"Hey, can I buy you a drink?" The man is a few inches taller than you, with a strong jaw and classic features, but his smile is a little too leering for you to feel comfortable.

"No, thanks," you answer politely, holding up your beer bottle to indicate that you already have one.

"Then, do you mind if I just sit here?"

Persistent. You inhale as discreetly as possible and catch his scent. Alpha. Which means that he's probably already sniffed out that you're an omega, and he's looking for an easy fuck. It isn't long before your next heat, and he might even be able to smell that, which sends a nervous shiver through you.

"I don't mind, but my mate might." You nod over to the pool table, where Dean is standing while Sam takes his shot, watching you carefully, his face a calm mask that you know is hiding unbelievable danger if this guy gets too close.

"Your mate?" The man smirks. "I don't see a mark on your neck."

You shrug. "I'm still taken."

His eyes are hard and a bit unfriendly as he laughs. "No such thing. No mark means you're free game." Without warning, he leans forward and pulls the collar of your shirt over to bare your shoulder. "Maybe I could be the one to mark you, give you an actual Alpha. One that's man enough to claim you."

The poor guy never saw Dean coming. A sigh of relief escapes you as soon as you realize that Dean's right there, standing behind you and almost trembling with rage that comforts you more than it should. "Get your hands off her." It's not a request, not even an angry growl. It's the calm detachment of a man who has already set his eye on his kill.

It takes everything in you to stand your ground and not lean back into Dean, into the warmth and safety of his broad chest. But omega or not, you don't like showing fear, so you simply stare up at the man, hoping you look as calm as Dean sounds.

The man smirks, leans forward as if he's going to challenge Dean, and you wait for the moment he realizes he's out of his depth here.

He doesn't. In fact, he's so stupid that he raises an arm to touch you again, moves like he's going to pull you closer. His arm is broken before he gets near you, Dean moving with hunter reflexes this man couldn't have been prepared for. Dean never breaks his stride or looks anything but relaxed, just bends the man's arm until it snaps, then looks over at you with an expression that says we're leaving right now.

It never crosses your mind not to follow Dean out of the bar, not to smile a little when you get to Sam, who easily falls in front of you so Dean can settle in behind, both men protecting you, warding off anyone who might be thinking of continuing this fight.

The smile fades once you get outside, and the reality sinks in like it always does.

The man wasn't wrong.

You aren't marked.

Dean hasn't claimed you.

"How long are you gonna be upset?" Dean asks. It's not unkind or passive aggressive. It's just tired, exhausted from having this talk so many times that both of you have lost count.

You only shrug your shoulders. Fighting is pointless, but trying to talk to Dean won't lead to anything else.

He climbs in bed, turns off the lamp, and you both settle in to sleep, lying on your backs and facing the ceiling, not happy enough to turn toward each other, not wanting to push the other one away by turning your back.

It only takes a few minutes for Dean to turn the light back on. He doesn't say anything, just looks at you, eyes wide and searching, almost scared, like he's afraid of what you'll do if he pushes the issue.

You take pity on him and reach for his hand, tangling your fingers together and sighing heavily.

"I just…I just don't understand, Dean."

"Yes, you do," he counters. "Because I've told you over and over. I can't be your alpha."

A scornful snort of laughter erupts from your mouth. "You already are my alpha."

"I'm not. I never marked you. I can't do that to you. I ain't gonna drag you into this life."

You let go of his hand and thread your fingers through your hair in agitation. "I'm already in it, Dean! I live in your bunker. I sleep in your bed. I know who you are and what you do. If there's danger, I'm already deep in it."

Dean hangs his head and stays silent, one hand rubbing his jaw.

The next words out of your mouth are a cheap shot and you both know it, but you can't help yourself. "If you aren't my alpha, maybe I should have gone home with that guy from the bar tonight. What do you care? If you don't want to mark me, there are plenty of alphas who will."

You're on your back before you know it, pinned beneath Dean's heavy frame, a wall of solid muscle holding you in place as he grinds his body into yours. "No."

It's a simple word, but it does the job. You feel the desperation behind it, the need Dean has to keep you right there with him, the absolute horror and disgust at the thought of you being with anyone else. It's enough to calm you down, but not enough to end the fight.

"I just don't understand. You won't let me out of your bed, but you won't show me you want me to stay." Dean still says nothing, just stares down at you. "Dean, please. I wanna be yours. Need to be. I need to know that you don't want anyone else. Why can't I belong to you?"

Something breaks in his eyes then, and his face softens, the lines relaxing, making him look younger than he is. Vulnerable. "I don't want you to get hurt," he whispers. "If something happens to me and you're left alone…or if something happens to you because I didn't protect you…"

"Those things could happen anyway," you murmur, running your fingers down the side of his face. He turns and presses his lips to your palm, warm and sweet, closing his eyes.

"I know. I should let you leave."

"I'm not going anywhere."

The stubble on his cheeks scratches your skin as he buries his face in your neck. He lets out a sound, half-growl and half-whimper, all wild and animalistic. There's nothing left to say, and you know you'll sleep with him tonight. And every other night for the rest of your life. Whether he marks you or not.

Because you belong to him, even when it hurts like this.

He stays on top of you, body no longer moving, just lying there, covering you. His hands slide down your arms to your own hands, lifting them to rest on either side of your head, your fingers entwined and clinging hard. It's a tiny bit hard to breathe, but you love it, love the feel of him, of your alpha. Taking a deep breath, you inhale his scent and feel the pull, that intense pressure deep inside of you that tells you, without doubt, that this is your soulmate. You'd know his scent anywhere, in any situation. It smells like home.

Dean's hands stay wound with yours as he kisses your neck, presses his warm lips underneath your ear, then against your pulse, then on your collar bone. You shiver when you feel him breathe, running his nose over your skin as he inhales you, feeling the same pull you do. He sighs, lets his tongue drag over the path his lips took.

It makes you freeze, makes you hold your breath. He never stays at your neck this long, never gets this close, because it's too hard. You know all of his instincts are telling him to bite you, to make you his, because all of your instincts are screaming for you to let him.

"God, Y/N," he says, voice strained and broken. "I just…"

It's there in his tone, the need, the desire. You tilt your head and bare your neck even more, submissive, begging him.

It feels like fire when he bares his teeth, lets them scrape across your neck, a rumble in his chest that you feel more than you hear. You squeeze his fingers, wrap your legs around his hips, close your eyes, and hold on, hoping against hope that he's going to give in, to do what you've both been needing for ages.

Dean takes a deep, final breath. "Mine," he growls, loud and absolute, and sinks his teeth into your skin.

You gasp and cry out, the sharp sting of his bite flowing through you, hitting every nerve until you're high with it, all the heat pooling between your legs and making you ache. His lips seal around the bite and suck, pushing his teeth further, making sure it's deep and solid, that the mark will stay on you forever.

Forever.

Dean stays there longer than he should, mouth biting, hands squeezing yours. You never want him to leave. This moment is everything. You can feel it flowing between the two of you, the love, the devotion, the promise that you belong to each other. It's bigger than the words, bigger than the million times he's touched you and protected you, bigger than the look in his eyes when he's inside you. This is everything.

Eventually, he pulls his teeth away, another sweet pain, and licks the bite tenderly, easing the pulsing pain of it. It's so easy, so natural, so exactly the way it's supposed to be when you lean into it. His hands finally let go of yours, move to your waist as you wrap your arms around him in a hug, holding him as close as you can get him.

"Mine," he whispers again, pressing his forehead to yours. You can feel his eyelashes brushing against your skin.

"Yours. Always have been," you answer.

With grateful and reverent fingers, Dean helps you sit up, pulls your shirt over your head and smiles at you, at what belongs to him completely now. You smile back, reaching out and tracing the muscles of his chest, bare since he climbed in bed in just his boxers. You're both still smiling as you push him back to sitting, as you scramble out of your panties and into his lap, gently rubbing yourself against the bulge in his underwear.

He kisses you differently this time, something important and intense that wasn't there before, that was always hiding, waiting for the mark on your skin. It's still throbbing, your neck raw and tender now as Dean gently kisses over it, pulling your hips over his erection in a slow, deep rhythm, one that has no purpose other than the sheer pleasure of the sensation.

You find yourself underneath him again soon, his boxers discarded on the floor and nothing but skin between you now. He slides down your body to tease you with his tongue, to lick and suck at you until you're dripping, aching, pulling his hair and crying out for him. You can feel the smile on his face as he sucks at your clit, as he thrusts two fingers inside of you and curls them at just the right angle.

The mood shifts subtly then. Dean's pure alpha now, hard and hot and in charge. His hands grip your hips as he moans into the taste of you, and he's not tender or gentle anymore. You try to arch into him, but he pushes you back down, a silent order to stay still, not to move unless he lets you. It's delicious torture, and the slide of his tongue over your swollen, desperate pussy makes you claw at the sheets.

"Mine," he growls, proud and arrogant now as he keeps moving, keeps fucking you with his tongue until you're sweating and thrashing beneath him, coming hard and loud, letting it overwhelm you, trusting your alpha to carry you through it.

Dean doesn't give you any time to recover before he climbs back up your body and sinks into you, his hard cock sliding into your pussy easily, like always, like that's where it's made to be. But this time, just like everything else, it feels different.

"Alpha!" you cry out, using his title for the very first time. You've thought it a million times, swallowed it down a million more, never able to use it because he wasn't truly yours. It feels like starting over, like coming home, like finding a part of yourself, like putting yourself where you belong.

Dean stills, shuddering a little as he looks down at you, bare and open beneath him. "Omega," he murmurs softly, answering you and completing the ancient call and response.

There's nothing else to say.

Dean begins to move, wordless groans coming from both of you as his speed builds, as he slams into you like he can't control his own movements. You meet him thrust for thrust, hips lifting and smashing into his with enough force to give you both bruises.

Eventually, he flips you over, grabs your hair for leverage and slams into you from behind, and you willingly submit, let him drive into you however he wants, let him fucking claim every part of you, let him take what he wants. It's rough and perfect, exactly what you need and want- to be owned by your alpha. By your Dean.

He leans down and bites you again, the unexpected twinge of it pushing you into your second orgasm. You can feel his knot swelling as he keeps thrusting, keeps pushing, and it makes you scream. He always pulls out, never lets either of you feel this, and now that you're allowed to, it's almost more than you can take. It's not your heat, but you need him to knot you anyway, to claim you in every way possible. Finally, he comes.

It's hot and heavy and delicious inside of you, his knot pulsing and filling you up as his teeth still nip at your fresh mark.

"Mine," he says one last time, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as he carefully lowers himself and turns so that he's spooning you. You snuggle back into his chest, clench yourself around his knot, still inside you, and link your fingers.

Neither of you speak as you lie there together, connected in every way, each breath taken in unison. You fall asleep with him still inside you, still making you his, with the happy knowledge that things will be right when you wake up.

Because you belong to your alpha now.

The wound has healed, but the mark is still there, dark and vibrant against your skin. It's been ages since any random guy has hit on you in a bar, because it's obvious now that it's a waste of time.

It always was.

Dean and Sam are at the dartboard, waiting for you to come back with this round of drinks, since Sam bought the last one. They laugh loudly at something, and you watch as the light plays across Dean's flushed cheeks, as it makes the green in his eyes flash and glitter.

Your alpha.

"What took you so long?" Dean grins when you return. "Some asshole hit on you? Do I need to kick someone's ass?" There's no tension in his shoulders as he teases, and you feel a flood of warmth at how comfortable he is now that you belong to him.

"No one hit on me, Dean," you say fondly. "It's pretty clear that I'm taken."

"Damn right, you are." He pulls you in for a deep kiss.

Sam rolls his eyes and makes a show of clearing his throat. "Darts, guys. Focus."

Dean pulls himself away from you and smirks. "Sure, Sammy. I can get back to kickin' your ass."

But he's only looking at you as he takes a long drink, as he settles back to wait for his turn.