To You I Belong | SPN | Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

1 - Yearning

Dean's pants were painfully tight, but he didn't want you. Nope. Not like that or any other way.

His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his computer that warmed his hand, and he, well, he just didn't deserve one. Simple as that.

All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt. He'd learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn't need that risk. Hell, he didn't need the responsibility.

So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised. From your bravery to your beauty, you were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he'd allow himself the pleasure.

But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn't know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn't, because you belonged to somebody else.

The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.

His eagle eyes couldn't miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he'd touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.

He could still see you in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.

It was wonderful until it wasn't. The constant reminder of what he'd allowed to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood.

Sammy had been stealing glances at him since his initials had appeared on your skin like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat, and it was getting awkward. He may have been worried, but it was none of his business.

"You good?" he asked from the passenger seat.

Dean's hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. His eyes focused on the road ahead. "Yeah," he said, and left it at that. Determined, that was the last time he'd allow the question to spew from his brother's mouth.

Sure, a lull in conversation made the drive back to the motel awkward for the other alpha, but not for Dean. He cranked up the stereo as loud as it would go, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica's Enter Sandman.

His car, his music, his rules. The embodiment of Dean's happiness, and everything he needed to drown out the tingling feeling deep within his heart from thoughts of you and what you were doing.

The second he'd put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the car park, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.

Sam's heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.

The sheer force of the frayed timber hitting the frame, unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn't working.

"Dammit." He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam's voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name.

He just wouldn't drop it, and that made Dean even more irritated.

"I'm fine," he spat back. He wasn't. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations, and...fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy