The one that got away masterlist
Summary: Your best friend breaks your heart. What happens when you meet again?
Pairing: AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, unrequited feelings, time jump, regret, cocky Dean, virgin reader, smut in future chapters, fluff
A/N: Okay, it's a series now...😳
The one that got away (1)
The one that got away (2)
The one that got away (3)
The one that got away (4)
The one that got away (5)
The one that got away (6)
The one that got away (7)
The one that got away (8)
The one that got away (9)
The one that got away (10) FIN
Blurb 1
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Wild Hearts (Part 1)
Summary: Y/N tags along to a bonfire on the beach with her brother and his friends. She tries to fit in with them, but winds up finding more of a connection to the guy crashing the party.
Masterlist
Pairing: AU!Dean x reader
Square: Age gap @spnfluffbingo
Meet cute @spnaubingo
“Are you stupid or stupid?”
Word Count: 3,374
Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16, Dean is 20 but closer to 21), underage drinking, mostly implied physical abuse, past injury (bruising/scars), language, slow burn, a little angst, arguing, maybe a little gaslighting, mutual pining, a kiss to the forehead, fluff
A/N: Also written for @spnfluffbingo and @spnaubingo.
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A/N #2: Masterlist summary and warnings have been updated. Please review before reading.
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Your brother grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you back towards the party going on down the beach. "Stop being such a bitc-"
"Ow! Quit it, jerk." You tried to shake your arm from his grasp but his fingers dug in, "You're hurting me."
"Don't be such a baby," he growled, stopping far enough away from the bonfire so the crowd of his friends wouldn't overhear. There was a chill in the air and his friends were gathered closer around the flames now. "I told you, if you wanted to tag along you can't just wander off by yourself. Mom would have my ass if something happened to you on my watch."
"Screw you, I'm not a baby. Let. Go."
He finally did.
"They're all ignoring me. I wanna go home." You said, pointing to the mean girls a ways away.
"Well, I'm not taking you. I'm not ready to leave yet." He said, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare.
You knew it was a mistake taking a ride from him in the first place, but you didn't have your own car. And you failed your driver's test over the last weekend. Fun way to spend your sixteenth birthday, with your brother mocking you the whole way home.
"Then I'll walk or call mom to come get me."
"No, you won't. Unless you want her to know that I was right and you are a baby." He stared you down, "Just have a drink and relax for a bit, maybe it'll loosen you up and people will want to talk to you." He glanced back at the busty blonde he'd been eyeing all night; the girl you knew he came here for. He'd only been following her around like a lost puppy all summer. She waved and gave him a little wink. "Stop being so selfish, Y/N, and maybe we'll get along for once."
"I'm selfish?!" You scoffed, you'd only sat around watching the sunset and shuffling your feet in the sand for the past couple hours while he chatted up said blonde. His friends weren't the only ones excluding you. Not that you wanted to be in on that conversation, but you thought the night was going to go a little different. You thought it would be like the old days when things between you weren't so tense all the time. "Just leave me alone and go drool already."
"And you wonder why I never wanna hang out with you anymore." He snapped and stalked away, throwing his arm over the blonde's shoulders when he reached her. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight and you heard her giggle echo along the shoreline when he tickled her sides.
Everyone liked your brother and you tried to be just like him when you were younger. You were only a year apart but it made a world of difference. You didn't even mind wearing his hand-me-downs until you got to high school and got made fun of for it. But you made your peace with it now, you'd always be more of a tomboy and you couldn't be anyone but yourself. Graphic tees, jeans and sneakers were the epitome of comfort and that's what you wore now while the mean girls had skimpy dresses and tank tops that did nothing against the cold breeze that wafted in from over the open water.
But a drink might help.
The beer cooler was up the beach from the horny seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, but you didn't have to pass them to fish one out from melted ice. You cracked it open and took a sip, souring your face instantly and spitting it out onto the sand.
You heard someone chuckle and whipped around. A tall guy with shadows cast on his face stood a few feet away, watching you. You glanced down to the bottle in your hand, then back at him. He followed your eyes, his expression turning stoic before you could read him.
"What?" You asked.
"It's kind of an acquired taste." He nodded towards the bottle in your hand and you took another sip, choking it down to prove him wrong. He wasn't wrong. Beer was gross. "Are you okay?"
"Why wouldn't I be okay?"
He cocked his head towards your brother who was now chasing the blonde down towards the shoreline. You didn't think they'd go in, since it was nearly winter and the water was freezing this time of year. But he teased her and grabbed her like he was going to drag her out into the icy depths.
"Oh. Yeah, he's just an asshole is all and I needed a drink." You explained, raising the beer to your lips for a third sip.
You wanted him to leave already so you could dump the rest out in the bushes.
"Same," he nodded and chugged the rest of his own beer. "He shouldn't treat you like that, though."
You didn't think he overheard but he'd certainly seen the two of you, "He's my brother, that's what brothers do."
You toyed with the label on your beer, peeling it back from the glass.
"No, it's not."
He stepped forward, setting his empty bottle in the bin next to the cooler. The light of the bonfire catching his features enough for you to finally see him. The first thing you noticed was that he was not a friend of your brother's. He was older, too, though you couldn't tell by how much.
He was a party crasher. Probably here for the free beer.
"Whatever. It's not like he hits me, he just gets mad and pushes me around a little." You said, stepping back a foot when the guy took another step towards you.
"He shouldn't. That's called abuse."
"Not when I do the same to him. Then it's called sibling rivalry."
"I know abuse when I see it." His voice lowered as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His words held a story he wasn't telling and you didn't ask.
You eyed him again. Between the full moon and the light of the fire you noted a few details that jumped out at you. He wasn't bad looking, actually kind of cute. His eyes held a world's worth of emotion as if he vaulted it up inside himself and swallowed the key. Days old bruising covered the left side of his face, particularly around his jaw, cheekbone, and eye. And he intermittently sucked on the split in his bottom lip that had reopened, probably from when he first smiled at you.
"Well, your story isn't mine." You said, having had enough of this stranger who thinks he knows your life at a glance. He sighed and looked away, steeling his jaw and rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes cast down to his stomach when his shirt lifted and your heart sank at the sight. A thick scar stretched up his torso from his hip and disappeared beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, peeking back out around his collarbone where the neck hole had been worn loose. Someone had hurt him, badly; you thought that must've been why he was so conscious towards abuse. "Sorry, I didn't know-"
"Do you wanna go for a walk?" He asked, meeting your eyes and taking another step forward.
You didn't back away this time, though he was still a good five feet away at least.
"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, taking off with some judgy guy I just met and wandering down a dark secluded beach alone with him. Real smart. Maybe wait until I've had a couple drinks first, then try again." You rolled your eyes making him laugh silently.
"I don't hurt women. Ever." He said as if it was a law of his own.
"What about men?"
"Depends," he shrugged.
"On?"
"I've never started a fight in my life." He said, answering a question you didn't ask rather than the one you did.
"Somehow I don't believe you." You squinted up at him, trying to read him.
"Then why haven't you walked away yet?" He looked at the party continuing around the bonfire and then back at you. "You don't wanna be here any more than I do, so let me show you something."
"I swear if that something is your-"
He raised his hands from his pockets and smiled, "I promise it's not. You'll like this."
"You get five minutes and I'm counting. Also, I'm a black belt so don't even think about trying anything." You lied, although he didn't strike you as the violent type despite the evidence on his face and stomach.
You scanned the beach for your brother, spotting him still engrossed with the blonde, so you knew he wouldn't notice any time soon if you'd left without causing a scene. You dumped your nearly full beer out onto the sand and set it in the bin with the other empty bottles. Ignoring the knowing smirk from the party crasher as you did so.
"Beer is kind of gross."
"Yeah, it is." He chuckled, "but it's cheap and gets the job done."
"I don't see the appeal," you said, following in stride with him down the beach. The sand beneath your sneakers making it hard to keep up with his long legs. "Can you walk slower?"
"Sorry," he slowed his pace and you easily caught up. "Drink a bit more than a couple of sips next time and you will."
"I'd rather waste the calories on chocolate, thank you."
He laughed silently again and sucked the split in his lip, "What's your name?"
"Uh, Y/N, you?"
"Dean." He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets again. "So, how come I haven't seen you around here before, Y/N?"
"We just moved here," you said, not wanting to explain how you didn't exactly get out much and explore the town over the summer.
"Then you haven't been to the pier?" He asked, cocking his head towards the end of the beach where you were headed.
It wasn't so much a pier as it was a small row of shops and a parking lot. Some storefronts were still lit up against the darkened sky and a lighthouse sat on the rocks near the shore. The light at the top swung around and around over the jagged rocks reaching into the water.
"Seriously? You wanted to show me a lighthouse? That's not exactly special. Lighthouses are a dime a dozen around here, if you haven't noticed." You said a little disappointed and glancing back at the party.
The bonfire merely a speck amongst the stars along the beach now. If you accounted for the walk back it would definitely stretch over the five minutes you'd promised him and you stopped walking.
Dean noticed when you fell behind and turned to you. He laughed a little and smiled, "That's not where we're going."
He reached out to you and grabbed your hand, tugging you gently until you laughed and skipped a step. He was troubled, that was for sure, but you didn't have a reason not to trust him. Not that trust should be given easily without question; but still, you welcomed the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours as he led you across the parking lot and up to one of the shops.
"Ice cream," you stared up at the sign before Dean pulled you into the store.
"Mhm," he licked his lips, guiding you up to the display of tubs sitting in the freezer and separating you from the older blonde woman behind the counter.
She nodded to Dean like she knew him and he smiled back, "Hey, Donna." She didn't react at all to the bruises on his face and your mind started to wander.
"I was starting to think I wasn't gonna see ya before closing," she said, retying her pink apron as if she was getting ready to close up for the night.
"You know me better than that," he feigned hurt and wrapped an arm over your shoulders, tugging you into his side.
You scanned over the flavours, some so bright you wondered if it was possible to taste a colour. "Isn't it kinda cold for ice cream?"
"Never," Dean shook his head like you'd said something foolish. "These shops are seasonal and it's the last night they're open until they close for the winter. You'll have to wait at least four months before you get this again. And trust me, once you try it, winter will feel like an eternity for your tastebuds."
You smiled, you couldn't argue with that logic, "What flavour should I get?" You asked, assuming he'd probably have tried them all by the looks of it.
"My favourite is the mocha with all the little chocolate pieces. It's basic, I know, but classic." He pointed to a tub filled with dark brown speckled ice cream.
"Two mochas, please." You said.
"Sure thing," Donna said and scooped you out a couple of cups.
Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze before giving you some space to enjoy your ice cream.
He kept eyeing you as you took your first bite, then your second, "And?"
"Okay, you're right. It's fudging amazing! Can we get more?" You asked, glancing back at the shop from where you sat outside on a bench under a streetlamp.
"You still have a whole cup.” He barked out a laugh and you shovelled a few spoonfuls into your mouth.
A chilled throb wracked through your brain and you paused mid-bite to squeeze your eyes shut and fan at your frozen mouth. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth and just as the feeling started to ebb away you felt hot, sticky lips lay flush against your forehead. Dean’s hand held the back of your head and you blinked open your eyes, feeling warm and fuzzy.
"Better? My mom used to do that for me when I was a kid. Always seemed to help." He said and tilted his head to the side.
You weren't sure if it was what he did or the shock of the unexpectedness of it, but it dulled the pain. He hadn't backed up an inch and you could see the gold flecks in his green eyes under the streetlamp. Framed by the yellow edges and purple patches of the bruising next to his left eye. His hair was sandy brown and short but still fell over his forehead and brushed the tips of his ears. And freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose on pale skin. He was pretty cute and different from most of the boys you usually met.
You nodded and blushed, sneaking another spoonful of mocha ice cream between your lips. He laughed silently and leaned back, picking back up his own cup of ice cream from the bench next to him and digging in.
"You're strange and kinda wonderful." You said around a bite full, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth when the brain-freeze threatened to come back.
"That's oddly the nicest thing someone's said to me in a very long time." He took a bite and licked his spoon clean.
"That makes me sad."
"Makes me happy," he mumbled and smiled.
"Like I said, strange."
"Because you're so cool and composed, right?" He's teased, pointing with his spoon.
"I'm a delight and you know it. That's why you just had to get me away from all those other guys down on the beach. Before they had the chance to notice too, of course." You joked, brushing your hair back when the breeze carried it away.
"You caught me, I'm a sucker for a girl who tries to bite my head off with one wrong look."
"You make me sound like a praying mantis."
"In that case, I guess I'm safe as long as we don't have sex." You both frowned. "Sorry, that was awkward, I swear it sounded funnier in my head. Because you know they only eat their mate after-uh-mating..." He stuck his spoon in his ice cream and stirred until it was smooth like soup, "What?"
"You're blushing," you said, "it's cute." You liked being able to do that to him. "But you should know I'm sixteen."
"Wait. What?" He looked like you'd just punched him in the gut. "But you were drinking."
"When did you have your first beer?"
He thought to himself for a moment, clearly he had been younger than you; then he abandoned his ice cream on the bench beside him. “What about your friends?”
"Some are eighteen. But most are seventeen, same as my brother, they're his friends." You explained. "Don't ask me how they got the beer." You attempted to lighten the mood but he just stared down at his hands, rubbing at the cuts in his knuckles. "How old are you?"
“Too old for you,” he shook his head and picked at one of the scabs. “Twenty-one in January.”
So essentially there was a five year age gap between you. It wouldn’t be a big deal, if only you were older; but for now it didn’t mean you couldn’t be friends. Your gut twisted at the thought of never seeing him again and you could use a friend; and it looked like he could, too.
Your cell rang and you fished it from your back pocket. Your brother's name sprawled over the screen.
You sighed and rolled your eyes, then answered, "What do you want?"
"Are you stupid or stupid? Where the fuck did you go?!" He shouted and you were sure Dean could hear, so you turned down the volume on your phone.
"For a walk."
"We're leaving."
That meant the blonde was tagging along, either hitching a ride home with you or your brother was just going to drop you off at home before taking her to park somewhere and... -You didn't want to think about it. Your brother, like that. Gross.
"Maybe I don't wanna leave yet. I made a friend." Dean mirrored your smile.
"Find your own way home then..." he grumbled a few choice words and hung up. Asshole.
"Any chance you have a car?" You asked, silencing your phone and shoving it back into your pocket. "I need a ride."
"Uh- no. But I know where we can get one." Dean said as he checked the time on his wrist. You fingered your ice cream and booped him on the nose. "What was that for?" He laughed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.
You shrugged, "Just trying to lighten the mood. You look so sad," you raised his chin with your fingers, "Chin up, Dean."
"Did you mean that?" He asked.
You lowered your hand to rest on the bench between you, "Mean what?"
"That we're friends," he asked, chewing on the split in his lip. At this rate you didn't think it would ever heal over. "I mean, that we can be friends."
"Uh-huh, unless you don't wanna be my friend." You nodded and searched his eyes, some kind of hurt flashing through them.
"I think that's all we can be. At least, until you have a couple more birthdays."
Your typical luck, the one guy you could see yourself interested in and he's too old. It was only nearly five years, sure, but you were only sixteen and he'd probably had a lot more experience that you couldn't compare to. But he was cute.
Window shopping couldn't hurt right, until you had the means to buy.
"I can wait," you teased and laughed. "But you look like you could use a friend. And I got your back, since I kind of owe you one for introducing me to this ice cream."
"You don't owe me anything, Y/N."
You shivered when the ice cream was gone and Dean stripped out of his hoodie, draping it over your shoulders as you walked along the side of the road towards his house. He apparently didn't live far away and if his father was home, he could 'borrow' his car to give you a ride. He actually used air quotes when he said borrow though, so you were a little skeptical.
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Part 2
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Dean:
@akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28
SPN:
@hobby27
Wild Hearts:
@justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @globetrotter28
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Charity Heist 12 - aka. All Chained Up With Nowhere to Go
A Supernatural Heist AU - Masterlist
Pairing: Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader
Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?
Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing and a ton of bad jokes.
Watch the trailer here
A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! Inspired by the series Leverage.
Y/N = Your Name | Y/E/C = Your Eye Colour
Start Here - Last - Next (Coming soon)
Making your way to the back of the night club, you looked at your watch and held your breath for a second as you listened out for trouble. Sam would have made it to the guards stationed out front by now, but you didn’t hear any signs of fighting. Which should mean you were good to go.
So, with one last glance towards Dean, who was setting up close enough to react if you called for help through the comms, but not close enough to be spotted, you slipped around the corner and rolled your shoulders as you faced the wall.
Surveying your surroundings you smirked at how goddamn easy they’d made it for you. The building was from the 1950s or 60s, by your estimation. God how you loved architects from the ‘golden era’.
Their hard-on for the Brutalist style of architecture meant you were left with plenty of sharp angles and ledges to use when scaling the wall. And this building was no different. All blocky and filled with unnecessary little ledges and windows that were nearly too close to each other, all the way up. Like your own little stairway to heaven.
If heaven was the roof of an abandoned nightclub that was…
Shouldering your bag of tools, you slipped on your gloves instead. Choosing to free solo the climb. Sure, you did have climbing gear in the bag for scaling walls. But using any of them on that wall would be an affront to Charlie’s genius.
So, instead you easily scaled the simple structure in a few short minutes without getting any tools out of your Mary Poppins bag of thievery. Not even slightly winded from the easy climb as you hoisted yourself up on the ledge and looked down over it with a smirk.
Suck it Catwoman.
With no time to waste you quickly, and quietly, made your way across the roof, looking for the skylight featured in Charlie’s blueprints. Keeping low so as to not be seen by anyone passing by, as the completely flat roof left little in the form of blind spots if someone were to look up at the wrong moment from across the street.
Luckily, the skylight itself was easy enough to spot. Even though it was covered in a grimy layer of dust and dirt from years of being left unattended, some parts of it still caught the bright sunlight and reflected it back at you. And, like the sneaky little thief you were, you could spot anything even remotely shiny from miles away.
Skylights, apparently, included.
Slowing your pace, you dropped down along the edge of the glass and squinted through the layer of dirt, looking for… Well, more dirt. Just this time in the shape of the mobster who was stupid enough to get himself caught. Your earlier high from scaling the building faded at the thought of having to rescue the master of sass himself as you frowned at the dirty glass, looking for a spot that was clean enough to look through.
Once you finally found a dime sized spot, however, your smile returned. Twisting into a smirk as you looked down at Crowley in the middle of the room. It warmed your little thieving heart to see the smug bastard chained to a chair with, from what you could tell, some kind of cloth shoved into his mouth to gag him.
Apparently you weren’t the only one who didn’t appreciate the mobster’s style of ‘communication’.
Better yet, they clearly didn’t see Crowley as the big bad he made himself out to be. Either that or Sam was really wowing the crowds out in the front of the nightclub… Since the room was free of guards. Leaving your little damsel all on his lonesome.
Which made your job a hell of a lot easier. Since it meant you wouldn’t have to silently knock them out one by one before rescuing the chained up princess.
Sitting down cross-legged on the roof next to what looked like one of the easiest glass panels to remove, you pulled your bag of tricks off your back.
Though you didn’t mind just watching Crowley’s misery through the dirty skylight, time was of the essence. If not for the mobster, then for your friends on the ground. Which meant you needed to work fast, instead of making Crowley suffer some more. Which would have been fun. Especially since you’d have front row seats to the show. But alas, duty called, and you’d long since lost ghosting privileges against that cruel bitch, so you had to answer.
With one last smirk down at the chained up mobster, you quickly pulled out your pre-calculated lengths of rope and additional harness hooks. Expertly putting on your full rappelling gear and triple checking your knots as you mentally did the math, trying to calculate how high up you were.
Charlie’s blueprints had included an approximation of the height from the ceiling to floor, so you should have just enough rope to make a safe and soft landing. But sometimes those blueprints were rounded down. Which could leave you a few inches short. So you still eyed the floor warily, before deciding that… Fuck it, it was a close enough match to your pre-determined rope length. Letting you shave a few minutes off of your prep.
Pulling on your harnesses, you triple checked that everything was in working order with a few sharp tugs. Allowing yourself a pleased hum when everything stayed unmoving and taut under your expertly trained fingers.
Fuck 50 shades… Christian Grey had nothing on your rope work.
Next up in your backpack of wonders, you pulled out the throwing knives Charlie had designed for you. Using one to loosen the panels you’d be rappelling down through before tucking the other blades away safely inside your sleeve. Just in case you had to face off with a goon while rescuing the damned Scotsman.
The silicone holding everything in place was old. And so, you could luckily make quick work of it the old school way, without involving other gadgets to soften the bindings or cut through the glass. Soon enough you held the first glass panel gently between two gloved hands. Grinning victoriously at the pane before just as gently placing it on the roof beside you and working on the next one.
The last thing you needed was glass dropping down onto the concrete floor below and alerting the guards. Even if it would have been funny to see Crowley’s reaction. Or even better yet, having the panel knock the mobster out completely. At least then you wouldn’t have to actually listen to him as you saved his ass.
Luckily they were big enough, so after removing just four of the sturdy glass panels, you had just enough space to safely let yourself rappel down through the skylight.
“All set, got eyes on our damsel. I’m moving in now,” You whispered out into the empty space around you. Knowing your earpiece would catch your words and transfer them right into the ears of both Sam and Dean.
Giving it a beat, you waited for Dean’s confirmation and held your breath hoping you wouldn’t hear from Sam. Afterall, the youngest Winchester had his piece muted unless necessary so that his own grifting wouldn’t interfere with your infiltration as he talked circles around the guards out front. If he answered you, it would mean quietly and carefully was out the window and Dean would have to go in guns blazing.
“Coast is still clear, Sam’s keeping them busy…” Dean’s voice ended on a hesitant note that had your body tense as you waited, holding your breath in case your hitter had been spotted talking to himself by an eagle-eyed guard. Yet, as he continued speaking, you let your body relax with a soft smile.
“Stay safe (Y/N)...”
“Always Dean, you know me. Risk-averse as fuck,” You shot back with a small grin, knowing your words would have the mercenary rolling his eyes and Sam doing his utmost to not do the same. After all, considering part of your job description was rappelling down buildings, crawling through claustrophobic ventilation systems and dodging lasers, you were the furthest thing from ‘risk-averse’.
Crouching by the side of the now open section of the sky light, you took a breath to steady yourself without waiting for any response from either of your ground based backup. Knowing neither would want to reward your absolute comedic genius with an answer anyway.
Instead, you refocused on your task at hand; hooking your harness lines up to the sturdiest pipes and concrete outcroppings you could see.
This was it. The best part of the job.
Looking down at the ground three full floors below from the theater styled open concept of the nightclub, you smirked at Crowley’s bound form. Still completely unaware that you were about to drop down and rescue his ass. Luckily the skylight was focused directly on the middle of the dance floor. Saving you time as you wouldn’t have to slow your descent to deal with the two levels of balconies and seating areas surrounding the dancefloor where Crowley was chained to his chair.
A straight forward leap of faith would do just fine.
And they were just so much more fun than stupid slow and steady descents.
The seconds before a jump always made you feel like you were in one of those action movies Dean loved making you watch in your downtime. Even though he spent every second criticizing every single action hero for their shoddy gun work. Not that you were any better. Any break-in scene was always heavily peppered with your own expert opinions.
Taking one last breath you stood up and rolled your shoulders before turning until your back was facing the open section of the skylight. And, with no hesitation, you stepped back. Letting yourself freefall down into the building.
You were Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible. Just hotter, not out of your mind, and with actual skills. You were James Fucking Bond, and for once not a damn Bond girl. You were grace personified. You were…
Fuck.
The harness snapped taught just a few inches off the floor, cutting off your internal monologue as effectively as it cut off your oxygen.
You were winded.
---
Luckily, the slightly botched landing was done behind Crowley. And even when winded, you were a professional, which meant he wouldn’t even know you were there until you wanted him to know. So the Scotsman didn’t get to gloat at your less than graceful entrance.
Unhooking your tether, since you knew you couldn’t carry the fully grown man back up, you took a second to poke gently at your slightly sore torso with a grimace before you cleared your throat to alert Crowley to your presence. Taking a bit of pleasure in seeing the big bad tense up in fear until you strolled nonchalantly up from behind him, coming into view from behind his chair.
Yet, as soon as he saw it was you, and not the people who had given him all that fancy new silver jewelry that locked him to the chair, the mobster visibly relaxed in his seat. Leaning back with what you thought was a smirk through the oily cloth the bad guys had used to gag him as you scowled at the infuriating Scotsman.
Nodding his head, Crowley asked you, non-verbally, to remove the gag in his mouth as you just smirked down at him. For a second, you considered just leaving it there. But you knew it would only buy you a minute, at most, until you picked the locks on the cuffs and chains locking him to the chair anyway. And that minute of him staying gagged would probably just lead to more sass once he could remove the gag himself.
It just wasn’t worth it.
Sighing in defeat, you grimaced as you pinched the outside of the cloth with two gloved fingers. Not wanting to be anywhere near the mobster’s mouth as you gingerly removed the oily cloth that had clearly just been grabbed off of some of the debris lying around in a desperate attempt to shut the talkative Scotsman up.
As soon as the gag was out, however, you really wished you’d left it in. Or one better; decided to just knock the damn irritating man out so you could rescue him in peace.
“Here to help me darling?” Crowley sounded relaxed and confident as he spoke up without even as much as a thank you. Throwing you that trademark smirk as the chains clanked with a small wave of his fingers in your direction. Huffing you dropped to your knees and shrugged off your backpack again with a roll of your eyes. You wanted to be out of there fast. If nothing else, just to not have to be around the self-proclaimed king of the underground.
“Oh… Honey. You need a lot of help. But I can’t help you. Once we get out of here, go make a therapist rich somewhere. Preferably far away from me,” You snapped back as you pulled out your lock picking set. Sneering up at Crowley as he chuckled dryly at your comeback.
“Concerned for my well being are you? That’s sweet (Y/N). Once this job is done you should come work for me. Keep an eye on me from up close and… Personal,” Crowley’s words were peppered with enough innuendo to make you gag on it as you shuddered visibly at the idea of being anywhere near the mobster for an extended period of time.
Sure, you knew it was all just… Harmless, with Crowley. He wasn’t interested in you. He was only interested in your reactions. Because though you could put up a good front when you needed to, you could never hide your disgust whenever the mobster flirted with you.
Throwing him another sneer, you placed the extra picks between your teeth to keep from cursing the man out. As you glanced up at him before refocusing on the locks that needed picking, your features twisted into a small smirk as you noticed the bruises forming under his eyes for the first time.
At least they beat him.
Getting to work, you made easy work of the first chain shackling his feet to the ground. Not wanting his hands loose whilst you worked. Luckily the bad guys had made use of standard industrial padlocks to lock the chains around his feet. Even if they’d gone a little overboard by having four separate locks on the damned things.
Not that it mattered, you could have opened the laughably simple locks with nearly anything. While blind folded. Though, you didn’t let that on, as you pretended to focus on the locks. In some vain hope that the man in his damned tailored suit would shut up and let you work.
Though, you should have known better.
It was Crowley. If he stopped talking, it probably meant he was dead. Or worse… Scheming something.
“Don’t you feel sorry for me?” The mobster prodded, clearly having noticed your little pleased smirk at seeing him bruised and beaten. Which… Hell. Why would he even ask? Your smirk should have been answer enough. If Sam hadn’t profusely forbidden it, you would have already socked him one yourself, for putting your whole operation in jeopardy.
“I have no sympathy for criminals,” You spat back between clenched teeth to keep the spare lockpicks in place as you got to work on the next padlock, having already made short work of two of the four chaining his legs to the chair.
“You know, (Y/N), you’re technically a…” Crowley just drawled back, throwing the defense you’d offered up to Dean only hours earlier right back in your own dumb face, though he had no way of knowing. And, unfortunately, also bringing back memories of the explosive results to follow in the closed and private gun range. Which left you with little mental capacity to think of a good comeback as your fingers trembled around the lock picks before cutting off Crowley’s words with a growl.
“Shut. Up,” Spoken through gritted teeth, your words came out with a little less sass and a whole lot more anger, which thankfully, for once seemed to temporarily shut the mobster up. Even if it was because he was busy musing over what had made you so angry just so he could use it as ammunition against you in the future.
Taking a deep breath through your nose, you absentmindedly sucked on the two lockpicks you’d placed in your mouth. As if the taste of steel and the fresh dose of oxygen could push away any thoughts of Dean’s lips… Or his arms, or body or… Damn it. Even through the taste of steel on your tongue you could still taste that hint of spiced peppermint.
Forcing yourself to focus, you removed the two picks you’d been biting on from between your teeth and instead bit the inside of your cheek as you made quick work of lock number three and four, leaving Crowley’s feet free. Though his hands were still both handcuffed to the chair.
You were a goddamn professional.
You’d done well so far at keeping the memories of the gun range or closet from interfering with the job. Sure, things had been awkward in the truck, but you’d still done what High School Musical taught you and kept your goddamn head in the game.
There was no way in hell you’d let Crowley destroy your flow this close to the finish line.
“Take your time darling, I’ve got all the time in the world,” Crowley drawled. As if you weren’t already picking the locks in fucking record time. Though, for once, you were nearly grateful for his damned sass. Since it forced your thoughts back into the not-exactly-safety of the abandoned nightclub instead of the much more dangerous territory that was the bunker’s gun range.
“Do you enjoy it?” You just mused back as you moved up to the first pair of handcuffs chaining his left hand to the arm of the chair. Taking your damn time with positioning the lock so you could see the keyhole, just to piss the mobster off a little bit more.
You took your victories where you could find them, and Crowley had just served this one up on a silver platter. Though he put up a good front, you hadn’t missed the slight urgency to his lazy drawl. Nor the little nervous glance of his dark eyes towards what you guessed was the door behind you; keeping an eye out for any uninvited guests crashing the party.
Which, in fairness, you would have been too. If you didn’t trust Sam to have your back. Or at least warn you if he couldn’t stop the mobsters outside from coming to check on their hostage situation.
“Enjoy what pet?” Crowley seemed slightly amused as his eyes watched you expertly place your picks in the small lock on the side of his shiny new silver bracelet before rising to meet yours with that same cocky smirk back in place.
“Being an insufferable ass,” You snapped back just as the handcuff on his left wrist clicked open.
“Of course… Why do you think I do it all the time?” Crowley chuckled, following his words up with yet another example of his trademark insufferableness, as he got in your way by pulling his now free hand across his body to use his still tied up right hand to rub away the irritation left by the cuffs. Stopping you from continuing your lock picking as you rolled your eyes at the big baby.
“A hard childhood? Past trauma? Some Freudian level shit with your parents? Actually... I’ve met your mother. That does explain some shit. But still… Shush, I don’t want to know. Take it up with the therapist I told you to hire,” You shot back as you pushed his free left hand away to give you access to the last lock keeping him chained to the chair. Keeping up your rant until you heard the satisfying sound of the final lock clicking open to stop Crowley from shooting in with even more sass and delaying your work.
“Or you could come work…” Crowley started again as he gently massaged his now free right wrist, but before he could even get the words out, you held up a hand. Both in refusal, and because the voice you’d hoped you wouldn’t hear until you were safely out of range of the nightclub was coming through loud and clear in your ear; Sam.
“(Y/N), two of them are coming your way. Couldn’t stop ‘em. Dean…”
Zoning out whatever orders Sam had for your hitter, you quickly turned on your heel to face the door Crowley had been eyeing warily just moments earlier. If you’d been alone, you’d be able to evade them easily. But you weren’t, and you doubted Crowley could just poof out of the room while you ran for cover. No matter how much he dressed like a budget cruise ship magician.
Your only choice was the rear entrance.
Which was probably also the entrance Dean would be rushing in through to provide you backup based on the few words you caught between Sam and him. With any luck, you’d reach the door before the mobsters came to check up on Crowley. Or at the very least, you’d have Dean providing some cover fire for you while you got the hell out of dodge.
“Get moving Crowley, we’ll have company any minute now,” You hissed towards the mobster who quickly got to his feet and looked to you for direction. Looking wide eyed and lost as he stood frozen in place, eyes focused on the main door. Which had you once more rolling your eyes at the clueless Scotsman.
“The back door! What are you waiting for? A fucking invitation?” You stage whispered as you nodded towards the door at the other end of the dance floor behind Crowley’s chair.
Pushing him forward, you followed closely behind him across the open, empty concept of the former nightclub’s main floor. Fuck, you hoped the goons coming to check weren’t carrying guns. There was barely any cover to hide behind at all. Though, if it came down to it, you’d totally use Crowley as a meat shield. Because fuck that.
You weren’t getting shot just because that fucking idiot wanted to play Cinderella at the ball with a shiny new suit in the middle of a damn con.
“Where’s your backup?” Crowley’s question was staggered and broken between heavy breaths as he hurried towards the back entrance, at much too slow a speed for your liking.
“I’m not really the… Fighting type,“ He clarified when you chose to keep running instead of answering him. Urging him forward with a not so gentle push, you kept your ears peeled for the sound of the door behind you opening, or the booted stomps of some cartoonishly large goons chasing after you.
You just knew they’d be cartoonishly large. It was part of the damn ‘goon’ job description. You were nearly 99% sure the big bads of the world came together once a year to have goon casting calls. To find the biggest and baddest next generation of villainous himbos to do their bidding through some criminal parody of the X-Factor.
“Don’t worry, I have a few knives up my sleeve. You just keep running,” You huffed back as you eyed the rear entrance. You were nearly home free. Yet, just as soon as the thought struck you, you heard the unmistakable click of a door opening somewhere behind you. Followed closely by the surprised shout leaving the angry mobster as he spotted you across the dance floor.
“I think you mean cards,” Crowley shot back with just a hint of that same snark. Before the sight of the goons charging towards him, and by extension you, finally lit a fire under him making the mobster speed up. Sprinting towards the door at a speed that could have gotten you the hell out of dodge before the damned goons showed up. But of course he waited to become fucking Flash Gordon until the threat of more oily cloths being stuffed down his gullet became very real.
Fucking typical.
“Nope… I mean knives,” You spat between sharp breaths as you dug out one of the throwing knives you’d stashed in your sleeves while still up on the roof, spinning on your heel to get the biggest, baddest and maddest goon into view before throwing the small, lethally sharp knife at one of your two pursuers.
He was, of course, just as cartoonishly large as you’d suspected him to be. Which made him an easy target for your pretty much perfected marksmanship. Hitting him in the upper thigh, you grinned as the big guy stumbled over his own feet in shock. Clutching at his injury, he growled at you once, before his legs failed him and he crumbled to the floor with a muted scream.
With any luck, on his side, the deep cut to his femoral artery wouldn’t kill him. But he definitely wouldn’t be able to walk for the next few weeks.
Biting back the need to shout timber as the big lug fell, you dug out another knife and threw it at goon number two as you kept running backwards towards the door. Not taking as much time to line up your shot, since the second giant was quickly gaining on you. Your knife flew towards his knee, but after seeing his colleague crumble, the big guy was on the lookout for more of your little stabby projectiles, and just barely dodged it as he kept rushing towards you.
Fuck.
Just as you were about to take out another of your precious knives to waste on the damned slippery bastard rushing you, the room, and goon, in front of you was suddenly bathed in light. The sharp light blinded the goon for just long enough that you could turn to face the source of it. Sighing in relief you squinted towards the sudden brightness spilling into the slightly dim nightclub from the rear entrance.
The cavalry was here.
Leaving your knife in your sleeve, you shot Dean a grateful grin. Even though you couldn’t fully see him, just the outline of him; all bowlegs and muscle. In front of you, however, Crowley nearly came to a full stop as you crashed into him.
Seemingly not realizing that the only creature on God’s green earth with such a damned near perfect silhouette was Dean Winchester. But… Then again, Crowley was probably not constantly daydreaming about the Greek God of a mercenary like you were. Though you wouldn’t put it past him. You had seen him attempting to flirt his way into getting Dean to join his crew more than once.
“Idiot! That’s our backup!” You hissed at the mobster, pulling him forward by the arm. Before just as quickly forcing his head down with a rough hand as you watched Dean line up his shot from in front of you as the goon behind you started charging forward again. The gleam of the silencer nearly blinded you fully as you crouched low and kept running for safety. Reaching Dean just as the slight whistle of the silencer signaled that the bullet had left the barrel and buried itself in the shoulder of the mobster that was still standing.
Looking up at Dean from where you were crouched next to him, you raised an eyebrow. Dean was an excellent shot. But that one didn’t match his style. A shot to the shoulder wouldn’t take that giant of a man down fast enough for you to get away. Yet, before you could question your sharpshooter, you watched as the second goon came to a full stop. His feet unsteady under him as a hand went up to his shoulder; a look of anger, tainted by complete confusion on his big dumb face. Before he promptly, and not-so-gracefully, fell flat on that very same face.
“Tranquilizer pellets, Charlie and I’s latest invention. Forget knocking out an elephant, one of these bad boys pack enough punch to knock out the whole damn zoo,” Dean grinned in answer to your unspoken question. The smile made the seasoned mercenary look much younger, as green eyes shone with the joy of getting to play with one of his toys.
Though he might be a trained mercenary and one of the most dangerous men on the planet, at his core, he was still just a big kid. And the bigger the gun, the happier Dean Winchester was.
“Please don’t tell me Charlie thought those up to knock me out the next time I decide to just say fuck it and have 6 espresso shots in one coffee again?” You asked, ignoring Crowley’s protest as you nearly shouldered him out the door. Too focused on Dean’s carefree smile to even bother looking over at the damsel you’d just saved.
“Can’t tell you sweetheart. I’ve been sworn to secrecy,” Dean shot back with a laugh as he shut the rear entrance behind you and placed a warm hand at the small of your back, leading you forward as you tugged Crowley along by one of his stupid tailored suit sleeves.
“I knew it,” You huffed jokingly before letting your smile drop as you looked back towards the still thankfully shut rear entrance.
Time to get the hell out of dodge.
“Sam, the job’s done. Mind calling us an uber?” You called out into the headset, knowing the younger Winchester would have been listening in and was probably already on his way from your earlier comments to Dean.
“Already on my way, get back down the road, half a block away. I just saw the rest of them run into the nightclub, so hurry. They’ll start swarming soon,”
The sound of Sam’s truck door slamming shut acted as the full stop to his sentence as you started speeding up. As soon as Sam’s words reached you, Dean’s hand applied some pressure to the small of your back, rushing you forward as you both decided to ignore your much slower third wheel while hurrying away from the not-so-abandoned nightclub.
Crowley, however, seemed to have gotten the message as he quickly tried to fall back into step with you. Ignoring the hard look Dean sent him as he instead grinned at you between huffs of air.
“Going back to what I was saying before we were so… Rudely interrupted,” He said between breaths as he struggled to keep up with Dean’s much speedier steps where the hitter was nearly pushing you down the road. God, even when running he had to take the time to be obnoxious. Instead of saving his breath for, well, breathing. Which the normally desk bound mobster seemed to sorely need to focus on.
“No,” Your tone was flat and clipped as you cut him off again. Not wanting to hear more of his bullshit as you longed for the relative safety of Sam’s truck, and the far off future where you no longer had to listen to the king of sass.
“I’m just saying darling… You seemed so worried for my safety in there. Things like that… Move a man,” He continued, despite your quite clear rejection. Completely ignoring the burning looks Dean was sending him, though it was much harder for you to ignore, as Dean’s hand that had previously rested softly on your lower back snaked around your waist to pull you closer to his side and away from Crowley. Making it much harder for you to sprint forward and away from danger.
“You can take that job offer and shove it…” Before you could finish spelling out your creative new filing system idea to Crowley, you were interrupted by the squeal of tires as Sam’s big truck pulled up next to you.
“Get inside, now,”
The urgency in Sam’s tone was doubly underlined by the shouts coming from back at the nightclub, where the rest of the mobsters had seemingly found their knocked out buddies and were busy flooding out of the back entrance of the building.
Swallowing your words, you instead let your irritation fuel you as you wrenched open the door before, unceremoniously, shoving Crowley inside the backseat. Frowning as you realized you would have to sit next to him, you still slid out of Dean’s hold on you and into the backseat of the truck after the mobster.
However, as you reached for the door to wrench it back shut, Dean stopped you with a big hand holding the door open. His green eyes were still burning a hole in Crowley, who barely even seemed to notice him as he was busy trying to remember how to breathe. Before sending you a weary eyed look after shooting a final round of daggers at Crowley as he shut the car door and ran around to the passenger side.
---
As soon as Dean slid into his seat, Sam gunned it down the road. Not caring if the loud roar of the car engine caught the attention of the mobsters that had now flooded into the street half a block back.
You were home free.
Taking a deep breath, you leaned back in your seat, closing your eyes to take stock of your losses. You’d managed to grab your backpack. But the new ropes for your shiny new harness were lost. As were two of your favorite knives. Bastards. Maybe you could take it out of Crowley’s paycheck? It was his fault after all.
As you opened your eyes to suggest that the costs of the rescue mission would come out of Crowley’s commission, you were instead left tongue tied. As Dean’s brilliant green eyes cut off your words where he’d twisted in his seat to throw you one of those unfair boyish grins that always knocked the breath out of you.
Damn him and his… Everything.
“Nice work (Y/N),” He grinned. Still completely ignoring Crowley next to you, as his whole body radiated with the adrenaline of getting away more or less unscathed. By the time the two guys that had clocked you had time to share your descriptions with the rest of Evil Inc. they’d all be behind bars anyway.
“Of course! Did you ever doubt me?” You shot back, mirroring his adrenaline fuelled smile with one of your own. Now that you’d made it safely out of there, you were practically bouncing in your seat from the straight shot of energy to your veins that a good getaway always gave you.
“Yes… Yes we did. Several times… Actually, we doubt you most of the time,” Sam shot back as he focused on the road. Only looking away to send you that tried and tested shiteating grin that only little brothers had perfected through the rear-view mirror.
Yet, before you could throw some insults back his way, the proverbial elephant in the room decided he had to be the center of attention. Which honestly was nothing new. Sometimes you swore Crowley was a figment of your collective imaginations, and if he didn’t make you pay attention to him, he’d just fade from existence.
Though you knew that was all just wishful thinking on your end.
“She was… A vision. I offered her a job you know? With certain benefits,” Crowley shot in, sending you a sleazy wink.
It was his turn to ignore Dean. Pretending he didn’t see the daggers the trained mercenary was sending his way. The mobster was clearly playing with fire. If the look Dean was sending him was anything to go by, your hitter was only seconds away from ripping his spine out through his throat. And that was a very real threat when coming from the Dean Winchester.
Though, even with his death imminent so soon after you saved him, you didn’t like Crowley enough to warn him. As you instead resorted to just audibly gagging at his words in lieu of another no. Since the word didn’t seem to exist in his dictionary anyway. A visible shudder running through you at the thought of working for the mobster. You’d already been someone’s thieving little lap dog and you were done with that life thank-you-very-much.
“Ok, so the benefits can be negotiated. If nothing else, having someone who can remove a pair of handcuffs in just a few seconds could be very useful…” And though it seemed like he meant it like an actual offer, you weren’t an idiot. It didn’t really take a genius to hear the clear sexual innuendo in his words. The insufferable bastard just wouldn’t stop.
“She’s busy,” Dean shot back instead of you. As if he thought you were incapable of turning down what was clearly a bad job yourself. Hell, you’d rather work as a damn unpaid intern than get paid stacks of money to work for Crowley.
Which, actually…
Technically your current gig was unpaid. Some jobs just also happened to line your pockets when you were getting money back from the bad guys. They were bonuses, really, not a steady paycheck. So you really would rather work pro bono than for the figurative devil next to you.
“Not. Interested. I work for the good guys now, not scum,” You spat back, sending Dean a little smug smirk as if you showed him by shutting Crowley down. Which was the weirdest thing to be smug about, but hell… You’d had someone speaking for you every day of your life until you were 15, and you weren’t on the look out for a new puppet master. Not now, not ever.
“But bad is good! I don’t know why you reacted so harshly in there. You should embrace your bad side; the world loves a bad girl… I know I for one do,” Crowley hummed as you cringed internally. Damn it, you’d known he would try to use your earlier outburst of anger against you. But it still took everything you had to not let the panic show on your features as you instead rolled your eyes at him.
Ignoring Crowley’s endless ranting about how bad girls were the best thing since sliced bread, you instead turned to face Dean. Not wanting Crowley to repeat the words he’d said earlier, in case they would make Dean remember the gun range like you had, you kept your expression neutral as you spoke up over the damn mobster where he seemed moments away from composing an ode to wicked little women.
You wouldn’t let Crowley mess up any more of your day. Not just when everything seemed fine between you and Dean… Or even better than fine! They seemed back to normal.
“Dean… Can I borrow your gun?” Raising your volume to be heard over both the roar of the engine and the incessant chattering of your rescued damsel, you held your hand out and batted (Y/E/C) eyes at your hitter in mock innocence.
“Sure sweetheart,” Dean said without missing a beat, reaching across his body to unholster one of his many firearms, before stopping his hand midair right as he was about to hand you the loaded weapon. A raised eyebrow and soft smirk telling you he knew the answer to his question before he’d even asked it.
“... Why?”
“Let me shoot him,” You growled back, sending a head nod in Crowley’s direction as you tried to reach for the gun that Dean was keeping just out of your reach. The threat of violence finally shutting Crowley up as Dean shook his head with a chuckle.
“Not until after we finish this job (Y/N), and not in my car,” Sam shot in, not wanting to risk his older brother agreeing with you that violence was, as always, the answer when dealing with Crowley’s kind.
“Damn it… You’re no fun,” Pouting you crossed your arms and sank back into your seat like a petulant child. It was gonna be a long ride. And, considering you’d have to interrogate the Scotsman to find out how the hell he managed to get himself caught, it was shaping up to be an awful day.
So much for Charlie’s magical Princess Leia buns. The fates, and that sadistic bitch, mother nature, had once more decided tormenting you was their ultimate favorite pastime.
Oh joy…
Start Here - Last - Next (Coming soon)
Charity Heist: @foxyjwls007 @seppys-return-to-madness @stoneyggirl2 @ladysparkles78 @twinkleinadiamondsky @tmb510 @mimaria420
Dean Winchester Tags: @ria132love @woodworthti666 @defenderrosetyler @akshi8278 @justanotherwinchester @lyarr24 @torn-and-frayed @all-will-be-well-love @wearesuchstuff1 @thefridgeismybestie @adoptdontshoppets @screechingartisancashbailiff @septixtrash @punof-agun @deandreamernp @justagirlinafandomworld @sexyvixen7 @justrealizedimmascifygurl @globetrotter28 @deans-spinster-witch @iprobablyshipit91 @mrsjenniferwinchester @leigh70 @djs8891 @pink-sparkly-witch
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HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAN WINCHESTER I LOVE YOUUUU
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Cowboy(friend) au
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This started with “Dean totally has orange cat energy” and just kept going and now I’ve lost all control???? Also nobody tells you cat anatomy is WEIRD. Why so bendy???
Special thanks to @lordcrowcifer for his suggestions for Crowley & Gabriel! (He made a strong case with the perfect photo of an angery looking Scottish Fold 😂)
More suggestions are, of course, welcomed because I have nothing better to do than draw dudes in plaid as cats.
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Series Masterlist - Smoke Eater
Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x F. Reader
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
AN: "Smoke eater": a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.
Get ready for an AU! Several SPN characters will make their appearances: Sam and John Winchester, Castiel as "Cas Novak," Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Jack Kline, Benny Lafitte, Gordon Walker, Meg Masters, Chuck Shurley, Nick (yes, even him), and more!
Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) There will be a lot of heart, a lot of fun, drama, heartbreak, protective Dean, and even a murder mystery. Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.
🎵 Listen While You Read: The Smoke Eater Playlist
Chapters:
Part 1 - Class and Style
Part 2 - Lieutenant Winchester
Part 3 - Got a Hold on Me
Part 4 - Rocky Road
Part 5 - Twitterpated
Part 6 - Just Casual
Part 7 - Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle
Part 8 - Likewise, Baby
Part 9 - Do Not Disturb
Part 10 - Toil and Trouble
Part 11 - Heart of the Home
Part 12 - All in the Family
Part 13 - Boiling Point
Part 14 - Message in a Bottle
Part 15 - The Good Part
Part 16 - Break Down the Gates
Part 17 - The Real Deal
Part 18 - V for Vendetta
Part 19 - Sacrifice
Epilogue - Easy as Pie
Series Complete!
🎙️ Podfic:
Listen to Part 1 in podfic form!
(Cover image and narration by @talltalesandbedtimestories)
Or listen to the official Idling in the Impala episode on YouTube:
Ko-Fi Me ☕
Dean Winchester Series List
Dean Winchester Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Series Tag List:
Comment below if you'd like to be tagged in this series!
@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91
@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19
@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @ultrahviolentart @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420
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drawing my absolute favorite trope in this fandom as my au: hunter castiel in early seasons
+bonus if cas is secretly an angel
+ little doodles of my au
drawing my absolute favorite trope in this fandom as my au: hunter castiel in early seasons+bonus trope cas is secretly an angel
info for my au
-cas met sam and dean in the episode Bloody Mary s1ep5
-cas was adopted by human parents but they were killed by a demon when cas was 20 after that cas became a hunter to get a better understanding of what killed his parents and get revenge on them
-cas is actually an angel ‘reborn’ as a human infant
-his angel memories and grace are suppress somewhere in his head
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Designed by pain (1)
Summary: Broken hearts are hard to put back together. 8 years ago, Dean lost something he didn’t even know he had in the first place. Will he get a second chance?
Pairing: former AU!Dean Winchester x fem!Reader; Arthur Ketch x fem!Reader
Warnings: angst, language, implied break-up, time jumps, strong reader, Dean being a douche (implied), unplanned pregnancy
A/N: This was an alternative idea for the first chapter of my Bucky story: Monster-in-law masterlist. I decided to use it for a story with Dean.
Designed by pain masterlist
Designed by pain (Prologue)
One night of passion, a life-long responsibility. The words you wrote echo in your mind. It’s only a few days since you left Dean and the house, but you are already falling apart.
You spent the better part of the drive back to your shared home being scared of the future.
Having a baby so soon into your relationship wasn’t in your plans. Neither was it to raise the child alone. Even though you know, there is no way you’ll not love the life growing inside your body.
“Fuck, what do I do now?” You slam the door shut behind you and immediately sink to your knees. You choke out a sob and hide your face in the palms of your hands.
Six days and Dean didn’t even try to call you, nor did he come home.
He’s over you already, and Lisa will take your place. Maybe it never was your place. You were only a placeholder until she came back into the picture.
You grit your teeth and huff. “Fuck you, Dean Winchester.” Something breaks inside of you, and you don’t know if it’s a bad thing.
The part of you loving Dean unconditionally already starts to fade, and the bitch in the back of your mind taking over whenever you got hurt wins the upper hand.
You straighten your back and look at the woman in the mirror staring back at you. You smirk and put your hands on your hips. “I guess this means we are going to leave and start all over again. Don’t worry little bean,” you lovingly run your hand over your belly, “we are going to fucking rock this…”
One last step and your new life can begin. This is it, the point of no return. Your life with Dean is over, and you are not even sorry anymore.
You gave him time and space to realize what he was about to lose. In the end, you and his baby weren’t important enough to him to even try to talk things out.
Even if he didn’t want to be in a relationship with you any longer, he could’ve at least tried to be a father to his child.
Now you will be a father and mother to the bean growing in your belly. You’re strong and won’t back down, or cry over spilled milk.
If you look back at this moment in a few years, you will clap your hands and cheer for yourself. You’re stronger than Dean or anyone else gave you credit for. Everyone believed you’re only the cheerful and soft girl who loves to bake cookies and dreams of marrying the man you love.
A week ago, you were this person.
Today you are someone else. An Amazon, who will take her life in her hands and move on from a man who never loved her…
The takeoff is both exciting and terrifying. You are flying to another country, to live on another continent. Your old life will be in the past, and you can only think about the future from now on.
Holding your old plushie in your hands, squeezing it tightly you take deep breaths. “In and out,” you tell yourself to calm your nerves. Flying always makes you nervous. This didn’t change.
“How do you like first class, Miss Y/L/N,” your new boss asks. He paid for a first-class ticket so you could talk about your new position and the house he rented for you.
“Thank you for inviting me,” you give him a quick smile. Arthur Ketch is a very polite and charming man, but you cannot appreciate him at the moment.
“I have to thank you for accepting our job offer,” he says and dips his head to watch you nervously run your hand over your belly. “How far are you?”
“Oh—” heat creeps into your cheeks. You should’ve told him that you were pregnant before accepting his company’s offer. “I…I should’ve told you.”
“Most of our employees are mothers and fathers, Y/N. We are a family-friendly company with family-friendly work conditions. And the boss likes you, and your reputation.” He smirks now and leans closer to look at your belly.
“Do you think he’ll like that I didn’t tell them about my pregnancy? I didn’t do it on purpose. I got to know about my pregnancy only a few days ago, and I didn’t intend to accept the job offer at that time.”
“You know that I’m the boss, right?” Ketch grins.
“You are the boss now?” Your eyes round. “Since when?”
He shrugs. “I was the one behind the job offer. Robert Singer talked highly about you when we last met. From that moment on, I wanted you to work for us. If I told you back then that I was the CEO of the BMOL you would’ve never accepted our offer.”
“So, you tricked me,” you chuckle. “Lately all men seem to lie to me.” You sigh deeply. “Sorry, that was inappropriate. I didn’t want to…” You sniff. “Sorry.”
“You accepted my job offer because of a bad break-up I assume,” he pats your hand. “It’s alright, Y/N. London is the perfect place to start over. I will show you the town, and help you settle in. If you need help, I’ll be there. We care for our employees.”
“Is that a British thing?” You quirk a brow.
“It’s an Arthur Ketch thing,” he replies. “If you ask me, he’s a fool for letting you go. Sorry. Now I was the one saying inappropriate things, Y/N. You can punch me if you want to.”
“No, you’re right,” you hastily reply. “I gave him a choice, but he just gave up on us after meeting his ex-girlfriend again. The job offer was tempting, but I couldn’t imagine leaving the man I love. He made things so much easier for me. I got a new job and a new life. Maybe I should thank him for being the douche he is.”
“You deserve better,” Ketch softly says. “I know that we barely know each other, but believe me, he’s not worth a single tear. A gentleman should never make a woman cry or hurt her. Especially the one carrying his child.”
You give Ketch a sad smile. You’re embarrassed how easily he saw right through you. It wasn’t your intention to talk about your pregnancy and broken heart with your new boss.
“Y/N don’t worry. Everything we talked about today won’t leave this airplane,” he pats your hand. “If you need a friend, I’ll be there…”
Part 2
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Wild Hearts (Part 4) - Postcards From Dean
Summary: Postcards from Dean to Y/N; sent over the years they were apart.
Masterlist
Pairing: AU!Dean x reader
Square: Postcards @j3bingo
Word Count: 743
Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16-22, Dean is 20-26), language, slow burn, long distance relationship of sorts, pining, maybe a little angst, time jumps, fluff
A/N: This part was written for @j3bingo go as a collection of AU postcards from Dean to Y/N.
_____
A few of your favourite postcards from Dean - from the six years you were apart.
___________________________________
Hey Y/N,
What do you write on a postcard?
Dean
P.S. I picked up a stack of these at a rest stop on the way to Sioux Falls and I thought you'd like some old school snail-mail. I'm aware that your parents and the mailman will probably read this too, so... I'm sorry I got your daughter into trouble and now she has- what, ten hours of community service left? But, she's kind of a badass and saved my life so don't go too hard on her.
P.P.S. And to the mailman: Not cool, dude.
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
Sam told me to start these with 'Dear' instead of 'Hey', I kind of like the way it sounds so I let him be right for once. Bobby and Jody are pretty cool, they won't even let me pay rent so we can save more money. We'll have a place of our own in no time now.
xo Dean
P.S. I hope the 'x' is okay, if not I blame Sam. If so, it was all my idea. You can't tell but I just winked at you.
P.P.S. It's my birthday and Jody made me a cherry pie! It was so good, I had every intention of saving you a piece but now I'll just have to learn how to make one for you instead. Can't wait for your phone call tonight so I can tell you all about it.
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
It took a little longer than I thought but we just moved into our own apartment! It's closer to Sam's college but we can still visit Bobby and Jody with a short car ride.
xo Dean
P.S. Think you'll come visit me on your gap year?
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
It snowed today! And I'm making pasta tonight. You can drool over it via video chat later. I wish we were in the same time zone so you could ring in the new year with me too.
I’m missing you a lot lately,
xo Dean
P.S. I'm sending you a big fat kiss. You can put it where you want it. X
P.P.S. To the mailman: Get your mind out of the gutter. She's a lady!
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
I'm seriously craving Donna's mocha ice cream right now. I think it would go great with Jody’s cherry pie recipe. Don't knock it till you try it!
xo Dean
P.S. Sam hasn't stopped playing that playlist you made him for studying. I swear you have the worst taste in music. I'm going to make you a playlist tonight.
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
I think I like the mountains on this postcard best, we should take a roadtrip there together, maybe next Valentine’s day?
x Dean
P.S. I don't like airplanes.
P.P.S. But I'm going to take you to all the places on these postcards some day.
P.P.P.S. I hope you're still pinning these postcards to your wall so you can hold them over my head some day.
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
I'm sorry.
xx Dean
P.S. If I could have one superpower it would be the ability to control the weather.
P.P.S. Getting snowed in would be a lot more fun WITH you.
P.P.P.S. Maybe my superpower should’ve been teleportation! Damn it, is it too late to change my answer?
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
I just dropped Sam off for his first year of law school. I feel old. Luckily, he got another scholarship though, so I don't have to worry about paying his tuition. Kid's a major nerd.
x Dean
P.S. I'm actually in California! The salt air here makes me think of home, of you. You feel so far away right now. I'm not even looking at the same ocean. That sucks.
P.P.S. We haven't talked in a while and I know that's mostly my fault, but I wanted to give you a heads up. I'm coming home... Soon.
___________________________________
Dear Y/N,
Did you notice there's no stamp?
Always yours,
xoxo Dean
P.S. I was going to tell you to meet me where I first kissed you but that's a hell of a walk. So meet me under our streetlamp. The one where you put ice cream on my nose the first night we met.
P.P.S. I hope you come, I can't wait to see you. But I understand and no hard feelings if you don't.
_________________________
Part 5
_________________________
Dean:
@akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy
SPN:
@hobby27
Wild Hearts:
@justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @vicmc624 @ladysparkles78
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Charity Heist 5 - aka. The Swanky Party
A Supernatural Heist AU - Masterlist
Pairing: Hitter!Dean x Thief!Reader
Summary: The Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency is the best group of con artists in the world. But even though Y/N can crack safes, scale buildings and infiltrate even the most secure locations, she still can't find a way to deal with her all consuming feelings for the group's greek god of a hitter; Dean Winchester. How will she handle their next big heist, when she's forced to get up close and personal with the man of her dreams?
Warnings: Idiots in love, smutty thoughts, a lot of swearing and a ton of bad jokes.
Watch the trailer here
A/N: This story is 50% jokes and 50% dirty thoughts. No deep angst, just fun and action! Inspired by the series Leverage.
Y/N = Your Name | Y/H/C = Your Hair Colour
Start Here - Last - Next
Time flies when you’re having fun trying to force your best friend into a dress and out amongst the public.
Which was exactly what you’d spent the following day doing, between triple checking your gear, rereading the plans and calming Charlie. So, the day had flown by faster than you could say ‘party people’ (which, coincidentally, you were not), and it was finally the night of the evil shindig slash fundraiser.
Fiend-raiser? Hell, close enough...
Your little team was geared up and ready to enter the belly of the beast. All dressed in your finest clothes like you were fucking Cinderella and friends at the ball. If Cinderella had earpieces, button cams and guns…
And the closest you came to a fairy godmother was Bobby. Who probably wouldn’t really like hearing you referring to him as your fairy godmother. Even though you did feel indebted to him for letting you become part of the Singer & Winchester Retrieval Agency, a part of the family.
Your Cinderella comparison kinda fell apart when you involved Crowley however. Was he supposed to be the evil stepmother? The cat? Lucifer was a fitting moniker for the self-proclaimed king of the underground. Or maybe the pumpkin turned carriage that brought you to the party? Either way, the greased up Scotsman had been in top form as far as sass went the whole pre-party briefing.
Making comments about your less-than-fairytale-princess choice of dress and eyeing you up in a way that once more brought back Dean’s protective big brother rage. And left you feeling less than ready to party from the reminder that he saw you as family, nothing more. Even when you’d dressed to absolutely freaking slay.
After all, your fashion choices were nothing like Cinderella’s; nowhere near as shiny and poofy.
You had opted for sleek, short and black. The dress was easy to move in, which was paramount to any outfit you wore on missions. Hugging your curves tight in a way that seemed more painted on than actual cloth as it flowed down your body before stopping right above the knee. The deep open back, paired with your (Y/H/C) hair in an elegant updo that highlighted your neck and framed your face, left little space to hide your tools. But luckily you had a walking, talking handbag called Dean Winchester with you. So, past a few small toys and a set of throwing knives strapped to your thigh, he’d helped bring in the rest.
Ahead of you, Charlie was wearing a stunning red dress that you’d helped her pick out from the large treasure trove of recon outfits hiding in the bunker. Contrasting beautifully against her pale skin and easily long enough to hide her little gadgets. With a convenient slit down the side so she could get to the card stripper strapped to her thigh without anyone catching on.
The boys… Well, the boys were sadly not in dresses, but in their usual high end tuxedos used for cons of this type. Lucky bastards even had flat shoes on. Damn how you hated the dressy undercover missions. You were much more comfortable in sneakers, infiltration clothes, and harnesses - rather than stilettos, push up bras, and cocktail dresses.
“You ready?” Dean’s voice echoed as it reached you both directly and in your earpiece. His green eyes rested on you and you could feel the heat of the large hand that was softly sliding down your lower back, but you knew he wasn’t really speaking to you.
No, the question, that you still pretended to answer with a nod and a smile in case someone overheard, was meant for Sam. Situated across the street in the apartment you’d acquired yesterday (not all that ‘legally’ mind you) to use as your base of operation for the night. Dean’s eyes only betrayed that fact with a small, nearly missable glance to the side. In the direction away from the glitz and the glamor that was drawing the eyes of the crowd around you.
“Yeah, I have eyes on you. As soon as you reach the door sensors they’ll stop workin’. You’ll be able to get in with all your weapons and tech without setting off anything,” Sam’s voice came through loud and clear in your ear as you kept a fake smile plastered on your lips. Your back straight and eyes focused on the damned mansion ahead as you pretended that your heart wasn’t about to beat out of your chest from the proximity of a certain criminally handsome (no pun intended) Dean Winchester.
Not only was he standing close enough to steal your breath away with the slight spice and leather scent of his aftershave. But his hand would reach out at seemingly random times to brush against your arm or rest against your bare lower back, leading you forward through the crowds of partygoers that had all seemingly decided to show up at the exact same time.
Alicia was the type of woman that was used to being escorted around, unlike your own fierce independence. And since your cover for the night was as Dean’s date, that meant he was always within reach, ready to slide calloused fingers against your electrically sensitive skin.
Hell, even your cover; not a side piece, or a girlfriend. Just… A date. It was as painfully vague as the rest of Alicia Cooper’s background story. Which meant Dean had full freedom to interpret that as he saw fit while he escorted you towards the line in front of the door, right behind Charlie and Cas.
“And are we sure we can trust the green giant with this? I thought he knew his greens and veggies, not… Technology,” Crowley’s voice was low as it reached you through the small piece of silicone in your ear. The damned man always had to season every social situation with sass. That British humor really wasn’t your cup of tea (pun totally intended).
“Yes Crowley, we can… Charlie and Sam created the damned software we’re using to hack into the system and I trust ‘em more than you,” Dean shot back before his younger brother could defend himself. As always playing the protective big brother, no matter the enemy. The smile on his lips contrasting with the whispered words as you pretended to straighten his tie to give him a reason to keep his head down.
“And even so, my tech is great. I made it to be undetectable, even the chips I added to your weapons and the alloy (Y/N)’s knives are made out of. The sensors wouldn’t pick them up even if they were military grade,” Charlie pouted from ahead of you. You didn’t need to look over at her to know she was moping. Though you knew Castiel would do a good job playing it off as her being a slightly demanding date; bored of waiting in line.
She’d considered the extra precaution of momentarily shutting down the sensors as unnecessary from the start. Her little gadgets were like her babies. To her the extra measure was a direct blow to her ego and, worse yet, her toys.
“We trust you and your awesome gear Char, it’s just a precaution,” You shot in with a smile that was aimed at Charlie, but shared with Dean as you brushed some non-existent dust off of his shoulders. Before allowing him to straighten back up and put a large, strong hand low on your back again, where the dress met with bare skin. The direct touch of calloused fingers against slightly chilled skin sending little shots of electricity through you that threatened to blow a fuse in your brain.
Which was… Less than ideal. After all, you needed all your fuses functioning if you were gonna pull the job off in the middle of the damn snake pit masquerading as a party.
“Enough of the squabbling kids,” Sam said through your earpiece, which honestly made you want to squabble more, since he was younger than you. Still you kept your mouth shut as the kid kept speaking. Silently plotting a revenge that involved exchanging his protein shaker collection with Disney themed sippy cups and maybe sneaking a few bibs into his closet for good measure.
Kids…
You’d show him who the actual baby of the team was.
“This is the entry plan we decided on. Cas, Charlie; you guys are next in line, together with Crowley. Behave. Sensors shut down in three, two, one…”
---
To quote the poets of days long past; the party was nice, the party was bumpin’.
Ok, so that was the Baha Men… But quoting pop music from the 2000s always annoyed Dean, who insisted the only real music was classic rock. So, you’d developed a habit of doing it. Since your style of flirting was a little less Casanova and a hell of a lot more kindergarten hair pulling.
Though, truthfully, the party was more fancy than nice, and more classical music and people talking about their yachts than bumpin’. Which in turn, made it so totally not your scene. You liked your parties to be bumpin’, just like you liked your bad decisions to be fuelled by alcohol and adrenaline.
You were a simple woman, with simple needs. Fancy, wasn’t one of ‘em.
Groups of wealthy men and women stood in small circles scattered across the polished tiles and spoke in polite low tones about how much money they had in offshore bank accounts and how amazing it was of them to bypass their evil deeds and greed to give what to them was considered pocket change to the poor and needy in return for tax breaks and untraceable laundered cash. Or maybe they were talking about their villain lairs; complete with white cats, swivel chairs and shark pools, or something…
Hell, it was all the same to you. You could barely focus on taking a step forward with Dean’s hand so securely around your waist. Which was real bad… You had to focus.
Across the large open space, you could already see Castiel working the room and talking to the sleaziest of sleazebags with Crowley. His hands easily dipping into pockets to get wallets and ID cards as his words and smiles made them share little tidbits of information about themselves that allowed Sam to work his magic across the street.
Cas could probably charm the pants of a nun. Though you’d rather he didn’t aim to prove you right. Considering he was a very vocal atheist, claiming there were just ‘too many caveats in faith’, it just seemed extra blasphemic to even consider letting him near a nun. Since he’d probably take it as a challenge. Though he did have to pose as a priest on a con once; which you took great pleasure in reminding him of whenever the opportunity arose.
Father Simmons had been the least pieous priest that small backwater town had ever seen, but at least you’d managed to infiltrate the cult. Shutting it down and proving to the town, and the world, that the religious fanatisism had just been a cover for human trafficking. Like a Scooby Doo episode; only instead of pulling off the monster’s mask to reveal a ‘Mr. Creeps’ you’d revealed an even bigger monster.
All thanks to Castiel’s brilliant work charming his way into the cult. And of course, Charlie’s techy backup sleuthing that had helped you find, and rescue, the victims.
This time however, Charlie’s work was a little less background and a lot more field work. As she had left Castiel’s side, as planned, to plant a few cameras that would allow Sam to have eyes in the house as well. Since you’d need other angles than the in-house security system that your two wunderkids had already hacked.
Only doubling back from time to time to take the cards off of Cas’ hands and skim the information through the card reader she’d attached to her thigh or by scanning it with the button cam hidden in the brooch on her dress. Before a small giggly touch of her date’s shoulder had the card right back in Castiel’s hand to deposit it back into pockets before the mark even noticed anything was wrong.
Even Dean was hard at work; whispering guard numbers and visible weapon types through the earpiece.
Hell, you were the only one not fully focused. Which was bad. Considering the heist kinda, sorta relied on you finding the damned safe. You had to stop acting like a fucking teenager, high on daydreams and drunk on wine coolers and instead be (Y/N); super thief extraordinaire.
That’s why you were there after all. Your job was to find the fucking safe, as well as scope out possible entrances and exits for the actual heist. Your job was definitely not to stand around like a complete greenhorn and think about all the things you wished Dean’s hands would do to you. Oh, no sirree, that job was for late nights under the covers (Y/N), not master finangler of all things shiny (Y/N).
Priorities... First you’d trick the mafia and take all their not-so-hard-earned money, then you’d have some hot and heavy me-time. Never the other way around. It just wasn’t proper work-place etiquette.
“Let’s start casing the other rooms. We’re too out in the open, no hiding spots. For us or for a safe,” You spoke the words under your breath.
Slipping away from Dean’s hand, you took his hand in yours instead. Pulling him along further into the room with a louder giggle that seemed like it’d suit Alicia perfectly. Past the wandering eyes of bored upper-class wives that were not even trying to hide how they were devouring the man by your side.And out of earshot of their partners’ ‘economically pornographic’-conversations. Their husbands looked like they were about to straight up orgasm whenever someone said inflation or money laundering and it was… Disturbing.
“Castiel, see that big guy with the obvious toupee and suit jacket that’s two sizes too small? Yeah, he’s one of the big sharks in the criminal cesspool. Might wanna go introduce yourself,” Sam’s voice came through your earpiece just as you rounded the corner into the next room, which was just as flooded with human monsters flaunting their riches as every other room.
Throwing a quick glance over your shoulder you saw Castiel start to move, Crowley right beside him. Your inside man’s muttered complaint about being able to tell Cas that without Sam’s interference easily reached you, even from halfway across the room, through the vibration based earpieces.
Seriously, those things could pick up people’s wandering musings and dirty daydreams if you’d wanted them to. Which you really didn’t. Your mind was already a rambled mess without outside interference thank-you-very-much.
Still, except for the unnecessary running commentary, big bad had come through for you. The guy hadn’t only gotten you tickets to the underground party masquerading as a Charity Fundraiser, but he’d also ensured to namedrop Castiel’s cover name as a “top investor”. So Cas had every way in to shake hands and stroke egos. Leaving the rest of you free to do your jobs and scope the place out.
“Charlie, great job on the cameras and mics, that’s the last one. Make your way back to the main room to back up Cas and Crowley,” Sam’s voice continued to give orders over the earpieces, though none of you ever complained.
No matter how much your stubborn crew could butt heads before a heist, during the actual job you’d always listen to Sam. The guy was like a chess master and you were his little criminal chess pieces. If you did as he told you to, you’d make it out of any sticky situation just fine.
“People keep trying to talk to me. I’m not good with this undercover stuff,” Charlie groaned in response. Yet, as you finished walking through the other room and moved out to the dining room area, you still caught sight of her red dress disappearing through the door back to the main hall. Soldiering up and doing her duty even through her massive fear of social interactions.
“You do your LARPs and conventions, just do what you do there,” Dean chuckled next to you. The deep vibrations of that low laugh delivered right to your ear nearly made you stumble over your own feet with a sudden case of vertigo.
“I’m someone else when I LARP, I’m a queen. Same with cosplaying; Wonder Woman can talk to people… Me? Not so much,” Charlie’s voice sounded panicked over the little earpiece and you wished you could go help her, but you had to stay in your role and do your job.
You had a safe to find, and unfortunately it was nowhere to be found. The dining room was clear too, and you were running out of places to look for the damned thing. Though you’d basically already mentally mapped out their whole downstairs security system and at least 7 exit strategies. So there was that.
“You’ll be fine Char, after we get through this we’ll go to your favorite comic book shop, I promise,” You said with a small smile, catching Dean smiling at your words as well.
“Ok, alright… I can do this. For comic books and funko pops,” Charlie’s words were punctuated by a few deep breaths and one or two muttered creative swear words. But you knew she’d do her part and she’d do a hell of a good job of it too.
“That’s our girl, Charlie,” Sam’s voice was less master commander and more big brother as his warm chuckle came in over the comms system, before it returned to its serious tone and your strange little family was once again all business.
“Dean, check the guys by the door, I’m seeing what looks like a holster on one of Charlie’s cameras,”
---
You’d scoped out the whole bottom floor, which was massive, but disappointing. Not when it came to things worth stealing mind you. With the exception of the one forgery you’d clocked the day before, everything else was actual originals. You could buy an island from the value of the art displayed on the walls alone. But there were no safes, anywhere.
Damn it.
Sure, you’d done the other parts of your job, but you needed that safe. Bobby was working hard on the backup plan and Castiel had gathered up enough info for you to be able to pull a turnabout if it came to it and pit the criminals up against each other. But that was still plan B, and plan B wasn’t perfect.
Plan A had been... Perfect that was. Until the whole issue with there not being a damned safe on the first floor like your insider information had promised you there would be.
Petty crooks; you didn’t trust ‘em any further than you could throw ‘em... No, scratch that, you could throw people pretty damned far. As far as Crowley could throw ‘em. Yeah… The guy was an ultimate movie baddie, but he didn’t look like he could throw other bad guys all that far. Not only would that end up wrinkling his suit, but the man’s favorite super power seemed to be more sass, less Superman.
However, just as you’d been about to inform the team of your failure to locate the safe, Sam’s voice interrupted you across the comms. Cutting off his own words to Cas about the hidden dealings of the corrupt politician in front of him that the grifter could use to twist the man around his little finger to instead speak to the whole group.
“Shit, ok… So five guys, including the main honcho, just came down from the second floor. I think our intel’s bad. The safe is probably up there. This isn’t the first time tonight I’ve seen people go up and down those stairs,” Sam’s words were met with strained silence as you all waited for the big guy to rework the plan for your entry and exit and work the new information into it all.
It wouldn’t be easy, and even over the comms channel you could nearly feel the strained worry and tense backs of your team members. You had no cameras upstairs, so no matter the plan it was going to be a risk.
Still, you needed eyes on that safe.
“(Y/N), I need you up there. It might be dangerous, so stay low and be careful,” Sam’s words were hesitant over the comms channel. The big guy never liked sending anyone from your group of merry men into a possible dangerous situation without a backup plan. But you had no choice.
You wouldn’t get this chance a second time around. You had to get eyes on that safe before the party was over, if not plan A was shot and you’d have to move on to the rest of the fucking alphabet, which was not nearly as bulletproof as a good solid ‘A’.
Sam’s words perked you right back up out of your funk, even with the added element of danger… Hell, you couldn’t lie to yourself, you loved the danger. But better yet; you had another chance to find the damned safe. You really didn’t like letting the team down, not when they’d done so much for you. And… As an added bonus; your poor heart could get a break.
Spending a full evening with Dean’s arm around your waist had taken its toll on your nerves. Add to that the eyes of the many women eyeing him up as if he was the tastiest piece of sweetness in the sugar bowl, and you weren’t a happy camper. You were his arm candy, he wasn’t some tasty treat they could sneak a bite off while their husbands’ heads were turned.
Upstairs was good. Upstairs would keep you from punching people.
Alicia probably wouldn’t punch people...
“Alright, leave it to me. Downstairs’ fully scouted, I’ll check upstairs and give a full report after the party,” You tried, and mainly failed, to keep the excitement out of your voice as you started towards the stairs. Stepping away from Dean’s side for the first time that evening, you almost immediately felt cold.
Your poor heart could only take so much however, so the cool down was a welcome break from the fire burning low in your core. Yet, you hadn’t gotten more than two steps away before Dean’s hand was lightly circling your wrist and his voice was in your ear. Both directly and through the earpiece, as he pretended to murmur sweet nothings in your ear to hide his words from the rest of the party.
“I’ll go with her,” His words were not a request for Sam to include him in the plan. No, it was a statement; one his tone made it clear there was no use arguing against. He wasn’t letting you escape to the second floor to calm down.
Clearly the damned criminally handsome man had it out for your heart. You didn’t know what the stupid muscle had done to make a nemesis out of the Dean Winchester. But considering his presence was causing your chest to take a beating of its own design, it must have been real bad.
“We don’t know what or who’s up there. An extra pair of hands could be good,” He added when Sam stayed silent, not letting go of your wrist or moving until he heard a mumbled sound of agreement from his younger brother. Damn it. Why did Sam choose that moment, of all times, to actually agree with his big brother on a plan?
Lawyer up Sammy boy. Argue and protect your thief’s poor heart!
Unfortunately, your damned techy earpieces couldn’t transfer silent cries for help, yet. And so, you were left biting the inside of your cheek as you tried to keep your body from reacting to how Dean’s fingers were stroking against the pulse point on your wrist.
“I can take care of myself you know,” Your words were more a weak huff than an actual statement as you started walking.
Forcing your voice to keep from trembling as you once more stayed side by side with the man who made your heart practice extreme sports in your ribcage. Your eyes stayed locked on the doorway leading to the stairs as you forced yourself to walk slowly. Your shoulders relaxed, pace unhurried and movements languid, as if you were just enjoying the party and milling about.
“I know that sweetheart, I’m not going up there for you,” Dean said with a chuckle. Adding a dramatic pause to give you that boyish grin that always made your stomach fill with damned giant eagles, since you’d used up your supply of butterflies in the first 6 months of working with the man.
“I’m here for the poor fool who tries to mess with you,”
Smiling in spite of yourself, you let out a breathless laugh at words meant as a nod to your first proper meeting with the weapons specialist and former special forces soldier. Not really a Hollywood movie meet cute, but a favorite memory of yours nonetheless.
He’d been the one they’d sent to recruit you to the modern day Robin Hood crew, and you’d been… Kinda jumpy back then. Constantly being on the run from the mafia, Interpol, FBI and God knows who else, did that to a girl. So, instead of exchanging business cards you’d kinda, sorta… Flipped him flat on his back and threatened to flatten his pretty face with an ancient bronze statue. That gaudy piece of ancient art had been heavy as fuck. Though it was nothing of extreme value of course.
You’d been paranoid, not stupid.
Things had luckily calmed down fast enough once you recognized him from previous run-ins. And, instead of actually breaking his nose, which should be considered a crime in and of itself, ‘cause damn… You’d talked things through and you’d finally let him up from where you’d pinned him to the ground. Still, Dean never let you forget that you actually got the drop on him. Though he was never upset about it, more impressed, considering his own impressive track record.
“You’d know wouldn’t ya?” You shot back with a small smirk. Leaning against the wall; you pretended to be enjoying a more private conversation by the stairwell while you waited for an older couple to pass by. Just barely stopping yourself from shooting the older woman an annoyed glare as she clearly admired Dean’s ass in the tailored designer slacks.
“Oh, yes… I definitely would,” Dean’s words were punctuated by a wink and oh God… That sexy motherfucker was trying to kill you, you were sure of it.
The whole night was just an elaborate assassination attempt. Warning bells were ringing in your ears as the poor crew manning your brain ran for their lives before the imminent implosion that was sure to follow as your heart beat loudly enough to show up as soundwaves in your eyes. Which you, not so sneakily, tried to hide by checking if the coast was clear.
Focus.
Forcing out a small laugh you set your plan into motion and moved up the stairs at a pace that made it seem like you belonged up there.
Not too slow, and not too quick. Just like they taught in thief school. If there was such a thing as a thief school... Hell, even if there was, you'd probably be expelled the first damned day. Considering how often your brain jumped to Dean instead of shiny sparkly treasures lately. And considering that you’d never really been good at sitting still, listening to authority figures, listening at all really, or paying attention to anything for more than two minutes at a time.
Or, hell, math… You hated maths.
As Dean followed you up, keeping close and at the same time ensuring no one saw you, you steeled your heart for your alone time with the perfect freaking specimen of a man. Taking a deep breath, you tried your hardest to turn off the part of your brain that was inexplicably tied to your heart in what was possibly God’s idea of a stupid prank on the human race.
Find the safe, that was all you had to focus on. Find the goddamned safe and then act out the entire library of love struck teenage movie scenes and the more R-rated extras in your mind when you were safe and sound back in your room at the bunker.
It shouldn’t be that hard. You were a professional after all. You’d been in the business for a very long time.
Yeah, you got this...
If only you could stop thinking about the fact that the bedrooms were probably up there too. Egyptian cotton bed sheets that were just begging for someone to mess them up.
Fuck, you didn’t have this; you were screwed. Thoughts like those were exactly why you’d worked alone before joining the team.
Safes, not bedrooms. Safes.
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they're just very fond of each other
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*noisily pulls up a chair* 🪑 do you guys ever think about what HunterCorp!Dean thought of Cas? Like he was already clearly of jealous of Dean Prime, with his cool shirts and rugged trauma, so he must have been like, ‘what! you have a hot angel sidekick too?! Lucky!’
And Dean would have just floundered and gruffly tried to shut him down like, ‘what’re you even talking about? Cas—hot…?’ *manly, sputtering deflection*
And then HunterCorp!Dean would be like, ‘oh?👀 so you’re not together then? Interesting. Very interesting…’ *slicks back his already over-slicked hair* *huffs into palm to check if breath stinks* *readies himself to make his move*
And then Dean would have internally combusted, obviously. because now he has to explain to his very queer alternate self to cool his jets and step away from his not-boyfriend because…. Because…. Well just to back the hell off okay that’s why!!! >:/
Both Sam’s just -_-; -_-; *deep sigh*
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