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✨Baby, It’s Cold Outside✨

Summary: You and Dean have been dancing around the tension for years. Stuck in a snowstorm mid-hunt, with a virgin-hunting witch on the loose and your secret suddenly not so secret, things finally boil over in the backseat of the Impala.

-requested-

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only! Smut, Language

Word Count: 7322

DISCLAIMER: Everything is purely fiction. I do not intend to attack or hurt anyone. The story is, of course, entirely made up and meant for entertainment purposes.

Right now, Sam was buried somewhere in a town library, trying to charm some overworked clerk into handing over files that probably hadn’t been digitized since the '80s. You and Dean? You were holed up in a bar that smelled like stale beer and desperation, pretending you were working, even though you both knew this was just the part where you'd argue over who was reading the reports wrong.

You sat across from him in the booth, bundled up in layers that still weren’t enough for this freezing Rocky Mountain hellhole, flipping through a local police blotter with half-frozen fingers.

“Look”, you said, jabbing at the paper, “three hikers go missing in less than a month, all around the same ridge, no signs of animal attack, no blood. That’s not nothing”.

Dean took a long sip of his beer and leaned back, smirking like he had all the time in the world. “Or it’s a bear that doesn’t like leaving evidence. You ever think of that, Sherlock?”.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “Yeah, Dean. A bear that drags people off into the woods and vanishes into thin air. Totally logical”.

He grinned, satisfied he was getting under your skin. “Well, stranger things have happened. Remember that haunted raccoon last year?”. You rolled your eyes so hard it hurt. “That was your theory. And it was a cursed ring in a taxidermy shop, not a ghost possum or whatever you called it”.

He snorted. “Still say that raccoon had it out for me”. You shook your head and muttered, “Maybe it had bad taste”.

Dean just raised his brows and looked at you over the rim of his glass, that stupid smirk still playing on his lips, the one that said he enjoyed this, the banter, the push and pull.

It had been worse lately. Since that night. The one where he'd stumbled back into the motel drunk off his ass, rain-slicked and whiskey-soaked, with that half-lidded look that used to mean trouble. You'd just gotten out of the shower, towel in your hair, arguing with Sam over the phone about some case detail. And then Dean, without warning, had closed the space between you in three uneven steps and backed you up against the wall like it was a hunt.

“You ever think about it?”, he’d asked, voice low and wrecked from liquor and years of things unsaid.

You hadn’t answered. Just stared up at him, stunned, heartbeat in your throat. Because yeah, you had thought about it. More than once.

But that night, you’d shoved him off gently, told him he was drunk, and left it there. He hadn’t brought it up since. Not in words, anyway.

Now, as he shifted in the booth and nudged your boot under the table with his, you felt that tension coil again.

“Why are we even here?”, you muttered. “The cold’s gonna kill us before anything supernatural does”.

Dean leaned in slightly, tone lazy but eyes too sharp. “You sure it’s the cold that’s getting under your skin?”.

You kicked him lightly under the table. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to shut him up. He laughed, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Outside, the wind howled against the windows like it was trying to warn you. Something was out there. Something old, hungry and buried under too much snow. And inside, something else was clawing at the walls between you and Dean.

-

It was nearing midnight when you and Dean finally found something that matched. You’d commandeered the back corner of the bar and were nursing your third cup of bitter, over-brewed coffee when you spotted a local blog post buried in an online forum. A hiker’s brother had posted about dreams, visions even, his missing sibling supposedly had before vanishing. Weird symbols carved into the trees, animals acting wrong, time slipping.

Dean leaned over your shoulder, his warmth too close, and read it silently. His shoulder brushed yours, but you didn’t move.

“Symbol matches that weird-ass sigil we saw near the trailhead”, you said, pointing at the photo embedded in the post. Dean let out a low whistle. “Yeah… that ain’t bear country. That’s witch territory”.

Just as the thought settled, Dean’s phone rang. “Sammy”, he muttered, already standing and pulling it from his pocket.

You sat back, watching him pace near the bar as he answered. His face went serious, brow pinched in that way it did when something clicked, that hunter instinct, sharp as ever. “Wait, say that again?”. Pause. “She only targets what?”.

You straightened, tension prickling at the back of your neck.

Dean turned slightly away from you, like maybe he didn’t want you to hear. His voice dropped low. “No, no, that makes sense. That explains why the victims didn’t have anything in common age-wise. Yeah, thanks, man. We’ll head back to the motel and regroup”.

He hung up and didn’t look at you right away. You raised an eyebrow. “Well?”.

Dean ran a hand over his face and sighed. “It’s a witch. Real old-school. The kind that feeds on purity rituals or some twisted version of 'em. Sam says the lore matches. Appalachian, pre-colonial, likes to hunt in remote woods and lure… virgins”.

Your coffee cup paused mid-air. “Come again?”.

“Yeah”, Dean muttered, clearly uncomfortable, like the word itself was gonna bite him. “Sam confirmed it. All the vics had one weird thing in common… turns out they were all virgins. Didn’t show up in the initial reports, but medical files, some background stuff… it tracks”.

You tried to school your face into something neutral, heart suddenly hammering against your ribs. Dean didn’t know. No one knew. You’d never told anyone. Not because you were ashamed, but because in your world, secrets were safer than honesty. And hell, who had the time for love or awkward fumbling in between salt lines and monster guts?

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. “We should be fine, though. I mean, obviously we’re all… uh. You know. Not the target”. You forced a smile. “Right. Obviously”.

He didn’t catch the hesitation. Or maybe he did, but didn’t want to. Either way, he nodded and tossed back the last of his drink, then gestured toward the door. “C’mon. Let’s get back before Sam freezes to death with his head in an archive”.

You stood, grabbing your coat and trying not to let the panic bleed through your carefully trained calm. Because if this witch really did go after virgins… You weren’t just part of the hunt anymore. You were the bait.

-

The road back to the motel was a stretch of black ice and blowing snow, flanked by trees that looked like skeletons clawing at the sky. Dean’s knuckles were tight around the wheel, his eyes narrowed in that way that meant he was half focused on driving, half focused on something in his head. You sat in silence, watching the headlights cut through the darkness. The heater wheezed as it struggled to keep the Impala warm and the familiar rumble of Baby’s engine was oddly comforting… until it wasn’t.

“I’m cold”, you whined, dragging the word out dramatically as you hugged your arms across your chest and sank lower into your seat. “I’m freezing, Dean. My bones are turning to ice. I think I’m dying”.

Dean snorted without looking at you. “You’re wearing two coats”.

“Not enough”, you shot back. “I’m gonna get frostbite and lose a toe. Or several. Then you’ll feel bad”.

“I’ll feel bad for Sam”, he muttered, adjusting the heat dial like it might magically work better. “He’s gonna have to listen to you whine the whole way back to Kansas”.

You gasped, mock-offended. “I don’t whine. I contribute atmosphere”.

“Oh yeah?”. He glanced over at you with a crooked grin. “Is that what you’re doing right now? Freezing to death with flair?”.

“Exactly. And for the record, your heater sucks”.

Dean gave the dashboard an affectionate pat. “She’s doing her best”.

“You’ve said that about your liver too”.

“Also doing its best”.

You chuckled, watching him shake his head, lips twitching in amusement. There was always this. This stupid back-and-forth that felt more like home than anything else you knew. Even when the world was frozen and broken and full of monsters, Dean could still make you forget for a second that it wasn’t normal.

But the second shattered.

A loud POP jolted you in your seat, followed by a gut-deep crunch and the awful, unmistakable sound of rubber tearing itself to pieces. “Son of a—”, Dean yanked the wheel, fighting to keep the Impala from fishtailing across the ice. You grabbed the door to brace yourself as the car skidded, then gradually slowed to a halt on the side of the desolate road.

Dean exhaled hard and dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. “That didn’t sound like frostbite”. You were already unbuckling, peering out your fogged-up window into the dark. “You hit something?”.

“Wasn’t a pothole”, he muttered, reaching for the flashlight in the glovebox.

You climbed out into the icy wind, boots crunching on snow. Dean circled to the back of the car, crouched low and aimed the light at the tire. “Shit”, he said. “Glass. Thick pieces of it — looked like a bottle, maybe. Someone busted it across the road”.

You leaned down beside him, shivering now not just from the cold but from the way the air felt. Still. Too still. “You think it was random?”. Dean didn’t answer right away. “Nope”, he said finally. “It wasn’t”. He stood slowly, sweeping the flashlight along the road’s edge, toward the woods, where the trees leaned in too close. You followed his gaze. The shadows there didn’t sit right. Like they were waiting.

Dean turned to you, eyes narrowing. “Get your knife. We’re walking”.

You didn’t argue. Because deep down, you knew: the witch wasn’t just picking off victims from behind some veil. No, she was watching now. She’d already made her choice. And she was coming for you.

-

The trees swallowed you up within minutes. Dean led the way, flashlight cutting narrow slices through the dark while your boots crunched softly behind him. The snow came down in lazy spirals now, the storm easing just enough to let the cold sink deeper into your bones.

“This is a stupid idea”, you muttered, hugging your arms tighter as a branch smacked you in the face for the third time. “We should’ve stayed in the car, called Sam, waited it out”.

Dean snorted. “Sure, let’s just hang out in the middle of the road like sitting ducks while some virgin-hunting witch takes her sweet time carving runes into our guts”.

You made a face. “Way to paint a picture”.

“You’re the one who wanted to be an artist”, he said over his shoulder, smirking.

You squinted at him through the falling snow. “I was four and I wanted to draw unicorns”.

“And now look at you”, Dean said, “slinging silver blades and complaining about your toes in the middle of a haunted forest. You’ve really peaked”.

You shoved a branch aside, nearly slipping on a patch of ice beneath the snow. “Yeah, well, when we both die of hypothermia, I hope you know I’m blaming you. Loudly. From beyond the grave”.

Dean stopped suddenly, turning to you with that shit-eating grin that meant trouble. “Oh, I know you’ll be loud”, he said. “You always are”.

Your breath caught for a second, just half a beat, before you rolled your eyes. “Real mature, Winchester”.

“You love it”, he said, a little too easily.

And the worst part was, you did. You tried not to smile as you passed him, pushing ahead through a tight patch of trees, the wind picking up again. You could feel his eyes on you, even in the dark. Not in the way a partner watches your six, but something heavier. The forest was closing in around you, but that heat between you? That was growing by the second. “You keep staring at my ass”, you said, not even bothering to look over your shoulder, “we’re gonna miss the witch creeping up behind us”.

Dean chuckled low behind you, unbothered. “If she’s smart, she’ll wait her turn”.

You snorted. “Gross”.

“Accurate”, he shot back. “Can’t help it. That view’s been distracting me for years”.

You turned, walking backward now just to give him a look: unimpressed, flat, but not entirely serious. “Yeah? That why you thought trying to climb on top of me soaking wet and half-drunk was a solid plan?”. Dean didn’t flinch. If anything, his smirk deepened. “Worked out fine for me. I remember you not exactly shoving me off right away”. You held up a gloved hand. “I was stunned. You were babbling about whiskey and destiny and how my ‘smart mouth was a goddamn turn-on’”. He grinned wider. “Still is”.

You huffed, but the truth was, that night had never left your mind. You could still feel the weight of him, the press of his hands against your hips, his breath hot and heavy against your neck when he leaned in and whispered your name like it meant something. You’d told him to back off, to sleep it off. But it had been close. Too close. And if you hadn’t— Another snap in the woods. Closer this time. You both stilled instantly, your instincts taking over. Dean held up a hand, listening. The teasing disappeared from his face like someone had flipped a switch.

You whispered, “Left”. He nodded, swinging the flashlight around. Snowflakes caught in the beam, swirling like ash. Nothing but trees. Again. And then… A whisper. Barely there. Just your name. But not in your voice.

Dean stepped closer to you, body tense and protective. His hand brushed your lower back. It lingered half a second longer than it needed to. “This bitch is screwing with us”, he muttered, eyes scanning the shadows. “Trying to separate us. Get in your head”. You nodded, grip tightening around your blade. “I hate witches”, you muttered.

Dean leaned in, lips near your ear now. “If she tries anything, she’s gonna learn real quick—she picked the wrong girl. She´s not that good at her game if she can’t tell purity from practice”. You stiffened. Your heart flat-out stopped.

Dean was already pulling back when he froze, realizing what he’d just said. You saw it happen in real time, the split second his smirk faltered, brow furrowed, and his brain put the pieces together. He looked at you. You looked away.

“Wait”, he said, voice lower now. “You're—? You mean—?”.

You took a sharp breath, heart hammering in your chest. “Dean, not now”.

His voice was softer. “You never told me”.

“It’s not exactly something I put on my hunter résumé”, you muttered, glaring out into the woods like that would somehow erase the embarrassment knotting in your gut.

Dean moved in front of you, flashlight lowered, eyes on your face. “Hey. Hey”, he said gently. “I didn’t mean—it's not a bad thing, okay? It’s just—hell, I should’ve known. You’ve got standards”.

You scoffed. “That’s your takeaway?”.

He grinned. “Well, that and… explains why you didn’t jump me that night”.

You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself”.

He leaned closer, gaze dropping briefly to your mouth, voice thick with something darker now. “Not flattering. Just… makes me wish I’d tried harder”.

The trees creaked. The cold deepened. And somewhere beyond the reach of the flashlight, something moved. Dean exhaled hard, his eyes flicking toward the shadows again.

"Shit", he muttered under his breath, running a hand down his face. "Now we’ve got a real problem". You looked at him sharply. “What?”.

He gave you a look. One that said, you know what. “That witch”, he said, voice low and rough. “She’s definitely out for you”.

You rolled your eyes, but the sarcasm couldn’t quite cover the chill that ran down your spine. “Great”.

Dean shifted his weight, glancing back toward the trees like he half expected something to come crawling out of them any second. “You should’ve told me”, he muttered, quieter now.

You frowned. “Dean—”.

“Not now”, he cut you off, holding up a hand, eyes still scanning the dark. “Not yet. We’ve gotta stay focused”.

You bit the inside of your cheek. “Well, forgive me for not blurting out my sexual history while we’re dodging shapeshifters and bar fights”.

He turned to you then, eyes locking with yours, intense and unreadable. “I just mean…”. He paused, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe he was saying it. “Back then. In Oklahoma. That night. When I tried to get into your very virgin pants…”.

You couldn’t help it, your lips twitched, even as your cheeks burned. “Wow”, you said. “That’s what we’re calling it now?”.

Dean gave a dry half-laugh. “I didn’t know, okay? I wouldn’t have—if I’d known, I wouldn’t have gone at it like a wrecking ball”.

You arched a brow. “So if I hadn’t been a virgin, then wrecking ball was the plan?”.

He smirked. “You’re dodging”.

“And you’re deflecting”, you shot back.

You both stood there a second too long, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him, even in the bitter air. There was something in the space between you, fragile and heavy all at once. Words that hadn’t been said. A decision neither of you had made. Dean opened his mouth to say something more, but then the trees screamed. Not wind. Not snow. A shriek echoing through the forest like nails down your spine.

Dean's face snapped toward the sound. “We’ve gotta move. Now”.

And just like that, the conversation dropped dead. You tightened your grip on your blade, heart pounding. Later. You’d finish this later. Assuming the witch didn’t get to you first.

-

The witch didn’t go easy. She bled black smoke and bones, hid her sigils in frostbitten bark, whispered in voices that didn’t belong to anyone you loved and for a few terrifying minutes, she had you separated from Dean, breathless and staggering through the trees, trying not to let fear take the wheel. But you made it. You always made it.

When you finally sank your blade into her chest, she shrieked like the forest itself was dying and then her body crumbled, nothing more than ash and old teeth.

Dean found you moments later, blood on his jaw, eyes sharp and wide with relief. “Damn”, he muttered, pulling you in just long enough to check you over with a rough hand on your arm and a look that said more than it should’ve.

You both limped back to the road, bruised and exhausted, only to find Baby exactly where you left her, looking just as broken as before. Dean crouched to check the damage, cursing under his breath when he saw the spare tire was shredded too. Like something had bitten into the rubber. Perfect.

-

Now you were back inside the car, huddled under the one ratty emergency blanket you kept in the trunk, shoulders trembling despite the few layers you still had on. Your phone was still dead. Dean’s was too. The signal was useless this deep in the woods.

You sighed dramatically, your breath fogging the air. “I’m cold”.

Dean glanced over from the driver’s seat, where he was slumped with his boots up on the dash and his coat pulled tight. “You’ve said that”.

“I’m still cold”, you grumbled, burrowing deeper into the blanket like a human burrito. “I think I’m dying. Again”.

Dean gave you a long, amused look. “You know, if we were in a real survival situation…”.

You peeked out from under the blanket suspiciously. “Don’t”.

He grinned. “I’m just saying — it’s basic science. Body heat. Skin-to-skin contact. Totally practical”.

You snorted. “Dean”.

“Totally unsexual. Very noble. You take your clothes off, I take mine off, and boom, no hypothermia”.

“Wow, you really are a giver”.

He smirked, leaning his head back on the seat. “Don’t act like you’re not curious. I’ve got excellent circulation”.

You narrowed your eyes, hiding the smile tugging at your lips. “You’re impossible”.

“And warm”, he added smugly. “Seriously, we could die out here. You’d be doing it for science”. You laughed, despite yourself, a breathy, tired thing that fogged up the cold windshield. Dean’s smirk softened just a little. “You okay?”.

You nodded slowly, still bundled up. “Yeah. Just… tired. And cold. And glad we’re not dead”. His voice dropped, just a bit. “Same”.

Silence settled for a few beats.

“Sam’ll find us”, Dean said after a minute. “Give it another hour, he’ll have a whole search party out here”. You hummed, eyes closing.

-

An hour passed. Or maybe two. It was hard to tell with your phone dead and the Impala’s clock blinking wrong. The cold had settled deep into your bones, not sharp anymore, just heavy. Your fingers were numb, your lips tinged with purple despite the blanket cocoon you’d made for yourself.

Dean glanced over at you for what had to be the fiftieth time. His smirk was gone now, replaced with a furrowed brow and a jaw so tight it looked painful. “You’re shivering”, he said, voice low, but lined with concern.

You opened your mouth to argue, purely out of principle, but your teeth chattered when you tried to speak.

Dean exhaled sharply through his nose. “That’s it. Scoot”.

“What?”, you blinked.

“We’re doing it”, he said, already unzipping his jacket. “Full Winchester body heat protocol. Come on, get the blanket open”.

You frowned, too cold to tease. “Dean—”.

“I’m not trying to get in your pants, alright?”. He shot you a crooked half-smile. “I mean, I am, eventually. But right now I’m just trying to make sure you don’t turn into a popsicle before Sam gets here”.

You huffed out a weak laugh. “So romantic”.

“Shut up and take your clothes off”.

You paused, raising a brow. “Wow”, you deadpanned. “Really nailed the mood with that one”.

Dean smirked, shrugging off his flannel and then his t-shirt, muscles twitching against the cold air. “Hey, if I’m getting frostbite on my ass for this, you’re committing too”.

You hesitated only a second before peeling off your coat and sweater, biting your lip when the air hit your skin. You slipped out of your undershirt next, cheeks flushing more from nerves than the temperature.

Dean looked at you, but there was no smugness in his eyes this time. Just something soft and warm and a little bit in awe. “You okay?”, he asked, voice quieter now.

You nodded. “Yeah. Just… don’t let me die half-naked in a car, okay?”.

Dean chuckled. “Deal. Now get over here before I start charging rent for personal space”.

You slid over, blanket pulled around both of you as Dean pulled you into his chest, bare skin against bare skin. The shock of warmth surprised you. He was solid and steady, his arms curling around you like they’d always been meant to.

“Well shit”, you whispered, pressing your freezing nose to his collarbone. “You’re actually hot”.

He snorted. “Told you. Excellent circulation. It’s basically my only superpower”.

You nestled closer, feeling the tremble in your muscles start to ease. “This is weird”.

“Not weird”, he murmured against your temple. “Survival”.

The silence wrapped around you both, softer than the snow falling outside. Dean’s heartbeat was steady beneath your cheek, his hand slow against your back, drawing absent circles like he didn’t even realize he was doing it.

Warmth was finally returning to your limbs, and with it, awareness. Of everything. His breath against your hair. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The fact that you were pressed flush against him, skin to skin, with nothing but the thin blanket and years of complicated tension stretched around you like a net.

And then… you felt it. A shift beneath you, unmistakable. His body tensed. His jaw twitched. His hand froze mid-motion on your back.

You bit your lip, hiding your smirk as the realization hit. Slowly, carefully, you shifted just slightly, enough to feel it again, the very clear, very human response he was failing miserably to hide.

“Now that”, you murmured, voice low against his throat, “is what makes it weird”.

Dean let out a low, frustrated sound, something between a groan and a laugh. “God, don’t do that”.

“Do what?”, you asked innocently, though your grin said otherwise.

“Move. Speak. Breathe”. His voice was tight, low in a way that made your skin heat all over again. “I’m barely holding on over here”.

You looked up at him, chin on his chest. “You said this was about survival”.

“Yeah”, he muttered, eyes flicking down to your mouth. “I didn’t realize I’d actually have to fight you for my life”.

You laughed quietly, the sound muffled by the blanket. “You’re such a guy”.

Dean rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. “In my defense, you’re naked”.

You grinned against his chest, lips brushing the warm skin there as you mumbled, “Technically… only half naked”.

Dean huffed a laugh, shaky and low, but before he could say something smart, you moved, just a little, careful not to shift too much under the blanket, your fingers sliding behind your back with a practiced ease. The faintest click of a clasp coming undone broke the quiet between you. Dean froze.

You didn’t move away. Didn’t make a show of it. Just let the tension hang there, your body pressed against his a little more freely now. He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to physically keep himself from reacting. “You’re not playing fair”.

“Not playing anything”, you murmured, eyes still closed, cheek resting on his chest. “Just warming up”.

His hand tightened at your waist, just briefly, before he seemed to remember his own rules and loosened his grip. “You’re killing me”, he said, and you could hear the smile in it, even under the strain. “You know that, right?”. You tilted your head just enough to glance up at him. “Figured I’d return the favor”.

Dean’s eyes met yours, green and unreadable in the dimness. His thumb brushed over your hip beneath the blanket. “This isn’t how I imagined this going”, he said, voice barely above a whisper.

You gave a soft chuckle. “Let me guess — fewer frostbite warnings, more candles?”.

“Kinda”, he said, shaking his head slightly.

You grinned, your fingers idly toying with the worn leather of his belt under the blanket. Just the faintest tug, no pressure. And no rush. “I think it’s pretty romantic here, actually”, you murmured against his chest. Dean let out a shaky breath, his hand still at your hip, unmoving, like he didn’t trust himself to move yet. “Snow”, you continued softly, lips brushing his skin, “a fire hazard of a blanket… and you’re not drunk this time”.

His head tipped down just slightly, his voice rough at the edges. “Is that the only reason why you said no?”.

You nodded, your nose grazing along his sternum. “It wasn’t that I didn’t want to. It’s just… that night, it felt like you weren’t really there. Like it was about something else. Numbing something”. Dean’s silence was enough of a confession. “I wanted you”, you said honestly, still fingering the edge of his belt. “But I wanted this more. You. Sober. Real”.

He let his forehead rest against the top of your head, voice barely audible. “You deserve that. All of it”.

“I know”, you said, your grin returning, playful but grounded. “That’s why I’m here. Half naked. In your lap. In a snowstorm”.

Dean huffed out a laugh, the kind that came more from relief than amusement. You leaned back just enough to look up at him, your hand still gently resting at his belt, unmoving now, waiting. “No whiskey”, you whispered.

He nodded. “No motel room with flickering lights and my boots still on”.

You smiled. “Just you and me. Finally on the same page”.

Dean leaned in slowly, eyes on yours the whole time. No rush. No game. Just a kiss. So soft. Barely there at first, like he was still giving you a chance to pull away, but you didn’t. You leaned into it, let yourself fall into that warmth, into him. His lips deepened it gradually, hand rising to cradle your face beneath the blanket, thumb brushing your jaw as your fingers finally undid the buckle of his belt with one slow, deliberate motion.

Dean’s lips curved into a smile against yours, his breath warm and unsteady. “You better get real quick in that backseat”, he murmured, the words pressed to your mouth like a secret, half a tease, half a promise.

You laughed softly, pulse thudding in your ears, the sound swallowed by the snowy silence outside. With careful, quiet movements, you shifted across the seat, dragging the blanket with you, trailing heat and nerves in your wake. Dean followed without hesitation, all warmth and muscle and that infuriating, irresistible smirk.

In the tight space of the backseat, everything felt closer. Realer. You lay back against the seat, the leather cold against your skin, until he was above you.

The blanket slipped slightly as Dean settled over you, careful and steady, his hands braced beside your head. Only his hips were still covered, but the rest of him was bare. Skin dusted with freckles, chest rising and falling like he was trying to keep his balance. You shivered, partly from the chill, mostly from him.

Dean leaned in again, nose brushing yours, his voice low and tender. “Still okay?”. You nodded, breath catching. “Yeah. More than okay”.

His eyes searched yours, checking, double-checking, because that’s who he was. Even now. Especially now. Then, slowly, gently, his hands slid down your sides, fingers grazing goosebumps as he nudged your thighs apart with his own. No rush. No pressure. Just the steady warmth of him filling the space between you.

“You’re shaking”, he murmured, thumb brushing the edge of your hip. “Let me warm you up”.

You grinned, eyes soft, teasing. “Is that your way of saying ‘trust me, I’m a professional’?”.

Dean chuckled, forehead falling to yours. “Baby, I’m the only professional”.

And then he kissed you again. Deeper this time, like he was finally letting himself. Not just lips, but a quiet kind of truth. His hands were careful as he eased the rest of your clothes away, then his, like he was taking his time with something he didn’t want to ruin.

When he shifted, the blanket rustled, warm against the cold air pressing at the fogged-up windows. He paused, his body hovering over yours, one hand still steady on your hip, the other brushing hair from your face like you were something fragile, precious, even.

Then he dipped lower, positioning himself with a breath that was half nerves, half reverence. “Might hurt a little”, he murmured against your jaw, lips grazing the skin there. “Just… gonna take it slow”.

You smirked. “You giving me the talk, Winchester?”.

He let out a breathless laugh. “Hey, someone’s gotta be the responsible adult here”.

“You?”, you teased. “The guy currently naked in the backseat of his car?”.

Dean grinned, eyes bright even in the low light. “We got a blanket. That’s practically domestic”.

You laughed softly, the sound easing the tension in both of you. Your hand found his cheek, thumb brushing his stubble. “I trust you”, you said again, and meant it in every way.

Dean’s smile softened, and his next words came quieter, but with that unmistakable edge of mischief. “Not gonna lie”, he muttered as he kissed the corner of your mouth, “the whole virgin thing? Kinda hot”.

You rolled your eyes, biting your lip to hide your smile. “You’re unbelievable”.

“Unfairly attractive and modest, too”, he added, pressing his forehead to yours.

“Just don’t be smug after”, you whispered.

Dean grinned, brushing his nose lightly against yours. “You nervous?”. You smiled, eyes soft but mischievous. “A little”.

“Don’t be”, he murmured, kissing the corner of your mouth. “I got you”.

You rolled your eyes lightly, still smiling. “You always say that”.

“Yeah, well, I mean it”.

Your fingers played lazily at the back of his neck, teasing. “I dunno… you might be overhyping yourself. What if you’re not all you’re cracked up to be?”.

Dean pulled back just an inch, pretending to look offended. “You saying I’ve got a big ego?”.

“I’m saying”, you said with a grin, “maybe you think you’re bigger than you are”.

Dean let out a short, disbelieving laugh. “Oh, you did not just say that”.

You nodded, deadpan. “I did”.

Dean blinked at you, stunned, and then let out a laugh that rumbled low in his chest. “You really wanna die in this car, huh?”.

You shrugged, trying not to grin. “I’m just saying… there’s a decent chance you’re, you know… average. Statistically speaking”.

Dean’s eyes flashed with amusement and something deeper, something more heated, as he leaned in, cutting your teasing short by capturing your lips in another kiss. Gentle at first, but quickly deepening into something fuller, more demanding.

“You know”, you started, breathless and smiling against his mouth, “I’m just saying that statistically speaking, you’re probably just—”.

Dean didn’t let you finish the sentence. With slow, deliberate care, he pressed forward, gently but steadily pushing past the resistance until he felt it give way beneath him. “There we go”, he murmured softly, smirking slightly against your cheek, his voice full of quiet triumph and tenderness all at once.

You sucked in a sharp breath, your eyes widening just a fraction at the sudden sting, your nails instinctively digging into his shoulders. It hurt, but only for a heartbeat, quickly fading beneath the warmth and closeness of him. “Dick”, you muttered quietly, but there was no real venom behind it.

He chuckled softly, pressing his forehead gently against yours again, the teasing still bright in his voice. “Average dick, apparently”. You laughed, breathless and genuine, shaking your head as the brief tension faded into comfort again, replaced by something warmer and deeper, blooming softly between you.

“You okay?”, he whispered after a pause, his voice turning serious, searching your eyes carefully. You nodded, breath still uneven but softening, your gaze finding his, sincere and vulnerable. “Yeah. I’m good”. You let out a slow breath, your body adjusting to him little by little, and all at once the cold that had burrowed into your bones earlier felt like a distant memory. Your voice was quiet, more to yourself than him. “You’re… really warm”.

Dean chuckled softly, brushing a kiss across your cheek. “That’s what they all say”.

You rolled your eyes, still catching your breath. “I wasn’t talking about you. I meant… you know. You”.

Dean froze for a split second, then grinned, that grin. “Ohhh”, he said, smug now. “You mean my average—”.

“Don’t”, you warned, swatting his shoulder, though you were laughing through it. “Do not make this a thing”.

“I mean, I’m just saying”, he murmured as he shifted slightly, his hips rolling gently with almost excruciating patience. “Someone was out here questioning my stats not two minutes ago”.

You sucked in a breath, nails tightening at his shoulders. “Okay, okay. Maybe you’re slightly above average”.

Dean gave you a look. “Slightly?”.

You met it head-on. “Don’t push it, Winchester”.

Dean leaned down, lips brushing your ear as he whispered, “Still warm?”.

“Just move”, you whispered, voice low and breathy.

Dean let out a soft laugh against your neck, warm and teasing. “Can’t, sweetheart”.

You blinked up at him, confused, until he leaned in a little more, his nose brushing your temple.

“If you’d relax”, he murmured playfully, “I’d actually have room to move. But right now? You’re gripping me like you don’t want me going anywhere”.

Your face flushed, the heat blooming from your chest to your cheeks in an instant. “Dean”, you hissed, half-scandalized, half laughing.

He just grinned, clearly pleased with himself. “Hey, I’m not complaining. You’re… clingy in all the right ways”.

You swatted his shoulder again, but your hand stayed there this time, fingers curling against his warm skin as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. “Shut up and try”, you muttered against him.

He kissed your jaw, slow and sweet. “As you wish”.

Then, slowly, deliberately, he rolled his hips. Just enough to pull a quiet breath from your lips and make your fingers tighten where they rested on his back.

He stilled for a moment, like he was testing the reaction, and when he looked down at you, there was something in his eyes that almost made you forget how to breathe.

He knew exactly what he was doing.

“Yeah”, he murmured, voice low and smooth, “that’s more like it”.

You opened your mouth, ready with some clever, cutting tease, something about how he was finally living up to the hype, but the words never made it out. Because in the next breath, Dean shifted his angle, just slightly, and pressed his hips flush against yours in one smooth, deliberate motion.

The sound that left your mouth wasn’t planned. It wasn’t pretty, either, not the usual quiet laugh or sarcastic jab. It was raw. Instinctual. A moan so loud and unfiltered, it startled even you.

Dean stilled, just for a second, blinking down at you like he hadn’t expected that reaction and then his lips pulled into that slow, wicked smirk. “Well”, he breathed, his voice thick with heat and affection, “was that approval?”.

You could barely think, let alone answer. One hand gripped his shoulder while the other curled into the blanket beside you like it might keep you grounded. Your heart was racing, your breath uneven, and your whole body felt like it had been rewired with him at the center of it. But eventually you managed to blink up at him, barely finding your voice. “Shut up”.

He grinned, leaning in to kiss you slowly, lazily. “Not a chance”.

And then he did it again. Same angle, same perfect pressure and whatever clever comeback you’d been planning scattered into dust. This time, you didn’t even try to speak.

Dean kept moving, slow at first, finding that angle again like he’d learned your body in a heartbeat. Each time, the heat built higher, your nerves sparking bright and electric with every steady roll of his hips.

He watched you, eyes hungry, but also soft and a little amazed, as if seeing you come undone was the greatest victory he’d ever won. Every time your breath hitched, every quiet gasp or desperate whimper, he pressed a kiss to your cheek, your temple, your lips.

You could barely hold onto the teasing now. Every word faded under the growing wave inside you. Too much and not enough, his hands strong and grounding where they held you close. “Dean”, you gasped, the sound tangled between a plea and a promise.

“Yeah”, he whispered, just for you, “I got you. Just let go. I got you”.

And you did. It hit you hard. Waves shivering up your spine, curling your toes, making you moan his name louder than you’d meant to, like there was nothing else in the world. Just him, and the feeling, and the way he held you together while you came apart in his arms.

Dean followed, groaning your name as he pressed even closer, shuddering with you. You felt him tense, then relax, every muscle in his body softening as he buried his face in your neck, breath hot against your skin.

For a while, neither of you moved. The only sound was the harsh rhythm of your breathing and the quiet hush of snow against the Impala’s windows.

When Dean finally pulled back enough to look at you, his face was flushed, eyes shining with something warm and almost vulnerable. “Still cold?”, he asked, his smile a little crooked, a little dazed.

You shook your head, smiling up at him with nothing left to hide. “Not even a little”.

He laughed, rolling onto his side and pulling you close, blanket tangled around you both as you melted into his warmth, your heart still pounding.

You lay there for a long moment, tucked into Dean’s side, his hand lazily tracing circles along your back under the blanket. His breathing was steady now, a quiet rhythm beneath your cheek, and for once, everything was still. No monsters. No running. Just heat, closeness, and the hum of something that felt suspiciously like peace. You closed your eyes, your body starting to relax fully for the first time in days. Maybe longer.

Just then, there were three sharp taps against the fogged-up window beside Dean’s shoulder. You jolted, sitting upright slightly, yanking the blanket higher over your bare chest as your heart jumped straight back into your throat.

Dean sighed dramatically, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Oh, you’ve gotta be kidding me”.

Outside the window, barely visible through the snow and condensation, was a very tall, very bundled-up figure with one gloved hand pressed flat over his eyes.

“Uh”, came Sam’s voice, muffled through the glass, “I really didn’t need to see that”.

You groaned, dropping your forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “Tell me he didn’t”.

“Oh, he did”, Dean muttered, half-laughing, half-mortified as he reached out to crack the window just enough to talk. “Dude, could you not knock like the FBI during the one moment of peace we’ve had all year?”.

Sam sighed, clearly exasperated. “You two were missing for hours. I followed your GPS and then found the car with tire tracks and… well, that”. He gestured vaguely toward the fogged windows with an air of resignation. “Next time, maybe text before you get snowed in and start playing house in the backseat”.

You winced. “You’re gonna bring this up forever, aren’t you?”.

“Oh, absolutely”, Sam deadpanned. “I already regret saving you”.

You couldn’t stop the whine that escaped, muffled into Dean’s chest as you tried to disappear into the blanket entirely. Dean kissed your temple, clearly amused now. “Alright, alright”, he called through the crack in the window, “give us ten minutes”.

Sam stepped back, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like “gross” as he walked away toward the front of the Impala.

Dean leaned back against the seat, looking at you with a crooked grin. “Well”, he said, tugging the blanket tighter around you both. “Guess the honeymoon’s over… for now”.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰

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