Imagine you’re an angel and you meet MOC Dean and feel an instant connection with him.
Pairing: Angel! Reader x MOC Dean
Lines: 70. I thought I could handle it, but I was so so wrong. 30. I wasn’t allowed to do this. But I couldn’t resist.
Requested By: @fly-f0rever Hope you like this. I took out one of the requested lines because I just couldn’t work it in. I went with these two though. Let me know what you think and feel free to request another story. :D
Word Count: 1140
Warning: None really, maybe a little angsty?
When the angels had been cast from heaven, you had found yourself in a familiar yet unfamiliar world. You had always wondered what roaming the Earth would be like. Well, wish granted. Thanks to Castiel and Metatron, that is exactly where you found yourself.
When Hannah restored order to Heaven, you decided you were not going back. You had adapted to life on earth quickly and easily. You had become entranced with watching over a particular human. You couldn’t just abandon him because order had been restored in heaven. You had grown to like it here.
You had never made yourself fully known to him, but you had headed off many threats before they reached him. He was indebted to you, and he wasn’t even aware of it. The man? Dean Winchester. He had the mark of Cain, and you had watched him spiral out of control after he was cured of being a Demon. Slowly, the mark had taken it’s hold on him, and you wanted to save this man that you had come to have strong feelings for.
Tonight you decided you weren’t going to stay hidden in the shadows any longer. You weren’t allowed to do this, but you couldn’t resist. You walked into the bar wearing an outfit you had learned accentuated your best assets. The shirt was low cut, just enough to give a preview without giving away the show for free. Your jeans hugged your hips, and every other part of your legs for that matter.
You took a deep breathe and walked into the bar, sauntering past Dean as you headed to the bar. You leaned against the bar, your cleavage on display.
“What’ll it be, miss?” the bartender asked, his eyes not once meeting yours. “It’s on the house,” he smiled.
“Tequila,” you replied. You weren’t sure how alcohol would affect an angel, but you were about to find out.
The bartender slid the drink across the bar to you, and you picked it up and downed it in one swig. The amber liquid burned as it traveled down your throat, your face contorting in response to the warm sensation.
Just then, Dean walked up beside you. “Two more,” he motioned at the bartender. You glanced over at him, and you were sure he could hear your heart hammering in your chest. “Hi,” he said with a lopsided cocky grin as he handed you the drink.
“Hello,” you replied as you downed the second drink to calm your nerves. This time it didn’t burn as much, and you were starting to feel a warm sensation spread throughout your body. You weren’t sure if the feeling was coming from the alcohol or from your close proximity to Dean, but you let it wash over you and comfort you. You took a breath, immediately feeling more relaxed.
Dean laughed. “You don’t mess around when it comes to drinking,” he smiled at you. “A woman after my own heart. I’m Dean, by the way,” he added before downing his drink, wincing slightly as he did.
“Y/N,” you replied with a smile.
“Y/N,” Dean repeated as he let your name roll around in his head for a moment. “Would you care to join me?” he asked.
Your heart beat more rapidly in your chest and you smiled. “Sure.”
You followed him to a booth that wasn’t well lit and slid in on one side. You had expected Dean to slide in across from you, but instead he sat down right next to you. He smelled strongly of soap and leather.
You took a deep breath to calm your nerves, but it did little to help, it just filled your head with him.
Dean watched you, smiling. “You don’t look like the kind of woman who does this often,” he observed.
You chuckled softly, relaxing slightly. “Am I that obvious?” you asked, your brows furrowing.
Dean looked at you as though he was mulling something over. He narrowed his eyes before he responded. “I don’t know that you were obvious. There is just something about you…” he trailed off as he absentmindedly rubbed the spot on his arm where you knew the mark to be. His eyes were locked on yours as if he was searching them for an answer.
Without thinking, you reached out and touched his arm. To your surprise, he didn’t flinch away, though his muscles reacted to your touch. Tentatively, you took a chance and rolled up his sleeve to reveal the mark. Dean took in a sharp breath as you ran a thumb gently over the raised scar.
“Did that hurt?” you asked as you watched his face carefully. His eyes were closed, and he was taking slow, measured breaths.
“For the first time in a long time, no,” he responded opening his eyes and looking at you. It was your turn to search his eyes for an answer. You slowly brought his arm to your mouth and kissed the mark. Dean moan in relief at your touch.
You looked up at him.
“Who are you?” he asked calmly. Your heart skipped a beat.
“I told you,” you responded as you gently rubbed circles over the mark.
“No,” he said shaking his head, his voice low. “I mean what are you?” he clarified.
You didn’t know what to say so you remained silent, looking down at the mark.
“Look this mark has been a pain in my ass for months. You get your hands, your lips on it, and I felt an instant relief,” he placed his hand on your face, running his thumb across your cheek, forcing you to meet his gaze. You leaned into his touch as you contemplated telling him everything. You had watched this man for so long, protected him for so long. Now, he wanted to know who you were, and you wanted to tell him. You felt like you owed him that much.
Instead you leaned forward and kissed him hesitantly. He pulled away and looked into your eyes, relief from his pain evident again. He knitted his brows together, trying to figure the mystery out. Giving in, his lips crashed onto yours.
You weren’t sure how you were freeing Dean of pain, but if this was how you could help, you were more than willing to.
Dean’s hands roamed your body greedily as if each time he touched you, it offered him healing he’d been searching for, longing for. He trailed hot, wet kisses down your neck and onto your collarbone. His hands were under your shirt and came to rest on your breast, squeezing gently.
You felt your core ache with need as you moaned Dean’s name, threading your fingers through his hair. His lips devoured yours desperately. It was then that you realized as you were shuddering beneath his touch, that you thought you could handle this, control yourself, but you were so so wrong.
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