Steve didn't hate being an omega, he took pride in it actually. But there was one downside: he was sensitive to everything. To the point that he was literally shaking and leaking all over the place because Eddie Munson was pinning him to the wall with a broken bottle against his throat, growling at him warningly, and smelling of mate. His mate, to be specific.
He was already trilling softly with Eddie's heavy body pressing against him, holding him captive and blocking all of his escape routes. No doubt the entire boathouse was flooded with his slick by now.
Distantly, he heard the others yell at Eddie to step back, but the alpha ignored them all and only had eyes for him. It was flattering. Frightening. The dark, intense gaze made Steve feel like prey. He whimpered.
Eddie finally smiled at him, wolfish and dangerous.
Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI
Chapter Word Count: 3.3k words
Chapter Warnings: angst, language, masterbation, references to physical abuse & references to sexual assault/non-con, injuries to reader
A/N: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support and interest when I posted the Masterlist for this series.
Please double check the warnings there and at the top of each chapter before you read - I can’t stress this enough!
I hope you enjoy the ride! - Beth ❤️
Next Chapter
The thing about mates was, Dean didn’t want one. His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his laptop that warmed his hand, and he, well…he simply didn’t deserve one.
All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt - he’d learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn’t need that risk. Hell, he didn’t need the responsibility.
So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised.
You were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he’d allow himself the pleasure. But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn’t know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn’t, because you belonged to somebody else.
The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.
His eagle eyes couldn’t miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he’d touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.
He could still see them, and you, in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.
It was wonderful until it wasn’t. The constant reminder of what he was allowing to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood. Yet he didn’t want you. Nope. Nuh-uh.
“You good?” Sam asked from the passenger seat, still stealing his own glances like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat. It was getting weird, and Dean chose to focus on the road ahead.
“Yeah,” he said, though his hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. He was good, and the sooner they left this shithole of a town, the better.
He cranked up the stereo, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. His car, his music, his rules. It was everything he needed right now at that moment. It was all he could do to drown out the tingles and pangs that continued to churn in his gut and make his knot twitch.
The second he’d put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the lot, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.
Sam’s heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.
The force of the frayed timber hitting the frame unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.
“Dammit.” He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam’s voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name. He just wouldn’t drop it.
“I’m fine,” Dean spat. Of course he wasn’t. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations. Deal with the strain in his pants, fast becoming painful, and…fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy.
He fumbled with his buckle and popped the button. Moisture already pooled at his tip and when he pushed the denim down and reached in to fist himself, his fingers ran straight through the warm sticky mess with a satisfying tug.
He moaned. Cursed inwardly because of it. Sam’s funk still lingered on the other side and he was bound to notice the pleasurable sound and give him shit for it. So Dean held his breath.
"You know I saw it too," Sam said.
“So?” ‘Course he knew. It was right fucking there. The vamps had torn your clothes, leaving little to his imagination. Your neck. Your claim. The edge of your rack.
"So. She's your soulmate. It's normal to…have these feelings."
Feelings? He didn’t have feelings. “She’s nothin’ to me.” His alpha just wanted its knot wet. Just because you were his soulmate didn’t change a thing. He couldn’t have you. Any piece of wanting he had for you was superficial. Pure lust at best.
"Okay. Go have fun with your hand, then. See if I care," Sam said, right on cue.
"Shut up, bitch," Dean whispered.
And, "Jerk," came the usual retort.
He rolled his eyes.
With his palm still holding the weight of himself, he stepped over to the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. The taps gurgled and air spat from the spouts in the metal head before the hot stream of water burst through.
His brow quirked. He wasn’t the only thing pent up around here.
His boots were the first to go, kicking them off to thud against the tiles. Followed by his socks, pants, boxers and top layers. A heavy jacket, his current favourite flannel and black undershirt to match. All discarded to reveal the thing he’d been dreading to see.
A soul mark. Your initials there, as expected, above his anti-possession tattoo.
He stepped up to the basin and the small rectangular mirror covered in rot and took a closer look. His fingers traced the surrounding skin, still holding a reddish hue.
It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t unnoticeable either, which meant yours was, too.
Had you felt them yet? Seen them? Touched them? Had your mate?
His heart thumped deep in his chest. If he had a mate and she came home with another alpha’s initials on her body, how would he react, ‘cause he doubted he’d be happy. Angry? Maybe. Calm? Definitely not.
But he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. In his mind, you were loved and well taken care of by whoever he was, just as you deserved and he didn’t.
Whatever his name, he wasn’t angry. Whatever his name, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to find out thirty minutes ago, and he never would. Allowing himself to keep only your image and your scent that lingered on his clothes.
What was wrong with him?
Under the warm pressure, he washed the blood, sweat and dirt from the hunt off his broad frame. A generous amount of Sam’s body wash helped.
He closed his eyes and brought his soap covered fingers back to pump his hardened flesh as visions of your mouth wrapped around it urged him on.
He twisted his wrist and grunted. He’d seen your hands. That unscathed skin and pretty manicured nails would look better than what he was working with. Your tongue, licking his head and shaft just the way he liked it in tandem, more so.
He’d grip his hands through your hair and encourage you to take him deeper. His tip would hit the back of your throat and you’d gag, but damn, it’d be sexy. Sweet like velvet.
Fuck.
Dean braced himself against the tiles and pumped harder. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His knot was thickening already, and grunts escaped his mouth in time to his long and precise strokes.
His hand would grip your hips over the wall he was using. The way you’d swayed them, mesmerised him, carrying you well. Those legs they were attached to would lift nicely over his shoulders, or squeeze perfectly ‘round his waist. He’d pump into your tight, slick-lined channel either way.
You’d moan for him. In that silky smooth way you’d spoken to him when you’d thanked him for saving you. Your body would exude a comforting warmth, just as it had in his arms when he’d rescued you.
The hunt had been rough on his body, but you’d be gentle - when you wanted to be.
Your hands would explore every inch of him. They’d pinch his nipples with soft fingers, rolling and twisting, pulling when you dared. Those same manicured nails would dig into his skin and leave perfect crescent moon shapes along his back.
His own fingernails dragged down his chest to mimic his mind. Over the tiny nubs they went, moving down to dance around his navel. They teased the taut flesh of his hips and scoured back over his shoulders where he imagined you’d cling to him.
If he could reach his back, he’d trail them down his spine. He’d grab his ass with both hands if it weren’t for one being occupied with drawing out the toe curling sensations on his dick.
Your scent would take over the floral notes in the soap. Dean had experienced nothing like it. He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by it and you. If he could help it, his favourite flannel would remain as it was, unwashed, but cherished forever.
He’d save it for the next time he allowed his rut. When his balls grew heavy and his skin flamed molten hot.
If only he could sink his knot into you just once. His hand just wasn’t the same. He knew it, and the strokes he made were now shallow and sloppy as he neared his release.
“M’mega,” Dean panted. Ears hopeful to hear you calling him Alpha in return. Just once.
His fingers fumbled over the base he’d push inside you, forcing his knot as deep as it would go. He’d groan, and you’d moan as you clamped down around him, and only when you’d taken your own pleasure would he spill into you. Thick ropes of cum would paint your walls and mix with your slick. Lock you in place. Maybe give him a pup or two.
“Fuck,” he growled, spraying the tiles before him. Pups? No, he didn’t need that, and the remainder of his load thankfully dribbled over his fingers, dripping down to the shower floor below.
It wasn’t how he wanted it to be or how he thought it would be with you, but it was the relief he needed to get him through the thought that he’d be leaving this town, and you, the next day.
When Dean stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even look Sam in the eye to start with.
He dumped his clothes on the bed and headed straight for the fridge in the front corner of the room where the six-pack he’d bought that morning still waited for him to take another load off.
He twisted the cap, flinging it at the trash, and took his first swig before slumping into the closest chair opposite Sam. The stale air in the cushion squeaked under his weight and he smirked at the sound. “Sammy. What’d you eat?”
“Great,” Sam muttered over the top of his computer screen. Though his tone was anything but. “You ready to talk?”
“Nope.” Dean was indignant, and he popped the end of the word in finality. He took another swig and kept the lip close to his. If he was drinking, he couldn’t be talking, and that suited him fine.
Out of sight, out of mind? Out of mouth, out of… no wait. That wasn’t quite right either, and he flicked his head and the thought away.
Sam leaned back in his chair and scratched at his long locks. “You’re wearing the same shirt you gave her.”
“Okay, mom.”
Mary was still a sore spot for both of them, but when Sam insisted on talking about this fresh one, he had it coming. Who was he? The clothes police? “She only borrowed it. It’s still clean.” Dean shrugged.
“Smells like her, too.”
And he’d had enough. He clunked the glass bottle on the table and leapt to his feet. The beer would have to wait. He suddenly needed air, and the cheap brew was shit, anyway.
He walked back to the bed and snatched his jacket, flinging it around his shoulders.
A wave of your scent lifted to his nostrils as it settled on his back, and he closed his eyes.
Dammit. It was only cinnamon. Nothing special. A simple spice. So why the hell was it affecting him? Soulmate or no, he didn’t even know you, and he scowled and turned on his heels.
“Where are you going?” Sam asked, but Dean was already on his way out the door.
It slammed in response as he stepped out into the night and looked around.
Now what?
Getting away from Sammy was one thing, but there was nothing to do in this town. He’d checked out the local nightlife the first night they’d arrived, and there was none… but you.
Haha. Nope. He saw what he did there.
This was fucked. He was fucked. No. Wait. He’d jerked you out of his system.
His hands tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck, then found their way into its pockets. They fumbled over loose change in one and Baby’s keys in the other.
She was waiting for him on the other side of the lot. Her sleek black paint beckoned him to sit behind the wheel, but he turned the other way. He wasn’t one to wallow in self pity, but he would tonight.
He sunk further into his clothes and stomped across the gravel, moving towards the road.
The air was cool and crisp in his lungs. The light from the broken street lamps dim in his eyes and barely enough to show him a way, but it was perfect. Closed shop fronts meant fewer people and fewer people meant less crap to impede your scent on his clothes.
Your scent.
Yeah, okay. He was fucking stupid. Delusional even. Wallowing like this over someone he’d just met? He didn’t know you besides what he’d read on the police report, and that was a fat load of nothing.
A mate, a job, an apartment. Parents interstate.
He wouldn’t have even met you if he and Sam hadn’t taken this case. Wouldn’t have known his soul mate was mated. Wouldn’t have realised he had one. Him. Dean Winchester? With an omega as respectable and normal as you?
Yeah. This was working well. Why not think about what you were doing right now? Imagine you with him, curled up beside him on a nice comfy couch in your cozy apartment? A bed. Your nest? Warm blankets and all that other fluffy crap omegas insisted on buying themselves. The scowl he’d been wearing since Sam had tried talking to him deepened.
He wasn’t right for you, but he was a mate just the same. Your mate. And you deserved one when Dean didn’t want you. When he couldn’t afford to have you in his life. Yet, his mind kept drawing him back in. Teasing him, taunting him, dangling the golden carrot before him. Tempting him to seek you out.
Stupid brain. He should’ve bailed the second he’d dropped you off. Collected the gear and headed straight home for the bunker, but no, he just had to jack off. He’d caved. And now he was wandering around this god forsaken town because he refused to man up and just talk to Sam about it.
He couldn’t turn back, though. Not now. He couldn’t face his baby brother, just like he couldn’t face the truth that continued to dangle just beyond his conscience’s grasp.
So he continued wandering instead because that was helpful. He’d solve everything by scuffing his boots over the gravel, cement, and the odd patch of grass that covered the ground, dragging his bow legs and pride behind him.
His feet directed him left, then right. Everything he passed looked the same.
Buildings merged. Blurred in the darkness. White paint turned grey along with everything else that wasn’t lit by storefronts and their after hours emergency lights. He had no idea where he was besides having Baby’s scent behind him, and more crappy town in front.
But then an apartment block came into view that was familiar, even late at night.
Yes. The street. That car. The park on the other side of it. Fuck. How’d he even manage it? Of all the places he could’ve gone, he’d arrived back where he’d last seen you, only he wasn’t looking at a reflection in the rearview.
And he was no longer alone, either.
Forever the hunter, Dean sniffed the air, scenting the figure he’d spotted on the bench under the tree, and straight away, cinnamon collected in his nose. But so did the metallic tang of blood.
No, no. ‘No fucking way.’ You had a couple of scratches earlier, some bruising maybe, but this was different, and Dean’s fists clenched. Nails dug into the callouses lining his palms. This was fresh and teed with the stench of an alphas knot.
‘M’mega,” his inner alpha rumbled, and dammit, he’d worked so hard to keep the son of a bitch at bay. But just as it would if Sam were injured, or anyone else in their accidental pack, the scent of your blood infuriated him, and he found his feet tumbling underneath towards you.
He raced down the sidewalk. Rushed across the road. His boots pounded over the cement and bitumen with thuds that slapped his ears and jolted his legs.
What the hell were you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here after what had just happened to you. Most civilians knew nothing of his world and the job he did in it, but you did, and you should know better. Know the dangers of being out here alone at night and…and…crying?
A lump formed in his throat. Why were you crying? Why hadn’t you showered, for that matter? Your clothes were the same ones you’d worn earlier. He noticed that the second he pulled up in front of you.
No jacket, no sweater. Shirt torn and dirt covered, but this wasn’t you. This wasn’t the omega on the police report. She was radiant and confident, even at the rundown factory. Yet now, besides the scent and the outline of your body, you were no longer there.
Why?
“Where’s your mate, omega?” Dean cursed under his breath the second the words left his mouth. His inner alpha could gnaw away at his resolve as much as it liked, but you’d never be his.
“What’re you doing here?” Your sniffle was quick and quiet. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and looked up.
He didn’t like the tone in your voice, nor the fear that spiked in your scent when he’d mentioned him. “I asked you first,” he said and moved closer to examine your features.
Your eye was bruised and would turn black. Your mouth, barely lit in the shadows, still shimmered with blood from the cut on your bottom lip.
You didn’t have these injuries before, and though he was seething under the skin, he did his best to rein it in. With a shaky hand, he reached for your cheek. Brushed the tear you’d missed away with his thumb, and though he knew the answer, asked, “Who did this to you?”
He clenched his jaw when you shook your head.
“No one. I fell,” you said. Sucked at lying, too, but it wasn’t the time. He needed to get you outta here before your dickbag mate showed his face.
“Do you have pups?” Minus traces of an alphas ball sack, yours was the only scent surrounding you. He hoped its ‘cause you had none.
Your eyes were sullen when you shook your head,l again, and Dean’s heart raced.
For the second time since he’d known you, he lifted you in his arms and brought your tense form to his chest. You were chilled and weary. Not the way his beautiful omega should ever be around him.
His?
Fuck.
Dean was playing a dangerous game, yet his feet moved under him, towards his motel, and further away from the park where somewhere nearby, he knew you lived with the other alpha.
He didn’t want a mate, but he was fine with taking someone else’s.
Consequences be damned.
Next Chapter
We’ll be following Dean’s perspective for some time, but we will get into the readers head eventually, too. It takes two to tango after all 😉 I hope you enjoyed chapter one!
Comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated. They help turn my retail working frowns upside down.
Chapter 2: Harbouring - 28/02
“The, ah, W stands for Winchester.” His boyish chuckle tethered off as your lip curled.
He should’ve known yours would suit you. Everything else about you had him enamoured, so why wouldn’t it? It was perfect, swirling through the spaces in his mind and touching his lips with a pleasurable rumble when he repeated it back to you.
“Will you let me clean you up?” When you nodded, he gave you a single one back. “Then we’re gonna need a few things first.”
Summary: You wake up in a strange alpha’s cabin in the middle of a snowstorm, all with a busted ankle. He holds shadows in his eyes, even though his hands are gentle. There are iron shutters around his heart, even though he saved you. You might just save him in return.
AN: The grand finale...
Song Inspo: “Against the Wind” by Bob Seger
Word Count: 3.4K
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, knotting, claiming, fluff and feels.
🧡 Series Masterlist
Part 4: Running to Live
His cold hands are warming on your skin as he slides them underneath your sweater. They move smoothly up your back, bunching up the material. You break from his kiss only to help him get the sweater off you, followed closely by his pants.
Your sweatpants slide down your legs with just a sharp tug, baring most of your body to his gaze. His eyes drag over your exposed neck and shoulders, your breasts cupped in your bra, down to your panties and bare thighs.
A shiver runs through you, both from his heated gaze, and from being exposed to the cooler air. Even with the fire going and the heater running in the cabin, the frigid air outside is unforgiving.
You have no problem with the way Dean guides you down from the chaise to take advantage of your nest on the floor, right in front of the fire. He draws you into a sensuous kiss, sucking your lower lip into his mouth and grazing with teeth.
“Were you nesting, Omega?” he teases, between the sinful meetings of his lips with yours. You hum your affirmation before his tongue swipes across your lower lip, seeking entrance.
You open yourself to him in more ways than one; you slip your hands across his naked shoulders and explore the smooth planes of muscle, the dips and softness in between. You encourage him to lower down, to cover you with the length and broadness of his frame. His weight is a welcome one between your thighs and against the softness of your body.
“Was worried about you,” you whisper a confession against his lips. Dean briefly pauses, meeting your eyes.
“Thanks for waiting up,” he says, with a hint of a smile.
Your lips curve upwards in return. You reach up to caress his cheek, feeling the prickling of his stubble. Your fingers thread into his hair, and you pull him back down for a devouring kiss.
Dean’s brows furrow as he holds you to him, wanting to feel every part of your skin against his. His calloused fingers map their way down your side, and across your back to unhook your bra. His lips veer away from yours to burn a wet, heated trail along your neck. His teeth come out to graze your skin, down your throat, down the lovely valley between your breasts.
“Dean,” you gasp, encouraging him when his hand cups one of your breasts. He explores the other with his mouth, teasing a pebbled nipple with his tongue. Your fingers tighten in his hair, your thighs rubbing together between the cage of his knees in the mess of blankets. Already you feel slick forming at the apex of your thighs and slipping down in between.
“Beautiful,” he murmurs against your skin. “Fucking beautiful, you know that?”
You can’t help but smile. Your face warms either from the fire dancing shadows across your bodies, or from him, his attention, his warmth, and the heat in his eyes when they meet your again. His hand slides down your body, over your hip and squeezing your thigh as he opens you up further for him.
“Tell me what you want, Omega.” While I still have control, his tone implies. His voice is gravel and sin while his hand moves swiftly and smoothly up the inside of your thigh.
“Touch me,” you breathe.
Nodding, he hooks his fingers around the hem of your panties and slides them down. You help him kick them off. Afterward, his thumb brushes over your mound, making you sharply inhale and squeeze his shoulders encouragingly. His fingers dip inside your wet heat, his brows raising with a smirk, as he feels the sheer amount of your slick already coating his digits.
“Fuck. This all for me, baby?” he remarks.
You hold onto the back of his neck with both hands as you nod, biting your lip. Your hips begin to cant against his hand on reflex, urging him to touch you.
“Alpha, please…” you implore, in a ragged whisper. He swallows your plea with a ravaging kiss, but he still gives you what you want. His thumb circles your clit, earning a moan from you into his mouth.
Soon, two of his fingers plunge slowly inside you, working you open, drawing more gasps and shudders of pleasure from your body. His length continues to strain hard against your thigh, but for him, it’s worth it to draw every sound, every time your body writhes and arches against him, craving release.
With a few more purposeful strokes, your inner walls clamp tight on his hand, and a flood of slick coats his knuckles even more. You gasp his name, your hands squeezing his arms just as tight as your pussy around his fingers.
Your skin is beginning to get dewy with sweat, and he kisses some of it off you when he trails down your chest. You stroke down his arms, down his back, whatever you can reach as you catch your breath. But then, his name falls from your lips with a firmer tone.
Dean raises his head, and you gently push at his chest. His brows furrow in confusion, only for it to be replaced with a smile of surprise when you curl a thigh over his hip and guide him onto his back. His head just manages to fall on one of your pillows, but he still utters a small grunt. You giggle down at him, bowing to meet him for a kiss.
He smirks and holds onto your hips, playfully squeezing your ass. “My wily omega.”
“Thought I was your cheeky omega,” you tease.
He snorts. “That too.”
You giggle some more as you treat him to the same path of open-mouthed kisses down his neck. Except this time, you hook a hand behind his neck, and you trail your tongue around his mating gland. You feel his jolt of surprise, as well as his instinctive growl of pleasure in response to his mate. Or at least, not yet…
His heart pounds in his chest.
“Omega,” he says, a warning not to tease as his grip tightens on your hips.
The command in his voice makes you shiver, but you smile and nuzzle his cheek in affection. You kiss your way down his body, playing special attention to his nipples, his stomach, the soft V and the happy trail of light brown fuzz leading you down between his hips.
Your fingers slide down his hardened desire through his underwear, earning a grunt from him, along with a shifting of his body against the blankets. Your lips curve as you nuzzle him there as well, letting your lips drag across his impressive length.
His fingers tangle in your hair when you hook your nails around the waistband and free his cock from its confines. His boxers join the rest of your clothes somewhere, and finally you get to see all of him, as much as he takes in all of you. Your hand wraps around his girth, your thumb circling around the sensitive, weeping head of it. Dean groans, a sound from deep in his chest.
You don’t know this, but it’s been a while since anyone but his own hand has touched him. That’s not the only reason his body has been calling to yours, but it plays a part in how fucking good it feels, and how much more he wants you.
He feels your intentions when your hand moves down his shaft in a teasing caress, your fingers tracing around his knot. A shudder rattles down his spine, makes his desire burn hotter in the pit of his stomach.
He can’t fucking take it anymore. He needs you, needs to be inside you. Needs to take you the way his instincts demand.
He grasps your shoulder before you put your mouth on him. You blink up at him, with a question forming on your lips, but he hefts you up onto his chest by your arms. He cages you there with a kiss filled with abject need.
“I can’t. Can’t wait anymore,” he says. He drags his fingers through your folds and earns another moan from your when he finds your clit. “You ready for me, Omega? Need my knot?”
“Yeah,” you nod, agreeing against his lips. “Need you, Alpha—”
No sooner had the words escaped your lips, when Dean rolls you back underneath him. But this time, he guides you onto your stomach, then raises up your hips, until you’re on your hands and knees. You catch your breath as you regain your bearings, shooting an incredulous smile over your shoulder at Dean. He smirks back at you, but his gaze is intense, his pupils darkened with the alpha inside him.
Still, he soothes a hand down your back and steadies you with a hold on your hip. You feel him slot himself behind you, guiding his cock at your entrance. His chest presses hotly against your back.
“Last chance, Omega,” he says, his voice tight with restraint.
You look back at him again over your shoulder, your mouth threatening to frown. You reach back and sink your fingers into his hair with a sharp tug. “Do it.”
He sinks into you with one smooth plunge. It’s a relief for both of you, your mingled moans echoing in the near silence. All that’s left is the sound of your quickening breaths, of skin against sweat-slick skin as you move together.
Dean brushes your hair away from your neck. He kisses and licks his way along your bare shoulder, and finally the back of your neck. You’re trembling by the time his lips find the sensitive flesh of your mating gland. It echoes with the pulsing from your core as he continues to drive into you.
“Alpha,” you gasp on reflex. You squeeze his arm; he has it wrapped tight around your middle. Your pleasure builds ever closer to that crescendo, especially as his thrusts become ragged, at an angle that zips delicious tingles through your core. “Close…just…I need…”
Dean isn’t so far gone. He hears you, and helps you, reaching his hand around to strum his fingers insistently on your clit, along with his final thrusts.
Finally, it tumbles you over. Your inner walls become impossibly tight around him as he draws out your second release—one that triggers his own. Dean groans into your ear; his knot swells and locks into place, and he spends himself deep inside you. He pants hot against your neck, but even though he fastens his lips there, he hesitates, once again making you shudder.
“Do it,” you repeat, in a coarse whisper. You’re close to tears. “Please. Want you, Alpha. Need you…”
Once again, he hears you.
His teeth sink into the back of your neck, making you cry out. But your pain is quickly overshadowed by a deepest pleasure, thrumming along with his.
Afterward, Dean holds you in his arms. The warm glow of the fire paints your skin in its light, despite the utter darkness in the rest of the house.
While you both wait for his knot to subside, you revel in the fact that you know he’s content. You can feel it through the newly formed bond. He traces random shapes in your skin, which still glistens with a fine sheen of sweat. The fire he stoked doesn’t help to cool you down, but you don’t care.
Nothing else matters but this. You turn your head toward him over your shoulder. He meets you there with a gentle kiss, much more gentle than any other you’ve shared before. It feels right.
When he parts from you, he presses another kiss to your forehead. Then he leans back a little and sighs. You feel his thumb trace the raw flesh around the claiming mark on your neck. A small shiver runs through your body. Maybe on another day, you’ll mark him in return.
“It’s too damn late,” he says, breaking the silence. “You realize that right?”
You shoot him a frown. “Too late for what?”
“For me to let you go,” he says.
His words both warm you and make you sad. Just how little does he think of himself?
“Dean,” you say, endeavoring to be patient. “You’re my true mate. Do you know how rare it is that we’ve actually found each other?”
Dean remains quiet.
“And after everything you’ve done for me,” you add, “how can I not think you’re a good man? How can I not think this is right?”
He seems to consider your question. His gaze briefly falls, then meets your eyes again.
“You don’t know me that well,” is his answer, with a wry turn of his lips.
You reach back to caress his cheek. “Then tell me. Tell me about, um…tell me about how you became a hunter. From your dad’s journal, I got the sense that it’s a family thing.”
A vendetta, you wanted to say, but you keep that thought inside.
Dean chuckles, dropping another kiss onto your shoulder. You feel the pleasurable rasp of his stubble.
“Yeah, more like a family business,” he says.
He tells you why John Winchester started writing in that journal in the first place. Dean explains it in his own words, of what his family was before and after a demon broke into his brother’s nursery. Your heart continues to break for him, over and over, the more story he tells. Your shock can only reach new heights when he tells you about angels and demons and everything in between.
There are moments where he pauses, needing the time to find his words. He’s talked for so long that his knot finally softens, allowing you to withdraw from him, just to turn in his arms and be able to see his face. He bundles you in the blankets to keep you warm, but he also keeps you close, with a loose arm around your waist as he continues.
You sense that he’s not telling you everything. How could he? A lifetime of blood and wins and incredible losses; family gained, and family lost, endless saves, and so many near misses. You listen with rapt attention (and a lot of shock) to everything he can share, but your heart twinges when you see how he struggles to talk about his mother’s most recent death. Then his best friend Cas.
You realize that this man, for all his self-deprecation, is a hero. More so than you already knew.
“After the whole Chuck thing was done, I thought we’d just…go back to status quo. Me and Sam against the world, you know?” Dean says. He gives a rueful smile. “Then Sammy tells me he knocked up his mate.”
You smile. “You’re happy for him though.”
“Course I am,” Dean nods. “He never thought he’d get to have all that. A badass chick who can keep him on his toes, a house, the kid, the whole damn thing. He’s downright respectable again.”
His brotherly pride and his humor are tinged with something else though. You think you begin to understand. His losses have weighed him down, leaving him aimless and living in that in between, not unlike the ghosts he used to hunt. You know the feeling.
You thread your fingers with his, earning his attention.
“You can have that too, you know,” you say. “I mean, I don’t want to skip ahead, but I feel like things are going well here, despite the whole busted ankle thing.”
Dean slowly smiles, shaking his head. He brings your hand up to his lips.
“Okay, enough about my Hallmark movie life. What about you?” he asks.
So you tell him.
You two continue to share and explore, both in words and with your bodies, until morning comes.
It’s another week in the cabin before Dean insists on helping you down the mountain. Your ankle has gotten a little better, but at this point, you need to see a doctor. It takes a couple of days, going as slow as you need to. He ends up carrying you for most of the way anyway. You tell him over and over that he doesn’t have to, but your alpha is stubborn.
Once he gets you back to the city, you two take a shuttle to the nearest hospital. X-rays are taken, and you get a new cast for your officially fractured ankle. At the very least, you don’t need surgery. You’re able to call your mom from there and let her know where you’ve been, that you’re all right, and best of all…that you’ve found your mate.
You cry along with her on the phone, this time for a good reason. The best reason.
When you’re eventually released from the hospital, Dean picks you up in a sleek, black Chevy that has your eyes wide.
He grins at the look on your face. “Hey, sweetheart. Come meet my Baby.”
He parks the car and keeps the heater running while he comes around to you in swift strides. He takes your crutches and slides them into the backseat, then helps you into the passenger seat.
“It’s beautiful, but my God, how old is this thing?”
“She. She’s a she.”
“Oh, pardon me,” you say in amusement. “Do I have some competition here?”
Dean gives you a teasing smirk. “Well, technically, she’s been with me a lot longer than you.”
You scoff incredulously. He laughs and takes your hand, pressing a kiss into your palm. You discreetly study him and marvel at how much lighter he seems. You don’t know how much is because of this, what your hand in his symbolizes, and how much is because he’s reunited with something important to him.
“It’s okay, Omega mine,” he says, with a measure of desire in his eyes. “From now on, you’re my priority.”
Your spine prickles with the same arousal you can feel from him through the bond. You lean across the way and share a thorough kiss.
Until a horn honks loudly from behind. You both jolt, but Dean’s face falls into annoyance. He shoots up a choice finger at the car behind him in the rearview mirror. You laugh as he begins to peel out of the curved pick-up and drop-off zone in front of the hospital.
“Where are we going, Dean?” you ask, still smiling in amusement.
“Wherever we damn well please.” He turns to you with a hint of a smile reforming on his lips. “Want me to take you back home? We can sort out the logistics on, uh…well, this.”
You think about it. He poses a good idea, but at the same time, you’re not quite ready for this part of the adventure to end.
“How long has it been since you’ve seen Sam?” you ask.
Dean blinks at your question. He whistles lowly. “About a year. Jesus, since my nephew was born.”
You smile and reach over, resting your hand on his thigh.
“Let’s go see him, then,” you say. “I want to meet your family. Then you can meet mine.”
After that, you two can figure out the rest, like where to live, and how you’ll live.
Dean raises a brow. “Really? That’s like, a thirteen-hour drive.”
You shrug. “I’ve always wanted to go on a real road trip. Can we get some food first though? I’m starving.”
He laughs and nods as he stops the car at a red light.
“What do you know? A woman after my own heart,” he says. His amusement eases into a gentler smile the longer he stares at you. You smile back, and you give into the urge to lean in again, meeting your lips with his. He brushes your cheek tenderly with his thumb.
“I know what this needs,” he says lowly. Your brows draw together in a silent question.
He pulls away to reach into the side compartment along the driver door. He fishes out a cassette tape labelled Zeppelin IV. You bite your lip and try not to say anything smartassed.
Damn, this man is old school.
He skips ahead until he finds Track 7, just as the light turns green. A melodious guitar riff fills the car as he turns onto the main road with your hand wrapped in his.
Made up my mind to make a new start.
Going to California with an aching in my heart…
AN: And thaaaaat's all, folks! 🥹
...Just kidding! lol Here's the surprise epilogue: 🧡🧡
▶️ Keep Reading: Epilogue
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Just a reminder that ✨ mate behavior in males appears before the mating bond snaps ✨
The urge to protect, being incapable of staying away, the desire, the understanding despite anyone else’s opinions! All this? Before the bond snaps.
So again, justifying Azriel’s indifference to a certain red head priestess as “the bond didn’t snap” doesn’t cover why he doesn’t show any behavior towards her.
Listen LISTEN I need you guys to hear an idea I have for a/b/o hannigram
So
True mates
But Will doesn't feel the natural attraction to Hannibal's person suit
Hannibal recognised Will as his true omega at their first meeting but Will acted very indifferent so Hannibal decided not to reveal his discovery yet.
But when Will visits the Copycat killer murder scenes or the Chesapeake Ripper murder scenes he feels a sort of strange pull even though he hasn't seen the alpha who did it and doesn't know his scent. He feels as if these murders were done for him, like his true mate is courting him.
Imagine Hannibal's face when Will sits in front of him and tells him "I think the Chesapeake Ripper is my true mate"
Heyy!!!!! Have you ever read soul bonds where soulmates can feel eachother (phisycally) in omegaverse? I wanna learn more about this because I feel like it'll be interesting.
how perfectly relevant for this week.
here are some bonding hcs for you -
the act of bonding occurs through the mating bite in which there is a fluid transfer, either through saliva in the mouth or "venom" via the teeth, where chemicals from the biters body enter the bitten.
these chemicals change the individual in a similar way that breast-milk is beneficial to babies systems beyond filling their hunger bars, and also similarly affecting the biter with a rush of pleasurable/bond forming hormones in the mind.
in order for the bond to be strong, the couple needs to exchange mating bites and renew them semi-periodically (once a year).
mystically, the scar left by the bite is nearly impenetrable (can't be bitten over by another person), however the same person can bite the same place as much as they want.
when the bite mark isn't refreshed, it will slowly begin to fade. It's a long process that takes 3-6 years on average based on the potency of the chemicals in the fluid transfer which are said to be regulated based on the emotional/mental connection of the individuals.
a soulmate is someone with whom you are said to share a soul bond - a person out there who it is as if you have already bonded with. This includes being able to sense their heightened emotions, sometimes types of precognition about their situations, better relational compatibility/connection, etc..
if you bond with a soulmate the strength is said to be unparallelled. offering such benefits as being able to physical sense them - feel their touch on your skin miles apart, hear their voice clearly, see visions through their eyes.
many religions capitalize on this situation
all bonding is an adjustment to get used to, even with normal mating bites as the sensations of another person can be uncomfortable to percieve at first.
those with soulbonds experience a much longer phase of adjustment as it can cause serious disorientation, decrease in spatial awareness, hallucinations, and even psychosis.
mating bites often have several other health benefits - such as sharing an immune system. Studies show that if one partner is sick and the other one has had the illness and recovered, regular mating bites quickly aid recovery. This has also been proven for non disease ailments like pain management, wound healing, and mental health distress.
it is difficult when an individual in any kind of bond passes away, however an unexpected death of an individual in a soulbond can be fatal to their partner.
breakups are not harmful through the bond. If one person begins to feel distance the potency of their bite will decrease, also affecting how the chemicals from their partner are metastasized and absorbed into their own system. Truly unexpected severing of relationships can be rocky, however it is not strong enough to cause serious physical harm - mental/emotional effects may linger on longer depending on the situation.
