hunter!reader accidentally cracked a shapeshifter with the taken identity of one very infamous Dean Winchester
You keep thinking about that guy from two weeks ago. Dean. He was good - real good. Not just in bed, either. He was funny, had you giggling all night long. Smug, confident, but not egocentric. You really wish you got his number.
He’d already been gone in the morning. Left a nice note, and a twenty dollar bill to get yourself a good breakfast, but no goddamn number.
After pouting around for the past two weeks about hot-mystery-on-a-hunting-trip-Dean, your friends basically force you out for another night in the same, gross dive bar.
He’s here.
There’s some tall guy with a shaggy haircut at his side this time, who’s waving his hands around and clearly trying to explain something.
You wait, and hope that you catch his eye out of familiarity, if not for how smoking fucking hot you look. Your patience is lost after 20 minutes, and you send a prayer that he really just hadn’t seen you yet, (and another quick one that he wasn’t purposefully ignoring you) and make your way over.
“Miss me already, huh?” He turns to face you with that sweet, pretty grin and those gorgeous goddamn eyes. His smile grows a little at the sight of you, but he seems to be waiting for you to add something else to your sentence. Like it’s one half of a pick up line. “Thought your hunting trip was supposed to end two Mondays ago. Back for another weekend?”
Deans eyebrows crinkle a little, and his grin falters. You watch his gaze move away from you, and back to the taller man to share an equally confused, ‘something’s-going-on-here’ kind of look before he glances back down at you.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, decided to drive back on up for the weekend.” He nods. You’re almost too blinded by his gravely voice and his shiny eyes to notice his hesitation.
“You don’t remember me.” You scoff. There’s something on his face that tells you that you’re right. He looks…different. Feels different. Maybe it’s just your hunters intuition kicking in, but it never seems to be wrong.
He shares another look with the tall guy at his side, this time panicked and his head swivels back to you much faster. He buffers for a moment before pulling a wallet out of his pocket. It flips open to show an FBI badge.
“Fuck.” You don’t have much time to think here, and there’s only two options, anyways. One —these guys are actually FBI agents, he was off the clock two weekends ago, and then very coincidentally got put on your case after blowing your back out. Two — they’re hunters, and are investigating some kind of…something in the area. How there’s anything in your city that you haven’t somehow noticed, you have no clue.
Either way, you are incredibly wanted by many governmental agencies, because being a hunter isn’t enough tough love from literally the rest of the world, and don’t have much choice but to book it.
Your hobby of watching way too many action movies comes in handy when you run into a closed off alley and climb some random person’s fire escape stairs. Spiderman, who?
They still manage to find you, two days later, and trap you in your own goddamn living room (well, the area of your studio apartment decorated as the living room) after crowding outside of your door.
“Listen, I don’t know who you think I am-“ Your hands are raised in surrender, and all you’re trying to do is waste some time to figure out a way to get out of this again.
“You’re not in trouble or anything, miss,” The taller one with the shaggier hair starts. “We just need to know what happened two weeks ago.”
Now this is just getting insulting.
“What happened?” You scoff. “What happened was I gave your buddy here the ride of a life time and it seems he’s losing his goddamn memory.”
Dean - atleast, that’s the name he had given you. Who knows, now - perks up. You can practically feel his ego grow from under his skin.
“Well if you’re looking to give me a reminder, i’m not opposed to taking you up on that.” His grin is the same, widening the way it did two weeks ago when he picked you up with equally cheesy and terrible lines. The taller one glowers over from next to him, and he backs off with his hands raised.
“Was there anything…unusual that occurred?” The taller one tried again.
“….No. There was nothing unusual with my one night stand, man.” Now you’re giving the both of them the same look he’d given Dean.
“Well-like-I mean-“ He’s flustered, and blush is climbing up his neck. “What about his eyes? What anything different with his eyes?”
You squint. There’s no way in hell the FBI is trying to ask if they’re own agents were on drugs.
“Are you hunters?” There isn’t really a point in beating around the bush, so you just go for it. Then, after already asking, everything clicks into place. The supposed hunting trip, that silver gleam in his eyes (that was honestly really hot) that no longer seemed to be there, your correct suspicion earlier at the bar. To top it off, these things often don’t stay in one area, or just pop up after long periods of disappearing, and besides the eyes, there’s absolutely no tells from a human being. There’s zero chance that you could’ve known a shapeshifter with this guys pretty face attached and memories obtained from was passing through your city for the weekend, let alone that you invited it into your bed.
“Oh, fuck, I totally banged a shapeshifter.”
You knew something was up with that guy— he was just too good to be true.
