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katehuntington · 4 years

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Title: Changes - part nine Word count: ±4350 words Summary “Changes”: Huntress Zoë Sullivan (OFC) crosses paths and swords with the Winchesters, when the brothers stumble on a case she’s already working. When complications arise, they are forced to work together. Summary part nine: Dean finds an unexpected guest in the bridal suite. Warnings: Smut, NSFW, 18+ only! To prevent spoilers, all spoilers for the entire story are listed in the masterlists. Music: One Of These Nights - The Eagles (opening scene), Skin On Skin - Queens Of The Stone Age. Author’s note: I couldn’t be more excited to share Supernatural: The Sullivan Series with you. There are quite a few people I want to thank: @coffee-obsessed-writer, @soupornatural & @mrswhozeewhatsis, who edited the early drafts, and my girls @girl-with-a-fandom-fettish, @winchest09 & @kittenofdoomage who are deciphering the recent version. Everyone who encouraged me to go for it, you are awesome!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist 01x01 “Changes” Masterlist

With a grunt muffled by his pillow, Dean wakes up. He keeps his eyes closed, enjoying the blissful slumber for a moment. A familiar song echoes through the room; he recognizes the peculiar intro after a few beats, identifying it as an Eagles song. He sighs and smiles, relieved. He’s relaxed, well rested and pain free; thank God for vicodin. Strangely, though, he didn’t remember the radio playing when he fell asleep. Then he notices the sound of the shower running. It’s only now, when Dean opens his eyes, rubs his face and looks over his shoulder. While licking his lips, he stares at the purple clock on the wall; it’s almost 7 PM.

“Aren’t you a bit late for your play date?” he comments, loud enough for Sam to hear him, as he slides off the bed. Still a bit sleepy he pads over to the bathroom entrance, barefoot. As he does, Dean glances at the table, where he remembers Sam dumped most of his stuff. His laptop is set up, buzzing like it’s sawing down an entire forest. Next to the table he notices a half emptied duffel bag. Only his own old leather jacket hangs from the coat hanger; Sam’s is missing. The alarm bells start ringing in his head by the time he notices that his car keys aren’t on the little cabinet next to the bed where he left them; his brother isn’t here. But if he isn’t, who is?

In three large strides he is next to the bed and grabs his gun from under the pillow, then sneaks up to the bathroom again as he flips the safety switch off. Although he was fast asleep a minute ago, he’s wide awake now. Adrenaline rushes through his veins when he enters the bathroom, his weapon ready to fire between both hands. Instead of some supernatural creature, which he was prepared for, he stumbles on Zoë, wearing nothing but a bathrobe. “No, I’m right on time,” she answers, grinning. “Zoë?! For fuck's sake!” Dean lowers his gun and breathes out. “What are you doing here?” She turns to him and crosses her arms in front of her chest with the usual attitude. “Let's start over: ‘Hi, Zo, nice to see you!’” “Well, if I said that, I’d be lying,” Dean responds, not amused by her unexpected visit. “Oh, come on. You’re not still cranky, are you?” she chuckles. He walks out, pushing his gun under his pillow again. It’s just now that he notices the music is coming from Zoë’s Macbook, which she has installed near the window, the curtains hiding the device from plain sight. “I am still mad, as a matter of fact. So for the second time; what are you doing here?” he asks again, grumpily. “There was a fuss at the motel, I got into a fight with the shifter. Broke some stuff, police on their way. Yada yada. You know how it is,” she explains carelessly. “The shifter?” Now she has Dean’s full attention. “You got into a fight with the shifter?” “Yeah. The bastard followed me from the bar to the motel. Don’t ask, long story,” she says, apparently not finding it worth the elaboration.

Dean follows her with his eyes. “So he was at Beetle's.” “Yep, as Terry Cliffer. He almost had me fooled,” she admits with a chuckle. “But you got him, right?” Dean gets his confirmation, her raised eyebrow and a tilt of the head saying enough. “Who do you think I am?” she scoffs, insulted.

Dean takes a look at the huntress, eying her from top to bottom before a grin twitches at the corner of his mouth. He might still be cross with her, but having her standing in his hotel room in nothing more than a bathrobe, does raise a few dirty thoughts. Dean has to admit; she looks hot as hell. He wouldn’t mind having a peek at what’s under that robe, guessing that she’s not wearing anything else, since she just took a shower. Her hair is darkened by the water, droplets seeking a trail down her collarbone and into her cleavage. Although she washed off her makeup, she still has these warm, penetrating eyes, somewhere between hazel and chocolate. Her skin is smooth and a natural blush fires her cheeks. Zoë is one of those girls who doesn’t need to highlight her strong features with all that shit woman put on their faces to look pretty. “Do you really want me to answer that?” Dean counters sly.

“Oh, never mind.” She rolls her eyes and strolls to the window, glancing outside into the night. “I got him, but no thanks to your brother.” Dean's expression goes blank. Oops, Zoë might have a reason to be pissed off with them once again. “He fucked up?” he assumes. “Just a little,” she scoffs, raising her hand and putting her forefinger to her thumb, only leaving a small space between her fingertips. “He chased the shapeshifter and apparently had an encounter with him in his hideout. That didn’t go so well for your dear brother and he got locked up with the others. By the time I got there, the damn chameleon had already shed. So guess who I was facing?” Dean raises his eyebrows; Sam of course. Worry washes over him. “Is my brother okay?” he asks demanding. “He’s fine,” Zoë snaps. “Thanks for asking how I am, by the way. I was the one who got attacked from behind by a shapeshifter slash Sasquatch.” The huntress closes the curtains further, not wanting this to turn into a peepshow for people passing by. “Where is Sam now?” Dean questions, his nerves calmed a little, but still not totally at ease. “He volunteered to cover tracks. He mentioned something about you having a girl over for the night,” she recalls.

Again Dean freezes. Shit! Vicodin girl. He almost forgot about her. She’ll probably show up in two and a half hours or so. His gaze shifts to the scarcely covered woman in the room again. It would be the night of the century, two hot chicks in one evening. In a fucking bridal suite. Maybe Sam didn’t pick such a bad place afterall. He looks over, capturing the huntress with his emerald greens. He can't help it, but he knows his eyes are sparkling. “Looks like he was right.” She grins at that remark, amused by his attempt to woo her. Going along with it, she walks towards him, slowly and elegantly. “You would love to see that happen, wouldn’t you?” she teases.

Dean takes a shuddering breath, stunned to witness this seductful side of Zoë he hasn’t quite seen before. The song in the background fades to Skin On Skin by Queens of the Stone Age as the gorgeous woman approaches. He has to admit that he fantasized about her once or twice today, because - come on - just look at her. But with their rivalry, he never thought it would happen. Fuck, please let me be wrong about that one, he thinks to himself.

With lust in her eyes, she takes the collar of his flannel between her fingers and reels him in. When she moves closer, her mouth hovering over his, he reluctantly creates a distance. He expected a lot from Zoë, but this can’t really be happening, right? Was she playing hard to get all this time? He could've sworn Zoë wasn't into him at all; all they do is fight. She pouts. “Oh, don’t get awkward with me. You want to.” “Y’know, I normally don’t do this until the second date,” he says, referring to their talk this morning, when she patched him up. “The second date? I don’t think you’ve ever known a girl this long before you headed for your home run,” she counters.

Dean tilts his head slightly and nods, admittingly; she’s got a point there. Her arms cross behind his neck and she looks deep into his eyes when he returns her glance, challenging him. Her tongue peeks past her teeth, only just, but Dean notices, his focus flicking down to her lips. “Well then,” she responds. “What are you waiting for? You like to have fun, don’t you?” He stares back and can’t help his jaw from going slack. Automatically he reaches for her waist, fingertips softly pressing into her flesh. He seems to be looking in the eyes of Medusa, unable to move. She inches closer, pressing her hips into his, her pelvis rolling against the growing bulge in his jeans. Her grip around his neck tightens; he has nowhere to go if he wanted to. Their noses touch, he can feel her warm breath on his skin. “Dean?” “What?” he husks. She tilts her head and moves her mouth close to his ear, ready to share a little secret. “I am fun.”

Okay, that’s it. There’s no possible way that any straight guy in the universe could resist Zoë Sullivan, not to mention Dean Winchester. He gives in and meets her half way in a bruising kiss. Without any hesitation whatsoever, she opens her mouth to him immediately, swiping her tongue along his so unbelievably intense, that it catches him by surprise. His heart rate picks up as she grinds her body against his, her nails running through his hair, scratching his scalp to the point that it hurts, but in the best kind of way. He lets his hands explore her figure, feeling her shiver under his touch, even through the fleece fabric of her robe.

Leaving no time to waste, Zoë moves her hands down his toned chest, then lower, until she cups his erection through his jeans. The normally so fierce hunter, who always stands his ground no matter how challenging the fight or how crippling the pain, almost caves then and there. He breaks the kiss when oxygen becomes scarce, pressing her forehead against hers. Their noses touch, but she doesn’t kiss the hunter again. He can feel her grin against him, though, when she softly kneads his hardening dick through the fabric of his pants, breathing in his air when he groans. Dean sigh heavily; Jesus fucking Christ.

Despite the undivided attention she offers, he manages to undo the knot in the sash, opens her bathrobe slightly and slips his left hand between the fleece material and her skin. She feels warm, still heated from the shower, or is it something else? He travels down her body further, tracing the lines of her silhouette, slowly descending towards her core. With his palm pressed against the softness of her abdomen, Dean allows his touch to travel lower. Zoë stiffens, pausing her actions when the hunter opposite of her ghosts over her inner thighs, riling her up. Hungrily she buries her face into the crook between his neck and his shoulder, muffling a moan when the hunter parts her folds with his thick fingers and press into her. Now it’s Dean who smirks, pleased with her reaction and the slick he feels between her legs; she’s so goddamn wet already.

He repeats the act, dipping into her soaked center, gathering her juices before rubbing a small circle over her clit, finding the sensitive nub with ease. Zoë jerks, her grip on him tightening, a sound between a whimper and cry escaping her mouth. Dean can’t possibly imagine it, but judging from her response it seems like she hasn’t had sex in a while. She’s so eager, so willingly allowing him to please her; quite the opposite to the attitude he got from her so far.

The hunter pulls in a sharp intake of air when, despite approaching her own high, Zoë unbuckles his belt, flicks open the button of his jeans and runs down the zipper enough to have some space to work. She slips into his boxers, wraps her fingers around his hardened shaft and slowly starts to jerk him off. Dean tilts his head back and closes his eyes, grunting, a fiery sensation spreading to his limbs and rolling back to gather in his coil. Pre cum drips into her hand, smoothening the friction of the pumping motion. He collects himself, his jaw setting when she takes advantage of his exposed throat, sucking on his skin that without doubt will leave a mark. Fuck, the things he would do to have that sinful mouth somewhere else right now.

Trying to distract himself and prevent his climax from arriving embarrassingly fast, he pushes two fingers into her heat, the feel of the soft velvet of her walls delightful. His thumb flicks over her clit again while he curls his digits, letting them glide in and out in a steady rhythm. It’s obvious it has an effect on her, her sighs labored. The steady tempo in which she was pumping his erection until a moment ago, begins to falter. He feels her buckling forward and supports her, ignoring his injured shoulder, the dull pain suppressed by painkillers. The hunter pulls her closer to his chest and kisses her again, his arm snaking under the bathrobe she’s still wearing, his hand splayed between her shoulder blades.

Standing in the middle of the room while working each other over proves to be more difficult by the second, as he too feels his legs tingling and close to giving out, but it adds to the accelerating moment as well. For a second he considers taking her to that waterbed bed and fuck her into the waves until she comes, but he decides against it. He’s going to save it for later, because Zoë might think he’s a cocky bastard, he is determined to show her his arrogance when it comes to his skills in the bedroom are more than justified.

Her breathing picks up, the exhales more audible whenever her mouth leaves his, turning into sultry moans now that she’s nearing her peak. Unable to multitask at this point, her grip on his rock hard dick loosens further. Thankfully, because he was about to blow, and he’s nowhere near done with the voluptuous huntress. She clenches around him, her nails digging into his back now. He watches her as her mouth hangs slack, her lips red and full with arousal. The sounds she makes will without doubt travel beyond the walls of the suite, but she doesn’t seem to care; Zoë is anything but a prude.

Dean continues to rub the pad of his thumb in ovals, while pushing his fingers as deep as he can, three of them at this point. She begins to tremble, her eyes shut tight, her brows pulled together. “That’s it,” he husks. “Does that feel good?” “G-god, yes,” she manages to utter. “Dean, please… m-make me come.” He stares at the face, which is contorted with pleasure. Holy fucking shit, she just begged him. Zoë Sullivan just begged for an orgasm. Who would have thought he’d ever hear a plea like that fall from her lips. Dean doesn’t have to be told twice; he turns up both pressure and speed by a nodge. She stops breathing all together, her muscles so tight that they spasm. The build up is almost too much for her too handle, her painfully blissful grip and her quaking body telling him she’s almost there.

Right as Dean wonders how much longer she’s going to last without air, Zoë cries out, coming undone on his fingers. With a content smile on his lips he works her through it, her dripping walls pulsing as he slowly and gently moves out and back into her, while he supports her crumbling form. Watching a woman climax has always been one of his favorite aspects about sex, but witnessing the tough as nails huntress completely spent by his doing, has got to be the sexiest view he’s ever seen. “You alright?” he chuckles, low and gruff. She nods, regaining composure. Dean retrieves his digits from her and is stunned when she takes his hand and brings it up to suck his fingers into her mouth, her tongue collecting her own juices. He wets his lips, too, his dick responding to the sensual sight. Jesus, just when he thought she couldn’t get any hotter. Zoë lets go of him then, pushing him off, teasingly. He looks up from her lips on which the slick shimmers, into her hypnotizing eyes. She grins devilish as she speaks the words he hoped to hear. “Now it’s your turn.”

Without breaking the contact, she lets the bathrobe slide from her shoulders, watching confidently how Dean takes her in. It doesn’t happen often, but he’s lost for words. Before him stands a woman who could be on the cover of even the most exclusive skin mag. He felt her body under his touch and knew she was gorgeous, but to actually see her completely naked, shows that ‘gorgeous’ doesn’t quite cut it. Her beautiful hourglass-shaped waist, proportioned breasts, not too big for her frame, but small and perky. Slender yet muscular, clearly trained and prepared to take on evil. Shit, she’s the American wet dream.

When he looks closer, he notices the stories her body has to tell. Tattoos decorate her rib cage, her groin and the inside of her biceps, but right now Dean is too distracted to philosophize about the meaning of the ink. Scars inflicted by the things that she hunts damaged her tanned skin, but don’t take away her beauty. In fact, it adds to it, because before him stands a kick ass woman, a powerhouse.

Zoë grins when she witnesses the adoration in Dean's expression, walks up to him and kisses him eagerly. The fire in the pit of his stomach turns into a blaze again, his respiration soon quickening. Not having much clothing to pull off her body, he helps her unbutton his flannel without breaking their kiss. When she rips off the shirt, he can hear the stitching crack, but he doesn’t give a damn. His hands trace the lines of her figure, brushing past what seems to be a burn on her shoulder. When he touches it, she winces slightly. “Where you get that?” he wonders, a hint of worry in his voice. She shrugs. “Shifter tried to shoot me again. It’s fine, the bullet barely grazed me.” Dean, not so careless, lets his eyes linger on the damaged skin, before he reaches for her face and caresses her jaw softly. “I’m fine,” Zoë promises, smiling at the concern in his eyes.

The huntress closes the gap between them and presses her lips on his again, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind. She folds her arms around his neck and he lifts her up, the strain of his shoulder reminding him of his own injury. She giggles lasciviously and hooks her long legs around his waist, as he walks over to the waterbed and drops her on it a moment later. He hovers over her and kisses her pulsepoint, the moan that escapes her total blasphemy. “It’s your turn, remember,” she purrs. Impatient, the huntress attempts to shove his jeans down, tracing the hem of his boxers, but he stops her. “Who says I was done with you?” Dean teases, leaving a trail of kisses from her breasts to her stomach, before he retreats. Zoë pouts. “Don’t pull back now.” “I have a little something to make this even more interesting,” he says with that up-to-no-good smirk on his face, his eyebrow arched.

He slides off the bed and walks to the table, where he unravels the gift basket he received downstairs. Smirking he turns around and shows off the handcuffs, twirling them around his finger. “You have a dirty mind, boy,” she says pleased, liking where this is going. He crawls back on the bed, which waves like a light swell at sea, and while he leans over her, he gently grabs her wrists and cuffs them behind the steel bars of the bed. Then he sits up and looks at her naked form. “No, I just have a very bright mind,” he corrects. “Whatever you want, Dean. I’m all yours tonight.” She pulls at her bottom lip with her teeth, spreading her legs and leaving nothing to the imagination. “You sure are.”

He leans in again, but instead of kissing her, he takes the gun from under his pillow. Startled Zoë tries to sit up in her restraints, unpleasantly surprised by the sudden change of character. “What the fuck are you doing?” she asks, concerned. Dean gets off the bed and casually leaves his gun on the table, buttoning his jeans again and fastening his belt. He then proceeds to walk to his duffel bag, from which he takes a silencer. Slowly, he strolls towards the bed again as he screws it on. “I’m hunting,” he answers, as a matter of factly. “What are you talking about? It’s me, God damn it!” She tries to convince him, a hint of panic in her voice. “Yeah, about that. Zoë, right? I have to say, good impression.” He admits. “You almost had me. It wasn’t until you got out of that robe when I noticed you missed a tiny little detail.” They stare each other in the eye, him confident, her nervous, waiting for the other to say something. When the silence remains, Dean takes the lead. “You shot her, you son of a bitch,” he brings to mind, anger thick in his voice.

It’s just now that the person - or rather, the creature - in bed realizes what is going on. Stammering, she looks at Dean. The injury Zoë was left with after last night’s events is nowhere to be seen. Yet a bullet, probably coming from either her or Sam’s gun, has grazed its shoulder. “Ah, you forgot about that, didn’t you?” He chuckles triumphantly, aiming the gun. “No! Wait, Dean! I can explain--” “- I bet you can.”

A dim shot followed by complete silence, ending the life of the shifter once and for all. Dean breathes out and stares at the entry wound in its chest, where he sent the bullet right through the heart. He swallows thickly, because the resemblance with Zoë is uncanny. He twists the muffler from his gun and tugs the weapon behind his belt, quickly picking up his shirt from the floor. After pulling it over his head, he checks his phone. The list of calls shows none unanswered; Sam didn’t call. He grunts, realizing that his little brother is probably in trouble, and Zoë, too. He has to find them, for all he knows they could be dead. Fuck! This case wasn’t even supposed to be our case!

Pondering, he rubs his face, worried about his little brother. He has to keep it together; now is not the time to lose his cool. Think, Dean. He looks around, his gaze lingering once it captures Sam’s computer. The hunter stalks towards the laptop, moving his fingertip over the mousepad to activate the screen. 'Completed', it says. “Completed what?” Dean wonders out loud, frustrated. Goddamnit! Why did he get caught up in his anger? He should have tried to get that bastard to give up the location of his hideout. Now he has nothing!

Dean scans the screen, noticing a pop up asking if he wants to open the downloaded file. He double clicks ‘Yes’. A PDF file opens and a blueprint of the entire area fills the screen. He reads the title; it’s a map of the city’s sewer system. Sam apparently was trying to find out from which house or drainage the shapeshifter was working. He remembers his brother saying his hideout must be somewhere on 110th Ave NW, but that’s a damn long street. He sighs angrily; how the hell is he gonna find them?

Then he spots something unusual. A red sewer line follows the street, running from the main sewer all the way up to a house, far from the main road. When he reads the marginal note, he learns that the particular sewer line was put in the ground this year. Suspicious? Could be, most houses so far off the main roads have their own tanks. And wait a minute, isn't this the same place they checked out last night? He was quite sure it was clean, apparently they missed something. It’s not much, but it is the only lead he has right now. He closes the laptop, grabs his leather coat and rushes to the cabinet to grab his keys... “Fuck!” he roars.

How could he forget? Sam has the keys. Sam has the fucking car! He runs his fingers through his hair and curses again. He has to steal another vehicle, he’s got no other option. Then his eyes capture the shifter, lying naked and dead on the bed, blood leaking from the chest wound. Let’s rephrase that question; how did that filthy lizard get here? In three strides Dean is at the window and shoves the curtains aside. Relieved, he breathes out. The hunter wouldn’t have thought so last night, but he’s damn glad to see that shiny black Harley Davidson, with the keys still in the ignition, waiting for him underneath the window.

Dean opens the lid and climbs out, not wanting to be seen by staff in the lobby. Skillfully the hunter descents down the old fire escape and lands on the ground with both feet, bending his knees to cushion the landing. The Harley is a sight for sore eyes, especially now that it’s his only available form of transportation. He starts the engine, the headlight spreading a bright light ahead. The bike is heavy, it surprises him how Zoë is able to handle the cruiser so easily. One thing is certain, he realizes, as he gasses up and leaves the parking lot; he better not fuck up this bike. Because Zoë will either kill him or haunt him, depending if she’s still alive or not.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page).

Read part ten here

The Sullivan Series tags: @a-gir1-has-n0-name @destielhoneybee @fookinghelljensensthighs @idksupernatural @laphirablack @magssteenkamp

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