You're not entirely sure when it started, this little obsession of yours. But it feels like it's been going for a long time, maybe as long as you've known them. The Winchester brothers are both unfairly attractive, but while Sam is definitely a man you enjoy seeing shirtless, it's Dean who holds your heart and soul in his hands.
It's not just physical, even if he is a sex god come to earth. Dean is strong, loyal, protective, and so unsure. He has no idea just how good he is, how much he's worth. He thinks he has no personality of his own, just an extension of John Winchester, but he's so wrong. You knew John Winchester, and he wasn't kind like Dean. He truly is his own man, a good man, even if he fails to see it. Sam is sweet, attentive, and just as loyal. He challenges you, intellectually, and his ideas fascinate you. He has struggled with his own darkness, and for all his complexities, he is simple and steadfast on the things that truly matter. In the end, Sam and you are too similar for anything but friendship, and you suspect that he agrees. Whether you would be someone Dean would want is unknown, but frankly, irrelevant. The world is always ending, someone is always getting possessed, and there just never is time for much of anything except work when it comes to the Winchesters. You want more, and you wish he did too, but if he wants to keep his life as simple as he can, you respect that. The man is dealing with enough, you won't begrudge him anything.
You're sipping on coffee and flipping over easy eggs when Sam comes into the kitchen. You smile at him over your mug and keep singing quietly to yourself, moving to make him a cup of coffee while he goes to the sink for a glass of water. Adding a tiny teaspoon of sugar, you turn to him, your pink knit sweater billowing around you slightly. He smiles at you over the water cup and when you hand him the coffee, he uses that wrist to pull you to him, enclosing you in a small hug.
"Good morning, sweetheart," he says with a kiss to your forehead.
You laugh lightly before taking a step back and retreating to the stove.
"Morning Sammy," you reply with a sunny smile. "I have homemade bread too. You want toast?"
Sam moves to sit at the table, scratching across his chest with a yawn. "You don't have to make us food all the time."
You nod, plating his eggs and adding a few slices of apple, along with a slice of toast.
"I know," you tell him, setting the plate in front of him. "But I like cooking, you know that."
"Thank God for that," Dean says, strutting into the room. He hugs you from behind. "Good morning, babygirl. You make eggs?"
You smile at him over your shoulder and blush. "Sure did. Sit down and I'll get you some. Coffee?"
Sam grumbles something under his breath about how you should sit down and enjoy the breakfast YOU made, but Dean doesn't seem to see an issue.
He flashes that million dollar smile as he collapses into the chair. "Yeah, baby, that sounds great. You spoil us."
You wave him off as you pour the coffee. "Hardly. You boys deserve to be taken care of."
When you turn, you catch Dean staring at your behind with startling intensity. Caught red-handed, he simply shrugs, looking smug.
"What? Those can barely be called shorts."
Well. You aren't sure what to say to that, so you settle for blushing again and pulling out another plate. You're a little different than most women born into a family of hunters. Your mother and father were both fierce fighters, but you always felt closer to Bobby. With a brother of your own and parents who ran hot as fire, you were always a bit out of place. You weren't built hard, ruthless, or stoney. No, you were always a nurturer, sensitive, and sweet. You had the single worst temperament that a hunter could have, at least according to your mother. Your father once told your brother, when he thought you were asleep, that even though you slowed them down, family was family and they all had to share that burden. You hadn't even wanted to go hunting in the first place, so when they started to leave you behind at your Uncle Bobby's when you were 10, that was a blessing. They still came back on occasion, but their visits became fewer and fewer, and maybe that had been for the best. Only your brother called and visited when he got older, seemingly ashamed of how your parents treated his baby sister. He was even more ashamed that he had been roped in, but you assured him he was just a child, and you shared a solid and good relationship for a time. But he was gone now, had been for 5 years, and presumed dead. As for your parents, who knew where they were. They may have loved you in their own messed up way, but they really didn't see anything you could bring to the table when it came to hunting.
Turns out, you actually had a lot to bring to said table. Given the proper guidance and a lot of gentle encouragement, you found out that you were smart; really smart. To the hunters who sought Bobby's aide, you had a lot to offer. You learned everything you could about what went bump in the night, devoured books like they were air, and were able to draw conclusions and make connections as good, if not better, than your uncle. Not only that, but when you got older, you got your own little place on the lot and hunters came to you when they needed a reprieve, a soft spot. And you were good at providing that, and even more so, you loved doing it. You could give them something they couldn't get anywhere else. You gave them a soft place to land and the same kind of care a mother might give, a luxury most of these men and women sadly lived without.
When Bobby died, you knew that you were well and truly out of luck. You were still too soft to exist in the world hunters ran in without being vulnerable to being taken advantage of, and not all hunters were good. But the Winchester boys, they were always good to you. You had never liked John much, but you kept that to yourself, seeing as he was Bobby's best friend in the world. His sons, though, were special to you, even more than any others, and you saw them the most too. So they offered you a home, a safe place to land, and protection. In return, you took care of them, you loved them, and you ran that library like it was your bitch.
You love it here, in the bunker with these boys. If anyone deserves a soft hand, it's the Winchesters.
You spend the day making sure they're well fed, doing the laundry they've brought back from their hunt, and working in the library. It's rare to get them to stay home for any length of time, but you've got them to agree to a few days, 'for you.' Telling them that they need a few days to rest before they keel over is useless, but lamenting that you're feeling out of sorts and a bit alone will get them every single time. They both have such a hero complex. So you have your Winchesters for at least the next 5 days and frankly, you couldn't be more pleased.
That night, the three of you sit on the couch and watch a movie. It's a dumb comedy, not your favorite, but the sounds of Dean laughing make it worth it. You aren't sure when you dozed off, but it's around 2 am when you wake up in your bed. Your throat feels dry and scratchy, so after a few minutes of trying to just go back to sleep without getting up, you give up with a sigh and haul yourself off to the kitchen for a drink. As you walk down the hallway, you hear the movie menu still playing in a loop, so you move to walk into the living room to shut it off.
The lights are off and the only illumination is from the tv screen, but when you get close enough, you can hear Sam and Dean arguing quietly.
"Dean, you can't be serious. She can't just stay in the bunker for the rest of her life, you know that."
Dean shakes his head. "Sam, she's a fucking cupcake! We have angels breathing down our god damn necks here, we can't keep her from getting herself hurt outside of the bunker."
"It's one night, Dean!" Sam argues. "It's her birthday, we can pick the place together. But she said herself she's lonely. She deserves some time out, she works so hard."
"Yeah, well, once the angels are done with, you can take her to a week-long fucking fiesta for all I care," Dean growls. "But until then, she stays here, and that's final."
Sam huffs. "You're not like this with anyone else, Dean. I know you're in love with her, but you can't lock her up like Rapunzel just because you..."
Dean rolls his eyes and smacks a hand on the table. "Not this shit again! Sammy, I am not in love with her. I don't do 'in love,' okay?"
"Really? You're still going with that?" Sam rubs the bridge of his nose.
"I'm not going with anything. You know I'm not down for that monogamy shit." Dean moves to reach the remote, but Sam snatches it up before Dean can turn on something.
"So you're saying if she walked in here and told you she loved you more than life itself and offered to let you bend her over, you'd say what? No?"
Dean shakes his head, nostrils flaring. "First off, she's a nice girl, so she'd never just offer to let someone 'bend her over.' Second, I'd say 'thanks, but there is plenty of pussy at the bar and they don't need me to be in love with them in order to spread their legs for me'."
The expression on Sam's face shifts from irritation to sadness. "You're such a fucking liar, even to yourself."
You suddenly remember where you are, and who you're watching, and you feel a sharp pain in your chest. You turn quickly to go, only to take two steps before tripping on your own feet and falling loudly on your face with a thump. You can hear the shuffling in the other room and you clumsily push to your feet and start walking quickly back to your own room.
When you are five feet from your door, you know the Winchester's must have reached the hallway because Dean's voice reaches you.
"God Dammit," he curses, and just before you walk in, you chance a glance down the hallway. Dean has a hand in his hair and he's staring at you, face twisted and jaw clenched. Sam takes a step forward and he looks beyond guilty.
"Sweetheart?" he says, taking another step forward. His voice cracks on the word, and so does your heart, so you slip into your room and close and lock the door.
In the morning, you don't make breakfast. You stay in bed and wonder why you had to hear how easily dismissed you are when you never even asked him to love you. Not knowing, respecting his need for personal space, was so much better than this. This pain runs deep, very deep, and you realize you probably won't be able to stay here without making him feel guilty for what he said. He didn't say it to you, and he wouldn't, but you can't unhear it.
When you haven't come out for lunch or dinner, you hear the knock at the door and know that they probably aren't going to let you get away with starving to death. Reluctantly, you stand up and flip the lock before retreating back to your bed. You sit crosslegged and wait for the door to open. When it does, Sam takes a few steps into your room, hands in his front pockets, looking at you with a tentative smile.
"Hey sweetheart," he says softly.
You return his smile with a small one of your own.
"Hi Sammy," you answer, before shifting your eyes to the elder Winchester who is leaning in your doorframe, jaw clenched. "Hey Dean."
Dean's jaw relaxes slightly, but his voice is hoarse when he returns your greeting. "Hi babygirl."
No one says anything for a minute and you realize that they are both as uncomfortable as you are. You love them. You have to be better than this. You can't let your emotions completely rule your response, it's not fair to them.
"Look, about how I reacted last night," you start. Dean flinches and Sam looks at you a little sadly.
"I'm really sorry I didn't come out today," you tell them. "I guess I just felt a little out of sorts. I wasn't supposed to hear that and, well, I really wish I hadn't."
Sam looks at you and sighs. "I'm gonna give you two a chance to talk. I'll just be in the library." With that, he turns and walks away, leaving you and the eldest Winchester to your own devices.
You motion for him to come inside and Dean closes the door behind him, hesitating until you pat the bed in front of you. He sits but he can't seem to meet your eyes and that hurts worse than anything he said before.
"Dean," you sigh. "It's okay to feel however you feel. I never meant to even find out how you feel about me or relationships or anything else like that. I just walked by at the wrong time."
He only nods, so you continue, even though you'd rather be anywhere but here, talking about this.
"You're right though," you laugh softly. "I am a cupcake. So it's going to take me a little time, but I'll find a place and we'll just get some distance and this will blow over. It's really fine, Dean."
His eyes snap up to yours and you can see the alarm there. "What do you mean find a place? You can't leave, it's not safe."
You chuckle, but it sounds empty, even to your ears. "Well, I can't very well stay, Dean. I mean, I'm not going to be the pathetic mopey girl shooting you glares and trying desperately to get your attention. Not knowing was okay, but knowing for sure that you feel nothing for me, well, I can't say it doesn't hurt."
His brow knits over in confusion, "Wait, do you have feelings for me?"
Now you really do laugh and you think maybe you'll cry too but somehow you manage to stem the impulse. "Oh my god, Dean...you really can be thick sometimes. YES, otherwise why would this matter?"
Dean does a helpless little half-shrug that would be adorable if he wasn't so exhausting. "I thought it was the 'pussy' thing. Like, 'objectifying' or saying that's what you were good for? I don't...-Fuck, I don't know! Women are god damn confusing!" He huffs out a little breath and throws his hands up.
"Well, that was rather crude," you admit with a small chuckle. "But you didn't say it to me, did you? I wasn't meant to hear it and to be fair, you were talking about the girls at the bar, not me."
He's staring at you with suspicious eyes, and you aren't really sure what to make of it, before he murmurs. "I feel like this is probably just misplaced gratitude, babygirl. You are such a sweet little thing, and I am just...not, ya know? I don't come close to...Don't leave, okay? It's not going to be a problem. "
Your mouth drops open and now, now you are feeling less sad and understanding and more pissed off and righteous.
"What the fuck did you just say to me?" you practically hiss. You can see the moment he realizes what he actually just said and the panic that follows because, for all your sweetness, you have your mama's temper. You may be a cupcake but when you are really, really mad, you have a tendency to forget that. 'Angry You' curses like a sailor and is liable to wallop someone on principle alone.
Dean puts his hands up in a universal sign of surrender but you aren't having it, so you smack his hand down and stand up so quickly you almost fall over.
"Dean Winchester, if you EVER imply that I am too 'sweet' to be able to understand my own feelings about you or anything else, ever again, I swear I will drug your apple pie, make Sam drag your big ass outside, and have Cas drop you in the Sahara until you can learn some fucking manners! And you know he likes me a hell of a lot more than he likes you, he'll do it!"
You lean down, eyes blazing, to get on his level. He hasn't moved, barely blinked really, since you started.
"Do I make myself perfectly clear?"
Dean nods, knowing better than to make the woman who cooks all his food and knows far too much about spells and poisons any angrier with him.
"Good. Now get the hell out of my room." Dean hesitates, obviously not wanting to leave it, but you stop him before he can say anything. "Dean, I mean it. Get. Out."
He's laying on the couch with an open whiskey bottle in one hand when Sam finds him. He's not even bothering with a glass at this point.
Sam throws himself back in the recliner and sighs. "So it went well then?"
He groans, "I fucked up, Sammy. I mean, I REALLY fucked up."
Sam narrows his eyes and stares at his older brother with suspicion. "I was only gone like 20 minutes. What the hell did you do in that time?"
"Sammy, I...god dammit, she said she had to leave, cause she likes me, ya know? And I just couldn't believe it. I mean come on, she's so fucking perfect. Just, everything I could ever dream of. Fuck Sam, she's the apple pie life. That's her, in the flesh."
"And...?"
"And...I suggested maybe she was...confused? I mean, how can a girl like that like a guy like-"
"Oh, you idiot. You god damn idiot. Tell me you did not tell her she didn't know her own mind."
Dean grimaces. "I mean, I didn't say it exactly like that but-"
"Alright," Sam says with a sigh, jumping to his feet. "I'm gonna go make some coffee and then you need to sober up and go get some stuff to compliment the groveling you got ahead of you, brother. Chocolate, flowers...hell, this might call for jewelry. She loves you, Dean, and your stubborn ass won't admit it, but you love her too."
Dean doesn't deny it, just tightens his jaw.
"I'm not letting you screw this up," Sam tells him bluntly. "Get your shit together and go fix it. You both deserve some happiness."
After a shower, you head to the kitchen and quietly make some subs for the brothers to find for dinner. You might be pissed, but they're hopeless and you don't want Sam to starve. You also don't want Dean to starve, but a little bit might be okay with you at the moment. After making yourself a small plate, you return to your room and lay down in bed with your latest book, falling asleep with it open on your chest like the party animal you are around 9:30 pm.
You awake a bit later to the sound of fluttering feathers.
"Cas?" you say blearily, sitting up and rubbing your eyes. "What on earth are you wearing?"
"I believe this is how human beings have imagined Cupid Angels attire themselves," Castiel tells you, glancing down at his bare chest and plastic heart bow. "It is completely inaccurate."
"Oooo...kay," you say with a small nod. "Why are you wearing it?"
"Dean has offered to give me the new Netflix password if I deliver this to you while wearing this costume," Castiel answers. He holds out a large purple teddy bear and a small card. "I am not sure why the costume is necessary, but he seemed to feel it was very important, and I very much want to continue 'The Walking Dead'."
You clear your throat, at a loss for words. "Um, I see. Well, I will be sure to tell him you delivered it while wearing the, um, cupid outfit."
Castiel takes your hand and bows his head in solemn gratitude. "Thank you. You are a good friend."
With another flutter, Castiel is gone, leaving you holding your gifts. You can't help but smile widely at the delivery and you eagerly rip open the card and read it.
Babygirl,
I'm not sure what to say exactly, but I know I was an asshole earlier. I do feel something for ya. Give me another shot? I've got another present for you. Please open your door?
Dean
You jump off your bed and fly to the door, pulling it open and beam at a sheepish looking Dean on the other side.
"Would you like to come in?" you ask with a teasing smile.
"Yeah," he says with a small grin.
You settle on your bed and he sits down facing you but doesn't seem to know what to say. You take his hands and give them a gentle squeeze. "Dean?" you prompt him quietly.
"Look, I...I shouldn't have said that earlier. I just look at you and you're so...thoughtful and kind and adorable and then there's me, you know? Rough, angry, bit of a dick. It doesn't seem possible for you to want someone like me." He grimaces, finally meeting your eye. "I know I got lots of things some women like, but I don't know what I got for a woman like you."
You feel like your heart is going to burst so you scootch forward and cradle his head in your hands, causing him to let out a quick puff of breath. You lean forward like you are whispering a secret and he shudders as your words blow across the shell of his ear.
"Let's see," you say quietly. "You offer...loyalty," and you press a soft kiss to his jaw with each word spoken, making your way to his chin, "humor...protection...kindness...strength...bravery..."
You reach his chin and pull yourself up to look in his eyes, your lips but an inch from his. "Need I go on?"
"No, baby, I think I got it," he murmurs before bringing his lips down to caress your own. His lips mold to yours and white lights explode behind your eyes. It's so much more than you ever imagined and when he nips at your bottom lip to entice you to open to him, you happily let him lick into your mouth. "God damn, you even taste sweet," he groans before dipping his tongue in again. Tentatively, you meet him and allow yourself to savor the minty, whiskey taste of his lips. When he moans and pulls you into his lap, you press on his chest and pull back until he meets your eyes.
"What is it, babygirl?" he asks while he rubs circles on the small of your back.
"Dean, I'm not a virgin, but I don't sleep around either." Now you're blushing and biting your lip. You're staring at your lap and you know you are talking so quietly you are almost whispering, but you can't help it. "I don't want to do anything but kissing unless we're...together. I know you have your fun and your one night stands and that's fine, but I don't want to be one of them."
Dean chuckles and runs a hand through your hair, bringing his forehead to rest on yours. "Baby, if you'll have me, I'll make you mine and never let you go. No more one night stands, just you and me."
"Yeah?" you ask shyly, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Yeah," he tells you firmly.
"Dean?" you whisper softly, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "I love you. You can make me yours."
He bites his lip and groans from deep in his chest, his hips thrusting quickly up between yours. The hard bulge of his erection making contact with your core makes you whimper and he chuckles.
"Yeah, Babygirl, what you're feeling? I am REALLY excited to make you mine." Dean rolls you so he's hovering over you, gently pushing at your knees so he can settle himself between your thighs.
This time his kiss is deep and needy. Dean's not one for words, he may never say he loves you out loud, but the way he is looking at you and kissing you, you can feel it in your soul. His hands skim down to your hips and he rubs his thumbs across that little bit of pudge that no amount of sit-ups and salads is ever going to get rid of. His fingers slide up your ribs and you giggle, because it tickles just a little, making him smile into your mouth. But then, he's pushing at the tank top you wore to bed, up and over your head. You lie beneath him, blushing heavily with your nipples hardening, and you force yourself not to flip over and hide in the pillow.
Dean's mouth is hanging open and he closes it just to open it again and sigh. "So pretty, baby. I've gotta taste, I need to..." His tongue runs along the underside of one nipple and you squeak, causing a deep chuckle to rumble through Dean's chest. When his lips close around your nipple, you moan and you vaguely wonder, if he can make just his mouth just on your breast feel that good, what the hell can he do elsewhere? Nothing has ever felt this good, and as he switches to the other breast, you think you might cum just from the feeling of him suckling.
"Babygirl, those noises you're makin'..." he growls against your skin, making you whimper. "Gonna be the death of me."
He runs his teeth gently along your nipple, worrying it back and forth as one hand slides beneath the waistband of your sleep shorts and finds the elastic of your panties. Dean glances down and then looks up at you with a grin. You return his glance, confusion written on your face.
"What?" you ask.
"They're pink cotton, baby," he says fondly. "Of course they are. So sweet, babygirl. My own little slice of apple pie."
Before you ask him what that means, his wicked fingers are slipping underneath the material and running the length of your slit. You moan wantonly and buck your hips while Dean growls and buries his face in your stomach.
"You want me that bad, baby?" he asks in wonder when he feels just how wet you are for him.
"Y-yes, Dean...Oh, Dean!" you answer just as he circles your clit. He brings two fingers to slide inside you, moving his palm to rub against your nub as he slowly stretches you. He pauses to pull your shorts and underwear slightly down your thighs so they aren't in the way before he picks up right where he stopped.
"Say it again, sweet girl. Say my name like that, let me hear you." He nuzzles his face into your stomach, rubbing his stubble across your lower belly as he ever so slowly brings up a third finger and slides it into you. He kisses down the length of your stomach, nipping at the softness he finds there.
"Dean, please! Need more, need something, please Dean," you moan out, just like he asked. It feels so gooood, when he finally crooks his fingers and puts your clit between his lips and sucks, you scream his name as you shatter. Your back arches off the bed and you are convinced that the only thing keeping you grounded to this earth is his strong forearm across your hips. He lessens the pressure, but doesn't stop teasing and lapping at you until you beg him to stop. When he finally wipes his mouth and kisses his way back up your body, you are boneless beneath him and he looks positively smug.
"Any idea how beautiful you look when you cum, baby doll?" he asks before kissing you hard. He stands and pulls his clothes off quickly, fully removing your sleep shorts and underwear. Dean presses the length of his body against yours and your revel in the skin to skin contact, the feel of him panting and hard above you.
"Come on Dean," you purr up to him, drunk on your orgasm enough to be a little less shy. "Need you inside me."
He moans, sliding his length up and down your folds, collecting the wetness there. "Fuck, babygirl, anything you want."
Dean slides in torturously slow and you know he's scared to hurt you, for which you are quite thankful. It's been a while and he is stretching you out in a way that makes you ache in all the right ways. After a bit, you start to meet his thrusts and you wrap your legs around him, trying to pull him in harder and make him go faster.
"Dean!" you whine, pouting out your bottom lip.
Dean chuckles and nips the lip you've pushed out before nuzzling into your hair. "Baby, I will fuck you into the mattress later. I promise I will pound you until you can't think straight. But right now, baby doll, we're gonna go slow so I can feel every fucking inch of your pretty little cunt."
You gasp and blush up to your hairline at his filthy tongue, but Dean just sucks the lobe of your ear into his mouth and brings a hand down to slowly and steadily rub your clit. The buildup is long and delicious and when you finally cum, moments before Dean spills inside you, it feels like sinking into ecstasy instead of exploding with it.
As you lay chest to chest afterward in your bed, Dean makes a humming noise and jumps swiftly to his feet.
"Where are you going?" you complain, holding out an arm to try to pull him back.
"Just a second baby," he mumbles, digging in the pockets of his discarded jeans before returning and sliding back under the sheets. He holds a small jewelry box under your nose and you look at him quizzically. "I told you that you had another present."
"Dean," you say breathily, taking the box with slightly shaking hands and opening it. Inside is a ruby pendant hanging from a delicate rose gold chain. The ruby is round and surrounded by twinkling moonstone gems.
"The lady at the store said rubies are for royalty and beauty," he said softly, running a calloused finger across the gem. "Fuck knows you're my princess, and a beautiful one at that."
You sit up and pull your hair across your shoulder, offering your neck to Dean. After several minutes of fumbling and a few curse words, he snaps the clasp shut and you revel in the feeling of the pendant hanging around your neck.
"Thank you, Dean," you say turning and kissing him softly.
His expression is so tender that it's hard not to look away.
"Anything for you, babygirl."