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The dive bar was just like any other; the distinct aroma of alcohol and peanuts, the familiar classic rock tunes playing quietly from the old jukebox in the far corner, the beer-stained pool tables, and the slight haze of stale cigarette smoke throughout the joint. You sat at the bar with a cold one clasped in your lazy grip. Not even an hour earlier, you, Sam, and Dean finished a djinn hunt that left you pretty shaken up. The djinn had captured you and trussed you up, sending you into your worst nightmare while he fed on your blood. You'd never admit it out loud, but your biggest fear was losing the boys because you just couldn't lose any more family.
After a demon weaseled its way into your home, possessed your father, and killed your mother, you knew you were done for and that there was no turning back. Thankfully, the late, great Bobby Singer had barged in just in time before the demon wearing your father gutted you, too. He didn't survive the exorcism. From that point on, Bobby felt it necessary to tell you about all things that go bump in the night. Although he strongly suggested that you not choose this life, you knew it was just something you had to do. No other families would ever be destroyed by the evils of the world if you had anything to say about it. So, with the help of Bobby and his buddy Rufus, you learned the ins and outs of hunting.
Once Bobby and Rufus felt you were ready, they turned you loose and you flew solo for a while. A year or so ago, you came across something you had never seen before, which you would later learn was a leviathan. To get some Intel on those sons-o'-bitches, you tried calling Bobby, but you were greeted with an unfamiliar voice.
"Ghostbusters," the husky mystery voice answered.
"Uh, can I please speak to Bobby? Bobby Singer?"
A brief silence passed before the man responded, "Bobby's dead. Who's this?"
"I should be asking you the same thing," you replied, swallowing the lump in your throat and fighting back the tears that pin-pricked your eyes.
"Dean. Dean Winchester."
Sam and Dean met you at Rufus's old cabin where they filled you in on Bobby and Rufus's deaths and all the lore on leviathans. You and the boys drank in their memories before hopping back on the case you were working on. Ever since then, Sam and Dean decided you'd be better off sticking with them since you were a relatively new hunter flying solo. Even after Dean disappeared to Purgatory after ganking the big, bad Dick Roman, you and Sam stayed close. One night, he even got drunk and referred to you as "the best lil sister everrr." The sentiment warmed your heart, and you knew right then and there that you loved them both and that they were your family now, even though you were harboring the biggest crush ever on the older Winchester.
Dean's return from monster hell reinforced these feelings, and you couldn't imagine ever being without him, and Sam of course. So, when that djinn laid his hand on you in that old warehouse, he knew exactly what nightmare to throw you in: one where the lives of Sam and Dean were threatened by a hoard of demons, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You hated feeling powerless, and you especially hated feeling totally and completely hopeless. Luckily, Sam and Dean killed the bastard and cut you loose from your restraints before it was too late.
Once you came to, the first thing you did was envelop the both of them in a crushing hug, which was fairly difficult considering they're both giants in comparison to you. They inquired what kind of hellish nightmare the shit stain put you in, but you didn't want to talk about it. Despite their insistence on taking you back home to the bunker, you declined and asked to go to a bar, and if there's anything you learned from the Winchesters, it was how to be stubborn, so here you are, staring at the grain of the old bar's shiny wood.
You nursed your beer gingerly and attempted to sort your thoughts out about how you felt about the boys, and more specifically, Dean. You knew you've grown to love them both after all the time you've spent together, but the love you felt for Dean quickly morphed into something that went far beyond the brotherly bond you and Sam have established. It was irrational and ridiculous, and you knew that because there was no way in hell (or heaven) that Dean felt the same way. He probably just saw you as some burden or dorky little sister.
With that thought pestering your mind, you decided to chug the rest of your beer. You slammed it back down on the bar and gestured for another before glancing over at the pool tables where Sam and Dean were hustling some poor bastard out of his money. Sam was laughing and dancing around the table, sinking ball after ball. Dean stood against the wall holding his cue firmly in front of him with one hand, the other was around his beer. Suddenly, his eyes flashed up to meet yours. You hadn't realized you had been staring that long until the bartender placed a new beer down by your hand, startling you a bit. You gladly took it and swallowed back another big gulp of the amber liquid.
You had to get over this stupid whatever you felt towards Dean, and you knew the perfect distraction. At the other end of the bar sat a relatively handsome guy. He appeared to be in his late twenties/early thirties and was obviously a biker-or maybe he was in a rock band, considering his black leather, well, everything and the copious amounts of ink plastered onto his muscular arms. You subtly pulled your v-neck down a little and readjusted your cleavage before sliding off the bar stool and sauntering over to the biker (or whatever the hell he was) dude. A part of you secretly hoped Dean was still watching you, which helped give you some courage.
"You know, you're only an alcoholic if you drink alone," you said as you sat down next to the stranger, angling yourself towards him.
The man turned and gave you a killer smile that reached his chocolate brown eyes. You had to admit, he wasn't half-bad looking, but he was no Dean. Before your thoughts carried you away, you extended your hand, which he rightfully took.
"Y/N," you smiled and allowed your hand to linger in his for perhaps longer than you should have. The palms of his hands were too soft to be a biker, so he had to be a musician. Your arousal spiked with interest; you were a sucker for a guitar-playing man.
"Ross," he replied. He looked interested enough, especially since you kept catching his eyes flash down to your chest. Normally, you'd be annoyed by this, but you couldn't find it in yourself to care. You just needed an easy lay to get your mind off the whole djinn fiasco and Dean, at least for a little while.
"So," you leaned in and lightly trailed your fingers up and down Ross's forearm, "tell me about yourself, Dave Grohl."
He laughed at your fairly cheesy joke, but seemed pleasantly surprised and impressed that you were able to read him so easily. Turns out, he was a musician and had his own band that was booked somewhere in the next town over the next night. After talking a while, he jokingly asked you to be their groupie, which earned a bellowing, yet flirtatious, laugh from you.
Recovering from the joke, you leaned in, but just before you whispered a suggestive invitation to the motel across the street, a large hand clasped around your shoulder. You turned to meet the controlled anger of the one and only Dean Winchester. Perfect. Just when you thought you were going to be able to forget about the man for an hour or so, he does this, but what you weren't prepared for was what he was about to say.
"Hey, babe," his eyes sliding to Ross and holding him in such an intimidating glare, it even made you shiver with fear. "Who's this?"
Before you could speak, Ross spoke up, "No one. Sorry, man. Didn't know she was yours." He practically ran out of the place without even saying goodbye to you.
You threw your full-forced bitchface, which Sam helped you perfect, at Dean and shrugged his hand off your shoulder. "What the fuck, Dean?! You totally cock-blocked me."
"We are NOT doing this here," Dean practically growled as he pulled out his wallet and threw a few bills down on the bar. "Outside. Now," he commanded as he grabbed you by your elbow and yanked you off the bar stool. He gestured something over to Sam before leading you out of the building and over to the vacant side-alley.
Dean released his grip on your elbow only to grab you by both of your shoulders and lightly push you against the cold brick wall. "Look, I know you're hurt and all after this hunt, but what the fuck was that, Y/N?!"
Anger bubbled up inside of you. Who does he think he is? "What the fuck was that?" You half-shouted before shoving his arms off and away from you. "What the fuck is this, Dean?! You're not my goddamned babysitter!"
"Oh, so I'm just supposed to let you throw yourself at some sleazy douchebag with more tattoos than brain cells? I don't think so!"
"It's none of your fucking business!"
"Yes, it is!" He yelled, green eyes boring into yours. "Because you're my-"
"If you say 'responsibility', so help me God, I'm gonna punch you right in the face."
"But you are, Y/N!" He took a few steps away from you, pinching the bridge of his nose before running his hand down his face.
You folded your arms tightly against your chest and leaned back against the wall. "Yeah, I guess you feel responsible for my safety or whatever, but you have NO precedence over my sex life. You're not my fucking father, so what's it to you who I do or don't fuck?!"
He didn't say anything, just nodded his head and turned his back to you.
"That's what I thought," you said and started walking back out to the street, but Dean caught you by your hand and spun you into him, crashing your lips together. Whatever anger you were so desperately trying to cling onto melted away in that kiss. His arms snaked around your waist, pressing your bodies flush together. The mixture of his earthy musk and spicy cologne intoxicated you far more than any alcoholic beverage ever has. You've been buzzed on the idea of Dean for months, but now you were full-on drunk on him; your knees felt weak and all sense of time, slowed. You wanted more, and you hoped to God he would give it to you.
Dean must have read your mind because pushed you back against the cool bricks, breaking kisses only to start newer hungrier ones. You wrapped one hand around the back of his neck, the other in his dark blond hair. His strong hands gripped your waist, holding you firmly against the wall, and you could've sworn you felt the slightest hint of a bulge in his bluejeans. The warmth radiating from him was addicting; it remedied the chill of the October Michigan night and somehow melted your heart that grew cold over all the years of pain and loss that every hunter faced.
Too soon, Dean pealed his mouth from yours. Both of you were breathing heavily, making tiny clouds of steam swirl between you, his hot breath ghosting over your quivering lips.
"Y/N," he placed his forehead against yours and whispered tenderly. He moved both his hands to caress your face, rubbing his thumbs over your rouged cheeks. "I-I'm sorry," he pulled far enough away from your face to look into your eyes. His mouth still glistening with your shared saliva. "I shouldn't have acted the way that I did, I just-"
"Dean Winchester, were you jealous?"
"Heh, no," he fake-scoffed. "I... Yeah, okay, maybe a little," he laughed, flashing his ridiculously perfect teeth. You couldn't help but think about those teeth scraping against your sensitive skin: marking, claiming, taking. It was then that you knew the words you have been so desperately wanting to say couldn't possibly be enough to explain what you were feeling.
You pulled his head down to you. "Let's go somewhere, Dean," you whispered against his ear and captured his earlobe in your mouth. "I need you."
A small groan escaped from his lips as he involuntarily rutted his hips against you. "Okay," he replied.
To keep up with his long strides, you were practically running alongside him with your fingers intertwined. Adrenaline coursed through your veins; you couldn't remember the last time you felt this alive, at least since you started hunting. Traffic was dead, which meant you didn't have to wait to cross the street to the cheap motel just across from the bar. Dean made quick work of getting you two a room. He threw you the keys, which you hurriedly glanced at to catch the room number. 10. You spun on your heel and ran in search of the room. Dean laughed at your apparent enthusiasm and quickly caught up with you.
Your hands shook as you tried to fit the key into the lock, which Dean thought would be a brilliant time to rub up behind you and run his hands from your shoulders, down your waist, and to your ass.
"I'm waiting, baby," he said before licking the shell of your ear and placing a kiss just behind it, causing a familiar warmth to pool in your lower abdomen.
Finally, you got the stupid door open and Dean wasted no time in urging you through it. You turned to watch him kick the door shut behind him and flick on the precariously dim light, revealing outdated wallpaper, scanty furniture, and bed with "magic fingers". The motel owners must know what goes on in this place. Although it wasn't the most romantic venue, you couldn't care less; after pining after the older Winchester for so long, it didn't matter when or where this happened, just as long as it did happen, and by God, it was happening.
You both met halfway and crashed into each other with even more intense conviction. You pushed your hands through the shoulders of his red and gray flannel to take it off, reveling in the feel of his muscular chest and defined shoulders underneath his sinfully thin, tight black t-shirt, which you hastily pealed off, too. After both shirts fell to the floor, you quickly withdrew your hands to take your own sweater off, but he grabbed your wrists once he realized what you were doing.
"Ah, ah, ah," he teased. "That's my job."
Dean grabbed the hem of your shirt and ripped it off in one smooth motion, and did the same to your dark-wash jeans. Before he captured your mouth into another hot, searing kiss, you could see his emerald eyes become enveloped by his lust-blown pupils. That simple action was enough to spike your arousal ten-fold, and you could feel wetness begin to dampen your panties.
Fuck, he's beautiful, you thought as you took a step back from him to get a nice look at his bare torso. He briefly admired your body, too; eyes tracing every curve as he bit on his lower lip. You were so glad you decided to wear a matching lingerie set. The black lace of your bra overlapped the silk cups, and your panties were trimmed with more lace but were otherwise all silk, which felt heavenly against your wet sex.
"Let's play a game," his voice dropped lower. "First one to touch the other first comes last."
"Deal," you said and threw him a wicked grin as you slowly snaked your right hand down your stomach to the waistband of your panties, allowing your fingers to dip under the fabric tauntingly.
Dean inhaled sharply and balled his hands into fists as he watched you. Even through his jeans, his arousal was deliciously evident, so you plunged your whole hand down into your panties and moaned as your fingers carded through your wet folds. Despite the fact that Dean was the one to propose this game in the first place, he didn't try and seduce you because, well, he couldn't. He was too mesmerized by the movement of your hand under the shiny fabric covering your most private area. Watching him fidget and squirm around was only making you want him more, but you weren't going to cave, so you kept going.
Thank God and Victoria's Secret for making this bra clasp in the front as if its sole purpose was for this moment. With your left hand, you reached up, undid the hook, and slid the bra off unceremoniously. The cooler air surrounding your now naked breasts made your nipples achingly hard, which you took full advantage of. You rolled your left nipple between your thumb and forefinger and dipped a solitary finger inside of your slippery hole, pulling a soft whimper from your lips.
"Dean," you moaned as you threw your head back, hoping that, that would finally push him over the edge.
"Ah, fuck it."
Jackpot.
Dean sucked your lower lip in his mouth as his hand fondled your neglected breast. You slid your hand down his body until you reached his denim-clad erection, and he moaned into your mouth and walked backwards towards the bed. He let himself fall back on the mattress once his knees hit its edge, bringing you down on top of him. The contrasting friction between the delicate silk of your panties and the rough denim of his jeans felt absolutely heavenly, but it just wasn't enough. You tore away from his mouth and unfastened his button and fly. Thankfully, he kicked his boots off and lifted his hips up slightly so you two could wriggle him free of his pants and boxer-briefs in one swing. You lowered yourself back down onto him so his hard-and already leaking-member was placed directly between your silk-covered lips. Both of you moaned as you began to grind in your now soaked silk panties on his shaft, applying just the right amount of pressure to your clit.
"Ffffuck, Y/N," Dean practically whined as he guided your hips over his cock.
"D-Dean," you breathed in response. He could tell you were getting close, so he flipped you over on the bed and sat in between your knees on his haunches. You squirmed under his heavy-lidded gaze and thrust your hips absently up into the air, beckoning him.
"Please," you begged.
He smiled to himself as he began to lazily stroke his length. "Please what, sweetheart?"
You didn't know where to look, his eyes or his cock, so you alternated between both before responding with a pathetic plea of, "Fuck me."
"That's what you want?" He began to jerk himself a bit faster. "You want me to fuck your tight little pussy until you come all over my dick?"
"Yes! Dean, please!"
He threw his head back and let out a long, low groan, and you thought you were going to go insane. You knew he learned the art of torture in Hell, but this was probably ten times worse. Your body ached for him. Needed him, even. He slowed his pace until he came to a complete stop.
"Shhh, it's okay, Y/N. I got you," he assured you as he hooked his fingers into the waistband your panties and pulled them down and off of you. "I'm gonna take real good care of you."
He settled himself onto his stomach between your spread legs, kissing and nibbling on your inner thighs down to your dripping center. You propped yourself up on your elbows to get a better view, and the image alone could've made you come; Dean Winchester's lust-blown, candy apple green eyes were staring up at you, his beautiful face and inviting lips mere inches from your sex. Fuck.
Without breaking eye-contact, he used the flat of his tongue to lick a stripe from your vagina, over your slick folds, and up to your clit.
"Oh, my God," you practically screamed at the sensory overload. One of your hands carded through his hair while the other gripped the sheets for dear life.
He expertly flicked his tongue over the little bud a few more times before he slowly pushed his index finger slowly inside of you, moaning and closing his eyes as he did so.
"Mmmm, so wet for me, baby." He pumped his finger in you a few more times and then added a second one. "And so fucking tight, shit."
You spread your legs a little wider and saw Dean jerking himself in time with his fingers inside of you. Beads of his pre-come were dripping onto the sheets and you wanted so desperately to lick it all up, but you couldn't think of anything else to say other than "Dean," repeating and moaning his name like it was the only word you knew.
He added a third and final finger, stretching you wide and preparing you for what was to come. He stopped jerking himself to hold your hips firmly in place as he began to circle his incredibly skilled tongue relentlessly fast around your clit.
"I-I..." was all you could get out, and he understood. He quickly pulled off of you, sat back, and lined himself up.
"Is this what you wanted from that guy at the bar, babe?" Dean asked as he grabbed his dick and ran the slick, blunt head up and down your wet pussy, causing you to close your eyes out of sheer want and pleasure.
"Y/N, look at me," he growled. "I said," he slipped only the tip into your entrance, "is this what you wanted from him?"
"N-No. Only you. Dean, please. Please fuck me. Please."
"Good girl," he praised before sliding into you and continuing when he was buried in your wet heat to the hilt. "Because you're mine."
He fucked you hard, fast, and deep, and his thick cock filled you up better than you could've ever imagined. Your legs wrapped around his waist, making him go deeper. You reached up and around to his back, scratching the rippling muscles there to let him know that he was also yours. He bent down to bite and suck marks onto your neck, but soothed over them with soft kisses. That went on for what felt like hours.
Feeling his own release drawing closer and closer, Dean lifted himself above you with one arm while the other reached down to rub your clit.
"Fuck! Dean, I'm gonna... I'm-"
The new angle hit your sweet spot with every penetrating thrust and his intense concentration on your erect bud sent you over the edge. You came with his name on your lips. Feeling your walls contract and flutter around his throbbing cock, Dean fucked you through your orgasm until he finally came with a shout.
Dean rolled off and laid in the empty space beside you. Both of you were catching your breaths and coming down from your highs when suddenly he laced his fingers in between yours. You looked over at him with blissed-out, tired eyes and he responded with a cheeky smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. There's no way this can be real, so you figured you might as well take a chance.
"I love you."
"I know."
You chuckled at his dorkiness. 'Star Wars'? Seriously? But below and behold, this was the man that you loved; the dork, the hunter, the brother, the hero. Your hero.