Honestly, the lyrics tell you everything you need to know.
Link to my favorite version if you want to give it a listen: If It Kills Me by Jason Mraz
Hello, tell me you know Yeah, you figured me out Something gave it away And it would be such a beautiful moment To see the look on your face To know that I know that you know now
And baby that’s a case of my wishful thinking You know nothing Cause you and I Why, we go carrying on for hours, on and We get along much better Than you and your boyfriend
Well all I really wanna do is love you A kind much closer than friends use But I still can’t say it after all we’ve been through And all I really want from you is to feel me As the feeling inside keeps building And I will find a way to you if it kills me If it kills me
Well how long, can I go on like this, Wishing to kiss you, Before I rightly explode? This double life I lead isn’t healthy for me In fact it makes me nervous If I get caught I could be risking it all
Baby there’s a lot that I miss In case I’m wrong
Well all I really wanna do is love you A kind much closer than friends use But I still can’t say it after all we’ve been through And all I really want from you is to feel me As the feeling inside keeps building And I will find a way to you if it kills me If it kills me
If I should be so bold I’d ask you to hold my heart in your hand Tell you from the start how I’ve longed to be your man But I never said a word I guess I’m gonna miss my chance again
Well all I really wanna do is love you A kind much closer than friends use But I still can’t say it after all we’ve been through And all I really want from you is to feel me As the feeling inside keeps building And I will find a way to you if it kills me If it kills me
If it kills me I think it might kill me
And all I really want from you is to feel me It’s a feeling inside that keeps building And I will find a way to you if it kills me If it kills me If it kills me It might kill me
Summary:You weren’t supposed to be in this mess. Hunting wasn’t your thing; you much preferred the safety of research sitting behind a computer screen.
Now as you looked across the space at your best friends, it was everything you could do not to give up.
You had to hold on, though. For them.
For him.
Triggers: torture, swearing, possible sexual abuse
A/N: I do not own any pics or gifs. This was a request from anon, and I am so excited to share it with you soon!
Summary: You’re broken. You know this. And as many times as you’ve told yourself that it made you unlovable, dysfunctional, and flawed—you still found yourself feeling hopeful when you met Dean Winchester.
“So, you get into hunting like the rest of us? Some monster kill someone you love?” Dean asked, crossing his ankles and leaning back while he sipped on his glass of whiskey. You had followed the ‘67 Impala you were admiring earlier to a bar on the outskirts of town. It was a little seedy, but that was something you were used to.
You quietly cleared your throat, picking at the label on your beer. “No, my uh…my family died at the hands of a drunk driver.”
“That sucks,” Dean replied. It didn’t sound insincere or flippant, though. You could tell he meant it. And when you met his gaze you found pity and understanding there.
“I bounced around from foster home to foster home from the age of seven to eighteen. Then I fell ass-backwards into hunting when a werewolf gave me this nice trophy,” you said, gesturing to your scar.
The brothers nodded in understanding. Sam had that same empathetic look on his face as before. Dean, however, was regarding the scar with his eyes as if it were some kind of trophy or a battle scar. You blushed involuntarily and looked away, continuing your quest to remove the beer label.
“Do you have any sight left in your eye?” Sam asked cautiously.
You gave him a small smile. People didn’t usually ask you about your scar or your eye. In fact, they usually pretended it wasn’t there because it made them uncomfortable.
“No,” you said, your eyes shifting down. “The werewolf’s claws tore too deep for my eye to be repaired.”
“Well I’ll tell you one thing,” Dean began, lifting his glass toward you, “you’re still one hell of shot.”
You lifted your bottle to meet his glass and and clinked them together. “It wasn’t always that way,” you said. “When all this happened I had never even held a gun. So along with learning how to use one, I had to learn to adjust to my lack of depth perception. With everything, actually.”
Dean’s mouth lifted in a half smile.
“What?” you asked him, your own mouth curving up a little.
“Nothin’…I guess I’m just picturing you reaching for things and missing and tripping over stuff you thought was further away. It’s kinda funny,” he replied.
You found yourself chuckling, the action a foreign feeling in your throat. “Yeah, it was sorta like a bad sitcom for a while. Lots of physical comedy.”
“You know what that reminds me of?” Sam said, a smile on his face, too. “That time we lost that lucky rabbit’s foot and we were fumbling around like idiots.”
The brothers chuckled and you looked at them with questioning eyes, a smile still on your face, too.
“Yeah,” Dean said, answering your silent question. “Turns out the thing was cursed…”
He went on to tell the rest of the story as well as a few others. It was great hearing about their funny experiences on the job. Hunting was generally a sad occupation that ended in death. Swapping funny stories with the boys made it seem a little better, though.
Before you knew it, it had grown late. Sam had left about an hour before to head back to the motel where you were all staying, and you and Dean had stayed at the bar, telling more stories and getting to know each other. The bartender made last call and the the two of you stumbled out into the cool air, opting to walk the few blocks to the motel.
You remembered walking to your door. You remembered laughing a lot. You remembered Dean’s smile. Other than that, though, the next morning you found your mind to be empty. What was not empty, however, was your bed.
No…that was filled by Dean Winchester.
Shit, shit, shit.
You got out of bed quietly so as not to wake Dean and went to the bathroom after grabbing your duffel bag.
Did I sleep with this guy on the first night I met him?
You looked at yourself in the mirror and realized that you had pajamas on.
Not naked. Good sign.
Waking up in bed with a guy was pretty damning evidence, though.
You got dressed and left the bathroom, grabbing everything of yours and stuffing it in your bag, your face flushing with embarrassment every time your eyes landed on the bed. Thankfully, Dean didn’t wake up. You slipped out, walked the few blocks to the bar where you left your car, and got in, wanting to forget what you couldn’t remember.
Once you were about an hour away, you stopped at a diner for some breakfast. You sat at your table, scrolling through the news to see if you could find a new case. After the waitress brought your coffee (which you were hoping would help with the raging hangover) you heard your phone chime. You picked it up and read the name.
Dean Winchester.
You sighed. Apparently we also exchanged numbers last night. Great, you thought.
D: i hope youre just out gettin us some coffee, sweetheart
You rubbed a hand down your face, feeling totally awkward.
Y: Listen, I gather that we had some fun last night but I’m not looking for anything serious, okay? You can relax.
You put your phone down, pleased with your response. This way, he would have an out if he was just looking for a one-night-stand.
Your phone buzzed a few seconds later.
D: we did have some fun last night but i don’t think it’s the kind you’re thinking of
You sucked in a breath. We didn’t have sex? You thought to yourself.
D: not that I’d be opposed to that kind of fun ;)
You had to laugh at that in spite of your embarrassment.
Y: Wow, a girl gets blackout drunk and you don’t take advantage. Must be a real gentleman.
D: i try. now where are you
Y: Well I was colossally embarrassed when I thought I slept with you right after I met you, so I’m an hour outside of town.
D: will you come back and have breakfast with me?
Y: Well I’m colossally embarrassed that I thought we had sex and we didn’t and that I fled because I thought we did so I think…no.
D: please sweetheart. just wanna get to know you more. i can fill in the gaps from last night
You paused to think about if you really wanted to see him again or if you just wanted to let this go. It wasn’t like you had a lot of friends—none, to be exact. And knowing hunters could be helpful down the line.
D: i’ll even bring Sammy if it makes you feel better. no funny business
You felt your resolve slip. He just wanted to be friends, and you could appreciate that. You told him where you were and he agreed to meet you there with Sam. Thankfully you hadn’t ordered yet, so you just sipped on coffee until they arrived.
You didn’t miss the looks of the staff and other patrons when the boys sat down with you. You knew the looks well. It was a little different this time, though. Usually, the looks said, “wow, look at the freak’s face.” This time, they said, “wow, I can’t believe those incredibly handsome men are here with the scar-face.”
You leaned forward a little, letting your hair shade your right side of your face. After the boys got settled in there was an awkwardly silent moment where Dean’s eyes scanned your face. Sam got up to go to the counter to “get the coffee orders in.” You knew he just wanted to give the two of you a second, though.
“Dean, I’m sor—“
“No need to apologize,” he said, interrupting you with a half-smile on his face. “Honestly, Y/N, all we did last night was talk. Then we fell asleep on your bed. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
You felt your heart squeeze a little bit. He was being so nice and he didn’t need to be–what with you running out first thing this morning with little to no information.
Stop it, you heard in your head.
You shook your head a little to clear it. “Thanks, Dean.” He gave you a killer smile and you couldn’t help but smile back before you could remind yourself not to get too close to him.
The three of you ate breakfast and just chatted after that. You were surprised at how comfortable you were with them. It was rare for you to let your guard down enough to joke with people and even more rare for you to enjoy it.
“So, Y/N, what’s next for you?” Sam asked when you were all too stuffed to eat any more pancakes.
“I’m not sure,” you said with a shrug, finishing off your coffee. “Just start looking for another case, I guess.”
Dean looked at his brother and the two had a silent exchange that you couldn’t quite interpret.
“Well, uh, if you want, we are actually heading to another case today,” Dean said, running his hand through his hair. “It’s actually right by our home base, so if you wanted to help, you’d have a place to stay for free.”
“That’s nice, Dean, but I wouldn’t want to be a bother. If you need help with the case I can always just get another motel,” you responded. You feared he was only offering out of some kind of pity he felt for you.
“No, no, you would have to stay with us. Trust me, you wanna see where we live,” Dean said with a devilish smirk. You weren’t sure what that meant but when Sam rolled his eyes behind Dean’s back you decided to just go with it.
“Okay, you’re on.”
As you all got up to leave you couldn’t help but be shocked at how much your path had changed in the last twenty-four hours. Hanging out with other hunters was not something you had done before. In fact, you hadn’t really hung out with anyone in your adult life. It was scary, but something about it also felt exhilarating.
“See if you can keep up,” Dean said with a nudge as he walked by you. You knew it would be tough keeping up with the Impala, but you decided you were up for all kinds of new challenges.
Summary: You’re broken. You know this. And as many times as you’ve told yourself that it made you unlovable, dysfunctional, and flawed—you still found yourself feeling hopeful when you met Dean Winchester.
If there was an award for the unluckiest person in the world, you’d probably win.
Scratch that, you wouldn’t. Because ironically enough, you have to have luck to win things.
You hopped out of the lemon of a sedan you had stolen only two days before and kicked the door shut hard with your foot. The silver paint was rusting off and the windshield was cracked—some signs you should have noticed when choosing your target, apparently.
Inconspicuously stealing cars was hard enough. Did you also have to always pick the ones that are on the verge of total engine failure?
Summary: You’re broken. You know this. And as many times as you’ve told yourself that it made you unlovable, dysfunctional, and flawed—you still found yourself feeling hopeful when you met Dean Winchester.
If there was an award for the unluckiest person in the world, you’d probably win.
Scratch that, you wouldn’t. Because ironically enough, you have to have luck to win things.
You hopped out of the lemon of a sedan you had stolen only two days before and kicked the door shut hard with your foot. The silver paint was rusting off and the windshield was cracked—some signs you should have noticed when choosing your target, apparently.
Inconspicuously stealing cars was hard enough. Did you also have to always pick the ones that are on the verge of total engine failure?
You huffed a sigh and slung your canvas backpack onto your shoulder, dragging your feet and kicking up dust on the road as you walked toward the nearest hint of civilization. You could see signs for fast food up ahead, the once-brightly-colored plastic—now faded from the sun—hovering above several boring brick buildings.
You breathed in the scent of fresh air mixed with french fries as you walked, your stomach grumbling at the thought of food.
You pulled out your phone, opening the map app and checking how far you were from the hunt you had planned to arrive at tonight.
Well, that’s not happening without wheels.
After walking for about five minutes you reached the small strip of restaurants and shady-looking convenience stores. You decided to forgo greasy burgers, instead ducking into a small diner that promised the “fluffiest flapjacks around.”
You seated yourself as the small sign at the register suggested. You chose a booth by the window and sat so your right side was facing outside. You folded your legs under you and pulled out your laptop to continue researching the case.
“What can I get ya, hon?” Without looking up from your computer you answered the waitress quickly.
“Coffee, pancakes, fries. Please and thank you.”
You heard the waitress huff out a small chuckle but ignored it.
Time went by quickly when you were absorbed in werewolf lore and before you knew it your food was placed in front of you.
“Thank you,” you said, looking at the waitress out of the corner of your eye. You saw in your periphery that she was an older woman, probably in her late fifties. She gave you a smile, the wrinkles around her eyes becoming prominent as she muttered something about “kids and their technology” while walking away.
You rolled your eyes to yourself. I’m not a kid.
In fact you were in your late twenties, but you were sure you hadn’t been a kid since you were about seven anyway.
You ate slowly, still scrolling through your computer. You let your long Y/H/C hair fall over the right side of your face as was your habit.
You got the sudden feeling that someone was watching you. You peered up through your eyelashes to see a man sitting one booth away. He was facing you, the other side of his booth unoccupied as well. He smiled, and you felt a small blush rise to your cheeks.
He was cute, and you found yourself smiling back at him, which was not something you would normally do. He had jet black hair and eyes that were almost dark enough to match. He had dimples in his cheeks, and before you could even react, he was getting up to come talk to you.
He sat across from you and smiled again, reaching out his hand.
“I’m Jake,” he said in a friendly tone. You were so thrown off by his approach that you forgot yourself for a moment, reaching up and tucking your hair behind your ear before shaking his hand.
“Y/N,” you said. You barely got your name out before you saw it. It was the same reaction everyone had: shock followed by an attempt to mask their feelings of disgust.
“Uh, nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said. You didn’t believe him for a second. “I, uh, actually forgot that I have somewhere to be and I’m late.”
He exited the booth without another word. The whole interaction lasted less than thirty seconds. You threw money on the table, packed up your bag and headed to the bathroom. You leaned over the sink, throwing water on your face to cool it down. You looked in the mirror after drying it with a paper towel.
Emotionless eyes—one Y/E/C, one cloudy blue—stared back at you. You used your finger to lightly trace the line down the right side of your face—the one that split your eyebrow down the middle. The one that stretched all the way down to your chin. The one whose creation had also taken the sight in your right eye.
The one that caused “cute-guy-Jake” to flee immediately when he saw it.
The next day you finally made it to the small town in Missouri where you were sure there was a werewolf hunt. Life may not have been kind to you, but you were pretty good when it came to your instincts as a monster hunter.
Especially with werewolves.
You clenched your teeth silently and parked your most recent theft on the side of the road. You went for something newer this time, a silver 2008 Toyota Corolla. You figured it would most likely run okay. The only problem with newer cars was the alarms. You had stalked the owner for a bit, watching to see if an alarm set with the tell-tale two beeps when they locked it.
Luckily, it didn’t.
You liked this car. It was nicer to drive than you were used to. There was something to be said for the classics, though. They always just felt so lived in—so loved.
Speaking of classics—there was a classic ‘67 Impala parked a little way up the street from you. It was beautiful and well taken care of. You slid your hand across the shiny black paint as you walked by it, the surface silky smooth and obviously recently waxed.
You snapped yourself out of your classic-car-daze and headed quickly toward the old farm house on silent feet. As you got closer you heard swearing and snarling. Never a good sign.
You slowly cracked open the front door, trying to get a peek inside without making the door—that looked to be a hundred years old—creak too loudly.
You were surprised to see not only three repulsive werewolves standing in front of an old, dusty fireplace, but also two human men. Well, the men weren’t standing so much as being held captive.
One man who you could tell was very tall was laying on the floor unconscious. The other had his back against the mantle of the fireplace, his hands raised in surrender. Though he was clearly outmatched and outnumbered, he still had a cocky air about him—as if he knew he would get out of this jam.
The man’s gun had been kicked away from him and it lay about three feet in front of the door you were peeking through. You knew that the men were hunters. Who else would be stupid enough to come after a monster that had three times their strength.
You chuckled inwardly. Me, I guess.
A plan formed in your mind and you set it in motion immediately, knowing this man didn’t have much time left. You threw open the door, causing all four conscious heads to turn your way. In one swift motion you swept your arm down, picking up the other hunter’s gun and pointing yours at one wolf’s heart, pulling the trigger before it had time to react.
Shooting a werewolf right in the heart with a silver bullet was probably the thing you were best at when it came to hunting. It had been just about the only thing you had practiced in your down time in the last ten years.
While the wolves were distracted the hunter attacked the two you hadn’t shot from behind, causing them to fall to the floor. You chucked the gun to him and he caught it expertly, immediately aiming and pulling the trigger, sending a bullet into the second wolf’s heart.
The final one scrambled to his feet, ready to attack. You saw in his eyes that he knew he was done for, though, and you pulled the trigger before he had a chance to run.
With all three wolves dead, the man ran to his partner, attempting to shake him from unconsciousness. You slid your gun in the back of your pants and walked toward them. The man was able to rouse his partner, and he helped him up as the taller man took in the situation.
Both men looked at you at the same time. You prepared yourself for their reaction when they took a good look at your face. You were surprised, though, when you watched them both react in ways that you’d never experienced before.
The taller man looked at you, his hazel eyes narrowing just the slightest bit. Not in a mean way, though. He looked as though he was trying to understand what had happened to you. His eyes changed, then, as he pushed some of his long chestnut hair behind his ear. There was pity in them, but not the kind you were used to. You realized slowly that it wasn’t pity. It was empathy.
You looked to the other man now, taking him in as he did the same to you. He had short hair that was styled in a way that looked effortless but amazing. He had dazzling green eyes, the kind that look like they couldn’t possibly be real. You knew, though, that hunters didn’t have time for things like colored contacts.
You watched as his eyes followed the scar on your face, sliding down your forehead and stopping on your blind eye before ending to the right of your mouth. He didn’t react like his partner, though. In fact, he barely reacted at all. It was as if he had noticed that you had freckles or dimples—not a hideous scar.
“You really saved our asses,” he said, his deep voice booming.
“It’s no biggie,” you said, hating how high and nervous your voice sounded. The men didn’t seem to notice, though.
“I’m Sam Winchester and this is my brother, Dean,” the taller man said. His eyes were kind, and you found yourself making contact with them which was unusual for you.
“I’m Y/N,” you said, letting your hair fall like a curtain over the right side of your face. It was a habit you had, and the fact that it covered your scar was the only reason you kept your hair long.
“Well, Y/N,” Dean said, clapping his hands together, “what do you say we buy you a drink as a thank you?”
You were hesitant. You usually tried to stay away from other hunters—and people in general. Something told you that you could trust these men, though. You were going to be careful, anyway.
“So, how much will it cost to hire an omega for a weekend with my family. I got that huge family dinner ahead and I’m tired of telling them I’m happy without an omega and pups,” you look up from the folder on your desk.
“We should talk about your taste and, my rules first, Mr. Winchester,” the man huffs as you put your glasses back on. “If you don’t want to follow my rules, you can turn toward some other omega for hire service.”
Summary:Soulless Sam has no filter and likes to reveal the truth.
Rating:Mature
Pairing:Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader
Other pairings: mentions of Alpha!John Winchester x Omega!Reader
Warnings:angst, mentions of abandonement, a/b/o, implied claiming, mentions of sex, mentions of polyamory, soulless Sam being a douche, implied cheating
“Y/N, what do you want here,” Sam sighs deeply. He runs one hand down his face while the girl in front of him hastily tugs his cock back in his pants. “I’m kinda busy here.”
“You’re still my alpha!” you sniffle, eyes filling with fresh tears. “I was worried and followed you. I wanted to make sure you are safe.”
