out a loud laugh, face breaking into a smile, "It's on the house, you idiot."
He shakes his head, holding back a biting comment.
You take the fork out of his hand, cutting yourself off a mouthful as Dean watches. He looks up at you, smiling, "It's good pie-"
"I don't think there's enough nutmeg-" you take the bite, nodding slightly at your own words, "-maybe if I added some allspice instead-"
He shakes his head, "You're always too critical- good pie is good pie-"
"It's kind of my job to be critical-" you smile at him, handing back his fork.
"Well you shouldn't be- it's good..." He grins, taking another large bite.
You give him a moment, then speak quietly, "Missed you-"
He smiles, "You did, huh?"
You roll your eyes, "Don't let it go to your head-"
You turn your back on him, towards the register. He takes the opportunity to look at you, the back of you at least. He's missed you since he's been away- though he supposes being here is the away. He'll have to go back to his normal life again soon, and there won't be any of your pie to create that soft feeling that seems to fill his body every time he looks at you. He looks back down, finishing the slice.
You speak up without turning around, "Go upstairs- I'll join you once I've closed out-"
He doesn't need convincing. He thinks being in the bakery is making him delusional, imagining lives he'll never lead. He shakes his head, clearing his thoughts as he makes his way to your apartment.
He takes the opportunity to make himself presentable- freeing himself from his jacket and washing his face. He tries not to be invasive, but can't help looking around your place when you're not there.
He likes your kitchen, he always wonders why you have so much baking equipment when your job is literally 10 steps away, but he's never questioned you with it- it's just one of those quirks he enjoys. He likes how homey the place feels, that it smells like you- you and pie. He pictures you here when he's not, walking around, listening to music as you go about your day- he burned you a CD once, then pretended it was just a mix he found somewhere. He wonders if you ever listen to it- if these walls have ever heard the iconic sounds of Led Zeppelin and Motörhead.
He doesn't let the thought dwell- imagining your life without him isn't something he likes to do. It's something he does often, sure, but he never enjoys it- driving along with his brother next to him, blathering away about the case or lore or some fucking salad he ate- his mind often goes back to you. More so recently than he'd like to admit- he pretends it's the pie that brings him back, rather than the infectious smile.
He hears the door click, swings round as you enter.
He goes to speak, "Do you still have-"
You don't let him finish, lips colliding with his as you crash into him, hands on his cheek and neck. He pulls you into him, wasting no time as his own hands find your cheeks, his thumb lightly running across your jaw.
He bites your lip, pulling you into him in a mess as you pull off your outer layers. Your fingers tangle into his hair- his hands fall down your body, fingers running down the side of your tit before he wraps them around your ribs.
"Fuck- I missed you too-" he laughs, pulling back for a moment to get a better look at you.
You grin, "Course you did."
You stumble together as your lips connect again, stepping on each others toes, knees knocking, trying to find your way through the building as you both lose any sense of direction. His hands roam lower, squeezing your ass, fingers grazing the top of your thighs. He pulls at you, you break- giving him what he wants as you hop into him, legs around his waist. His hands wrap around your thighs, you feel him smile against your lips, enjoying having you in his arms.
He moves towards your bedroom- it's easier when it's just him, no having to pull each other in different directions. His kissing falls heavier, mouth open, tongue tangling into yours.
It takes until you get to your bedroom for him to pull away again, lips trailing against your cheek, your jaw- he's being messy with it, needier than he normally lets on.
His mouth moves to your neck, soft- hungry. But then he stops, suddenly, fingers tightening around you. He lets out a pained grunt, his movements faltering. He lowers you quickly as one hand moves to the small of his back.
"You okay?" You pull back slightly, a look of worry.
"Yeah- yeah I'm alright-" his screwed up face betrays his words. He takes another look at you, "-seriously, I'm fine-"
"Dean- we don't have to-"
"No!-" desperate, "-no I'm okay- I want to I'm-" he keeps hold of your waist, "-I screwed up my back last month- didn't think it was this bad- shit-"
There's a slow pause. This is supposed to be easy and now he's coming to you with hunter injuries and stupid aches. Goddamn what happened to the Dean that could've had you for hours without even breaking a sweat.
You tilt your head, a secret smile, "That's what happens when you insist on carrying women to bed every time you fuck them-"
"Shut up-"
"The great Dean Winchester, taken out by a bit of back pain like a senior citizen."
"Really shut up-" he laughs, shaking his head.
"We can stop for a minute?" you offer.
"You're making me feel ancient-" he leans down, kissing you again to quiet your quips. "-I'm fine."
"Well- we'll take it easy at least?" You smile. It's not cruel, it's clear that you're genuinely asking, genuinely care about him being okay.
He nods, "Easy sounds good."
You push yourself up, pressing your lips against his carefully. He smiles as he holds you gently, fingertips tracing over your waist, thumb rubbing against you.
He peels your shirt off your body, breaking apart from you for a moment to get it over your head before throwing it to one side. His hands fall back onto you, not wanting to be apart for a second. You pull at his clothes, both of you backing towards the bed.
"Dean-" you pull away slightly, he moves forward, kissing you again. You laugh, stepping back, "-honey, stop-"
He opens his eyes, staring down at you.
You smile, "-get on the bed."
He nods, his own smile appearing as he pulls his t-shirt off, moving towards the bed. You take the opportunity to look at him while he's distracted, eyes glossing over his body. You've always liked how Dean looks- of course he knows he's hot- but there's something about his body that's softer. Maybe it's the freckles scattered in a collection across his shoulders, maybe it's the scars etched into his arms, maybe it's the way his hair trails a lazy line down his stomach to his groin. Whatever it is, you know you'll never get sick of it.
He lays back against the mattress, abdomen tensing as he leans on his elbows to look at you. You strip your pants off before following him, moving to the bed. You straddle his waist, legs on either side of him, his hands coming up to lightly feel your thighs.
You tilt your head, "Still look pretty, even if you're old-"
He rolls his eyes, "Still fuck like a guy half my age."
You smile, daring, "Prove it."
He laughs, "You're going to make yourself trouble-"
You lean down, lips back against him, kissing him lightly as he feels your body relax against his. His hands trail over your thighs, up your waist, his calloused hands careful against your skin.
He trails up to your bra, fingertips pulled along the edge, shadowing over you until he finds the clasp. He makes easy work of it- practiced work. Dean's not young, he's never claimed to be- and he's never claimed to be inexperienced either. You know you're just another addition to the bed-post-notched witnesses he meets on the road, but just once you wish he'd fumble with the clasp.
He doesn't give you time to think about it, pulling your bra off your arms and throwing it to one side, his hands back on you in a second. He moves steadily, thumb running along the side of your chest, a slight tease before he's back on your tits. One hand kneads at you gently, the other finds your nipple, squeezed between his finger and thumb.
You gasp against him, feeling him smile as his head falls back against the pillow. He looks up at you, eyes glistening as he takes in your naked chest.
He looks back to your face, "Y'know- I'll never get tired of this sight-"
"Me on top?" You prod, though it loses some bite when the words come out more breathless than you expect- his hands still working over you.
He laughs, "That ain't bad either-"
You shift slowly, trailing your hands down his chest, taking a moment to selfishly memorize the way his abdomen feels under your fingertips. He flashes you a cocky grin, watching you move down his body as he pulls his hands off you. The same cocky smile falls slightly when you press your lips against his stomach, gentle. Your tongue darts out, dragged along his skin- he tastes like salt and smoke, like he always does.
He pulls one arm up behind his head, the other reaches down as his fingers tangle in your hair, "Quit teasing-"
"You're not in a position to make requests-"
He shakes his head, caught- he wants nothing more than to pin you down and fuck you as you beg for more, but he can still feel the twinge of pain in his back, that ache he knows that you'll chew him out over if he tries to ignore it. So he settles for tugging at your hair, only slightly, as reminder of what he's willing to do.
You look up at him with a smile, prompted on by his defiance as you move your lower. You fumble with the fly for a moment, then start to peel his jeans down. He helps you get them off, kicking them down his legs as you both laugh at the situation.
You look down at the bulge in his boxers, wetting your lips as you unsuccessfully attempt to stop yourself staring. Then you move back to the waistband, running your fingertips along it before pulling it down, Dean's cock springing free. Your hand wraps around the shaft quickly- he lets out a sharp breath through his nose, hips lifting off the mattress to meet your touch.
You smile, looking up at him with your bottom lip sandwiched between your teeth, eyes dancing. He looks desperate, jaw tight, eyes dark, a slow nod like he's prompting you on. Your lips wrap around his tip, tasting him on your tongue as you circle it.
He groans, fingers tightening in your hair. You glance back up at him, then back down, hand stroking the shaft slowly, tongue dancing over him. You sink lower, letting him fill your mouth- another groan, louder this time, as his head falls back against the pillow.
You press your tongue against the slit, the salty taste of pre-cum released into your mouth. It feels good, making Dean feel good. It always feels good- it's a feeling you chase when he's not here, with different men, by yourself. Nothing feels the same, and the cocky bastard knows it.
His fingers fall down the side of your face, running across your cheek, feeling the way you shift between his legs, "D'y'know what you do to me?"
You press your tongue back against him, running it along the underside of his shaft.
He groans, needy, "No one does it like you, honey-"
It's a line, one you're willing to go along with to chase the high you're feeling. No one does it like you. That's why Dean will always come back.
You speed up, only slightly, keeping your movements steady, drawing them out. Dean's lids fall, breathing heavier, hips bucking like a beg. You push him deeper, letting him fill your mouth, hitting the back of your throat every time he twitches under your touch.
It takes him a moment like that, lost in a pleasure only you can give him, before he pulls himself together with as much sense as he can muster.
"Gonna come if you're not careful-" he mutters, looking back down at you.
You keep stroking him as you talk, "That's what I want."
He shakes his head, "Not before I get inside you."
"Both?" You offer.
He laughs, "That'd kill me-" his thumb runs over your cheek again, eyes lost in looking at you.
You smile at him as you move, slipping your hand off him and fumbling with your underwear, dragging it down your legs quickly. Dean pulls at you as soon as they're off, one hand wrapping around your waist, the other sliding up the outside of your thigh.
You straddle his hips, his cock against your ass as you lean into him again, chest on his, lips pressed together lightly. He shifts his hand from your waist to your cheek, pushing a hair out of your face as he pulls you into him.
"I really did-" he smiles, "-miss you, I mean."
You kiss him again, "Missed you, too."
You move slowly, his lips still against yours as you push against his cock, pussy pressed against the tip. He hisses out a long breath, his grip on your thigh tightening, head falling back against the pillow.
You sink down, wincing slightly as you take the head- he's always bigger than you expect, feels even bigger than he looks- you're shocked that's even possible. You grind slowly, taking more of him on every movement. He keeps his hand on your cheek, lips brushing against each other- you can feel the warmth from his chest, the hair on his stomach.
You hold your breath as you let him fill you completely, keeping yourself still for a moment to really feel him. His hand moves carefully, down your neck, fingertips ghosting over your back.
He holds you, smiling against your lips, "That's it honey- nice and slow-"
You start to move, grinding against him gently as he keeps you close. One hand stays on your thigh, the other presses into your back, his breath tight on your skin as he kisses your jaw.
You already feel consumed, your mind spinning with pleasure, your body full of him. You pull back slightly, taking a deep breath as he opens his eyes back up to look at you. His hands trail to your waist, holding you tight on both sides as you move to sitting, still grinding slowly against him. His gaze glosses over your body, watching you stretch out above him, flowing over you- your neck, your tits, your stomach, your pussy.
He lifts his own hips in time with you, keeping you moving at a careful pace. Your hands run up your body, over every part you know he wants a look at. You hold your own tits as you speed up slightly, he bites down on his lip in response, eyes aflame, a smile he doesn't even now he's giving you.
His thumbs rub against your hips, absentminded, just feeling you. Your own hands move back down, resting on his chest for leverage, his muscles flexing in time with his movements.
His own thrusting grows stronger, keeping your body bouncing above him, his grip tightening to help you through it. Your clit grinds against him every time he fills you, sending shakes of sensitivity through you. You moan out, head rolling back, eyes squeezing shut. You feel your breath caught, nails digging against his skin, pleasure rising rapidly in your gut.
"Fuck-" he grunts out, lost in his own world, eyes watching you carefully, fixed on your chest, the way every part of you twitches each time you move, "-goddamn you look incredible-"
You laugh slightly, but it doesn't come out properly- his words are too far away, you're too focused on everything he's giving you.
He takes over, fucking you from below, holding your waist tight. You don't object, letting him move your body for you, your jaw hanging open as you let out desperate whimpering moans.
"Oh honey- doin' so good for me-" his voice is gruff, stuck in his throat. One hand moves to your chest, entranced, teasing your nipple between his fingers.
You feel yourself on the edge, moving faster, letting his movements keep you going, your whole body tight with pleasure. You push through, the feeling rising rapidly inside you, enough to make you dizzy.
You come with a loud moan, your head falling back, your body moving off instinct alone. Dean lets out a whimper, betraying his fragile state, biting down on his bottom lip to stop the sounds as your pussy clenches around him. He fucks you through it, hands still on you, desperate to feel every part of your pleasure.
Your body falls, fingers splayed out across his chest, head hanging as you catch your breath. Dean keeps his movements going, your body flimsy under his control.
His grip on you tightens, keeping you upright, "So pretty, honey- so pretty-"
You pull all the energy you have left to move yourself, grinding against him as your orgasm stays fizzing in your body. He groans, a deep, needy groan at the feeling of you taking over, his jaw tight, eyes dancing.
"Dean- need you-"
He doesn't reply, his lids falling as his head falls back against the pillow.
"-need you- please-"
He comes with a beg on his tongue and sweat on his forehead, his fingers digging into your skin as he keels off the mattress. You keep moving, your legs exhausted, your pussy still twitching around him, until you feel him relax back against the bed.
You collapse against him, body on his chest, his cock still inside you. He doesn't give himself any time to recover, moving quickly to wrap his arms around you, holding you tight against him. You both stay like that for a moment, breathing deep, too exhausted to do anything else.
It's nice, these small soft moments.
Eventually you pull yourself away, Dean stirs as you shift off his body, arms untangling from you, but he's clearly too tired to follow you as you head to the bathroom and clean yourself up.
By the time you make it back into the room, he's pulled his boxers back on, relaxing back against the bed with his body spread out. He perks up when he hears you walk back in, eyes opening, a lopsided smile spread across his face. He shifts slightly, making space for you on the bed next to him- you fill it, tangling your legs into his as you lay your head back on his chest.
His hand traces a line, up and down your spine- gentle. Your own fingers circle patterns on his chest- you find the crescent shape marks from where your nails dug into his skin, fingers crossing them like stepping stones.
"Sorry about-" he clears his throat, "-y'know."
You take a moment, still tracing the lines, then look up at him, "What happened?"
"Sonuvabitch in Massachusetts- got the jump on me- woke up on a concrete floor and couldn't move my fucking legs-" He tells it like it's funny but his eyes are careful, "-Sam had to carry me back to the car, couldn't stand for two days-"
"And you thought you'd get over that in a month?"
"I'm fine, seriously, I've seen far worse-"
"Did you even take time to recover?"
"I told y'- laid in bed for two goddamn days!" He laughs.
"Time you weren't physically forced to take?"
He plays it off, "Didn't need it- I'm walking around, aren't I?"
"I'm just saying- next time take a few weeks off- stop the cases and the hunts and the... fucking-" you regret it as soon as you say it, you don't want to think about Dean fucking anyone but you.
He doesn't make note of it, "When was the last time you took a week off, huh?"
"That is so not the same!" You laugh.
He looks up at the ceiling, a self-satisfied grin, "Ah- such a hypocrite-"
You swat his arm, "My job doesn't leave me paralyzed!"
He ignores you, "Y'just can't stand being wrong!"
"If I stopped you wouldn't get your pie-"
He looks back down at you, gives a slow nod, conceding.
You laugh, looking down as you lay your head back against his chest, "I mean it, Dean- you've got to take care of yourself-"
He kisses the top of your head, but doesn't reply.
You try for a joke, "Wouldn't be able to visit me if you got any more hurt." It comes out more honest than you mean.
His fingers stop their pattern for a moment as he considers, then he continues, "Maybe Sammy should drop me off here next time-"
You laugh.
"Mean it, honey- maybe I should spend a week here... recovering- if you keep treating me like you just did I could be cured of anything."
"Oh yeah? I should shut up shop just to take care of you?"
He laughs, "Hey I'd take good care of you, too!"
You smile, you can't see your nails marks on his skin anymore, "A week with you- that sounds nice."
"Yeah. Yeah it really does."
You close your eyes, his heart pounding in your ears, "How long are you staying this time?"
Pairings: Dean/Reader, Sam/Jess
Word count: 1,516
Summary: It's your first New Year's with Dean, a girl's day with Jess, and you do something you never thought you'd do.
Final Part of Opposites
I know you’re visiting family for Christmas, but do you have New Year’s plans? Dean texted you the first week in December. You glanced at the time and realized he must be on lunch at work.
You were flying home the day after Christmas, so you had been hoping you’d see Dean for New Year’s. Sit at home and watch the ball drop? Did you want to do something? Dating Dean had opened up your world more than you thought possible. You were feeling a tad like Amy from the Big Bang Theory after she got close to Penny!
It didn’t take long for him to reply. Sammy and Jess are having a costume party. I was hoping you’d like to go? I already have a costume idea for me and I think you’d like it.
That told you nothing. There were so many different things you’d like to see that man in! After thinking about it for a few minutes, you agreed. I’ll try to figure out a costume, but I’m in.
Dean grinned like an idiot at his phone. “What’s got you lookin’ like you won the lottery?” His coworker chuckled as he came in for a bottle of water.
“My girlfriend agreed to go to my brother’s costume party. It’s our first New Year’s together, so I’m excited.” He explained as he typed up a reply. Jess was hoping for a girl’s day soon? She doesn’t have a costume yet, either. He hoped that lessened any worry you had about finding one.
“Oh, that’ll be fun for after.” He smirked. “I love that my wife keeps her old costumes for some fun now and then.”
He couldn’t lie and say he hadn’t had the same thought. “Do you keep your costumes for her, too? I plan to keep mine.”
All his coworker did was wink on his way out, a shit eating grin on his face. That was a ‘yes’ in Dean’s book. That sounds like it could be fun. Did she have a day in mind?
I think probably sooner rather than later. Send me your days off and when I swing by there for dinner tonight I’ll let her know. He typed before downing the last of his soda.
Sounds good to me!
Two days later you and Jess were having your girls’ day. The first thing on your list was a trip to the nail salon (you found you really did enjoy it!). “So, what’s one thing that you’d love to do before you’re too old to do it? Like something out there.” Jess grinned as she looked over at you. “I would love to go swimming with sharks.”
You chuckled at that. It was just a random question to you, but in a good way. “Hmmm.” You thought about it for a moment. “Something like skydiving, bungee jumping, or ziplining. I’ve seen some videos online and they always seem so free.”
Jess gasped excitedly at that. “Oh my God! That sounds so fun. I never guessed you’d be like an adrenaline junkie.”
“What were you expecting?” Honestly, you were curious. What did Jess picture you wanting to do in life?
“Publish a book, travel the world, learn at least one new language, or maybe visit Pemberly.”
You had to admit that those things did sound right up your alley. “Okay, those things do sound great. Except being published.” You shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t think I’d ever be able to handle that kind of pressure.” It sounded so stressful to you. “But traveling to a couple places or learning a new language sound fun.”
Jess nodded, understanding where you were coming from with the publishing. “And book reviewers can be brutal from what I’ve heard.” She mused.
“Any ideas what costume you’re aiming for?” You asked, still completely unsure yourself.
“No, but I’ll know it when I see it.”
Dean knocked on your door at 10 on New Year’s Eve, excited to see what you picked. Neither you nor Jess would give him even a hint about what you went with. Finally, he heard you on the other side of the door. As soon as you opened it, his heart skipped a beat. “Holy shit, babe.” He managed. “You look…beautiful.” You were dressed up as a princess and he could tell you were feeling very shy about it. Your hair was in an updo, there was a sparkly tiara on your head, and there was glitter on your collarbones.
You smiled at that, relief washing over you. “Thank you. You look handsome in that. You could give Hugh Jackman a run for his money.” It was a very minor flirt, but flirting was still really new to you.
Chuckling, he took a step forward and pulled you close by your waist. “Sorry, sweetheart, I think I’ll leave that to the professionals.” He said playfully, his eyes never leaving yours. “What’s on your mind? I can tell you’re thinking about something.”
The way he could read you so easily was both scary and romantic. Licking your lips, you braced yourself. “I was hoping that maybe we could have a sleepover tonight?” Your heart was hammering in your chest. Sure, you’d shared a bed at his parents’, but that was it. “And maybe that sleepover could be…not PG?” You could actually feel the blush that settled on your cheeks.
There was a soft look on Dean’s face as he answered and his voice was like a hug for your soul. “Sweetheart, we can have sleepovers whenever you want. PG or not.” He would be lying if he said he didn’t wish he was holding you every night. “And if you are comfortable with that, I’d love that.” His hand was still on your lower back as he held you and you could feel his thumb gently rubbing your back. “If you change your mind just let me know, okay? I don’t want to push you.”
Before you met Dean you didn’t think soul mates existed outside of the movies. Now you were rethinking that. He made you believe that maybe they did exist, and maybe you were lucky enough to have Dean as yours. “My place or yours tonight?”
“Yours.” He wanted you to be as comfortable as possible if the two of you took that next step. “Now, how about we head over to their place and enjoy ourselves?”
“Let’s.”
“I can’t believe you talked me into this!” You were breathless as you stood on the side of a bridge. You, Dean, Sam, and Jess were about to go bungee jumping. Your one year anniversary with Dean was the following month and none of you wanted to miss Thanksgiving with the Winchesters. So this trip was planned.
Jess was beaming. “Don’t lie. You’re excited.” She had become one of your closest friends over the past year. Weekly dinners always happened with the four of you. Sometimes it was at your place, sometimes their’s, and sometimes the four of you went out to it.
You smiled at her. “I am, but I still can’t believe you talked me into this.”
Sam looked like his face would start hurting at any moment with how excited he looked. “Alright, let’s do this!” He cheered.
“Who’s going first? It’s not gonna be me, that’s for damn sure.” He was back a couple feet. While he planned to go through with it, he wasn’t as excited.
“I’ll go!” Jess volunteered.
It didn’t take too long for her to be strapped in. Dean held you close as Sam kissed Jess softly before stepping back to give her a little room. He sucked in a breath as she jumped without hesitation. “Jesus.” He let you go as you moved over to watch her. Her whooping could be heard by everyone, making you grin. “Baby, can you come here for a moment?” Sam was up next so the two of you had a few minutes.
“What’s up?” You moved over to him, letting yourself to be tugged closer. “You don’t have to jump if you don’t want to.”
“Oh, it’s not that. I’m scared shitless but I can’t let Sammy do it and not do it. He’d never let me live it down.” He rolled his eyes. His facial expression made you snort. “It’s something a little more important.” He moved to get down on one knee, making your eyes go wide. Neither of you saw Sam pull out his phone to take pictures for the two of you. The sun was starting to set and the lighting was perfect. “I just can’t let either of us jump before I get to ask you to marry me. I want to jump off this damn bridge without you being my future wife.”
You nodded as you teared up, watching as he slipped a ring on your finger. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
Standing up, one hand went to your lower back, the other went to the back of your head. He kissed you deeply and it made you feel like you were in one of your romance movies. “Maybe now your mom will be less mad about us doing this.” You teased when you finally pulled apart.
“Maybe!” He grinned. “God, I can’t wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”
