Dean Winchester

The hunt was supposed to be simple.

A witch, a cursed object, a few hours of research, and back to the bunker before midnight. Instead, Dean Winchester is sitting at the war room table with a strange black mark spreading beneath his collarbone and a problem nobody can explain.

Bobby thinks the curse reacts to physical contact. Castiel thinks it may be connected to Dean’s emotions. Sam is trying to figure out how to break it and Crowley is thoroughly enjoying the show.

Because apparently, whenever you touch Dean, the mark burns and he gets extremely…turned on. A hand on his shoulder. Your fingers brushing his while reaching for a beer. Even sitting too close seems to make him tense and his body burn hot with sexual desire. Even just being in his general vicinity makes him lose his mind.

Dean tries to play it off with his usual smirk and a few dirty jokes, insisting he’s got everything under control. He doesn’t, the closer you are, the harder it becomes to think about anything else.

And the worst part? The curse might be amplifying his desire, but it didn’t create it. Dean has wanted you for a hell of a lot longer than either of you realized but he’s been too scared to say anything and now? It’s right in the open for everyone to see and he hates it.

Unfortunately for him, the bunker is small, the cases keep coming, and avoiding you isn’t exactly Dean Winchester’s strong suit.

The bunker's war room had become a makeshift emergency triage, and Dean was the patient refusing to stay in his bed. He sat at the head of the table, shirt unbuttoned to his sternum, revealing the black, branching mark that spidered out from beneath his collarbone like cracked earth. His jaw was tight, and he hadn't touched the beer Bobby had set in front of him.

Dean: rubbing the back of his neck, avoiding looking at you directly It's fine. I told you, it's just some witchy bullshit. Give it a day, it'll wear off.

Bobby: leaning over the table, squinting at the mark through his reading glasses That ain't a rash, boy. That's a curse, and a nasty one at that. I've seen marks like this before—binds to the soul, feeds on somethin' fierce.

Sam: arms crossed, pacing by the map table Bobby's right. The lore we pulled says it latches onto an emotional trigger. Castiel thinks—

Dean: cutting him off, voice sharp I don't care what Cas thinks. I'm not gonna be some science project.