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$ log - you got annoyed with vampire!dean winchester's constant whining for blood, so you finally satiate him!
$ warn --gn!reader --dom!reader --top!reader --sub!dean --fingersucking --degradation --hair-pulling --power-dynamics
$ wc -w 1.3k
$ cd masterlist
$ tag @twentytomidnight !
The bunker was suffocatingly quiet, save for the low, rhythmic hum of the ancient ventilation system and the obnoxious, repetitive drone of the television. The blue light of the screen washed over the room in cold, sickly waves, highlighting the tension in your shoulders. On the couch, Dean was a restless, irritating presence. He wasn't just hungry; he was vocal about it.
Every groan, every sharp exhale, and every snide, half hearted comment about how "empty" he felt was designed to grate on your nerves. He was leaning into that classic Winchester bravado, using sass to mask the desperation clawing at his insides.
He shifted his weight, the leather of the couch creaking under him, and threw another biting remark about how "some people" were being stingy with the good stuff.
It was a performance, a way to keep the monster at bay with a layer of Winchester snark, but you could see the way his eyes tracked the pulse in your neck.
You rolled your eyes, the sheer audacity of his whining finally snapping your patience.
Without a word, you crossed the small distance between you. Before he could launch into another pathetic, hungry plea, you reached down and gripped his shoulders, forcing him off the couch. He let out a startled, undignified huff as you pushed him down, forcing him to his knees between your legs.
He blinked up at you, the confusion momentarily breaking through his mask. He tried to recover, tilting his head back with a lopsided, sleazy grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "What’s this?" he murmured, his voice rough and thick with a hunger he could no longer hide. "You finally decided to give in?"
You didn't answer.
Instead, you reached for a spare blade on the coffee table, the cold steel catching the dim light. With a deliberate motion, you pricked the pads of your fingertips, the small droplets of blood welling up instantly. Dean’s pupils dilated, his gaze locking onto your hand with a predatory intensity that made the air between you heavy and thick.
You reached down, your fingers tangling in his hair to tilt his head back, exposing his throat and forcing him to look up at you. The sleazy grin faltered, replaced by a raw, desperate yearning. You pressed your fingers against his lips, the scent of your blood hitting him like a physical blow.
"Suck," you commanded, your voice low and devoid of warmth.
He didn't hesitate.
The moment his lips parted, the last of his bravado vanished. He lunged forward with a low, guttural sound, his mouth enveloping your fingertips with a desperate, uncoordinated hunger. The sensation was electric, the warmth of his mouth, the frantic pull of his tongue as he tried to draw every precious drop from your skin.
As he fed, you didn't make it easy. You leaned back, watching him with a look of amused disdain, your free hand winding into the thick hair at the nape of his neck.
When he began to suck too hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your fingertips with a sharp, stinging pressure, you gave a firm, punishing tug. He let out a muffled, choked sound against your hand, nearly gagging as you forced his rhythm to break, making him struggle for air before he could settle back into the feast.
"Look at you," you whispered, your voice dripping with a mocking sweetness that cut through the heavy silence of the bunker. "Needed your best friend this bad, huh, Dean?" You let out a sharp, mocking huff of laughter, watching the way his throat worked as he swallowed greedily.
The sight of the legendary hunter, reduced to a kneeling, desperate animal at your feet, was a delicious irony. "Fucking bastard. Just using me for blood, aren't you? All that whining just to get you to this point."
He tried to pull back for a second, a flash of wounded pride flickering in his dark, blown out eyes. But you tightened your grip on his hair, pulling his head back sharply to keep him anchored. He let out a low, needy whine that was far more animal than man.
"Don't you dare stop," you hissed, your voice a blend of command and condescension. You leaned forward, your eyes tracing the frantic movement of his jaw. You deliberately slid your fingers deeper into his mouth, forcing him to accommodate the intrusion of your knuckles as he struggled to swallow around them.
The sensation was thick and wet, the friction of his tongue against your skin sending a jolt of sensation up your arm. He let out a muffled, desperate groan, his eyes rolling back in a trance of pure, unadulterated gluttony.
Every time he tried to regain a semblance of his usual composure, you’d remind him of his place, either by tugging his hair until his scalp stung or by shoving your fingers deeper, making him choke slightly on the sheer intensity of the offering.
He was a mess of contradictions, a hunter, a hero, and right now, a starving dog at your feet, completely undone by the very person he usually tried to impress with his bravado. You watched him, a smirk playing on your lips, savouring the absolute dominance of the moment.
The heavy, rhythmic sound of his swallowing finally began to taper off, replaced by a softer, more rhythmic sensation. You felt the wet, sandpaper texture of his tongue performing a slow, sweeping lick across your fingertips, a feline, satisfied gesture that signalled the beast had finally been satiated. The frantic desperation in his throat smoothed out into a low, contented hum.
With a smirk of pure triumph, you withdrew your digits from his mouth. The sudden absence of your skin left him looking momentarily dazed, his lips glistening and redder than usual.
Before he could even attempt to reclaim his dignity, you brought your hand down, delivering a series of sharp, stinging smacks against his jaw. The sound of palm hitting skin echoed in the quiet bunker, treating him no differently than a disobedient pet.
"There we go," you mocked, your voice dripping with condescending satisfaction. "Bloodthirst all satisfied now, huh? You'll stop whining like a fucking cunt now?”
Dean sat there for a moment on the floor, his chest heaving as he fought to pull air back into his lungs. The predatory haze in his eyes was slowly receding, replaced by a heavy, post feed lethargy that made him look uncharacteristically soft. He wiped a stray smear of red from his chin with the back of his hand, his gaze following you as you stood up with effortless grace.
"Yeah," he finally managed, his voice a husky, wrecked mumble. It wasn't quite the suave Dean Winchester the world knew; it was the voice of a man who had just been thoroughly tamed. He offered a faint, sheepish nod of thanks, his eyes lingering on you with a mixture of lingering hunger and newfound respect.
You didn't linger to bask in his gaze or wait for a witty retort that likely wouldn't come. You had already exerted your dominance, and the satisfaction of seeing him so thoroughly undone was enough.
Turning on your heel, you began to walk away, the rhythmic click of your footsteps on the bunker floor the only sound in the heavy silence.
"You better rest up, Dean," you called back over your shoulder, your voice regaining its usual sharp, teasing edge. "I don't want to see you being a bratty little bitch on the next hunt just because you're feeling sluggish."
You didn't look back to see if he was going to throw a snarky comment your way or simply sink back into the couch in a blood drunk stupor. You already knew the answer. He was satisfied, he was quiet, and for once, he was exactly where you wanted him: humbled.
ugh i just KNOW dean’s more thick and sam’s longer like i need both rn pls
yes exactly the vision i have for them!!! it’s kinda like their essence. i’ve said it a lot that i think sam has a skinnier, longer dick and dean’s is short but really girthy. i think if i gave a measurement sam would be around 7-8” and dean is 7.5” lol
okay. so like… picture this for me please. Sammy likes it when reader pees on him. walk with me.
he loves it when she sits in his lap and just lets herself go. he loves how warm it is. he loves when she spreads her legs and just goes all over him, while he sits there like an obedient boy.
this is my most filthy and depraved thought and it is for you🤲
oh mt god anon you made me squirt w no hands
sam winchester who encourages his gf to just pee anywhere and everywhere whenever you want like a bad dog😭😭😭😂😂😭😭😂😭😂😭😂😂😭😭😂😭😂😂 genuinely un-potty-training you😭😭😂😂😂😂😂😭😂😂😭😭
he gives you an unchecked amount of water all the time and just lets you let it rip whenever. his personal water fountain. awww so cute
he holds you by the waist whenever you sit in his lap and pee all over him, a boner coming to life under his jeans while you just soaakkkk himmmm. he buries his face into your neck, breathes heavily and ruts up into you slightly while you go. he humps your ass as the wetness seeps through his clothes, soft moans filling your ears.
sometimes he gets disappointed that you aren’t going enough. he’ll dip between your legs, bury his hand under your pants and panties and rub at your clit to desperately try and get some more. “come on,” he blubbers, lips trembling with annoyance. yes, he still rolls his hips into you the entire time. “please, please. you’ve got more, don’t you?”
he likes it when you use his face as a toilet too.. god he could bathe in your pee. literally. sometimes if you’re already sitting on his face he’ll just start fingering you to encourage it. he drinks it like he’s never had anything better, and maybe he hasn’t. despite the fact it’s tangy and makes his mouth dry he likes it way too much.
he also has a lingering scent of you on him all the time like you marked him. it’s not strong at all and you need to be very close to notice, but either way he’ll just tell you it’s left over sweat.
i wanna be an emoji anon…. i saw the other person and i want to be….. because yes……….. but actual question now is your name pronounced “eena” or moe like “eyena” ? 🤔 just thinking
okay 🐞 anon yay yay 🐞🐞🐞
its pronounced eena/ee-nuh!! also yes hello 🐞 welcome to earth🤗🤗🤗🤗
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what would you say is the nastiest thing soldier boy would make reader do, and his ‘definition’ of nasty not readers 🥹
okay this might not be the freakiest but i feel like it’s those bondage pet-play things. like the leather straps that tie the arms and legs up so they can only crawl on their knees and elbows? with the mask and everything.
he literally loves watching you crawl around like that all day just because he wants you to. he only fills your bowl up with pee or cum, makes you eat his ass or suck his toes to get a treat. forces you to hump his legs and his boot like a ‘real dog’ just to take off the bondage. this is also a 24/7 agreement thing. the pet play bondage stays on during sex!!!!!
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twin would you ever write for ruby? I need her desperately
i don’t think i would because i don’t write for characters i’m not attracted to😭 its the exact reason i don’t write for castiel or gabriel! (who some other anons asked about a longgg long time ago) i feel like if i did i would write them half assed and you guys don’t deserve that!
also i personally don’t feel comfortable portraying wlw relationships as a straight woman 💔 it’s just not my place to do that!
warnings: vomit, oral sex (male receiving), mild degradation, breath play if you squint, throat bulging (wow whos shocked)
wc: 1.4k
note: HAPPY LAST TAPE!! ty for the love on the miniseries! time for bigger things.. if you catch my drift.
Weirdly enough, there was no camera man for this.
Sure, they set it all up for you two and positioned it nicely, but Ben wanted the room just for you two. No one else. An ‘intimate’ moment, if you could call it that at all.
Just to preface, you’ve never really been into sucking dick or deep throating or face fucking or really anything else that comes with putting a penis in your mouth consciously. It’s just not fun for you. Ben hates that about you. Hates that he needs to put in the effort for you to do it. Needs to ease you, to beg you, to drug you into taking him. It works, but it’s annoying.
This is his final straw. What better way to get you to open up to it if he trains you?
You sit at your knees, hands in your lap squeezing your inner thighs. Ben stands before you, his daunting cock waving around in your face. The musk wafts in your face every time the air slightly brushes it. It’s not unpleasant. You know for a fact he’s at the very least mostly clean under there, nice and washed before this moment so you don’t want to throw up right away.
“Open.” He reaches over, grabbing a blue bottle from the side. You open your mouth, sticking your tongue out. He flips the bottle open and squirts the liquid onto your tongue, nodding somewhat when you close and swallow.
He thinks it’s cheating to get a mouth lubricant. He’d rather have a fully dry tongue than this, but you begged him so sweetly he made the accommodation just this once. After this, he’s tossing it.
It tastes sweet and coats your mouth thickly like oil on a pan. You grimace and smack your lips, scrunching your nose. He scoffs. “What? Thought you wanted that stupid thing.” You shrug. “Yeah, I-I did. Didn’t think it’d feel like that.”
You straighten yourself back up, squeezing your hands into fists and opening your mouth back. You can feel the weight of him as he presses his tip at your tongue. It’s solid, as heavy as two fistfuls of rocks. You wonder if he was always this big or if it was just the V.
You don’t get to think for long because the first push is the deepest. Hits all the way to the back of your throat and leaves you sputtering for air. His hands find way to the back of your head, keeping you right in place with nowhere else to go.
“Don’t be a fucking baby.” He pinches your nose scoldingly. You whine around him, eyes twitching with discomfort. You’re grateful for the mouth-lube. It brings out enough saliva that this first stretch isn’t very uncomfortable. His hips come back and push in a bit deeper. You feel it deep within your throat, the stretch of his cock more like a package bubble bursting beneath a finger. It’s explosive and tantalizing, like it wants to reach further yet it can’t.
Each inch that he attempts to force down is swallowed with a soft hiccup. You can’t feel your own breath coming up your throat and through your nostrils at some point, but the ending line is in sight. You can see it when you glance up at his scrunched expression, cheeks flushing somewhat and his mouth hanging open. You can feel it once his pubic hair begins to tickle your nose, a strong stench of masculinity invading your air.
It’s not bad, just him.
“God, you’re tight.” He grunts, hands tangling in the back of your head as he does the last stretch. Your mouth overflows with spit and it spills past your lips down onto your thighs. You can feel the bulge in your throat, all nine and something inches of him inserted into the depths of your esophagus. The gag you’d been holding the past ten minutes finally slips, eyes bubbling with tears and your hands suddenly gripping at his hairy thighs.
Each gag comes through in waves, painful and burning at the skin inside you with stomach acid that threatens to rise. Ben moans deeply with each one, the spasming of your insides pulling out precum from his urethra until it drips down into you. A fire curls in his stomach at the feeling of your nails digging into his flesh. They form crescent indents he’s sure to admire later once it’s all said and done.
He brushes hair out of your face, free from your mouth and watery eyes. Your pupils are dilated full on, endorphins working their magic to calm your nerves and flooding the pain receptors in your body. He looks proud. Almost.
His chest is puffed out, a slight upturn of the side of his lip poking out. You look hazy, eyes lidded and brows furrowed as you focus on breathing. It’s all you can do. As he reels his hips and rocks them back into you, balls slapping against your chin a little more aggressively with each movement, you’re reduced to a drooling mess under his grasp.
You don’t gag as much anymore, it’s more of a hiccup. Your throat closes in increments as each inch is pulled in and out. Ben hopes, hopes and hopes, that the camera can catch the way your throat throbs and widens for him. The way that it contorts in a way it shouldn’t as his abnormal cock stretches it out the same way he does with your cunt, with your ass.
He feels lightheaded. He loves your throat, absolutely loves it. Loves the way he can feel the warm bile against his tip just a little more with each forceful thrust. Loves the way your nose buries into his forest of dark, thick hair, heavy breaths tickling him.
“I’ll never—“ He croaks, snapping his hips into your face with a force that could break your nose. You gargle around him, spit and precum mixing and bubbling around your lips and onto your chin. “—Never understand why you hate this so much! Christ on a cross, baby, you’re tighter than a nun.”
Oh, he’d never understand.
He’s almost never on the receiving end of getting the air sucked out of him like you are, at least not most of the time.
You feel faint. The excruciating headache you have comes from the blood being blocked from circulating with every obstructed breath. Every time he fucks into your face your fingers temporarily tighten and loosen against him. You’ve fallen into a routine of gagging with every fourth thrust.
Ben’s breathing gets a little heavier. His thrusts become looser, hips slacking somewhat. There’s a bubble of heat rising in him, one that sends a shock up his spine.
“Gonna cum, baby.” He rasps. You barely nod at it, a slight huff of acknowledgement at the very most. You whine halfheartedly when he digs his hands deep into your skull, tufts of hair between his fingers as he suddenly locks back in to get himself off.
Cum floods your system in waves like fireworks.
Each spurt is hot and fast, overwhelms you with a snap and forces a sharp gag from deep inside. Ben can’t help himself. He smothers you in his essence, the only other sensation being the pressure of his pelvis against your face.
Bile rises rapidly, the hot, acid-like liquid rushing through your esophagus. It can’t go through your throat and out your mouth, there’s something blocking it. What does it do? It rushes out of your nose instead.
He doesn’t seem to mind much that vomit spills out of your nostrils and onto him, but you do. You claw at him until he finally lets go once the pulsing in his balls stops. You’re ever grateful.
Air fills you in the worst way possible. It fills your orifices while the rest of the disgusting liquid tries to come out, a mixture that sends you into a coughing, sputtering mess. It spills all over the ground and puddles under your bodies, blues, greens and discolored browns mixed with milky, murky white.
“Fucking gnarly.” He grunts. His cock softens inch by inch. He doesn’t take his eyes off of your shrunken form for one second. You lightly whack at his leg, shaking your head with distaste. “F-Fuck you!” You exhale. You sound like a fish out of water, feel even worse than that. Ben shrugs, reaching down and patting your head.
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★ Stars: Dean Winchester x GN!Reader x Sam Winchester (no wincest)
★ Prequel: My Lover's Got Humour
★ Plot: Now, it's Dean's turn.
★ Run Time: 1.1k
★ Rating: Explicit/16+
★ Warnings: established polyship, unprotected penetrative sex, dirty talk, sub/switch!reader, soft dom!Dean, flirty comedy, fluff, swearing, Sam's adorably, quietly insecure, a lil comfort for Sammy, soft aftercare
★ Commentary: Through popular demand, we're back with a sequel!
꧁ Read my rules and send a request! ꧂
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Dean's hands tightened on your hips, guiding you up. Your bows pinched together, wincing slightly as Sam's cock slipped out of you, a rush of white sliding down your thigh.
"Aw look at that, baby" Dean cooed in your ear, voice honey-sweet with that little edge just waiting to come out "'s snowing"
"You're gross" Sam groaned from underneath you, breathing finally slowing back to normal.
"Dude, I say this in a completely not weird way, that's your cum"
"And you're talking about it"
"So are you"
"You're such a-"
"Hey, person the cum was just in here" You interjected, what a dumb fucking time for a fight "Can we not right now? Kinda killing the mood"
"Y'mean the mood where we're literally just fucking horny?"
"It's still a mood!"
"A damn good one too, whaddya say we get back to it?" Dean smirked against your skin, teeth catching, nipping.
"Well" You sighed, giving up "I suppose so"
"Hey, if you've got better plans-"
"Dumbass" You muttered, arm reaching behind you, moving in just the right way to shove Dean onto the other side of the bed.
You planted your hands on either side of him, moving to straddle him when he grabbed you just in time, flipping you onto your back in an instant.
"Nu-uh, Eastwood, you're not ridin' tonight"
"I get that you like cowboy movies, but do you have to make sex about Clint Eastwood?"
"He makes everything about Clint Eastwood" Sam rolled his eyes, reaching over to the nightstand in hopes for a drink, knocking over two of the five bottles sat there.
"My bad" You looked up at him with those sad puppy eyes, the ones he taught you.
He reached a hand over, fingers brushing your sweat-slicked baby hairs back, lingering softly. Your eyes trailed up to his, warm, happy. Sam always got fuzzy after he came, all dopey smiles and tender hands. Lighter than usual, like all the bad didn't really matter for a while, just you.
"Alright, Loverboy" Dean rolled his eyes "Deal's a deal, you had your turn, now it's mine"
"Knock yourself out" Sam grumbled "See if it matters"
"The fuck did you just-"
"Boys!" You scolded, you couldn't believe you let these two idiots fuck you "Enough"
"Relax Sweetheart" Dean murmured, back to that disgustingly hot tone "I'll help ya get those frustrations out"
He rolled his hips, grinding his clothed dick against you, pushing hard against his jeans.
Yeah, now you remembered why you let 'em.
Dean leaned down, lips trailing over your jaw, neck, down your collarbone. He was slow, taking his time. A fuckin' artist. A fuckin' fucking artist, he'd argue, garnering a look from both you and Sam.
You moved your hands around him, up to his back before he stopped you, grabbing them and pinning them by either side of your face. You stared up at him, eyes wide but not exactly in a puppy dog way.
"Y'wanna help me out here, Sammy?"
"I thought you were planning on showing me something, Dean. I might learn something, hm?"
"Stop being difficult and use that dumbass giant strength of yours for some good"
"Dude, we fight monsters everyday, isn't that good?"
You pressed up against Dean, begging for any form of friction you could get. Slightly trying to stop them, they were damn good at a lot of things, arguing being right at the top of the list. Almost.
"Would ya look at that? All desperate an' needy for me. Weren't like that with Sammy, were you baby?"
Before you could answer, Sam's jaw clenched, hands darting out immediately to pin yours to the mattress. You let out the quietest little gasp, eye shooting back to Dean.
He saw that look on your face, no more teasing, you meant it this time.
His palms landed on your inner thighs, teasing just a little too high before spreading you open for him, the drying slick coating you even more obvious.
"Damn" He muttered, amazed, like a kid in a damn candy store "I dunno 'f I wanna lick ya clean or make a new mess right on top'a this one"
It certainly wasn't a question, you could really tell that when Dean unzipped his jeans, his cock springing out, already glistening with precum.
He lined himself up, easing into you slowly, carefully, eyes locked on the spot he disappeared inside you.
Your back arched when he was balls deep, his body pressed to yours, Sam's grip on your wrists tightening just a little at the expression on your face.
Dean started thrusting shallowly, letting you get used to him, not wanting to push you too far. He talked a big game, but he was always careful with you. Sam's fast and rough and desperate. And you love it, but it makes multiple rounds a little too achy. Dean's slower, more precise, he knows what to do and when to do it, and now? You're falling all over again.
Dean worked you up, not fucking you into oblivion, just letting you climb up to that peak nicely, and damn he was good at it.
You felt your whole body tense, each muscle pulling in tight like strings were threaded through them. As he gave that final trust, he snapped them all instantly.
You shook, twitching, breaking. Good thing Sam held your hands down or Dean would've had some serious scratches on his back. Again.
He kept moving, drawing out the last sensations of your pleasure before he let himself go, face buried in your neck as he let out a low, broken sound from his chest, hips jutting weakly.
Sam finally let go, pulling away while your arms wrapped around Dean, panting in each other's ears as your palms slid up and down his back, soothing, grounding.
You stayed curled into each other for a little while, before Sam came back. You weren't sure how long it had been, but he came back with wet hair and by the length of his usual showers, you could guess a while.
"Where'd you run off'ta?" Dean mumbled, voice muffled against your shoulder.
He laid behind you now, latched on your back like a little koala.
"Got cleaned up, figured you two'd want a minute"
You smiled, sweetly blissful "C'mere ya big pup"
You dragged him back into bed, too tired to care about cleaning up, just happy with your boys.
He cozied up against your chest, damp brown curls smelling of that cucumber mint shampoo Dean steals every now and then.
"This was fun" You started, voice immediately giving away whatever mischief you were bound to be up to "But tomorrow, it's my turn"
What the fuck did that mean? No one knew, but you were sure as hell happy to figure it out together.
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