max🧟‍♀️

the first time he ever did it, you had frozen out of the suddenness. sure, he was always very cuddly, but you were more the one throwing yourself on him rather than the other way around. though what did you expect, he’s a snugglebug through and through.

“carter?”

no response. his arms merely snake around your waist as his entire body goes limp against you. dead weight.

“carter, i can’t breathe.”

a muffled, sleepy voice answered against your shirt. “m’comfortable.”

“you’re crushing me.”

“good, now shush.”

you had tried shifting him a little, but he immediately made the most offended, whiny noise imaginable. “don’t move,” he mumbled, already halfway asleep. “you’re warm.”

you could try to push lightly at his shoulder but his hold only tightened instinctively. “why are you evicting me,” he mutters with his eyes still closed. “this is my spot.”

and the thing is? he looks so soft. completely relaxed for once. all his usual pent up energy and tension just gone. shoulders slack. fingers loosely gripping your shirt like he’s worried you’ll disappear if he lets go. you always run your fingers through his fluffy hair out of habit, and the sigh he lets out each time is the epitome of blissful relief.

you always pictured bambi, finally lying down after wobbling around all day.

you couldn’t deny him of this. hell, you love him. that's enough said.

so now it’s basically routine. if you even hint at trying to get up while he’s laying on you, there isn't much use.

“i have to pee.” you whine.

“don’t.”

“carter.”

“hold it.” he protests.

“aren’t i gonna get bladder stones, doctor” you’d poke at his nose.

“m’take them out for you, don’t worry.”

and you can't help but giggle every single time for whatever stupid excuse he gives you.

“five minutes,” he would bargain on other days. “just five.”

five turns to ten. ten turns to twenty, and suddenly you’ve both drifted off for a three hour nap. especially during midterms or finals.

sometimes he even drools a little, but he always denies it.

today’s version of the routine had gone exactly the same.

carter wasn’t even supposed to be on until later that night, meaning you’d actually have him home for more than just a few miserable hours.

so you both woke up at a decent time and went out to fetch some lunch, coming home and chilling before carter would leave again for the graveyard shift.

eventually, you knew you had an essay to write so you had begun to prepare your workstation before carter pulled you into your usual spot on his queen bed. collapsing on top of you like always.

“just going to rest my eyes a bit” he mentioned, but he was dead asleep in less than 5.

you stayed awake this time. catching up on some chapters for your book report due in a few days. eyes drifting away from the page to stare at his messy strands of hair, or the long lashes resting against his pink cheeks.

and then…the dreaded pager started beeping.

“carter,” you mumbled, patting his shoulder.

nothing.

it beeped again barely a second later.

“oh, carter” you quipped, poking lightly at his forehead. he flinched just enough to acknowledge you before turning to snore even louder than before.

the pager continued going off a few more times before the apartment phone finally rang instead.

you rolled your eyes at the lack of acknowledgment of his surroundings from the boy on top of you.

“hello?” you answer the call.

“is carter there?” dr. benton. not the warmest person in the ER, and the tone alone told you everything you needed to know about your boyfriend’s impending doom.

“i’ll pass the phone to him.”

oh, he’s sooo screwed.

“carter,” you cooed again, shoving his shoulder a little harder this time. you were rewarded with a sleepy, muffled “mhm” as you held the phone against his ear.

“CARTER—”

the voice practically exploded through the speaker loud enough that you even managed to flinch a little.

though, nothing beats carter jolting like someone shocked him with defibrillator paddles.

he recoiled upright instantly, hair sticking everywhere, eyes wide and panicked as he looked around the room like benton was already standing there, waiting to kill him.

in the process, he smacked the phone clean out of your hand. but you were already laughing too hard to care.

6:47

The clock blinked tauntingly at Carter as he watched it. You had left for cardiology at 6:34. They were supposed to have called back with a consultation on some tests for a patient, and hadn’t. You’d volunteered to check. A five to ten minute task at most. What could possibly be keeping you up there for thirteen minutes?

The worst part was, Carter knew the answer to his own question. There was one very persuasive thing to keep you in the cardio unit for so long.

Danny Donlin.

He was a cardiology resident who had taken a liking to you over the past couple days. He’d come down to chat with Benton, and there you were, figuring out a charting error with Carol at the nurse’s station. It took not two seconds for the skeeze to latch on to you.

Was he actually a skeeze? Carter didn’t know. He’d barely spoken three words to the guy. Did it really matter? Definitely not.

See, John Truman Carter III had come back from vacation, ready to start his surgical SUB-I, only to be met at the door with your bright face. He was sweating like a pig, carrying two large suitcases, with a ridiculous hat stuck around his neck as he sprinted in just about two hours after he was supposed to.

In his rush, he nearly missed you. But as Jerry greeted him at the desk, he called your attention to the panting man, and you turned.

And, Jesus, Carter didn’t think he’d ever seen someone so beautiful.

Covered in a slight sheen of perspiration yourself, it only seemed to make you glow. Your hair was pulled up out of your face and you wore street clothes under your coat. You had a patient chart in your hands and were using it to fan yourself, free wisps of hair floating back as you did. Carter couldn’t understand how you managed to look so angelic in the dead of summer with no AC.

Your soft lips pulled up into a kind, albeit reserved, smile.

“Hi,” you’d said simply.

Carter couldn’t bring himself to form a single coherent word. His luggage had fallen to his sides, forgotten, as he drank you in. His eyes fell to your chest where your badge was clipped, and he tried your name out in his head. It sounded nice.

Then Mark Greene snapped him back into reality.

“Carter! Aren’t you needed in surgery?”

With a terrifying jolt, the fear blown out of his head by your presence returned to the forefront of his mind. He hiked his bags back up onto his shoulders and resumed his sprint, though not without turning back for one last look at you, and subsequently almost breaking his leg tripping over the leg of a gurney.

Later that day, he’d inquired about you to Carol. You were a third year, just behind him, starting your emergency med rotation the very same day. You were working primarily under Doug, which gave Carter a lurch of nausea, but it quickly became more of a brother sister relationship than anything else.

It took exactly zero seconds for Carter to realize you were the girl of his dreams. You were smart, funny, sharp, and knew how to take charge. You held your own just fine, and had even knocked sense into him on occasion. Even Benton looked impressed the first time your paths crossed.

And you were nice. Nice in the way that all doctors should be. You weren’t easily fooled, not exactly a people pleaser, but an empath. You had a knack for breaking ground with even the toughest of patients.

You were sure of yourself in all the ways Carter wasn’t. It was intimidating, at first, but as the two of you became friends (once Carter learned how to speak in full sentences around you) it became grounding, and comforting. You helped him find his way, and made it look easy. It was with your support he was able to find the courage to start his residency over again to pursue his true passion.

So there you were two years later, just starting out together, new emergency medicine interns, and spending more time together than ever. If Carter thought he had it bad before, it was nothing compared to now. Every time you poured him a cup of coffee, or reminded him about a chart, or leaned just a little too close to laugh at one of his jokes, his heart skipped a beat. He was no artist, but he was sure he could create a masterpiece of your smile just by memory.

And god forbid you called him Johnny. No one called him that, not even when he was a kid. It sent shivers down his spine. He could hear your sweet voice in his head late at night, Johnny, Johnny, Johnny…

“Carter!”

He jumped a mile as Carol barked his name. He blinked and looked around at her. She didn’t look happy.

“You know, staring at the clock won’t make it move any faster,” she said, slapping a chart into his hand. “She’ll be back when she’s back.”

“I don’t — who?” he attempted lamely to save face, but Carol sent him one exasperated look and he shut his mouth.

He was fairly certain no one was ignorant to his crush, at this point. It was possible the only one who didn’t know, who didn’t seem to notice his puppy eyes searching for you in every room, was you. At least, he hoped not.

The thought of you finding out made his head spin and knees feel wobbly, and not in a good way. In a horrible, end-of-the-world, sickening way. He pictured it all falling apart, the careful friendship you’d built together. No more inside jokes, no more studying in the middle of the night, no more book swaps, no more you. He didn’t even want to entertain the idea.

Sure, there were fleeting moments of hope, where he thought maybe, maybe, you cared for him the same way he cared for you. But they were always quickly squashed. You’d say, “you’re my best friend, Carter!” or “I wish I could find someone like you.”

The most recent form of torture was seeing you with Danny. Yeah, he was a resident, so he actually made money, and okay, he had pretty great hair, striking blue eyes, and a chin dimple. Exactly your type. He remembered watching Full House with you. God, he never heard the end of John Stamos this, John Stamos that. He’d left in a sour mood that day.

The ding of the elevator and a loud giggle broke his train of thought. A familiar giggle. Your giggle.

He straightened, excited to fill you in on his pediatric patient who’d somehow gotten a Barbie shoe stuck up his nose, when he realized you weren’t alone.

Danny.

Carter’s eyes narrowed at the hand placed on the small of your back, expensive watch glinting in the fluorescent lighting.

“I’m telling you, it was unbelievable,” Danny was saying. “We could get some dinner, I know this great little italian place off State, then catch the Arrival late. Charlie Sheen’s best performance.”

You nodded enthusiastically. Carter gripped the clipboard tightly.

A few weeks ago, as he was driving you home from a shift, you’d seen a poster for the premiering film as you passed the theater.

“Great, another alien movie,” you’d said in disgust. “And let’s be honest, Charlie Sheen’s not even good at comedy, what are they doing putting him in an action movie they want us to take seriously?”

But now, you appeared to have changed your mind, as you nodded along with a smile. You approached Carter at the desk. He tried his best to wipe the murderous expression from his face.

“Hey, Carter, right?” said Danny, holding out a hand. “This one talks about you all the time, feel like I know you already.”

Carter took his hand, something strangely akin to pride burning in his chest.

“Nice to meet you,” he said. “Can’t say the same about you, I’m afraid. David, is it?”

“Uh, Danny, actually,” he said, and you shot a warning glare to Carter behind his back. “I guess she can be a little shy, huh?”

“Not really,” he said, looking back down at his clipboard.

He could feel the heat of your stare but didn’t dare look up and meet it.

“Well, of course I’m not shy around you, silly,” you said. “You’re my best friend. It’s different.”

There was that familiar pang in Carter’s chest. He forced out a smile, eyes still glued to the paper and not reading a single word.

“Well, I just came down to consult on a patient,” said Danny. “We should probably —”

“Right,” you said.

Danny started walking, and before following, you sent Carter a swift kick behind the partition. Then you hurried off, leaving him with a sore heart and a sore shin.

Something of the despair must have lingered on his face as Doug returned from his flu case, because he approached Carter looking like a mourner at a funeral service.

“They haven’t even gone on a date yet,” he said consolingly. “Why don’t you just ask her out?”

Carter scoffed.

“Yeah, and while I’m at it, why don’t I hike mount Everest?” he hissed. “It’s not that simple.”

“First of all, there’s no need for an attitude,” said Doug. “And second, it literally is. You’re two single adults who like each other. The worst thing she can say is no!”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” said Carter somberly. “The worst thing she can say is that we can’t even be friends, or be around each other anymore. I’d rather have her that way than not at all.”

Doug blew out a breath and slapped Carter on the back.

“Well, you're just a big fat bummer,” he said. “How about this. Everyone’s going out for drinks tonight, why don’t you come along and we can get you good and drunk, huh?”

Carter fidgeted with his clipboard clip. He had soft plans to wallow alone in pity that night.

“I don’t know, Doug…”

“Carter,” he groaned, jostling the boy. “You’re depressing us! All of us. It’s ruining the workplace mojo. Just come along, I’ll buy.”

Carter still hesitated. He had a bad feeling, but he could also stand to drown his sorrows. And if it was free, why not?

So he agreed.

He agreed not knowing that you would be there.

Or that you would bring Danny with you.

And boy, was Danny there. He laughed too loudly. He talked too much. He was far too handsy. Every time Carter glanced over, there was some point of contact. Arm around your shoulder, hand on your thigh, heads pressed together as he whispered in your ear.

Excessive, Carter thought. What ever happened to sitting on opposite sides of the table and talking quietly? Underrated, if you asked him.

With every laugh you let out, Carter took a shot. He was barely even feeling them at that point.

“I’m kind of regretting my offer to pay for you,” said Doug as Carter downed his sixth drink of the night. “How about some water?”

Carter didn’t respond, eyes steady on you from across the bar.

The rest of the day shift mingled about the bar, chatting or playing pool, letting loose. But Carter felt the knot in his gut tighten with every second.

You had changed out of your scrubs. He recognized the soft sweater you wore, in fact he had been with you when you purchased it.

You had wanted to do a celebratory day out, both for your graduation from med school, and Carter’s “graduation from the soulless slicing-people-open cult”, as you had put it. You’d let yourself peruse the higher end shops, though you still struggled to accept some of the pricier items. That was, until you saw the sweater. It was cashmere, form fitting but not revealing, for special occasions, you said.

You told him how most of the sweaters you’d had growing up were homemade, and while you’d treasure them, you’d always wondered what it would feel like to splurge. He offered to buy it for you, without really thinking, but you’d waved him off. You wanted to spend some of the money you’d worked so hard for.

On the hanger, it just looked like any other sweater to Carter. But when you tried it on, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you. Though, maybe that was just because of the smile that lit up your face when you saw yourself in the mirror.

He’d seen you in it a handful of times after that, birthday dinners, holidays; and now that it was getting cold again, you pulled it out. And you seemed to think drinks with Danny was a special enough occasion.

Doug snapped his fingers in front of Carter’s face.

“Earth to Carter,” he drawled. 

He turned to Doug, blinking slowly. He felt hot and woozy. Nothing made sense. Why were you sequestered over in the corner with Danny? You should’ve been by Carter’s side. Laughing with him. Letting him take you home, and tuck you in. Cook you breakfast.

“I’m going over there,” he slurred, pushing himself up from his stool

He almost immediately lost balance, and Doug gripped his shoulders tightly to keep up somewhat up right.

“No you’re not, man,” said Doug through his teeth, glancing anxiously over at you and Danny. “Not when you’re this hammered.”

Carter’s attempt to pull away only had him tripping over his own feet. Doug yanked him back up.

“I’m going,” he said.

Doug pushed him back into his seat.

“To do what?” said Doug, slowly, like he was talking to one of his patients. “Hm? What are you gonna tell her then, Carter? While she’s having some nice drinks with a guy she likes?”

Carter deflated. He looked over at you, and the smile you wore.

“I just,” he sighed. “I just — I wish I — she —”

“I know,” said Doug. “I know, buddy. But I also know you don’t want to ruin her fun.”

Carter shook his head vehemently.

“Right,” said Doug. “Good. Listen, you stay right here, and I’m gonna go see if Mark or Susan can drive you home, okay? Don’t move!”

As soon as Doug left his sight, Carter stood and staggered over to you. He saw you smile as you spotted him, then it turned confused, as he collided with an empty chair and stumbled to the ground. You jumped up to help him.

“Woah,” he said, dazedly, as you hauled him into a sitting position, crouched at his side.

“Woah,” you agreed, brow furrowed with concern. “You feeling okay?”

He looked into your pretty, pretty eyes, and a smile bloomed on his face.

“Hi,” he said.

“Hi there,” you said back, now starting to smile timidly at the pure strangeness of the situation. “How much have you had to drink?”

He was too fixed on watching your mouth move to comprehend your question. You took that as an answer in and of itself.

“Alright, we’re getting up,” you said.

You latched your hands under his arms behind his back. He happily slung his arms around you.

“Ready?” you asked.

He hummed, playing with a bit of your hair. You heaved him upwards, tapping his shoe with your toes to prompt him to get his legs underneath his weight. Once you were sure he was somewhat stable, you let your hands fall. His stayed, one on your back, one still twiddling with your hair, his head resting on your shoulder.

“Um…”

You put your hands on his arms and tried to pull them off of you. He whined like a little kid, and gripped harder. You were so warm. Why did you take your arms away? Why didn’t you keep holding him?

“Carter,” you said, and he whined again.

“I hate when you call me that,” he mumbled against your neck.

You finally maneuvered your hands under his chin and moved his face out of your shoulder to face you. He let you manhandle him with a dopey smile.

“Your name?” you asked. “You don’t like when I say your name?”

He sighed dramatically, releasing his neck and allowing the full weight of his head to fall into your hands. He could smell your lotion. Familiar. Sweet. His hands were still around you, on your back. He began moving them up and down, feeling the soft cashmere under his rough dry hands. You forced some of your lotion onto them whenever you could. You even got him his own bottle for Christmas last year, but he hardly ever used it. He was afraid if his hands weren’t so dry, you’d never tsk, and take them in yours, and apply the lotion so gently.

As pathetic as it sounded, as pathetic as it was, that was one of the few forms of physical contact he had with you. He loved your hands. So soft and warm. He could engulf them in his. If you let him, he’d hold your hand all day, and never let it go.

Suddenly, another, much less welcome face appeared.

Fucking Danny.

“You okay, man?”

He didn’t say anything, just turned back to you. But your face was turned away from his, meeting Danny’s eyes. Your lips were moving. You looked worried.

“I think I’m gonna throw up,” he blurted out.

Your eyes widened. You pushed away from him and grabbed an ice bucket from your table. He clutched it like a lifeline as a wave of nausea passed through him. You steered him into a chair. Your mouth moved again, at Danny, and he disappeared.

Carter suddenly felt his stomach settling. You placed a comforting hand on the top of his head.

Then Danny was back, but he brought Doug with him. Doug’s face took up most of Carter’s vision, and he groaned in displeasure.

“I told you not to move,” said Doug sternly. “If you yak in an ice bucket, they’re gonna kick you out. Let’s get you some fresh air.”

He threw one of Carter’s arms over his shoulder and tugged him up. He felt quite bad. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been this drunk in his life, even in college. His head was already starting to ache, as Doug jostled him out the door and into the cold. It was only then, as the winter air blew over him, that he realized just how sweaty he was.

Doug set him down on the curb and took his ice bucket. As he burped, sweaty as the day he met you, on the side of the road, he wanted nothing more than to sleep.

“If you need to barf, aim for the sewer grate,” said Doug, patting him on the back. “I’m gonna hail you a cab.”

“Doug, no.”

You had followed them outside.

“You can’t put him in a cab all alone, he’ll barf all over himself!” he heard you say. “I’m not sure anyone would even take him. He can barely speak.”

“Well, I’m definitely not driving tonight,” said Doug’s voice. “And Mark and Susan already said they aren’t, either.”

You went back and forth for a while. Carter let his head rest in his arms, propped on his bent knees. He wanted to go home. Whether you came with him or not. Preferably with, but he was beginning to lose more and more of his conscious thought.

When he was pulled up again, it was your arms encircling him. You were speaking, maybe to him, maybe to Doug, but then he was seated in a smelly cab, and you were there next to him. His head hurt. He was starting to feel nauseous again.

He slumped over onto your shoulder, and felt immediate relief. The smell of your shampoo overpowered whatever tobacco, axe body spray haze coated the cab. You kept your arm around his shoulder and let him nuzzle into your side. He’d never felt more comfortable outside his own bed.

Carter hated cabs. He hated cars, stuffy small ones that reeked, and he was usually very prone to motion sickness. But when he felt himself being pulled out of said smelly, stuffy cab, he groaned in protest.

“Come on,” said your soft, angelic voice. “Open your eyes for me.”

He did. Your shadowy face loomed over him.

“We’re home.”

“Home?”

You helped him up out of  the car, then up the many, many steps of his crappy apartment with no elevator. If he was less out of it, he’d apologize to you for practically carrying his drunken dead weight all the way to his door. But you didn’t complain, just found the familiar key under his mat and unlocked the door.

You let him collapse on the couch. He watched you, entranced, as you removed his shoes and socks, then his tie and suspenders, then his belt. You took a blanket and draped it over him, tucking in the sides as you went.

“What are you smiling at, Mr. Reed?”

He smiled wider.

“Who’s that,” he murmured. 

“Forget it,” you said. “But you, uh, hit the liquor pretty hard tonight, huh?”

He only grunted. You disappeared for a second, and his smile vanished. He called out your name, sounding whingey, but he didn’t care, he just wanted you back by his side. He had just managed to hoist himself into a wobbly sitting position when you reappeared, holding his bathroom trashcan, a bed pillow, a glass of water, and some tylenol.

“Where do you think you’re going?” you said, slightly amused as you set the meds and water on his end table.

“You,” he said stupidly, as you pushed him back down. “You’re back.”

“Yes, Johnny, I’m back,” you said, lifting his head to place the pillow underneath.

He smiled wider than ever, face red, giggling foolishly. You looked unsure if you should be laughing or worried. After you pushed the emptied bin right up close to the edge of the couch, just in case, you perched on the edge of the cushion. 

“You’re so nice,” he sighed, grabbing your hands. “And pretty. And smart.”

Your face tensed almost imperceptibly.

“Thanks, Johnny.”

“I love it when you call me that,” he said. “Only you… only you…”

“Okay, only I will,” you said placidly. “Try and get some sleep, okay?”

He pulled your hands, and you lost your balance, falling over him with a small yelp, catching yourself on your elbows. 

“I really like your face,” he slurred. “It’s my favorite. And whenever you lean real close, and smile, and… and I can smell your shampoo… I just want to kiss you all over.”

Your confused expression dropped into shock.

“What did you say?”

Shut up! part of him yelled. You’re making it weird! Unfortunately, it wasn’t the part of him that was steering the ship. His mouth fell open and more words just kept coming.

“You know, when I met you, I wanted to ask you out,” he said. “But you made me so nervous. I just did what you said, and — and what you wanted was to be friends. And that’s okay. I love being your friend. But sometimes… a lot of the time… I wonder what it would be like to hold you whenever I want.”

He laced your fingers together. You were frozen above him, pretty lips parted.

“And — but — and you’re with Danny now, which is good,” he said. “I want you to be happy. I just… I hate that guy. Everytime I see him… everytime you laugh… I don’t…”

He swallowed thickly. You were clinging to his every word. He was breathing heavily now, heart racing, and to him, you had never looked more beautiful. Hair down, eyes wide. And before he could stop himself, he leaned up and pressed his lips to yours.

For a moment, you remained frozen. And Carter’s brain was too filled with the sensation of your mouth against his, something he’d thought about often over the past two years, to realize the implications. In a split second, just one tiny millisecond of time, he thought he felt you kiss him back. But just as soon as that came, you pulled back abruptly.

He panted, looking up at you dreamily. You looked down at him with confusion and anxiety painted on your face.

You untangled your grips and sat up straight. You wouldn’t look at him. You wouldn’t touch him. His hands fidgeted with each other, itching to draw you back to him, but he knew that wouldn’t be right.

You stood.

“You’re drunk,” you said, eyes on the carpet. “You need to sleep.”

“I – I’m,” he stuttered.

He wanted to tell you he meant it. That he had since the day he met you, and even if he woke up in the morning and regretted it, it was still true. But he was having trouble keeping his eyes open.

“Please stay,” he breathed.

You shook your head.

“I have work tomorrow,” you said. “I have to get home.”

You turned to grab your purse and he grabbed your hand. You still didn’t look at him.

“Please,” he whispered, fighting to stay awake. “Please, please stay.”

You hesitated, but nodded.

“For a bit.”

Only when he saw you settle in the armchair did he let himself doze into fitful dreams.

---

part 2

requests open!

⟡ Dean Winchester… who is SO loud during intimacy. He’s shameless about groaning, so much so that you’ve even considered him being proud of it; empowered by it. But when he whines, he gets sooo embarrassed. He tries to deepen his voice afterwards, and his checks get flushed. You ignore it once or twice but when it happens again you assure him that it’s okay, and even open the possibility that you like it. That sends him off the edge.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who is a certified munch!!! He’d wake you up with soft kisses along your neckline, trailing down the valley between your breasts, illuminated by the morning sun that soaked its way through your curtains. His faint stubble would tickle your sensitive skin, sure to wake you up. Once you were he would migrate his kisses to your stomach. He’d stall until you finally gave him the routine ‘okay’ by running your hands through his hair and urging him to remove whatever clothing survived the night. He’d start slowly; changing paces, tensing and flexing his tongue, moving down to lick a long strip and then going back up to suck and tease until you were silently begging. He’d drag your pleasure out for as long as he could, you’d tug on his hair as he worked you closer to the edge and he would groan into you, making you moan in return.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who loves being on top, but would melt if you took control.

⟡ Dean Winchester… who loves teasing you during intimacy. He’d make sarcastic remarks, not to make you feel bad, but to hear you groaning his name in the stern warning-like tone you always used. He’d do it to feel your own body betray itself as your pleasure slowly spread throughout your body.

𝓓iv - cursedcarmine

“Deeean-“ You whine out, and he chuckles, squeezing your ass tight.

“That’s right, baby. Call my name, tell the whole house who’s got you in their lap-“

A door slams downstairs, and you shove Dean away just as fast as he rips himself back.

You’re both panting and flushed. You can see his arousal through his jeans, and your fingers are shaking too much to get a proper grip on your unbuttoned blouse.

Your father calls your name, the stairs creaking, and you shove Dean again.

He gives you an incredulous look, mouthing what are you doing?

Closet. You mouth back, pushing him again. The man is built like a fucking tree, it’s like trying to move boulder underwater. Get- “Get in the fucking closet-“

He moves, right before the door opens.

Your father smiles at you, glancing around the room. “You doin’ alright, kiddo?”

“Yep. How was work?” You bounce on your toes, shooting tiny looks to the closet.

He has no reason to check anything. It all looks perfectly innocent. There’s no clothing scattered across the floor or stench of sex in the air. Dean hadn’t even taken his shoes off, and the sweater that he’d ripped from your body is allowed to be on the bed, because it’s your room.

And it’s not like you’ve been known to do this kind of thing.

Sleep with older men.

Sleep with anyone.

You’re pretty sure if your father had to gamble on it, he’d put down money that you were going to die alone. Which isn’t entirely unfair. You speak to men like they’re dogs—because they are—and the last time someone asked you on a date, you spent the whole time staring them with an unimpressed expression and your arms over your chest.

It’s not that you’re rude. You just refuse to lower yourself just to please someone who can’t even do their laundry without Mommy’s help. And most college boys don’t even know their food groups. There’s protein, and green stuff, and candy. That’s it. It makes you want to bash your head into a wall.

But that’s how Dean got you.

Stupid, handsome Dean and his big hands and don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of it. Dean and the way he picked you up like you weighed ten pounds not to show of how much he can bench, but because you’d been standing in his way teasing him, and he’d needed to move you.

He’d placed you onto the counter of the kitchen with such care, and a stern, amused look. You’d gaped at him, heat flooding your cheek and all the blood in your body confused about if it should be curling in your fists and swinging, or pooling between your legs to help you hump him like an animal in heat.

“Not so mouthy now, are you.” Dean had drawled, and that’s when you’d known.

You were a goner. He had you in the palm of his calloused hands.

It worked, because you had him wrapped around your finger.

But neither of you were supposed to be close enough to even touch.

Dean’s your father’s best friend. They met in some old man club for people who like saws and drills or whatever. Maybe it was just a workshop. Or he fixed your dad’s car, and the dumbass fell just in love with him as you were.

Dean’s great. Dean and I got coffee. Dean showed me this new Thunderbird, think I’m gonna buy it. You can drive it, when you get home, maybe we’ll put the deed in your name. I’ll ask Dean if he thinks that’s a good idea. Dean thinks it’s a great idea.

Most of your Senior year had been spent getting calls and texts from your dad about how perfect and amazing Dean was. If he knew that the man was in your closet fighting a boner right now, he might end up more jealous than angry.

It still doesn’t feel like an experiment you want the results of. Some things are better left to the imagination.

“Work was good.” Your father shrugs. “You eaten dinner?”

“Um- No.” You need to stop looking at the closet. It’s suspicious. “I was actually going to go out, and- Eat there.”

“Do that tomorrow.” He waves a hand. “Dean’s coming over tonight, we’re gonna fire up my new grill, see how she cooks.”

“I know, I just- I wanted like Chinese or something.”

“Then get Chinese and eat with us-“ Your father pauses, and you swallow. “How’d you know Dean was comin’ over?”

Shit. You can almost feel him glaring at you through the closet. You’re supposed to be the smart one, sweetheart.

It’s his fault. You can still feel where he’d been teasing your sides, and it’s making your brain all stupid and fuzzy.

You know because Dean showed up early and cornered you in the living room. Because you’d done the stupid dance where you both pretend you’re not going to cave. You’d asked why he was here. He said he didn’t need a reason. You said he did, it wasn’t his house. He’d teased that he was always welcome. You’d rolled your eyes, and asked if he was sure about that. He’d leaned over you and murmured that you sure as shit seemed happy to see him. You’d just glared, because if you spoke you would’ve started to drool. He’d muttered that, for the record, he’d been invited for the drill. But that he was really here because he needed to see you.

Then he’d shoved his hand under your shirt and kissed you stupid.

You can’t tell your dad that part.

“You told me.” You say lamely.

You can almost hear Dean’s groan.

“Oh. Huh.” Your dad shrugs it off. Why wouldn’t he. “Alright. You gonna stay?”

It’s a horrible idea. If you stay, you’re going to spend the whole time grumpy because you’d been so close, and now Dean was feet away and unable to touch you.

“Sure.”

Fuck.

Your dad takes the victory. In his eyes, you’re sure he thinks it’s a miracle that his daughter wants to hang out with him and his friends instead of going out and doing young people things. You think he forgets, sometimes, that you’ve never been all that good at young people things.

And you’re certainly not going to burst his bubble by reminding him of that. Or the fact that of course you want to hang out with his friend. Sex on Legs Winchester. Even if you didn’t have something halfway started with him, you’d stick around just to ogle the eye candy.

“Am I just a sack of meat to you, princess?” Dean mutters when you tell him as much.

You bite back your smile, and shrug. “Maybe. You gonna do something about it?”

He fixes you with an almost awestruck stare, before chuckling and shaking his head.

“You’re trying to get me killed.”

“No, I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. I pop a boner now, your old man is gonna rip my head off.”

“So don’t pop a boner, dumbass-“

Your words fall off in a tiny squeak, as Dean grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a deep, long kiss.

It’s far from the first time you kissed. That had been a night only a week after you’d moved back home—a long, torturous week of staring at massive biceps and imagine them wrapped around your neck, or beating yourself up in the sheets as you got off to the idea of Dean and his stupid, cocky smirk—when he’d been staying over so his house could get gassed for bugs or something. You’d smiled at him too sweetly. All his touches had lingered too long. You’d gone downstairs to get some water, and ended up on top of him on the couch.

You still haven’t slept together. Every time you get close, fucking something has to happen, and you stop.

But you’ve kissed so much you think your lips are molded to shape his.

You immediately turn to slack putty, in Dean’s arms. Kissing him back with frantic passion, leaning over his chest and moaning openly into his mouth. Your fingers find their way to his belt, then lower. Dean tips your head back further to deepen this kiss, and you paw at his bugle with a tiny whimper.

He hums, squeezing the back of your neck. “Behave.”

“Don’t want to.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.

“I know.” Dean pulls back, kissing one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You need some motivation, baby?”

You nod, fixing him with your best, doe-eyed stare. It’s the one that always makes him cave, even when he says he knows he shouldn’t.

But you both know you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be doing any of this. There’s a long list of reason that starts with your father’s best friend and ends with massive age gap that could be followed to prevent all of this. But you both seem to get a little blind, when you look at each other. Suddenly you can’t read and Dean—a man who’s all self-control and smooth, cool collection—stumbles over his feet like a highschooler.

He says that’s how he knew this was worth it. That you do things to him that no one else ever has. You blush and giggle and press your face into the crook of his neck, and for a little while you both forget the whole world. Sometimes you whisper that he does things to you as well. You’ve never wanted to wrap around someone like this and never let go.

And that overrides all logic and reason. It doesn’t matter what kind of rules there are. You want to break all of them, just to be closer to him for a few moments longer.

“You play nice tonight.” Dean whispers in your ear, tracing lazily up and down your spine. “Then I’ll help you sneak out. Back to my place.”

“Your place?” You sound a lot more pathetic than you want to be. You really don’t know how to help it.

“Mhm. And you know what’s at my place that ain’t here?”

You shake your head, and Dean kisses the tip of your nose. It scrunches up, and his eyes shine with adoration. You’re never going to get sick of him looking at you like that. Like you’re the only thing in the world.

“Peace and quiet.” He mutters. “Just you, me, and nothing else.”

Your eyes widen, as you realize what he means. “Oh- Okay.”

“Okay?”

There’s a hint of worry in his voice. Like he needs to be sure you really mean it, even when you’re slack and folded into his arms, digging your nails into his biceps like you’re trying to leave a mark.

You nod frantically, and his shoulders relax.

“Okay.” He mutters, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You smile at him, and his throat bobs. “Behave.”

“I always behave.” You tease, and Dean snorts.

“Yeah. Alright.”

“I do. I’m very well trained.”

He chuckles, kissing you light and soft. You push up on your toes, trying to chase a little more, and Dean lets you. He always lets you.

“Don’t think you’re the one on the leash, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips, and you giggle.

“Dogs train their owners sometimes. With feeding habits and walk schedules.”

“Hm.” He leans back, a smile twitching on his lips. “Is this feedin’, or walkin’?”

 And this is your favorite expression on his handsome face. The one where you can tell that he’s really trying to be annoyed with you, but can’t stop himself from enjoying your company. From looking at you like he wants to just lock the door and pin you to the bed until you’re giggling and beaming all the time. You’d be all for that plan, if your father wasn’t probably waiting downstairs, wondering why Dean’s running late-

Shit. Right. Your father.

“Actually.” You kiss over his beard, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt. “I think it’s fetch.”

Dean snorts, and ducks down to kiss you again. You push him lightly back, and he stumbles like he’s been shot.

“Out the window.” You say sternly, pointing at the roof.

Dean groans, running a hand over his face. “C’mon, one more-“

“No.”

“But-“

“Behave.” You mock, and he scowls.

“Son of a bitch.” He grumbles under his breath. He’s making a face like a toddler who just got his favorite toy truck confiscated for bad behavior. It’s rather adorable. “Gonna be the death of me, woman. Can’t believe I’m so in love with a fuckin’ brat.”

“Aw, you love me?”

You say it like it doesn’t still make your heart skip to hear it. Dean sighs like he let slip some grand secret, instead of something that he’s told you countless times in dark corners and in booths of bars.

He looks at the window. He’s back to pouting again.

“It’s gonna hurt my knees.” He whines, and you laugh, closing the space between you once more.

“Tough shit, Winchester. Should’ve tried to keep it in your pants.”

“But you make it so hard-“

“I know.”

That earns you a glare, and you giggle again.

You’re both so very bad at this. Dean should already be downstairs. You shouldn’t be goading him into saying longer, but you can’t help it at all. This is your favorite kind of teasing. The one where you end up folded under him with his pretty lips wrapped around your nipples and thick fingers stuffing up your pussy and toying with your clit until you’re whining his name.

Dean’s looking at you like that’s exactly what he wants to do with you. You’re smiling at him like you’re begging for it, and neither of you ever back down from the challenge.

Then your father calls your name from downstairs. And it’s like a bucket of ice water is poured over both your heads.

“Dean’s runnin’ late!” He shouts. “You should go get your Chinese now!”

You sigh, and Dean grimaces. The urgency doesn’t stop him from grabbing your face between his hands, and kissing you one last time.

“Tonight.” He mumbles like an oath. “Just you and me.”

You hum. “Only if I behave, right?”

“Sure. Only if you behave.”

And he says it like that because you both know perfectly well that it doesn’t matter how you behave. You could sit on his lap or rub your foot on his crotch under the table, and he’s still going to open the door when you sneak over. If anything, the question is just how big a price do you want to pay tonight. How far are you willing to push him, how greatly do you want him to snap once you’re alone.

You think you want him to lose it. He’s always extra pretty when he looks like he’s about to cry from frustration, and he’s never hotter than when there’s that dangerous gleam in his eyes that reminds you he could toss you around like a sack of potatoes.

God, it sounds nice though. Being Dean’s sack of potatoes.

He sneaks out the window, and flips you off after you laugh at him for groaning the whole time. He has to sneak down the block to get his car, and you won’t be here when he arrives. You have to go get your Chinese.

But after that, all bets are off.

Dean is worse at this than you are. The sneaking around.

You get stupid and nervous when your dad is around and Dean is hiding. You told me wasn’t your best moment, but it also wasn’t that far from your worst. And you know your dad. You know that he’s not really going to question most things he tells you, because even your more obvious excuses aren’t that suspicious.

But Dean’s a fucking dumbass.

He’s your dumbass. Your old, grumpy idiot who’s some kind of genius with a wrench and a circuit board and an engine, but who stares at the crossword puzzles you do and mutters that all those letters look fake. He could find his way home if you dropped him in the middle of the woods—you call him your pigeon, and he doesn’t think that’s half as funny as you do—but he also thinks that Michaelangelo is the Ninja Turtle and needs your help writing emails. One time you asked him when he’d last gone to the doctor, and he said some time in ’07. You’d smacked him upside the head and dragged him by the nape of his neck.

Later that week, he’d been grumbling to your dad about how the doc was making him cut back on steak. His cholesterol had been through the roof. He’d protested and bitched, but you’d grabbed his jaw and snapped that if he died, you were going to leave him.

So now he’s down to only two burgers a week, and you’re very proud of him.

Which is what he’d told your dad.

Not the you part—he wasn’t that stupid—but the doctor part. And how he’d been bargained down to two burgers in exchange for other things.

Blowjobs. You might not have fucked yet, but you’d done most everything else, and you’d talked him down from a three burger a week deal with the promise of blowjobs.

Which he’d told your dad.

Because he’s an idiot.

“You’re datin’ someone?” Your dad had said in surprise, and Dean had frozen.

On the couch, you’d rolled your eyes. God, he was so lucky you loved him to death.

“I- I- Uh-“

“Why didn’t you tell me? You coulda brought her over, I wanna meet the lady who finally got you to settle.” Your dad had snorted, his voice dropping so that you probably weren’t supposed to hear it. “Hell, if she gives good enough head for you to drop burgers, I gotta meet her.”

You’d felt sick. When you’d glanced over your shoulder, Dean had looked sick.

His eyes had flitted to yours in panic. You’d given him a tight, prompting look, and his throat had bobbed.

“She, uh- She’s real busy-“

“I got time.”

“Right. Good.” Dean had looked trapped. This was the only time you saw him really stumble over his words. When it came to you.

It would be sweet, if he wasn’t a few wrong words from getting shot in the head.

“She, uh- She’s just- You know- Women-“

“Where’s she work.” Your dad had asked casually.

Dean had gone pallid. “The… Place.”

“Place?”

“Bookshop.”

“Oh.” Your father had called your name, and Dean had looked seconds from passing out. “You know any ladies at the bookshop Dean’s age?”

You’d hummed, pretending to examine your nails. “Um… Maybe Matilda.”

Matilda is the lovely old woman who you share all your shifts with. She has five cats, two grandchildren she loves more than her dolt of a son, and knows that you and Dean are dating because she caught you making out in the nonfiction section a month ago.

Dean had glared at you, and you’d just smiled back. The fuck was I supposed to say? You’d tell him later. There’s only four of us, and two are high schoolers.

He’d gotten out of the bookshop jam by saying that she worked at a different place. Your father had bought the lie, but never dropped it. He never drops any of Dean’s slip ups.

Because every time you’ve almost been caught, it’s been Dean’s fault. There was the time your bra got found in the Impala, and when Dean’s brother knew about you before you were formally introduced, and when you’d been on a date and your dad had walked into the bar. You’d shoved Dean under the table, and the fucking dumbass had decided to kiss your thighs the whole time he was down there. You’d kill him if you didn’t love him. But you also think he’d kill himself if he ever really pissed you off.

But now your dad thinks Dean’s sneaking around with some lady from out of town, and you go to bars by yourself when you said you were going out with friends. And he’s a nice, nosy man, so he hasn’t let go of either fact at all.

“How’s your girl, Winchester?” He asks Dean over dinner, and Dean grunts.

“Good. Pissin’ me off, but good.”

You stick your tongue out at him behind your dad’s back. He’s just grumpy about the couch thing.

Your dad had gone to check on the grill, and you’d put your feet in Dean’s lap. He’d grabbed your ankles and hissed for you to behave. You’d smiled at him and moved them, before immediately crawling over him. You’d had a hand resting right against his crotch, and another grabbing at his chest. You’d kissed his cheeks and neck while he just grabbed your waist for balance.

“’M so wet, De.” You’d whispered, sucking a kiss right under his jaw. “Need you so bad.”

He’d made a strangled, almost pained sound. His cock had twitched under your hand, and you’d pressed down harder.

Dean’s fingers had flexed on your waist. You’d dropped your weight onto his thigh, grinding down and moaning against his skin.

You think, if your dad hadn’t come back the next second, he would’ve flipped you over and ripped off your skirt. But you’d heard the door open, and pulled easily away. Dean hadn’t been able to stand up for five minutes. You’d giggled and run your fingers through this hair, before following your dad out on to the porch.

So he’s a little mad at you.

You hope he stays mad at you. He always kisses you like an animal, when he’s a little pissed. Then he presses your face between your breasts and mumbles about how it’s not fair that he can’t stay mad at you, and it’s a better feeling than any high in the world.

Your goal for the night might be driving him so up the wall that when he finally fucks you, he rearranges your guts in his name.

It’s not going to be that difficult to do.

“What’d she do to piss you off?” Your dad asks, and Dean makes a face.

“Nothin’. Just- She gets mouthy.” He’s still glaring at you. You pretend not to see it. “And she likes to push my fuckin’ buttons.”

“You’re fun to rile up, buddy.” Your dad shrugs, totally oblivious to you and Dean eye fucking across the room. “Just take a deep breath and tell her she’s making you mad.”

Dean snorts. “Trust me. I think she knows.”

You beam at him and flutter your lashes. His eyes narrow, his grip on the counter going white knuckled.

He is fun to rile up. You hope he never works on that.

“You know who I saw at the store today?” You dad asks you, and you hum, poking at your chow mein.

“Who?”

“Gordon.”

“Oh, shit.” You look up. “How’s he doing?”

“Alright. Think he’s livin’ at home too. Surprised you didn’t know.”

“Well, we don’t talk that much anymore-“

“He asked about you.” Your dad shrugs casually. Too casually.

You know where this is going.

“Gave me his new number, to pass onto you. Said he missed you, all four years-“

“Dad.” You sigh, giving him a flat look.

He raises his hands. “I’m not sayin’ anything-“

“Yes, you are.”

“Well- Nothin’ that we gotta read into, but you two were always so close-“

“Dad-“

“Who the fuck is Gordon.” Dean grunts, and you flush.

He looks pissed. And not you just flashed him and he’s got a boner at the table pissed.

Really pissed. Like he wants to bite someone’s head off, but hasn’t figured out who yet.

It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.

“He’s- He’s just my childhood friend-“

“Childhood best friend.” Your dad corrects, and you’re going to fucking kill him and then yourself. “They were little bandits together, we all thought they’d end up datin’, but I guess they both got sidetracked.”

“We didn’t get sidetracked.” You mutter, staring at your plate.

You can feel Dean’s gaze burning into you. It’s almost impossible to look him in the eyes.

“We just- It was never like that-“

“Didn’t he take you to prom?”

“As friends-“

“You didn’t come home ‘till the morning-“

Something cracks, and you and your dad both fall silent.

Dean’s broken his mug. With his hands. One hand.

Oh, God.

You’re worried that if you stand up, there’s going to be a slick stain on your chair.

“You alright, buddy?”

“Yeah. I’m good.” Dean stares at you, nostrils flaring. “You gonna call the boy?”

Boy. Not man, boy. And he says it so mockingly, it makes you feel buzzy and faint.

“No.” You try to sound normal, but you’re sure it comes out pathetic and dazed. “I- Um- We never-“ You glance nervously at your dad, and clear your throat. “Gordon actually ditched me for Anna, on prom night. That was- It was why we stopped talking.”

“Oh.” Your dad makes a sour face. “Well, I always knew he was gonna be bad news eventually. You deserve better, kiddo, and if I see him again I’ll give him a piece of my mind- I’m sure Dean will too.”

And you have to agree with that.

Dean looks like he’s about to go and smash Gordon’s head against the curb. Your dad keeps rambling about Gordon and kids not knowing what they want and how both he and Dean will make sure you never settle for less than you deserve. Dean keeps staring at you, and you’re sure that part is true as well.

Dean’s not going to let you settle for anything less than what you deserve at all. If he can help it, he’s never going to allow you to settle, period.

You really hope he knows, that it’s him and nothing else. Never anything else. Whatever confusing feelings you had eventually developed for Gordon had vanished when you were a teenager. You’d barely had a college boyfriend—more like a few loose options you’d kicked to the curb once you decided they’d lead to pallid and sickly futures—and no one in your life has ever made you care about a relationship the way Dean does.

And you really worry sometimes, that he doesn’t understand that. You try to remind him, but the age gap hangs over your heads like a sword of Damocles. He’s said before that there has to be better boys for you. Boys your age.

You don’t want a boy your age. You want a man.

You want Dean.

And from the look of him, you’re not sure he’d be able to stomach you with anyone else.

“I’m not going to call Gordon.”

Dean looks up from the sink. You’d followed him into the bathroom while your dad cleaned the grill, desperate to make sure he understood. You like him a little grumpy and mocking. It makes everything in your chest feel wrong, when he really seems upset.

“Alright.” Is all he mutters, grabbing a towel to dry his hands.

“Dean-“

“What?”

He gives you a challenging look. You swallow, and lean back against the door.

“I love you.”

The first time you’d said it had been all romantic and dumb in the rain. It had fumbled from your lips like a prayer, and he’d kissed you until your legs gave out. Even now, months later, it has the safe effect. Dean’s shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. Everything in him softens. Just for you.

“I love you too, princess-“

“No.” You whisper, pressing your lips in a tight line. “I really love you.”

Dean frowns. “Yeah, I know-“

“Dean.” You push off the door, your eyes locked onto his. “I love you.”

No one else, is what you tell him with your eyes. Just you. Always just you.

Dean blinks, his gaze raking over your body, then darting to the door. He rasps your name, because he knows you too well. He knows that glint in your eyes, he knows the sweet smile playing on your lips. He tells you all the time, that it almost gives him a heart attack. You close the distance in small, cautious steps. Dean clears his throat, looking almost desperate for you to take mercy.

You won’t. You need him to understand.

“Sweetheart, you can’t-“

“Yes I can.” You sink to your knees, and Dean grabs a fistful of your hair.

Your drag your hands over his thighs, and his swallows hard, a vein in his brow ticking as he tries to keep still.

“Come on.” He rasps. “This ain’t behaving.”

You shrug, slowly undoing his belt buckle. “Oops.”

Dean’s chest heaves, and a small groan rumbles in his chest as you kiss his crotch. You watch him under hooded lashes, pulling down his pants and taking his underwear with them.

He’s already hard. Thick in your hand and weeping from his slit, the angry red of his cock demanding your attention, even as he tries to talk you out of it.

“Baby, you- You don’t gotta-“

“But I want to.” You murmur, slowly pumping his cock with a light grip.

Dean grunts, bucking into your hand. His head is tossed back, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming out in pants. You stop stroking him, and he immediately looks back down.

“What’re you-“

“Can I?” You press your cheek into his thigh, letting your warm breath fan over his balls. “Please?”

You pout, just to be sure he knows. Dean never likes making you do this. He always whines on and on about how it should be about you, not him. He says he gets off just fine tasting you and making you cum on his fingers. You’re still trying to make him understand that just the thought of him fucking your face like a toy ruins your underwear.

You’ll be sure to show him after.

Dean stares down at you, gripping the bathroom sink and petting the top of your head. He lets out a ragged breath, closes his eyes, then drags them back open. You think he might be checking that you’re still there.

You’re about to suck his soul out of his cock. He’s not going to get rid of you that easy.

“You sure?” He mutters, and you nod eagerly.

“Please.”

A feral sound rumbles from his throat. His dick twitches, and he gives the tiniest nod. 

“Is that-“

“Go for it.” A smile ghosts his lips. “Show me what you’ve got, baby.”

You give him a flat look. He knows damn well, what you’ve got. And you can see him smirking, opening his mouth to say something cocky and smug about you biting off more than you can chew.

You don’t give him the chance, before you’re wrapping your mouth around his head and swirling your tongue.

Dean groans, his blunt nails scraping against your head as his whole body tenses. You hum around him and repeat the motion, again, and then one more time for good measure.

“Jesus-“ He chokes out your name. “Warn a guy- I- Wasn’t fuckin’ ready-“

You smile, pushing further down. You suck lightly, taking his base into your hand and pumping it in time with your mouth. Dean makes a sinful, deep noise that comes straight from your dreams. He croaks out your name, bowing his head and tugging on your hair as his cock pulses in your mouth.

“Baby- Fuck-“

You take your free hand and grab his balls, slowly massaging them as your mouth picks up the pace. Dean’s looking down at you like you fell from Heaven, right onto your knees for him, and him alone.

“You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that? Just- Lookin’ at me and- Shiiit-“

He’s losing composer. It’s what you live for. The way his eyes roll back and he starts to shallowly thrust between your lips, letting drool slip down your chin and pre-cum leak over your tongue.

“Mouth was made for me.” He grits out, his teeth bared and voice tight. “Pretty little slut, know you love this shit. You’re wet, aren’t you. Drippin’ all over the floor for me.”

You moan in agreement, and Dean slams his hips forward. His cock bruises the back of your throat and you have to relax your jaw to stop yourself from gagging. Dean tenses, his voice raw and strained.

“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry-“

You’re not having any of that.

Dean cuts himself off with another guttural sound as you push yourself forward. Your nose brushes his abdomen, your jaw unhinged to take all of him, and it’s still not enough. You stick out your tongue, flicking the underside of his cock as you squeeze his balls.

“Son of a bitch- You-“

You suck, letting your throat squeeze around the head of him. He makes another, feral sound, and tugs at your hair.

“Baby, shit- You’re so fuckin’ warm, and- You gotta get off or-“

He almost whimpers as you pull back, sliding off his cock with a pop and stroking it as you leave an open-mouth kiss on the swollen head. Dean’s fingers flex, and you know he wants to shove you back down.

You give him a soft smile, kissing down his shaft, then over his balls. You suck there for a second, still jerking his cock in your free hand, and he finally snaps. Pulling you back by your hair and giving you a wrecked, hopeless look. He’s trying to use his listen to me voice, but he seems to know it’s a lost cause. You’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He says your name like a prayer, and you open your mouth. Stick out you tongue, fixing him with a challenging glare.

Dean swallows. “You sure- Fuck-“

You flick your tongue over his head, squeezing the base of his dick tight.

Dean shakes his head, looking up like he’s praying.

“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters, and you know you’ve won.

You keen as Dean’s grip on your hair tightens. He shoves you right down his cock, pushing against the back of your throat before yanking you back. You moan around him, your eyes watering from the overwhelming taste and force. You’re barely more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure, and that’s exactly what you wanted.

Dean barely able to think outside of where he’s fucking your mouth, making broken and worshipful sounds, calling your name with every thrust.

“Fuck, baby- Takin’ it so good, love you like this, choking on my cock. Look so pretty for me, wish I could take a picture- Fuuuckkkk-“

He tosses his head back, still watching his cock pump between your lips. He gets transfixed and babbles, coming apart above you as you just keep smiling and taking it.

“Pretty girl,” he grits out. “My pretty fuckin’ slut, sucking dick like a damn vacuum- Crying for me, baby girl, you need this cock that bad-“

You mewl in agreement, dizzy from the praise. You do need his cock that bad. If the thoughts weren’t being fucked from your head, you whimper that no one fucks your mouth like he does. No one makes you feel so holy and used all at the same time. You’re so wet you feel it every time you shift, so wet you’re worried he’s going to be able to smell it. But you love this. The taste and weight of him, and how no one gets it but you.

It’s almost pornographic, the way he’s taking your mouth. Your lips shine with spit and pre-cum, tears pour down your cheeks as his thrusts become jagged sharp, and sweat shines on Dean’s thighs as you keep working his balls. They’re getting tight and heavy in your hands. He’s about to loose it.

“Baby-“ He taps your cheek, words pushed out between moans. “Baby, I- I’m gonna-“

You sink your nails into his thigh. You’ve never failed to swallow before, and you’re not starting now.

Dean hisses out your name, but doesn’t stop. You moan around him, sucking as hard as you can to shove him over the edge.

He cums hard, shooting thick ropes of release down your throat. You unhinge your jaw, and manage to get most of it. But he always lets out so much, and a fair amount ends up smeared with your tears and dripping down his legs.

You pull slowly back, and start to lick up what you weren’t able to get on your first try. Dean hisses, sensitive from the orgasm, and strokes his hand through your hair. His gaze is fixed on where some had dripped down to your tits. You have a feeling that if you were really, truly in private, he’d shove his face into your chest and clean you up himself.

“You are-“ He lets out a broken laugh, as you smile up at him. “Something else.”

“You’ve told me.” You tease, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“Too proud of it.” He grumbles. “Like you want to be over my knee later.”

You shrug, eyes sparkling. Dean’s jaw ticks.

His thumb swipes over your cheek, where a little bit of the cum is still stained.

“Open.” He mutters, and you obey.

He presses his thumb between your swollen lips, and you take it with a happy hum. Dean groans, watching you suckle his release of his finger. You flutter your lashes at him. He pulls out, smearing spit over your cheek.

“I’m goin’ in an hour.” His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it. It sends an excited, electric thrill between your legs. “You better follow, or I’m comin’ here and fucking you in your daddy’s house.”

You nod like a bobblehead, unable to even find the words. Dean laughs and pulls you to your feet, kissing you harshly. It’s messy and open, possessive in a way you’d never found hot before you had him.

Other boys being possessive had seemed like they thought of you as a nice little toy they threw a tantrum over having to share. With anyone, even your friends.

Dean being possessive makes you feel priceless. Treasured. He’s yours, and he doesn’t want you to forget it. You can do whatever the hell you want, just so long as you remember that he’s yours.

Your dad is calling for you again. Dean slips out of the bathroom first—he doesn’t have cum and drool to clean off his face—but not before kissing your cheek and slapping your ass.

He says you’re going to be the death of him, but he’s bouncing around like he’s ten years younger. You’re the one who needs to clutch the railing as she walks downstairs. He didn’t even fuck you and it’s hard to walk from the throb between your legs.

You’d been right. You’d completely destroyed your underwear, turning it to just a soaked scrap of lace.

And Dean might have you begging at his feet, but you don’t roll over that easy. You pulled off your panties before you left the bathroom. You keep them bundled in your fist while Dean talks to your dad for the last hour, sitting on the counter with your legs crossed. When it’s time for him to go, he wanders over to give a perfectly innocent goodnight.

His eyes are gleaming, as he drawls see you around, kid.

Kid.

He knows you hate it when he calls you kid. And suddenly, you don’t feel bad anymore.

“Night, grandpa.” You say lightly, and Dean laughs, but it’s rougher than before. You can see it in his eyes, the way he’s planning out every single way he’s going to make you pay for that.

Then you stick out your hand, and he blinks. There’s a confused, cautious shadow over his face as he takes your hand and shakes it. You cover it with your fist, and slip your panties into his grip.

Dean pulls back with a frown, looks down, and coughs so loud he staggers. You bite your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Your father looks up from the sink with a worried face.

“You alright, Dean?”

“Yeah, uh- Yeah.” He stares at you, working his jaw. His words are pushed through his teeth, and you can see his cock, already straining through his jeans again.

His closes his fist around your panties, and shoves them into his pockets. Your dad asks him something else, but you don’t hear it. You’re fully fixed on Dean. On the dangerous promise in his eyes.  

You’re in trouble.

Good.

Dean lives more than twenty minutes away, but you make the drive in fifteen.

You’re desperate, and past denying it. You’ve got the hottest man alive waiting for you and finally about to fuck you, anyone else would be breaking traffic laws as well.

It wasn’t hard to sneak past your father, especially because you failed to sneak past him. You got downstairs and found him watching TV. You’d thought he was in bed, and the blood had drained from your face.

“Dad, uh- You’re-“

“Just watchin’ Jeopardy.” He’d said, not looking away from the screen. “You going to Dean’s?”

You’d tripped over nothing, and choked on the air.

“I- I don’t- I’m not- What-“

“Don’t insult me, kiddo.” He twists, giving you a flat look. “I ain’t blind and stupid. He had a hard on the whole night.”

“Um-“ You fidget with your fingers, unsure if you should run or just drop dead. “That’s- Maybe he was texting his girlfriend-“

“He never texts his girlfriend. He just texts you.”

You open your mouth, then close it. You’re dead. Dean’s dead. Your dad is going to kill him and you’re never even going to get to have sex, and that’s such a huge bummer because you’re just going to sit at his grave forever, and turn into a tree like some old myth, and then your dad is going have no one to talk to sports about. Everyone is losing in this scenario. It’s awful.

“Was it his fault?” You say, because it’s all you can think of. “That you realized?”

Your dad snorts. “Oh, yeah. I had suspensions-“

“Suspicions-“

“I caught you on a date.” He says your name dryly. “You said you were there alone, but his car was in the lot. He said he was datin’ a girl who worked in a bookshop. You’d been wearing his shirt to bed.”

Your mouth falls open, your cheeks burning.

“Oops.”

“Yeah. Oops.” Your dad sighs, turning back to the TV. “Realized when he let me call you on his phone. Dumbass opened the message thread for me and everything.”

Oh. Oh no.

Again, there wasn’t much outside of sex that you and Dean hadn’t done. Which, tragically, included sexting.

A lot of sexting.

Photos of you in lingerie and dick pics and voice memos and a lot of videos, and you’re going to throw up-

“You- You didn’t-“

“Saw more of Dean than I ever wanted to.” Your dad mutters, making a face like he’s also going to be sick. “Was about to punch him for sending that shit to you, but there was a voice memo with it. Listened for about ten seconds, almost got sick, realized it was at least mutual.”

You cringe. You remember that voice memo and photo, just as well as you remember your dad calling you on Dean’s phone because his was dead. You’d thought he sounded weird. You wished you hadn’t been so right.

“I’m so sorry-“

“He treat you well?”

You blink. You almost don’t understand the question.

“Of- Of course he does.”

“Hm.” Your dad frowns at the TV. “He gonna marry you?”

“Dad-“

“I’m just sayin’.” He shrugs. “If he’s puttin’ us all through this, he better hope he doesn’t break your heart. You know I was in the military.”

You almost laugh. “He was in the military-“

“I was ranked higher.”

“Dean was a marine-“

“You think I couldn’t kick his ass?”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think you don’t have to, because he won’t break my heart.”

For a second, you just stare at each other. Then your father huffs, and slumps back into the couch.

“Good.” He waves a hand. “Have fun.”

You nod, then go still.

Have fun.

That’s… Approval.

Your dad knows about you and Dean, and he—begrudgingly, but that’s the best you can hope for—approves.

So that should be the first thing you tell Dean when you get through the door. That you don’t have to keep hiding. You’re rehearsing breaking the news your whole drive over, mumbling the speech under your breath when you knock on the door.

But then Dean opens it, and suddenly there’s only one important thing in the world.

Greetings are forgotten, as Dean wraps an arm around your waist and drags you into his chest. You whimper as his mouth slams over yours, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him further down.

“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left.” Dean groans, pulling your jacket off with scrambling hands. “Got in the car and wanted to turn around, sneak back through the window like a fuckin’ teenager- Jesus, you don’t know what you do to me-“

You surge up on your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulder and kissing him until you’re breathless and swaying.

“I- I know.” You whisper. “God, Dean, I know-“

He makes one of those deep, hungry, rumbling sounds, spinning you both around so he can kick the door close. You stumble closer, pressing him back against the wall as your pull his upper lip between your kiss. Dean grunts and crashed forward, grabbing your face between his hands and pressing back.

“Needy.” He mutters between open mouth kisses. “Needy fuckin’ girl, can’t even let me take a breath, can you?”

You tip you head back, your words breathy and high as Dean starts to kiss over your neck.

“You- You kissed me first.”

Dean hums, nipping at your throat. He’s dragging his hands down your sides, slipping one under your shirt to caress your spine while the other gropes at your ass.

“I did, didn’t I?”

“Mhm.” You mumble, lost in the heat of his mouth. He’s sucking on a sensitive pulse point, letting his tongue flick over the skin, and he knows what that does to you. “De- Dean-“

“Guess I’m the one who couldn’t wait.” He says, but it’s mostly to himself. “Been dreamin’ of this for so long, sweetheart. You here.” He kisses further down, pulling down your shirt to get access to the top of your chest. “’Bout to be in my bed.” He bunches up the fabric of your shirt, and only his arm around you is keeping you upright. “’Bout to be on my cock.”

He hisses the last words before rushing back up into a starved, sloppy kiss. He rips off your shirt in the same second, before smoothly unclipping your bra. You gasp as the cold air hits your nipples, nails scratching at Dean’s neck.

“Shit- Dean-“

“I’ve got you.” He scoops you into his arms, kissing your cheek.

“Do you-“ You swallow at his flat, amused look. “Sorry.”

His lips twitch, and he doesn’t break your gaze as he walks down the hall. “You know, you always get mouthy when you’re horny.”

You scowl. “I do not-“

“You do-“

“No, I-“

Dean cranes his neck, capturing your lips in a slow, lazy kiss. You respond in a second with a light tug of his hair, eliciting another pleased, low rumble from his chest.

He pulls back, and you chase him. Getting one more, quicker kiss that he melts into within a second.

“You do.” He rasps, nipping at your nose. “You turn into a real brat.”

You glare, ready to snap something that would only prove his point. But Dean grins, and suddenly you’re being dumped down onto his bed. You yelp at the sudden movement, wiggling and holding him tight enough to strange. Dean grunts, falling forward and barely managing to brace himself over you as you both crash down to the mattress.

“Jesus-“ He mutters your name, and you shove his shoulders.

“You surprised me-“

“You almost killed me-“

“Oh, you’re fine-“

“I’m old, that coulda broken my knees-“

“Shut up.”

You grab his face, pressing up for another stumbling, frantic series of kisses. You’ve kissed Dean pretty much everywhere—on his body and geographically—but this is always your favorite place. On his pretty mouth, under him in his bed. There’s nothing around you that isn’t Dean, and it’s intoxicating. The pine and spice scent of him, the heat of his body, the fact that he just lay here by himself sometimes. Thinking of you, the same way you think of him.

Dean wraps his arms around you, pulling you up off the mattress. You hook your leg over his waist, flipping you both over so you’re straddling his lap and kissing him everywhere you can reach. You grind down onto his sweats, and he moans shamelessly, his fingers digging into your hips.

“You- You’re not wearing your fucking panties-“

“I gave them to you.” You mumble, pressing your ass down against his thickness. The fabric scrapes against your bare pussy, offering perfect friction, and you start to hump him like you’re in heat.

 Dean drags his hand up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you up his chest. He lets you keep working yourself down on his bulge for a few seconds longer, moaning into your mouth as you tease him.

“Dirty, dirty girl.” He scolds, the mocking tone in his voice just spurring you on.

He knows you love it. That’s why he likes it.

“Walkin’ around in just a skirt.” He dips a hand under your skirt, palming at your bare ass cheeks. “Should’ve folded you over the couch to see it. Pretty fuckin’ pussy, bet it’s already nice and wet for me.”’e

He reaches further down, and you gasp as his fingers brush your cunt. He’s right. Of course he is. Dean might know your body better than you do.

“Shit- Dean-“

“Shhh.” He splits two fingers, rubbing them over the outer lips of your pussy before pinching them together.

You whine, trying to hump up into his hand, but he splays his palm on your lower back and presses you back down.

“Behave.” He grunts. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you how I want?”

He squeezes harder, his thumb grazing over your clit. Your whole body tremors, and you press your face into the crook of Dean’s neck.

“Ye- Yes.” You pant. “But- You’re not fucking me- You’re just- Oooh-“

He flicks his thumb this time, and it’s like a tiny electric shock. You don’t know how he always does this. It doesn’t matter if he’s got his hand between your legs or your pussy right on his face, he plays it like an instrument. It would make you scream if it didn’t feel so good.

“Well,” Dean muses, dragging his thumb in slow torturous circles as he starts to rub your pussy again. “I told you to behave earlier. And did you?”e

You shake your head, almost so overwhelmed from the attention on your core that you forget how to speak. “N- No.”

“That’s right. So I’m gonna fuck you,” he pulls his hand away for a second, landing a sharp slap on your ass before pushing it  back. “When you remember how to be a good girl.”

You whimper, but don’t argue. This is what you’d asked for, with all the teasing.

You’d just thought he’d give it to you rough. That’s what behave usually meant. An invitation for you to test the line, if you wanted him to pin your on his mouth and make you cum under you were begging him to stop. Once it meant lying over his lap while he fingered and spanked you, and you’d cum so hard you saw stars.

But that’s not what this is.

You’re melted over Dean’s chest, and he’s being lazy and mean. He keeps playing with your pussy like it’s a cute little toy. Just brushing it and rubbing your clit with barely any pressure.

“Mo- More.” You plead. “I need more-“

You almost sob, as he pushes one finger just into your entrance before taking it away. You hug him so tight you think it must hurt, but he doesn’t even grunt.

“Look at that.” He coos in your ear, smearing a little bit of your arousal on your thigh. “You’re making a mess on me, baby. Just from a little bit of touchin’.”

“Was- Was not a little bit-“

“Wasn’t much.” Dean muses, landing a sharp slap on your swollen pussy. “But it never takes much to get my girl wet, does it.”

You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes again. You’d beg if you had the words, but right now you’re just trying to hold on.

“Everything makes you so horny.” Dean drawls, going back to rubbing his big, warm hand over your pussy. “Remember when we got ice cream? Had to fuck you in my car, ‘cause you couldn’t even wait to get to the damn house.”

“You- You were- You were wearing a really nice shirt-“

“Sure, princess. It was the shirt.”

“It was-“

Dean slaps your pussy again, and your words fall into a whine.

“You ashamed of the truth, princess?” He teases, right in your ear. “How you really wanted me to stuff you up, fuck you and fill you like the cumslut that you are?”

You keen, and you can’t stop yourself from humping his hand again. This time, Dean lets you. He knows you need it.

“That’s right, baby girl. I know you like that.” He bites your ear, and you wiggle your ass right onto his fingers, trying to force one or two inside you. “I remember how I came on your thighs. You almost got me to put it in that day. One more of those pretty pleases and I woulda caved.”

“De- Deeaan-“

“Kept those panties too. I got a whole drawer for them, just for when I miss you.” He kisses the side of your head. “And I always fuckin’ miss you.”

The tears start to flow, half from the debaucherous sweetness of Dean’s words, and half from desperation. If you don’t cum right now, you’re going to explode.

And you’re close. You’re so close. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, but you’ve gotten the tips of Dean’s fingers to press onto your clit, and the sensitive little button is going to be enough to get you over the edge. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it up, forcing you to meet his eyes as you work down onto his fingers. You sob in desperation, lips quivering and tits bouncing. Dean groans, pushing up to kiss you as hard as he can. And you’re so close.

Then the asshole stops.

He pulls his hand away, slaps your pussy, and stops.

You make a strangled, broken sound of defeat, and Dean just chuckles. He makes you both sit up, massaging your ass and kissing away your tears.

“Nice try.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “You think you earned bein’ able to cum?”

“Ye- Yes.” You pout hopefully, and Dean chuckles.

“Aw, sweetheart. You ain’t even mouthy anymore.”  

You swallow. “I- I can be-“

“Jesus.” Dean laughs, and that pools right in you tummy, the embarrassment stoking an already raging fire. 

Dean’s rubbing your sides, kissing all over your shoulders as breasts as you just try to breathe. You earned this. You really did. But god, it’s a perfect torture. He’s just kissing and touching you, in a way that would almost be innocent if you weren’t soaked wearing just a skirt and leaving a stain on his jeans. 

“’M sorry.” You breathe out, wrapping your arms around Dean’s head.

He hums, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your eyes flutter, and it’s hard to stay focused. He’s so warm, his tongue dragging in little circles. You swallow, your voice getting higher as he starts to suck.

“I- I’m sorry I teased you, De- I- Pleaseeee-“

Dean moves away, grabbing your jaw and holding it back for him to inspect. You give him your best, pleading expression and pray it breaks him.

He taps your lips with his thumb. “Open.”

You obey in a second, and Dean’s lips twitch. He leans down, and spits right into your open mouth.

He’s done this before. It practically makes you gush every time. And it doesn’t help that he’s wrapped all around you, watching you with such teasing affection as you take it so easily. You swallow, and blink up at him with a fucked out, dazed expression.

“Good girl.” He mutters, and you beam up at him. “Yeah, I know. You like bein’ a good girl.”

God, you do. And from Dean’s lips, the words feel like a rush of adrenaline.

“But you’re not gonna learn, are you?” He drawls. “Gonna keep me on my toes, running around trying to find places to fuck you that won’t get us arrested.”

“Maybe,” you whisper. “But you like me like that.”

That makes him laugh again, before he pulls you into a shockingly sweet, slow kiss.

“Damn right I do,” he mutters, before pulling back way. “Alright. Up.”

You blink at him. “Huh.”

“Stand up.” He nods to the foot of the bed. “Take off your skirt, ‘n come back.”

“But- You’re- You’re still-“

“Trust me, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the tip of your nose. “If I keep these pants on longer, Little Dean is gonna suffocate. I’ll take care of it.”

You giggle softly, and obey the command. The air feels cold, without Dean there folded over you. It’s just further motivation for you to push down your skirt and wait for his next request.

And you’ve been naked in front of Dean before. Many times, to varying degrees. But you’ve never done it like this.

Just… Bare. Wearing nothing and standing for him to see so clearly, as he pulls off his jeans and shirt then settles at the headboard. He’s taken his cock in his hand, and started to stroke it slowly. Looking you up and down with a lazy grin. Your skin prickles with anticipation, and with anyone else you’d try to wrap your arms around your stomach or shrink back and hide. And the first time you tried that, he’d pinned your hands over your head and fingered you until you squirted.

So maybe you should try it.

“Don’t even think about it.” He growls, when you move. “Wanna see you, baby.”

You swallow, shifting on your feet. “You can see me.”

“Hell yeah, I can.”

Dean’s gaze is burning into you. And it’s the most impossibly sensual thing you’ve ever see, Dean’s massive cock in his hand. The way it twitches and jumps as he touches it, as he watches you. He grunts, his hand staring to beat harder, and you press your thighs tight together.

It’s just you, that’s making him all flushed and hard. You almost start to drool again, thinking about crawling down the mattress and taking him back in your mouth. How he’d probably let you, with how he’s got lidded eyes and making low, rough grunts.

It’s a powerful, beautiful feeling.

But unfortunately, not enough to stop you from scrambling forward the moment he stretches out a hand.

Dean laughs, spinning you around so your back is tucked into his chest. His hand that hand been on his cock hitches up your leg, and the other wraps around your stomach, his fingers grazing under your breast. You tip your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes and getting lost in the feeling. Dean, wrapped so fully and completely around you, keeping you nice and warm in his massive arms.

“Look at you.” He kisses along your jaw, fingers dragging over your sensitive inner thigh. “Nice and stupid for me already. Ready to be a pretty doll and take this cock.”

“Need it.” You breathe out, grabbing his forearm. “Pleeease, Dean, I’ve been waiting so long-“

You moan as he parts the swollen lips of your pussy, letting his cock slip and rub between your folds.

“I know you have.” He mutters. “Been waitin’ longer. Almost lost my mind, knowin’ how tight and warm you were but not being able to fuck you. Fuck you right, fuck you properly, fuck you ‘till you ain’t ever gonna remember another mans name.”

“Just you.” You manage to whine out, pushing your hips up to get a little more friction. “Always just you, Dean, don’t want anyone else, never wanted anyone else- Fuuuck-“

He pushes inside. It’s slow and careful, deft fingers rubbing your clit to help you relax. It’s not like much help is needed, though. He’s so big you can’t close your fingers around him, but he slips into your cunt like a glove.

“Shit-“ Dean groans in your ear, lips hot and wet on your skin. “Greedy pussy swallowing me up, baby, knew you’d take me so good, take me perfect-“

He bottoms out, pressing against a gooey spot deep inside you body. Nobody’s ever really hit it before, let along split you open so well it gets a consistent, throbbing pressure. His tip kisses your cervix, his breathing ragged in your ear, and you both need a few seconds to adjust.

You turn your head, trying to chase his mouth, and find Dean already there. He kisses you slowly, open mouthed with his tongue mapping every inch of your mouth. His arms are fully wrapped around your stomach, and you cling to them like a seatbelt. You’re lightheaded in the best possible way. Dean hums against your lips, and the sound vibrates inside of you.

You mewl, tossing your head back and clenching down. Dean hisses, and pulls you further back into his chest.

“Son of a bitch, you can’t just-“

“Sorry.” You whine out, turning your face to hide in his neck. “Just- ‘S big, Dean. So big.”

Dean chuckles. It doesn’t help.

“Big, huh?”

“Don’t milk it.” You grumble, and he laughs fully.

“I don’t think I’m the one that’s gonna be doin’ the milking, princess.”

He thrusts up, and you whimper.

“Dean-“

“That’s right.” He repeats the shallow thrust, and your moan gets loud. “Sing for me, baby, show ‘em who owns this pussy.”

“Y- You.” You stutter out. Your head is empty. You don’t think you can fit Dean’s cock and thinking at the same time. “Dean- Deeean-“

He attaches his lips to your neck again, sucking and kissing as he pushes you further down on his cock.

But he stops thrusting. He just has you… sit there.

On him. So full you can barely breathe, every nerve in your body stimulated but being offered no relief.

“What- What’re you-“

“Wanna keep you’re here for a while.” He murmurs, his kisses slowing. Becoming lazy and over attentive again, without giving you what you really need. “Just like this. My perfect fuckin’ girl, look at you.”

He taps your clit, and you try to arch up into the touch, but his hold is too strong.

“Fuck- Dean-“

“Just a little bit, baby.” He coos, rubbing your clit with the very tip of his fingers. “Just hold it for me.”

And God, you try. You sit on Dean and let him tease and touch you however he wants. He drags circles around your clit until you’re panting and whining, then moves his attention back up to your nipples. Tweaking and rolling them between his fingers, kissing over your neck and shoulders as his cock twitches inside of you with every lewd moans of his name.

“You like that?” He murmurs, and you nod.

Then he stops it, kissing the sob out of your mouth and moving onto something else.

He’s done this to you before. Had you in his arms and teased you until you couldn’t take it, then let you cum. But he’s never done it while sheathed inside of you. It heightens everything, making it impossible to think outside of his hands and lips and cock. His thick cock, not pressing against your ass, but buried in your cunt and still hitting all those sensitive places.

You’re on fire, and Dean’s just letting you build and build and build up to an explosive pressure. There are spots dancing behind your eyes, when he starts rubbing your clit in fast, brutal circles, then stops just before you can fall over the edge. You claw at his arms, wrecked beyond words, sobbing and trying to get away and get him closer.

For a second, you make the mistake of bowing your head. Your eyes flutter open, and you get a full view of Dean’s cock settled inside you. His balls pressed right against your ass, the way he almost fit everything in, but there’s still a bit of his base that didn’t make it. It’s slick with your arousal, dripping right out of your pussy as you whimper.

“De- Deaaan-“ It’s all you’ve been moaning, for who knows how long.

You’re so overstimulated, time is starting to blur. Maybe it’s been an hour, maybe only five minutes. It feels like you’ve been here forever.

“Please- Please-“ You blubber, leaning back to look at him under tear-stained lashes, the words falling from swollen lips. “I- I’ll do anything, oooooh- Fuck-“

Dean gives a shallow thrust, and your whole body spasms. He’s watching under hooded, lust blown eyes. And if the starved, animalistic look in his eyes is any clue, if he doesn’t cave for your sake, he’s going to cave for his.

“You gonna be good for me?” He rasps, and you nod frantically.

“So good- Please-“

Dean kisses you again, but this time he shifts you in his arms. His arm wraps around your neck, pinning you fully to his chest in a headlock. Your eyes roll back, a dazed smile covering your face.

His movements are relaxed and controlled, but you can see the feral glint his eyes.

You won.

“Perfect fuckin’ pussy, making a mess all over this cock.” He grunts out, bending his knees so you’re fully folded into his lap. “Could die here, baby- Fuucckkk-“

He seems to lose his own voice, the second he starts thrusting up into you. A beautiful moan rumbles in your ears, and Dean presses his nose tight against the side of your head. You whimper, holding onto him tight, mostly to try and keep grounded.

Dean’s fucking into you at a rough, snapping pace, and this is what you’d expected, but it’s better than you could’ve dream. The feeling of every vein and inch of him being pushed though your cunt. The obscene sounds of his cock slamming into you cunt, his arm around you forcing your head back onto his shoulder, giving you a full glimpse of Dean as your pussy strangles and squeezes him.

He looks destroyed, panting broken praise in your ear as his lips droop and his mouth hangs open.

You push up a little, managing to get his attention with a whimper. He gives you a curious look, then understands in a second. His lips mold over yours, and you babble some cockdrunk nonsense against his mouth. You’re fully crying again, so lost in the pleasure that you can’t even find the shame to care. Dean’s drilling up, pushing every thought in your head away into a pleasurable haze.

He pulls your knees up higher, letting him hit even deeper than before. Each stoke is deep and rough, and you’d been worked up so well that your pussy is just weeping and taking him like you’re a fuckdoll. You feel like one, in the best possible way. Stuffed up and pounded with abandon, slicking Dean’s cock so that it drives right back into your like a toy.

You moan, letting your eyes close and drowning in the impossibly good feeling. You can’t believe you waited this long. If Dean fucks like this, you might never get off his cock again.

“That’s it,” he squeezes your breast before moving those sinful fingers back down to play with your clit. “Takin’ me so perfect, baby girl, just gotta cum for me- Cum all over my dick, show me how much you love it- Come on-“

That’s really all it takes. Dean’s everywhere around you, his cock bullying into that gooey spot, and your orgasms hits you so hard you think you black out. The heat that had pooled in your stomach explodes and floods all your senses, pouring out of your pussy as your hips buck and you squirm in his grip.

Dean groans your name, and his thrusts get tighter. Faster and more brutal as he chases his own release. It prolongs your own orgasm, forcing it to drag out as you vision dances with spots.

Dean slams home, turning your head to find another, bruising kiss, and now you might be ascending. He’s cumming deep, deep into your pussy, and the sounds get better as he fucks it back into you. Everything in you is so full, you think you might be about to burst with light.

You get a soft kiss on your brow, as his grip loosens around your neck. When he finally settles and tries to pull away, you fumble to grab his wrist, fixing him with a pleading stare. You don’t ever want to be empty again.

“Gotta take care of you, baby.” Dean mutters, kissing the back of your hand. “We can do more later. When you’re talkin’.”

You roll your eyes, and he chuckles, booping your nose. You wrinkle it, and he kisses the angry pout off your lips.

“Silly girl.” He murmurs, and just like that you’re melting again. “Like I could live with myself if I didn’t fuck you again.”

You flush, and roll over to hide it in the sheets. Dean laughs, kissing the base of your spine and slapping your ass before fully standing up.

And you learn another difference between boys and men. All the douchebags you’ve slept with before rolled off of you and started smoking or talking about something unimportant.

Dean gets you water, and coaxes it down your throat. He draws a bath and carries you into it, but not before making sure you pee. He changes the sheets and gets you clean clothing and brings you a snack, smiling at you and kissing the top of your head every single time.

“You’re like a maid.” You mumble once you’re back in bed, curled into his chest.

He laughs, grinning down at you. “Only for my favorite girl.”

“I’m your favorite?”

“Don’t be a brat.” He gives you an amused look. “Don’t think you’d be able to handle another round, honey.”

You sigh dramatically, flopping fully onto his chest. You prop your chin up, watching him watch you. There’s that quiet, unending adoration again. You wish you could see it every second of every day, instead of sneaking out and-

Oh.

“Shit.” You sit up, and Dean grunts, grabbing your waist to keep you steady.

“What, what’s wrong-“

“I- Um- You can’t get mad.”

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you swallow.

“My- My dad- He, um-“

“Sweetheart-“

“He knows!” You blurt. “He’s known for a while, actually, and it’s- It’s actually your fault, you showed him that dick pic and voice memo you sent me-“

“I what-“

“You did it by accident! But you still did it, and-“

“Which one did he hear?” Dean demands, and you cringe.

“The one about- About tying me up.”

Dean goes pale. He groans, tipping his head back and grabbing onto you like he thinks someone’s going to rip you away.

“God fuckin’- I’m dead-“

“No!” You grab his face with a smile. “You’re not! He’s fine with it!”

Dean blinks. “He is?”

You nod. “He- Well, he wants to know when you’re going to marry me, but- Um-“ You laugh nervously. Dean’s older. You just had sex for the first time. He probably doesn’t want to think about that yet. “You know. He’s chill.”

“He’s chill.” Dean echoes.

“Mhm. Except for- The marriage thing.”

Dean hums. He’s relaxed again, dragging his palms in slow circles over your ass. His lips pull into that lazy, satisfied smirk. You flush just from the sight of it.

“What?”

“Nothin’.” He squeezes your waist. “Just tell him to give it a few months.”

“A- Give what-“

Dean raises his brows. Your mouth falls open.

“A few months-“

“I know what I want.” Dean shrugs. And you can see it. Him watching you so, so carefully.

And you smile.

Because you do to.

“Yeah?” You whisper, leaning down to hover your lips over his.

“Yeah.” He mutters. “That alright with you?”

You answer with a kiss, and Dean grunts, immediately rolling you over. And this sweet, slow moment feels like it’s going to last forever.

You hope—you pray—that it does.

✦End note: honestly this might be one of my favorite i hope you enjoyed it.✦

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It was entirely possible. It was no secret that his desk was a black hole for assignments and tests. “I told you to call me John when we’re not in class,” he corrected you. And he absolutely should not have done so. Even if you are his TA, you shouldn’t call him by his first name. He didn’t care. He loved to hear it fall from your lips too much.

You grinned at him and nodded once. “Right. John. Sorry.”

He shook his head, fighting a smile of his own. God, why did he find everything you did so fucking adorable? “Alright, let’s sort this mess. I’ve misplaced an Anatomy paper as well.”

Now that you had his permission, you started sorting the papers that were stacked on his desk. He stepped around you to start on the other side.

“What would you do without me, Professor,” you teased as you handed over the missing paper.

His cock twitched at the title. “John. Please,” he said, voice cracking. Not that he thought that would be any better. You could probably call him literally anything and his dick would sit up and pay attention. Fucking hell.

Carter ran a hand down his face and took a deep breath, doing his best not to look at you. “Any luck on the tests?”

When you didn’t answer, he glanced up briefly before returning to his task. Then he stopped and did a double take. You had perched yourself on the edge of the desk while your gaze ran over every bit of him you could see. You bit your lip. “Can I ask you a question?”

He cleared his throat and put his attention back on the papers. “Of course.”

“Will you kiss me?”

He froze utterly and completely, fingers wrapped around the edge of the missing tests. He took a breath then another before his head snapped up to you. “I’m sorry?”

The corner of your lips lifted in a smirk as you stood and sashayed around the desk. There really was no other word for the way you swung your hips. His dark eyes followed every movement. Your fingers wrapped around his tie and tugged, turning hm toward you. “You don’t have to be sorry. Just kiss me.”

His fingers twitched with the desire to hold you, to pull you close until there wasn’t a breath of air between you. “We can’t.”

“Of course we can. It’s easy. You just pucker up and put your lips on mine.”

When he didn’t move, you sighed and released your hold on his tie. A flash of hurt crossed your face and you turned away from him. No, no, no. He couldn’t touch you, couldn’t cross that line, but he didn’t want to lose you.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” you muttered, voice barely audible. “I’ll just take the tests and go. I’ll have them on your desk in the morning.”

You plucked the papers from his grasp and headed toward your bag. His gaze followed you as you moved toward the door, not glancing back at him once. “No,” he said as you reached for the handle.

Your hand hovered over the knob as you glanced at him over your shoulder. “What?”

“Don’t…don’t go. Just…come home with me. We’ll pick up food on the way. You can grade the tests while I go through the papers.”

The silence stretched into uncomfortable territory. He shifted his weight, tension flowing from him when a smile curved your lips.

“Alright, professor. As long as you agree to return to our earlier conversation.”