A Girl Called Mike - Part Four
Pairing: Dean × Reader
Word Count: Around 3500
The reader disguises herself during hunting jobs as a man named Mike
and has met up with the Winchesters several times. They are unaware of
her true identity. Feeling they know and trust Mike, they agree to
invite the reader to the bunker.
Warnings: Language, Violence
This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!
Special thanks and shout out to @misguidedconqueress for reviewing, editing, suggestions, and as always putting up with me.
You took one last huff of the cigarette before cursing at yourself and running it under the water so that it would be out for good. You removed the wig and peeled off the false stubble before going to run the shower. Unbuttoning your shirt revealed the wrap that was still heavily stained with blood. But underneath, there was only skin. There was no scar, even the fishing line was gone. You rubbed your hand over it still amazed.
You stepped in the shower taking the time to run through possible scenarios of how the evening might play out. You and Dean ending up in the same bed was a highly unlikely outcome but that didn’t keep you from thinking about it. After showering and wrapping a towel around yourself, you wiped the steam from the mirror.
“No turning back.” You commanded yourself voice unaltered as grabbed the makeup bag. “Just something natural, something to highlight the features…” You nervously said outloud.
You gazed in the mirror looking for a place to start. You had let your eyebrows go for quite sometime and really didn’t want to introduce yourself with the caterpillar look. A few unkempt mustache hairs here and there. With watery eyes and stinging skin, you were finally done with the tweezers. Despite yearning to pitch them into the trashcan, you forced yourself to put them in the makeup bag as you would most likely need them for future use.
You took out the concealer - taking a second to remember what it’s intended purpose was. A bit of powder. What you really took your time to focus on was your eyes, you wanted them to pop. You accented them with a palette of natural colors but chose black eyeliner and heavy mascara. A little bit of gloss too, to make your lips shine. You left your hair simple, dried with just a bit of styling product to keep it in place.
Now to the most difficult part, what the fuck were you going to wear? If you had more time, you would go shopping, but as usual, you were already running late. So you looked through your pack. You literally only had yoga pants, a camisole, a gray t-shirt, and skinny jeans. Well, that made the decision fairly easy. Skinny jeans and the gray shirt it was. If you weren’t wearing the undershirt, the vneck of the gray tshirt made the girls look quite appetizing and part of you wanted to see Dean drool, only if for a second before he realized who you were. You tossed the camisole aside deciding to let them breathe.
You looked one final time in the mirror. “I guess that’s as good as it’s going to get.” You slid into your only pair of sandals before leaving the room and disguise behind.
On the way over to the bar, you distracted yourself by scanning through the radio stations. But when you pulled into the bar’s parking lot your chest tightened and your breath was caught in your throat. You parked next to the empty Impala, which made your beater look like a hunk of junk. Before walking to the entrance you rubbed the hood of the Impala, its glossy exterior shining in the neon lights. She wouldn’t judge you, you thought. “Wish me luck.”