WHITE LINES 𓊆ྀི❤︎𓊇ྀི PRETTY BABY

You couldn’t blame the guy.

The entire day was spent navigating winding roads, making pit stops at small diners, and pressing waitresses who wanted to quit and locals who questioned your motives. It was tiring, and you could see it from the backseat of the Impala: Dean’s narrowed eyes, a tired hand on the wheel, and Sam slumped in the passenger seat, head against the foggy window.

It wasn’t until the three of you got back to the motel that you could really see how frustrated Dean was with everything–shooting glares at Sam, shutting his suitcase a little too hard, his head tipping back to drain the last few drops from his flask. You watched in silence, sitting on the bed.

Sam had passed out early on the bed, face down, still in his jeans and t-shirt; meanwhile, you and Dean sat on the bed, mindlessly watching a show at the lowest volume. The rain outside kept him at bay, a soothing balm after a rough day of endless cases and bickering from his younger brother.

A few touches to your thigh got you in this position; back pressed into the mattress, a large hand clasped over your mouth, and Dean rutting into you like you were designed for him to take out his frustration. Deep, eager thrusts, his head tipped back, the bed awkwardly creaking, and worrying glances to an out-cold Sam.

You whine into his palm, head tipping back onto the stiff pillow, and Dean is watching closely, green eyes heavy, lust-filled. This is all he needs after a long day; your legs wrapped around his hips, your pretty face contorting to his desire, his own personal doll. He loved it, loved you.

“Gotta be quiet, sweetheart,” he hushes through breaths, and you nod helplessly, and he has that fucking grin, still, even when he’s focused on thrusting, all whilst keeping the two of you as quiet as possible.

“Don’t wanna wake Sammy, yeah,” he breathes out, his head bowing while trying to keep in his own grunts and moans. “Good girl, keepin’ it closed for me,” he praises, swallowing back his sounds.

Nervous eyes look to your right, gazing at the sleeping boy, oblivious to the fact that his brother is currently fucking his girlfriend into the mattress just four feet away from him. It’s a dizzying thought, and it only has the two of you indulging in it: the fear, the adrenaline. It’s a high you’re both riding.

“Wanted you all day,” he whispers to you, a quiet admission through the soft grunts he’s letting bleed out, and your eyebrows are creasing, sweat trickling down the front of your forehead, and he’s lapping it up, eyes sweeping over your expression