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Summary: A mis-held belief is denounced, giving way to something better.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 1,498
Beta: @princessmisery666
Tears press in her eyes, the argument with Sam over only moments ago, but her decision is made, and he can't change her mind.
Hearing heavy footfalls, her heart beats against its cage. She hoped to have left already and avoid the looming confrontation, but knows she no longer has a choice.
"What's going on?"
The gruff voice rattles her nerves, and she takes a calming breath. Swiping the dampness from her cheeks, she plasters on a fake smile and turns to face him. "Noth-thing." The word comes out broken on a voice pitched too high.
"Doesn't look like 'nothing'." Dean crosses his arms, his demeanor stern but concerned. "Didn't sound like 'nothing'." Looking over her shoulder, he asks, "Where'd Sam go?"
"I don't know. He …he was mad."
"What were you arguing about?"
She's not surprised he heard the shouting, but is a little skeptical that he didn't hear the context. Assuming he's attempting to be kind, she sucks in a breath to steady herself. "It doesn't matter." The intensity of his stare is too much, and she briefly glances at the chair next to her. "I'm leaving."
Dean follows her gaze to find her duffel resting on the seat. He understands now why his little brother would be angry. She must have found a hunt and wants to go by herself. He can't blame the guy. Even though most cases now are simple and quick, the thought of her out there on her own sends his blood pressure soaring. Maybe he can offer a compromise.
"Found a hunt?" He points to the bag, watching her chew on her lip. "You know, it's been a while. I could use a break from this place. Why don't I come with you?"
"NO!"
Her response is swift and sharp, startling him, and he stops mid-turn to look back at her. "No?"
Tears well in her eyes as she shakes her head. "I …I'm leaving." Everything she wants to say to him lodges painfully in her throat. There's no point in voicing those thoughts anyway. She knows exactly what his response will be.
Dean's frame tenses, hands fisting loosely at his sides when she shoulders her bag. She blinks, and the tears spill. He looks devastated, and it feels like her heart just literally cracked with the weight of it all. "I can't stay ...I- I can't be here anymore."
"WHAT?! Wait! What do you mean?" He doesn't know what the hell went down between her and Sam, but he can't let her go, even though he should. "Listen, let me talk to him. Whatever's going on, let me help fix it."
She knew this would be hard, but never imagined it would be this difficult. She assumed he would be relieved and agree it was for the best, rather than trying to keep her from leaving. Vision blurred by the onslaught of tears, she squeezes her eyes closed, willing her emotions to stay in check with the knowledge that the pain in the aftermath of telling him will be worse than what she's feeling now.
With a deep inhale, she opens them to find he's moving toward her and takes a faltering step back. If he touches her, that'll be the end of it …the end of her. Dean immediately stops, hands up in surrender, eyes wary. "You can't." Scrubbing her fingers across her face, she bolsters her courage and states. "You can't fix something that was never there to begin with." Heart now completely shattered, she turns to leave.
Dean panics, narrowly getting a grip on the strap of her bag before she's out of reach. When she jerks to a stop, he steps closer to keep her from falling, loosely resting a hand on her hip. He releases the bag when she wrenches away from his touch, and it slips from her shoulder to land with a heavy thud.
"I'm sorry. I just … I." Running a hand through his hair, he huffs, "My brother's an idiot for letting you go."
She turns, then, the grief ebbing into confusion. "W- what?"
"Don't …" It's all he can manage; the words lodge in his throat. His chest aches, lungs heavy with each breath, heart pounding, muscles taut with anger and fear. She sounds so broken, looks so fragile. All he wants is to scoop her up and hold her together, keep her safe, and show her what she means to him, but he can't. He shouldn't even be thinking about it. Shifting on his feet, fingers flexing at his sides, he stares back at her, letting the silence stretch between them.
When she moves to retrieve her bag, his resolve snaps, overwhelmed by the emotions, he throws caution to the wind. If this is the last moment they have together, then the hell with the consequences.
He grabs her hand and tugs, arm slipping around her waist as he roughly pulls her into him. Her head falls back, lips parted with a gasp at the sudden movement. Cradling the back of her head, he claims the supple pink flesh like it belongs to him, and she offers no resistance.
Knowing this will be the first and the last, he pours his entire heart into the kiss, it's rough and sloppy, but he commits every detail to memory—the race of her pulse as his thumb brushes over her carotid, the sweetness of her honey lip balm, the flutter of her eyelids, the way her hair tickles his palm, the gentle pressure of her fingers as she grips his forearms, the curve of her spine and the small of her back that fits his splayed hand like it was made for him, the soft cry as he pulls away.
The guilt emerges swiftly, weighing heavily on his shoulders. Gliding his hands down her arms, he makes sure she's steady on her feet. "Be safe out there," he warns before turning and walking away, needing to drink away his shame and sorrow.
He's gone before she realizes it, too stunned to move or say anything to stop him. The kiss was better than any she ever imagined—he tasted of vanilla, sweet cream, and spicy ginger, notes from the expensive whiskey she bought him lingering on his breath, muscles strong and thick beneath her fingers, lips lightly chapped but plump and pliable, the heady intoxicant of his warmth, spice, and musk, and she hates him for it.
Hates that he took away a dream and created a reality she will never experience again. Hates that now she will compare every kiss to his, wanting only his lips sealed to hers. Why would he do that? Why kiss her like that and then walk away? Tracing a finger over her still-tingling lower lip, she closes her eyes and replays the conversation leading up to the moment.
"Oh." Her eyes pop open as she grips the back of the chair. "OH!"
Dean thinks she's in love with Sam!
She takes a step, then hesitates. What if this is just some cosmic joke? Or a cruel dream? Another step has her tripping over her bag, foot tangled in the strap. The sting of her wrist twisting as she grabs the table's edge to keep from face-planting the floor lets her know she's awake, alive, and this is real.
Once freed, she chases after him. She rounds the corner and sees him entering his room, pushing to a sprint, she nearly misses the doorway as she slides to a stop. Falling into the door as he's closing it, she stumbles into the room.
"What the hell?" He catches her with one arm while preventing the door from slamming into the wall with the other.
"You're," she pants a couple of breaths, "w-wrong." Fisting the front of his t-shirt to help anchor herself, his arm curls her into a loose embrace. "A- about me …and Sam." With a final huff, her breath is steady enough to speak smoothly, "We'll talk about that later, though, because right now, you need to kiss me again."
"What?"
Cradling his face, her heart clenches seeing the tear tracks on his cheeks, but his dumbfounded expression elicits a tentative smile. "I want you to kiss me …again."
"But …"
With a shake of her head, she breathes, "You."
The moment it clicks, his hold tightens, and her smile grows.
Swinging the door closed, the corners of his mouth curl. "Good, because I can do better."
A laugh bubbles in her throat, immediately squelched by a shriek as he spins, pinning her between solid oak and hard muscle. The pads of his fingers are rough, but his touch is tender, thumbs caressing the apples of her cheeks as his hands frame her neck. His head dips, but his gaze catches hers, hungry yet questioning. Without hesitation, she leans forward and closes the gap, hating that he's right.
He can do better, and he spends the rest of the night proving it.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
