DO NOT REPOST THEIR FICS AS YOUR OWN OR ON ANY SITE, EVEN IF YOU GIVE THEM CREDIT! Unless you have permission from the author, do not translate, claim, or repost things that don’t belong to you. It’s rude; don’t be an asshole.
[18+] means NO MINORS! This is not to be discriminatory; it is to protect you and the authors.
Loved a fic? Reblog it and/or leave a comment to show the author some love! Reblogs > likes!
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✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Thinking about demon blood and young Sam as a monster lure and making myself sad!! Dean would need to be sedated I think
“Backup? You wanna—” Deans face darkened, looking so changed in an instant that Rufus froze, hackles up, “you think I’m a fucking moron? You wanna send Sam out there with this thing.”
“We’re all gonna be out there.”
“Not like he is.” The people going missing, they were all kids. Twelve to fourteen years old.
“‘Want to’ and ‘have to’ are different things, boy.” Rufus continued, Bobby tried to interrupt but he waved him off. He didn’t stop to see the way Bobby was eyeing him like he was approaching the biggest minefield known to man, “He’s the proper age, he’s trained, this town fits the pattern—we’ve got to do something, and fast, before another attack, dammit!”
“Then do something.” Dean snarled, “But fuck you if you think you’re gonna bait your trap with my little brother.”
“What don’t you understand here? Kids are dying—this is what hunters do.”
“Better them than Sam,” Dean answered automatically, “we’ll figure something out. Find somebody else; end of discussion.”
Sam, who had been a mopey, sullen nightmare for the last week across the backroads of Ohio, stepped forward with his eyes bright. Determined.
“I’m not a kid anymore, Dean! I can do this—I can help. Just like you and dad.”
Not a kid anymore.
Sam was swaddled up tight and tucked into Dean’s arms and the whole wide world was red and hot. He was two and only settled if his big brother slept in the crib right next to him. Sam was three and chatting happily to his ratty stuffed bear at the foot of a motel bed with the snow falling outside. He was five and wobbling on his bike (the one Dean lifted from out front of the library where some idiot kid left it unlocked). Sam was six and proudly calling Dean to see the lightning bug trapped and glowing between his hands. He was eight with skinned knees from recess. He was ten and reading books for fun that would put his older brother to sleep. Sam was twelve with a split lip and a shiner from a middle school bully (who Dean found at the park and beat to hell an hour later). He was thirteen and moody, all glares and eye rolls and petulant little brother.
He was newly fourteen and asking to bare his throat to a wolf.
Not a kid anymore.
“Shut up, Sam! I said you’re not doing it.” The words burst out of Dean in a rage because what else could contain the things he felt? Nothing could be more natural than the absolute and immediate rejection of a plan whose success depended on putting Sam in danger.
Rufus raised his hands over his head in exasperation and whistled.
Dean narrowed his eyes, a wicked look came over his face, panic and anger making him stupid, “If you’re smart—which I’m betting you’re not—you’ll walk out of here before my dad hears this crap. You might not be afraid of me but you damn well better be afraid of him.”
John based half of his life decisions around keeping Sam safe. He resented anyone or anything that came sniffing around his boys, but there was something special about Sammy. Something that rose up out of the dark of John’s throat and ordered Dean to “shoot first and ask questions later” when it came to Sam. Always. Didn’t matter who or what was on the other end of that gun.
Bobby went still, cleared his throat. Dean caught the motion out the corner of his eye and turned his head.
His pulse raced. “What?”
“John left twenty minutes ago,” he stared at the floor, “he…he already gave the go ahead—as long as we’re all there with the boy!” Bobby spilled the words out before Dean blew his lid.
Dean snorted. “No he didn’t. He wouldn’t.” The smirk slid off his face a second later when neither Bobby nor Rufus could look him in the eyes.
As much as they all needed this to happen, the willing offer of his own son with so little resistance didn’t sit right…the boy’s brother was more furious than his own father was. “Dad would never…he’d never put Sam in danger like that.”
The floor had vanished under Dean’s boots and he was reeling. The kind of hurt like he hadn’t felt in a long time overwhelmed him—a stab delivered by someone you never learned how to guard against.
Not a kid anymore.
“John said it would come to Sam. He seemed sure of it.” Bobby’s scratched the back of his neck, “it ain’t pretty but it’s the best chance we got. The only play in our playbook.”
Bobby had the misfortune of being a foot closer to Dean, to Sam. The room was a blur and Dean’s hands gripped tight on Bobby’s jacket. The old hunter let himself be slammed against the wall.
“You don’t get him. That thing doesn’t get him. I swear to god if any one a’you comes near Sam I’ll jam my gun so far up—”
Dean felt the barrel press hard into his ribs, “Maybe it’s my gun you should be worried about,” Rufus pushed it in sharply, “now back up boy before you hurt yourself. I don’t wanna cause problems with your daddy but I will.”
Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet.
Series Tags & Warnings: (18+) Soulmate AU set in season 1 & 2, romance and fluff, hurt/comfort, angst, smut, and more chapter-specific tags. Could be considered a "fix it" fic (you'll see)
Chapters:
⟡ Part 1 - Proximity
⟡ Part 2 - Connection
⟡ Part 3 - Contact
⟡ Part 4 - Guessing Game
⟡ Part 5 - Self Defense
⟡ Part 6 - Trust Building
⟡ Part 7 - First Touch
⟡ Part 8 - Long Distance
⟡ Part 9 - Intensive Care
⟡ Part 10 - Worthy
⟡ Part 11 - Soul Bond
⟡ Part 12 - Home
⟡ Epilogue
⟡ COMPLETE ⟡
Bonus Tracks: (3-Part Sequel)
⟡ #1: Disturbing the Peace
⟡ #2: One Last Hunt
⟡ #3: To Be Loved
Side B Tracks: (Bonus One-Shots)
The Old-Fashioned Way
You and Dean are having trouble trying to start a family. What happens when you turn to a spell for a possible solution?
⋆˙⟡ Tag Lists || Fic Library Blog ->
(you can follow and turn on notifications)
Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!
Words: 5,373
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Warnings: injury, assault (no description of any sexual violence though it is implied this may be the motive for the assault), attempted abduction, angsssst, Protective!Dean
Summary: Dean is happy to see he's getting a call from you, but he can tell from the tone of your voice when he answers that something is seriously wrong.
Requested by: Anonymous! Thanks for the request! I hope you love it! Hurt/comfort can be just the right thing sometimes, and Winchesters on the war path for someone they love is the icing on the cake.
Dean smiled at the name that lit up his phone screen. “Y/N, hey,” he said. But the smile on his face died when he heard your voice.
“Dean?”
There was a pause as his stomach seemed to drop through the floor. “Yeah, hey… what’s going on? Are you alright?”
Another pause, on your end this time. “I don’t—I don’t know how to—are—are you busy?”
He glanced at the pile of file folders and stacks of books on the table in front of him but only stood up and turned away from it. “No. No, I’m not busy. What do you need? What’s going on?”
Your voice shook when you answered. “Can you get here? Please?”
Something was terrifyingly wrong. Dean’s teeth clenched. “I’m on my way now. Y/N—are you safe?”
He heard only your shaky breath for a moment. “I am now. I’m safe now. I’m safe now…” You were almost chanting it to yourself.
“Where are you? Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” he said into the phone. “Do you want to stay on the line with me?”
There was a long pause as you thought about how to answer that question but you eventually decided. “No. No… just—just drive safely and get here when you can.”
“Okay. I’ll be there as fast as I can. I promise. I’m on my way. Just—stay safe, alright? I’ll be there soon.” His stomach was churning with nerves, rolling with worry and fear. As he hung up the phone, his apprehension and concern only seemed to grow. What the hell was going on?
_ _ _ _ _ _
The tires of the Impala squealed as he yanked the wheel to turn the car into your driveway. It hadn’t even come to a complete stop when he threw it into park, turned the key to off, and bolted out the door. Your house was dark ahead and the curtains were drawn. The whole place looked and felt eerie and unsettling. He took the steps two at a time and stopped on the front mat, rapping his knuckles loudly on the door.
He shifted anxiously and strained his hearing, glancing back over his shoulder and surveying the surroundings as any good hunter does. His jaw clenched as he looked back at the closed front door. He knocked again, more loudly and more sustained. “Y/N?”
The fear in his chest seemed to expand in a bubble that was pushing up on his lungs, thrusting the air out of them more and more with every passing second that you didn’t appear. “Y/N? It’s Dean!” He knocked again one more time and made up his mind that if you didn’t answer this time, he was breaking down the fucking door and—
Inside, you startled in your seat on the edge of your couch. You were surprised to look about yourself and realize that night had fallen. There was an insistent knocking on your front door and then you heard a familiar voice. You gasped and forced yourself onto your feet, clicking on a lamp as you rushed to the entryway. “Dean?” you called out, your hands so shaky that you fumbled with the chain and locks.
“Oh, thank God,” you heard him murmur on the other side of the door. “I was about to bust your door in!”
You pulled it open slightly and peered out at him through the small space, flicking on the porch light as you made sure it was really him. Assured that it was and that he was alone and nothing strange was going on, you stepped back and swung the door open wide. The light from the porch flooded in through the open door and illuminated your figure. You were backlit by only a small lamp inside. Dean’s eyes whirred over you, taking note of the slightly asymmetrical way you were standing and glaring swelling and bruising on your face, along with several small cuts. Even in the dim light, it was apparent that you were a bit battered. He watched as you raised a shaky hand to brush some hair away from your forehead.
“C—come in,” you managed, stepping aside to let him pass.
His eyes stayed fixed on you as long as they could while he slipped in. He rounded immediately on the rug and watched as you hastily shut and relocked the front door. Your hand was shaking so badly you were struggling to put the security chain back on. He stepped forward and his hand gently landed over the back of yours, closing lightly over your fingers. “I’ll get it,” he said, his green eyes wandering over your face, colored more deeply with concern. A deep cavern grew between his eyebrows as he again noted the injuries that seemed stark on your face even in the dim light. “Why don’t you go sit down? I’ll put some water on for tea and then you can tell me what’s—what’s going on.” The slightly gruff edge to his deep voice was more pronounced in his concern, but you found it comforting.
You drew in a shallow breath and nodded. You felt almost in a daze and were struggling not to go to pieces immediately at the sight of him. Dean was there. You were truly safe. Nothing would happen to you while he was around. You were okay… You were okay…
You drifted over to the couch and sat again in the same spot you must have been frozen in for at least an hour and a half after you’d called him. You glanced up to watch him in the new glow of the kitchen, filling your kettle and setting it on the stove. He began opening cabinets, searching for your tea, and finally found it in the pantry. He set out two mugs and a box of tea bags before looking over and catching your eyes.
You were mostly cloaked in shadow now and Dean strode over and clicked on a couple more lights so he could see you properly. You sat rigidly still on the couch and he finally came to sit down on the coffee table across from you. He gulped as he studied you in the full light now and took stock of the extent of your injuries. Your face was bruised in deep reds and purples and swollen over one of your eyes and along your jawline. He could tell that the little nicks and cuts you had scattered over your skin hadn’t been tended to. They were still messy and thickly clotted and your skin was stained with the rusty smears of dried blood. His brow furrowed more deeply over his eyes. “Y/N. Can you tell me what happened?”
A shudder ran through your body involuntarily. You couldn’t seem to find your voice, your words.
“Hey—it’s alright,” Dean said softly. “Just take your time.”
You pressed your hands over your face, squeezing your eyes shut, and trying to steady yourself. Dean had never seen you like this. Never. Not after all the hunts that had gone slightly more than sideways, not after a car accident that put you in the hospital, not after you lost people close to you—he’d never seen you this scared, this shaken. You forced yourself to take a few deep breaths and you finally seemed to dislodge what felt like a hot stone stuck high in your throat. You lowered your hands and nodded, looking up at Dean who was watching you closely with worry you could almost feel radiating from him.
“I—I tracked down this hunt. I was just searching the papers, you know? I found something strange, a pattern, and I decided to go take a look, poke around a little. I was pretty sure it was a vengeful spirit. Should have been an easy case. It was in a small town. I pulled into the—”
At that moment, the tea kettle screamed in the kitchen and you jumped so much you nearly fell off the couch.
“Shit!” Dean exclaimed, jumping up. “Sorry! I’ve got it. Just the kettle. I got it…” He rushed into the kitchen and hastily pushed the kettle off the burner. Your heart was pounding in your throat and you pressed a hand over your chest and tried to slow down your breathing. Dean was glancing between you on the couch and the cups in front of him he was pouring boiling water into them. His stomach had formed a tight knot and he found himself keyed up and ready for a fight despite not even knowing what had happened to you yet. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something deeply wrong and deeply unusual had happened. He couldn’t explain it, didn’t understand it, but he knew it in his gut.
He carefully came back to sit with you, setting the two mugs of steaming tea down on the coffee table and taking a seat beside you on the couch this time. “It’s, uhh—chamomile,” he said. “It’s supposed to be calming, I guess. I don’t know,” he said, forcing a half-smile. “Tea is more Sammy’s thing. They pretty much all seem the same to me.”
You nodded and managed to give him a weak smile, though it was tight and didn’t ease the drawn look around your eyes. “Thanks,” you murmured, reaching for the mug. The fabric of your sweatshirt pulled upwards as you grabbed the handle and Dean’s heart jolted. There were deep bruises on your wrist.
His hand shot out and gently grabbed hold of your arm, just above the marks that clearly looked as if someone had grabbed you. “Y/N—this isn’t from a vengeful spirit,” he said.
You relinquished your hold on the handle of the mug and Dean felt you start trembling beneath his hands again. Your bottom lip was quivering as he searched your face for answers.
Gulping, he pushed up the other sleeve of your sweatshirt to see more bruising on your other wrist. His eyes flew to meet yours and flickered between them. “Who did this to you?”
That was it. You couldn’t hold it in any longer and you absolutely crumbled to pieces, falling into him.
Dean’s chest ached and he wrapped his arms around you and pressed you against him securely, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “Hey—it’s okay. You’re alright. I’ve got you… I’ve got you.” He smoothed a hand over your hair, his heart still aching even while rage boiled in his stomach. He held you until your shuddering breaths slowed and the shaking of your shoulders was almost gone. Still, you clung onto him. “It’s alright. You’re safe.” You could feel the reverberation of his words in his chest and it was grounding. Finally, he gripped your shoulders gently and pulled back to look at you more closely. That’s when he saw the marks on your neck too, hidden previously by the collar and hood of your sweatshirt. His teeth clenched and the muscle in his jaw tensed. “If you can, tell me who did this to you.” His prodding was calm and cautious as you regained your composure.
You nodded and mopped at your face with your sleeve. “I was at the bar to try to talk to some of the locals, get some info on the case. There was this guy there, another patron, and he kept glancing at me. I finally realized he looked familiar and he’d obviously recognized me from somewhere but I couldn’t place him. He eventually came over. He was a hunter. We’d met at that thing after Brett’s wake, you know, in Wyoming?”
Dean nodded. He remembered hearing about it, but he and Sam hadn’t gone.
“Anyway, he was there for the same case. He asked if we could work it together. It seemed easy enough—salt and burn,” you said. You reached for your mug of tea again and this time wrapped your hands around it to soak up the warmth. They felt so cold. In fact, you hadn’t been able to feel warm since the whole thing had happened… You went on, staring down into the amber color of your tea. “The case was simple. We took care of it no problem once we figured out the real identity of the spirit and then he asked if I wanted to go grab a bite to eat and a beer and it sounded good after finishing things up so I agreed... He was just friendly. It seemed fine and…” You trailed off and Dean watched you squeeze your eyes shut again. “So stupid…” you muttered to yourself. “I didn’t even really know him. I shouldn’t have—"
“Whoa, whoa. Hey—none of this is your fault. Okay? Don’t do that. You should be able to be safe just getting a beer out somewhere. Don’t blame yourself. I don’t even know what happened yet but I know that none of it is your fault. Okay?”
And he said it with such forcefulness that you believed him. You met his green eyes again, so concerned and intent on you, and yours filled with tears as you managed to nod. You blinked them away. “We—we had burgers and a couple beers and then we went out to the parking lot and I was getting in my car and he just—suddenly he just attacked me. He was—he—” Your voice broke and Dean pulled you in against him again tightly. You were trembling under his hands.
You tucked yourself against his chest and Dean’s chin came to rest on the top of your head, his arms around you, smoothing over your back comfortingly. Inside, he was burning up with rage. “It’s okay… you’re okay.”
“I fought him,” you managed finally, still not separating from Dean, speaking almost into his chest. “He was trying to get me to his car and I just fought him as much as I could but he was so strong and he was so much bigger than me. He had me down on the ground. I was trying to hit him, push him off, and then he had my wrists, and then next thing I knew his hands were on my neck and I—” You pulled back abruptly and looked up into Dean’s handsome face. “I had my pocket knife. Somehow, I don’t know how, but I got it out and I stabbed him in the fucking groin. That’s how I got him off me.”
Dean’s brow furrowed more deeply, one of his hands was still gently gripping your upper arm. He clasped your face with the other, his eyes whirring over your injuries. His thumb moved tenderly over your cheek, thanking God or whatever fucking entity was listening that you’d escaped when you did. He didn’t have to guess at the guy’s intentions… and it swelled a toxic mire of fury inside him. “You did the right thing. You did exactly what you should have. Hell, you could have killed him and it would have been completely justified. It’s okay.” He gave your arm a gentle squeeze and brushed some of your hair away from your face. “Listen, we’re gonna get you patched up, alright? And then I’m gonna figure out how take care of this. You won’t have to worry about him. What’s this asshole’s name?”
You gulped and your tongue felt suddenly dry, sticking to the roof of your mouth. “Evan Lewis.” Just speaking his name made you feel like you were going to be sick.
Dean nodded. “I’ve heard the name before… can’t say I remember him though.” He sighed heavily. The fact that this pervert, this goddamn douchebag, was a member of the hunting community made things a thousand times worse. He was supposed to be fucking helping people. Instead, he’d used being a hunter to gain your trust and take advantage of it… “Where’s your first aid kit?” Dean asked, pushing down his anger for the moment.
You mopped at a tear that had escaped and run down your cheek. “In the linen closet in the bathroom.”
“Alright. I’ll be right back, okay? We’ll get you fixed up as best we can.”
You didn’t want to break from him completely, but with the reassurance he wouldn’t be gone for more than a minute, you nodded.
Dean got up and disappeared down the hall and into the bathroom. He immediately pulled out his phone and hit Sam’s name. Sam answered on the second ring.
“Dean, hey. Where are you? I’m back at the bunker and the Impala is gone. What’s going on?”
“Sam, Y/N called me. I’m with her now. She—she’s in rough shape. She was attacked,” Dean growled into the phone. Sam could hear his fury in the tension in his voice.
“What? What do you mean attacked? Is she okay? Like, a hunt gone wrong or—”
“You could say that.” Dean’s free hand clenched into a fist involuntarily. “But no, it wasn’t what she was hunting. It was a person.” There was a beat of silence on the other end. “Someone attacked her? What—why? Dean, what the hell is going on?”
“Just listen, Sam, it’s worse, alright? The guy who did this is in our community. He’s a hunter.”
Another long pause as Sam tried to process exactly what his brother was saying. “Is she okay?”
Dean sighed heavily into the phone. “She’s—she’s alright. Or she will be. She’s beat up and obviously traumatized but she saved her own ass. She said she stabbed the guy in the groin.”
Another moment of silence and a heavy sigh from Sam on the other end. Dean could picture him pacing in the bunker. “Good.”
“Listen, have you ever heard of a hunter named Evan Lewis?” Dean asked.
“Uhh,” Sam wracked his brain. “It sounds vaguely familiar… Maybe I’ve met him at some hunter thing? I’m not sure.”
“Well, he’s the lowlife who attacked her. I need you to call Jody, Donna, Garth, whoever and just get the word out that we’re looking for this guy and that he’s bad news. And I need you on this. I don’t care about anything else until this guy is taken care of.” Dean rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face.
“Yeah, agreed,” Sam said hurriedly. “I’m on it. Just make sure she’s okay and—tell her I wish I was there too.”
“Yeah,” Dean nodded, finally turning to open the closet door in the bathroom and grab the first aid kit out. “I will.” He sighed again. “Damn,” he breathed. “We could really use Cas right now to get this guy and—I don’t know, drop him off in North Korea or something.”
Sam let out a wry laugh. “That’d be good. I guess we’ll have to content ourselves with beating the crap out of him and getting him ostracized by the community.”
Dean rubbed a hand over his face. “I hate this… These guys don’t just quit. He’s going to pull this shit again.”
“Yeah, but what are our options here? We can’t kill him. The cops aren’t really a solution… Even if Y/N goes through the trauma of reporting the assault and attempted… uhh—reporting it, say he is charged, he isn’t going to stay locked up for long.”
Dean sighed weightily again. “I know. There’s no good solution here…”
“Hmm,” Sam hummed thoughtfully.
“What?”
“Well… what if we just blast him online?”
“What do you mean?”
“You know, send out warnings all over social media, dating sites… Maybe that way we could at least prevent someone from ending up in the same situation. Hell, I could throw together a website in no time.”
Dean’s jaw clenched. “Do it. With creeps like this, once we start putting it out there, other people might come forward too. Look—I gotta go. I need to help get Y/N patched up. I’ll check in with you later.”
“Alright. Give her a hug for me,” Sam said, his voice woven with sadness and anger in the same way Dean’s was.
“Dean?” Your voice echoed down the hall to him.
“Yeah. I will. I gotta go, Sammy.” He hung up and rushed back with the first aid kit in hand, sinking down across from you again on the coffee table, his knees cocked out to fit around yours. Your eyes were searching his face.
“Did I hear you talking to someone?” you asked.
Dean set the kit down and opened it, laying out items he would need to get you taken care of. He nodded. “Yeah. I gave Sam a call…” he said, hazarding a glance at your face to gauge your reaction. “I told him vaguely what was going on.”
“Oh,” you said, nodding, cupping your hands more tightly around your warm mug.
Dean’s green eyes, dark under his heavy brow, flickered between yours. “I hope that’s okay. I—I wanted to get some people on this guy right away.”
You nodded again and nervously chewed on your bottom lip. “Yeah. Yeah…”
“He says he’s sorry. And that he wishes he was here too. But we’re gonna take care of this, okay?” Dean’s deep voice had an extra layer of gravel to it and it seemed to reassure you. He was here, solid in front of you, and you were safe. Nothing bad was going to happen to you with Dean around.
“Thanks,” you managed softly.
Dean pulled in a deep breath and then tore open an alcohol wipe. “I’m just gonna clean up those cuts a bit. You might want to close your eyes so the alcohol doesn’t irritate them.” He scooted forward on the coffee table and your eyes shut, revealing the thick, dark fray of your lashes to him. He dabbed at a cut near your hairline first, as tenderly as he could while still lifting away the smeared, dry blood. “This hurt?” he asked you, pausing for your answer.
“No,” you breathed, your voice a little weak as it caught in your throat.
Dean returned to his ministrations, his fingers so light and gentle you hardly felt it until the alcohol stung. He chased a dried smear of blood down your cheek and over your jaw onto your neck. The coolness of the evaporating alcohol raised goosebumps on your skin and a shiver ran up your back. You huddled more deeply in your sweatshirt.
Dean gulped. “You alright?”
Your eyes opened again and you nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”
He nodded and his finger landed lightly under your chin, tipping your face ever so gently this way and that as he looked you over again. He sighed when he realized he’d done all he could, but his hand slid along your jawline and he lightly stroked your cheek, a pained look overtaking his face. “I’m so fucking sorry this happened to you.” You could hear the ache in his voice.
“I know. Thank you, for being here,” you said.
“Is there anything else I can do? Anything. Do you need some ice for anything? I mean—how—how’s the rest of you?” he asked, seized by a sudden worry that you were concealing some injury that was much worse. “Y/N, do you need to go to the hospital for anything?”
You shook your head. “No. No… I’m just bruised up is all. I’m—I’m just tired,” you said, tears filling your eyes suddenly. “Sorry—” you croaked, your throat tightening. You blinked them away, wanting to hide your face behind your hands again. “I’m just so drained…”
“Hey—” Dean took your hand in his and pulled it away from your face. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay. You want to try and get some rest? What can I do? Anything. Just ask.”
You bit your bottom lip as you stared at him. God, you looked so vulnerable. It was making Dean’s heart break. He was used to seeing you as a vibrant, bright light—a stong, badass hunter. This had him completely unbalanced in the worst way.
“Can—would you come lay with me? I just don’t want to be alone,” you asked, feeling your cheeks flush even at the request.
“Of course. Come on,” he said, tilting his head toward the hall which led back to your bedroom.
You stood gingerly, and he helped you to your feet. Dean ghosted behind you as you flipped a small lamp on in your room and climbed under the covers. He settled himself down against the headboard on the other side of your bed.
Tucking a hand in against your neck, you looked up at him. “Can I ask you for one more thing?” you said, your voice coming out in a whisper.
He nodded, meeting your eyes. “Anything.”
“Would you mind—holding me for a while?” Your voice broke in the middle of the sentence and Dean felt the ache in his chest expand. “I just—I can’t shake the feeling that he’s suddenly going to appear out of nowhere. I know it’s stupid…”
“It’s not stupid.” He toed off his boots and threw the covers back, settling himself in the middle of the bed. “Come here.” He nudged his head to tell you to move into him and you did so eagerly. Dean’s arms closed around you as you tucked yourself in against him, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. “You’re okay. I’ve got you…” He stroked your hair and relished the feeling of you safe beneath his hands. He kissed the top of your head and you settled in against him more heavily, breathing in a deep breath and letting it out in the first relaxed sigh he’d heard since he’d pounded on your door. “I’ve got you,” he hummed one more time.
“Thank you for being here,” you said.
“You don’t have to thank me for that. This is right where I want to be.”
To the surprise of both of you, you managed to each drift off shortly after and you didn’t wake until morning.
_ _ _ _ _ _
It was an insistent buzzing that roused both of you. You stirred against Dean and he was sorry to have to scoot away from you to grab his phone off the side table.
“Sorry,” he murmured, sleep still coloring the tone of his voice. “I should have turned it off.”
You pushed yourself up on your palm and shook your head. “No. It’s okay. It might be something important.”
Dean sat up and glanced at the name lighting up the screen. “It’s Sam,” he told you. “Hello?”
“Hey. How’s Y/N doing?”
Dean glanced sideways at you. He could still see the bruising but at least the swelling had gone down some. “As good as expected. Managed to get some sleep though, so that’s good. What’s up?”
“Right… Sorry to call so early but I’ve got an update. I had Garth do some calling around. I guess this guy talked to another hunter and told them he got injured in a hunt, had to go to the ER, and is now heading home since he’s benched for a while. He’s in Broken Arrow, Oklahoma. I’m gonna to head there now and track him down and—”
“—beat the ever-loving shit out of him?” Dean finished.
“Something like that,” Sam said. “I got the word out to everyone too, and I put a page up online. If anybody searches this guy’s name, it’ll be the first thing they find.”
“Good,” Dean said, climbing off the bed and pacing the length of the room. Your eyes followed his broad shoulders. “I’ll meet you there.”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “…Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Sam asked.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” Dean asked a little abruptly.
“Well… shouldn’t you stay with Y/N? And—I’m a little worried you’ll kill the guy,” Sam admitted.
Dean scoffed. “That’d be letting him get off easy. No. Don’t worry about it. And—” he glanced back over at you where you were sitting up in the bed, hair tousled from sleep. “—I’ll have Y/N head to the bunker. She’ll be safe there.”
“Alright. As long as she’s okay with it that’s probably a good idea. And I would be glad for the back-up.”
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “And I’ll be glad to punch his face in. I’ll call you on the way.” Dean hung up and met your eyes. His heart jumped and then he felt a deep ache between his lungs. He sunk back down on the bed beside you. You looked a little worried but also eager for the update. “Do you think you’d be okay heading to the bunker on your own and waiting for me and Sam there?”
You thought about it for a moment and then nodded. There was no safer place for you to be, unless it was with Sam and Dean beside you. “Yeah. I think so.”
“If you’re not sure, I can come with you. I’m sure Sam can handle this guy on his own if he needs to,” Dean said, his brow furrowing heavily over his green eyes. “Just say the word and I’ll stay with you.”
“Thank you, Dean. But I’ll be okay. Especially knowing the two of you are going after him,” you said. “And—thank you for coming and staying here with me last night. I don’t know—what I would have done without you. Not sleep, that’s for sure,” you said with a wry laugh. “Thanks.”
Dean nodded. “Like I said, no need to thank me.” He gently touched your arm. “This whole thing is gonna be taken care of real soon. I promise.” He gulped, a little nervous suddenly. “And—you should know that nobody deserves this, but especially not you. You’re—you deserve only the best things.” In that moment, he wanted more than anything to kiss the soft pout of your mouth and the bruise on your jawline and the curve of your cheekbone, but the timing was all wrong. Instead, he went about doing his best to make sure you were okay and would stay that way. “I mean, how many times have you been there for me and Sam? Let us take care of this and don’t think about this asshole for another second.”
You managed a smile for him. “If he’s heard that the Winchester brothers are coming after him, he’s probably scared shitless. That’s almost punishment enough.”
Dean stood again, and his grim and furious expression returned. “No. It isn’t.” His fists clenched. “Alright. I’ll let you pack a bag and then we’ll get out of here. You’re sure you’re okay?”
You nodded. “Yeah,” you said with another smile. “I am now. Thanks to you.”
“I’ll call you as soon as it’s over and I’ll be racing the Impala to get back to the bunker. Just stay safe, alright?”
You sighed, a fluttering starting suddenly in your stomach. “I’ll be there.”
Dean gave you a soft, charming half-smile. “That’s all the motivation I need to get home. And—you can stay as long as you want. I'd—uhh... we'd love to have you.”
In the worst moments, the most terrifying, the most awful, the most trying, you could always count on Dean, and he could always count on you. That’s how it had been since you’d met him, and that’s how it would always be. But you also knew, you could count on him in the best times, and you were hoping for many more of those once this was behind you.
So we all love possessive dean but what about possessive jack…. Like someone hit on sam or talk about how they want to fuck him and jack hear and go nuts because how dear he talk like that about his mother(this inspired from your work😭)(just platonically like only dean can have sam) so he went on to a fight with them and when dean ask why did you fight jack what’s going on jack tell him what they said and dean goes : good job but next time tell me so I can take a swing on them to
Ohh, I love that, and yeah that would happen. I’m kind of thinking about them like a doberman and a chihuahua. Jack would definitely get in someone’s face when he realizes that Sam is uncomfortable but I don’t think he would be effective at fighting anybody off, just really drawing a lot of attention and trying to get them to back off like that. The next time it happens and Dean is around, Jack cheers him on as he is actually able to defend Sam like he deserves to be (aka Dean beats the shit out of anybody that speaks to Sam a little too long)
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✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Series summary: Sam and Dean save a woman from where she has been held as a slave by a witch. But things turn dark whenever they try to take her magic collar off, leaving them with a slave to look after and a curse to break.
Episode summary: You try sitting
Warnings: None
A/N: You guys!! I can't believe we're at the end! This is my first series and it took me 40 chapters to get there, but we're finally there!
Word count: 1.5k
Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist
Part 39 <-
Sam watched you staring at the dining table chairs. He’d come up behind you and you hadn’t seemed to notice him yet. He didn’t want to interrupt your moment, but he was worried if he tried to back away you’d hear and it’d make it even more awkward.
You sighed and then started to head to the collection of cushions on the floor.
“You know,” he said gently, trying not to startle you, “you don’t have to start with the hardest thing first.”
“Huh?”
“Chairs seem like they have a lot of baggage. You were literally tortured by the collar when Dean tried to get you to sit on one, and I’m sure there was worse. But what if you start with something that doesn’t have that association?”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, the kitchen bench, the table itself, the top of the step ladder?”
You turned to look at the bench. You seemed to contemplate it for a few moments before heading over to over to it. You ran your hands along it.
“This could work,” you murmured. You turned around, putting the heels of your hand on the edge of the bench. You looked like you were testing your weight on your wrists, deciding whether to lift up. He would offer to lift you, but he had a feeling this was something you’d want to do by yourself.
He turned to the pantry, busying himself so you didn’t feel like he was staring. He heard a noise behind him and had to force himself not to turn around. You didn’t sound hurt, you didn’t need him. You needed privacy.
He gave it a minute or so before he turned back to you. There you were, sitting on the bench. You looked a little apprehensive but not too bad. He smiled at you then continued busying himself getting breakfast ready.
He heard Dean’s footsteps enter the kitchen. “Wa-hey Bambi! You’re airborne again!”
Sam watched your whole face light up at Dean’s joke. It was adorable how you two acted with each other when you weren’t freaking out about the other one’s reactions.
Dean headed over to you, leaning against the bench next to you. Sam took that cue to busy himself again, although he was running out of things to do to get breakfast given he was just getting out cereal. He could still hear the conversation, but at least he didn’t look like he was intruding.
“How you feeling?” Dean asked.
“I mean, it’s not quite comfortable, you know? But it’s not that bad. It’s kinda nice being up high too.”
“Yeah, you almost made it to a sensible height.” Sam could hear Dean’s voice turn to teasing you.
“Oh? Is only your height sensible, is it?”
“Of course!”
“Sam, you got an opinion on that?” you called to him.
Sam turned around, glad he didn’t have to keep pretending he was getting out cutlery. “Hey, hey, I support people of all statures. I’ve never been to jail for a hate crime against little people.”
You looked at Dean, shocked but still smiling.
“Oi! That was not a hate crime!” Dean replied indignantly. “I was trying to tell you that the problem was fairies.”
You giggled. “You fought fairies?”
“Yeah, look, just because things have a cute name doesn’t mean they’re not problematic.”
“And you solved that by going to jail?”
“What? No. Look, whose side are you on?”
“Anyone who’s against you, obviously!” You stuck your tongue out at Dean. The flirting was really reaching fever pitch now, Sam thought.
“Sassy Bambi has come out today, I see.”
“Aww, did Sassy Bambi hurt Ickle Dean’s feelings?”
Sam was very torn. On the one hand, he wanted you two to get together, if that’s what you both wanted. On the other, he didn’t really want to be incredibly awkwardly third-wheeling your first hook-up while holding cereal.
“So, uh, breakfast?” Sam said, holding up the cereal and spoons. You two could recreate the moment. Alone.
---
“You ok?” Sam asked Dean quietly when they were alone.
“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”
“You literally woke me up because you were terrified you’d scared Y/N.”
“Oh, uh, yeah. All good.”
“So we’re not going to have any more ‘Missing woman found in own bedroom’ moments?”
“Shut up, bitch.”
“Just checking...”
---
Dean walked in to the library to find you sitting on the table, looking at the phone Sam had gotten you yesterday. “Heya Bambi,” he said.
“Hi Squirrel.”
He raised his eyebrow, fixing you with a glare.
You laughed.
“What you up to?” you asked after a moment, turning the conversation.
“I was thinking of looking for a case. One we, umm, could take you to, but only if you promise to stay in the motel. Or you can stay here, if you want.”
You turned your head on the side, looking quizzically at him. “You have changed, haven’t you?”
“Huh?”
“Maybe I mean ‘you listened’, rather than changed.”
“Sweetheart, you gotta be less pensive if you want the rest of the class to follow you.”
“I just- I’m happy. I said I didn’t want to be treated like I was fragile, and you’re finally not. Well, in your own overprotective way.”
He scratched his neck, awkward. “Umm, yeah. Ok. So, do you wanna help look...?”
“Can we go practice some moves first?”
“If you’re not ready, we can wait.”
“No, I’m ready. I just want to remind myself that I can do this before we do.”
“And getting to hit me reminds you of that, does it?” he said with a smirk.
“Oh, I mean, that’s absolutely a side benefit. Hell, that’s the whole goal some days.”
He put on his best bitch face. You playfully clapped your hand on his chest as you jumped off the table.
---
“Is it easier?” Dean asked you.
“Is what easier?”
“Sitting on the bench.” He gestured to where you were perched, watching him cook.
“Umm, I think so. The chair is just...” You trailed off.
“Too much?”
“Yeah.”
“Fair enough.”
Dean kept cooking, not noticing you staring at your fingers.
“Sometimes I worry I won’t ever be normal,” you said quietly.
He turned to you. “Sweetheart, you’ve been sitting on furniture for one day. You’ve been healing and making huge progress.” He reached forward and cupped your cheek. “And yeah, maybe you won’t. Sammy and I have been through some shit and we’re not the same, we’re not normal. But we’re ok.”
“If I’m not normal, how am I going to leave?”
He froze, “Do you- do you want to leave?” He dropped his hand.
“Don’t you want your freedom back? I appreciate you’re willing to take me to a case to stay in a motel, but I’m sure eventually that’ll be annoying or unsuitable.”
“Logistics is not a reason to leave,” he said in a choked voice.
A small smile appeared on your face. He breathed again, a small glimmer of hope igniting within. “Do you... Do you want me to stay?” you asked in a very small voice.
“If you wa-” he started, then noticed your face falling. He steeled himself, if he didn’t take this moment you would be gone forever. “I mean- yes, Bambi, I want you to stay.”
“You’re not just saying that to be nice?”
“I was telling you it was your choice to be nice. What I want...” he moved closer again. “What I want is-”
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Dean span. Fuck, the smoke alarm was going off, he’d burnt dinner. He quickly crossed to the pan, turning off the burner and trying to deal with the mess. He could see you’d jumped off the bench behind him and we’re trying to fan the smoke away, and Sam came running in to help.
Later, when it was over, Sam turned to Dean. “What were you doing? Not like you to be so distracted.”
“I, uh-” Dean started.
“It’s my fault, I was distracting him,” you answered.
Sam smirked. “Well, maybe I’ll leave you two to the clean up then.”
“Yeah, sure, Sammy, we’ll clean it all up. Might be eggs on toast for dinner though.”
Sam nodded and headed out, a grin on his face. Dean didn’t have time to wonder about that as he turned back to find you biting your lip and looking up at him.
“Where were we?” he asked you playfully.
“Well, I was over here,” you said moving towards the bench. Dean reached forward and lifted you up, sitting you on top of the bench. You giggled.
“And I think I was here,” he said, moving closer.
You spread your legs a little and pulled him to stand between them. “I think this is a better place, don’t you?”
“Certainly has some advantages. And as I’ve said before, I like what your newfound bench sitting does for your height.” He reached his hand to cup your face again.
“Oh? Does that present some advantages too?”
“Can certainly think of some uses.” He leaned forward, watching your reactions. You were smiling and leaning forward.
This Time, Stay - Dean Winchester x Reader SMUT - MDNI
MDNI
1.7k words
You were done waiting. Years of emotional whiplash and unspoken tension with Dean had finally reached a breaking point. But just when you're ready to walk out for good, Dean stops you - with words you never thought you'd hear and a promise he's never been brave enough to make. What begins with anger and heartbreak ends in confession, forgiveness... and one hell of a night.
Angst, Smut, Emotional Confession
MDNI!!!
Dean stood in the doorway, arms crossed, watching as you shoved clothes into your duffel bag with quick, sharp movements. Each zip of fabric against fabric sounded louder than the last, like a countdown. His stomach twisted, a sinking weight settling deep in his chest. He’d seen people leave before. He was used to it. But not you. Never you.
“C’mon, don’t do this,” he said, voice rough, hesitant - like he already knew it wouldn’t be enough.
You didn’t pause. You just kept packing, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the wall behind him. “You don’t get to ask me that,” you snapped, zipping the bag up with finality. “Not after everything. Not after all the times you pushed me away like I didn’t matter - like what we have doesn’t matter.”
Dean exhaled sharply, raking a hand down his face. The urge to argue rose in his throat, but he couldn’t find the words. He wanted to tell you that you did matter - more than he could explain - but he knew better than anyone that actions spoke louder than words. And his had been screaming the wrong things for far too long.
“Where the hell are you even gonna go?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady.
“Anywhere but here,” you said as you slung the bag over your shoulder. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out what you want. I deserve better than that.”
The words hit harder than any punch he’d ever taken in his life. He took a step forward, heart pounding.
“You really think I don’t know that?” he asked, desperation creeping into his tone. “I know you should’ve walked away a long time ago. But I also know that I-” He stopped, jaw locking tight as he shook his head, overwhelmed by the weight of everything he never said.
You stared at him, waiting, hoping. But silence settled in the space between you like a verdict.
“That’s what I thought,” you whispered.
You started to move past him, but Dean reached out, his hand catching your wrist - not tight, not forceful, just enough to make you stop. Just enough to make you turn around.
“I love you,” he said, the words tumbling out like they’d been trying to claw their way out for years. “I love you, okay? And yeah, maybe I’m a damn coward for not saying it sooner, but I can’t -” He broke off, shaking his head like he couldn’t breathe. “I can’t watch you walk away. I won’t.”
His eyes, usually so guarded, were raw now. Open in a way you’d never seen. It hit you then - Dean Winchester wasn’t afraid of monsters. He was afraid of this. Of you. Of losing something that actually meant something.
“I don’t know, Dean,” you said quietly. “You don’t know the torture I’ve been through - seeing you bring girl after girl into motel rooms, or back to the bunker, acting like none of it mattered. Or that year you were with Lisa and Ben while Sam was in literal Hell.” You dropped your bag with a heavy thud, hands curling into fists at your sides. “You can’t tell me you love me now, after knowing how I felt all this time. Why now? Why not years ago? I just… I want to be wanted, Dean.”
Dean flinched, your words landing like a physical blow. He looked away, guilt carved deep into every line of his face.
“I know I don’t get to just say a few words and make all of that go away,” he said. “And I sure as hell don’t deserve a second chance. But don’t you get it? That’s why I never said anything. Because you do matter to me. So much it scared the hell out of me.”
He laughed bitterly. “Everything I love gets taken away. Everything I care about, the universe turns into a weapon. Wanting you - loving you - felt like begging for another target on my back. But that’s no excuse. Not anymore.”
He stepped forward, voice softer now. “If you need me to prove it, I will. I’ll fight for this. I’ll fight for you. I just… I need to know there’s still a chance.”
You searched his face for lies, for any trace of manipulation. “You’re not just saying this to keep me here, are you?” you asked, barely above a whisper.
“No,” Dean said without hesitation. He held your gaze, steady and sure. “This isn’t a trick. I mean it. I want you. And I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that - if you let me.”
You felt the walls around your heart soften, just a little. “Just because I’m not leaving doesn’t mean I forgive you.”
Dean nodded, that tiny flicker of hope brightening his eyes. “Yeah. I get it. I just need the chance to make it right.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing against yours like he was asking permission to be close again. “So… what now?”
You smiled faintly. “Well… if I were you, I’d probably kiss me right now.”
Dean huffed a laugh and didn’t waste another second. His hands slid to your waist, and then his lips were on yours - not rough, not desperate - just right. Steady. Real. Like he finally knew what he wanted.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours. “Damn. Should’ve done that a long time ago.”
“Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”
“Alright, smartass,” he muttered with a smirk. “Guess I deserved that one.”
He looked at your, something serious blooming behind his grin. “So, uh… where do we go from here?”
You raised an eyebrow, your smile taking on a more wicked curve. “The bedroom?”
Dean blinked, then chuckled low in his throat. “Damn, sweetheart, you don’t waste any time, do you?”
His hands tightened at your hips as he tugged you closer, lips brushing your ear. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this.”
You shivered, his voice and touch igniting something hot and electric beneath your skin.
You shivered, his voice and touch igniting something hot and electric beneath your skin.
“Then show me,” you murmured.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
You barely made it down the hall before his mouth was on yours again—hungrier, rougher this time. Dean kissed you like a man starved, all the years of tension unraveling in the space between heartbeats. His hands were everywhere - gripping your waist, threading through your hair, tugging you flush against him like he couldn’t stand even an inch of distance.
You gasped into his mouth as he walked you backward, guiding you down the hall like muscle memory, like he’d dreamed about this exact moment so many times that he didn’t even have to think. And maybe he had.
By the time your knees hit the edge of the bed, your shirt was on the floor, and his mouth had made a slow, maddening trail down your neck. He lowered you onto the mattress with a careful kind of reverence, like he was still afraid you’d disappear.
“Still sure about this?” he asked, voice low and gravelly, hovering above you, his eyes searching yours one last time.
You reached up and curled your fingers into his shirt. “Dean. I’m already naked from the waist up.”
He smirked, dipping his head to your chest. “Yeah, just checking.”
He made quick work of the rest of your clothes, tossing them aside carelessly as his own followed. You took a second to drink him in - broad shoulders, firm muscles, a few scattered scars that you suddenly ached to know the stories behind - not that you didn’t know them already.
Then his mouth was on your skin again, warm and purposeful - kissing, licking, biting just enough to make you gasp. He took his time like he had something to prove. Maybe he did.
His hands were strong but patient, sliding between your thighs, teasing with slow, torturous precision. You bucked up against his touch, shameless now, needy in a way you hadn’t let yourself be around him before.
“Dean - please,” you whimpered, nails digging into his shoulders.
“Say what you want, sweethearts,” he murmured against the inside of your thigh, his voice dark and amused. “I’m listening.”
“You. I want you.”
That was all it took. In the next breath, he was kissing you again, rough and hungry, lining himself up with a low, satisfied growl. And when he finally pushed into you - slow, deep, stretching you just right - you both let out the kind of sound that belonged behind locked doors.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your neck, holding still for a second like he was overwhelmed by just being inside you. “You feel like a goddamn dream.”
You moaned his name as he began to move, every thrust hitting deep, sending sparks racing up your spine. He was relentless - rolling his hips like he knew exactly how to ruin you and was determined to do it slowly.
One of his hands tangled in yours above your head. The other dragged down your body, gripping your thigh and hitching it higher around his waist, changing the angle just enough to make your vision blur.
“Look at me,” he rasped. “Wanna see you fall apart for me.”
You did. Over and over, until your moans echoed off the bunker walls, until his name was the only thing you could remember how to say. Until your whole world narrowed down to the slide of his body against yours and the filthy promises he whispered into your ear between kisses.
And when he came - hard, deep, with a guttural sound that shook something inside you - he held you like he never wanted to let go. Like maybe now that he’d finally said the words, finally touched you like this, he couldn’t let go.
The room was quiet afterward, just the sound of your breathing, tangled sheets, slick skin, and the soft creak of the bed beneath you.
Dean brushed damp hair from your forehead and kissed your temple, his voice quieter now, but still thick with emotion.
“I told you,” he murmured, curling around you. “I’m not letting you go.”
You closed your eyes, finally warm, finally safe.
“Good,” you whispered back. “I’m not going anywhere.”
