#firefighter au

firefighter yuuji doodle

Pairing: Firefighter!Dean Winchester x Reporter!Reader

Series Summary: Dean and Y/N have been best friends and inseparable since they were kindergartners, leading somewhat boringly normal lives in Lawrence City, Kansas. Now all grown up, Dean is working as a firefighter and Y/N as a reporter until one fateful night changes not only their lives but also their friendship forever.

Warnings: +18, strong language, light to implied smut (it’s an appetizer), flangst, a break-up (YAY ), a mix of angst, hurt & jealousy

Word Count:4.4k

A/N:She’s pissed. He’s sorry. Let’s still call this progress? I honestly didn’t want her to forgive him that soon. Their last fight was sorta the last drop for her. She needs a Dean break – we all need a Dean break at this point…

Feedback is highly appreciated! ❤️‍

<<15 || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

One starry night in the Dean Cave…

Y/N hears waves in the distance and wiggles her bare toes in the white sand, the linen hem of her ivory dress tickling her thighs. It’s humid and warm, the smell of salt, sea, and suncream flooding her nose at the next cool ocean breeze. She squints her eyes at the hot sun, and as she gazes around the palm trees scattered on the empty beach and looks down at the familiar dress she’s wearing, she remembers she’s been here before – several times, actually.

It’s one of her reoccurring dreams. She can recall this same beach from her coma days, but it’s the first time she’s having one of them since she’s woken up.

“Hey, there you are.”

She turns her head to the familiar baritone voice that’s always so velvety smooth. She immediately smiles when she sees his bright beam and the sparkling green eyes.

With a few strides, Dean’s by her side and cups her cheeks, pressing his lips to hers. Their kiss is blazing and passionate, his tongue snaking between her pink lips and exploring her mouth, and she melts into his touch like she’s fucking ice cream in the sun. The kiss lasts for a few minutes before he draws back with a grin and she instantly feels the loss of his pillowy lips, a needy whine leaving hers.

“You’re eager today,” he smirks and takes her hand in his, guiding her to the small tiki bar on the beach that reads Rocky’s.

Dean’s not in his usual attire, either. He’s wearing a subdued Hawaiian shirt and fucking shorts. It’s weird because he usually never wears pants that end above the knees.

“You’re just in time. Sunset’s about to begin, and Pamela’s almost got our Pina Coladas ready. Fair warning, though – they’re pretty coconutty today.”

She giggles a little but then becomes confused, her sense of reality blurring. Why is she here? What kind of dream is this? It somehow feels real and not like a dream at all. His hand encapsulating hers feels warm and tangible, like she’s actually touching him and the electricity coursing through her veins also feels pretty fucking authentic.

“De… what-, uh, what are we doing here?” she asks and he arches an eyebrow at her, chuckling slightly.

“What we always do. We drink outta coconuts… or pineapples, depending on Pamela’s mood. We talk, we watch the sunset together, and then there’s a lot of this,” he explains with a smirk and dips his head to her neck, his teeth nibbling down to her shoulder.

She leans into his touch instantly. It’s like muscle memory (which is weird, too). But God, his kisses feel amazing. Every touch of his ignites her whole body and she just wants more every single time he does this. His hands wander down her curves like it’s familiar territory, his thumb brushes her nipple over the thin linen material until it peaks, and he sniggers winningly as if it’s the trophy he’s been waiting for.

“De, stop. Pamela’s watching,” she giggles in embarrassment, her cheeks a rosy-red as she eyes the bartender in her peripheral.

“Pamela never cares,” Dean says casually and tilts his head in her direction. “Right?”

“Nope, I’ve already seen you two have sex on this beach many times before,” the bartender quips nonchalantly. “It’s nothing new.”

“See? Personally, I think Pamela just enjoys the show as much as I do,” he grins and wiggles his eyebrows, claiming her lips again.

Jesus fucking Christ, he feels heavenly, his plump lips like soft clouds, and Y/N just wants them to stay forever on hers. However, the gnawing feeling in her stomach won’t evaporate. Something doesn’t feel right. It’s supposed to be a dream, but it all feels a little too real for her taste.

“De, wait… we can’t do this,” she breaks the kiss and shakes her head, trying to rid the chaos in her mind.

But Dean rests his forehead on hers and locks gazes. “Why? We always do this. It’s our spot. Just you and me, baby girl,” he purrs and brushes a few strands of hair behind her ears. “It’s been a while since we came here together. I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”

“Dean, I-… I missed you too,” she smiles softly and bites her bottom lip, although the wrinkles on her brow haven’t disappeared. “But this feels wrong.”

His eyebrows draw together, worry and confusion decipherable in every crease around his emerald orbs. “Why?”

“I… It feels like we’re cheating,” she says with a thick swallow. “You’re with Lisa. And I’m with…” She doesn’t utter his name as Dean’s look already darkens.

“Right,” he gulps and bobs his head contemplatively for a heartbeat before a smile creeps back onto his face, his fingers caressing the apples of her cheeks. “It’s just a dream, sweetheart. There’s no rules. Just stop thinking.”

“I don’t know, De…,” she shakes her head insecurely, tugging her lower lip behind her teeth.

“I do,” he smiles and looks deeply into her eyes. “I love you. Only you. This is the only place where I can be with you. The only place where I’m happy. Please don’t take that away from me,” he begs, and there are tears brimming in his pine green eyes now. They’re faint, but they’re there, the warm sunlight perfectly reflecting in them.

“I-… okay,” she caves after a brief hesitation. He’s right – it’s silly. She’s being silly. It’s just a dream, nothing more. She’s allowed to have them, so she tiptoes up to press her lips against his. “I love you, too.”

Dean then claims her mouth and only leaves her lips to kiss along her jaw until he reaches her ear. “Good. ’Sides, I doubt good old Nate can make you cum with a snap of his fingers like I can, baby girl,” he coos smugly, his breath tickling her skin before he sucks her earlobe between his teeth and makes her shiver in delight. “You make me so fucking hard, Y/N.”

He nuzzles his nose with hers before he reclaims her lips, but this time, he doesn’t let her go again. His hands trail up her body, his fingertips gently sliding the straps of her dress down her shoulders before the material lands in the sand. Y/N then decides to stop fighting and thinking, her defenses coming down with every layer of clothing. It’s so fucking good to feel him on every inch of her skin as Dean makes sure to leave his mark wherever he can, not daring to forget a single spot. Every urgent touch, every rough kiss, every delicious bite claims her as his until she’s moaning his name like a prayer, a promise of forever being his.

After a few hot-blooded hours of adult beach fun, the two lay intertwined on a little blanket in the sand, the sun setting behind the ocean, their surroundings engulfed in golden incandescence. She’s actually not sure how much time has passed. It’s dreamland and it’s just one forever-lasting sunset, apparently.

His fingers draw loving patterns on her back as she’s lying on her stomach. She giggles every time he finds a new ticklish spot before soothing it with a wet, sloppy kiss.

“Hey, De?”

“Hm?”

“Earlier, you said you’ve been waiting here for me. What does that mean?” she inquires curiously and gazes up at him, hand reaching out to caress his stubbled cheeks.

“Nothing,” he shrugs. “Just, uhm… sometimes I’m here alone and you don’t show up. It’s always nice when you show up. That’s all, I guess.”

Y/N can’t control nor understand it when tears begin to roll down her cheeks. She tries to avert her face, but he notices it, his thumb absorbing the wetness while worry shimmers in his eyes.

“Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying? Talk to me, sweetheart,” he lifts her chin softly.

“Nothing,” she smiles weakly and then feels his hand brush back her hair. It’s so soft and sweet and gentle that it makes her want to cry all over again. “It’s just… I wish the real you would love me like that, not just the dream version of you.”

His eyebrows knit together and she can tell he’s confused by her words. “But I-… I don’t get it. This is the real me.”

“No, it’s not,” she shakes her head. She honestly doesn’t know why she’s quarreling with her own mind, but maybe she needs to get this off her chest and can’t tell the real Dean, so his dream version will have to do. “You’re just a manifestation of my subconscious, trying to… God, I don’t even know why I’m torturing myself with this.”

“Yeah, I’m not following… What are you talking about?” He’s certainly not any less confused than before. Although, it’s somehow comforting to her that Dream-Dean is as oblivious as Real-Dean.

Y/N snatches her dispersed clothes and hurriedly slips back into her dress. She can’t be here with him any longer. She’s only putting herself through hell and doesn’t even have a good enough reason to. Why the fuck would she do this? She needs to let go and move on – like Real-Dean has, y’know?

“You’re not real, okay? ‘Cause, real-you doesn’t love me. Got it now?” She clarifies and then begins to aimlessly wander the beach, the fucking annoying sand only slowing down her flight. “Fuck. I gotta get outta here. Is there an exit somewhere?”

“Y/N, wait… just wait, okay? Hold on a moment!”

Dean rushes after her, stumbling through the sand as he hops back into his shorts and manages to catch her wrist, swirling her back into his arms. Her heart is hammering against his chest, and she knows he can feel it too. “Just calm down. Take a deep breath. It’s alright, okay?”

“No, it’s not alright,” she maintains and yanks out of his embrace. “I can’t do this to myself anymore. This needs to be goodbye, Dean,” she states firmly and yet makes the mistake of gazing directly into his irresistible eyes.

“Stop, okay? Just wait a minute, please,” he pleads, the desperation to make her stay swinging in every uttered word. “Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but, uhm… I know I love you, okay? Is that what you wanna hear? Because I can say it a million times if you want me to. It doesn’t matter if it’s a dream or reality, alright? There’s no version of me that doesn’t love you.”

Shit. His words move her to tears again, even though she wants to fight against it. His eyes looked so damn truthful when he said them, too. It’s all she fucking wants to hear, which is precisely why she can’t trust it. “No offense, De, but… if it were true, every version of you would be with me. If you really loved me, you would’ve told me so a long time ago.”

Dean pensively rubs his mouth, the desperation growing inside of him. “Y/N, look… you got it all wrong, sweetheart, okay? I do love you. I swear. The other me… the real me or whatever… he’s just a scared idiot. Just please don’t give up on me… or him. Please,” he begs and tears are pricking the corners of his eyes. “Please don’t leave me again. Give me a chance to prove it to you.”

“Dean-”

“No, just… please, alright? Please?” He’s insistent and it’s almost charming enough. The puppy look has always been her weakness, and she crumbles like she usually does when he gazes at her like that.

“Fine, I’ll try,” is all she can promise.      

“Hey, uhm, can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” she nods with a bit of reluctance. Dream-Dean seems to really want to test her emotions tonight.

“If I-, uh… If I wasn’t with Lisa and you weren’t with, uhm… Nate,” he starts, his Adam’s apple bobbing from nervousness, and she can tell even dream-him hates saying her new boyfriend’s name. Although she’s not sure if the label is accurate yet. She still thinks it’s kind of funny that even Dream-Dean is jealous. Apparently, her subconscious is aiming for a very realistic portrayal tonight.

“If I, uh, showed up on your doorstep and told you I loved you… like the real you… would you pick me?” He scratches the nape of his neck and glances at her with a look so hopeful it reminds her a little too much of Real-Dean again. Her brain’s really working on overdrive.

She’s quiet for a moment and ponders his words, even though she knows there’s not a lot to think about. She’s known that answer since she was five.

Y/N steps closer, gently strokes his cheek, and pecks his lips with a soft smile, “Yes. I’ll always pick you, De.”

With a loud gasp, she startles up in bed and finds herself back in her apartment. Her skin glistens with sweat, her breathing comes out ragged, her heart pounds furiously against her ribcage, and yup, her pj’s are definitely damp.

Fuck.

It’s still in the middle of the night, the only light source coming from the city’s neon signs outside. The alarm clock shows 3:52am, and Nate’s peacefully sleeping next to her while the guilt starts to ruminate in her belly.

God, she’s a mess. Here, she has this great guy lying next to her and all she can dream about is fucking her best friend on a beach. And Jesus fucking Christ, it was goddamn glorious. It’s the best sex she’s never had. Now, she has an unbearable itch to scratch and she knows the guy next to her can’t satisfy that need, even though she supposes there’s no reason to feel guilty. It was only a dream, albeit a very weird and fucking vivid dream. A dream she wants to go back to but realizes she can’t. Some dreams are just not meant to come true.

She closes her eyes again, snuggles up to the new guy in her bed, and soon returns to dreamless slumber.

One sunny morning in the suburbs…

When Dean’s eyes flutter open, it’s early in the morning. He groans and stretches his aching limbs on the couch before noticing his dick is saying good morning, too. The appearance is not surprising after the dream he’s had.

He smiles at the thought of Y/N on that beach, standing in nothing but her white dress and watching the sunset. They sipped drinks from coconuts at Rocky’s tiki bar before he fucked her brains out in the sand. His member’s already twitching in his sweats when he recalls how her lips felt around his cock. God, he wants to feel this every goddamn day for the rest of his life.

The bliss, however, is fleeting once he remembers how majorly he fucked up last night, not to mention Lisa wasn’t happy with him either. She gave him the silent treatment before throwing a blanket and pillow in his face and closing the bedroom door on him. So naturally, he spent the night on the couch, giving the brunette some time to cool down and postponing the uncomfortable conversation to the morning.

His mind hasn’t changed, though. If anything, that dream only further cemented what he’s gotta do: break up with Lisa, apologize on his knees to Y/N, and hope she takes him back, even though he doesn’t deserve it. He practically drove her into Nate’s arms last night, and he supposes every punishment he’s getting now is, in fact, well deserved. It’s his fucking karma, alright?

But Dean’s fucking done with wasting time and playing games.

As Lisa stomps downstairs, he rises from the couch, his mind searching for the right words before he notices the duffel bag in the brunette’s hands – his duffel bag. It seems to be fully packed, judging by the heavy thud it makes when she drops it in front of his toes.

“Look, Lis… I-I’m sorry,” he starts and runs a hand over his face, still rubbing the remaining tiredness out of his green eyes. At least a sip of coffee would’ve been nice before doing this.

“Save it, alright?” Lisa snaps and bitterly crosses her arms over her chest. She then pauses for a moment, shakes her head a couple of times before a humorless chuckle leaves her lips, “You know, I think I’ve been nothing but patient. I knew you were grieving when we met. And I understood, alright? I just figured eventually, you know… you’d be okay… I tried to help you. I tried to ignore the signs, the red flags… like you only moving in with one single bag. In hindsight, I really should’ve seen that one. But you never said anything. You never did anything. And then, Y/N came back, and I knew… I knew when I saw how you looked at her that you’d never look at me like that. Last night was definitive proof of that. So… I’m letting you go, alright? Just take your shit and leave, Dean.”

He purses his lips and bobs his head in acknowledgment. What else is he supposed to add to that, huh? “Look, uhm, I-, I know. I’m sorry,” he states sincerely. He knows he has messed up. “I didn’t intend to hurt you. I guess I was just… really fucked up. I wasn’t thinking clearly, you know? But I never should’ve let it get this far. You deserve better. I’m sorry. I really am.”

She nods quietly and purses her lips, “Well, thanks at least for that.”

While some of the crushing weight lifts off his shoulders, he figures it probably wasn’t the last time he has to say sorry today.

Later…

Dean’s homeless.

Y/N’s residing in his old loft now, and the only other place left for him is his brother’s couch. But things between Sam and him haven’t been the same since their fight. Once a week, his little brother graciously grants him a goddamn hearing over a beer at Rocky’s. Sam hasn’t fully accepted his apology yet, and Dean knows he won’t until the older one comes completely clean. Dean, however, can’t tell him the truth. He doesn’t want pity, nor does he want to be seen as a monster, a freak. So, he supposes there’s only one place left for him to go:

The firehouse.

After clearing it with Bobby, the green-eyed firefighter stores his duffel bag in the shared bedroom and wards off the curious questions of his colleagues. He’s not ready to explain all of his fuck-ups to his friends yet. It’s probably his ego, but he doesn’t want to be seen as the loser who can’t get his fucking shit together. Maybe Benny and Cas wouldn’t even think that, but it’s certainly how Dean feels about himself.

It’s barely nine o’clock when he finally finds his way to the fifth floor and knocks on his old apartment door. Dean’s nervous when his knuckles tap on the door, holding a cup of coffee and a paper bag with a brownie in his hands – a peace offering – while his blood thumps in his ears.

However, as the door opens, his heart sinks to the ground floor. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He hasn’t expected that.

Nate yawns at him in nothing but a t-shirt and some boxers – Dean’s about to die. Seriously, it’s gotta be his fucking karma, right? It’s all the years he’s tortured Y/N with the same damn shit, bouncing back like a boomerang straight to his face.

“Y/N? I think this is for you,” Nate calls back inside and walks away without saying much else, leaving the door open before Y/N comes into view. Obviously, the detective thinks he’s too good to stoop to Dean’s level now. It just makes him hate the guy even more, the scoreboard going nuts in his head. The dude could at least pretend he feels threatened, you know?

Dean -1.000, Nate +∞.

Y/N expectantly gazes up at him as she leans against the doorframe, arms folded over her chest. She’s clearly not amused to find him on her doorstep, but all he can fucking focus on is that she’s wearing the shortest pajama shorts in the history of humanity and a lonely white tank top, no goddamn bra in sight. He can see the fucking outlines of her nipples poking through, and suffice it to say, it’s killing him. He’s swallowing thickly while his dick can’t stop whining.

“What do you want?” she prompts sternly with a clear of her throat. His head jerks up from her chest, ears burning in embarrassment.

“I-, uh, I came here to apologize. ‘M sorry about last night, okay? I don’t know what’s gotten into me,” he explains and scratches the nape of his neck, handing her his apology merch. His plan is to grovel. Really – that’s all he’s got. He hopes wearing his heart on his sleeve is convincing enough for her to forgive him.

“Oh, food. Why didn’t you say so sooner? Lemme just drop my panties,” she retorts in bitter sarcasm and sets the items down on the little sideboard in the foyer before taking a step into the hall and closing the door firmly behind her.

Shit.

“Y/N, look, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that, okay? You gotta believe me, sweetheart.”

She nods coldly, contemplatively chews on her lower lip, and stares at her bare feet for a moment before her eyes find his. There’s so much hurt and contempt shimmering in her irises it’s overwhelming. “Well, I still meant what I said last night. I have no fucking idea why we’re still friends. I mean, whoever this guy is in front of me right now is a stranger. You’re not my best friend. I don’t even recognize you most of the time these days. What the fuck happened to you, huh? Please just tell me what’s going on. Just tell me the truth, for God’s sake.”

“I just-…” Tell her.

Her tone then grows softer, her eyes more pleading as if she can feel his reluctance, and he can tell she’s trying so, so hard to get through to him. “De, c’mon… is there anything you wanna tell me? I know something’s on your mind.”

Thereis. A lot, actually. But he can’t tell her all the things he wants to while there’s a guy waiting for her behind that very door. A guy she spent the fucking night with. The thought makes his stomach churn and his heart twist.

Oh God, they did it in the fucking Dean Cave, didn’t they? Did they do it on his bed? Fuck, was it the couch?! It’s his goddamn couch. If anyone was to have sex with her on it, it should’ve been him. Son of a bitch…

Dean runs a hand over his face and cards it through his hair, his mind racing a mile a minute. “Can I just-… I mean… did you… and, uhm, him?” He swallows as their gazes lock, and God, he’s never dreaded an answer before more in his life.  

“That’s none of your business,” she snaps. “And you’re the one who told me to make him wear a condom. He did pay for dinner, y’know? Figured you’d be happy.”

And there’s the knife to his heart…

“Right. Yeah, uhm, guess I deserve that one…” He presses his lips together and rubs his chin, trying to disregard the heartbreak in his chest. “Well, uh, I just wanted to say sorry, okay? That’s all.” The words come out in a mumble as he stares at the old wood flooring that creaks underneath his boots. “Can you please just forgive me?”

Her eyes wander to the ceiling like she’s desperately looking for the answer up there, and then an exasperated sigh makes it past her lips. “I-… no,” she shakes her head and looks him dead in the eyes. It’s painful because he can see it all – the disappointment, the hurt, the anger. It’s all for him.

“Y/N, please… I’ll be better, alright? I’ll behave. I’ll even apologize to, uhm…”

“Nate,” she offers glaringly.

“Yup, Nate,” he nods quickly. “I’ll apologize, okay? I’ll do everything you want me to do, alright? You gotta believe me. I didn’t mean those things last night. I was just-”

“Dean, you should go,” she cuts him off rather harshly, although her voice is drowning in sadness. Her fingers fumble for the doorknob behind her. He knows once she disappears behind that door, she’ll also disappear from his life. He can’t let her fucking go.

“Y/N, wait! Wait, wait, wait…” His fingers curl around the hand that’s holding the brass knob and stop it from twisting it. The movement forced him to stumble closer, her body now almost pressed flush against his. His heart skips eight beats as he looks down at her. She takes his fucking breath away, and his brain needs a second to find his vocabulary again. He still only manages a volume barely above a whisper, “Just wait, okay?”

Tears are shimmering in her eyes when she meets his gaze, “I’m done with the excuses. I’m done with waiting. I think you need to figure out some stuff on your own… without me, you know?”

Fuck.

“Y/N, what do you-… what do you think I’ve been doing for the past year, huh?”

Shit, has he lost her? Has he actually overstepped the mark this time and gone too far? Was last night the final straw that broke their friendship’s back?

She shrugs impassively, her voice detached from any emotion, cold and quiet like the winds of winter. “I don’t know… You never told me.” He feels her hand move underneath his, still tightly curled around the knob, and then the lock springs open. “Please just let me be happy, okay?”

His heart implodes, takes his lungs and dreams with it until there’s nothing left of him anymore. His hand drops, the connection of her touch lost, and his feet take a step back, fighting the gravitational forces that want to bind him there. Dean nods and swallows the lump of agony that’s impeding his air supply. “Yeah, uh, of course… I want you to be happy, Y/N. I really mean it, sweetheart. I’m sorry, okay?”

What else is he supposed to tell her? Dean wants to be in her life, but not as a barrier to her happiness.

“Okay,” she breathes, bobbing her head. “I’ll call you next week, alright?”

“Good… that’s good,” he feigns a smile and hopes to fend off the tears for as long as possible till she’s slipped back into the apartment. Only then does he allow his heart to break.

Part 17

Are you guys okay after Dean’s apology tour? Look, we’re women. We hold grudges. You can bet your ass she’ll make snarky comments every time he offers her food from now on Your emotions can go HERE! Feedback is highly appreciated! ❤️‍

Tags:

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