It needs you.
Dean comes back from hell, and he even brought a souvenir. Possesed!Dean x fem!reader
MDNI (18+!) nsfw under the cut! C.w: oral (fem!receiving) from a 'demon', Manipulation, shaming, mean!Dean, Ritual/ exorcism
W.c: somewhere near 1.5k (NOT PROOFREAD)
The first thing you notice after Dean comes back from Hell is that he stops touching you.
you try to convince yourself you’re imagining it.
Dean has never been overly affectionate, and after everything he’s been through, it makes sense that he’d need space. But as the days pass, the absence of all the little things you had once taken for granted became impossible to ignore.
Before Hell, Dean touched you constantly without even realizing it. A hand at your lower back while passing behind you in the kitchen. His shoulder brushing yours during long drives in the Impala. Fingers tapping lazily against your knee beneath the library table during late-night research sessions.
Small things.
Comforting things.
Now every time you get too close, Dean stiffens like your touch burns him. And maybe the worst part is that he never explains why.
The bunker changes after he comes back.
Or maybe Dean does.
The silence feels heavier now, stretching through the hallways like something unseen lurks just beyond the edges of the light.
Most nights, you hear him pacing long after everyone else falls asleep. His footsteps echo softly through the concrete halls at impossible hours, followed by cabinet doors opening in the kitchen or water running briefly from the sink.
Sometimes you almost get up to check on him.
But something always stops you.
Maybe it’s the exhausted look in his eyes lately. Or the way he avoids looking at you for too long, as if he’s afraid of what might happen if he does.
One evening, rain rattles softly against the bunker walls while Sam researches at the library table. Dean sits nearby with a beer bottle hanging loosely in his hand, his attention somewhere far away.
That’s when you notice the blood.
It looks like it’s only a few drops staining the neck of the bottle, but when Dean shifts beneath the overhead light, you see his knuckles split open badly enough to leave fresh blood smeared across his fingers.
Your chest tightens immediately.
“Dean,” you say softly as you grab the first aid kit from the counter. “What happened?”
Dean barely glances down at his hand.
“Nothing.”
“It doesn’t look like nothing.”
You cross the room before he can stop you, kneeling beside his chair as you reach carefully for his wrist.
But the second your fingers brush his skin, Dean recoils violently.
The chair legs scrape harshly against the floor.
You freeze.
For a second, nobody speaks.
Dean looks horrified by his own reaction, breathing unevenly as his eyes stay fixed on your hand instead of your face. You try asking. “Dean…?”
“Don’t touch me right now.”
The words come out rough and strained, but it isn’t anger you hear in his voice.
It’s fear.
Real fear.
Your stomach twists painfully. “Did I do something wrong?” Dean finally looks at you then, and the expression on his face makes your chest ache.
“No,” he whispers after a long silence. “no-...no"
Then he stands abruptly and walks out of the room, leaving you kneeling beside the untouched first aid kit while the bunker suddenly feels colder than before.
After that, things only get worse.
Three hunters die the following week during what should be a routine case. Technically, Dean protects a kid—a teenage vampire who’s never fed on humans, but the brutality of it still follows you afterward.
You’ve seen Dean angry before. You’ve seen him violent.
This is different.
There’s something terrifyingly calm about the way he moves. One second the hunter aims his gun toward the terrified kid hiding behind you, and the next Dean basically rips the man apart, some blood splattering your cheek while the kids sobs echo through the room.
By the time it’s over, blood covers his knuckles and three bodies lie motionless across the floor.
The drive back happens in complete silence except for the rain hammering against the windshield.
Dean grips the steering wheel so tightly his hands tremble, his jaw clenched hard enough that you can see the muscle ticking beneath his skin every few seconds. Streetlights flash across his face as the Impala cuts through the dark highway, illuminating the exhaustion carved deep into his expression.
You try not to think about the look in his eyes during the fight.
You fail.
Finally, unable to stand the silence anymore, you whisper,
“You scared me tonight.”
Dean’s grip tightens immediately. “Don’t.” His voice sounds exhausted.
“No, Dean, seriously—”
“I said don’t.”
A sharp tension fills the car. Then suddenly Dean swears beneath his breath and jerks the Impala onto the side of the road hard enough to make your seatbelt lock painfully against your chest.
Rain pours around the car while Dean leans forward over the steering wheel, both hands gripping it like he’s trying desperately to hold himself together. But then something shifts in his eyes.
“....your scared of me."
he asks quietly, not- sounding like himself.
Somethings off. The sound of his voice makes your stomach twist.
Because Dean sounds terrified. You've noticed it before. He sounds cold, but sometimes, when you really listen, you can hear him. Dean. Terrified, Like hes trying to come through to you but just cant.
Because something else is in him.
He laughs then, though there’s nothing remotely humorous about the sound. “I can hear it,” he admits.
You stare at him, almost scared. “Hear what?”
For several long seconds he doesn’t answer. Then he finally turns toward you, and the fear in his eyes steals the breath from your lungs.
“Something came back with me from Hell.”
Cold creeps slowly down your spine. Who turned the AC down?
Dean swallows hard before continuing.
“At first I thought ’m losing my mind. But every time you get near me…”
He looks away briefly, shame flickering across his face.
“It starts talking.”
oh.
oh.
Exhaling shakily, you ask- “What does it say?”
Dean’s jaw tightens.
“cant say."
Silence settles heavily between you while rain streaks endlessly across the windows. Then, so quietly you almost don’t hear him, Dean whispers, “It wants you.”
The confession makes your pulse quicken, if its not already racing. Because suddenly everything makes sense—the distance, the sleepless nights, the fear in his eyes whenever you stand too close.
Dean isn’t avoiding you because he stopped caring.
He’s trying to protect you.
The realization follows you long after the conversation ends. Sleep becomes impossible after that.
Every sound inside the bunker makes your pulse jump, and when two in the morning creeps past, you’re still lying awake, staring at the ceiling while shadows shift faintly across your walls.
Then you hear footsteps outside your room.
Slow. Heavy. Uneven.
Dean.
You sit up immediately, swallowing the lump building in your throat. The footsteps stop directly outside your door, and for several long seconds there’s nothing but silence pressing heavily against the room.
Then comes--.... scratching?
Soft at first.
A slow scrape dragging across the wood. In response, your entire body goes rigid. Another scratch follows, lower this time, longer—as though fingernails slowly trace their way down the door.
Fear curls tightly in your stomach.
“Dean?” you call carefully. No answer comes.
Heart pounding, you slip out of bed and cross the room slowly. The scratching stops the moment you reach the door. Then a voice whispers from the other side.
“Don’t open the door.”
Your blood freezes instantly.
Because it sounds exactly like Dean.
And yet there’s something horribly wrong beneath the surface of it, like something wears his voice instead of truly owning it. You stumble backward just as another voice echoes sharply down the hallway.
The door creaks open.
Dean stands in the doorway. He doesn't look like himself. Hes breathing heavily and his eyes look darker than usual.
"i need you."
".....it needs you." His voice drops an octave.
Before you can answer, the thing inside him laughs, the sound making your skin crawl. And with small thuds, dean comes closer and closer. Once hes infront of you, he stares down at you. This isnt him. Not anymore.
"....i've wanted you for so long, y/n-...."
"and now?....i finally have you. Are you going to fight me?"
You swallow, eyes wide as you slowly inch further backwards with every step he comes closer. Well, to your luck, the back of your knees bump against the bedframe.
Trapped.
You feel the urge to punch him, run away, anything. But you dont. You stand still, frozen, feeling his breath fan across your face. You should defend yourself-...But its still your dean standing infront of you.
He slowly, achingly slow, buries his face in the crook of your throat, breathing in your scent.
"....mmm..."
He feels your pulse throb under your skin, and it arouses him to no end. He licks up your throat, before stopping mid-way to your ear.
A gasp.
His teeth sink into your skin. You squirm, obviously pushing him away now, but its no use. Hes like a fuckin' brick wall. His rough hands run up your sides, sucking at your pulse point, you whine in response.
"shhh....you aren't this scared when having sex with dean, so stop shaking and be a good girl,"
You shake your head. "...dean-...please-"
"im not dean, for fucks sake!"
You flinch, silently counting out every option in your head. A demon?...no, theyre usually not like this.
"dean's a weak bitch, he was happy when i possesed him. Even he wanted to give you the chance of having a real man, you just have to surrender, y/n."
You just shake your head, staring dean- or not dean- straight into the eyes.
"what are you?..." You quietly ask.
A pause. He rolls his tongue inside your cheek. His hands trail down, and wrap around the waistband around your pants, before ripping them off. You gasp.
"why dont you just stay quiet?"
He mutters before ripping apart your panties too. Black fabric scatters on the floor.
"gonna be a good fuckin' girl for me-" He coos. "-just like you always are for dean, hm? Always letting him fuck you stupid. But never really stupid. Never fucked braindead. You need it, don't you? Are you going to tell him how you faked that orgasm last week?"
Shame blooms in your chest. How does he know all of this?....how long has he been with dean? You know hes just trying to make you feel bad. A typical manipulating move. And it works. With ease. You should've just told dean you didnt come-
There it is. He made you think about it. Made you feel bad again.
"i can hear your thoughts, baby. Just let me."
Slowly, he lowers himself to his knees, your pussy already dripping for him- what the fuck? This isnt dean- why are you so wet- he only laughs, sinking his fingers into your thighs to make sure you dont even think of running.
"look at thaaat. All nice an' wet already."
Two fingers run through your heat, gathering the wetness on his fingers. Looking up, he sticks the digits into your mouth with force, making you gag. He grins.
"clean em'."
Hesitantely, but left with no choice, you lick your own arousal of his fingers, before they slightly press down on your tongue.
"good girl." He coos.
His lips go to the inside of your thighs, teeth grazing dangerously close to your pretty slit. He breathes in your arousal, eyes closing, and he groans.
"smell so good, y/n....i understand why dean ate you out any chance he had now-...pathetic."
And despite feeling ashamed and disgusted, you still moan when his plump lips wrap around your clit, hips arching slightly towards him.
"stay still, slut."
He hisses against your sensitive pussy, making you exhale shakily. "You're-...fucking evil.."
"your dripping."
"...fair.."
He sticks his tongue out and pushes it inside your tight hole, moaning at the taste of you. Gasping shakily, you'r eyes fall closed. Fuck. You try not to moan, but whatever that thing inside dean is doing? Its doing it well.
And with the rythm of fucking his long tongue into your tight hole, you eventually come all over his face, squirming. It feels like your floating, stars bursting behind your eyelids while your body locks up, bracing against the bedframe. Its hard to stand upright.
"Jesus- fuck!-" he grins.
"just me, baby...good girl- such a good fuckin' girl, coming all over my tongue."
Once you finally come down from the Orgasm, aching hot shame fills you from your toes to your chest, settling there'. You feel like you betrayed dean. I mean- you did, kinda, but once your back on earth, you notice that hes gone quiet.
Glancing down, your heart skips a beat. His eyes arent as dark anymore, and he looks...scared again. Like dean again. Like your dean. He slowly gets up, stumbling back a bit.
"...dean-?.." you ask softly.
".....y/n-....what-...what did i-" He swallows.
"Dean-...it wasnt you-"
"fuck-......fuck- ffuck- im sorry- im so sorry- y/n-"
You step after him but he basically runs out your room, not even being able to look at you. He feels like a monster. Fuck.
Days later, Sam finally finds the answer buried in an old Men of Letters book. At the same time, the thing inside him grows stronger.
The entity attached to Dean isn’t a demon.
It’s older than that—something from Hell that feeds on fear, devotion, arousal and obsession while slowly hollowing out damaged souls from the inside.
And somehow, through Dean, it became attached to you too.
“There’s a ritual,” Sam explains carefully. “But the entity has to fully surface before we can trap it.”
Dean immediately goes pale.
“No.”
“Dean—”
“No."
The force behind the word shakes the room. Only then do you fully understand what terrifies him most.
Not dying.
Not Hell.
Losing control long enough to hurt you. Even if he already did.
Later that night, the abandoned church where the ritual takes place feels freezing cold beneath the storm outside. Rain batters the stained-glass windows while Sam prepares the symbols across the floor.
Dean stands inside the circle silently, his hands trembling at his sides.
“You should stay back,”
he whispers as you approach him.
“No." His expression tightens painfully. “It’s getting harder to tell what’s me and what’s it.” The honesty in his voice nearly destroys you.
Slowly, carefully, you reach for his hand.
Dean inhales sharply the second your fingers touch his, but this time he doesn’t pull away. His hand trembles around yours instead.
Warm. Real. Dean.
“You’re not losing yourself tonight,” you whisper.
Something vulnerable cracks across his expression then, and for the first time in weeks, all the fear fades just enough for you to finally see the truth hiding beneath it.
Love.
Terrified, desperate love. “I don’t know how to survive this if something happens to you,” he admits softly. Your chest aches so badly it almost hurts to breathe.
Then the ritual begins.
Golden symbols flare brightly beneath Dean’s feet while Sam recites the incantation aloud over the thunder outside. At first nothing happens.
Then Dean gasps sharply.
Black veins spread slowly across his throat as his body tenses violently. You take an instinctive step forward, panic rising in your chest.
“Dean—”
“I’m okay,” he chokes out.
But he isn’t.
You see the exact moment the entity surfaces. Dean goes completely still before slowly lifting his head toward you.
And then he smiles.
Cold fear floods your body instantly because the expression isn’t his.
“You love him,” the creature purrs through Dean’s voice. Its words echo unnaturally through the church.
You force yourself not to look away.
“Yes.” Dean flinches violently beneath it. The thing smiles wider.
“And he loves you enough to let me hollow him out.”
“Shut up,” Dean snarls weakly through clenched teeth.
The church shakes around you.
Windows crack.
Sam shouts the final words of the ritual while black smoke erupts violently from Dean’s mouth.
Then silence crashes down all at once. Dean collapses forward, but you catch him before he hits the floor. For one horrible second he doesn’t move at all, and your heart nearly stops.
Then his fingers twitch weakly against your arm. Relief hits so hard it makes your eyes burn. Dean blinks slowly before finally looking up at you, and the moment your eyes meet, you know. The darkness is gone. It’s just Dean again.
His expression softens as he lifts one shaking hand to your face, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek for the first time in weeks.
“You with me?” you whisper.
Dean’s tired green eyes stay fixed on yours as the ghost of a smile finally touches his lips.
“Yeah,” he whispers softly.
And for the first time since he comes back from Hell—
He sounds like himself again.
🖤 Written by Evilnunnie 🖤
Dividers by @xycrowlo <3
