fallen angels, demons, and the devil herself

The soft rumble of the Impala’s engine outside her apartment had become a sound she knew by heart. She would tell herself not to look through the window. But she always did. There he’d be, leaning against the driver’s door with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, looking exhausted. Like he’d spent weeks carrying the weight of the world.

He never knocked twice.

“You awake?” he’d ask when she opened the door.

“You knew I would be.”

And just like that, the distance between them disappeared for a night. Pizza boxes left open on the coffee table, old movies neither of them actually watched. Conversations that wandered from stupid jokes to childhood memories, to hunts that almost went wrong, to dreams neither of them dared believe could ever happen.

Sometimes he’d fall asleep on her couch before making it to her room. Yet, their bodies would always find together some time throughout the night. He’d wake before sunrise, already pulling on his boots. Every single time. 

“You don’t have to leave yet,” she would whisper, still wrapped in a blanket. Dean would pause and for one impossible second, she’d think he might stay. Then he’d force that familiar crooked smile onto his face.

“I do.” No explanation, just those two words.

He’d press a lingering kiss to her lips, grab his keys, and disappear before the sun had fully risen. The only proof he’d been there was an empty coffee mug in the sink and the faint scent of leather and motor oil that lingered long after he’d left.

She tried convincing herself not to wait for him anymore. She dated other people when he was gone for months. Ignored his messages. Promised herself that the next time the Impala rolled into her street, she wouldn’t answer the door.

Then, weeks later, headlights would sweep across her curtains. And despite everything, her feet would carry her to the door. Because somehow Dean Winchester always knew exactly when to come back. Just never how to stay.

One rainy night, as he stood in her doorway with damp hair and shadows beneath his eyes, she looked at him for a long moment before speaking.

“You only ever come here when you’re running from something.” His jaw tightened.

“I’m not running.”

“No?” She folded her arms. “Then why do you always leave before morning?”

Silence stretched between them. The rain tapped against the windows. Finally, Dean looked down at the floor.

“You know this is complicated.” Her chest ached.

“Because of my dad?” 

Dean was her father’s best friend. The man who had carried her on his shoulders when she was little. The one who taught her how to throw her first punch, change a tire, and drive stick in the Impala after weeks of relentless begging.

He wasn’t supposed to look at her differently. (Y/n) wasn’t supposed to notice the gray beginning to dust his stubble. Or the way his voice dropped when he said her name. Or how lonely he looked when he thought nobody was watching

He kept quiet, ran a hand through his hair, and stared at her with those green eyes until she sighed and let him in; once again. An hour later, empty takeout containers littered her coffee table. Dean sat with one arm stretched across the back of the couch, his head tipped toward her as she talked about her week. He listened more than he spoke, smiling at the parts she didn’t even think were funny.

“You disappeared for five weeks,” she eventually said quietly.

“I know.”

“No call.”

“I know.”

“No text.”

Dean rubbed a hand across his face.

“I know.”

Her frustration had been simmering for weeks, and now it spilled over. It felt ugly, too cutting, too intense. “You vanish, Dean.”

He looked away.

“I had a job.”

“You always have a job.”

“You know what my life is.”

“And what am I?” Her voice cracked despite her best effort. “Some place you stop when you get tired of running?”

His jaw tightened at her words. “Don’t.”

“No.” She stood, putting space between them while anger began to drip from her words. “Answer me.”

Dean rose too. The apartment suddenly felt too small, the room too cold

“I come here because it’s the one place I don’t have to think, don’t have to play some role. Don’t take this from me.” His eyes finally snapped back to her. They were full of something he’d spent months trying to bury. “It matters too much.” 

The words stole the air from the room. She laughed once, bitterly. “You keep pretending this is easier than it is.”

His shoulders sagged. For the first time since she’d known him, Dean looked defeated, head hanging, hands balled into fists.

“You make me forget,” he admitted. “For one night I forget all the things waiting for me out there. And then morning comes and I’m reminded of the years between us, the memories, the promises.”

She reached up before she could stop herself, brushing her fingers lightly over the bruise on his jaw. His hand found hers, almost cautiously, as though he expected her to pull away. She didn't.

“You know I don’t care about the age gap or you being my dad’s best friend. All I care about is you, Dean.” A long silence stretched between them.

“So simple,” he murmured.

“It could be.”

He gave a small, sad smile. “No.”

The word hurt more than she expected. She started to step back, but Dean caught her wrist. His thumb brushed against her pulse.

“I’m sorry.” His gaze dropped to her lips for the briefest moment before snapping back to her eyes.

“We can’t keep doing this,” she spoke quietly. “This has to end, Dean. I won’t survive otherwise.”

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. His grip loosened, giving her every chance to walk away. Instead, she closed the distance. The kiss was hesitant for exactly one second. Then weeks of distance, missed phone calls, unsaid apologies, and impossible feelings crashed together all at once.

His hand slid to her cheek, and hers tangled in the front of his shirt as if she was afraid he’d disappear before she could convince herself he was still real. When they finally broke apart, their foreheads rested together, both of them breathing a little harder. Dean closed his eyes.

“One last night is all I’m asking for,” he whispered.

She didn’t answer. (Y/n) stared at him for at least ten seconds before nodding her head, hoping to cover the hurt laced in her gaze. He followed her to the bedroom, the familiar path he had walked too many times to count. 

It didn’t take long for their clothes to hit the floor, one by one the layers were stripped away. Lips found skin, fingers found roots to tug on, hearts found a similar beat. One last night. One last high. One last kiss. The house of cards was about to collapse, and there would be nothing but hurting memories afterward. 

“Dean,” she panted his name, pressing herself closer to him while he lingered between her thighs. He cherished her taste, let it linger on his tongue while his arms had a tight grip around her thighs. He was set on pushing her over the edge with his mouth first, needing to watch her fall apart without being distracted himself. 

She shook as her orgasm rose, pulsing through her like a second heartbeat. His name left her, her fingers tugged on his roots, but his gaze never wavered. It stayed glued to her trembling body until her first high let go of her. 

“Condom?” She shook her head at the question. 

“Not if it’s our last time.” She had always asked for extra protection, not daring to wonder if he spent his weeks away around other women. But tonight she couldn’t care, tonight she needed all of him. 

Dean kept quiet at that. He moved up her body, lips leaving kisses every now and then, and then entered her, slowly, cautiously. Both moaned at the sensation, bodies adjusting after all that time apart. 

“Fuck,” it was a deep breath leaving him. He moved slowly, taking his time while she kept her legs wrapped around him. Their bodies met with every thrust, he was set on leaving marks as if he wanted to make her remember this for the next weeks. But (y/n) was sure her heartbreak would do a good job of reminding her anyway. 

“Atta girl, fuck, my pretty girl, you feel so good like this.” Tears gathered around her lashes, she tried to blink them away, but without luck. They began to drip down her cheeks while he kept moving, oblivious to them at first. It felt as if watering a grave, an empty home with a soul no longer there, yet the love remained, like it always would. 

The second he looked down at her, eyes no longer closed, his pace began to falter. He wiped the tears away with his thumb, but he kept quiet, not speaking words she needed to hear, confessions, promises, nothing. 

Her walls fluttered around him, even though she fought against the sensation. She didn’t want to cum yet, didn’t want to end it this quickly, but his fingers began to circle her bundle of nerves, pushing her over the edge once again.

Dean fucked her through the high, eyes not leaving hers while chasing his own release. He pulled out of her seconds before letting go, painting her stomach white with a deep groan. Both were heavily breathing, staring at one another until he closed the gap for another kiss. 

…

Morning arrived too soon, sunlight slipping through the curtains in thin stripes across the floor. Everything felt strangely still, as though the world outside had agreed to wait just a little longer.

She lay on her side, watching Dean pull on his T-shirt in silence. Neither of them mentioned what had happened. Neither of them needed to.

The air between them had changed. He sat on the edge of the bed to lace up his boots, elbows resting on his knees for a moment before he let out a slow breath.

“So,” he started quietly.

“So.”

His lips twitched into a tired smile.

“We’re really bad at ‘one last time.’”

She smiled despite herself. Dean reached for his jacket from the floor, turning it over in his hands before finally slipping it on.

(Y/n) wondered what would happen after today. She imagined Dean leaning against the kitchen counter with a beer while her father complained about a hunt. Sam would probably notice the silence first. He always noticed; her dad wouldn’t. He’d clap Dean on the shoulder, laugh too loud at one of his jokes, maybe even say something about how good it was to have everyone together again. The thought made her stomach twist.

“You think he’ll know?” She asked, eyes not meeting his. 

Dean’s expression hardened.

“No, he trusts me.” The words landed between them like broken glass. Dean closed his eyes for a brief second before crossing the room until he was right in front of her again. “I don’t regret you.”

Her eyes lifted to his.

“Not for a second.”

His thumb brushed gently across her knuckles.

“I regret the position it puts you in.” She had no answer to the words, aware that there was no use in fighting Dean Winchester on a decision like this.

“I’ll see you tonight.”

It sounded strange. Not like a promise, more like a warning.

“Tonight,” she began, unable to finish while her throat grew tighter. 

“We go back to pretending.” The words seemed to hurt him too, making his face harden. 

Dean looked toward the apartment door and then turned from her. He opened the door, hesitated with one hand on the frame. For just a second, she thought he might come back. Instead, he looked over his shoulder.

“You deserve more than stolen nights.”

Before she could answer, he was gone.

…

By seven that evening, the bunker looked exactly as it always had. The smell of burgers drifted from the kitchen. Classic rock echoed faintly from the garage. Her father was laughing before she even stepped through the door.

“There she is!” he called. “Perfect timing.”

She forced a smile while greeting her dad. 

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter, beer bottle in hand. He looked up as she walked in, just for a heartbeat. There was no smile, no lingering glance. Nothing anyone else would notice.

“Hey, kid,” he said as casually as if he’d last seen her weeks ago instead of hours.

Her father tossed Dean another bottle from the fridge. “Dean was just telling me about that hunt in Wyoming.”

Dean smiled with practiced ease. It was the same smile everyone knew. The same one that hid everything. Across the room, their eyes met for the briefest moment. No one noticed. No one could.

"Mom says you're supposed to be good at communication," (y/n) pushed out mid argument with him, a fake smile playing on her lips, her voice dripping with something sickenly sweet.

"Your mother also says you're supposed to be filing those reports." She narrowed her eyes, he returned the look, while across the bullpen, Derek let out a laugh.

"Twenty bucks says they kill each other before the semester ends."

"Make it thirty," Emily mumbled, eyes not leaving her report once. 

God, she hated him, hated those irritatingly perfect curls, the stupid cardigans, the way he always corrected her professors whenever he visited her university as a guest lecturer. And worst of all, the way he acted like she was a child.

She was in her twenties, an adult and not some little kid running around Quantico.Yet every time she offered an opinion, Spencer somehow found a way to dismiss it, as if she couldn't possibly know what she was talking about, as if she wasn't smart enough.

And perhaps the worst part was that she cared, deeply. Because beneath all the irritation and arguments, she knew exactly what Spencer Reid thought of her: immature, impulsive, a distraction. And maybe that was why every interaction felt like a challenge, because she desperately wanted to prove him wrong.

…

Three days later, the team caught a case in Virginia. Everyone left the station there before sunrise, everyone except Spencer and (y/n), forced to stay behind because Hotch had belted some command into their direction, asking them to work on the geo profile of the area.

The room they had been offered by the sheriff felt eerily empty without the rest of the team. There was nothing now, just silence and Spencer Reid. The combination was torture, even as hours passed and (y/n) worked through maps. Neither spoke and for the first time since she'd started her internship, they were actually tolerating each other. Until the first roar of thunder found them, and seconds later the lights flickered, a loud metallic clang echoed somewhere down the hallway, and the power went out.

"What was that?" (y/n) pushed out, wide eyes finding Spencer’s.

Spencer frowned at that, they both stood while the emergency lights blinked on moments later as the light had completely gone out. She watched him walk towards the electronic door, hand settling on the handle to push it down, though without any luck. Both froze, there was a beat of silence, then another.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." He pulled harder, nothing. For several moments they simply stared at one another. They were alone, locked inside, no team, no escape. Nothing but the hatred for one another they tried to cling to. 

"This is your fault." (Y/n) had crossed her arms, eyes angry while she kept staring at Spencer. 

"My fault? I doubt I am at fault for the lighting hitting this building, am I?” His voice was angry, arms also crossed while neither dared to back away from their staring match. 

"God, you're impossible." (Y/n) tried to turn from him, but didn’t get far as he spoke once again. 

"You think I'm impossible?" She didn’t reply, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling quickly.  "Interesting. Because I was thinking the exact same thing about you."

Their voices echoed through the room while the tension that had been building for weeks suddenly felt far too big for the small space around them. She stepped closer with quick steps, finger digging into his chest as she stared up at him.

“I don’t know why my mother is treating you as if you’re such a saint, you’re nothing but an asshole, you’re a fucking fraud, Reid.” Her words drew a humourless chuckle out of him, eyes staring down at her without any true emotion in them. 

"And you're an immature child who only gets to work here because of her mother’s contacts." The words hit harder than they should have and Spencer immediately noticed.

"You don't know anything about me." She hated how easily she reacted to his words, how much she struggled to keep her composure whenever he called her that. 

"I know enough." Something in her snapped, maybe it was weeks of frustration, maybe it was years of hearing stories about Spencer Reid before she'd ever met him. Or maybe she was simply tired of being looked down on.

"You walk around acting like everyone else is beneath you. You never listen to me, I’m not a fucking child, Reid.” Another humourless laugh, another shake of his head. 

"Because half the time you're trying to start an argument." The words did something inside of her, they threw her emotions around as if someone had tried to mix them up like tossed cubes. 

"Maybe because it's the only way to get your attention." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Silence followed for a few seconds as Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly. (Y/n) immediately regretted saying it, cheeks growing warmer while she took a step back, forced to another halt as his hand found her wrist. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Spencer asked quietly. The look he gave her made her stomach flip, because for the first time all day, he wasn't looking annoyed. He was looking right through her, like he was profiling her and finally understood something she didn't want him to.

"You want to know the truth?" he eventually asked while pulling (y/n) closer. "I don't hate you and I never did. But I find you irritating."

"Wow, thanks." Once again she tried to step away, though she still had no luck, forced to stay close to the tall man. 

"You interrupt everyone and you challenge every opinion I have. But I never hated you. You're distracting, quite frankly you drive me fucking insane." Spencer looked at her and suddenly every sarcastic comment, every argument made a little too much sense. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. 

"You are unbelievably frustrating," she pushed out. "You think you know everything, you’re not a god."

"And you act like a child sometimes." They were inches apart now, neither willing to back down. (Y/n) should have stepped away, Spencer should have stepped away. Instead he leaned closer, just enough so she could feel his breath fan her skin. And then she moved first. It wasn't soft, it was fueled by months of frustration colliding at once. Spencer made a surprised sound before kissing her back immediately, one hand found her waist, the other tangled in her hair.

(Y/n) grabbed the front of his shirt. The kiss was messy, angry; the kind that happened after too many unsaid things and only made everything more complicated. He pushed her back until she hit a table, arms wrapped around his neck as he pushed her on top of it without breaking the kiss. 

Her chest was tight, her heart was racing, but (y/n) felt all her control slipping. She could only give herself to his touch, could only push herself closer while Spencer eventually pulled away to nibble at her throat. 

She moaned his name, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close while her fingers brushed through his curls. (Y/n) should have put an end to it, should have at least halted for a second to think about what they were about to do, but the thoughts were gone the second she felt him undo the button of her jeans, her zip pulled down seconds later. 

“Fuck, I have been thinking about this for too long.” His words made her choke on her surprised moan, eyes flickering up to meet his darkening ones as he pushed his hand into her panties, thighs parting instantly to invite him closer. He found her pulsing bundle within seconds, drawing another moan out of her. 

(Y/n) could only give herself to him, could only let the tall man nip at her neck while he rubbed her clit, pushing her closer into a sensation she would have never dared to dream of in his closeness. She was panting and could feel his growing bulge through his jeans as she pulled him further against her. 

“Will you be a good girl and take my fingers?” His raspy voice made her groan, followed by a nod thrown his way. Spencer pushed out a soft atta girl before his fingers moved down, teasing her for a second before he pushed two inside her, spreading her walls. (Y/n) clung to him, she tugged on his roots as Spencer rested his face against the crook of her neck, inhaling the now familiar scent of her perfume. 

Her orgasm was close, it was about to rumble through her while the man she had sworn to hate kept fucking her with his fingers. Spencer didn’t slow down, didn’t back away as her walls began to flutter around him, eventually letting go with a call of his name. He kept fucking her with his fingers, kept watching her fall apart with a grin playing on his lips. 

“Jesus Christ, Spencer.” She pushed the words out as he pulled away and licked his fingers clean, eyes not leaving her features once. 

“A thank you is also enough.” His chuckles made her roll her eyes, words interrupted by the light flickering back on. Both looked up at the lights for a second before studying one another again. He dipped his head down to kiss her, letting the soft kiss linger before tugging on her lower lip with his teeth. “For the record, you’re still annoying and childish, but I wouldn’t say no to properly fucking you.”

"Mom says you're supposed to be good at communication," (y/n) pushed out mid argument with him, a fake smile playing on her lips, her voice dripping with something sickenly sweet.

"Your mother also says you're supposed to be filing those reports." She narrowed her eyes, he returned the look, while across the bullpen, Derek let out a laugh.

"Twenty bucks says they kill each other before the semester ends."

"Make it thirty," Emily mumbled, eyes not leaving her report once. 

God, she hated him, hated those irritatingly perfect curls, the stupid cardigans, the way he always corrected her professors whenever he visited her university as a guest lecturer. And worst of all, the way he acted like she was a child.

She was in her twenties, an adult and not some little kid running around Quantico.Yet every time she offered an opinion, Spencer somehow found a way to dismiss it, as if she couldn't possibly know what she was talking about, as if she wasn't smart enough.

And perhaps the worst part was that she cared, deeply. Because beneath all the irritation and arguments, she knew exactly what Spencer Reid thought of her: immature, impulsive, a distraction. And maybe that was why every interaction felt like a challenge, because she desperately wanted to prove him wrong.

…

Three days later, the team caught a case in Virginia. Everyone left the station there before sunrise, everyone except Spencer and (y/n), forced to stay behind because Hotch had belted some command into their direction, asking them to work on the geo profile of the area.

The room they had been offered by the sheriff felt eerily empty without the rest of the team. There was nothing now, just silence and Spencer Reid. The combination was torture, even as hours passed and (y/n) worked through maps. Neither spoke and for the first time since she'd started her internship, they were actually tolerating each other. Until the first roar of thunder found them, and seconds later the lights flickered, a loud metallic clang echoed somewhere down the hallway, and the power went out.

"What was that?" (y/n) pushed out, wide eyes finding Spencer’s.

Spencer frowned at that, they both stood while the emergency lights blinked on moments later as the light had completely gone out. She watched him walk towards the electronic door, hand settling on the handle to push it down, though without any luck. Both froze, there was a beat of silence, then another.

"Oh, you've got to be kidding me." He pulled harder, nothing. For several moments they simply stared at one another. They were alone, locked inside, no team, no escape. Nothing but the hatred for one another they tried to cling to. 

"This is your fault." (Y/n) had crossed her arms, eyes angry while she kept staring at Spencer. 

"My fault? I doubt I am at fault for the lighting hitting this building, am I?” His voice was angry, arms also crossed while neither dared to back away from their staring match. 

"God, you're impossible." (Y/n) tried to turn from him, but didn’t get far as he spoke once again. 

"You think I'm impossible?" She didn’t reply, jaw clenched, chest rising and falling quickly.  "Interesting. Because I was thinking the exact same thing about you."

Their voices echoed through the room while the tension that had been building for weeks suddenly felt far too big for the small space around them. She stepped closer with quick steps, finger digging into his chest as she stared up at him.

“I don’t know why my mother is treating you as if you’re such a saint, you’re nothing but an asshole, you’re a fucking fraud, Reid.” Her words drew a humourless chuckle out of him, eyes staring down at her without any true emotion in them. 

"And you're an immature child who only gets to work here because of her mother’s contacts." The words hit harder than they should have and Spencer immediately noticed.

"You don't know anything about me." She hated how easily she reacted to his words, how much she struggled to keep her composure whenever he called her that. 

"I know enough." Something in her snapped, maybe it was weeks of frustration, maybe it was years of hearing stories about Spencer Reid before she'd ever met him. Or maybe she was simply tired of being looked down on.

"You walk around acting like everyone else is beneath you. You never listen to me, I’m not a fucking child, Reid.” Another humourless laugh, another shake of his head. 

"Because half the time you're trying to start an argument." The words did something inside of her, they threw her emotions around as if someone had tried to mix them up like tossed cubes. 

"Maybe because it's the only way to get your attention." The words slipped out before she could stop them. Silence followed for a few seconds as Spencer's eyes narrowed slightly. (Y/n) immediately regretted saying it, cheeks growing warmer while she took a step back, forced to another halt as his hand found her wrist. 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Spencer asked quietly. The look he gave her made her stomach flip, because for the first time all day, he wasn't looking annoyed. He was looking right through her, like he was profiling her and finally understood something she didn't want him to.

"You want to know the truth?" he eventually asked while pulling (y/n) closer. "I don't hate you and I never did. But I find you irritating."

"Wow, thanks." Once again she tried to step away, though she still had no luck, forced to stay close to the tall man. 

"You interrupt everyone and you challenge every opinion I have. But I never hated you. You're distracting, quite frankly you drive me fucking insane." Spencer looked at her and suddenly every sarcastic comment, every argument made a little too much sense. His gaze dropped briefly to her mouth, then returned to her eyes. 

"You are unbelievably frustrating," she pushed out. "You think you know everything, you’re not a god."

"And you act like a child sometimes." They were inches apart now, neither willing to back down. (Y/n) should have stepped away, Spencer should have stepped away. Instead he leaned closer, just enough so she could feel his breath fan her skin. And then she moved first. It wasn't soft, it was fueled by months of frustration colliding at once. Spencer made a surprised sound before kissing her back immediately, one hand found her waist, the other tangled in her hair.

(Y/n) grabbed the front of his shirt. The kiss was messy, angry; the kind that happened after too many unsaid things and only made everything more complicated. He pushed her back until she hit a table, arms wrapped around his neck as he pushed her on top of it without breaking the kiss. 

Her chest was tight, her heart was racing, but (y/n) felt all her control slipping. She could only give herself to his touch, could only push herself closer while Spencer eventually pulled away to nibble at her throat. 

She moaned his name, legs wrapped around his waist to keep him close while her fingers brushed through his curls. (Y/n) should have put an end to it, should have at least halted for a second to think about what they were about to do, but the thoughts were gone the second she felt him undo the button of her jeans, her zip pulled down seconds later. 

“Fuck, I have been thinking about this for too long.” His words made her choke on her surprised moan, eyes flickering up to meet his darkening ones as he pushed his hand into her panties, thighs parting instantly to invite him closer. He found her pulsing bundle within seconds, drawing another moan out of her. 

(Y/n) could only give herself to him, could only let the tall man nip at her neck while he rubbed her clit, pushing her closer into a sensation she would have never dared to dream of in his closeness. She was panting and could feel his growing bulge through his jeans as she pulled him further against her. 

“Will you be a good girl and take my fingers?” His raspy voice made her groan, followed by a nod thrown his way. Spencer pushed out a soft atta girl before his fingers moved down, teasing her for a second before he pushed two inside her, spreading her walls. (Y/n) clung to him, she tugged on his roots as Spencer rested his face against the crook of her neck, inhaling the now familiar scent of her perfume. 

Her orgasm was close, it was about to rumble through her while the man she had sworn to hate kept fucking her with his fingers. Spencer didn’t slow down, didn’t back away as her walls began to flutter around him, eventually letting go with a call of his name. He kept fucking her with his fingers, kept watching her fall apart with a grin playing on his lips. 

“Jesus Christ, Spencer.” She pushed the words out as he pulled away and licked his fingers clean, eyes not leaving her features once. 

“A thank you is also enough.” His chuckles made her roll her eyes, words interrupted by the light flickering back on. Both looked up at the lights for a second before studying one another again. He dipped his head down to kiss her, letting the soft kiss linger before tugging on her lower lip with his teeth. “For the record, you’re still annoying and childish, but I wouldn’t say no to properly fucking you.”