Summary: A shifter kidnaps you and teases you about it. [wc 862] [ao3]
Warnings: shifter! dean, angst, torture, imprisonment, being stalked
3K Writing Challenge
@0ccvltism Waking up in a strangers house. You don’t recognize the person standing in front of you. But they know ALL about you. okayokayokay maybe shifter dean? IF NOT THAT'S OKAY I JUST --
You wake up in a bed that isn’t yours. The sheets are soft. Clean. Smell faintly like motor oil and something woodsy. The ceiling above you isn’t cracked like your apartment’s. There’s no water stain in the corner. No hum of your broken AC.
Instead—silence. Too much silence.
You sit up slowly.
Boots. You notice the boots first. Scuffed. Worn leather. Resting on the edge of the mattress like whoever’s wearing them has been there awhile.
Then your eyes trail upward.
Flannel. Broad shoulders. A man leaning casually in a chair across from you like he’s been waiting for you to wake up.
Green eyes. Watching. “Morning, sweetheart.”
Your stomach drops. You don’t recognize him. But the way he says it? Like he’s said it a hundred times before. “Who are you?” Your voice comes out hoarse. Your throat feels tight. Your body feels heavy, sluggish—like you slept too deeply.
He smiles. Not kindly. Soft. Familiar. Almost fond. “That’s not the right question.” He leans forward, forearms braced on his thighs. “The right question is how’d you sleep?”
Your pulse spikes. You scramble backward, pressing yourself against the headboard. “Where am I?”
“My place.”
“I don’t know you.” A tilt of his head. Slight. Curious. “Yeah,” he says gently. “You do.”
You shake your head. “No. I don’t.”
He studies you for a long moment. Not angry. Not frustrated. Almost… amused. “You drink your coffee with two sugars. Not because you like it sweet. Because you burned your tongue once and now you’re paranoid about bitterness.”
Your breath catches.
“You hum when you’re anxious. Same three notes. Over and over.” He hums them softly.
They’re correct. Your chest tightens.
“You twist your ring when you’re lying,” he continues, eyes flicking to your hands. “And you start every grocery list with eggs. Even if you don’t need them.”
Your blood runs cold. “How do you know that?”
He smiles wider. “I’ve been watching you a long time.”
The words land heavy. Wrong. “You follow me?” You whisper.
His expression shifts slightly at that. Almost offended. “I protected you.” He stands.
You flinch instinctively.
He notices. And something in his eyes darkens.
“There’s been a man following you for a few weeks now. He’s been tracking your morning commute.” he says calmly. “He doesn’t stare at anyone anymore.”
Your stomach twists.
“Last Monday I fixed that wretched doorframe in your apartment -- the one that squeezes if you breathe too hard around it. There was a loose floorboard in your living room. I fixed that three days ago.”
Your pulse is roaring now.
“The night you cried because everything felt like too much?” His voice softens. “I was there. Always. My god, the sadness radiates off you like a rainstorm.”
Your hands are shaking. “That’s not protection,” you say, voice thin. “That’s— that’s insane. Violations. Against the law. You broek into my home--”
He steps closer. Close enough you can see the faint scar along his jaw. The freckles across his nose. Close enough you realize—Something is slightly off. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. His posture is… too careful. Like he studied how to stand this way. Like he practiced.
“You were lonely,” he says quietly.
Your breath stutters. “You said it out loud. Remember?”
His voice shifts subtly. Deeper. Rougher. “You said, ‘I wish someone would just take care of things.’ ‘I wish I wasn’t alone.’ ‘I wish someone would love me.’”
Your stomach drops. Because you did. Three nights ago. Alone in your apartment. Crying. You stare at him. “That’s impossible.”
He tilts his head again. And for just a flicker of a second— His face ripples. Like heat over asphalt. Skin stretching. Features sliding. Green eyes becoming a shade too bright. Jawline shifting subtly. Then snapping back into place.
You choke on a sound. “What— what are you?”
He exhales slowly. “Someone who listens.”
Another flicker. This time slower. His nose reshapes. His cheekbones sharpen. His hair darkens then lightens again like it can’t decide. A shifter. And he chose that face.
Dean’s face. “Why him?” you whisper.
His smile turns sharp. “Because you trust him.”
Your heart slams against your ribs. You try to move. To run. But your legs feel weak.
“You don’t get to panic now,” he says softly. “Not after you asked for this.”
“I didn’t ask for you!”
“You asked for someone to handle it.” His voice drops. “I’m thorough.” He crouches in front of you now. Too close. Not touching. Yet. “I know the way your breathing changes when you’re scared,” he murmurs. “I know the way your shoulders tense before you cry. I know which nightmares wake you up.”
His fingers hover near your wrist. Not grabbing. Just waiting. “And I can be him,” he whispers. His face shifts again— Now it’s Dean’s face fully. Perfectly. Not a flicker out of place. Familiar. Safe. Wrong. “You don’t have to be alone anymore.”
Your chest heaves. The worst part? Some part of you wants to believe him. And he can see it. His eyes gleam. “That’s okay,” he murmurs. “Take your time. I’m patient.” A beat. “I’ve already waited this long.”
warnings: drinking, deception, character death, unprotected sex, angst, missionary and doggy style sex, fluff, choking, this one is kinda dark 👀
yazzy’s comments: phew, this one is a little longer as i was feeling inspired by @deansbeer shifter!dean fic. honestly surprised i wrote this in two hours. not proofread !!
18+, must have age in bio to interact. minors and ageless accounts will be blocked !!
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there’s nothing but bodies in this frat home, your own included as it joins those on the dance floor. red solo cup in hand filled with something you didn’t bother asking about tonight, what mattered was the buzz that filled your veins. the sweat pouring out your skin as your hips matched the beat of the loud music blaring from someone’s speaker. tonight wasn’t going to be wasted on school assignments for once.
your eyes focused on those who were walking into the kitchen, getting refills of the fruity liquid and after taking a glance in your cup, decided to get some more. chugging what little remained on the way there as you squeezed between other bodies.
finally reaching the counter with all the drinks, your eyes darted between the makeshift punch bowl that was just some giant storage container and the beer keg. now momma taught you not to mix your poisons but you kinda wanted a beer now. though as you pour, someone’s hand covers your own, strangely cold in such a heated environment.
you looked to see it was dean, flashing his signature smirk right at you. “allow me.” your hand pulls back as he gets the beer for you, getting one for himself as well.
there’s a million questions swirling in your mind, as dean dropped out a long time ago. leaving without a trace and saying something about finding his brother. it had pissed you off then when weeks would go by and he didn’t even bother to send a text. yet to see him standing here in the flesh made you the opposite. “there ya go sweetheart, come on.” his hand pulls yours as he led you outside into a more secluded area of the backyard.
you needed to clear the air at least. “look, i’m glad you’re back but you left me. least you could have done is send a text you know?” you take a sip of beer after, looking into his eyes and noting they seemed a bit…off. maybe its just been a while since you last saw him, things can change.
“i know, but shit hit the fan. i wanted to come back as soon as possible,” his hand lingers on your arm, squeezing gently and you take a moment to glance at it. he’s still cold. “missed you gorgeous.”
you narrow your eyes at him while taking another sip, dean had never been so touchy feely before. nor had he really been one to showcase so much emotion. but again, your mind reminds you that things can change. “missed you too, jackass.”
your admission makes him smirk again, his hand cupping your cheek for a moment before pulling away. glancing off to the side for a moment before meeting your own again. “look i don’t wanna waste tonight begging you on my knees to forgive me alright? rather be on my knees for something a little more sweet.”
his bold nature makes you blush, had dean gained some charm in his absence? “i mean i’m not super mad, you’re lucky i’m just drunk cause sober me would slap the shit out of you.” you finished the rest of your beer, needing some liquid courage before meeting his eyes again. “but i guess you could make it up to me with ice cream, remember willies?”
for a second, annoyance flashes in his eyes before its replaced by something else. chugging the rest of his beer, he discarded the red solo cup somewhere and closed the distance between you both. “i was thinking of a different sweet treat.” his face moves closer to your own, the two of you sharing the oxygen between you. “you get what i’m saying?”
you assume that dean’s drunk too, otherwise he wouldn’t be so forward with his words. it’s getting quite annoying to question everything he’s doing, maybe you should take his advice and not waste tonight. with a sigh you meet his lips, hoping that you’d make the right choice tonight.
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the mattress creaks with every thrust from dean’s hips, his harsh pace practically ripping your body apart as your nails sink into his flesh. his skin was still cold but you didn’t mind helping him warm up.
“you’re still thinking, that’s not a good sign.” he pulls out, much to your protest and suddenly your face meets the pillows. “need you to just feel.” his dick pushes back inside, your pussy remembering his shape as it practically welcomes him with open arms. he smacks your ass, chuckling darkly. “he doesn’t even know what he left behind.”
you whimper as his thrusts resume, his tip hitting deeper into your cervix. “w-what?” you manage to choke out, gripping onto the sheets for dear life as he gets faster. it’s almost inhumane in a way.
“nothing, just keep taking my dick like the slut you are.” he leans over just a bit, using his thumb to rub your clit as your walls tighten around him. “f-fuck, who knew you had such a good little cunt?”
you struggle to stay in place with every thrust, nails digging into the memory foam and you know the damn protector is ripping from your grip. your skin shines in a layer of sweat, as does his. finally he wasn’t so cold anymore. a slap to your folds draws you away from your thoughts as dean practically growls. “thought i said to not use your head, you don’t need it.” another slap hits your folds. “not with me at least.”
sticky cum fills your insides as you both struggle to catch your breath, his dick still inside and throbbing like crazy. you wonder if his abuse against your poor cunt was over. though as he pulls out and chuckles darkly again, you’re not so sure. “fuck, she is quite the sight.”
you turn to lay on your back, your legs still spread open for him as he runs his thick digits between your folds. “keep it inside,” dean pushes the cum that had begun to ooze out back inside, smirking as you let out a groan. your folds were swollen and there’s no doubt you could walk. what pissed him off was that you weren’t too stupid to think, that still brings up an opportunity for his plans to fail.
“dean,” you whisper, reaching a hand out to him but he slaps it away. opting to pin your hands above your head instead. “dean wait—”
once again, he pushes inside without warning. this time though, his thrusts are a bit gentle. slowly working up a new pace as you attempt to free your hands, aching to touch his skin. “relax, i’m trying to memorize this. god you’re perfect. it’s a shame.”
your brows knit together as he reaches over for something in your bed, tying your wrists to the bedpost. “dean what the h-hell? what’s going on?” though your words are met with silence as he tightens the buttoned up shirt he wore earlier, ensuring you couldn’t escape. “this isn’t funny anymore.”
his hands fold your legs into your chest, his dick hitting you at a new angle as you whimper. thrusts picking up to a similar pace as earlier, no longer so gentle. “you know what is funny though?” dean grins, one of his hands coming to wrap around your throat. “he could have walked away, left the fucking case alone but a winchester never backs down do they?”
his words confuse you as he starts to squeeze your throat, though the combination with that and his harsh pounding makes you torn between fear and arousal. “i will admit, seeing you in his memories and finding out how he feels about you, shit. I get it.”
dean applies more pressure, enjoying the sweet noises you were making as he spots your phone going off on the bedside table. “its too bad he didn’t give you a proper goodbye. but hey, it worked out in my favor.” it’s not long until he cums inside you again, meeting your swollen lips with another bruising kiss, forcing his tongue inside.
the words made alarm bells go off in your head but the pleasure was too overwhelming to ignore. making you dizzy with every touch just like dean had originally wanted. besides how could this be dean and not him at the same time?
the phone goes off again and he swipes it, checking the name on the small screen of the blackberry. “damn, guess playtime is over. but i guess i can make a lasting impression.” dean answers the phone, placing it on speaker while keeping his animalistic pace. “sorry, they’re a little busy, might i take a message?”
“where is she?” the voice on the phone makes you freeze, it sounded exactly like dean’s. “sweetheart you there?!”
there’s no proper response you can give him and you can’t help but moan when not-dean starts playing with your clit again. “again, she’s a little busy. ain’t that right baby?”
you want to scream, to get some answers as to what’s going on and who was currently rearranging your guts but this imposter doesn’t provide much. only fucking you harder as if that was even possible, though with the light of your blackberry you can catch his eyes. they seem to be a little reflective, going to white before changing back to the same green pupils dean had. “what…”
just then the door busts down and you spot dean with a gun in his hand. wasting no time to shoot the damn bastard inside you now and you scream as he slumps onto you.
the real dean’s quick to pull the monster as it shifts back to its true form. you’re still very naked as the ties around your wrist loosen up. immediately dean’s covering your body with the blanket and sighing, cupping your cheek. his hand is warm. “i’m sorry you had to witness that.”
you’re shaking, glancing from dean to the monster that was laying on the floor beside your bed. just what the fuck was going on? though as you try to reply, a tall figure appears in your doorway. he seems to be taller than dean and has shaggy brown hair.
“that’s my brother sammy, he’s nice don’t worry.” dean glances to sam, giving him a certain look and his brother walks away. “there’s a lot to explain and if you wanna know i’ll tell you. but let’s get you dressed.” with gentle touches, dean carries you to the bathroom. drawing a bath and helping you get inside, making sure to be respectful of your private areas.
“he looked like you.” you whisper as dean hands you the loofah to wash your body. the soap suds covering your body and you are grateful dean looks away.
“i know and don’t feel bad because you thought he was me. you don’t know about shit like this cause i tried to keep you away from it.” dean takes the time to wash your hair, smiling softly when you close your eyes. at least he knows you’re comfortable with him here. that’s the most important thing on his mind. “this world is…cruel.” when he’s done, dean is careful to rinse your hair without getting the water on your face.
you pull the plug, watching the water go down and dean’s quick to grab a towel. “i’ll be outside okay? you want some clothes?”
you shake your head, holding onto his hand. “it’s okay, i don’t have any reason to hide. i kinda gave it up.” those words make dean frown, kneeling down in front of the tub.
“don’t say that, he’s a fucking freak and you didn’t do anything wrong. plus, i rather you wait to show off how gorgeous you are. and that’s with clothes on.” he meets your eyes, ignoring that you’re now bare in the empty bathtub. the still towel folded in your hand.
“okay.” you reply, covering yourself in the towel as he helps you stand up. he doesn’t carry you this time, though you wish he would. his touch is more gentle, something you wanna remember versus the monster that had been all over you earlier. had time machines existed, you’d stop yourself from going to the party entirely. sober you would have far better judgment than the one who chose to play naive.
“hey. what i say?” dean checks you out of your thoughts, walking with you into the room. the corpse of the monster now gone and dean takes this time to fix the door he bust down. his back to you for some privacy. “don’t blame yourself, that only makes it worse. take it from me.”
you pull out some sweats and a hoodie, eager to cover your skin down to even your toes as socks hide them. your hair still sitting on your shoulders, dripping down your back. with the same towel, you dry to absorb some of that water into the plush fabric as your eyes focus on what dean was doing.
he may not have his tools, but dean makes a mental note to find a screwdriver to fix the hinges. for now he props up the door against the frame, a problem for future him to fix. “i’ll check baby’s trunk tomorrow,” the hunter turns back to look at you, noting how every inch of skin was nowhere in sight. “hey, how about we hit willies like old times? i’m kinda craving some ice cream.” least he could do is help you forget for the rest of the night. in due time he’ll tell you everything.
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Please note; I do not allow translations or redistributions of my work by anyone else except myself. MDNI, if your account is ageless or empty, I will block you !! Minors are NOT welcome here.
I've talked a few times about Eric Kripke recycling his SPN ideas into The Boys. Not even the broader themes which I kind of expect with a writer, but more specific arcs or episode concepts, most recently here, here, and here.
But then in the S4 finale alone, Kripke does a twist on a few reasonably well-known SPN scenes between 2 arcs: the shifter!Annie arc and the Butcher talks to Ryan scene.
First, there's the Shifter!Annie vs Annie arc which is the composite of 2 episodes. The obvious is the shifter!Dean episode from 1x6 Skin. The fight of Dean vs shifter!Dean and killing himself, where the shifter uses his body to commit a crime. How Hughie, like Sam, figures something is up by the little things. How the shifter has the knowledge to spew off to Sam all of Dean's resentments he'd never say, much like shifter!Annie can recite off Annie's or her old preschool teacher.
But then there's the other half of the inspiration for this episode: 3x10's Dream a Little Dream of Me. Because shifter!Annie is telling this all to herself, not someone else like Dean's shifter. And in 3x10, Dean has it out with a demon version of himself in a dream, dealing with his insecurities and his upcoming trip to hell. Both of them are in a bad headspace before this, and this attack by someone who knows all their thoughts and looks just like them is both a gut punch, and the clarity they need to finally move past the denial to realize they are not okay.
And third, there's the scene with Butcher and Ryan in the safe house. The key part of this is Kessler. Kessler is looming over every word Butcher says. Unheard by (almost) everyone in the room. It's basically Dean in 2x1 "In My Time of Dying". But the twist on this I have to give Kripke credit for, is that it's not Dean. Dean was pushing for his family to save him, to be better versions of themselves that didn't fight. But with Kessler, he's the worse version of John Winchester. He's arguing how they can't save Ryan. Not dissimilar to how he whispers to Dean before he dies he has to save Sam or kill him. It's like the topsy-turvy version of SPN 2x1 if John would have been the one stuck between life and death, down to the same actor.
I don't know what it says about Kripke he's recycling these scenes - that he really likes the concepts, really wants to work through something, wants the chance to do this with less censorship than network tv.
But I find these too big (and too fascinating) of a coincidence to be ignored.
i literally can't stop thinking about shifter!dean so i curse thee with a brain dump ficlet. cw for non-con groping & kissing
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"See, deep down, I'm just jealous. You got friends, you could have a life," the shifter said, Dean's stolen face barely visible in the dim sewer light. His eyes flicked between Sam's, hurt and something unidentifiable swimming in them. "Me?" He leaned in closer, the space between them growing hot and humid. Sam could feel the shifter's breath on his cheek. "I know I'm a freak."
Sam scowled, glaring the creature down. "What the hell are you talking about?" Dean was a lot of things; a nerd, a jerk, disgustingly charming, but not a freak. That title was reserved for Sam.
A grin twitched across the shifter's lips. "Oh, you don't know, do you?" it said, amusement thick in his voice.
Sam knew he should ignore it, this impulse to get insight into his brother's mind, his thoughts and feelings that he kept held so closely to his chest. The thing would probably lie anyway. But Sam was never good at resisting temptation. "Know what?"
Not-Dean was suddenly straddling Sam's thighs, a lascivious smile on his face. Sam instinctively tried to move away, but the rope kept him from doing much more than squirming under the creature's weight. A low chuckle rumbled in its chest. "Dean here?" It shoved its hand between them, roughly palming Sam through worn denim. Sam tried to stifle a gasp, only half succeeding. "He wants you. Hell, he's wanted you since he was seventeen."
Sam felt frozen, shock making his limbs feel numb. Or maybe that was the rope cutting off his circulation, he couldn't really spare the brain power to tell. "Wh-what? No, you...you're lying."
The shifter leaned in closer, nipping at Sam's earlobe. "Oh, the things he wants to do to you." He ground his hips down against Sam's lap forcefully. "His sweet little Sammy."
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sam registered Not-Dean was hard. Another sharp bite, this time to the hinge of his jaw, had him letting out a startled yelp.
The shifter groaned against his skin. "God what he would give to hear you make noises like that." It grabbed a fistful of Sam's hair, yanking down on it hard. Sam, in an attempt to stifle a loud cry, let a pitiful whimper slip past his lips instead. The creature's eyelids fluttered shut. "Fuck, yeah, just like that."
Warm, plush lips were suddenly on him, sliding against his stock-still ones. Before his brain could send the message of no bad no, his own lips were moving. The shifter growled and pulled his head back further, drawing a gasp out of Sam and giving himself an opening to lick deep into Sam's mouth. A soft moan escaped Sam. What could he say? The thing could kiss. Dean could kiss.
It was like a bucket of ice water was dumped on him. He twisted his head away, forcibly breaking the kiss. His heart was hammering in his chest and his stomach flipped and the worst part was, Sam couldn't tell if it was disgust or...
The shifter slowly stood, still trying to catch its breath. It reached down and grabbed one of their duffel bags, swinging it over his shoulder. "Well, it's been great, y'know, shattering your worldview and all," he looked Sam up and down once more, predatory, "but I've got a hot date with lovely little Becky."
...
"Well that's 'cause you're a freak," Dean, the real Dean, teased from behind the wheel as Saint Louis disappeared behind them.
Sam snorted. "Yeah, thanks," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
"Well I'm a freak too. I'm right there with you, all the way."
"Yeah, I know you are." Sam looked down at his hands, twisting them nervously in his lap. The shifter's words bounced around his brain: He wants you. He shifted in his seat and bit his lip, the next part of the memory playing involuntarily.
Dean shot him a quick glance out of the corner of his eye. "What?"
"Dean...um..." Sam readjusted in his seat again, the Impala suddenly feeling claustrophobically small. "Well, I, uh-"
Dean shot him an annoyed glare "Sam," he admonished.
"Do you want me?" Sam blurted out, his face blooming scarlet and his skin too hot.
Dean's grip tightened on the wheel. A muscle in his jaw ticked. "What?" His voice was too calm, too measured.
"The shifter, it said you wanted me. It...it kissed me. Do...do you want me that way, Dean?"
Dean was clenching his teeth so hard that Sam could've sworn he heard his jaw creaking. His knuckles were white on the wheel and his face, where Sam expected to see fiery red skin, angry or embarrassed, was drained of all color. Dean didn't respond or even look at Sam, just turned up the radio so loud that neither could hear themselves think.
Sam's stomach was in knots again, and this time, it was worse: he knew it wasn't disgust.
