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đđ SUMMARY - You're nervous to lose your virginity, Dean shows you everything that you've been missing out on.
đđ WARNINGS - smut, dom!dean, sub!reader, nervous/shy!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, p!v, teasing, loss of virginity, fingering, hickeys (r.recieving), size kink, praise kink, dean is experienced, reader is inexperienced, (1) thigh slap, big dick!dean, boob fondling, boob sucking, reader is smaller than dean, illusions to past masturbation, reader blushes, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread đЎ
dean liked having you sat in his lap.
this wasn't the first time, your legs stretched around his waist while your hands scrunched idly at the black shirt he'd been wearing, your lips against his own. making out with you had to be possibly the best thing he'd ever done. it was like getting sent to heaven and back, between each breath he damned the gods that disallowed him to press his lips against yours for forever.
but you were new to all this.
he had to be gentle.
dean was the first real relationship you'd ever had. and if he was being honest, you were sort of the first real relationship he'd ever had too.
he used to hop from girl to girl, bed to bed and not think twice about it. you were the absolute opposite. you were the type of girl that didn't speak unless spoken to, you kept your head down and got through everything without so much as letting your imagination wander with what it would feel like to be with a man.
then you met him.
his hands were pinching at the fat of your thighs, he found it hard to keep his hands to himself when you were like this. between kisses, he could hear the shakiness in your breaths, it drove him unbelievably mad.
you felt almost sorry for dean, knowing it'd taken this long to get comfortable enough to even make out with the man. you knew his history and how he wouldn't go longer than a week without someone in his bed. now he'd went more than three months with you like this, aching for more.
and it wasn't like you didn't want more, believe me, you'd been aching just as horribly.
you were just... scared?
deans hands moved harshly against your skin, right hand coming down to gently slap your thigh before gripping it once again. the feeling prompted a low whimper to leave your lips.
dean almost groaned. he could get used to hearing noises like those.
when the man pulled away from your lips, heavy breaths still leaving his own, you swore you could have whimpered again just from the loss of contact.
he looked down at you, eyes all blown wide, lips slick and swollen, it was a sight he hoped was never erased from his memory. he wanted to remember this forever. "y'so needy." he had that cocky grin on his lips, cocking his head to the side as he viewed you as a whole, all his, right in his lap for the taking.
you felt your cheeks get hot at the sentence, eyes immediately darting anywhere other than his face. "don' be mean." was the mumble you let out, eyes adverting and voice lowering. you weren't able to talk to him, not when he got like this, all 'bigger' than you, it made you feel small, it made you feel wet.
"'m not, 'm not." he spoke with a low chuckle, one of his hands raising to meet your face, you felt the padding of his thumb wipe across your hot cheeks, he could tell you were nervous. then again, you were always so nervous. "i think it's cute."
again, your face got increasingly hotter but dean didn't leave you any room for words, dipping his head so his lips could meet your neck.
there was something so surreal about being like this, your hands gripping at his shirt, top lip clamped down on your bottom as he kissed against the skin of your neck.
again, this wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. makeouts and hickey-leaving was getting more and more natural in your relationship, common, even.
he'd come home from his hunts with sam and all he'd want was you either below or on top of him, his lips against anything they could reach.
you felt his lips part, sucking against your neck as one hand ran up your back, the other cupping the back of your hair. once he sucked, his tongue would smooth over the skin, pleasure to ease the pain. and he'd go again, gradually moving to different places on your neck. marking you.
your own lips were strewn shut, you were hoping and praying on every star that you didn't let a noise slip from you. you were too nervous, too embarrassed but the whole point of this was to feel good, wasn't it? so why did you feel so embarrassed to show him how good it felt?
your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling suddenly overwhelming.
you didn't register the move of your hips until his lips left your neck and his hands clamped down on your waist, low grunt leaving his mouth.
you stared at him with those big eyes and he swore he was gone. "y'can't do that, sweetheart." despite his words, his tone was gentle. "can't start something if you don't want to finish it."
he knew how inexperienced you were, he thought you wanted to hold off on losing your virginity which is why he'd never made such a move but by the way you were looking at him now, he swore you wanted nothing more than for him to take you.
and he'd gladly do so upon your command.
"i do..." you uttered. ".. want to." the words made your insides twinge, made your nose scrunch and your lips purse.
you were too nervous, shaking like a leaf on top of him. even so, with so much anxiety bottled into a human, dean made no movements of caution.
you sort of liked that dean wasn't as awkward or nervous as you were. dean was confident, that much was for sure. but being so confident also gave him this openness, seeping comfort into your veins as his large, warm hands trailed up and down your thighs.
"yeah?" his voice was breathy and his smile had left his features. he didn't need to be so teasing now, he knew you would simply burst of shyness. and he didn't want you in a position of uncertainty. "what d'you want?"
he wasn't trying to tease you, though he knew his fingers that began to dance against your skin were doing nothing to calm your nerves.
he just needed to hear you say it.
you planted your face into his chest with an incoherent mumble, cheeks alight as flames.
dean could have laughed at you but he didn't want you thinking you'd done something wrong. on the contrary, he found it downright adorable how shy you'd been getting. but you couldn't help it, this was such an unfamiliar feeling bubbling in your stomach.
"can't hear you, sweetheart." his head came down to sit atop yours, his voice a gentle whisper. "i need you to tell me what you want, okay?" his free hand tipped your chin upwards to look at him, those pretty green eyes held so much sincerity. "use your words f'me, baby."
words felt stuck in your throat, you couldn't seem to get them out. but dean didn't want to let this get away from him, he steadied your chin between his fingers.
"i want..." your voice was all breathy, all needy. it had dean reeling. "i want you to touch me."
and as the words passed your lips, you swear all the air was knocked from your lungs. listening to yourself talk had made your head feel fuzzy. before dean, you couldn't have even imagined such words leaving your lips.
dean was struggling to compose himself but nonetheless, he did. his lips quirked into this proud yet sly smirk as his fingers ran up and down your thighs. "where, angel? here?" he practically mocked, fingers against your knee.
at this point, dean had never seen an angel, he didn't believe in them. but he was sure that if angels did exist, you had to be one of them.
you could have corrected him verbally, told him to stop teasing or even scolded him for mocking you while you were all worked up like this. but instead, you chose to grasp his bigger hand in your own and trail it towards your core.
as your hand cupped his own, he could feel them shake, he almost cooed at you but he didn't want to make you more nervous than you already were.
but when his hand finally reached your clothed core, he couldn't help but let out a groan.
it didn't take longer than a second for dean to have you flipped over with your back against the mattress of the bed. a noise left your lips as he towered over you, that infamous smirk etched to his lips.
but a type of seriousness washed over him. "are you sure you want this?"
you knew he wasn't asking you to tease you or make you wait, he was being sincere and you couldn't have been more sincere back by bucking your hips with a low whine of the word, "yes." quickly followed by a "please."
"so needy." he mumbled back, lips moving to your neck while his fingers fumbled at the cotton material of your baby blue sleep shorts. he hooked his fingers around the waistband and tore it off skilfully.
he supposed his experience was paying off.
you didn't have any time to counter what he'd said, too focused on the feeling building in your stomach. much of it was worry, anxiety even but the majority of it was this foreign, amazing feeling.
"fuck." his ring clad fingers circled against your panties. you were suddenly hyper aware of how worked up you'd gotten while making out with him, a blush creeping in on your face as you turned away from him.
dean all but tutted, dragging your face back.
"don't get shy on me now, sweetheart. This wet for me, the least you can do is look at me." he had that empowering stare that told you he was in charge here, it had you shrinking further into the mattress.
but dean wasn't demanding, sure he was dominating but he didn't make you uncomfortable. truthfully, you'd been rather scared of getting this far with anybody but you were sure that if there was anybody you wanted it to be with, it was him.
his hands toyed at waistbands of your panties. "this okay?" his eyes were glued to your face, trying to watch every way your face contorted, making sure you were okay.
believe it or not, there was a lot one could tell from just looking at someone.
you nodded your head briskly, darkened and bitten lips parted slightly, covered in the slick left behind from your tongue. your cheeks had turned a darkened colour too, blush spreading across your face.
there was something so surreal about looking at you like this, knowing nobody else ever had. he pulled the panties down your legs, watching you steadily with his own lips parting open. his eyes moved from yours to trail down your body, landing on your sopping core. he couldn't help but breathe in a breath.
"you're so pretty, angel." he moved his hand upwards again, closed fingers gently toying with your clit, which earned a soft gasp from you. his lips quirked as he brought his hand away, using the other to slip off his ring. he took your wrist, holding it up gently. "take care of this for me, yeah?" you nodded as he slipped the ring onto your thumb, seeing as your other fingers wouldn't fit it. "good girl." he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.
he was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were a virgin.
now, dean wasn't necessarily put off by the fact that you were a virgin. dean couldn't have cared less what you were. but he needed to make sure he was gentle, more so than any other time.
because he was the first, the one you'd remember forever.
though, he intended to be your very last, too.
his fingers trailed across your pretty tank top, down to your hips and finally edging between your legs. he peppered kisses against your face and down across your jaw, finally landing on your neck, fingers pushing your legs apart with ease.
as shy as you were, you didn't hide from him, you allowed him to part your legs, his hand was against your inner thigh, softly soothing up and down against your skin.
but he had to make sure, before he touched you. "sure this is okay? not having second thoughts?"
of course dean wanted to but he only wanted to if you wanted to. but you nodded anyway, swallowing though your mouth was dry anyway. "'m just nervous." you admitted softly.
it was no secret to dean that you were a nervous creature already. he knew this was all new to you but he didn't want you to feel shy around him. "you don't need to be." he pressed a kiss against the supple of your cheek, hand moving further as you let out a shaky breath. "not with me." as the whisper left his mouth, his hand came up to touch your hot core.
the noise that left your mouth should have embarrassed you but right now, you couldn't think of anything other than the feeling of his hand right where you needed him.
he collected your wetness onto his fingers, spreading it up and down your folds, two fingers parting from the rest as he gently eased them into your hole.
heavy breaths suddenly left you, chest rising and falling while dean's face was practically hidden in your neck, peppering kisses, sucking and licking against the soft skin while his fingers settled inside of you.
he gave you hardly any time to adjust to the feeling, pulling them out and then thrusting them right back into you. "you're so warm, sweetheart." he mumbled in slight awe. suddenly, the image took over his mind, the image of him inside of you. he couldn't seem to wipe it away.
he knew that giving yourself to him even just like this was a lot for you, he didn't want to push you any further than he already had tonight.
however, the image still tainted his memory.
as the speed of his fingers increased, so did the volume of your noises.
a sticky, wet sound bounced from wall to wall, causing your cheeks to warm incredibly further. you flushed, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth, suddenly aware of how loud you'd been.
a coo left his lips, free hand coming to drag your wrist away from your mouth. "wanna hear every noise you can make, angel."
and his words alone made you whimper.
the palm of his hand bounced against your clit with every thrust of his hand, emitting these noises from you that you'd never been able to draw from yourself.
"y'sound so pretty, you know that, baby?" you made a noise to show you were listening, though all it told dean was that you felt good. "look so pretty too. so beautiful. all mine."
dean couldn't keep his hands to himself.
his free hand dragged against your skin, pushing at it as if trying to get closer to you in any way possible.
against his fingers formed a creamy ring. he looked down at his digits sliding in and out of you, wetness surrounding you both, keeping you together by a wet string.
he let his thoughts wander.
as evil as it was, he simply couldn't think of anything else, he imagined it was his dick sliding in and out of your hot, wet hole, the noises you'd make would be so much louder, you'd be so much fuller.
then he was suddenly aware of your experience once again.
you were tight, incredibly tight which only made him scissor his fingers. if you were going to take his dick, he needed to stretch you out first.
"dean!" you spluttered out as he scissored his fingers inside of you. "c-cant."
your hips bucked backwards, as if you were trying to tell yourself to stop, but it felt too good to stop.
and dean knew your body well, more than you knew it apparently for he only tutted, holding your wrist in his free hand. "you can take it baby, there you go." and he must have known what was happening because your insides were turning to mush.
you'd orgasmed by yourself before but this? this was true bliss.
he held your waist down to the mattress as your body squirmed, head falling back into the pillows as his name fell on your lips, moans and whines blissfully leaving your slick lips.
"good girl." he mumbled, pressing kisses anywhere his lips could reach. "you're so good, there you go. atta girl."
his words of praise fell on your lips, only making you squirm impossibly more. but nonetheless, he kept up his pace, fingers moving to help you ride out your high.
dean swore he'd never seen something so beautiful.
he watched in awe, staring at the way your face scrunched up, pretty lips parted and your eyes screwed closed, though he could only imagine you were seeing stars behind your lids, not that he was being cocky or anything.
the sight was pure bliss, angelic, even.
he swore he'd been to heaven and back, just watching your face contort.
and he'd watch it forever, if he could.
he was suddenly aware of how tight his jeans felt.
"i need to fuck you." he was mumbling with a slight neediness in his tone, kissing up and down your throat, his hand only coming to a halt when your own practically pushed it away, the overstimulation becoming too much. "can i?" a beat passed. "please?"
his face rose to meet yours and you stared at him, all blissed out. you swore that his fingers were the most skilled, pleasurable feeling you'd ever felt, much better than to how it felt when you'd done it by yourself. your lips were glossed over, heavy pants leaving your chest. huge eyes and flushed cheeks.
almost a whine of the phrase, "uh-huh." passed your lips.
and it was enough for him.
his lips crashed into your own, kissing you ever so softly, though there was passion hidden somewhere between your heavy breaths.
needy hands pawed at the end of his black shirt, his own hands reached down to cup yours, helping you tear it off of his body. his amulet dangled downwards, just below your face and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that your top was still on. he supposed he'd been too focused on making you feel good to realise.
his hands reached the end of your own top, helping you push it over your head.
no words left his lips but they parted, tongue passing over the bottom one as he stared.
your pink bra was so pretty on you he almost had to think to decide whether or not he wanted to keep it on. but he decided with the latter, hands unhooking your bra skillfully, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.
he hardly got to see your boobs, for his hands cupped them as soon as they were let out of the bra. he cursed out a grunt under his breath, one hand leaving your breast so his mouth could replace it.
against the mattress, your back arched, stomach against his own while you bit back the pretty whimpers which he yearned to hear. his mouth worked against you, rolling his tongue back and forth, practically flicking your nipple in his mouth making you unable to contain the sounds you so desperately tried to keep back.
"dâdean!" you spluttered, eyes fluttering shut. his own eyes looked up at you, watching your face contort once again.
he had to have you.
as his face left your chest, a string of spit connected your boobs to his lips.
he wiped it away, though nothing could wipe away that smut smirk he held. nonetheless, he helped himself to shimmying out of his jeans, taking his boxers off with it.
it wasn't until he took everything off that reality set in. you stared, eyes blown wide, he was, well... big. and it was sort of hard not to get nervous, even with the fact that his fingers had just been stuffed inside of you, you weren't so sure it was going to fit.
"you okay?" he leaned down, towering over you. he realised your eyes hadn't moved from his dick, pulling your chin up with his two fingers. "are you sure you want this?"
you nodded your head, thoughts a mere muddle of clouds. "i just... 'm nervous." you admitted, feeling your stomach fill with this fuzzy feeling that you only got when you talked to dean.
"you don't have to be nervous, sweetheart, not with me, okay?" the palm of his hand rested on your face. "do you want this?"
"yes." you answered without a beat.
"promise?" you could have melted right then and there. dean winchester was of many things but above all, he was gentle.
"promise." you mumbled, finding yourself relaxing just at the mere sound of his voice. his hand trailed up to find your own, fingers interlocking yours. his free hand moved down to his dick, pressing it in his hand.
you watched with curiosity yet also nervousness. you'd never seen this done in real life, so the shyness was creeping in as you watched him move his hand up and down his shaft, dragging it towards your wet hole. instantly, a sound left your lips, blush instantly creeping in as your eyes snapped up to him. he only smiled gently at you, finding your shyness rather adorable.
the head of his dick slowly pushed inside of you and that alone had you feeling awfully stretched. he wasn't just long, he was thick too meaning he stretched you out completely. "okay?" you nodded at the sound of his question, the feeling of his lips on your cheek moments after. "'s gonna hurt a little, alright?"
you nodded your head, eyes shutting closed as you braced yourself.
you weren't an idiot either, you knew first times were supposed to hurt but luckily for you, you had dean right there, holding one of your hands tight in his own, soft whispers and kisses against your skin.
what more could you really ask for.
he slowly eased himself inside of you, worried he was hurting you. then again, there wasn't really any other way to get inside without hurting you. he watched as your face contorted, a gentle whimper leaving your lips but he knew it wasn't one of pleasure, more of pain, actually.
he mumbled gentle apologies and left a trail of them in kisses from your neck to your cheeks.
finally, he was in completely and he couldn't help the string of curses that he mumbled under his breath.
dean stayed as still as he could. worry set in, he didn't want to hurt you, not when you'd been so nervous in the first place. he'd been with many girls but you were a tight fit around him, swallowing his dick whole. he couldn't help but almost coo at the way your hole clenched around him.
he felt your hips shift, and he knew you were ready. "can iâfuck, sweetheart, can i move?"
again, you nodded with a subtle whine that told him in other words, yes, he absolutely could move. and that was exactly what he did.
he slowly pulled his dick out from inside you then suddenly slammed his hips back in, his dick hitting the spot deep inside your walls. instantly, he was met with a mewl.
"shit." he uttered, wanting to draw as many sounds like that out of you as he could. his two hands now rested on yours tightening his grip as he placed them over your head so he could gain better access. "oh, fuck, sweetheart, you're so fucking pretty."
it seemed as though dean had the mouth similar to a sailor when put in a position like this.
but he couldn't help it, you were staring at him with those doe eyes, pretty noises falling from you. his hips moved with ease, slamming in and out of you, it didn't take him long to pick up the pace either.
your legs lifted to surround his waist, moans leaving the two of you as his hips slammed inside of you.
"shit, you're so good for me." he was a mumbling mess, he meant every word of what he said, though he wasn't too sure what was leaving his lips as of now. "oh, my sweet girl, thaaat's it."
he tipped his head forward, connecting his forehead to your own. your whimpers and whines were swallowed by a kiss, gentle yet so full of neediness, it was exactly what you wanted.
"feels..." you mumbled once your lips had parted, though you were sort of dazed, not all the way there. "feels so good."
"good girl, 's it, take it all." you felt his hand suddenly trail down, fingers soft against your clit while his dick still hot between your gummy walls. "'s okay, you're okay."
you shook your head, swallowing thickly as your hips bucked. "'sâ's too much!" you panted out, moans leaving you as if you couldn't keep them inside.
"you can take it, baby, know you can." but he could tell by the way your face twisted again, you were close.
and so was he.
"you gonna let go f'me? huh?"
at this point, your eyes had fluttered shut and you lips were parted as you nodded, brows strewn together. "gonna... 'm gonna cum, dean."
"that's my girl." he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "cum all over my dick f'me, sweetheart."
you supposed you were more obedient than you thought.
dean watched as you squirmed and moaned, eyes screwed shut as you finally let go around him. he could feel your gummy walls squeezing him tighter, a ring of slick had formed at the base of his dick. the mere sight, his dick still stuffed inside your cunt and you, cumming all over him.
well, it was enough to have any man weak.
which was why he'd finished so quickly, too.
after all, he'd been holding on since you were sat on his lap.
and that one feeling, cumming in your wet, hot walls and watching you with that pretty, stricken and worn out face as you came on him too... he swore he had really been to heaven and back.
when you both rode out your highs, he laid himself on the bed next to you, watching as you reached your hand up, playing with his silver ring that sat on your thumb.
summary dean yells and apologizes three days later.
content gn!reader, quiet, odd!reader. younger dean (nineteen, early twenties). hurt/comfort, dean has screwed up :( but only momentarily. friends with big big crushes, per usual! use of sweet thing, angel, sweetheart.
odd!reader masterlist .ŕłŕż*:シ requested
It's all welled up frustration, Dean yelling at you. Combined with Bobby's insistence that he isn't ready to go after this damn monster yet, there isn't enough information to hunt it safely, and the fact that nobody is offering him any reasonable input, it's easy to snap. At you especially, because he knows you won't fight back. It makes him feel like shit.
"All you do is fuckin'⌠prance around the woods all day! You're supposed to handle the research, yeah? So get out of your head and find me something to work with."
You blink rapid and tip your face away to hide the hurt. Stepping back on your heels to hurry out of the room, you miss the fall of his expression and the regret in the downturn of his mouth. It's all wrong and askew, he never gets so angry at you. Never raises his voice, never firms it. You're out the door fast, heart full of aches.
It proves to be hard, ignoring Dean the next morning, when he knocks at your bedroom door to say goodbye before he leaves. Too stubborn to take either Bobby or Sam's advice, he's going out to gut the sonovabitch himself. You stay curled in bed, thumbing at the frayed hem of a blanket with drooped eyes, and listen as he sighs.
His footfall picks up, fades. Gone.
You'd like to follow him down the hall, loop your arms around his middle and meld against his chest. Whisper goodbye, tell him to be safe, make him promise that he'll come back like you always do. But the hurt has puffed up through the night, it stings.
Unhelpful. Can't even flip through some books.
All you do is prance around all day.
Get out of your head.
Is he just like everybody else? It makes you nearly cry to think about. Pretty Dean, who softens himself around you and lets you stick flowers through his hair, holds your hand with such tender care, smiles when you speak about the things that everyone else thinks you're weird for, couldn't be like them.
Could he?
He's gone three days and calls every night. You don't answer the first, but you know how worried he gets for you, despite how difficult it is to feel truly appreciated right now. And so you answer the two others with soft, quiet hums that barely reach him through the static.
He doesn't bring up what he said, which only works to form a bleary, wet stick over your eyes. You're called sweet thing and angel on the third phone call, and you're sure it's because he could tell you were upset. He cares, but he hurt you, and you never thought he would.
That's foolish, you realize.
You don't hear the Impala rumble up the road on the night he returns. Only the soothing bubble of water, and the small drips your fingers make as you strain the water through your fingers. A little cold, sitting on the pebbled creek bed. Peaceful and serene and alone, you've barely spoken at all today.
You've not even been prancing. Walking, idly, aimlessly. You saw a speckled dragonfly earlier and find yourself wanting to tell Dean.
It's strange, how that works. Often enough, he's already around the bend when you think up his face, his voice, his freckles. Your name is murmured soft from behind, but you don't turn. His boots crunch on the smooth rocks and he lowers himself to sit beside you.
"Sweetheart," he breathes. "Hey."
He looks tired, when you turn your head to see him. A smudge over his cheekbone, blooming blue shadows pressed into the dip of his under eye. Illuminated by silver moonlight and watching you carefully. His throat works. You blink at him.
"Hi," you offer. "Hurt?"
The relief he feels hearing your voice again is quick, it makes his stomach quiver. He shakes his head.
"You do okay while I was gone?"
You nod. It's all he's given, and he'd like more though he knows he doesn't deserve it. He sighs, a long, bleeding sound that billows white air out into the darkness. Bright stars ripple atop the creek, and you watch for several quiet moments while he gathers his thoughts. Always jumbled, he's not sure how to make things right again.
He decides to say only what he's been thinking. Fancy has never been his strong suit.
"I didn't mean it," he tells you. "I don't mean it. What I said."
You're quiet. His knee bumps yours. He goes on.
"You're⌠I love, uh⌠I love how you are. I don't want you to be any different."
"I'm unhelpful," you whisper. His chest pangs.
"No," he hurries to say. "You're not. You've helped me so much, in- in so many ways. I'm better because of you, you help me."
"I'm no good with all the hunting stuff."
"That's not true. Even if it was, you don't need to be. I don't care if you're good with it or not, okay? Will you look at me?"
You do. His eyes, shining with the universe, search your gaze frantically. It's so obvious, the easiest thing to understand now. He's sorry, he didn't mean it, he's feeling guilty and wants to make everything better. He isn't like the others, he could never be.
He loves the way you are. You feel a a dull throbbing all over.
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."
Your fingers poke at the denim of your jeans, as you take in his apologies. His hand finds yours and stills it. Careful and sweet.
"I know you are," you say. "I'm⌠I was being sensitive."
"You weren't," he protests, staring at you intently. "I was an asshole."
He was. Big time, you think, but nothing hurts anymore. Your lips quirk just subtly at his language and he relaxes, shoulders lowering along with his widened eyes. He breathes, chest rising and falling steady now.
"I love yo- how you are. Don't ever change. Got it?"
You squeeze his hand. Warm now, despite the chill.
â°Ëâ dean x reader | fluff | 1.5k
â°Ëâ where youâd worked a case with a few fellow hunters who suggested getting drinks. slightly out of your comfort zone, dean was always the first to notice and check you were okay.
â°Ëâ content: fem!reader, established relationship, alcohol consumed, bar setting, dean caring about reader <3
hunts always ended in different ways.
sometimes going back to the motel or bunker to shower and relax, going to the closest diner to eat, share some pie. other times youâd go out for drinks, spend a little time at the local bar.
every time, it would be you, dean and sam. just the three of you. often just you and dean at times when you wanted to be alone together.
it wasnât often that youâd work a case with other hunters. maybe some old friends that sam or dean knew, people theyâd worked with before, some that john knew before he passed.
while working the case, youâd stick with dean, pair off with him, do research and questioning with him. you werenât all that fond of being around people you didnât know, especially other guys. dean always understood that, made sure you were comfortable the whole time.
the hunt was fine, you didnât mind that much. it didnât even bother you when you had some lengthy discussions with one of the other hunters.
when it did start bothering you? one of the guys suggesting going out for drinks. knowing a bar that hunters often went to was close by. of course youâd all said yes, even though you knew it might not be your favourite way to settle down after a hunt.
it started off with everyone getting drinks, sat together to talk over the hunt, some teasing here and there for different techniques. until slowly a few would break off, have smaller talks.
first, was a few of the other hunters, then sam got up, going to talk to the guy heâd worked with on research for part of today. you thought youâd get some time with dean finally, until one of the guys called him over from across the bar.
âwill you be alright for a couple minutes, sweetheart?â dean looked to you, saw you glancing over to the hunter. âor you can come over too.â
a shake of your head, âyou go ahead,â you smile. âiâll stay here. just me and my cocktail will be just fine.â
dean chuckled softly as he stood, leaning to kiss your cheek before heading to the bar. heâd been sipping on a beer, taking it with him as you saw him sitting down, already getting to chatting.
the lead hunter of the group went over shortly, starting a longer conversation. you were okay on your own, thinking youâd have some peace for a while. until one of the girls youâd worked with earlier in the day plopped onto the seat opposite you.
ânice work today,â she began, then motioning over to dean at the bar. âyou two make a good team.â
âthanks,â a short but friendly reply. âbig group you got going on.â
you looked around, feeling like half the bar was taken up just with them. it was different to you, dean and sam. with the addition of castiel being around sometimes. you functioned better in a small group.
âit works,â she shrugged. âwe all have our place, what we do best, you know?â
you brought your drink up to your lips again, taking a bigger gulp as another joined you, this time sitting beside you. you sucked in a long breath, eyeing dean still talking. thinking you shouldâve opted to go back to your motel room.
it wasnât long before the conversations got flowing, starting off with you talking a little, and it got less and less as the night went on. maybe feeling a little drained, battery run out, too many people when usually youâd be curled up in deanâs arms by now.
instinctively, you reached for your necklace. something you often did without thinking, any time you were uncomfortable in a situation. moved the pendant back and forth, fiddled with it in your palm, it helped you to calm down.
the necklace being a gift from dean helped a lot. he got it a while back, something he thought you might like. a little heart on a silver chain, one you almost never took off now.
you wouldâve stayed distracted, calming down, if your phone hadnât buzzed in your pocket.
unsure of who would be texting you, since you could see sam across the room, dean was at the barâŚ
you pulled your phone from your pocket, switching on the front screen to see a notification from none other than dean. your brows furrowed, clicking his name to check the text.
dean: do you wanna leave?
oblivious, you didnât know why he was asking. you glanced to him, saw he was talking again. under the bar, his phone was resting on his thigh, his hand over it as if waiting to feel the vibration of a notification.
you replied back,
no we can stay longer if you want
watching as he placed his beer down, turned his attention to his phone screen for a minute. you looked away again, sipping on your drink once more while zoning in and out of the conversation at your table.
dean: youâre sure?
you cleared your throat, smiling at sam as he walked past to head to the bathroom, one of the girls asking you a quick question. something about what bullets youâd used on the hunt today, to which you gave a fast answer.
then you quickly replied to dean again,
yea, why wouldnât i be
turning off your phone this time, you expected him to carry on, probably get another drink, engage further into these lore conversations that seemed to be going on.
when, again, another vibration from your pocket.
dean: youâre fiddling with your necklace
you lifted your gaze to him again, he gave a quick look, small wave. then you sent an immediate reply with a slight frown.
how on earth could you have noticed that from over there
not that you saw, but a small smile grew on deanâs face as he read your reply. youâd been together for long enough that he knew your tells, knew what you did when you were uncomfortable. knew when he needed to get you out of there even if you didnât say it yourself.
dean: youâre the only thing i notice sweetheart
before you had time to reply, you felt a hand on your shoulder, causing you to look up. right there, dean stood behind your chair, squeezing your shoulders gently as he leaned forwards.
âi donât mean to interrupt, ladies,â he gave a nod towards them. âitâs getting a little late, think we should head out.â
nobody minding at all, dean took your hand, helping you to get up and out of your chair, seeing sam waiting at the door once you were standing.
leading the way, deanâs hand your back as you waked towards the impala, he unlocked it, sam getting in first. leaving time for you and dean to stand back for a moment.
âhow you feeling?â dean asked, gentle palm cupping your cheek as if to check you over. âanything you need?â
a head shake, âiâm fine, dean, really.â
he grumbled slightly, âyouâre stubborn, you know that?â your brow furrowed. âyouâre overwhelmed, youâre still fiddling.â
thatâs when your hand stopped, realising you had reached for your necklace again without even knowing it. not until dean pointed it out. you closed your eyes, sighing.
âitâs okay if you are, baby, this was a little out of your comfort zone, huh?â he stepped closer, taking your hand in his instead. âwe can go back to the motel, or drop sammy off and get pie. just the two of us, like it usually is.â
you thought for a minute, looking to the ground first, to where you could see sam in the car, then back to dean. seeing his eyes shining in the light, how he just wanted to make sure you were okay before going anywhere.
how he always knew how you were feeling was beyond you. he seemed to notice it before you did yourself these days.
âmaybe pie,â you mumbled.
âyea?â deanâs lips ever so gently curved into a smile. âwe can get pie.â
you nodded, smiling softly as you let yourself fall against him. his arms wrapping around you in an instant. he felt as your fingers gripped onto his shirt, letting you release just a touch of the tension you were feeling.
âitâs okay, sweetheart, iâve got you,â he kissed the top of your hair, rocking you back and forth to add to the comfort he knew you needed.
âlove you, de,â you mumbled into his chest, blushing softly. something you still always did.
dean moved back just an inch, holding your chin between thumb and index finger to press a chaste kiss to your lips.
âlove you too, sweetheart,â he moved back after, opening up the passenger side door for you. ânow letâs go get some pie, hm?â
a slow nod, you climbed into the car, smiling back at sam, where he often was since dean wanted you to be up front. dean got in right after, starting up the impala to leave the busy bar, ready to end the night on a calm and quiet note with pie.
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SUMMARY: Dean always thought the end of the world would come with exploding suns and the walking deadânot in the shape of his best friend suddenly flirting with him. 9.7k
WARNINGS: best friend!reader. friends to lovers. suggestive language. pining. fluff. humor. dean's self-deprecating shenanigans. masturbation. implied smut. dry humping. breeding kink if you squint really hard. this was very random but i ended up loving it. set somewhere mid s2.
Dean is scared. Like really, really fucking terrified.
Heâs faced everything a person can be afraid of. Vampires, ghosts, weird one-of-a-kind monsters. Heâs fought enough demonsâboth physical and metaphoricalâto drive the strongest man crazy. He fucking had to build the pyre where his fatherâs body would eventually turn to ashes by himself, for Godâs sake.Â
But nothing, nothing has scared the shit out of him more than you flirting with him.Â
The first time it happened, he didnât even notice you were flirting. His mind was just so closed off to the possibility, the idea so far-fetched and insane that even nowâweeks later, as he stares at the peeling painting on the wall, ruminatingâit still blows his fucking mind.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
You and Sam had been talking non-stop the whole ride from Tennessee to a dingy motel in rural Virginia, completely engrossed in your brainy shit. Dean caught bits and pieces of it every so often, when the thin but comforting fog that a long drive provides to his brain dissipates enough for him to actually register your words.Â
But itâs not like it mattered if he paid attention, itâs all Greek to him anyway.
It was only once he stopped at a gas station, leaning against Babyâs side while he waited for the tank to fill, that he actually tried to follow your conversation.Â
He opened the driverâs door and rested his arms on Babyâs roof, pressing his forehead against the crook of his elbow and peaking down at his baby brother and his best friend, the cold leather of his jacket a relief in the southern summer heat.
Sammy was leaning against the front seatâs backrest so he could meet your eyes, long limbs all twisted and his face still exhausted with everything thatâs happened in the past year. His eyes were glittery as he nodded along to whatever you were saying, shaggy hair flopping around his head, and once again Dean has to wonder just how the fuck Dad pretended for Dean to kill the kid.Â
The memory of Johnâs words always leave him wilted and venomous, Dean tries so hard not to think about them. He turned his eyes to you instead. You were draped across the backseatâlong legs bare thanks to your tiny shorts, socked feet pressed against the left door, your back resting against the right one.
You always make sure to take off your shoes before propping them up on the bench, without Dean even having to ask. You just seem to instinctively sense how much he cares for Baby, working as hard as he does to keep her clean and pretty. Dean doesnât dwell on it.
He also didnât dwell on how good you looked then, with the afternoon sun flaring behind you and making your hair glow, all sprawled out in his car. Heâd gotten over the fantasies of climbing on top of you and kissing you until the two of you melted into the Impala long ago, around the time heâd gotten over any hope of you ever wanting him back.Â
Still, seeing your smooth skin against the black, shiny vinyl sent a shudder down his spine. If only.Â
His life lately has become nothing but just a long, boring list of cobweb-covered If-Onlyâs.
He quickly drew his attention to the words leaving Sammyâs mouth and away from your chest in that thin, translucent tank top.Â
âBlue eyes are genetic mutations to adapt to the sun.â The kid sounded the exact same as he had in middle school. Dean wondered if the reason why he didnât get bullied more often was because two rogue teenage boys staying in the townâs cheapest motel was always a scary enough tale that kept most ruffians away. âJust like dark skin.â
âYes! Thatâs also why people who live near deserts have longer, thicker eyelashes. Itâs a mutation to protect their eyes,â you chimed in with an eager little smile. Dean almost saw you pushing phantom reading glasses up the bridge of your nose. âAnd, actually, lighter skin would be the mutation, since humanity originated in Africa.â
Sammy nodded enthusiastically, just like he did whenever he was presented with new information. Dean remembered then why, when you were younger, he used to memorize random fun facts in the library and then report them back to you two after a bad hunt or a nightmarish evening.
That pair of bright, dorky, always-too-wide eyes staring at him with that exact same awe always did wonders to keep the venom in his blood from spilling.
âHow did you even get there?â he asked, voice dripping with laughter. âThe last thing I heard from you was Halle Berry.â
âOf course it was, horndog.â You rolled your eyes, a wide smile tugging at your lips. The teenage instinct to puff up with pride at the sight stirred, he stomped on it until it stopped moving. âWe were talking X-Men. Genetic mutations just kind of fell into place.â
âRight, obviously.â He scoffed. âYouâre gonna infest my car with your nerd-virus, geeks.â
âMay I remind you of all the Marvel Comics hidden in the trunk, under all your porn ones?â
âNo, you may not.â
You snorted, crossing your arms and turning back to Sammy, widening your eyes as if saying: Can you believe this guy?
âI thought youâd be interested in the topic, Dean. Since you seem to try and prove Darwinism in every motel mini-fridge you find.â
Dean glared at his brother, one hand leaving Babyâs roof so he could flip him off. It only made you laugh harder. If Dean preened then, itâs between him and the voices in his head.Â
âIâd think you Winchesters have a genetic mutation that calls for trouble. The Winchester gene.â You pulled your knees closer to your chest, leaving him with a perfect view of your ever-bruised knees. He wanted to kiss them away, he wanted to leave more. The heat was getting to him. âCall Professor X, Iâve found a new mutation. Gene-W, which stands for Worst Fucking Luck in the Whole World.â
Youâre such a fucking idiot.Â
How was Dean supposed to spend almost every waking moment with you, and not love you? It was impossible. Dad had to know he couldnât do it, even when he yelled at Dean to get his head out of âsome random chickâs cunt and man up. Focus on whatâs important.âÂ
God had to know as well, even when He made Dean fundamentally unlovable. It has to be divine punishment, sending him the perfect girl and making her so holy that she was untouchable, especially when Deanâs hands are coated with sacrilege.
âThatâs three Wâs.â It was the only thing his brain could spit out that wasnât pleasepleaseplease.Â
Just once, just one time.
I need you so bad, itâs killing me.
Please.
âIâll call it the 3W-gene, then.â You shrugged, wiggling in your place until you were sitting with your feet on the car floor. You stared at him then, eyes scanning his face with a nebulosity that heâd never seen before. They burned on his skin, hotter than the sun and more intoxicating than the scent of gasoline. Finally, your lips twisted upwards. âWhich Iâd have to guess makes up ninety percent of your DNA. Though it looks like you were made for the desert as well.â
Dean frowned, blinked down at you, wondered if you were having a heat stroke.Â
âBut Iâm⌠white? I mean, I know I donât really get sunburnt, and I tan easily, butââ
âNo, I meanââ You gaped at him, like you were trying to figure out if he was intentionally playing dumb. Dean didnât realize what he was missing, the truth so far removed from every stone-set belief in his head that it seemed ridiculous to even go there. You had to sense his genuine confusion, because the disbelief vanished and left behind only giggling. âI was talking about your eyelashes, dummy.â
Ouch. Dean tried to hide the pang that traveled down his ribs, his lips pressed together in what he will never admit was a pout. âWhatâs wrong with my eyelashes?â
âJesus Christ.â You sounded exasperated as you huffed, but also fond. Dean felt adrift. âForget it, Dean.â
âNo, no. Wait!â But you were already sliding out of the car, walking across scalding concrete and spilled oil toward the restrooms, too far away for him to stop you. He bent down and tried to read some answers out of Sammy's face, but all he got was a mocking smile.Â
He searched for you again, but by then you were already walking into the gas stationâs Dunkin Donuts. Still, he yelled after you.Â
âWhatâs wrong with my lashes?!â
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
He didnât get it the second time either.Â
Actually, it took him until the third time you shamelessly flirted with him for Dean to catch up with the situation. But it was just so⌠unimaginable.Â
Dean spent every waking moment of his younger years trying to charm you. Well-trained grins and lingering hands, compliments spilling like honey from his lips and pick-up lines flying your way like perfectly-aimed bullets.Â
But Dean missed every time.
You used to laugh, hiding your smile behind your hand and shoving him back like he was just being silly. At first, he was. You were gorgeous, and Dean was nineteen and horny. He could tell there was something different about you, with the quick hammering of his heart and the fuzz that tingled his brain when you walked in the room, but he paid it no mind.Â
Being a hunter meant that knocking on loveâs door would always be risky. Being a Winchester meant that door was closed and locked forever. Being Dean meant that there was no door at all.Â
Love wasnât an option, but he could have sex. He took that small grace and ran with it.
He never expected more than a night with you, maybe a fortnight if he was lucky enough. Then you could leave, or stick around for a while and ditch them when you got tired of him, and Dean wouldnât mop over it. Heâd gotten what he wantedâor all he could afford to wantâand youâd just be another speck of dust on his rearview mirror.
But then youâd turned every single one of his advances down, always with a teasing but sweet smile on your face, and youâd stayed.
Through his twenty-first birthday, through Samâs escape to college, through Dadâs death. Dean has been rattled with grief a million times since then, breaking down into pieces and glueing himself back together with scotch tape and stale beer, and still you stay by his side.Â
Dean doesnât get it, but once again, he takes the graceâmiracle, he would call itâand does everything he can to keep it.
No more flirting, no more secret touches under tables, no more trying to sleep with you.Â
It soon became evident that having you in his life meant more than casual sex could ever mean, and so Dean buried all of his desire so deep down that he thinks it mightâve backfired and infused with his soul instead of disappearing. He pretends it did, though, never letting his sickness get in the way of your friendship.
Heâs good at pretending. Itâs all heâs ever done.
At some point in time, that desire began to transform, bubbling up and becoming syrupyâlike tar. Dean keeps throwing dirt over it like a dog trying to hide the bones of his last meal, fangs still bloody. Itâs barely enough.
All of this to say, youâve had a million opportunities to make a move on him.Â
Back in that shack in Oregon when you were twenty, or ten months ago when Sam had just entered your lives again and Dean was getting sloppy, giving you sultry looks over diner menus, his bantering quickly taking on a seductive undertone whenever you went back and forth. Heâd pulled himself together soon enough, but you had still brushed him off just as easily as you had back in â98.Â
Because thatâs just how the universe worksâDean swallows it all down until something escapes him and then you turn it down. You donât flirt, and you sure as fuck donât call his eyelashes long and thick or his face pretty.
That time⌠yeah, Dean shouldâve probably gotten it then.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
You were sitting in the bed of a rusty-red pickup truck, parked in the middle of nowhere Virginia, just a week after the first incident.Â
You were already a quarter down your way to North Carolina when Sam remembered the witchâs shadow book heâd forgotten back in the motel. Youâd all considered just leaving it, but the risk of some poor maid coming across it and wandering down a dark and dangerous path was too big. So Sam had left you in some ghost town in the middle of the woods, taking off with Baby before Dean could regret offering her to him.Â
Dean had stolen a truck, driving you out of the road and between the trees until youâd found a small clearing near a lake, far away enough from town that no locals would give you trouble.Â
It was still hot as fuck, the air thick and humid, leaving your hair frizzy and Deanâs throat dry. The sky was clear, a million stars winking down at you, and so you settled on the bed of the truck, desperate for as much fresh air as you could get.
Sam at least had the decency to let you pull a few things out of the trunk before he sped away, including a big blanket that you spread over the dirty metal before climbing inside, Dean following close by.
You laid on your back with a flashlight in one hand and a book propped up over your face in the other, bathing in the moonlight as your eyes hungrily absorbed every word in those pages. Dean lit up a cigarette and watched the smoke travel with the breeze, listening to the familiar buzz of the forest and fidgeting with his M1911.Â
His back was pressed against the bedside, leaving him with the perfect view of the tree line. And you.Â
You looked like an angel. Definitely divine punishment.Â
At some point your legs ended up tangled, blissfully-bare skin against stubborn denim. You knocked your knee with his but kept your eyes on the book, Dean watched you. The way you held the flashlight between your teeth when you needed to flip the page, the light that reflected on the paper and highlighted the curve of your throat, the scar on your cheek from when you jumped between Dean and a knife the witch had thrown at him.Â
âWatcha reading?â He couldnât keep the words down, they swirl in the air along with the smoke. This time you spare him a glance.
âGothic horror. Very Americana, fits the vibe perfectly.â With your hand still holding your book open, you gestured to your surroundings. Dean chuckled. âYouâd like it, if you could read.â
âHey!â He kicked you softly in the shin. âI know how to read, thank you very much!â
âYou do? Woah, news to me.â
âIâd be the worst hunting partner if I didnât. Research would take us ages.â Your eyes went back to the book. It was unbearable. âAt least have the decency to look at me when you insult me, you little dweeb.â
You dropped the novel next to your head, getting up on one elbow so you could finally meet Deanâs gaze. The flashlight kept pointing up, enveloping everything in faint yellow light. Deanâs hair stuck to the back of his neck with sweat, his white ratty t-shirt suddenly too tight.
âSam and I always do the research anyway.â You flexed your leg, your knee now hooked over his as you laid on your side. Dean was an adult, he could handle this.Â
âSo whatâs my job then, attack dog?â
A small frown crossed your face, it was quickly replaced by a teasing smirk. âNah. Your job is to sit there and look pretty.â
The overwhelming quiet of the wilderness and the haziness of the tacky night made it all feel like a dream. Dean had to be hallucinating the slight tilt of your face, the warm glint in your irises, your teeth grazing your lip.
âWhat?â
âEvery team needs The Pretty One. Makes it easier to be approachable, you know how a shining smile can do wonders.â Dean almost wanted to clear his ears with his fingers. What the fuck was happening? âThough you just had to be pretty and good at fighting, you could fill all the teamâs positions if you wanted. I blame it on the 3W-gene.â
A lot was going on, Deanâs brain would start leaking out of his nose if you didnât stop.Â
âYou think Iâm pretty?â
Not his smoothest moment. Heâs not proud.Â
You scoffed, and if Dean was a little more certain of anything at this point, heâd thought you blushed. âPlease, Dean, everyone thinks youâre pretty.â
No they donât. They think heâs hot, or handsome, or badass. Heâs heard beautiful a few times. Pretty⌠he doesnât hear that one often. For some reason, it sent lightning down his spine.Â
âYou have never said it, though,â he whispered, mellower than intended. He took one last drag of his cig and stubbed it out against the bedside. He quickly grabbed another one, if anything, just to keep his hands busy.Â
There was a slow, terrifying moment of silence before you spoke again, and Dean held his breath until the smoke burned in his lungs.
âDoesnât mean I donât see it.â Something haunted flashed on your eyes, Dean felt the need to float closer until he charred within it. âThat I donât know it.â
His world started to crumble, the ground under him shaking. You finding Dean attractiveâpretty, even⌠it was life-ruining.Â
All of his defenses started to crack.Â
âYouâve seen me covered in enough fluids to make the toughest surgeon vomit.âÂ
You giggled, the sound breaking through the still air like a bullet. Deanâs grip on his gun loosened, his whole body melting.Â
âItâs that freakinâ Winchester gene, Iâm telling you. Good looks, bad luck, weird ass charm.â
âSo you think Sammyâs pretty too?â
He wished his voice hadnât been that bitter. You rolled your eyes before picking up your book, flopping back down on your back as your eyes left him. Dean shivered even though the air was stuffy, musk and salty heat filling his nose.Â
âYouâre the prettiest, De. You should know that.â
Well, he knows now.Â
He smoked half his pack of reds and you got through another third of your novel before you decided to get some shut-eye. Dean agreed to lie down next to you after you plead with him, even if he knew he would stay up all night regardless. Your pouty expression was too much for him to resist, heâs only human.Â
You didnât have any pillows, but Dean was stubborn and he took his jacket everywhere, even when it was a thousand degrees. He bundled it up and offered it for you to use. âItâs not the comfiest, but itâs something.â
This time, Dean was sure he saw your cheeks reddening. Â
He kept on watching the clouds and listening in for any dangers as you got ready to sleep, throwing a thin sheet over the two of you and curling into yourself at his side. He put out his last cigarette against the sole of his biker boots, refusing to take them off even after you nagged at him for it.
Heâd learned long ago to always be ready to escape. Old habits die hard.
âI wish youâd put them out on me.â
The words barely reached him, getting lost in the whistling of the wind. He quickly turned his head toward you, eyes wide and breath ragged, but you had already fallen asleep by then.Â
Your face was hidden against his jacket. It stayed there all the way until morning.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
The few days after that had been torture. Even now, Dean still isnât sure that last part was even real, the words too good to be true.Â
If only you could be as sick as him, if only under your skin lived a beast as rabid as his, if only the immensity of his desire and obsession could be reciprocated instead of abhorred. If only.
But by the third incident, Dean had enough evidence to believe he heard right and he didn't need to get hooked on antipsychotics. And oh, what a thought that is.
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Dean was working on Baby, two weeks or so after Virginia.Â
Youâd driven to South Dakota a few days ago after ganking a vampire nest in northern Iowa, still waiting for Ash to get back to you with any demonic omens. Bobby had welcomed you with open arms and a cooler full of beer, and God knows Dean needed the break.Â
He didnât know how long he could keep handling being locked in the Impala with you, your clothes getting skimpier and the days getting longer. Your head stuck out the window, your hair floating in the wind, your voice echoing in his head.Â
âYouâre the prettiest, De.â
Even motel rooms didnât serve as a relief. Youâd still walk out of the shower with your skin flushed and bare, filling the boy-stinking room with your sugary smell and girlish sweat. It was hell, it was paradise. Dean had to rush into a cold shower every time.Â
He thought that being at Bobbyâs would stop the avalanche of prohibited thoughts. That once there was a bit more space between youâother people around and open windows and air conditionerâhe could go back to pretending that your strange confessions in the past few days hadnât shattered all of his careful guards.
But it only took you flashing a smile across the dining table or your shape lounging by the bay window for all his pent-up frustration to claw at his throat. He was restless, fingers twitchy and temper irritable, his whiskey glass almost cracking under his hand when you strode down the stairs in a tiny skirt and a tight top, clearly not wearing a bra.Â
Before his head could explode, he grabbed a cold beer and dashed out the door and into the salvage yard, Babyâs keys in one hand and his crumbling sanity in the other.
Heâd been at it for hours, tinkering here and there with the Impalaâs undercarriage, the old car creeper heâd stolen from Bobbyâs garage stiff and bumpy under him. He welcomed the distraction.Â
There was nothing to fix, really. Baby wasnât up for an inspection for quite a while, and Dean knew exactly when she needed work done. She was golden.Â
Still, he fidgeted with the exhaust and turned a few screws uselessly, stalling. The sun beat down on him, his shirt was stained with oil and sweat, his vision was getting splotchy. The smell of metal and dirt was comforting, familiar, manly. No soft vanilla or flowery shampoo. Just Dean and his life on the road, no space for anything else.
But being trapped under an engine only made the heat even worse, his throat closing up and his eyes stinging. He finally decided to slide out and into the fresh air, sitting up with a gasp as he reached for his beer, the condensation dripping from the bottle a small heaven.Â
He chugged the drink down and threw the bottle on the ground, wiping his forehead with the hem of his dirty shirt before dropping back down on the creeper, his eyes scanning his arid surroundings. Big mistake.Â
Because there, stepping out of the house to his right, were you. The stupid skirt left him as breathless as it did the first time, the little perk of your nipples under the soft fabric of your top still filling his mouth with saliva. There were two beers in your hands, your skin glistening as you stepped in the sunlight, Deanâs grip on the wrench tightened.Â
âBrought you some libation, so you donât pass out under that thing.â
âHey! Put some respect on her name.â Dean petted the underside of Baby, your laugh washing over him like a waterfall.Â
You reached his side and handed him one of the beers, the caps already off. He took a long swig of it, mostly to keep that syrupy tar from spilling. He was still lying on his back, with you towering over him. Dean focused on the sharp dig of metal against his spine and not the way he could almost, almost peep under your flowy skirt.Â
âWhat are you working on, anyway?â
He didnât have a real answer, so he spit out some bullshit excuse full of technical words that he knew you wouldnât really understand, hoping it was enough to keep you from asking more questions.Â
âUhmârightâŚâ You nodded, like youâd understood anything Dean had just said. It made him smile, how you always tried to pay attention even when the topic couldnât bore you any more.Â
The two of you stayed there for a few more moments, sipping on your beers and letting the seconds trickle by. You swayed to a phantom tune in your head, Dean could nearly hear it. It was nice to know you could still have moments like this, when your minds swirled into one and you didnât need words to communicate, like tuning into the same radio station.Â
If Dean was a little cheesier, heâd say youâre soulmates.Â
Because heâs Dean, he says youâre just trauma-bonded.
A small but glorious breeze glided between you, making your skirt and hair twirl and lifting Deanâs shirt halfway up his chest, his torn-up jeans laying low on his hips like a good mechanic.
Dean watched as your eyes caught the movement, drinking in the sight of golden skin and scar tissue. You ogled shamelessly, from the ridges of his ribs down to the V of his hipbones, licking your lips as you followed the trail of faint hair that disappeared down the waistband of his boxers, the elastic peaking out of his jeans slightly.
Too much, it was too much. Your teasing had made him reckless, this was his last straw.
âTake a picture, darlinâ. Itâll last you longer.â
Instead of snapping back into yourself and running back into the house, you just hummed mindlessly, gaze slowly moving up to Deanâs face. Your cheeks were pink, it could be just the incandescence. The darkness of your eyes differed.Â
âLeft my phone inside. Such a shame.â He wasnât expecting that. He laughed hoarsely, trying to pass it off as a weird joke. Friends could joke like that, it wasn't that crazy. Your expression remained consuming. âYou shouldnât stay out here for too long, De. Youâre gonna roast under all that metal.â
Dean thought you sounded hungry, he finished his beer in one go.Â
âHey, itâs a good way to go.â He gave you one of those relaxed, Iâm-not-freaking-out-you-are smirks. âIâve always wanted to die under a hot girl or a cool car.â
Okay, he walked right into that one. He was trying, okay?
This time, you laughed. It was velvety, stickier than summer and more addictive than any adrenaline rush. Dean became a junkie after just one hit.Â
âGreat philosophy, really.â You chugged half of your beer, stepped a little closer, stood with your legs parted. Dean kept his eyes firmly on your face. âWell, you can choose now. Which one will it be?â
For a second, Dean wondered if heâd drink more than he remembered. Only when he was really, really hammered did he daydreamed this vividly. But heâd barely had three beers today and half a glass of whiskey, he was nowhere near wasted.Â
His breath hitched, he gaped up at you. His brain racked for excuses, for another explanation to this that wasnât your best friend who youâre inescapably in love with is making a move on you.Â
There wasnât any. Thereâs only so much you can lie to yourself before the truth becomes imminent.
âIâm just a hardworking mechanic, maâam. Iâm trying to do my job here.â It was so easy, to just fall back into the playfulness thatâs been dying to crawl out of his mouth and wrap all over you for years.Â
âMhm.â You grinned foxilyâwhich was newâand then stepped even closer, a foot on each side of his extended legâwhich was even newer. You were still too far away for him to actually see anything, but the scene was still too familiar, from grainy videos in Samâs laptop and raunchy magazines. Oh god. âI think I have a problem for you to check out, Mister Mechanic. Donât worry, I can pay you well.â
You winked at him, and Deanâs breath grew ragged. The line of just-friends had started to blur long ago, but this was definitely stepping over it. He wanted it so badly, that was always a sign that it shouldnât happen.Â
He tried to convince himself you were just joking around, making fun of his cliche porn indulgences, calling him out for being a little freak.Â
âYou canât just come into my workshop and demand to be served, maâam. Thatâs no way to treat a humble, blue-collar man.âÂ
Another one of those laughs, Dean relished in the ecstasy of it. âI think I know how this blue-collar man likes to be treated after all these years.âÂ
His mouth was full of spit and tar, he swallowed it all down. It still spilled.Â
"Youâre gonna let me take a look, then?â
Surely, this is where you drew the line. It was all fun and games up to here, just a little healthy flirting between best friends with a broken silent understandmentânothing unfixable.Â
This, this is where everything could go up in flames. Dean was delirious, frothing at the mouth and begging to be put down. To be woken up from this dream, to go back to when everything ached but was familiar, to have you snap his neck in mercy.
Instead, you drenched everything in kerosene.Â
With a wicked smirk that screamed danger, you crept higher up his body. Your foot resting between his legs moved and installed itself next to his shoulder, until you were completely straddling his frame, right over his head.Â
Shadows covered his face, the ruffles of your skirt fluttered, that musky smell of vanilla and salty skin enveloped him. Dean panicked.
There was no coming back from this. He wasnât ready to ruin the best thing that had ever happened to him. He wasnât sure this was even happening in the first place.Â
He shoved himself back under Baby, a yelp logged in the back of his throat, his eyes still shut closed even when all he could sense around him was rusty metal and motor oil.
That laugh again, vivid and electric, now muffled by the car shielding Dean from the demon that's taken the shape of his best friend.
âI thought IâI heard a rattle.â Heâs not sure his words even reached you with how scattered they were. You sighed in delight.Â
âOf course, Mister Mechanic. Iâll stop bothering you.â You softly kicked his boot in goodbye, even that made Deanâs breath stutter. âDonât stay here too long, or youâre actually going to faint.âÂ
âSure.â He sounded wrecked. Goddamnit he can be pathetic.
You giggled, this time tender and almost⌠enamored. Dean seriously needed to go see a shrink.Â
He listened closely as you walked away, waiting until the back door of Bobbyâs house clicked shut before rushing out from under Baby. He got on his feet so fast that his head spinned, his vision blurring as he made his way between the maze of broken-down cars and hills of old tires.Â
He found a sun-bleached school bus that looked like it had been there for ages, big enough to conceal his form as he leaned against its side, fumbling at his belt with shaky hands.Â
He came a few minutes later, with his back against scalding, yellow-painted steel and his dick fisted furiously in his hand. He kicked dirt over his cum on the ground, still trying to catch his breath and process what the hell just happened.Â
His cock twitched at the memory of you climbing over him, he pulled his jeans back up and darted into the house, locking himself in his room until he was able to function again.Â
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Dean had been able to bury the cum well-enough that day, but youâve done irreparable damage to his desireâs grave. No matter how hard he scratches at the earth and tries to cover the bones, youâve resuscitated something invincible.Â
Heâs doomed, even more than before.Â
Because itâs not just desire anymore. Now itâs also a sunrise on the beach, quiet mornings in a suburban kitchen, soft kisses that promise more than just a good time. Now Dean wants more, he wants everything.Â
Oh, what have you done?
It was hard, moving on from that day. After a lot of self-reflection and many, many jerk-off sessions, heâd gotten to the conclusion that you were, indeed, flirting.Â
He knows, he knows. Give him a Nobel prize.Â
The knowledge is almost impossible to live with. He wants to put his head through the wall, he wants to scream until his lungs give in, he wants to kneel at your feet and ask you why.
Why now, why not before, why not never. Why when he was finally getting the hang of it, why when he had just gotten used to the ache of longing, why when heâd ultimately made his peace with never having you.Â
He didnât know how to act after that, not when he was holding his guts inside his body with trembling hands and he didnât know exactly what you needed. Because thatâs the scariest part of all.Â
Just to what extent do you want him?
At first, he assumed you wanted the same he did at nineteenâto fool around.Â
Maybe youâre lonely. Dean hasnât seen you leave the bar with anyone in months, hasnât caught you sneaking out of your motel rooms, hasnât heard you talking about that college boy you became friends with during your Hook Man case in Iowa.Â
Maybe youâre wired, and needy, and Dean is a safe choice. No awkward introductions or dangerous meetings. Just the pleasure of skin against skin and the haven of being with someone you know like the back of your hand.Â
Dean isnât sure if he could handle casual, after all these years, after youâve wiped away his dumbest tears and patched up his ugliest wounds. For once, Dean might not be able to muzzle the beast under his skin.Â
So he panicked, and tried to put some distance between the two of you. But his line of work doesnât accept mental health leaves, and you were back in the Impala just a few days after. You didnât mention Mister Mechanic again and Dean didnât quite look you in the eye, but everything went virtually swimmingly, aside from Sammyâs occasional side-eyes.Â
Still, the taste of worry lingered on his tongue and the beast wailed with every glimpse of you in the rearview mirror. More if-onlyâs made it to the list.Â
If only he was a better man, maybe youâd want all of him.Â
If only the yellow-eyed demon had never existedâthat one wasnât new, but it always stung like it was.
If only you could love him, the way he loves you.
That one was the most terrifying of them all. It made Dean want to throw up all of his innards and flush them down the toilet. He wondered if heâd even be able to focus on the case with your face hovering over him flashing behind his eyelids every time he blinked.Â
But then, incident four happened.Â
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
Dean was struggling with his necktie.Â
He fucking hated dressing up as FBI. Even the priest costume had been more comfortable than this cheap rental suit and too-small dress shoes. It was still way too hot for a suit jacket, and the white shirt buttoned all the way up made him feel like he was choking. The stupid tie wasnât helping.Â
He stood in front of the mirror, clammy fingers tugging at the fabric fruitlessly. Dean had known how to tie a necktie since he was six, when Dad was too drunk or hungover to do it himself. By the time heâd gotten old enough to start wearing the disguises himself, heâd been pretty fucking good at it.Â
But his hands hadnât stopped shaking since that day in the salvage yard, and he really, really didnât want to go deal with useless small town sheriffs and sobbing widows. Especially not when youâd be staying behind, deciding to take over research while Sam and Dean collected as much information as they could on the five married men whoâd shot themselves within the past week.Â
Sammy was out getting all of you some coffee, everyone exhausted after the drive all the way down to Berthoud, Colorado. So when the door creaked open, Dean scoffed without turning away from the closet mirror.Â
âI canât tie this stupid thing, Sammy. Câmere and help me.â
He was expecting the ribbing chuckle that followed his words, but he didnât expect it to be so high-pitched and lovely.
He spun around on his heels as the door closed, messy knot making the collar of his shirt pop around his neck, eyes wide as he took you in.Â
âHello there, Agent Dracula.â You were leaning back on the wooden door, hands behind your back and a little smile on your face. You hadnât been alone in the same room since Sioux Falls, Dean secretly started to pray to any deity that would listen.Â
âHey.â He hoped he didnât sound as sulky as he thought he did. âHow did you get in?â
You stared at him for a few seconds, long lashes flutteringâand Dean wished he could turn back time and tell you that no, you were made for the desert. But once again, he was too late.Â
You chuckled, seemingly incredibly amused by a silent joke that Dean missed, and knocked your knuckles twice on the door behind you before walking toward him.Â
âSammy gave me the second key, just in case.â Dean stayed frozen in place as you approached him, wondering if this is how deer felt when they heard the snap of the trigger. Your fingers latched onto his collar, and you grinned at him as you started to fix his tie.Â
âThe little fucker told me nothinâ.â Your fingers were swift and delicate as you twisted the navy blue fabric around them. Dean swallowed harshly, your thumb brushed against his Adamâs apple. âYou should knock, yâknow. I couldâve been changing.â
You hummed, your smile widening. Dean wanted to lick behind your teeth, he wanted to rip all of his out. âAnd we wouldnât want me seeing that, would we?â
He didnât dignify that with an answer. Whatever game you were playing, Dean knew heâd lose. He might as well give up now.Â
Of course, you couldnât even give him that.
You finished with his necktie, adjusting it against the base of his throat before fixing his collar. You tugged on the fabric, hard, until his chest was almost pressed to yours and your faces were just inches apart.Â
âThere you go, agent. Handsome and ready to go dazzle all those poor mourning widows.â You ran your hands across his shoulders and down his biceps, smoothing out the wrinkles of his button-up. Dean bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.Â
âWhat better pillow talk than all the gory details of your past husbandâs suicide, am I right?â At least he could still joke. That was a relief. âYou might wanna give that key back, so you donât walk into one of my private investigation sessions.â
He wasnât sure what he was looking for with that. He hadnât brought back a girl in years, always keeping his encounters in dark alleyways or the chickâs home. Encounters which, heâd never admit, were starting to happen less and less.Â
It was hard, keeping your name off his tongue when all he could think about was you, even when he was balls-deep inside someone else. It had gotten him kicked out a few times, he never took it personal. It was all a distraction, one that was barely working now.Â
You frowned, your fingers around his arms twitching. Your eyes stayed fixated on his tie for a long moment before they flickered up to his, swirling with something that made the tar start to boil.Â
âYou donât need to do all that. Youâre smart, youâll find another way to make them talk.â
Your voice was too solemn for the comment to be brushed off as a joke. Sweat started to bead up on his hairline, heâd have to turn on the ceiling fan as soon as you left.Â
If you left. Dean wasnât sure if he wanted you to.Â
âI thought I didnât know how to read?â
You giggled, leaning closer until your bodies were flattened against each other and Dean could feel the warmth of your skin through your clothes.Â
âYou can be an idiot sometimes. You can also be a genius when you want to.â Your breath brushed against his lips with every word, his lips parted on instinct. Another beat passed by, your hands slid up to cup the back of his neck. âDonât fuck any widows, Winchester.â
âWhy?â
âBecause I donât want you to.â
The words were barely audible, Dean tried to close the distance between you, hands wrapping around your waist. His lips just grazed yours before you tilted your head back, shaking it almost imperceptibly. He had to bite down the urge to whine.Â
He whispered your name, pained.Â
âNot now,â you whispered back. Outside the room, Babyâs engine roared before shutting down. You pulled him closer again, turning your face until your lips were pressed against his cheek, leaving a feathery kiss against his just-shaven skin. It was still sensitive, Dean exhaled harshly. âJustâcome back to me tonight, mh?â
Before he could say anything, the door opened and you took a step back. His arms awkwardly stayed in the air long after youâd made your way to the door, still holding the shape of you. Sammy walked in after you beelined out of the room, giving him a suspicious look.Â
Dean was just as lost.Â
But one thing was for sure, whatever this was, it wasnât casual. You were right, Dean could be smart when he wanted to, and he knew damn well you couldnât fake that look in your eyes.Â
He came back that night, alone, as soon as interviews were over. Sammy was left behind getting copies of the mortuary reports and at least two ladies ended up alone and kindly rejected in their homesâall for you.Â
He knocked on your motel door, your pretty head popped up after a second. You quietly gave him an up and down look, eyes glistening under the streetlights as a satisfied beam made its way into your mouth.Â
âGood.â You nodded before winking at him, already retreating back inside your room. âGood night, De.â
¡ ¡ â ¡âśÂˇ â ¡ ¡
 And so that leaves him here, the morning after, lying shirtless on scratchy motel sheets and staring at the water-stained ceiling in search for answers. Sammy is deep asleep in the bed next to him, the kidâs soft, familiar snores doing nothing to keep Dean anchored in time.Â
He feels like a teenager, he feels a million years old. He wants to barge into your room and childishly demand an explanation, he wants to retire to a monk monastery and find divine wisdom. He wants to tear his own heart out and for you to keep it in a glass vial forever.Â
If-onlyâs start to spiral into maybeâs. Fears turn to hopes and hopes to fears. He tosses against the pillows and the cheap mattress springs dig into his back.
With an agonizing groan, he leaps out of bed.Â
His boots are still on his feet, of course, so itâs easy to pull on his dirty jeans and dart out of the motel room. The early morning sun welcomes him with a wave of warm air and a brief second of blindness, his skin already growing damp as he sits on the curb of the lonely parking lot.Â
Heâs already reaching for a smoke before his vision even gets used to the sunlight, the torrid pavement burning his skin through thick denim. He blinks back white spots as he takes a long drag, letting the taste of tobacco erase the traces of angst clinging to the corners of his mouth.Â
The parking lot is almost empty, barely any cars waiting for their owners to be done with whatever they were doing on a Wednesday at eight in the morning inside a pay-by-the-hour motel. So when footsteps start to slowly get closer, light and measured, he knows exactly who it is. His eyes stay glued to a far away billboard with a generic anti-smoking slogan printed in the center.
The first thing he sees is your boots, stepping down the curb right next to him. Then your bare calves, miles of smooth skin, the muffled sound of fabric dropping. Purple-peppered knees bend as you lower yourself on his right side, that soft smell of sugar and sun-kissed skin mixing with marlboro and mildew. And then, when his eyes flicker just a little closer but not quite land on your shape, he sees white cotton and lacy edges.Â
He chokes on the smoke gliding up his throat.Â
âJesus Christ.â He coughs, finally turning his head to take you in completely. A tiny cup of coffee held in your hands, thin white tank top hugging your bare chest, soft cotton panties, boots. Nothing else. âWhat the hell?â
âItâs hot as fuck.â You shrug, gazing toward the same billboard. Youâd dropped one of the motel towels over the spot youâre sitting on, the fabric frayed but thick enough to keep your skin from burning in the concrete. âYouâre naked too, you know?â
âIâm more modest than you, thatâs for sure.âÂ
With languid movements, you set the porcelain cup down between the two of you and reach for his cigarette, your fingers stroking over his as you steal it and press it against your mouth. Your eyes meet his as your lips wrap around the filter, just where Deanâs were a second ago.Â
âI was using that, you know?â Maybe one day heâll be able to talk to you again without his voice failing him. You chuckle. âI couldâve just handed you a new one.â
âBut whereâs the fun in that?âÂ
âGive it back.â You smile lazily, tilting your head and taking a long drag, goading. âFuckingâwhatever.â
His hand fishes into his front pocket for the pack smokes. You lean closer, again, just enough for Dean to feel your skin reflecting the warmth of the sun. Your hand wraps around his thigh, making him halt. Delicate fingers pull the cig away from your perfect mouth, and suddenly your parted lips are brushing his.Â
âStop being a baby. Open up if you want it so badly.âÂ
âWhy are you doing this to me?â
His answer comes in smoke being blown into his mouth. He breathes it in, starving for the slightest taste of you between all the earthy bitterness.Â
âWhy do you think?âÂ
Heâs way too dizzy to process the words, and it isnât until youâve pulled away enough for Dean to see your whole face that his brain starts to work again.Â
âBecause you want me dead?â
You laugh, so fucking sweet and heavenly. Dean allows himself to revel in it this time.Â
âI love you, Dean. But you already knew that, didnât you?â The way youâre looking at him makes him feel even more naked than he is. Dean stutters.
In concept, yes, he knows you love him. As a friend, as a partner, as family. In the lives you lead, thereâs only so many people you can trust, and when you finally find themâyes, itâs easy to love them. Especially when the rest of the world is either too ignorant to feel real or too cruel to keep close.Â
âI know.â He gulps, the words stinging on his tongue. âIâI love you too.â
Heâs said so very few times in his lifetime. Kneeling by your hospital bed after a rugaru left you bloody and with a raging concussion, on the phone the night Sammy left for Stanford and he got hammered by the seaside, the day Dad died. It was always secretiveâwith the shadow of sorrow hiding the severity of the words, protecting him from their consequences.Â
But here, when heâs shirtless under the brightest, hottest sun of the year, thereâs nowhere to hide.Â
You drop the cigarette to the ground, cupping his cheek in your palm instead. Dean leans into the touch like a stray puppy, heart pounding against his ribcage.Â
âHow do you love me?âÂ
He murmurs your name dejectedly. âDonât make me say it.â
âPlease, Dean. Iââ You take in a trembling breath, and for the first time, the confident mask youâve been wearing since this whole thing started falters. âI need you to say it.â
âI love you more than anything. I love you like a best friend, I love you like family, I love you like a piece of myself. Youâre part of me, darling. The better, lovelier part of me, the part I would go insane without. I love you like I dream of spending my last days on earth with you. I love you like I have never loved anyone before, and it scares the crap out of me. But fuck, I donât care, because I fucking love you.â
Tears glint in the corner of your eyes. Before Dean can blow his brains out for making you cry, you lunge yourself into his lap, knees hitting the pavement on each side of his hips hard enough to scrape skin.
âFuck, fuck.â You sound crazed as you cradle his face in your hands. Dean can barely follow whatâs happening. âI love you too. I love you so fucking much, Dean. Goddamnit.âÂ
Deanâs hands have barely landed on your thighs when youâre already engulfing his mouth with yours. Itâs desperate, feral, long-awaited. Teeth clashing and hands groping, years and years of longing spilling from the seams and sealing the two of you together.Â
âWhat the fuckââ His words are licked away, he bites down on your tongue in retaliation. It only makes your hips grind down onto his. Instant karma. ââis happening?â
Your laughter this time is low and fevered. Deanâs hands canât stop mapping all the exposed skin offered to himâcalloused fingers wrapping around barely-clothed hipbones and slipping under flimsy fabric and drawing shapes against silky forearms. Your flesh dips under his fingertips, he finds scars he didnât know of before, his mouth waters.Â
âIâm in love with you, Winchester. So in love Iâm fucking dumb with it. Thatâs whatâs happening.âÂ
Dean drags you closer and drapes himself around you, arms encircling your middle and face buried in your hair, taking the moment in. Just a second to breathe, and make sure he isnât dreaming.Â
âWhat changed your mind?â
You chew on his question, your hands doing some exploring of their own. His back pricks with the scorch of the sun and your adoring touch, your bodies stick together with sweat and Deanâs tar, now flowing freely from his chest and coating all of him.Â
âIâve always loved you. I think I was born loving you.â Your nails trace every dip of his muscles. Dean flexes for you, you smack his shoulder with a giggle. He nuzzles his nose against the line of your jaw. âBut when you used to flirt with meâwell, you know your reputation, De.â
He does, he spent decades crafting it. He leaves a kiss on your cheek before pulling away enough to look into your eyes.
âIt wasnât like that, not with you. Maybe at first, but now⌠I wouldnât know what to do without you.â
âI know,â you whisper, your lips pressing against his in a chaste peck. âI know now.â
âHow?â
Itâs hard to focus on talking when youâre sitting on his lap in nothing but sheer undergarments, but his curiosity is slightly stronger than his craving.Â
âDo you remember that time Sam got cursed? The truth spell you tried to convince me was a contagious diarrhea curse?âÂ
Dean remembers, unfortunately. Sammy couldnât stop spitting out every thought that crossed his head, and Dean knew that if the kid was in the same room as you for even a second, his meticulously-concealed love would be bared before you quicker than Dean could knock his brother out.Â
So heâd made up a lame excuse as to why you shouldnât go back to the motel until Dean had a cure, and prayed that taking Samâs phone and locking him in their room would be enough to keep everything from falling apart.
Until a second ago, he was sure it had been.
âYouâre a good liar, Winchester, but you canât lie to me. I knew something was up.â Your hands find their way to his hair, Dean represses a grunt when you tug on it softly. âSo I picked the lock to your motel door and had a very⌠insightful conversation with your brother.â
âYou really took advantage of the poor kid, baby?â
The endearment brings a beautiful flush to your cheeks, heâs rewarded with another smoky kiss.Â
âHe looked quite eager to share, actually. Told me all about you keeping a picture of me in your wallet and calling other girls my name.â
Dean plops his forehead down on your shoulder, groaning. âIâm gonna gut him.â
âNo, youâre not.â You thumb at his sideburn. Dean grumbles unintelligibly against your skin, teeth grazing the spot right beside the strap of your top. âBecause without him, we wouldnât be here.â
He hums in the back of his throat, getting lost in the enchanting sensation of having you all around him. âWhat was all the torture about, then?â
âWell, I had to test you first. Make sure you actually feel the same way.â You drag him back by the hair, until your noses are brushing and Dean can count every mole in your face. âBecause I love you so much it kills me, Dean. Does it kill you, too?â
Dean takes a slow breath, his arms tightening around you. âNot anymore.â
You kiss him again, this time slow and deep. No more rushing, no more fear. Thereâs nowhere to be, nothing to escape. For as long as youâre with him, sitting on his lap and holding his bleeding heart in your hands, never letting goâyouâll be okay.Â
âYou know,â He sucks your lower lip into his mouth, you whine lowly. Dean should really get you off the dirty curb and into your room. âI demand a redo in the whole Mister Mechanic thing. That wasnât fair.â
You giggle breathlessly, your clothed crotch rubbing against his lower stomach. Dean grips the back of your thighs hard enough to bruise. âI still canât believe you freaked out so bad.â
âI can.â He leaves featherlike kisses down your neck, already obsessed with the way you squirm in his arms. âLook at you, of course I freaked out. Still, Iâm ready for it now.â
âCalm down, cowboy. Patience is a virtue, and we have plenty of time for that.â
âDo we?â He reaches the hollow of your throat, lips sliding lower over your tanktop, the fabric now translucent and sticking to your skin with perspiration. âBecause I might have a list of things I want to try.â
âOf course you do, horndog.â Your mouth hovers over his ear, making his eyes flutter shut. âWe can try whatever you want. Iâm yours, De. Iâve been yours for a while.â
âThatâs a dangerous offer, baby girl.â His hands find your ass, fondling the tender flesh before he squeezes, making your pretty cunt grind against his torso again. âYouâd really let me do anything I want to you?â
âItâsâA-ahh. Itâs that 3W-gene. You could charm me into anything.â
Dean chuckles, low and husky, still guiding your hips down on his.Â
âYouâre really obsessed with that.â
Your lips brush the shell of his ear, gnawing on his lobe before you whisper. âWhat can I say, I want my kids to have it. Though itâd be good to dial back on the bad luck.â
Deanâs brain stopped working after kids. Your kids, with his genes, because theyâd be both your kids. You, carrying his baby. Him, putting a baby in you.Â
âThatâs it.âÂ
With a guttural growl, Dean jumps to his feet, taking you with him. You shriek when he throws you over his shoulder, nails clawing at his sides and feet flailing in the air. He smacks your ass once, a warning to stay still. You bite down on his lower back in revenge.
Thankfully, youâd left your roomâs door open. Dean kicks it shut behind him and makes sure to lock it before he throws you onto the bed, crawling over your giggling form and shutting you up with his tongue.Â
Babyâs keys get thrown somewhere on the floor when he kicks off his jeans, Dean doesnât bother picking them up. He doesnât plan on leaving this room any time soon.Â
Suicidal husbands can wait, Deanâs been waiting for too damn long.Â
Now, when you whisper filthy words in his ear that make his cock weep, he doesnât feel scared anymore.Â
The door he thought didnât exist at all swings wide open, and Dean will never be terrified again for as long as you hold the key to it.
NOTES: this literally originated from me and my cousin talking about genetic mutations to adapt to different environments. you can tell why i'm a virgin loser. I MISS THIS FICTIONAL MAN SO BAD.
my classes have been cancelled because we're snowed in, so I had time to finish and edit this quicker than I expected. YAY!
anyway, thank you sm for reading, and I love you all!!! mwah<3
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all the nights (and the days too) â dean winchester
pairing: dean winchester x f!reader
summary: You got the wrong end of the stick with Dean. He clearly wants sex from you and nothing more. (Except that's not actually true, is it?)
warnings: 18+ mdni! smut (fingering, oral - f receiving, unprotected p in v, creampie, dumbification, hella dirty talk from dean), miscommunication final boss, kinda fwb but they are very in love, jealousy on both sides, hurt / comfort, cursing, sad dean, no use of y/n, light mentions of alcohol, gonna be honest with u guys this is angsty as hell but i kiss it better i promise <3
word count: 11.8k words
a/n: i love the spn fandom. you guys were so nice about my first dean fic. here's another. i hope you like this one just as much :)
You didnât think you would ever see this again. Maybe that was naive of you - you know about Deanâs reputation and his history. But things had been so steady for the last few months. He seemed ready.
Obviously not, though, because Dean is flirting.Â
And not with you.Â
Heâs got one arm leaned up against the bar, that cheeky lopsided grin plastered across his face. When he first approached the busty blonde in the leopard print, you had thought - hoped - that maybe he was just asking around to see if anyone knew anything about the killings that had been taking place for the last week in this stupid town. The town you are hating more every second you have to watch your not-boyfriend flirt and laugh with someone else.Â
But theyâve been chatting for too long. He hasnât approached anyone else - just beelined for her the second he spotted her. And heâs got that goddamn smirk on his face. You know it so well. You had seen him use it on so many girls over the years and it always puts a sick feeling in your stomach because you know what it means and how it ends. Heâs never used it on you. He never even needed to - you are his without it.
Sheâs a bit more out-there than Deanâs usual type, but it had been so long since you had seen him try to pick someone up, you can hardly tell the difference between what is or is not his type anymore. And there arenât many girls in this bar anyway. Besides you, who Dean has clearly decided that heâs not in the mood for tonight.
You fight the bile working its way up your stomach and look away. The daylight outside is murky and grey, rapidly dwindling into nightfall. You figure thereâs about an hour or two before you can leave without it causing a scene. Youâre just going to have to stick it out until then.
You try to busy yourself with watching the pool game in your corner of the bar, observing the smooth, level motions of the men clipping the cue balls into the corner pockets, listening to the clicking sound of the balls crashing against each other. There are a few people gathered around to watch, passing green bills between hands. One of the men - the one who seems to be doing most of the winning - is young and not bad looking. He looks over to you with smile very close to the one Dean is currently sporting when he makes twelve of the fifteen balls on the table, eyebrows raised.
You consider going up and talking to him briefly, just for something to do. Just to make an effort to seem okay. Then you think better of it and take a sip of your beer instead, fighting a wince at the taste.
Dean is still talking to the woman. Sheâs laughing now and itâs high and girlish. Sheâs slapping his chest, which means he probably gave her some risquĂŠ compliment that sheâs pretending not to like. His grin widens when she does this, leaning closer. He knows heâs got her now, you think, and avert your gaze with a heavy feeling in your chest. Youâd rather not witness this next part.
âGet you a drink?â
You blink, looking over to your right. Itâs the pool player. His face is flushed from the exertion of the game, chalk caked on his face from applying it to the cue tip. He has a dark complexion with bright, alert eyes. He is even more handsome up close, with the light on his face.
âI got one,â you say, picking up your beer and tilting it up at him. He smile widens.
âOne you actually like.â
You shrug, vaguely aware heâs probably trying to jostle you into a quickie in the bathroom stall or something but not really caring. The beer is shit.
He doesnât ask you what you want, just makes his way up to the barman with casual swagger. He clearly knows the barman because heâs served quickly, exchanging a bill for two beers.
When he hands it over to you, you note that this one has clearly been refrigerated where your last one hadnât. And it does actually taste better. You probably got whatever shit they usually serve non-locals.Â
âNever seen you here before,â he says, not really looking at you. Heâs looking at Dean who is still busy making eyes at the woman at the bar.
âJust passing through.â
âWhere you headed?â
âRoad trip. Iâm with my two friends.â
He points the neck of his beer over in Deanâs direction. âThat one of them?â
âYeah.â
He nods thoughtfully and looks over to you now, still smiling handsomely. Youâre not sure what to make of him. He reminds you of a hustler in one of those old movies you used to watch as a kid; suave, confident, charming. Not charming like Dean is, but still adequately so.
âWhereâs the other one?â
Sam is working late at a library nearby. âFuck knows.â
He throws his head back in a laugh at that. You wonder briefly if itâs exaggerated to get into your good graces but it makes you smile regardless.
âYou came to visit at a weird time, yâknow,â he says, relaxed grin fading just a little. âGot some weird shit going on.â
âOh yeah?â
He nods gravely and waits for you to ask. You do. âWhat kinda weird shit?â
âBunch of murders. Real nasty ones.â
You raise your eyebrows, letting your face fall into what you know to be your most startled, aghast expression. He still appears solemn, but you can tell by the way he turns fully towards you that heâs pleased he got some sort of reaction out of you at last.
âDo they know who did it?â
He shakes his head. âNot yet. Theyâre all dying the same way, slit throats in bed. Started happening so suddenly, they think itâs someone from out of town. Figure they must be sneaking in windows or something.â When he says this, his eyes move back to Dean inadvertently for just a split-second but you catch it. You grin.
âWell you donât have to worry about Dean over there,â you say. âWe just got here today. I can vouch for him.â
He seems embarrassed by this, smiling across at you sheepishly. âWasnât trying to insinuate anything.â
You canât help a laugh and itâs almost enough to forget about what Dean is doing. There is still a weight that feels like an anchor in your stomach, but youâll think about it later. When you have five minutes alone in the shower, thatâs when youâll think it over and torture yourself with it until it loses some of its power over you. Youâll replay the memory over and over until the emotion is strangled out of it. For now, itâs enough for you to laugh with a handsome stranger and try to pretend that you still have some sort of dignity or self-sufficiency even though you know both were squandered the first day you set your sights on Dean.Â
And you do laugh. He makes you laugh. You donât even know his name and he doesnât ask yours, but heâs funny and decent enough to talk to and doesnât try to herd you over to the bathroom stall even after a good long while of talking.
âBuy you another?âÂ
Youâre almost surprised to see your beer is gone. You hadnât even fully realised you had been drinking it.
âIsnât this my round?â You have no intention of buying him a beer, but youâre curious to see what he says. Youâre playing with him a bit and you donât feel great about it, but he seems like he can handle himself. You wonder if this is how Dean thinks about you.
Thankfully, he just holds up a big leather wallet to you, stuffed with chalk-stained dollar bills. He shakes it a little bit. âMade out good tonight. I can afford it.â
Youâre about to make up some excuse, because you can see through the windows that the sky has gone from silvery to black and you feel you can safely make a break for it without causing any sort of scene - the motel is only across the road. But Dean is looming over you before you can get a word out.
You crane your neck, his green eyes meeting yours. His face seems to have no expression while he looks between you and your new friend. Nobody says anything for a while.
âWeâre going,â he says, voice flat.Â
You look back to the bar and can no longer see the blonde in the leopard print. Thereâs a burning in your chest and your throat at the idea that Dean most likely made a trip to the bathroom stall himself. Sheâs probably cleaning up in there at this moment, which is why Dean is trying to make a quick getaway.
A part of you would like to be petty and refuse to leave, but you canât say youâre any more eager to see the blonde with her hair askew and deep satisfaction written into the lines of her face. Instead you turn back to the man and offer him an apologetic smile. He seems put out but not annoyed.
âYou come back here tomorrow,â he says, smiling while you grab your coat. âThat drink is yours.â
You donât answer him. Dean grabs your hand as you walk out but you pull it away, pretending that you want to zip up your jacket. He gives you a weird look, but doesn't try to take it again.
You didnât drive to the bar since itâs less than a five minute walk away from your motel, but youâre starting to really wish you did. Silence doesnât feel as sharp when youâre in the car and the soft hum of the engine or the radio can drown out any awkwardness. Youâre used to long stretches of silence in the car - itâs where you spend most of your time.Â
Thereâs nothing to distract from the silence while you walk except the soft scratch of Deanâs boots on the gravel. You see him looking at you sideways every now and again but heâs trying to be sly about it so youâre giving no indication that you notice him.Â
You do your best to show him that nothing is wrong, looking around you as if to pretend that youâre distracted and thatâs why youâre not talking. Youâve always been the better pretender of the two of you, but you know youâre not quite playing this off right.
âHear anything from Sam?â you say eventually, only because it is starting to feel like youâre about to explode or crumble apart in the silence.Â
âYeah,â Dean says. Thereâs a scratch in his voice that he coughs out. âHeâs gonna be there another while. Says heâs onto somethinâ.â
Neither of you acknowledge that Sam is probably just doing this to give you both the space to have sex before he gets back. He does this often enough, because the alternative is much worse.Â
âItâs still open at this time?â you ask instead.Â
He huffs a laugh. âDonât think so.â
âOh.â
The idea of Sam alone in a locked library with only a flashlight sends something uncomfortable through your stomach but you swallow it. If you say anything to Dean, he will just tell you that you always get like this - that you worry too much. And you donât want to hear that from him right now. Youâre not sure you want to hear anything from him right now.
You feel very tired all of a sudden. The seconds and minutes pass obliquely and you feel almost nothing - no sort of passion, no desire, not even any pain - by the time youâre back in the corner of your motel room. Itâs like this night never even existed.Â
The wooden chair groans when you flop down into it. Dean looks at you hesitantly, one foot inside the bathroom and the other outside, as if he canât decide whether to ask you to join him in the shower. Ultimately he decides against it. He shuts the door after him very quietly.
The feelings flood back to you, scratching at your brain like rats in walls once that door closes. You listen to the shower in a sort of hypnosis, playing back the image of Dean with that woman in the bar until you can no longer stand it. You had thought that maybe it would get less painful each time, but it doesnât happen. Itâs like watching a movie again and again. You always notice something you didnât pick up on the first time. One time, itâs the way he leans in to speak close to her ear. Another time, itâs a slow wink. Youâre not even sure how much of this really happened and how much you have made up in your head just to hurt yourself.
Dean ties his towel around his waist in the very specific way that makes you go crazy. You feel his eyes on you but he messes around with some clothes, pretending that heâs not waiting to see if you have a reaction. You slip into the bathroom behind him, saying nothing. When you get into the shower, you donât even begin to wash with soap . You just stand still under the warm streams.Â
You canât say that youâre not a bit disgusted with him. Sure - you had always known that this was a possibility. Itâs Dean. But you had thought he might at least have a conversation with you before doing something like that. Had the decency to break things off.
The worst part about this whole thing is probably admitting to yourself that there isnât really anything to break off - at least not from his perspective. You had never had any sort of conversation about âexclusivityâ or âfeelingsâ or âwhat does this mean?â. And itâs not like that wasnât something you were aware of but- fuck.
You had always suspected that it was nothing to him, but you couldnât tell how much of it was grounded in reality and how much of it was your insecurity talking.Â
Because Dean doesn't act like itâs nothing. You guys fuck dirty, but then heâll lean over to kiss you even when he has you bent over, like he canât think of anything worse than having his lips separated from yours for more than a minute. You sleep together and eat breakfast together and he has told you about all the worst parts of himself. He puts his chin on your shoulder and wraps his hands around your waist and gives Sam the middle finger when he rolls his eyes. Then he presses multiples small kisses to your cheek and around your face just to piss him off more. Your poor, mangled heart canât be blamed for turning this into something itâs not.
No - the blame falls mostly on Dean for leading you astray. For making you so irrevocably happy that it has destroyed you.
You say âmostlyâ only because you should know better. You know Dean inside out. All of his hard parts and soft parts and the things he wonât say, even to you. And you know that heâs touch starved and needy and desperate for someone to hold him and understand him, even if he would never say it to a soul. But you also know about his commitment issues. You know all about them. So you must have known, even just in the back of your mind, that Dean was using this thing between the two of you as an outlet for his emotional and sexual desires, without wanting any of the commitment.
Youâre not sure if you even blame him. You are convenient and you love him - that much is obvious to anyone with eyes. Who better to meet those emotional needs? It might not have been very fair to you, but you think you will eventually come around in a way. He clearly needed you, and you gave him what he needed. Eventually you might even learn to be happy that you were able to give that to him for a time. But not right now.
Right now, youâre staggering into lunacy. Your body feels brittle and scorched from the water but you still take a few moments to get yourself together before you can force yourself to get out and dry yourself.
When you walk out of the bathroom in your pyjamas, steam billowing behind your back, Dean is passed out on one of the two motel beds, eyes closed and breathing heavy. The lights are off but you can see him in the broken, neon lights spilling through a broken slat in the blinds.
When Dean is asleep, he has this small wrinkle etched deep into his brow - like heâs working out some problem. It gives him a perpetually perplexed sleeping face. Heâs not aware of it, though. Right now, his face is smoothed out. No wrinkle in sight.Â
You hesitate for just a moment, balancing from one foot to another, before walking over to Samâs bed and getting under the covers.
You think you hear a soft sigh from the other bed - barely there.
You wake up with Samâs large body crammed against yours. Heâs snoring softly while you blink the sleep from your eyes. You try to heave his uncomfortably warm body off yours without waking him up.Â
Dean isnât in his bed and you try not to wonder whether he slipped out in the middle of the night when you didnât put out - maybe he went out to meet that blonde woman again.
Whatever. Not your problem anymore.
The thought barely scratches the surface of your brain when Dean walks in, mud and gasoline caked all over his clothes. He is flushed from exertion and little specks of dirt are caught in his hair. So - not back from a one night stand. He quirks an eyebrow at your current predicament, easy grin splitting over his face.Â
âYou need some help gettinâ out from under Goliath?â
His teasing irritates you a bit, but you know itâs just because itâs early, you havenât fully woken up yet and your limbs are aching from sharing a single bed with Sam. You nod reluctantly and he saunters over, slapping Sam over the head.Â
Sam cries out, grumbling in confusion before turning over.
âI was trying not to wake him up,â you say sternly.
âI didnât,â he protests. âLook at him.â
Sam is indeed passed out on his side, gone to the world. Heâs already drooling a bit onto the pillow. Youâre fighting a smile while you get up, but Dean blocks your vision before you can start for the shower.Â
âYâknow, heâs out cold,â he says, eyebrows raised. All of the stunted awkwardness of last night is gone. A hand reaches out for you and you let it fall against your waist without moving. You can only partially blame it on the force of habit. He smells like bitter brown earth and his eyes are bright with the exercise.
âI can see that.â
âProbably wouldnât even notice if I joined you in there.â
Youâre battling shock. The grin you were wearing while watching Sam is frozen on your face. He canât be serious. Heâs propositioning you? After last night?Â
Last night had been the worst case scenario you had pondered while going back and forth on whether sleeping with Dean would be a good idea when you first started doing whatever the hell you had been doing. Dean realising he couldnât be with just one girl - or maybe just couldn't be with you - and ending things.Â
What you hadnât realised at the time is that something worse than the worst case scenario existed. Something much, much worse.
The real worst case scenario is that Dean realises he canât be with just one girl and disrespects you enough to keep you around to fulfil his needs when itâs convenient, knowing fine well what you feel for him. And it had just come true.
You feel very sick all of a sudden, but not with nausea. You have been stabbed with a steel blade knife before - it feels quite like that. As if your insides are about to all come pouring out. You keep them in, try not to let them spill out in front of Dean.
âDonât think so,â you say, feeling your smile waver. âYou know Sam hates when we do that with him around.â
Dean frowns, that quizzical little line in between his brows forming again. It makes him look sleepy. âNever stopped you before. We can be quiet. Donât even need to do nothinâ.â
âYou look like you need your own shower,â you say, gesturing vaguely to the dirt and oily stains on his clothes. âIâll be quick.â
You step past him before he has time to react.Â
The whole time youâre in the shower, you can almost hear him thinking about you. Himself and Sam exchange a few low words that you canât make out over the steady stream of the shower, but you can tell heâs talking slower.Â
He clearly has no idea whatâs wrong with you or why youâre acting different. He doesnât even know that him hooking up with someone else is a problem for you. Part of you almost feels bad for him, but thatâs a dangerous line of thought. The second you start feeling bad for Dean is when you give in to him, because youâre no stronger than any other woman he shoots those pretty, pleading eyes at. And itâs usually fine because he never usually asks for something youâre not just as eager to give. But this time is different. He might not know it, but heâs asking you to sign yourself away this time. And thatâs not something you can do. Not if you want to keep your friendship with Dean and your sanity intact.
Sam staggers into the bathroom when you come out in your towel and Dean pretends to busy himself with Samâs notes while you dress yourself. That uneasy silence from last night is itching at you again, growing between you every second.
âWhere were you this morning?â you ask eventually. Dean looks over to you and blinks. You have your jeans on, but have not yet put your top on. His gaze flicks over to your bra for just a second before looking away again.
âWent down to the boneyard at the other side of town before the sun came up.â
You figure Sam and Dean must have had some conversation you were not party to, because this is the first you are hearing about a cemetery. You frown but donât comment on it.
âWhat now?â
âWe gotta go across state. To another churchyard.â
âWhy? You didnât burn the bones already?â
He bites the side of his cheek, looking sideways at you with a sheepishness written all over his face. âI burned someoneâs bones, yeah.â
Your mouth drops open and a startled laugh falls out before you can stop it. Dean grins guiltily. âYou burned the wrong bones? You, like, dug up a grave and burned the wrong bones?â
âNot my fault, sweetheart. Blame Sammy,â he says, leaning back with his eyes closed, crossing his dirty boots over each other and propping them onto Samâs bed. He will get an earful from Sam for that later.
âHe gave you the details of some randomerâs grave?â
âNot some randomer. It was our guy alright, but our guy apparently isnât the one whacking people. Itâs his wife. And sheâs buried across state.â
Youâre fully dressed now and Dean is looking at you again out of the corner of his eyes, like heâs not sure if heâs really supposed to. You take a seat on his bed, facing him where he sits on Samâs. âHow did you work that one out so fast?â
He shoots you his best relaxed grin and you groan. You call it his stormcloud smile, because it always precedes something terrible. He reaches down to yank the collar of his t-shirt past his collarbones and you see a gory red line, thick with congealed blood. Itâs not fatal but it looks damn painful. âCrazy bitch tried to gank me.â
âWhat the fu- Dean, why are you only just mentioning this right now? Jesus Christ. Get Sam out of the shower. We need to wash that.â
He laughs, reaching out a lethargic hand to grasp your own. He strokes a thumb up and down the little veins on your wrist gently and you feel it in your stomach. He closes his eyes with a happy sigh once more. âYou worry too much.â
You look down at his hand once, feel his calloused thumb on your skin. You let yourself be weak for only a couple of seconds. Then you gently tug your hand away from his and go over to shout at Sam through the bathroom door.
You wind up taking Dean to the hospital for a tetanus shot despite his protests. The injury itself doesnât look like any deeper than the million others you had patched up, but it is dirty with specks of rusted metal caught beneath the thin, splintering skin.Â
He gives up complaining by the time you manage to elbow him into the car. He nuzzles up on you in the waiting room. You feel a sharp tug of affection and then you feel nothing at all. You become as rigid as a plank while you try not to let yourself sink into him. Eventually he stops trying and you sit in silence that is not uncomfortable but not entirely companionable while you wait.
The wait is long enough that you are forced to delay your trip across state to the next day. Dean almost passes out in the passenger seat on the way back to the motel. The setting sun reflects off his face. It becomes a deep orangey red.
âWhy are you so sleepy?â you say, attention split between him and the road. You pause for a beat. âYou have sepsis or something?â
His laugh is tired. âWhatâd I tell you about all that worrying, sweetheart?â
âDean, youâre literally passing out on a ten minute drive. Itâs not even six oâclock.â
âSpending the night bodysnatching really takes it outta you.â
You frown. âYou stayed up all night?â
âSure. Waited for Sammy to get back, gave each other the 411, and went on my merry way.â
Youâre not sure what information Dean might have had to exchange with Sam - having been in the bar that whole night with you. You donât ask.
âWhy? Why not wait?â you ask instead.
âCouldnât sleep anyway,â he murmurs back, turning around slightly in his seat to signal that the conversation is over.
Dean didn't sleep again last night.Â
He doesnât tell you as much, but his eyes were open every time you awoke from a broken sleep with Sam almost knocking you off the bed with a gangly limb or sticking an elbow into your side. He blinks hard the entire drive across state, shaking his head every now and again like heâs trying to stop himself from nodding off.Â
You sit quietly in the back seat and donât complain that he is playing some Blue Ăyster Cult song too loud. You see him looking at you every now and again from the rear view mirror and pretend you donât. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the rear view mirror too. You just look like a small, jittery floating head.
Dean refuses to let you help with the digging despite the fact that his eyes are droopy and exhausted, but the bone burning is anticlimactic. You had been expecting some spanner in the works because you canât remember the last time there wasnât a spanner in the works on a job - but the ghost has only been terrorising the town she killed her husband in, not the one where she was born and buried. You will have to wait until you get back before you know whether it worked.
âWe getting a place here?â you ask, yawning as the three of you make your way back to the car. Night had fallen by the time they started digging. It must be close enough to midnight by now.
âNah,â Dean says, tossing the keys to Sam who catches them swiftly. âIf it didn't work we gotta find out soon. Sammy, you drive through the night. Iâm gonna sleep in the backseat.â
Your stomach lurches. Dean, who used to just sleep in the passenger seat, had taken to sleeping in the backseat with you when you two started your thing. He sometimes just says he needs a nap because he wants to cuddle and is too embarrassed to say so in front of Sam.
You look at Dean for just a moment. Heâs looking back at you with a soft, weary expression.
âIâll join you in the front,â you say, looking over at Sam. Sam raises his eyebrows. âIâll do enough talking to keep us both awake.â
Sam says nothing, just twirls the keys around with his fingers and gets into the front seat. You canât look at Dean when you get into the passenger seat.
You donât talk to Sam like you promised. Your body feels hot and thereâs a thick, mushy ache at the base of your brain. You canât seem to talk yourself out of the violent guilty feeling that comes from catching glimpses of Dean in the rear view mirror. He looks very young like this; with his eyes wide and hurt and muddled. Eventually you watch the expression melt away as Dean slips into what seems to be a deep sleep, the perpetually perplexed line forming between his brows. You have the strange thought that this time his sleep is genuinely perplexed - that heâs trying to work out whatâs going on with you.
âSo,â Sam starts, checking the mirror to confirm that Dean is out for the count. âWanna tell me whatâs going on?â
âI donât know what youâre talking about.â Your voice is dull. Youâre almost just saying it to say it - you know thereâs no real point in pretending.
âWeâre not doing this,â he says. âYou guys need to work this out because my sleep has been terrible.â
âYour sleep? Iâm the one getting squashed every night. Are you aware that youâre a behemoth?â
Sam abruptly laughs. âYes, Iâm aware. Which is why I need the bed to myself. You and Dean fold up on each other like youâre just one person anyway.âÂ
Your chest aches at that. You put your chin in your hand, looking out the window even though itâs too dark to see anything.
âDid he fuck up?â Sam asks eventually.
No - not really. Itâs you that fucked up, if you have to think about it. But you canât say that. You just shrug.
Sam sighs. âHe doesnât know what he did. You gotta talk to him.â
âI know,â you say.
âNo you donât. Youâre just trying to get me off your back.â
âI have you on my back enough overnight. Give me a break.â
He laughs again. Dean stirs and sighs in the backseat.Â
Dean has always thought that he is the relationship equivalent to a Big Mac and fries. The idea of him is more appealing than the experience, and the payoff is always terrible. Heâs never known anyone to not feel regret once theyâre through with him.Â
But it seems to him most of the time that you donât see him that way. Yeah, you must know at some level that heâs not the relationship equivalent of a filet steak with a side of⌠caviar (Dean hasn't been to many fancy restaurants). But sometimes, when youâre lying asleep in his arms in the early morning and he watches you in the dotted glow spilling through the shitty motel curtains that donât block shit, he thinks you might both have been cut from the same cloth. Like every other attempt he had made at happiness hadnât worked out just because it wasnât with you.Â
You are the only right fit. And he knows nothing lasts, but he thought that maybe this might.
You read a lot of horror books. It drives him fucking nuts. He complains about it all the time and tries to mask the fact that itâs just because he wants your attention.Â
âDonât you see enough of that shit already? What you want more nightmares for?â he asks you and you smile and joke that youâre doing research - as if Stephen King or any of those other dumbfucks know the first thing about real demons. Hell, those books are like chick-flicks compared to some of the shit youâve seen together.
But once he gets over the initial sting of losing your attention, he will watch you. He sometimes sits there for some amount of time that is most definitely too long, just watching your eyes move left to right on the page, your lips just barely twitching as if youâre stopping yourself from mouthing the words.
It makes him imagine the two of you, side-by-side in your own bed rather than a rickety motel bed. The two of you donât really have âyour own bedâ - youâre on the road too much - but that doesnât matter. Itâs his daydream and he says it doesnât need to be burdened by reality.Â
Youâll read your horror books and Dean will catch up on all the books he never read at school so heâll read the Lord or the Flies or To Kill a Mockingbird, but only until 10 oâclock sharp, because he needs to be up early to drop the kids to school in the morning and he wants to love on you before sleeping.Â
He wonât admit that heâs only reading those books so he can talk to the kids about what theyâre learning in school and youâll never say it either but youâll both know.Â
He does this until you give him a strange look and call him a creep. Then he goes back to bothering you; tries to get your attention by pressing soft kisses to your neck or trailing his finger up your thigh lightly, just the way you like.Â
He refuses to do any of the fancy bullshit when he showers alone because heâs a man and he doesnât need to exfoliate, or whatever the fuck. But also because, if he did, then you wouldnât join him for showers anymore, and he wouldnât get to feel you slide that stupid scratchy glove over his skin or drag some thick goop through his hair and put a ridiculous pink polka-dot shower cap over his head because he needs to âlet it soak inâ.Â
He pretends it bothers him, just like he pretends it bothers him when you stand between his thighs and massage serums and moisturisers gently into his skin like youâre giving him a facial. You both know itâs a charade when he grumbles about how itâs a waste of time but you put up with his boorishness because you know he canât accept nice things any other way. You both play your parts perfectly. Youâre always happy to pretend youâre making Dean do this and it makes his chest almost ache with both affection and the knowledge that he could live a million years and never truly be able to deserve you; to deserve this.Â
In reality, you both know he likes feeling your hands on his skin with that innocent, loving sort of care. Touching him just because. Because âyouâre going to look like a leather purse in five years if you donât moisturise, Deanâ. Because you want him to feel good and relaxed when he gets back to some shitty motel feeling like the life has been sucked out of him. Dean has never been touched just because before. Heâs been touched for carnality and for injury but not just because. Never just because.
He lets you pretend that it bothers you too, when he starts making jokes about how itâs your time for a facial. But he sees the corners of your mouth creak upwards even as you roll your eyes and tell him heâs gross.
But he can see why it would be too much for you. He has to give it to you; you put up a good fight. You really did. But a person can only eat a Big Mac for so long before they get sick - or whatever the fuck the saying is. You have handled it beautifully in the time you had. Better than anyone else he had ever given the chance.
There was a sort of gravitational pull, when he first met you. He had tried so hard to fight against it but it took him kicking and screaming. No matter how hard he tried, he couldnât stop himself from getting close to you. Even the knowledge that he ruins every good thing he touches had not been enough to keep himself from being drawn to you like a magnet.
This, right now, feels the same. Like there is some sort of gravitational pull, but this time itâs working against him. He canât seem to stop you from slipping through his fingers. He would get down on his knees and beg for an explanation if he were a less proud, less stubborn man. Or maybe heâs just scared of how youâd answer. But as it stands, he thinks maybe he will just have to accept that youâre being pulled out of his life the same way you were pulled in. He just wishes it was less gradual. You crashed into his life like a wave, and youâre being pulled out like a current - slow and steady and devastating. And he doesnât know why. But he has a few guesses.Â
Because Dean is the first person to admit heâs a fuck-up when it comes to you. Like when he watches you stand between Sammyâs outspread thighs and your hands work his face with that same gentleness that you use to put those weird moisturisers on Dean, even though youâre just disinfecting a wound or bandaging him up. Sometimes, at his worst and most ugly, his stomach splits with an aggressive mash-up of possessiveness and anxiety and plain, simple fear. It doesnât matter that Samâs hands are planted firmly by his side rather than on your hips or that there are far more clothes involved in these scenarios than in any between yourself and Dean. That violent beast still makes an appearance. Dean will kick up a fuss like a kid, complain that youâre running out of time, even when he damn well knows you have nothing to do. Heâll accuse Sam of being dramatic and accuse you of being overbearing. But he always apologises after. Never explains, because you know it all already. Just apologises.
He had the same feeling when he came back from getting information from that woman at the bar. And Dean is no prude but he was sick from the start because all he could do was wonder how this woman is so fucking okay. Obviously he intended to coax the information out of her with his best fuck-me-eyes, but he still couldnât understand how she was able to flirt and giggle less than a week after her husbandâs neck was slit in bed.
Because if that was you - Dean wouldnât make it through the week at all. He understands how hypocritical that is, because of all his talk to Sam about âgetting back out thereâ and âsheâd want you to be happyâ after Jess, but itâs true. He wouldnât make it and he wouldnât want to.
But then he got distracted by you. And the widow fucked off, haughty and insulted by his wandering attention, but he didnât care because there was some pool hustler sitting there and trying to buy you a drink and that old beast came back out, even when he tried his best to contain it.
Heâs not sure whether that pool player showed you just a glimpse of something better or if hiss jealousy scared you off for good. Maybe itâs best that he doesnât know why youâre pulling away. Because he is acutely aware of the fact that he would spend the rest of his life trying to fix it, even if it is unfixable.Â
Even if you were done with Dean just because he is Dean, he would spend all his waking hours trying to figure out how to be less Dean-like.Â
So itâs best not to know.
You move on to the next town without much fuss once Sam identifies a new case. At one point, Dean asks with crude sarcasm whether you want to say goodbye to the pool hustler from the bar. You take a few seconds to try to remember who he is talking about and donât answer. The question is cruel and confusing.
He stops trying to show you any sort of physical affection beyond an arm around the shoulder which should relieve you but doesnât. Youâre not sure what you had been hoping - for him to beg and apologise, maybe - but it doesnât happen. And you can recognise that itâs probably a good thing, too. If he had dropped to his knees and apologised and begged for forgiveness, you know you would give in. You wouldnât have a choice. He has you trapped on a leash that is long but incredibly taut.
But, having forgiven him, youâre not sure itâs something you could ever fully work through. You would always know that he chose someone over you, if even for a little while. It would make you question everything. Youâre not sure you could ever be with him without expecting him to leave.
So you move on - or you try to. You sink down the hurt with the hopes of becoming immune to it. You try not to think too much or feel too much. You let Sam and Dean do most of the work themselves, jumping in only when asked for. When thereâs a TV in your motel, you go to the nearest thrift store and pick up some old VHS with Richard Gere or Meryl Streep in it until you slip into a mild sort of twilight zone. Other times, you read.
Most of the time, youâre just exhausted. Even Samâs annoyingly large frame knocking against you in beds that are far too small for two people canât stop you from sleeping well into the day.
Almost three weeks on from pool and beers and leopard print women, you check into a new motel. The ceilings are low with wall-to-wall carpet that feels a bit sticky under your feet, but the bed linen looks clean and unstained. You collapse on one of the beds, looking at the ceiling and vaguely wondering whether Sam is going to have to crane his neck to stand inside.
But when you look at Sam, heâs seated on the other bed. And heâs taking off his clothes, cramming his items into the bedside locker. He meets your gaze and raises his eyebrows, as if daring you to say something, and you understand emphatically that youâll be sharing a bed with Dean.
The two of them flock around you, changing clothes - you think Sam showers - but you donât move your eyes from the ceiling. Your gaze on it is like a lighthouse beam while they move around in your peripheral. You canât wait for them to leave so you can disappear into your echo chamber. Youâll fight with Dean in your mind, tell him how you feel and how deeply heâs hurt you before slipping into a corpse-like trance and not thinking much about anything for the rest of the night. But all that will have to wait until they go.
âComing for a drink?â Sam asks plaintively. He sounds like heâs talking to a kid.
âNot feeling it tonight,â you say, as if you had joined them at all in the last three weeks. Every time you consider it, leopard print flashes in your mind and you dig your heels in. âYou guys go ahead, though.â
âSweetheart, come out for one drink. Itâs just across the road.â Thereâs a thin edge of irritation in Deanâs voice, despite the pet-name.
âIâm not feeling it,â you repeat, finally looking away from the ceiling and over at them. You feel the ice water in your voice and so do they.
Sam backs away to the door, mumbling something about âIâm just gonna-â and leaves you in the room alone with Dean. You assume he is heading over to the bar.
âThatâs a loada crap,â Dean bites, hardly noticing Samâs departure. âYouâve not been feelinâ it for the last month. Come and get a soda if you want. Donât just sit here and mope.â
You stare at him. You try to be angry at his casual cruelty - the way heâs acknowledging what heâs done to you and essentially telling you to get over it - but itâs hollow. Youâre mostly just at a loss. You are resigned to the fact that âthe conversationâ is about to happen and itâs probably overdue. But there isnât a word in this world about this particular subject that youâd like to share with him - you have nothing to share that doesnât make you look weak and wretched. You suppose he knows it all anyway.
âI donât know how,â is what you land on, finally.
Dean hesitates, icy stare melting. A beat passes and he lies down beside you on the bed, grabbing your hand in his own. You feel his touch deep in your stomach.
You are both staring at the ceiling for some length of time and it feels very much like how you were before any of this started - before you complicated anything. You canât decide whether the feeling it gives you is good or bad. After some time he says, âYou have nothinâ to worry about, sweetheart. I can handle it.â
Your mind goes around in circles, trying to make sense of his meaning but coming up short. You try to apply his words to everything that had happened between three weeks ago and now, but nothing fits right.
âWhat does that mean?â you ask softly.
âIt means you donât have to feel⌠guilty, or whatever. Iâm not gonna pretend it doesnât kill me âcause it does. But it kills me more to see you walking around like a fuckinâ zombie. And you donât gotta worry about me. Iâm a big boy. I can take care of myself.â
You blink, struck into silence. That nagging feeling that you should be angry resurfaces - because Dean thinks you should feel guilty? - but itâs once again empty and defeated.
âYou still there?â Dean probes gently.
âIâm here,â you say. âI donât feel guilty. I donât know why I should feel guilty.â
Youâre still not looking at each other - both of you staring straight ahead. But you can hear the hurt in Deanâs voice. âThen whatâs all the moping for? I thought-â
There is another stretch of silence.
âMy feelings are hurt,â you say. He has won and youâve come clean. It feels terrible. Your stomach is tight and sore. âI knew it was a possibility but I thought you would at least tell me before you⌠yâknow.â
Dean leans up now on one arm, crouching over you. You feel his eyes on your face but donât look at them.
âBefore I what? I donât know. Youâre gonna have to help me out here, angel. Iâm in the dark. Been in the dark for weeks.â
You donât see how thatâs possible - how he could have missed such direct cause and effect. And Dean is a liar when he needs to be, but heâs not lying about this. You know.
âThe woman, Dean.â
âWhat woman?â
âThereâs been more than one?â
You donât bother trying to hide the twisted and hurt look on your face - it is coming out in your voice, anyway. Your insides feel like minced meat.
âThereâs been none, if Iâm picking up what youâre putting down.â
Finally - finally - you look over at him. You expect to see a sad, wry look on his face, or maybe just guilt. But Dean is smiling.
âThen I donât think youâre picking up what Iâm putting down,â you say firmly. âIâm talking about the woman from the bar. In the leopard print. Blonde.â
Dean is still smiling but he looks perplexed. He shakes his head.
âJesus, Dean. In that town with the crazy ghost wife. In that bar with the pool player.â
Youâre horrified that he canât recall. You hope this doesnât mean it was a regular occurrence throughout the time that you had been sleeping together.
âThe fuckinâ-â Dean laughs, full-bodied and blithe. âThe fuckinâ widow?â
âHow the fuck would I know if she was a widow?â you snap. Youâre ready to sit up, but he pushes down on your shoulder, like heâs suddenly enjoying this. Itâs not how you saw the conversation going.
âThat was the woman Sammy showed us. Remember? Her husbandâs neck was slit the week before. The first case.â
You turn your face away from him again, indignation melting away from your face while you stare straight ahead at the cracks above you. Youâre playing it all back in your head; the lean-in, the whisper in the ear - or had you invented them? You canât remember now. But you remember his face when he spoke to her - the smoky grin. That much you hadnât imagined.
âWhat the hell are you-â you start.
âI didnât touch that lady. I was on a stakeout.â
You frown. Thereâs a dull ache behind your eyes and Dean is still grinning.
âYou donât give me that smile. The one you gave her. You never do.â
âWhat smile?â
You do a poor imitation of it, lip poking up at the corner. It feels grotesque even on your own face, like youâre masquerading a good attitude when this is the expression from all of your worst memories of Dean picking up random girls in bars while you were secretly pining for him. He laughs and the mock smile drops from your face immediately. You move to leave again, but he grabs your arm.
âIâm sorry, sweetheart. Iâm sorry. I just- I didnât even know I did that until now. But youâre right, I donât give you that look.â
Your heart plummets. You canât even look at him when you give him a curt nod, trying to yank your arm out of his grip. Tears are dangerously close.
âYou know why?â he continues. You wish he would stop fucking smiling. You shake your head.
ââCause itâs phoney as hell. There are certain things a man will do to get information or to pick up someone for a night. Cheap tricks. I never wanted you for a night. I want you for all my nights. Days too.â
âOh.â
Thereâs an apology in your tone but Dean doesnât acknowledge it. He just mimics your âOhâ and laughs again like some sort of joy junkie, flopping back on the bed. You go back to staring at the ceiling again and lapse into silence. His chest is gently heaving.
âThought I lost you for good,â he says gently, once the initial gaiety fades. âI canât believe you thought I would-â
You breathe shakily while shame and sheepishness swirl in your stomach. Youâre glad that youâre not looking at him right now - you can only see the cracking, yellowness of the ceiling. Dean sighs, continuing.
âSweetheart, thereâs nobody else for me. I guess this is my fault for not making that more clear. I would never do that to you for as long as I live. Youâre mine, arenât you?â
You nod at the blistering yellow plaster, a prickling behind your eyes. âYeah,â you say. Your voice is wobbly. âYeah, Dean, Iâm yours. Iâm yours. God, Iâm so so sorry-â
âSlow down, angel-â
âI just got the wrong end of the stick because you were talking to her and you were making that face and we never really spoke about, yâknow, exclusivity so I just assumed, but I shouldâve just-â
âSweetheart.â
You stop. When you look over at Dean, heâs looking at you too.
âItâs okay. Weâre okay. Iâm just- fuck. Iâm so⌠I love you.â
You do cry then, one short, abrupt sob tearing through your body. âI love you too.â
He reaches out and puts one hand behind your back, pulling you into him and pressing a small kiss to your neck. You can almost feel him deflate, his body coming home to you. His hands quiver and press tight, rubbing up and down your back. You wonder, in that moment, how you ever could have thought that Dean would give himself to someone else. He was made for you.
He leans away from your neck then, mouth meeting yours, pressing against your shallow, shuddering breath and nothing matters.
Dean texts Sam to let him know heâll need to get his own room for the night. He shows you the reply.
SAM: Gross.
SAM: Glad you guys worked it out.
Youâre mildly embarrassed, but that only makes Dean laugh. He has been on a high since you talked. He is very flippant about the whole thing - not taking it at all personal that you shut him out based on an assumption. He says he is just relieved that you have come back to him.
You poke at him - almost prodding him to be mad at you. You sure would be, if the roles were reversed. But he just rolls his eyes and jostles you into the shower. He doesnât tell you that heâs missed the way you wash his skin and his hair, but you know.
For once - just for this one time - neither of you play your parts. He doesnât grumble about your body wash or facial cleanser or exfoliating glove and you donât pretend youâre forcing it on him. He just closes his eyes with a dopey smile, hands never leaving your waist unless itâs to brush a hand through your hair or squeeze your ass. You donât admonish him for that either just for this one time. Heâs hard as a rock the whole time - he always is - but he doesnât try anything in earnest.Â
Not until you leave the shower and curl up against him in your duck-egg coloured bathrobe. Your skin is warm from your shower and from Deanâs flesh pressed against your own. His eager hands fly around your body, gripping your thighs and palming your boobs while he presses his desperate lips against yours. He speaks against your lips rather than pulling away.
âFuck, angel. You have no ideaâŚâ he murmurs. âNever thought Iâd be allowed touch you like this again.â
The way heâs kissing you is slow and dirty, probably a bit too much spit passing between lips but youâre too hazy to care. The hand that had been caressing your breasts over your bathrobe now goes to the V-shaped neckline of your bathrobe. He draws it down with a fist, loosening the tie around your waist with his other hand.
He stops kissing you only to glance down at you, now fully exposed to him. Dean is hardly faring better - he is in only his underwear, but it is practically transparent with how firmly his cock is straining against the fabric. He looks at you for a bit too long, his throat working.
âCanât believe you kept all this from me, sweetheart. For weeks. Fuckinâ messed up.â He leans down to take a nipple into his mouth and you gasp, back arching up. Your hands go to his wide shoulders instinctively, encouraging his movements. âWas having wet fuckinâ dreams. Kept forgetting you werenât-â. He stops himself, mouth moving to the other nipple, tongue moving expertly against the thin skin. Heâs trying not to kill the mood.
âDean-â you sigh. Even his hand on your waist feels like something rattling through your bones.
âYeah, baby? You miss me too?â He looks sly, peering up at you while kissing down your stomach. His lips are hot against your skin.
It is almost criminal how pretty he is. Youâve always thought it - how could you not? Every girl who has ever caught sight of him even once thinks heâs pretty, but not every girl has seen him like this - bleary-eyed, menacing and lovelorn - holding your eyes while he licks and sucks his way to your thighs. You know Dean is experienced, but you would very much like to think that maybe you are the only one to ever see that look on his face.
He nips gently at your thigh, dangerously close to where you need him. You jump a bit and instinctively try to clamp your legs together, even with his head in the way.
âAsked you a question, sweetheart,â he says, nipping at the other thigh.
You had been too busy looking at his pretty green eyes and stupidly handsome face. You try to think back about what he asked you.
âMissed you, Dean. Couldnât do anything without you,â you say.
âYeah?â You canât see Deanâs mouth but you feel his cheeks round against your thigh while he kisses there, thumb brushing just alongside your hip. Youâre wiggling around unintentionally, desperate for some kind of friction. âShe missed me too, huh?â
He brushes his thumb against your clit. Featherlight. Barely enough to feel.
But oh, you feel it. You gasp out, clutching his hair just to tether yourself to something. His breath is warm against your core.
âYes! She missed you. She missed you so much.â
Dean raises his eyebrows from below. You refuse to refer to any part of your body in the third person until he has you well and truly gone - teetering off the edge of sanity. He bites your ass cheek playfully, making you jump.Â
âFuck, yeah. Bet she did,â he grunts, eyes on your face which is tight with sweet agony. âNever gonna go cold on me again, are you?â
You shake your head wildly. You might whisper âNeverâ a few times, or maybe itâs just ringing through your head. His head props up out of your thighs for just a moment with a radiant smile.Â
âGood girl,â he says, and you can hardly process what those words do to you before heâs diving down again, mouth working against your pussy, one finger pressing its gentle way inside.
You canât help it - you cry out. It feels like an electric current. It had been so long.
But your mind is still working overtime and you still canât get rid of the seed of guilt suspended low in your stomach. This feeling - the feeling of him sliding his tongue against your clit while he nudges his finger in slow but hard - is far more than you deserve.
âI think you should- fuck, ah- I think you should let me take care of you instead.â
He doesnât move his mouth from you. He just continues to lick and suck, sending stars straight from the sky and into your eyes. But he looks up at you quizzically, as if to check whether youâre serious.
âYouâre- shit- fuck,â you gasp, unable to concentrate. You might be slurring a bit. âIâm the one who should be making it up to you. I want to do something for you.â
Thatâs when Dean removes himself, propping up to look at you with a tricky, dark smile. His mouth is slick and shiny which sends heat to your face. âYouâre fuckinâ adorable. You think this is for you?â he asks, tongue poking out to lick at his lips. Your eyes follow it. âQuit worrying so damn much and be good to me. Let me take what I need. You got a lot of making up to do.â
If his words were not enough to tear a moan from you, then the way his mouth meets your cunt again - desperate and sloppy but proficient - would have done the job. âAre you real?â you ask. Dean laughs against you. It doesnât do much to help your problem.
The problem being that youâre about to come. Embarrassingly fast and - from what you can already tell - embarrassingly loud. You might usually make an effort to stifle your moans, but you know exactly what Dean wants and that is to hear you. You owe him that. Heâs lapping at your cunt with vigour, taking breaks every now and again only to speak to you.
âSo fuckinâ sweet,â he groans. âJesus, sweetheart. You got any idea what you do to me?â
Youâd probably make some lame joke about how heâs the one doing things to you right now if your brain was still in the vicinity. You can only whine in response and hope itâs sufficient.
âYouâre so cute when youâre about to give it to me,â he says, fingers pumping and curling. âYâgo so dumb and needy.â
When his mouth meets your clit again, you fly off the edge. Your cunt clenches around his fingers and you shake and whimper while Dean tells you what a good girl you are and admires how well youâre doing for him. You feel him smiling against you.
You never really come down from that high - youâre horny again, instantaneously. His fingers are barely out of you when you pull him up from his position and begin tearing frantically at his underwear and the bathrobe that is now just hanging loose from your shoulders.
He smiles, even while his eyes darken. âAnother one? Already?â
âGimme a break,â you say. âI havenât gotten off in three weeks.â You can hear the high whine in your voice, but it doesnât immediately register as an issue. Maybe youâll be embarrassed about it tomorrow. His cock is standing proud up against his stomach. You perch yourself on his lap while he sits up against the headboard, bare crotches just inches apart.
âThree weeks? Shit,â he laughs. âIâve been jackinâ it in the shower every other day. No wonder you were all pouty.â
âShut up,â you whisper, pressing a short, messy kiss to his mouth and raising your hips up so youâre rubbing against the underside of his cock. Youâre soaking him. His cock twitches against you and sends a small thrill up your spine, but you donât give much away.
Dean grunts, face pained. His grip on your hips tighten until his knuckles are stretched white. Youâre clenching against nothing, body protesting at having his cock - which you had been thinking about for three weeks straight - so close but not inside. You push it away and grind down against him, because he looks so pretty and needy like this, glistening eyes turned upward to look at you.Â
You look down because you know he will follow your gaze. You slowly lift your hips upward, dragging your heat against him until you reach the head. You stay there for a moment, just letting the tip graze your opening before sinking down slightly, just barely letting it notch inside, your body humming with energy. He releases a choked breath and youâre not sure if itâs a reaction to the sight or the sensation.
Whole body demanding otherwise, you lift yourself off. Dean makes a tortured, protesting noise, squeezing your hips while you move down on him again.
You do it again, let him graze your opening, let it notch inside you the slightest bit. But this time, when you try to pull away, Dean uses his leverage on your hips to nudge the first few inches of his cock all the way in. A noise catches in your throat at the unexpected intrusion at the same time that Dean groans. Your stomach lurches.
âFuck me, sweetheart. You get tighter on me?â he asks, voice strained. His eyes are stuck on where youâre taking him. You sink down a bit further, ignoring the initial burning stretch of the breach until you are taking him all the way. The stretch is overwhelming. It always is. His face twists and he gasps.
âThink youâre just needy,â you whisper, grinding down laxly. Youâre teasing him, but you can feel your body becoming more pliant by the second, slowly releasing control to him. His hands guide your hips.
âDamn right Iâm fuckinâ needy,â he grunts. âYou got any idea what it was like goinâ without this tight little hole to fuck for three weeks?â
Stars are exploding behind your eyes at the stretch of him. He could fuck you a million times, but youâll never get over how perfectly he fits inside you - how the tip of his dick hits a spot that makes you go dumb and satiated in a way you had never been with anyone before him.
âGonna need an answer, angel,â he says and he knows heâs being cruel. He smiles at you in that way of his - one side of his mouth curving slightly.
âI donât know,â you moan, hating him and loving him.
Heâs fucking you in earnest now - thrusting up from below, hands grinding you down on him. You are trusting him with your body the way you always do and Dean rewards you for your sweet submission to him like he always does. With mind-numbing pleasure.
âYou donât know?â He presses a soft kiss to your collarbone in direct opposition to the harsh way heâs pushing into you. A rough thumb is brushing on your clit and you clamp down on him, feeling your wetness spill around him and drip past his balls and onto the sheets. âDonât know that I was in hell for three weeks? That I was so horny my balls hurt? That I was waking up with dirty dreams and fistinâ my cock in the shower while you were in bed with my fuckinâ brother?â
Your mind is whirring, trying to keep up with the information youâre being offered while his hips meet your wetness with a dizzying rhythm. You feel a little stupid.
âI didnât know. Dean, fuck- Iâm sorry.â You think you might be crying tears of pleasure. You can feel them on your cheeks.
âSh sh sh,â Dean cooes, not all that kindly. âSâokay, sweetheart. Pretty pussy came back to me eventually, didnât she? Missed getting stuffed with me. And youâre never gonna keep her from me again, are you?â
âNo. Never again,â you whisper, eyes rolling back.
He stops thrusting quite suddenly, slowly sliding out of you. You feel his absence immensely, stomach clenching in protest. âThatâs my girl,â he says patronisingly, with a sloppy, lazy grin.Â
He has you under him then, before you can really think about it. Your left cheek is pressed firmly into the pillow, the weight of it forcing your mouth open slightly. Your back is arched, ass presented to Dean who is knelt behind you. He gives your ass a single, loving pat and then heâs sliding in again, groaning as if it was the first time.
It feels deeper like this. Maybe it should be painful how far heâs pressing into you but youâre always so wet when itâs Dean and right now youâre wetter than you have been in your life. You moan so obscenely that you are momentarily embarrassed, but every noise you make urges one from Dean, and thatâs a trade youâll take any day.Â
âJesus-â he chokes out âHot - wet - tight fuckinâ cunt. Gonna fill this pussy every day from now on, angel. Fuck you dumb. Never gonna let you think those silly little thoughts ever again. This pretty hole is the only one Iâll ever need.â
His hips meeting your ass is creating a brutal, rhythmic song. The sound of it alone would be enough to get you there, but Deanâs words have you gushing.
âI missed you,â he confesses, breathless. âMissed you so much. How you feel around me- fuck, angel. You feel so good.â
Youâre almost glad that Dean canât seen your face like this. The dumb, fucked-out expression youâre sure youâre sporting. You clench down so hard, you almost see stars.
âI missed you too,â you babble. âMissed having you inside me. You fill me up so good. Dean, Iâm gonna come.â
He twitches inside you once and then heâs leaning forward, grabbing your face roughly with his hands and squeezing your cheeks with his fingers. His chest is pressed up against your back and you are twisting back, but he doesnât stop thrusting into you.
He kisses you, deep and dirty. Thereâs too much spit and your tongues keep missing each other because the angle makes it difficult, but the torridness of it sends you over the edge, gasping and whining loudly into his mouth. When you pull away, a string of spit still connects you. Your eyelids flutter open and you look into his pretty green eyes. Dean comes.
âThatâs it, baby, there you go,â he gasps, shaking. âFuck. I love you so much.â
Youâre still coming as Dean spills into you. You can do nothing but meet each otherâs eyes while he pumps you full. A veil of starlight is painted behind your eyelids.
Youâre sticky and slippery with sweat, your wetness and Deanâs cum by the time his thrusts begin to shallow out. Your exhausted body slumps against the bed, satisfied to stay there for the night, except Dean pulls out gently and eventually coaxes you to get up and do stuff like pee, brush your teeth. You do it all in a trance.
When you both settle back down, you leave a kiss on his clavicle, lips against skin. He smiles and strokes down your spine. His hand is in your hair, just holding you against him. Your upper thighs are still sticky and your leg that is pressed against Deanâs confirms that his are too. You can feel the slow, strong tinkling of his heart against the skin of his chest. You have a theory that he still doesnât quite believe that this wonât be taken from him again tomorrow, but youâll wait for tomorrow to prove him wrong.
âMight need another shower,â he slurs, even as you both float away to sleep.
a/n: they are both so dumb... they pmo even though i was the one writing them lmao
â đđâ your husband gets clingy and sappy during sex
it always starts heated, hungry, almost borderline feral when you get your hands on each other. the rough yet gentle way his voice echoes in your ear at every promise he tells you heâs gonna do to you: knows it makes your knees weak and pussy wet. Â
his touch always traveling around your body, knowing it like the back of his hand, knows what you like and donât like, knows which buttons to press to have you trembling and shaking. whispers the dirtiest things in your ear while heâs got this finger stuffed in your cunt and you canât do anything but grip his wrist tightly and moan into his mouth when he kisses you.
but thereâs also times when it shifts, the entire bedroom becomes soft all of a sudden, like now; sat back on his knees, thumb rubbing the slowest circles on your clit while his canât take his eyes off the way his cock eases in and out of you with one leg pushed off to the side and the other bent over his shoulder. âbaby,â he murmurs, deep and low in his throat, his lips littering wet kisses against your leg. âyouâre so pretty, baby.â
your eyes snap open at his words, dazed and confused. âhuh?â through tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, you catch sight of him, but he isnât looking at you. heâs fixated on your pussy. your lips part with another string of soft whines, hand loosely pressed against his chest when heâs slowly grinding into you; the thickness of his cock stretching you out perfectly. âwhat did you say?â
if he hears you, he choses not to say anything, not yet anyway, too entranced with how he fills you up, eyes hooded and breath stuttering at the warmth of you wrapped around him. doesnât seem to register the way your nails sink into the skin of his chest each time he pulls out just enough to have you whimpering in protest before pushing right back into you. each thrust knocking your breath out of you.
itâs when his eyes flicker up and meet yours finally, lowering your leg from his shoulder, that he smiles; the lazy and giddy kind, before heâs leaning over you. his body, made up of pure muscle and strength, cages yours beneath him. âyouâre pretty too, sweetheart,â his face is instantly tucked into the crook of your neck, hot breath against your skin, causing you to shiver and clench around him. âso pretty, my pretty lady,â he continues, hands running up and down your thighs before heâs wrapping them around his waist for you, body lowering more onto yours.
you gasp into his shoulder, the action of his body pressing down onto you causes his cock to sink deeper. âbaby,â you whine, biting his shoulder, hands running up and down his back, moving to his sides just to feel the hotness of his skin before theyâre moving back up and around his back; the muscle is hard beneath your touch.
his thrusts are slow and gentle, the thick vein on the underside of his cock throbs against your walls, rough hands slide down your legs and over your hips. his ragged breaths and groans vibrate against your neck and the sharpness of your nails sink into his back. âmy pretty baby, so sweet and soft,â he murmurs once more, teeth nipping at your neck. âyouâre so perfect, so mine.â
heâs gone, that much you realise, and you also realise heâs not even phased by the way your nails continue to rake up and down his back each time he grinds into you, his mind and body focused on how good you feel wrapped around his cock, how you feel so pliable beneath him. those same hands that make you feel safe no matter what, grip your hips tighter once his pace gets more faster.Â
âmâyours,â you choked out, the sound a mixture between a moan and a sob; either way it goes straight to his head, panting into your now sweaty neck. âall yours, honey please.âÂ
âyouâre so perfect, mâso lucky to have you,â he canât stop, his fingers sinking deeper into your hips and nose sliding up and down your neck.
the plap plap plap of skin slapping echo the room, your ankles locked tightly around him, heels pressing into his lower back each time he drags his cock out, enough to make you whine, before sliding right back in, the tip of his cock catching onto the spot inside you that has stars behind your ears and toes curling. âfeels âshoo good,â you moan, hips moving on their own accord to meet his thrusts.Â
your arm wraps around his neck, holding him close to you and you moan, gasp and whine into his ear softly. his sweaty body sticks to yourself like glue, if anything his grip on your hips tighten, lips attaching to your neck hungrily. âso warm, holy shitâ his voice slurs slightly, one hand quickly moving between your bodies where he finds your throbbing clit. âso wet,â his fingers work slowly, drawing figure eights on the bud, groaning each time you clench around his cock. âyouâre so fucking perfect, fuck honey.â
his words melt your heart, makes your eyelids flutter closed just for a second; or longer, you canât tell anymore, basking in his love and affection. âmmm love you,â you gasp, nails sinking into the skin of his shoulder.Â
âlove you more,â he pants, lifting his head from your neck and pressing his forehead to yours, eyes hooded. âlove you so much, my best girl, pretty wife.âÂ
you cry out against his cheek, walls fluttering around his cock once again at his words, never fails to make you shy and happy no matter how many times he says it. âmore, need more, please, honeyââ
âwanna feel you, need to feel you, just for a little lingerâohmygod,â another particular thrust of his hips has your legs tightening around him and a deep rumble from his throat causes his pace to falter for just a split second. âpussy was made for me, you were made for me, baby, hm? yeah? lemme feel you for longer, need to, mmmm, thatâs it.â
âcanât, need you to move faster.â
his lips curl up into a smirk and you cling to his shoulder tighter when he moves his head towards your neck again, lips grazing the shell of your ear. âlemme play with you a little longer, baby, yeah?â
âŚRead on a03! - Masterlist - Dean MasterlistâŚ
âŚsummary: Dean's refusing any help to get over his sex curse, no matter how many women you find for him. If only he'd just tell you whyâŚ
âŚwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, sex pollen, angst, pining, Dean being a dummy (it's okay we love him), big emotions (sex pollen does that), just the nastiest smut (praise kink, soft!dom Dean, finger sucking, fingering, some car sex, dirty talk, oral f!receiving, sex pollen appropriate stamina, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, creampie), love confessions during sex, light fluff at the endâŚ
âŚwc: 10kâŚ
âŚauthor's note: voted for my the people! this might be the horniest thing i've written ever like i got possessed plz enjoyâŚ
This room is going to suffocate you.
Outside, thereâs a chilling breeze that bites at your ears, and you had to turn the heater off after an hour of Dean whining about it. Youâre wearing a few layers and thick, fuzzy socks that slide on the floor. When you look at your fingers, theyâre developing a purplish tint under the nails, and youâd think your nose was bleeding if you could feel it at all.
But youâre burning alive. Deep in your stomach with shame, and an arousal youâre not allowed to indulge. Itâs wrong, right now, to have flushed cheeks and sweat gathering under your clothing. A tingling heat thatâs hidden under the collar of your shirt, and restless fingers as you work, itching to touch something.
Yourself. Just a rub between your thighs for a little pressure of relief to help you focus.
Dean. Lying on the bed, moaning lewdly and humping the sheets like youâre not even in the room.
Heâs apologized fifty times. He apologized when you left that old, moldy house and he started staring at you and palming himself in the car. Apologized when youâd been walking inside, and heâd doubled over in pain on the side walk. Heâd grabbed your hip for support, and while youâd been trying to figure out if he was okay, his hand had slipped up to your inner thigh. Apologized when you went to get him some iceâheâd said he was warm, youâ d been worrying about a feverâand you had to come back to find him lying in your bed, head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut and groans slipping from his lips.
At least he hadnât been touching himself. Heâs managed not to do that at all, which youâd be impressed by if you werenât so worried.
Sam says itâs a pretty basic sex curse. Maybe a pollen, from that mold. Nothing you need to worry about finding a magical cure for.
âWeâve seen these before.â Sam had said. âItâs run-of-the-mill. Dean knows what to do.â
Run of the mill.
Simple.
Sam had said it like youâd be clear in an hour. Nothing fancy required.
Dean gets laid, the fever goes down, everyoneâs good.
And it mightâve been simple. You mightâve been done an hour ago, if Dean just got it over with and left when he was clear. You wouldâve sat in your bed, running the sheets between your fingers while you read. Trying desperately not to think about Dean only a door over, about the sounds creaking through the wall as he railed someone else into oblivion, about how heâd look.
Probably just like this. Wrecked and hungry, his eyes blown out and skin slick with sweat. Every muscle in his body straining, hair stuck to his brow, mouth hanging open as heâd hover over some lucky girl, showing her a heaven even angels didnât get to experience.
Your heart wouldâve silently ached, a wound youâve been letting fester opening wider and wider. Your hands wouldâve tugged nervously at the sheets, trying to gather whatever heâd left over like a twisted little souvenir for your perverse brain.
The brain that wonât stop being in love with him, no matter how much logic you offer to counter it. Youâve spent nights staring at the ceiling, acting like love was a debate. Like if you reasoned with yourself enough, all the blood in your body would simply stop flowing in a song of his name. Your heart would shift into a new rhythm, no longer a war drum trying to call for him. Your eyes would stop looking for tiny bits of evidence he loved you too, in just as much silence as you love him.
Heâs about ten years older than you. He opens doors for you, and that can be a secret desire thing. Heâs not emotionally available. He talks to you, about his dad and complicated fights with Sammy and his past, and that has to mean something. Heâs got anger issues. Heâs stubborn, heâs reserved. You have issues too, and youâre more stubborn. Heâs fucked up- Youâre fucked up, and heâs also sweet and loyal and handsome and the best kind of stupid a man can be, where heâs a dumbass that never pretends to be incompetent. Heâd probably be possessive. Youâd like to be possessed. Thereâs no future there. Yet.
Youâve always lost the debate. You stay in love with Dean, because your heart wasnât even kind enough to give you a crush. A brief and intense high of adoration and lust wouldâve been manageable. You wouldâve recovered.
Instead, itâs love. Not even love with a half-life, weaning off with just a little time. Deep, long love.
The kind of love that has you looking at him now, and crudely thinking that heâs being a bit of a pussy. Itâs not a fair thought. Heâs cursed, has a fever of a hundred and two, and his body is probably trying to convince him to do things that heâs not on board with.
But you live like that every day, and you donât whine about it. Youâve felt like if he didnât touch you now youâd die, youâve gone sick with your own perverse thoughts about what youâd let him do to you, youâve been delirious with adoration until Sam clears his throat, and mutters that youâre staring again. Maybe the mold shouldâve crawled into you, or however this works.
You wouldnât have been such a massive bitch about it.
You wouldâve had nasty motel sex with a stranger an hour ago.
You wouldnât have made Dean sit in a room with you while you pillow humped, forcing him to look for a sex partner to break your back.
You wouldâve been home by now.
But Dean wants to be a little fucking bitch.
âYouâre being a bitch.â You say it plainly, because maybe it will snap him out of whatever the fuck this is.
Instead he just chuckles, twisting to give you an amused look. âOuch, sweetheart- Shit-â
The movement looks like it made his dick brush against something, and now heâs back to cowering in the sheets. Jaw clenched and eyes squeezed shut, visibly pained, and whatâs wrong with you that heâs never looked so hot-
âYouâd be a bitch too.â He mutters, groaning as he rolls back onto his stomach. âI feel like Iâm dying-â
âYouâd stop feeling like that, if youâd just pick someone to fuck.â
âIâm tryinâ-â
âNot hard enough.â
âTrust me, Iâm plenty hard enough- Fuck-â
You throw one of his pillows at his face, and he makes a strangled noise like you hit him with a bullet.
âYouâre gonna attack a dying man-â
âI can do whatever I want, when Iâm helping you find a fuck buddy.â You stick your tongue out at his back, then return your attention to his phone. âHow about Miranda? Sheâs thirty-six, sheâs got really nice hair, and- Oo-â You scroll a little further down the page. âShe likes boats! Those are like water cars, you guys could bond over that.â
Dean laughs again, shaking his head. âBoats arenât water cars.â
âThey are. Think about it.â
âThey donât have a big engineering overlap, I donât know shit about boats-â
âThen you can just fuck her stupid, you nerd.â
Deanâs silent for a long moment, and you hover your thumb over the screen, fully ready to subject yourself to the worst torture possible for Deanâs stupid, cursed sake.
âShe looks nice.â You mumble, praying he doesnât hear the exhausted, hopeless pain in your voice. âI think youâd like her.â
Dean grunts. âNo. Next name.â
You sigh, and swipe left. Adding Miranda to the long, long pile of rejected applicants.
Itâs been like this for two fucking hours. Dean lying in your bed, you cross-legged in his, absolutely no progress on curing the curse. He barely even looks at you anymore. Heâs been facing the opposite wall since you sat down, burying his face in your pillow every time he moans, trying to hide the roll of his hips under the sheets and failing miserably.
The tingling pain between your legs is almost unbearable now. Youâd call Sam and ask if the pollen was transferable, if you werenât terrified of the answer being no. Thereâs no way itâs not just Dean anyway. His thick arms stretching up to grip the pillow, his broad, muscled shoulders and back bare, the fact that sometimes when he humps fast and rough, the sheets ride up and you swear you see the tip of his cock. Itâs wrong. So fucking wrong, to be getting off to him like this.
But itâs your own personal hell, to have this responsibility. To have him right there, and not be allowed to touch him.
Youâll deal with your shame later in the shower, where you can wash it off and maybe cry from a few different places over your body.
Later. When heâs not dying, and doing absolutely nothing to help you save him.
âHannah.â You read out the next profile, pulling your knees to your chest. âSheâs got curly hair, really nice brown eyes. Looks like sheâs a nail artist. That could be nice.â
Dean snorts. âWhat, you think Iâm gonna have her get me a manicure after?â
âNo, I just-â You take a long breath. Youâd rather have a living Dean that doesnât love you, than a dead Dean, who also doesnât love you.
Dean starts to twistâheâs going to try and look at you againâand you clear your throat.
âIt might be nice to look at. Aesthetically. Or- arousing.â
He mutters your name, but you push on.
âFor a handjob. Nice nails, going- Up and down your- Um- Your dick-â
Dean lets out the loudest moan yet, and your jaw snaps shut. That sounded like your name. He was probably just trying to warn you to shut up, but that still sounded like your name-
âSorry-â
âStop talking.â He snaps, and you nod.
Without him asking, you swipe left on Hannah. He seems to have forgotten about her, and you have no desire to let her and her perfect nails anywhere near his dick.
It takes a while for Dean to request the next candidate. Long minutes of him just panting and grunting, burying his face in the pillow and thrashing in the sheets like heâs having a nightmare.
You see the head of his cock again. Itâs thick looking and red and shining with pre-cum. Angry and hard and Jesus fucking Christ-
âEmma!â You shout to the room. You need this to be done. âSheâs a nurse, that can be a kink thing-â
âStop.â
You sigh, turning down the phone screen. âDean-â
âNo. Donât want Ella-â
âEmma-â
âDonât fuckinâ care. Weâre not doing more of this- Shit.â
âAre you just swearing, or is that an adjective-â
âSweetheart.â Heâs almost growling, a hand slipping out from the sheets to fist the mattress. âStop. Talking.â
You close your mouth, bowing your head as shame floods your body. Youâre trying to help. Youâve given your whole night just to help the man youâre hopelessly in love with have sex with someone else, and youâre tired. Tired of doing this to yourself, tired of him shooting everyone down like suddenly heâs got the highest sexual standard in the world, tired of acting like itâs not killing you and tired of watching him like this.
Heâs in so much pain. You can hear it straining in every word, tensed in every movement. Youâre not allowed to touch him, but the last time you made him check his own temperature, it had gone up again. With how heâs looking, how heâs muttering to himself under his breath, youâre willing to bet itâs gone up another handful of degrees.
Deanâs going to die, if he doesnât deal with this. And if he dies, youâre not going to deal with it.
You donât want to think about what youâll become, if he goes. You might be the one that turns into a ghost, haunting this goddamn hotel room and growing up the walls like that mold. A shell of a person, caught in a million what-ifs, her heart ash in the wind with his body.
Dean wants to be done with this.
Youâre not done with him.
You swipe right on Emma.
For an hour, you let him keep moping and groaning. You flirt with Emma for him, because youâre the best friend in the world, and pretend you canât see him trying to move a pillow between his legs to offer extra pressure.
âDean.â You say softly, and he grunts.
âBaby, I need you not to talk-â
âYou can take it out.â You mutter, keeping your focus on Emmaâs texts. âIf you need that. Iâm a big girl, I- I wonât mind.â
Thatâs a lie through more than just your teeth. If he starts touching himself in front of you, all the poetic fawning about how your love is killing you wonât be dramatic anymore. Your heart will beat right out of your ribs, your head will get so light youâll float away, your need for him will become so consuming youâll either fall to your knees and open your mouth for him to use, or simply just explode.
But if it helps him. Youâll do anything to help him, even if itâs searing the most sinful, impossible image into your head for the rest of your life.
Dean with his cock in his hand, head thrown back, beating himself right next to you. Maybe moaning under his breath, thrusting up into his fist, accidentally looking at you as he cums, mouth hanging open and eyes hooded as thick white ropes paint the sheets-
âNo.â He grunts, and you blink.
âItâs okay-â
âNo. Iâm not doinâ that to you.â
You swallow, heated shame rushing through you. âI- I could leave the room-â
âNo, donât-â He almost shouts your name, flipping over suddenly.
Looking at you.
His eyes are almost black with lust, his face red and slack, expression desperate. He hissesâthe movement likely too muchâbut still reaches out a shaking hand, like heâs going to try and grab you.
âDonât go, just- Fuckinâ-â His words trail off, eyes locked on your face, and another moan escapes his lips.
You push up on your knees, fear clenching at your heart. âDean-â
ââm fine-â
âYouâre not fine-â
âIâm- Son of a bitch-â His eyes widen on yours then slam shut. His hand curls into a taut fist, face pulling in pain, and thatâs enough.
âFine. Donât masturbate, see if I care.â
He says your name, low and rough, and you shake your head.Â
âYouâre not fine, you fucking idiot. Youâre dying.â You push to your feet, grabbing his phone from the bed.
Emmaâs very nice. Nice in the kind of way thatâs going to make you hate her, and you feel sort of bad. She was doomed to your loathing from the moment she swiped right.
But sheâs going to help. Sheâs going to save Dean, and youâll offer her grace for that.
Deanâs eyes had opened, when he heard you moving. Heâs looking at you like a lost street dog, opening his mouth to say something that only comes out in a panting groan of your name.
Whatever protests he has, you wonât hear them. Heâs not allowed to die.
âGet up.â You snap, tossing his clothing onto his face. âGet dressed. Iâm starting the car in ten minutes, and if youâre not there, Iâm coming back and youâre having sex with me.â
You donât look over your shoulder to see his reaction. The sounds of torment leaving his chest are bad enough.
It hurts. It cuts deeper than a blade, the idea that he detests the idea of sex with you that much. Youâre good at sex. Youâve gotten raving reviews, youâre batting a hundred, flawless reports and a hundred percent customer satisfaction rate, even if you donât really enjoy most of it yourself. Most people you have sex with donât manage to make you cum, and when they do itâs a tiny little shudder through your body that you forget about in five minutes.
Dean witDean would be lucky to have sex with you. Youâd worship him. Youâd get on your knees and let him use you until he was leaking out of every hole. Youâd let him fuck himself back into you, youâd let him throw you around, youâd do anything-
Itâs probably a good thing your threat works. Dean stumbles out of the motel right at the nine-minute mark, pallid and flushed all at once, hunched in pain and wearing a massive raincoat over his jacket to hide the boner.
You never wouldâve forgiven yourself, for taking advantage of him like that. Itâs better like this, no matter how much it hurts.
You smile when he gets into the car. âNice fashion statement-â
âShut up.â He grumbles, glaring out at the road. âWhereâre we goinâ.â
âA bar.â
He makes a sour expression. âWhy.â
âBecause you have a date. With Emma the nurse.â
Dean goes dead quiet. He tenses next to youâyour elbows brushing for a split second, before he recoils like your skin is coated in toxinsâworks his jaw, then shakes his head.
You sigh. âDean-â
âNo. I told you, Iâm not doinâ that.â
âYes, you are.â
âNo-â
âYes!â You slam the brakes harder than you mean to, as you approach a stop sign.
You expect Dean to snap about you being careful with his baby. Maybe try to make a joke about how maybe the frustration is rubbing off on you, or argue about how this is his dumb choice to make.
And it is. But he made the wrong choice, and you are not letting him die.
He mutters your name, and itâs the same way he said it earlier. Soft. Almost pleading.
You take a deep breath, and twist to look him in his pretty, glazed and dilated eyes.
âYouâre going into that bar. Youâre going to flirt with Emma. If she asks if you have a fever, you tell her you work construction or something, and youâd just been at a shift. You run hot. Nothing for her to worry about.â You drum your fingers on the wheel, forcing down the lump in your throat. âYouâre going to tell her sheâs pretty. Youâre going to call a fake uber, and Iâm going to drive you to the motel. Youâre going to fuck Emma until youâre cured, and then we can go home. Understand?â
Deanâs throat bobs. He opens his mouth, a glint in his eyes like heâs going to argue. You donât give him the chance.
âNo. Youâre doing this. If you donât, youâll-â You cut yourself off, pressing your lips in a tight line. You wonât cry. You wonât.
Dean says your name, and he has to stop doing that. Itâs too gentle. Too close to something real.
âYouâre not allowed to- To go.â You look out at the empty road, praying the night is hiding the glossy tears, pricking at your eyes. âI canât- I wonât- Youâre not allowed to.â
You raise your chin, your breathing too shaky to speak for a moment. The silence hangs in the car, even the sound of Babyâs engine not enough to drown out your thoughts.
âOkay?â You snap, trying to sound stronger than you are.
Dean lets out a low sound, but nods. âOkay.â Then, under his breath. âFor you.â
You pretend you donât hear. Thereâs too much weight in those words, and you donât have the time to pick them apart, donât have the energy to ask him what the fuck that means.
Instead, you just give yourself the easiest out. Dean does love you as a friend. Youâve never doubted that for a second. Heâs doing it for you because youâre the one demanding he go have sex.
What a horrible friend you are, making him get laid so he doesnât die.
You huff a dry, pitiful, laugh to yourself. Your drink swirls in its glass, untouched and mocking. You ordered it when you got here, about thirty minutes ago. Made Dean take a possibly dangerous dose of Advil and Tylenol to make him lucid, then hidden yourself in a booth on the other side of the bar. Where you can see Dean and Emma, but only Dean can see you. Heâs supposed to give you a thumbs up, when heâs about to call the ride. Right now, he seems so engrossed in her that youâre worried heâs going to forget.
Emmaâs pretty. Just as pretty as her pictures. She lit up, when she spotted Dean, and youâd felt a sickening, loud hatred take root in your chest.
Everyone should be happy to see Dean, but none of them are happy like youâre happy. You know him. Heâs the love of your life, and your joy is born of that, not just seeing a pretty man. You love seeing him because you know youâre going to be safe. Because heâs going to smile and the world is going to be alright, youâre going to talk and heâll listen and look at you like thereâs no one else in the world, heâs going to make jokes and youâre going to laugh.
But heâs making Emma laugh right now. Sheâs got one of those high, insufferable giggles, and youâre being needlessly mean but you hate her. You have a giggle like that. It comes out for Dean all the time, and it has a little snort on the end that you hated until Dean casually mentioned that he liked it, and youâve felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.
It doesnât really matter though, whose laugh Dean likes more.
Emmaâs the one going home with him. Youâre being left here.
You focus on ignoring their laughter and voices from the bar. You canât drink, but you sulk and focus on the music floating through the bar. Your fingers drum on the table, pull at your sleeves, shred three napkins before gripping the cold of the glass like a lifeline. Your vision is going unfocused with envy. Every second you feel the wound in your heart tearing open, an infection of jealousy taking root, and you might actually be about to throw up-
Dean grunts your name, and your eyes shoot up.
Heâs standing outside your both, hands in his pockets and a deep scowl on his face. Emmaâs not with him. Or at the bar. Â
âWhere-â
âShe left.â
Your mouth falls open. âShe left? I- What the fuck happened-â
âI told her to. Wasnât gonna work out.â
âDean, you-â Your voice cracks, every thought in your head getting louder. Heâs dying, heâs dying, heâs dying. âYou promised-â
âCouldnât what? Couldnât fuck her? What the hell was wrong with her that somehow doesnât meet Dean Winchesterâs if itâs got a hole standards?â
Dean flinches, and it was a low blow, but right now you donât care. Heâs going to die. Why doesnât he fucking care that heâs going to die and leave you.
âCome on.â You snap, slamming a few bills on the table and shooting up. âWeâre chasing her. Youâre apologizing.â
He frowns. âNo, Iâm not-â
âThen weâre going back on the dating app, and finding someone else.â
âI donât want someone else.â
You roll your eyes, shoving the bar door open and marching to the car. You have Emmaâs number. Youâll do the apology yourself if you have to.
Deanâs stumbling after you into the parking lot, and you canât stop yourself from looking over your shoulder every few seconds. Just to be sure he hasnât hurt himself. He calls your name, voice pained, and you freeze. Turn slowly, your arms crossed over your chest.
âIâm not doinâ this.â He snaps, stalking towards you in uneven steps. âYou can bitch and whine about it all you want, sweetheart, Iâm not fucking that girl.â
âIâm bitching and whining?â You laugh, the sound crude even to your ears. âIâm not the one who decided the best time to become a fucking celibate was when he got hit with a sex curse. Youâre the one acting like a fucking child here-â
âIâm not acting like a child-â
âThen youâre acting like an idiot!â You scream, taking a large step forward.
Dean goes rigid. Takes a long step back, like youâre poisonous. It just fuels the burning, exhausted fire, kindled by every bit of fear, of love, of fury that heâs putting you through this with almost no remorse.
âItâs not like you have to marry her!â You shout, barbed wire tightening around your throat. âItâs just sex! Fuck, you donât even have to look at her, itâs- I donât understand why this is so fucking hard for you all of a sudden, itâs not like youâre some virgin fucking pussy-â
He mutters your name, a low warning, and you ignore it.
âIâve spent all day trying to save you, Dean! I was going to be your- Your fucking sex chauffer, and I havenât been complaining, but you canât do me one fucking favor and have sex with a pretty girl?â
You take another step forward, and this time he isnât fast enough. You jab his chest, and he stumbles back like you shot him, eyes panicked and wide on yours.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you?!â You shriek, shoving him again. âDo you want to die? Are you trying to fucking kill me? Do you hate me, Dean? Is that what this is?â
He rasps your name, and you shake your head.
âIâve been trying so- So hard to save you. I- I told you that I canât- If you-â Your words are getting choked, and the pain is too heavy to just shake off. âYouâre not allowed to go! I told you, I wonât let you, but you- You fucking hate me-â
You try to shove him again, hot tears burning down your face, but this time Deanâs ready. He catches your wrist, and you try to pull back but heâs got more strength left than you thought.
He squeezes his hold on you, stalking forward. A fire lights in your core, at the intensity of his gaze. Unyielding and hot, searing into you as your back hits the Impala. He towers over you, jaw clenched, nostrils flaring as he takes in your open mouth and slack expression. You donât know how you expected him to react, but it wasnât this. This makes your knees weak, your heart hitting a dangerous pace at the top of your chest.
You can smell his cologne, smell his. A salt, deep musk thatâs just Dean, that might as well be a drug for how itâs making you freeze. Your free hand moves to press flat against his chest, but you donât push.
He grunts, his muscles rippling like you just threw a rock into water. He seizes up, head bowing, and thereâs nowhere for you to hide from him.
Deanâs tongue darts over his lips, and your breath hitches.
âDonât do that.â He grunts, and you just nod.
Lean a little closer, until the heat of your breath is fanning over your cheeks. Your eyes flutter, and when you risk meeting his gaze he looks almost predatory. The hunger in his eyes sends a pleasant shiver down your spine, your thighs pressing together, and itâs hot, so hot-
âI donât hate you.â
You blink at him. Youâd forgotten about that. âDean-â
âI donât.â He snaps. âDonât fuckinâ- Never think that, alright? I donât hate you.â
âThen why are you doing this to me?â You whisper desperately. âWhy couldnât you just go have sex with Emma-â
He shakes his head. âI donât want Emma.â
âThen let me find you someone you want, please-â
âNo.â
âWhy-â
âCause I donât want any of them.â He hisses, your foreheads bumping as he leans further down. âI donât want some random fuckinâ chick you pull for me, I donât want to fuck her, donât wanna touch her, hell, I donât even want to goddamn look at her.â
You take a shaking breath, a haze overtaking your head. âDean, you need someone-â
âYou think I donât know that?â He pushes his hips forward, and you can feel it.
His cock, straining through his jeans, pressing against your thigh. You bite down a moan, completely still in his arms, trying to make him understand with just your eyes. Itâs not fair for him to do this to you. He doesnât understand, this is all youâve ever wanted and heâs just taunting you with it-
âI can feel it, sweetheart.â He mutters, rolling slightly against you, making that fire in your core threaten to sweep you away. âI feel myself dyinâ. My muscles are hurting like I ran a mile, Iâm sweating through ten damn layers, think the fever is getting me so bad I might be about to go fucking crazy. But I didnât even notice âtill you started getting all worried. You know why?â
It takes you a second to realize youâre supposed to answer. You barely shake your head, before heâs squeezing your wrist, leaning down to whisper in your ear.
ââCause of you.â He breathes, voice soft and dangerous. âI always feel like an animal when I see you. Spent the whole car ride back from that damn house wanting to hump your leg and didnât think twice. You just do that to me, and you got no fuckinâ idea.â
You gasp slightly, turning your head to look him in the eyes. Theyâre hooded, almost feral on yours. Youâre so dizzy, youâre worried you might be walking through a dream.
âDe- Dean-â
âYou can keep looking for some random girl for me, if itâs gonna make you feel better. But I wonât fuck âem. I canât.â His lips ghost over yours, and you lean forward.
âDean-â
âSex barely even works for me anymore, baby.â He mutters, tongue flicking over his lips. âNothinâ does. I get kicked out of bed âcause I call your name. So just fuckinâ-â He squeezes your wrist again, drawing slowly back. âStop. If you wanna give me a dying wish, cut it out and let me go in some damn peace.â
You gape at him as he pulls away, his grip going slack on your wrist.
Dying wish.
He still thinks heâs allowed to die.
âWhat- What if you fuck me?â You say, so quiet you barely even hear yourself.
Deanâs head jerks up, and he says your name with a harsh, unforgiving snap. âNo. Iâm not askinâ you to do that just because Iâm some perv who canât get it up-â
âYouâve got it up.â You smile at up, pressing your knee up into his crotch.
He groans, doubling back down so youâre caged against the Impala again. âBaby, donât fuckinâ- Iâm not bending on this shit, alright. Iâm not gonna be some pity fuck-â
âItâs not a pity fuck, Iâm saving your life-â
âI told you, no-â
âDo you not want to have sex with me?â You challenge, and Dean gives you a pleading, wrathfully frustrated look.
âDonât ask stupid questions, course I wanna have- Fuck-â He groans, eyes fluttering as his brow presses against yours. âYeah. Yeah I want to. But- I wonât ask you to. So no.â
You swallow. Itâs probably the fever making his tongue so loose. Heâs so hot it almost burns to be this close, but that might just be Dean.
Itâs always just Dean. And he has to know that.
âWhat if I want to have sex with you?â
Dean grunts, shaking his head. âDonât say that if you donât mean it-â
âI mean it.â You fist your hand in his shirt, dragging him a little closer. âDo you?â
He stares at you again. Scans over your face like heâs looking for one clue that youâre just indulging him, that thereâs a single doubt running through your head.
There isnât. Your breathing is uneven, but your heart is going too fast for it to be anything else. Youâre flushed with an unending, arduous hunger to just have him, however he needs you.
Slowly, testing the waters, Dean slides a hand onto your neck. You raise your chin, holding his gaze. He squeezes slightly, and you lean into him, tugging on his shirt for more.
His thumb moves up, dragging over your lower lip. You part your lips, and his nostrils flare.
Dean pushes his thumb slowly between your lips, and you close them obediently around him. Your eyes flutter as you suck, letting your tongue circle around the thick finger, tilting your head and letting your eyes flutter. He pushes a little deeper and you moan. Your hand flies up to grab his wrist, holding him against you, and Dean groans. His eyes are clearer than theyâve been all night, shining with something like awe.
You smile, grinding up into his torso and humming with pleasure.
Dean mouth hangs slack.
âJesus fuckinâ-â
He cuts himself off, pulling his thumb out with a pop and grabbing your jaw. You giggle happily for a second, and Dean swallows the sound, crashing his mouth against yours.
Youâve pictured this kiss a million times, a million ways, almost every night since you met him. Somehow, this is better than any slow, fairytale kiss with swelling music and sunlight hitting both your faces like a spotlight.
Deanâs not taking his time. Heâs kissing you like youâre the last thing he knows, the only thing heâs ever wanted. Like a man whoâs been starving himself, finally allowed a feast and wasting no precious seconds on manners. Itâs urgent and forceful, words he canât say being pushed down your throat with his tongue and spit. You kiss him back with everything you have, your fingers digging into his chest through his shirts, your head spinning as you neglect breath just to taste a little bit more whiskey and salt on his tongue. But nothing you throw at him Dean canât seem to double.
You yank at his shirt, and he pulls your hair back. You try to grind up again, and he grabs your leg, hiking it over his hip. You grab his face, trying to kiss harsher, give more, and Dean slams down like a tidal wave, dominating your mouth with unforgiving need.
A moan escapes your throat, your body going limp in his arms, and he grunts. Ruts up into your core once, making your legs spread in a shameless invitation.
Dean grunts, yanking back like someone pulled him on a leash.
He stares at you for a long moment, his thumb finding its way back to your cheek. He smears a bit of spit over your cheek, and you tilt your head into the touch.
âYouâre sure-â
âYes.â
He nods tightly, takes a heavy breath, and leans away. âGet in the car.â
Itâs a short, curt order. You donât think twice before you obey.
You scramble into the driverâs seat, fumbling with the keys and slamming them into the port like youâre about to enter a car chase. Deanâs barely in the car before the engine is rumbling and youâre reversing out of the spot, gripping the wheel with white knuckles. Itâs happening. Itâs happening.
âEasy, baby.â He chuckles, the sound raspy and sending more shivers through your body. âYou that eager-â
âYes.â You snap, and Dean hums.
A light, almost taunting hand lands on your thigh. You glance over and find him palming at his crotch, his eyes wholly black and mouth hanging open. Itâs an animalistic expression, his chest rising and falling at a rapid pace, and when you murmur his name he barely seems to hear.
His fingers dance up the inside of your leg, and you take an unsteady breath, spreading your legs wider. A deep, rumbling sound leaves Deanâs chest, those infernal fingers curling on the sensitive spot where your leg meets your core. Little electric shock rush through your body, and thatâs just through the jeans.
âDean.â You whisper, not even managing to make your voice firm. âI- Iâm driving-â
âSo look at the road.â He growls, knuckles brushing against your groin.
You bite your lower lip, and nod. Itâs not worth arguing with him, and if you donât think you can focus, youâll just pull over. You told him you were sure. Told yourself that whatever he gave you, youâd be happy.
You just didnât expect him to be borderline feral. The palming you could deal with. You expected.
This is different.
Dean scoots further, and youâre about to mumble something about a seatbelt when his lips brush the curve of your neck. You inhale sharply, gripping the wheel for dear life. Dean hums, his tongue flicking over a pulse point. His fingers start to crawl up to your abdomen, his mouth getting more insistent on your neck.
He nips at a pulse point before sucking on his, his tongue flat on your skin and a low sound leaving his chest when you lean back to grant him further access. He kisses a sloppy line up your throat as his fingers dance on your stomach, and youâre starting to get a little dizzy.
âDe, be- Be careful-â
You cut yourself off with a breathy gasp, as his mouth latches behind your ear and he pulls down your zipper. He bites softly before sucking another bruise, popping the button open and slipping his hand into your pants.
âI- Fuck-â You tip your head back, hopelessly trying to keep your eyes on the road, and this is not a safe way to drive. You really should be shoving him away, but thereâs no one on the road.
And with how heâs barely even speakingâjust touchingâyouâre a little worried it might take extra effort to drag him out of the haze of the curse and push him away. He seems to be blinded to anything that isnât you. His mouth drags back down your jaw as his fingers brush over your clothed pussy, and your whole body shakes.
He hums, leaving open kisses on your cheek and hairline. âSensitive, sweetheart. Been a long time?â
You flush, and Dean starts to gather the fabric of your panties best he can through your pants. He drags it up, bunching it around your pussy, and another moan slips out from the pressure.
âAnswer me-â
âMaybe.â You mumble, forcing yourself not to grind into his hand. âYou- You know I donât do that-â
âDo what?â He presses the fabric deeper between your pussy lips. âDonât fuck?â
âDean-â
âHow longâs it been.â His words are hot against your neck, demanding and possessive. âWho touched you last, baby, who shoved their fingers in this pussy-â
âI- I donât remember-â
âThatâs fuckinâ right.â He pulls your panties tighter against your clit. ââCause they donâtâ fuckinâ matter, sweet girl. No one else is ever gonna touch you like this. Iâm gonna make you soak my fingers, my face, my cock, and itâs gonna feel so good in that smart, pretty mouth,â he kisses the corner of your lips, and only the wheel in your hands stops you from turning and claiming his mouth again. âThatâs always fucking teasing me, it ainât gonna remember a single word but my name. You want that, baby? Wanna be my perfect fuckinâ slut?â
Jesus Christ, this is worse than the not speaking. If this is a dreamâbecause youâve had them like this beforeâyou never want to wake up.
He yanks his hand away, leaving your underwear bunched up in your cunt, and slaps your pussy over the jeans. Your mouth falls open and you lean forward, lightning surging through your whole body.
âOh my- Dean-â
âI told you, answer-â
âYes, I- Yes, please-â Your words fall off into a moan, as Dean shoves his hand back against you, this time dragging the panties away and plunging two fingers deep into your pussy. âDean-â
âThatâs right.â He mutters, crooking them deep against a sensitive spot. âThatâs my girl, youâre so fuckinâ wet- This all for me?â
âMmm- Mhm-â
âFuck yeah it is.â He starts his attack on your neck again, only speaking between kisses, his fingers scissoring inside your pussy. âSo damn tight, know youâre gonna take my cock so good, bet you taste like heaven- Fuck, I wanna taste this pussy, wanted to taste it for years-â
His own words fall into a moan, and for a second you think heâs just out of dirty talk, but heâs still mumbling incoherently against your skin.
Then you risk another look at his body, and the hand that isnât in your pants has pulled out his cock.
And fuck, if it isnât the most beautiful thing youâve ever seen. Thick and long, but not painful looking. Throbbing and twitching as he jerks himself, the tip leaking and slick with pre-cum. It takes effort to look at the road and not just stare at the rock-hard, veiny marvel of a specimen between his legs.
You donât know why youâre surprised. Deanâs a specimen himself.
Heâs somehow already figured out how to finger you in such a confining position. His wrist has twisted, letting his thumb drag lazy circles around your clit, his fingers giving shallow, rough thrusts that make his fingers taunt your g-spot. Never really fully touching it, but sending shivers through your whole body.
âOh- Oh-â You have to take deep breaths to keep your head clear, your whole body winding tight with the arousal heâs pulling out of you, more and more every second. âDean-â
âShh.â He grunts, biting right under your jaw, and you squeak. âJust feel it. Sweet fuckinâ pussy, gushing around my fingers-â
You moan, loud and lewd, his deep voice not doing anything to help you keep it together.
Itâs a miracle you make it to the motel. Itâs a shit parking jobâyouâre definitely over the linesâbut youâre both alive.
You barely shift the gears before Deanâs pouncing on you like an animal. Whatever the ride was, he still seemed to be showing restraint. Now that youâre safe, all bets are off.Â
A squeal leaves you, as he flips your body. Pressing your back to the window and prowling over your body, slamming his mouth over yours and kissing until youâre slumping against the glass. Your hand flies up to grab the back of his neck, your hips rolling up to where his knee is pressed between your thighs. Your eyes dart down when you pull apart for a single, ragged breathâDean pulling your lip between his teeth, and kissing your nose and cheek like breathing is really no longer his concernâand you whimper at the sight of him, still erect and hanging out of his pants.
Dean drags your chin back up, searing his lips over yours, and you melt. Heâs a good kisser. And you knew that, but itâs not like anything youâve felt before. Itâs like youâre trading souls, like heâs trying to brand you with wandering hands and lips.
When you pull away again, your dizzy from the pleasure and force of him. You whine at the loss as he leans away, but Dean just squeezes your waist and smirks.
You hear a rip, as he claws your pants and underwear down your legs. You donât get a chance to adjust before heâs shoving your knee up against the bench, dragging the other one over his shoulder as he ducks between your legs.
âDean- Shit-â Your breathing gets shallow as his breath fans over your pussy. âWe- Weâre supposed to be doing things that are- Like blowjobs-â
Itâs so hard to argue with him when heâs between your legs. The sight alone is almost enough to tip you into a frenzy. His shining eyes looking up at you, his full lips grazing your inner thigh, leaving teasing kisses everywhere but where youâre aching for him. You run your fingers through his short, soft hair, trying to get his attention. He just makes a low sound like a purr, and presses his mouth over your clit.
You almost fly out of your skin. Heâs making out with the sensitive nerve like theyâre your mouth, his tongue dragging and pressing, his hands on your thighs kneading with every suck and graze of his teeth. All you can do is cover your mouth and try to stifle your moan.
Dean withdraws, and you make a strangled sound of frustration. He canât just do that, itâs not fair-
âNo doinâ that.â He grunts, dragging your hand from your mouth. âWanna hear it.â
You nod weakly, but still try one more time to remind him who this is about. âDean, it- itâs supposed to be stuff thatâs good for you-â
âThis is good for me.â He mutters, letting go of your thigh over his shoulder to let his fingers drag back over your fluttering pussy. âLook at you.â He mutters with pure awe. âResponsive, wet little pussy. Bet youâd like it when I do this.â
He pushes one finger knuckle-deep inside you, and you yank on his hair with delight.
âYeah, you do. How about,â he drags it out, then shoves it back in, and your head tips back against the window, eyes screwing shut.
âDean, Dean, please-â
He groans, adding a second finger and repeating the slamming motion. Once, twice, a third time. His tongue flicks against your clit on that last one, and your eyes roll back in your head.
âDean-â
Another deep sound, another flick, and youâre seconds from begging like a whore when he snaps.
Dean wraps his mouth back around your clit, resuming his ministrations from before with twice the fervor. His fingers pick up their pace, wet sounds filling the car as he finger-fucks you into oblivion.
The curse seems to have itâs full hold on him. Heâs borderline feral. Youâve never had a man who eats pussy like heâs having a five-star meal, like it really is good for him. Sometimes he just pulls his fingers out and drags his tongue down your cunt, angling his head to press his tongue deep inside you and working his jaw until your toes are curling. His nose bumps your clit and his stubble scrapes your thighs, his free hand squeezing your thigh as he devours.
âOh- Oh fuck-â You let out a vulgar, lustful sound as he drags you further forward against his mouth, the pleasure rushing through your body. âDean- God, just like that-â
He drags his mouth back up to your swollen, neglected clit, and those two fingers pump back into your hole. Itâs somehow better and worse, and a shriek rips from your mouth as he spanks your pussy, then resumes his rhythm.
âDean, please- Please, fuck- please-â
Youâre already babbling, the tension in your lower abdomen so tight itâs almost painful. Your body is shaking with the stimulation, and Deanâs working you like an instrument. He finds every hyper-needy spot that makes you moan his name and playing it like a professional. Youâre kept right on the edge for what feels like a million years, his fingers and mouth switching in and out, begging and begging as he turns you into an empty-headed, drooling wound-up mess.
Then he finally lets you over the edge.
Dean pushes his fingers right against your g-spot, and rubs. Your body seizes up, eyes crossing as his tongue flicks against your clit, and the heat built up in your gut explodes.
You shake as your orgasm rips through your pussy, your spine, every nerve in your body glowing with a deep, sex-addled bliss. Your clit is swollen between Deanâs lip as he drags you through it, your pussy gushing around his fingers and fingers yanking at his hair.
âFuck, yes- Yes-â You moan, legs locking around Deanâs head, and he groans against your pussy.
When it pulls another lewd sound from your chest, he does it again, slowly easing his fingers out and starting to clean up the mess between your thighs. He licks and hums, the sensation making your oversensitive body spasm every time he finds one of those spots.
Itâs not certain youâre going to be able to walk to the motel room, when he finally pulls away.
But thereâs a gleaming light in his eyes, that makes you think itâs really not going to matter.
Deanâs a wreck. His face is flushed, chest heaving, cock still hard but coated in a white stain that tells you heâs not close to working off the curse.
âOh, youâre gonna be so mad about that when youâre better.â You mumble, seeing the stains on his precious bench, and Dean chuckles.
âIâll get over it.â
You giggle, and Dean leans over you again, kissing you slow and deep. One orgasm seems to have cleared his head for a seconds, enough that heâs gently rubbing your bare, tender pussy, a soothing touch thatâs really only working you up more.
âLove that sound.â He mutters, and you frown against his lips.
âWha-â
âYour laugh.â He sucks on your upper lip, wrapping an arm around your waist. âLove it so much. Donât think Iâve told you that before.â
He hasnât. It somehow makes you flush more than any of the dirty things heâd been hissing in your ear before.
âYouâre telling me a lot of new things.â You manage to mumble, and he huffs in amusement.
âBlame it on the curse.â
You giggle again, and his face shines like he won a prize.
âSon of a bitch,â his eyes are already darkening again, voice getting thick with the curse-driven hunger. âI love you, you know that?â
You can only gape at him. He must not have said what you thought he said. âWhat?â
âYou heard me.â He presses his brow against yours, reaching up to cup your cheek. âI love you.â
He rasps your name, and you blink away tears.
âDean, if itâs just the curse-â
âItâs not. Itâs-â
He slides his mouth against yours and this is the romantic kiss you always pictured. Slow and devoted as he takes the time to memorize you, to bask in the glow of your heart as you shine with love beneath him.
âYou know it, right?â His voice is gravelly, his body pressing firmer over yours. Heâs going back under. He can probably feel it. âThat I mean it?â
Heâs still askingâalmost beggingâyou to tell him that you know.
âI know.â You mumble. âI- I love you too.â
Dean goes rigid over your body, and you blink up at him, as nervous as a doe in headlights. Just like the kiss, youâve dreamed of saying it. Pictured it somewhere romantic, your makeup perfect and the breeze running through your hair. Dean falling to his knees after, kissing your hands before sweeping you off your feet.
Instead youâre lying in the car, cum staining your tangled legs, everything in you ruined from being eaten out by the sinful mouth that haunts your dreams. Deanâs hovering over you, tongue darting over those same lipsâshining with your arousal, making your thighs rub together under himâand your holding onto his flannel, both your clothing stuck to your skin from sweat.
He doesnât fall to his knees. He just looks at you like heâs not sure itâs a dream either.
At least he still sweeps you off your feet.
Dean moves like a machine. Youâre not even sure whatâs happening until youâre being hit by the wind, dragged down the bench by your ankles and wrapped in one of his jackets to preserve your modesty. His dick has been hastily shoved back into his pantsâthe fly still fucking downâand youâre about to tell him youâd at least like your underwear before heâs picking it up and shoving it into his pocket.
âDean!â You gasp, and he just grunts, sweeping you fully into his arms.
âMine.â He mutters under his breath, looking around the parking lot like heâs still trying to orient himself. âI- I gotta, fuck-â
Gently, you reach up and turn his chin in the direction of your motel room. âOver there, De.â You mumble, and he nods tightly.
Heâs fully back under. You donât bother to struggle or try and convince him that you can walk, because youâre not even sure you could. Itâs not worth distressing Dean over anyway.
Despite his fever soaring and gaze being fogged by the curse, he manages you gently. When you get into the room youâre tossed on the bed and pinned back down for his mouth to work you open again, but the brusing grip is full of care, his mouth worshipful on your pussy. After that heâs rising over your body, ripping clothing like itâs a personal offense on his sensibilities and descending over you with another feral growl.
Your legs are shoved apart, but he rubs a hand over your calves almost reverently. Staring at your glistening, abused pussy with a look of pride and affection, gaze slowly dragging up your flushed breasts and thoroughly marked neck to meet yours.
You give him a honeyed, coaxing smile. Youâre his to take, if he wants it.
He makes a low sound from his chest, and starts to kiss up your body. You gasp when his lips wrap around one of your peaked nipples, sucking gently until your grinding up into him. His hand splays over your stomach, gently guiding you back down, and you whine desperately.
âPatience.â He hums, kissing over your breast before switching to the other nipple. âGonna take care of you. Fuck- Youâre so beautiful, so fuckinâ-â
Dean moans to himself, and you whimper his name, yanking on his hair.
But thereâs no rushing him. He plays with your tits until heâs had his fillâwhen theyâre swollen and youâre arching into every touchâthen works back down to your pussy. Tasting your arousal, soaked and messy and almost shamefully dripping down his hand when he touches you.
He doesnât seem to mind it at all though.Â
âMessy girl.â He grunts, twisting one finger inside of you. âThink youâre ready for some cock, arenât you. Gonna take me, princess? Show me how much you love me?â
You blink at him through tears, on the brink of screaming his he doesnât let you cum again soon. When you nod itâs like a bobblehead, and you only remember his orders from before at the last second.
âYes.â You gasp. âYes, Dean, please-â
Again, he moves.
Youâre almost a ragdoll in his arms. A ragdoll that he moves like youâre threaded from gold, tossing you around and gripping your hips so hard youâll have a handprint in the morning, but kissing over every hickey on your neck and muttering words of low, tender praise every second.
âGood girl.â He mutters as he drags his cock between your pussy lips. âGood fuckinâ girl, already cockdrunk and stupid for me, arenât you. Love taking you like this, looking at you all pretty and dumb-â
You whine, head lolling to the side. Dean slides two fingers into your mouth and you suck on them like candy, taking anything heâll offer.
He growls, dick catching on your entrance, and you shiver, looking up at him under fluttering eyes.
Dean drags you up like you weigh nothing, slowly sitting you down on his massive cock, and every thought but his name is driven from your head.
Heâs thick. So think you almost donât think you can take it, but your whine of protest is only met by cooing, filthy praise in your ears and careful circles around your clit. You donât know how he can still be so far into the curse and able to restrain himself from rutting you like a beast.
Probably because itâs Dean. That feels like explanation enough.
It takes a moment for him to bottom out, and when he does youâre sure youâve never been this full. Heâs hitting places inside of you that you hadnât known existed, dropping you into a pool of pleasure that makes your breathing stuttered, your nails scratching over his shoulders as you try to keep yourself from floating away.
Dean kisses you, hot and deep. You moan against him and he grabs your hips, starting to roll you up and down on his cock. You can tell heâs experimenting again, trying to figure out where he hits the deepest, working you open until youâre riding his cock smoothly your head falling back as pants of his name leave your mouth.
Itâs paradise. Your toes are curling with every twitch of his cock inside you, every rush of heat when he slams extra hard and hits your cervix. It takes him takes him some time to decide how he wants you , and youâd laugh at what he settles on if the air wasnât being fucked from your lungs.
Dean cums while holding you in his lap, his thrusts getting short and a groan of your name falling from his mouth when he ruts up, his cock pumping hot release inside of you and your own orgasm rolling through your body like an electrical storm. But then youâre being picked up and flipped around so your back is pressed to his chest, his arm locking around your neck and his hand returning to your clit as his fucks up into you. Then youâre moved forward onto the mattress, Dean turning your face so he can hear your moans and keeping your ass into the air as he slams from behind, his balls slapping against your clit and bringing you back up to the edge.
Youâre in his lap again, folded under him with your knees to your chest, rolled on top of him so he can play with your tits and watch you ride.
Every time he cums, youâre thrown into a new position and held there until you both fall back over the edge. Youâve never been wrecked like this before, your head empty, pussy drenching his cock as he spills and claims every spot on your body.
âDirty fuckinâ girl,â he growls into your ear from below you, dragging his fingers down your inner thigh, gathering his release on his fingers. âSo pretty, bouncing on this cock, my pretty fuckinâ baby-â
âDean.â You whine, scraping at his chest. âDean, feels so good, so fucking good-â
âI know.â He coos. âMade for me, getting so fucking stupid on my cock- Open.â
He slaps your cheek lightly, and your lips part. Dean feeds you his cum, other hand rubbing up and down your spine, and you grind down onto him with need.
âGood girl, fuckinâ- Christ youâre so good-â His thrusts get shorter, brutal and uneven. âYouâre mine, this sweet pussy is mine, gonna- Gonna fuckinâ worship you, fuck-â
He drills up into you, taking his hand away to bounce you how he likes.
You both cum, Dean calling your name and throwing his head back, watching you under hooded, still hungry eyes.
Thereâs a second to catch your breath, as he palms your breast. Pinches a nipple, rolling it between his fingers, watching how you arch into his touch.
âYou like that?â He grunts, and you hum.
âFeels good.â
âDamn right it does.â He grabs the other one, working them in tandem.
You whine his name, looking at him under pleading lashes.
Dean groans. âFuck, babyâŚâ
Heâs hard again, and youâre being moved into another position.
By the time he finds one he wants to keep, youâre a disaster of a woman. Making sounds that are supposed to be his name, boneless below him and still trying to chase more, even as your body turns into a raw, live nerve.
Deanâs got you under him again, his body pressed over yours, cock plunging in and out of your pussy at a lazy, torturous pace. Youâve been like this for what must be an hour, maybe a day, maybe fifty years. Tears of pleasure are stained on your cheeks, thereâs a wet sound with every thrust as his cum leaks out of your stuffed hole, and Deanâs praise is becoming more and more lucid.
âI love you.â He mutters, and you moan, turning your head to try and kiss him.
âDeanâŚâ
âI know.â He mutters. âI know, baby, but youâre doinâ so good. Feeling better, almost done, just gotta-â
He kisses over your face, finally capturing your lips as he starts to rut, pounding into your swollen g-spot over and over.
You barely have the energy to arch up, when you cum. You breathe out his name, pussy clenching as you feel that last bit of his cum squirt into you, and a wet, hot feeling floods your pussy as your vision goes white.
âLove you.â Deanâs still muttering as you float through the haze, his lips pressed over yours. âLoved you forever, never- Never thought-â
His voice cracks, and you know the curse is over. Heâs not getting hard again inside of you, not trying to chase more.
Just pressing his face into the crook of your neck and holding you tight, words muffled against your skin.
âThank you.â He mutters. âThank you for- For sayinâ it back, even if that wasnât-â
âIt was,â you breathe out. He needs to know. âI love you, Dean. Have for longer.â
He chuckles, squeezing your body, and you smile into the air.
You find the strength to thread your fingers through his hair, and he hums, pressing a sweet kiss to your sensitive skin. You shiver, whining softly, and he chuckles again. Both of you too fucked out to move. Youâre not sure youâre going to be able to walk in a straight line for a month.
But it was worth it.
Holding Dean here, so peacefully, was more than worth it.
âŚEnd note: please tell me if you enjoyed it i think i started my own ovulation so. oops.âŚ
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Two months have passed since that night, and rest remains a stranger. Every time you close your eyes, you feel the cold press of the blade against your throat and hear your best friendâs voice- soft, almost loving- as she whispered the final words of the curse that should have killed you.
You never thought the person you trusted most would be the one to mark you for death. But then again, youâd always suspected you were cursed. Turns out you were right.
If Sam and Dean hadnât shown up when they did, you wouldnât be lying here at all. They tore through her twisted little murder cult like a pair of avenging angels. Dean had hauled you out of that blood stained basement himself, one arm locked around your waist, muttering, âI got you, sweetheart. Just keep breathing.â
And now youâre here. Wide awake again. Phone warm in your palm, thumb hovering over his contact.
Dean đ
Heâd grinned like an idiot when he typed it in, then immediately sent himself a text from your phone just to âmake sure it was real.âÂ
Gotta be careful. Too many spam callers these days. Donât even know how the bastards get my number.
You can still hear the low rumble of his voice, the way his green eyes had lingered on you a second too long when he handed the phone back. Heâd flirted shamelessly the entire time they were in town- half cocky, half genuine- and youâd let him. Because after everything, it felt good to be looked at like you were still a person. Not just a sacrifice.
Your thumb drifts over the message bar.
What the hell are you even supposed to say?
âHey, remember me? The girl you saved from her psychotic best friend? Canât sleep, wanna talk?âÂ
Pathetic.
But the silence in your room feels heavier tonight. The kind of eerie feeling that presses on your chest and makes the shadows stretch too long across the walls.
Fuck it.
You open a new message.
You: Hey Dean... it's me, the girl from the basement witch fiasco. Can't sleep. Everything's too quiet and my brain won't shut off. Need a distraction⌠are you still up?
You hit send before you can overthink it, then immediately regret how vulnerable it sounds. God, why did I say it like that? The phone feels like it's burning a hole in your hand as you stare at the screen.
A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appear.
Dean đ: Well shit if it isn't my favorite almost sacrifice. đ Yeah im up. dont think i ever sleep either, sweetheart what's got you wired tonight? nightmares?
You let out a shaky breath, a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything. His reply is so him- casual, cocky, but there's that underlying care that makes your chest feel a little lighter.
You: Yeah. Same one. Knife, her voice, the whole cursed mess. Keeps looping. Figured texting the guy who dragged me out of there might help. Sorry if I'm bothering you mid hunt or whatever.
Dean đ: bothering me? fuck no. sams the one snoring like a chainsaw in the motel⌠im out in baby, just finished cleaning some guns.. perfect timing actually you got me all to yourself
Dean đ: and hey none of that sorry crap... you went through hell⌠if texting me keeps the shadows back then message me every damn night
Your thumb hovers, heart beating a little faster. The memory of his arm around you, that low voice in your ear... itâs doing things it probably shouldnât.
You: You're too smooth for your own good, Winchester. But thanks. Really. Makes the room feel less... haunted.
Dean đ: smooth? me? never đ tell you what⌠since i cant be there to chase the nightmares off in person how about this⌠close your eyes and picture me there. id tell ya some bad jokes⌠have some terrible music playing low probably say something stupid like âwant me to sing you a lullaby?" even though we both know id suck at it.
You: God, please don't sing. I'd have new nightmares. đ But... yeah. That image helps more than it should.
Dean đ: good keep that picture in your head⌠im right there sweetheart... no blade, no cult bullshit⌠just me making sure nothing touches you again.
The typing bubbles stop for a moment, then start again.
Dean đ: you wanna talk about it more? or you want me to distract you properly? i got stories... dumb ones... the kind that make Sam roll his eyes so hard he gets a headache
You bite your lip, feeling the tension in your shoulders finally start to ease.
You: Distract me. Please. Tell me the stupidest hunt story you've got right now.
You set the phone on your chest and stare at the ceiling, waiting. The silence doesnât feel quite as suffocating anymore.
Dean đ: alright! you asked for it... stupidest hunt of the month.. get this weâre in this tiny town in ohio chasing what we thought was a vengeful spirit... turns out it was a fuckin cursed garden gnome⌠yeah... a gnome⌠little ceramic bastard kept coming alive at night and tripping people down stairs
You snort softly, already feeling the knot in your stomach loosen.
Dean đ: sams over there doing all this research.. latin spells, the whole nine. meanwhile im just trying not to laugh my ass off while this thing is chucking flower pots at my head⌠one nearly took out babys taillight and i was this close to salt and burning the whole damn garden
You: A garden gnome?? đ Okay thatâs actually hilarious. Did you end up smashing it with a shovel or something?
Dean đ: shovel? nah sweetheart I went full rage mode⌠ended up dropkicking that evil little statue across the yard like a football.. Sam still gives me shit about it says my âtechnique was questionable.â but whatever it worked
A pause. The typing bubbles appear again.
Dean đ: you know whats better than a good hunt story? knowing its making you smile right now even if i cant see it
Your cheeks warm. Heâs slipping into that flirty tone so naturally, like itâs second nature.
You: It is. Thanks. I needed that. This kinda stuff always suck so bad?
Dean đ: sometimes? been in the business way too long⌠seen all kinds of reactions after learning the truth about this world. sometimes people crumble and then theres the badasses that keep going. kinda like you. survived a whole cult and your best friend trying to off you. thats badass⌠you know that right?
You bite your lip, pulling the blanket higher around you. The compliment hits different coming from him.
You: Badass? I felt pretty helpless in that basement.
Dean đ: nah. youre still here⌠breathing... texting me at 2 am thats not helpless thats a survivor... and if im being honest⌠I havent stopped thinking about you since we left town... that fire in your eyes? even when you were scared shitless? kinda hard to forget
You: Dean⌠you donât have to say that.
Dean đ: im not saying it cause i have to im saying it cause its true. youâve got me out here in the impala grinning at my phone like an idiot teenager
You: Youâre ridiculous.
Dean đ: ridiculously into you maybe. đ but seriously⌠how you holding up now? the story helping or you need me to keep talking until the sun comes up?
You stare at the last message, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Your mind drifts... the low rumble of his voice from that night, the way his green eyes had locked onto yours when he pulled you out of that nightmare basement. The scent of leather, gun oil, and that stupid cologne he wore. God, he was cocky, reckless, and annoyingly charming. You can almost picture him right now- leaning back in the driverâs seat of that classic Impala, phone in hand, that half smirk on his face.
The memory sends a warm flutter through your chest. Youâre so lost in it that you donât even notice the screen light up with an incoming call.
Dean đ is calling...
Your heart jumps. You answer before it can ring twice.
âHey,â you say softly, your voice a little rough from lack of sleep.
Thereâs a short pause on the other end, then that familiar deep voice rolls through the line like warm whiskey.
âHey yourself, sweetheart,â Dean replies, sounding equal parts relieved and amused. âYou went quiet on me. Got worried you fell asleep mid text... or that I scared you off with all that flirting.â
You let out a small laugh, pulling your knees up to your chest under the blanket. âNo, I just... got distracted. Thinking about everything. About you, actually.â
Dean chuckles softly, the sound rich and genuine. âYeah? Good kind of distracted, I hope. Not the âthis guyâs a walking red flagâ kind.â
âThe good kind,â you admit, biting your lip. âThe kind where Iâm remembering how you hauled me out of that basement like it was nothing. And how you looked at me like I wasnât broken.â
His voice drops a little lower, gentler. âYouâre not broken. Not even close. And trust me- Iâve been thinking about you too. More than I probably should, considering Samâs been giving me side eye for the last two weeks every time I check my phone.â
You smile into the darkness of your room, the tension in your shoulders melting further. âSo you decided to call instead of text?â
âFigured if you were up and spiraling, hearing a voice might be better than reading words on a screen,â he says. Thereâs the faint sound of him shifting in the car seat. âPlus... I wanted to make sure youâre really okay. Not just saying it to make me feel better.â
The line goes quiet for a beat, but itâs comfortable. Deanâs presence feels closer now, even from hundreds of miles away.
âTalk to me,â he murmurs. âIâm right here. No hunts, no rush. Just you and me.â
You settle deeper into your pillows, phone pressed to your ear, his voice already making the room feel warmer.
âTell me more,â you say softly, almost shy. âWhy have you been thinking about me? I mean... really. Not just the âyouâre a survivorâ stuff. The real reason.â
Dean lets out a low breath, like heâs been waiting for you to ask but still caught off guard. You hear the faint creak of leather as he shifts in the Impalaâs seat.
âDamn, sweetheart. Going straight for it, huh?â He chuckles, but thereâs a roughness to it now. âAlright. Truth? Iâve been thinking about you every damn night since we left that town. The way you looked at me when I got you out of there- shaking, covered in blood, but still fighting. Still there. Most people wouldâve shut down completely. Not you.â
His voice drops, quieter, more intimate.
âAnd yeah... I noticed you. Really noticed you. Even in that nightmare basement, you were beautiful. The kind of beautiful that hits you in the chest. Those eyes, the way you held yourself together when most wouldâve crumbled. I kept telling myself it was just the job⌠get you safe, move on. But I canât stop replaying it. The way my hands felt on your waist when I carried you out. How you leaned into me like you trusted me even though you had every reason not to. Iâve been driving around with your face stuck in my head for weeks. Wondering if youâre okay. Wondering what itâd be like to see you again... without all the blood and screaming.â
He pauses, then adds with that signature cocky edge, softened by honesty-
âIâm attracted to you. Like, canât-focus-on-the-hunt attracted. Samâs been calling me distracted for days and heâs not wrong. I keep thinking about your voice, your laugh, the way you looked at me when I handed you back your phone. Itâs been messing with me.â
Your heart is pounding so hard youâre sure he can hear it through the line. The vulnerability in his tone makes something tight in your chest finally loosen.
âIâve been thinking about you too,â you confess, voice barely above a whisper. âA lot. More than I probably should. Every time I close my eyes, itâs not just the nightmare anymore. Itâs you. Your arm around me. That stupid grin. The way you called me sweetheart like it was the most natural thing in the world. I keep remembering how safe I felt with you, even in the middle of hell. And yeah... Iâm attracted to you too, Dean. The cocky attitude, the way you looked at me like I was the only person in the room. Itâs been driving me crazy lying here alone every night.â
Thereâs a heavy, charged silence on the line for a second.
âFuck,â Dean breathes, sounding a little stunned and a lot pleased. âYou really mean that?â
âYeah,â you say, smiling despite the flush heating your face. âI do.â
âGod, sweetheart... you have no idea what that does to me.â His voice is lower now, rougher around the edges. âIâm sitting here in the middle of nowhere wishing I was there with you right now. Not just to chase away the nightmares. To see that look on your face again. To do a hell of a lot more than talk.â
You swallow hard, heat flooding your face as his words sink in. Your voice comes out smaller than you want it to.
âI⌠I donât know what to say to that,â you murmur, shifting restlessly under the sheets. âIâve never really⌠done this. Phone stuff. Iâm not exactly good at it.â
Deanâs low chuckle sends a shiver down your spine.
âOh sweetheart, thatâs adorable. And kinda hot. Donât worry. Iâm real good at teaching people new things.â His voice drops an octave, smooth and teasing. âStart simple. Tell me what youâre wearing right now.â
You hesitate, fingers twisting in the blanket.
âJust⌠an old t-shirt. And panties,â you admit softly, embarrassed by how breathy you sound.
âMmm. Good girl,â Dean praises, and the words hit you low in your stomach. âBet you look damn cute in that. Bet those legs look even better. You thinking about me touching them?â
Your breath catches. Youâre quiet for a second, shy, but the way his voice curls around you makes you brave enough to answer.
ââŚYeah. I am.â
âThatâs it,â he encourages, warmth and hunger bleeding into his tone. âKeep going. Tell me where you want my hands, baby.â
You bite your lip, heart racing. âI⌠I want them on my thighs. Sliding up slow. Like youâre teasing me.â
Dean groans softly. âFuck, yes. Iâd take my time with you. Spread those pretty legs and run my hands all the way up until I can feel how wet youâre getting just thinking about me.â
The words make you clench involuntarily. You let out a tiny, embarrassed sound, but you donât stop him.
âDeanâŚâ you whisper, voice shaky.
âCâmon, sweetheart. I can hear how turned on you are. Donât hold back on me now.â His voice is rougher, coaxing. âYou ever touch yourself thinking about me since that night?â
The question makes your face burn, but the growing ache between your legs wins out. You slip one hand down slowly, hesitating at the waistband of your panties.
âI⌠maybe once or twice,â you confess, voice barely audible.
âAtta girl. Donât be shy. Tell me what you did. Were you thinking about my mouth on you?â
You let out a shaky breath, finally giving in as his filthy words pull your shyer side apart.
âYeah⌠I was,â you admit, voice gaining a little more confidence. âI imagined you between my legs, licking me until I couldnât think straight. Your tongue and those stupidly perfect lipsâŚâ
Dean lets out a deep, appreciative groan. âJesus Christ. There she is. Keep talking like that and Iâm gonna lose my mind over here. You touching yourself right now?â
Your fingers dip lower, brushing over your damp panties. âMhmâŚâ
âTell me how wet you are for me.â
You do, gasping softly as your fingers meet slick heat. âReally wet, Dean⌠fuck.â
âGood girl,â he growls, clearly getting off on your growing boldness. âNow circle that pretty little clit nice and slow. Pretend itâs my tongue. Iâd eat you like I was starving, sweetheart. Bury my face in you until youâre grinding against me and begging.â
A soft moan slips out of you before you can stop it. The shy hesitation is melting fast under his dirty talk.
âDean⌠I want your fingers inside me,â you whisper, voice turning filthier as you give in. âWhile you suck on my clit. I want you to make me come on your face.â
âFuck, thatâs my girl,â he praises, breathing heavier now. âIâd give you two thick fingers right away, curling them just right while I tongue fuck you. You sound so sweet when you moan for me. Let me hear it again.â
You obey, slipping a finger inside yourself with a needy little whimper that turns into a moan.
âFuck, thatâs it, baby. Let me hear those pretty moans. God damn, you sound so needy already,â Dean growls, his voice thick with lust. âIâve got my fat cock in my fist, stroking it slow and tight just thinking about you. Youâre playing with that soaked little pussy for me, arenât you? Tell me how wet you are, sweetheart. I want details.â
âSo fucking wet, DeanâŚâ you whimper.
âAtta girl. I knew youâd be dripping for me. Push two fingers in deep right now- thatâs it. Fuck yourself harder. Imagine itâs my thick cock stretching that tight cunt open. Iâd split you wide, baby. Pound you so deep youâd feel me for days.â
You obey with a broken moan, pumping your fingers faster.
âYeah? You like that?â Dean chuckles darkly, the wet rhythmic sound of him jerking his cock getting louder. âListen to how sloppy your pussy sounds. Youâre making such a mess for me. Iâd bury my face between those thighs first and eat you like a starving man. Iâd suck on that swollen clit until youâre grinding on my tongue and begging. Then Iâd flip you over, smack that perfect ass red, and fuck you raw from behind.â
âDeanâŚâ you gasp, legs shaking.
âFuck yes, say my name just like that. Louder. I want you screaming it when you come. Youâd take every inch like a good little whore, wouldnât you? Iâd wrap my hand around your throat, pull your hair, and rail you stupid. You want me to breed that pretty pussy? Want me to pump you full of my cum until itâs leaking down your thighs?â
âYes- fuck, please,â you beg, completely lost in it.
âThatâs my filthy girl,â Dean groans, stroking faster. âGod, Iâm so fucking hard for you. My cock is throbbing, leaking all over my hand. Keep rubbing that clit, baby. Circle it nice and fast while you finger fuck yourself. Iâd fuck you so good, sweetheart. Bent over the hood of the Impala, in the backseat, on every motel bed I can get you on. Iâd ruin you for anyone else.â
You cry out, hips bucking wildly into your hand.
âDonât you dare stop,â he growls. âIâm close already just listening to you. You gonna come on those fingers thinking about my cock? Gonna cream all over them like the dirty slut you are for me?â
âDean, Iâm so close- â
âNot yet, baby. Hold it. Wait for me,â he orders, voice rough and strained. âI want us coming together. Keep fucking that soaked cunt. Rub that clit harder. Fuck, Iâm gonna fill you up so deep. Shoot load after load inside you until youâre overflowing. Youâd look so hot with my cum dripping out of you.â
Youâre whimpering and moaning shamelessly now, right on the edge.
âCome on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come for me now,â Dean demands, breathing ragged. âLet me hear it. Come on my cock- right fucking now. Iâm stroking so hard for you, gonna blow such a big load thinking about breeding that tight pussy- â
Your orgasm explodes through you violently. âDean- fuck- I- fuck!â you cry out, thighs clamping around your hand as you pulse and shake.
âFuuuuck- yes, baby!â Dean snarls, voice breaking into a deep, guttural groan. âIâm coming too- shit- taking every drop like a good whore- fuuuuck-â
You can hear him stroking through his orgasm, cursing and moaning your name until heâs spent.
âJesus ChristâŚâ Dean rasps after a long moment, still breathing hard. âThat was so fucking hot, sweetheart. You came so hard for me. My dirty girl. Iâm already thinking about the next time I get you on the phone⌠or better yet, in person so I can actually fuck you the way you deserve.â
Youâre still trembling from the first orgasm, your body flushed and sensitive, but Deanâs filthy voice keeps pulling you right back under.
âYes⌠please come fuck me,â you breathe, already sliding your hand back between your slick thighs. âI want you here so bad, Dean.â
âFuck, thatâs what I like to hear, baby,â Dean groans, voice low and hungry. âRound two. Keep those fingers on that pretty pussy and listen to exactly what Iâm gonna do when I show up at your door in two days.â
You let out a soft moan as you start touching yourself again, slower this time, savoring it through your already growing overstimulation.
âFirst thing I do when I see you?â Dean continues, his tone dark with promise. âIâm backing you straight into the bedroom, stripping you down piece by piece, and laying you out on the bed like my own personal feast. Iâm gonna spend a long fucking time between your legs- licking you slow and deep, teasing that clit with the tip of my tongue until youâre dripping down my chin and begging. Then Iâm sliding three fingers inside you, curling them just right while I suck on that swollen little nub.â
You whimper, pressing two fingers into yourself as you listen.
âAfter I make you come all over my face the first time,â he growls, âIâm flipping you onto your stomach, pulling your hips up, and sliding my thick cock into you from behind while youâre still shaking. Iâm gonna go slow at first- grinding deep, letting you feel every inch stretching you open. Then Iâm picking up the pace until the headboardâs slamming against the wall and youâre moaning like the fucking whore you are.â
âDeanâŚâ you moan, fingers moving faster.
âYeah, baby. Say my name while you fuck yourself,â he orders, the wet sound of his hand working his cock steady and filthy. âNext, I want you riding me. Youâre gonna straddle my lap, sink down on my cock, and bounce on it while I play with your tits and pinch those nipples. Iâll slap your ass and tell you how fucking perfect you look taking every inch of me.â
You gasp, rubbing your clit harder as he keeps going.
âAnd when Iâm close? Iâm pinning you on your back, legs wrapped around my waist, and fucking you hard and deep. Iâm gonna look you right in the eyes while I fill you up. No pulling out. Iâm pumping you full of my cum, sweetheart- again and again. Gonna make such a creamy mess of that pussy youâll be leaking me for hours.â
His breathing is getting rougher, voice more strained.
âIâm staying at least two full days, baby. Iâm fucking you in the shower, on the kitchen counter, bent over the couch- wherever the hell I want. Iâll have you on your knees sucking my cock nice and sloppy before I bend you over and take you again. Youâre gonna be sore, marked up, and stuffed full of my cum by the time Iâm done with you.â
âFuck, Dean⌠I want all of it,â you pant, chasing another high.
âThatâs my filthy girl,â he praises with a dark chuckle. âKeep playing with that soaked cunt. Iâm stroking this cock so hard thinking about wrecking you. I want you to come again for me while I tell you how Iâm gonna own every inch of you when I get there.â
You moan louder, fingers plunging faster as his dirty promises push you closer to the edge.
âCome on, baby,â Dean growls, voice breaking with lust. âRub that clit and come for me again. Let me hear how bad you need my cock. Iâm gonna blow another load thinking about fucking that tight pussy- fuck- come with me, sweetheart. Right fucking now-â
Your second orgasm crashes over you hard, thighs quivering as you cry out his name.
âFuuuuck- yes, baby!â Dean groans loudly, stroking through his own release. âTake it all- every drop- shit-â
Youâre both left panting heavily, the intensity even stronger this time.
âTwo days, sweetheart,â Dean rasps, voice rough but warm. âIâm coming for you. Be ready.â
You collapse back against the pillows, body spent and trembling, your fingers still lazily resting between your thighs as you try to catch your breath. Deanâs low, satisfied chuckle rumbles through the phone.
âDamn, sweetheart⌠two rounds and you still sound so fucking sexy when you come,â he says, voice rough but warm now. âI meant what I said. Two days. Iâm heading your way as soon as I wrap up this loose end with Sam. Get some rest. Youâre gonna need it.â
You smile, cheeks burning. âOkay⌠drive safe. And Dean?â
âYeah, baby?â
âThank you. For distracting me⌠and for everything else.â
He lets out a soft laugh. âAnytime. Night, sweetheart. Sweet dreams.â
The call ends with a quiet click. You lower the phone to your chest, staring up at the dark ceiling, heart still racing.
Holy shit. You canât believe what just happened. You went from shy and hesitant to straight-up filthy in the span of one phone call. Dean Winchester had completely pulled the dirty side out of you and you loved every second of it. Your body is still buzzing, thighs sticky, pussy aching in the best way. The way he talked to you⌠the promises he made⌠it all felt so real. So intense.
You bite your lip, a shy but satisfied smile spreading across your face as you replay his growled dirty talk in your head.
Then your phone buzzes.
Dean đ sent a photo
You open it with slightly shaky fingers.
The picture is filthy and unapologetic.
Itâs a close up from Deanâs perspective-Â his toned stomach and lower abs glistening with sweat, his thick cock still half-hard and resting against his thigh, absolutely coated in thick ropes of his cum. Some of it is streaked across his abs, dripping down the defined lines of muscle. His hand is still loosely wrapped around the base, shiny and messy. In the background, you can see the dark interior of the Impala.
Dean đ: look what you did to me baby.. two loads and im still not soft... cant stop thinking about painting that pretty pussy instead⌠two days⌠be ready for me to fill you up for real
Heat floods your face instantly. You stare at the picture, biting your lip hard as a fresh wave of arousal pulses through you. He wasnât lying when he said his cock was thick.
You: Oh my god, Dean⌠thatâs so fucking hot. Youâre covered in itâŚ
Dean đ: all because of you and those sexy little moans... save that pic sweetheart i want you looking at it when you touch yourself later thinking about me
You squeeze your thighs together, already feeling tempted to go for round three.
You: Iâm definitely saving this đł Itâs going to be hard to sleep after seeing that⌠but in a good way. Thank you for distracting me tonight. For everything. I feel⌠lighter. Safer. And really fucking turned on.
Dean đ: good that was the plan sweetheart⌠get some sleep⌠ill be on the road soon. dream about me instead of the bad shit
You: I will. Drive safe, Dean. Goodnight â¤ď¸
Dean đ: night baby... sweet dreams⌠cant wait to make the real thing even better
You lock your phone and set it on the nightstand, the glow fading from the room. For the first time in two months, the silence doesnât feel heavy. The shadows on the walls donât stretch like reaching hands. Instead, your mind is filled with Deanâs low voice, his filthy promises, that cocky grin, and the warm safety of his arms from that night.
You curl up under the blankets, still feeling the pleasant ache between your legs and the lingering flush on your cheeks. A small, genuine smile plays on your lips as you close your eyes.
No nightmares come.
Just soft, hazy thoughts of leather jackets, green eyes, and the low rumble of an Impala pulling up outside your door in two days. For the first time in forever, you drift off peacefully, the tension in your chest finally eased.
Sleep claims you gently, wrapped in the promise of something new- something good.
Summary: Dean jerks off while you pretend to sleep.
Content warning: Reader gives Dean a massage, explicit language, male masturbation, handjobs, spitting, cum eating, she calls him good boy one time
wc: 1.8k
âThat feels- fuck- that feels amazing.âÂ
Dean bows his head, leaning back into your hands, as they knead the knotted muscles of his shoulders. The lotion youâd smeared across the expanse of his upper back and arms makes his skin look dewy. Your hands glide along the contours of his body, looking so small in comparison to his figure.
He lifts his head, letting it fall back to rest against your shoulder as your fingers dig into the lean, striated muscle of his pectorals. His eyes are closed.Â
âYou really are an angel, sweetness.â He drawls slowly. âYâtoo good to me.âÂ
âShh,â You coo softly, hands now caressing the slope of his neck. âJust relax,âÂ
ââFâI relax any more, Iâm gonna pass out.âÂ
You pretty much feel the same way. Itâd been an action packed few days, allowing minimal time for rest, and now youâre both heavily fatigued. Your body feels much older than it is. After showering and brushing your teeth, giving some attention to your needy man is the last thing on your to-do list before knocking out for a good ten hours. You can hardly keep your eyelids open, but every one of Deanâs appreciative moans convinces you to continue.Â
âThatâs okay,â You assure him gently, purposefully grazing your lips against the shell of his ear. His spine straightens at the touch of your lips, shuddering slightly. âWeâll finish here. Then we can sleep,â You press a firmer kiss just behind his ear, smiling to yourself as he stiffens at the contact, groaning deeply as your fingers continue to massage his flesh.Â
Truthfully, youâre tired, but the game youâre playing with him is entertaining enough to turn what was supposed to be a quick five minute massage into a twenty minute one. Since the moment youâd laid your hands on his bare skin, heâd been growing harder and harder, and now, you were having fun pretending to be oblivious to the very noticeable bulge in his sweatpants.Â
âDonât wanna sleep.â He argues, the slightest bit of petulance creeping into his tone. He turns to face you, regarding you with bleary, sleepy green eyes. âWant you.âÂ
You peck his very pretty, pouty lips, finishing your massage with a little squeeze around his waist. Standing to go wash the residual lotion from your hands, Dean turns to watch you.Â
âNo happy ending?â He jokes halfheartedly, but his eyes glimmer as he looks at you from under his lashes, exposing that underneath the guise of humor, he really is asking.Â
âMâsorry, handsome,â You murmur apologetically. âIâm dead on my feet.âÂ
ââLeast let me return the favor,â He suggests, as youâre sliding underneath the sheets, wearing only one of his shirts and your panties.Â
âTomorrow,â Your cheek is already on your pillow.Â
He slides under the blankets behind you, molding his chest to the shape of your back, fitting snugly, like an old weathered baseball glove. Eyes closed, you sigh at the comfort of his body against you. He slings a thick, heavy arm around your hips, guiding your ass back to press securely against his crotch. You bite back a smile at his less than covert attempts to entice you, shifting his hips so that the undeniable outline of his engorged cock is nestled right against your core.Â
You stay still, committed to the act that youâre unaffected by any of his antics, but youâre growing hot underneath the covers. Youâd already been turned on by just rubbing his body, were wet the instant you noticed his boner, and now, as he subtly creates friction between your bodies, you suddenly arenât so tired.Â
âBaby,â He complains in your ear, hands sliding from your hips, to your waist, then teasing just below your breasts. âYâgotta gimme something here. Feels like Iâve been waitinâ to get you alone for weeks-âÂ
â-Itâs only been a few days.â You say without turning to look at him.Â
âExactly-â
âI think youâll live if I make you wait until tomorrow,â You say.Â
You only havenât ended his misery because you want to see how far you can push him, and it turns you on when he begs. Plus, his sweet, desperate disposition is something private, saved only for you, in moments when youâre alone. In the quiet moments with you, heâs a very different man than he pretends to be with everyone else.Â
âCruel woman,â He sighs. You get the sense that he might be giving up, as his arm returns around your hips.Â
âThought you said I was an angel," You tease
"That was when you were being nice to me."
You huff. "I'll be nicer after I sleep.'
You relax against him, and even though youâre doggedly tired, his erection is still probing you between your thighs, stoking heat in your lower belly thatâs becoming increasingly difficult to ignore. Still, you keep yourself still in his arms, and squeeze your eyes tightly shut any time he shifts against you. He moves occasionally, readjusting his grip on you, repositioning his body, but stays quiet.Â
âBaby?â Dean whispers gently, several minutes later. Or maybe itâs been an hour. âBaby, you awake?Â
Youâd been dozing, but at the sound of his voice, you rouse. You donât answer because youâre intrigued by the diffidence in his tone.Â
Deanâs arm tightens around you, using his grip on you to once again create friction between your bodies. His breathing strikingly deepens, and every so often, he groans weakly. If the movement of him sliding against you wasnât enough to have you pulsing between your legs, his noises would do the job. He sounds almost ashamed. Itâs clear heâs trying to be quiet, but heâs doing a poor job of concealing his arousal.Â
You feel him wedge a hand between his groin and your ass, rubbing himself through his pants. You want to look, but part of you believes he would stop if he realized you were awake. You wonder if the front of his sweats are wet yet, if heâs gritting his teeth or if heâs open mouth panting. Heat radiates from his chest, and you feel the instant he breaks out in a sweat from his ministrations.Â
Very carefully, as to not wake you, he lifts his arm off your body and rolls onto his back. You fight to keep your own breathing even, to keep yourself from squeezing your thighs together, as you hear him start to jerk off.Â
It begins quietly, with the soft, barely audible evidence of him letting saliva fall from his mouth onto his palm. Then he wraps a hand around himself, and you hear the spread of moisture as he begins pumping his fist up and down. The sound of his hand beating his cock is largely overpowered by his breathing and the moans heâs failing to swallow, until he seems to lose control of himself and really starts pumping himself hard and fast.Â
You picture him, holding his stiff member in one hand, playing with his balls with the other. Picture him rubbing at the head of his cock until he canât take it, mimicking the way you always torture him with special attention to his most sensitive spots.Â
âJust couldnât help yourself, could you?â You scold in a quiet voice, turning towards him.Â
Dean startles with a grunt, his hand flying away from his cock, as if it wasnât obvious what heâd been doing with it resting against his lower belly. He looks away from you, then back, bowing his head shamefully.Â
âD-didnât-â He clears his throat. âDidnât mean to wake you, princess.âÂ
You roll onto your side beside him, placing a hand on the bit of his thigh exposed from where his sweats had been hastily pushed down.Â
When you donât say anything, he keeps stammering. âIâm sorry-âÂ
âShh,â You whisper gently, grazing his thigh with the points of your nails. You suppress a smirk at the way the muscle of his leg jumps at your teasing touch, his cock bobbing untouched. âKeep going, big boy.âÂ
He hesitates, so you wrap one of your smaller hands around the base of his cock. He immediately gasps, his head lolling back against the headboard. He begins panting again as he watches you bring your lips just above the head of him. You let a substantial string of saliva slip from your lips, onto his aching tip, smiling as he moans above you.Â
His jaw falls open when you start twisting your fist around him, spreading the lubricant generously from tip to base, so that heâs nice and wet.Â
âKeep going, baby,â You encourage, lifting yourself enough to take his face in your hands. You peck his lips, ending the kiss with a little sharp bite to his bottom lip that has him groaning and chasing after your lips when you pull back.Â
âKeep going-â He repeats, as if dazed.Â
âYeah,â You say with a smile, caressing his jaw. âYou wanna cum, donât you?âÂ
âYeah-â He agrees, letting you take his hand. You bring his hand back between his legs, and you greedily watch as he grips himself, and then starts moving.Â
âHow bad do yâwanna come, Dean?â You whisper sensually, maintaining eye contact with him in the dark. His breath fans across your lips, his eyelids heavy from the degree of his lust.Â
âBad- so fuckinâ bad-â He rasps and it sounds like a plea.Â
âI bet,â You purr, letting your hands roam across his neck and shoulders. âBeen such a good boy, waiting so well. I know you tried, baby.âÂ
He grits his teeth, hand moving in a blur as he jerks himself, chest heaving. âI did- Tried to ignore it. For you-âÂ
âItâs okay, baby. Know you need it real bad.âÂ
He nods, expression broken as he keeps going.Â
âCanât even handle my hands on you without getting hard,â You muse lovingly. âSâa little bit pathetic, right?âÂ
âFuck-â He groans, voice strangled. âI know-â
"And jerking off while your girlfriend is right next to you...is that pathetic, baby?"
"Yes-" He chokes out.
âYou sound close,â You whisper. âAre you close, baby? Gonna make yourself cum? Wishing you were inside me instead?âÂ
âWanna make you feel good,â He mumbles. âGod-Mâso close.âÂ
âCum for me, Dean,â You beg, sliding back down level with his lap. âWanna see how much cum you have for me,âÂ
He begins shuddering, groaning from deep in his chest. He tells you heâs coming and it sounds like heâs panicked. You manage to get your plump lips around the head of him, your tongue immediately flooded with the heady taste of him. You suck at him for barely a second before he begins spurting into your mouth, the jets of his cum steadily hitting the back of your throat. Heâs gripping your hair harshly, and you might register the pain of it, if you werenât concentrating on swallowing burst after burst of his spend.Â
You swallow it all, then lick his cockhead clean until heâs jumping at the simple touch of your hot tongue. You lick your lips clean next and then nestle yourself back under his arm, while he's still sweaty and panting.Â
âThat should hold you off until the morning, right?â You ask playfully.
âYeah, Iâd say so.âÂ
You both make yourselves comfortable in the bed and fall asleep within five minutes flat.Â
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đđđđđđđđđđ đđđđđđ: dean winchester/babydoll!reader.
Š đŠđ˘đđđŹđ˘đđ¤ : 2026.
summary ďš a quiet moment in the impala turns into something softer and deeper, where dean guides you gently through new feelings, balancing desire with care and trust. tucked away from the world, the intimacy grows slow and steadyârooted in reassurance, sweetness, and the kind of love that feels like home.
cw ďš ( +18 ) fluff & soft suggestive (non-explicit). fem!reader x s1!dean. impala setting. established relationship. dean being in love!!! emotional intimacy. gentle praise. petnames (sweetheart, pretty girl & baby). lap sitting. light grinding / clothed intimacy (non-explicit). aftercare / softness.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
The Impala idles low and steady beneath you, that familiar rumble vibrating softly through the seats, through your legs, through the quiet space you and Dean have carved out in the dark while Sam disappears into yet another late-night research spiral.Â
The library lights glow dimly across the street, casting long shadows over the windshield, and inside the car it feels warmer, smallerâlike something tucked away from the rest of the world. Youâre curled up closer to Dean than the seat really allows, one of his flannels hanging off your shoulders; contrasting with the lighter colors of your clothing and softness of your appearance. Your knees are angled toward him, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his sleeve like youâve done a hundred times before.Â
This isnât new, not anymore. Being close to him like this, fitting into his space, letting your body lean into his without thinking: itâs something thatâs settled into you, something that feels as natural as breathing.
Dean watches you the way he always does when you get like this; quiet, soft, a little lost in your own head.
His elbow rests against the window, the fingers of his other hand are brushing slowly along your thigh, not quite teasing, not quite absent either. Just there, present and grounding like he always is with you. âYouâre gonna wear a hole in that sleeve, yâknow,â he murmurs, voice low and rough in the quiet, eyes flicking down to where your fingers keep twisting the fabric.
You blink, like youâve just come back to yourself, gaze lifting to his sparkling hazel eyes. âSorry,â you say automatically, soft and sweet like always, your hands stilling for a second before you loosen your grip. âI didnât even realize.â
Dean huffs a quiet breath, something fond tugging at the corner of his mouth; sweet like whipped cream. âHey,â he says, shifting just enough so his hand slides over yours, stilling it properly this time. His thumb presses lightly against your knuckles, grounding, warm. âDidnât say you had to stop, sweetheart.â His voice softens at the end, like it always does with you, like something in him instinctively smooths out the edges when heâs talking to you. Heâs all circle, square gone.
You relax immediately at that, your shoulders dropping just a little, your hand settling back into the sleeveâonly now your fingers brush against his wrist too, like youâre anchoring yourself there. âOkay,â you murmur, barely louder than a breath, and Dean feels it; how easily you settle when he gives you something steady to hold onto. It does something to him, something quiet and deep that he doesnât really have a name for.
The silence stretches for a moment, not uncomfortable, just⌠thick. Heavy in a way that feels familiar between you now. His hand drifts again, slow, deliberate, fingertips tracing the curve of your thigh through the soft fabric of your clothes. Even now, even with everything thatâs grown between you, Deanâs learned the way you respond best: slow, steady, giving you time to feel every second of it.
You shift slightly at the touch, your breath catching just a little, and his eyes flick to your face immediately, watching for any sign that you donât want it. But you donât pull away, you never really do and instead, your body leans closer, your knee nudging against his thigh, your fingers tightening faintly in his sleeve. âHey,â he murmurs again, softer now, his hand stilling for a second. âYou good, baby?â
You nod, eyes dropping to where his hand rests, your voice quiet but certain. âYeah⌠Iâm good.â Thereâs a beat, and then, quieterâalmost shyââI like it.â And that does something to him, the way your voice whispers, the way you try to hide your face away from his soft glaze.
Dean exhales slowly through his nose, his gaze sharpening just a fraction as his thumb starts moving again, a little more intentional this time but still so gently. âYeah?â he mutters, leaning just slightly closer, his shoulder brushing yours, his presence suddenly more noticeable, more solid. âYou like when I touch you like this, huh?â His tone is like sugar, honey and everything sweet; he doesnât try to tease, doesnât try to mock. Thereâs a genuineness in his words.
You swallow, your head dipping a little, but you nod again, softer this time too, your voice barely there. âMhm.â
God.
Thereâs something about the way you say it (so sweet, so honest) that makes his jaw tighten just slightly, and his heart skips a beat inside the cavern of his chest. He loves you so much; even though you know that already. Dean could give you the world, right here and right now. Snatch the moon off of the sky, make it into a necklace for you to wear.
âCâmere,â he murmurs, shifting his hand from your thigh to your waist, guiding you without force, just pressure, just enough that you follow. You always follow. You move easily into his space, letting him pull you closer until youâre straddling his lap, your legs on each side of his own and your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. Itâs a bit uncomfortable due to the crampy space, but you both make it work.
âDeanââ you start softly, a little breathless, but he cuts you off gently, his hand sliding up your back, warm and firm. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through the layer of clothes you have on. âRelax,â he murmurs, his voice dropping, softer but heavier somehow. âYouâre alright. I got you, sweetheart.â
The words settle into you instantly, your body softening under his hands, your grip on his shoulders loosening just slightly as you lean into him. You trust him and thatâs the thing Dean keeps circling back to, even now: you trust him so easily, so completely, like itâs the most natural thing in the world. From up close, a sniff of his nose is enough for his brain to catch up on the smell of strawberry; the sweet-sugary smell of your favorite perfume.
His hand moves slowly along your side, then back down again, deliberate, giving you time to feel every inch of it. Your breath stutters again, quieter this time, and you hide your face for a second against his shoulder, shy in that way that never quite goes away.
âHey,â he murmurs, his fingers brushing gently along your jaw, coaxing your face back up. âDonât hide from me now, baby.â You hesitate, then lift your head again, your expression soft with your eyes flicking between his beautiful hazel ones. âIâm not hiding,â you whisper, even though you kind of were. Dean huffs a quiet, amused breath, his thumb brushing just under your bottom lip, not quite touching, just close enough to make you notice. âYeah, you are,â he says, not unkindly, his voice low. âBut itâs cute, donât worry.â
Your cheeks feel warmer at that, and you duck your head slightly again, but you donât pull away. If anything, you lean closer, your chest brushing his, your fingers curling a little tighter into his shirt to make sure he wonât suddenly disappear into thin air. The thing is; youâre not used to being all over himâusually shyer with that type of interaction, but Dean brings something out of you that you canât deny. Itâs new and a bit scary, but beautiful at the same time.
âThatâs it,â he murmurs, softer now, more approving than teasing. âStay right there.â His hand shifts again, slower, more certain now that he knows youâre with him, that youâre not going to pull away. And you donât. You stay exactly where he wants you, soft and pliant and warm in his lap, your breathing uneven, your body reacting in ways that still feel new enough to make you shy as your hips softly move against Deanâs.Â
âLook at you,â he mutters under his breath, almost like heâs talking to himself, his gaze dragging over your face, the way your lashes lower to almost rest against the top of your cheeks, the way your lips part just slightly, the way your pupils blow a bit. âAll sweet like this⌠Youâre so beautiful, sweetheart. My pretty girl.â You let out a small, breathy laugh, your forehead tipping forward until it brushes his. âDean,â you whisper, half a protest, half something else entirely.
âYeah?â he murmurs, his nose nudging lightly against yours, his voice quieter now, more focused on you. His eyes take the expression of your face as he gently angles your hips down again. You donât answer right away, you just look at him, soft and open in a way that makes something in his chest twist unexpectedly. And then, quieter stillââDonât stop.â
Dean exhales slowly, his hand tightening just a fraction where it rests against you, his forehead pressing briefly against yours before he leans in, kissing you: slow at first, deliberate, giving you time to follow, to meet him there. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, then into his hair, your body leaning fully into his now, soft and trusting and just a little needy in a way that makes his chest feel tight.
âCareful, pretty girl,â he murmurs against your lips, voice rougher now, but still soft like a cloud underneath it. âSamâs right across the street, he could come back anytime now.â
You let out a small, breathless sound that might be a laugh, might be something else, your face turning slightly into his neck for a second as if to hide once more. âHe wonât know, Dean,â you whisper, shy but honest, your fingers curling tighter in his shirt.
Dean stills for just a second at that, something flickering across his face; surprise, maybe, or something warmer, something sharper. âYeah?â he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you properly, the apple of his cheeks a bit more rosy than before. You tend to do that to him. âYou sure about that, sweetheart?â
You nod, small but certain, your eyes soft but steady. âI just⌠want to be close to you.â
And thatâsoft, sweet, completely unguardedâhits him harder than anything else.
Dean lets out a quiet breath, his hand coming up to cup your face for a second, thumb brushing gently over your cheek, grounding himself as much as you. âYou got me,â he murmurs, softer now, something steadier settling into his voice again. âAlways got me, baby. Iâm not leaving any time soon.â
And then he pulls you back in, slower this time, more careful, like heâs balancing something fragile between his hands. His hand angles your hips once more, down against his own in the softest and gentlest way he knows how to. Not rushing, not pushingâjust letting you feel it, letting you stay soft even as you lean into something new, something that belongs just to the two of you.
The Impala hums quietly around you, the world outside distant and unimportant, and inside, itâs just you and him: warm, close, and learning each other in ways that feel a little dangerous and a lot like home.Â
The car is filled with the quietest of praise coming from Deanâs honey mouth, words that echo in your ears just to slide to your heart. You can feel the beat of his own heart against your chest, a telltale of the love he feels for you and he helps you on his lap, pressing kisses to the skin of your cheeks.
âI love you so much, sweetheart.â You can hear him say as you feel warmth coursing through your body, muscles gently twitching under his touch before he pulls you into a hug and you are left breathless for a second. Deanâs hand rests against your lower back, rubbing it slowly until your heart calms down. Only then, you pull your face away from his neck and look up at him.Â
âFeeling good, pretty girl?â He asks and you nod, smiling softly like only you know how to. It makes Dean feel all flustered to see you so happy, knowing you feel safe in his arms. He leans his face closer to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips; lingering but honey-like.
âWant to go find an open diner and get some milkshakes?â
dean winchester ٠࣪â female reader ٠࣪â smut
summary. shitty motel. one room. two singles. dean thinks you're asleep and needs to take care of himself. even in his dreams.
wordcount. 1873
warnings. explicit sexual content, male masturbation, wet dream sequence with oral sex (male receiving), intense whimpering/moaning/panting, edging/overstimulation vibes, cum in mouth, voyeuristic fantasy elements, emotional vulnerability
٠࣪â read part one first
dean wakes up hard.
not the lazy morning kind of hard. the aching, leaking, canât-think-straight kind. the sheets are twisted around his legs, motel comforter half kicked to the floor. his t-shirt clings to his back with sweat. the neon sign outside is still pulsing red-blue-red through the curtains, same as last night, same as every shitty motel on the road.
he lies there for a second, breathing shallow, willing his dick to calm the fuck down.
it doesnât.
todayâs case replays behind his eyes like a bad porno he canât pause.
you in that tiny black dressâsome high-end bar, vampire nest operating out of the vip section. youâd volunteered for bait duty because âi clean up nice, dean, and you know it.â heâd grumbled something about backup, about not liking it, but the second you stepped out of the bathroom in that thingâneckline plunging, hem barely covering your ass, red lipstick that made your mouth look obsceneâheâd had to adjust himself in the impala like a goddamn teenager.
youâd laughed when you caught him staring. âeyes up, winchester.â
heâd muttered âshut upâ and spent the whole night watching every asshole in the bar eye-fuck you while you worked the room. every sway of your hips, every time you leaned over to whisper in some bloodsuckerâs ear, every flash of thigh when you crossed your legs on that barstool. heâd gripped his beer bottle so hard he thought it might shatter.
by the time youâd dusted the last vamp in the alleyâdress ripped at the thigh, blood on your cheek, grinning like youâd just won the lotteryâhe was so wound up he could barely drive straight.
now itâs 3:14 a.m. according to the glowing clock. youâre asleep in the bed three feet away, curled on your side, breathing soft and even. one arm tucked under the pillow, hair fanned across your face. wearing his old led zeppelin shirt that hits mid-thigh. nothing else, probably. you always sleep like that when itâs hot.
deanâs hand is already under the sheet before he can talk himself out of it.
he wraps his fist around himselfâslow, testing. a low hiss escapes through his teeth. heâs so sensitive the first stroke makes his hips jerk. precome slicks the way immediately. he bites the inside of his cheek, hard.
quiet. gotta be quiet.
he turns his head toward your bed. your lips are parted slightly. peaceful. oblivious.
âfuck,â he breathes, barely a sound.
he starts slowâlong pulls from base to tip, thumb swiping over the head on every upstroke. his other hand comes up, presses against his mouth, muffling the whimper that wants to spill out.
god, he can still see you in that dress. the way the fabric hugged your tits, the way it rode up when you kicked that vamp in the chest. the way youâd looked back at him over your shoulder, eyes sparkling with adrenaline and something darker.
he speeds up. hips rocking into his fist in shallow thrusts.
deanâs hand is flying now. slick sounds obscene under the sheet. heâs panting against his knuckles, broken little moans slipping out despite his best efforts.
ây/nâpleaseâfuckââ
his balls draw up tight. heat coils low and vicious.
heâs right thereâ
the bed creaksâjust a little. he freezes, heart slamming.
youâre awake.
he exhales shaky. ây/nâŚâ your name slips out, wrecked and quiet.
his heart beats wildly in his chest, only for the rhythm to escalate when he sees you rolling over, eyes heavy with sleep, crawling into his bed without a word. your hand replacing his, your mouthâ
a soft moan escapes before he can stop it.
you slip under his sheet like itâs nothing. straddle his thighs. your shirt rides up, bare cunt brushing his cock. you donât tease. you just lean down, take him in your mouth in one smooth glide.
deanâs eyes squeeze shut.
you suck him deepâhot, wet, perfect. tongue swirling around the head, then flattening along the underside. you hum around him, vibration shooting straight up his spine. he threads his fingers into your hairânot pulling, just holding. anchoring.
âfuckâbabyââ he whispers. âjust like that. fuck, your mouthââ
you take him to the back of your throat. gag a little, eyes watering, but donât pull off. you swallow around him instead, throat fluttering. deanâs hips buck up involuntarily. heâs shaking nowâwhole body trembling, thighs tensing, abs clenching.
âgonnaâshitâgonna comeââ
you pull off just enough to speak, lips brushing the tip. âcome in my mouth, dean. want to taste you.â
that does it.
he comes hardâhot, thick pulses straight down your throat. you swallow every drop, moaning like itâs the best thing youâve ever tasted. your tongue keeps working him through it, milking him dry until heâs oversensitive, whimpering, hips jerking.
a hand shakes his shoulder.
âdean?â
his eyes snap open.
youâre leaning over him, brow furrowed, worry etched across your face. the lamp on your nightstand is on nowâsoft yellow glow. youâre still in his zeppelin shirt, hair mussed from sleep.
âhey,â you whisper, voice gentle. âyou were whimpering. sounded like a nightmare. you okay?â
deanâs chest heaves. heâs still hardâachingly hardâcock throbbing under the sheet heâs gripping like a lifeline. sweat beads on his forehead, trickles down his temple. his mouth is dry, throat tight, and for a second he canât remember how to form words that arenât filthy pleas.
youâre right there. real. not the dream version with red lipstick and a torn dress. just youâsleep-rumpled, worried, hand still resting on his shoulder like youâre afraid heâll bolt.
âdean?â you say again, softer. your thumb brushes the damp skin of his upper arm. âtalk to me. youâre shaking.â
he forces a laugh. it comes out cracked, more air than sound. âyeah. notânot a nightmare. opposite problem.â
your eyes flick down instinctively. the sheet is tented, obvious even in the dim lamp glow. realization hits you slow, then all at once. your lips part. you donât pull your hand away.
âoh,â you breathe.
dean closes his eyes for a second, shame and want twisting together so hard it hurts. âsorry. fuck. i didnâtââ
you donât move. your fingers flex against his arm, gentle but steady. when you speak, thereâs no judgmentâjust quiet truth. âyou were saying my name. a lot.â
his stomach drops. he opens his eyes, meets yours. theyâre dark, pupils blown, and thereâs something in them that makes his pulse stutter.
âyeah,â he admits, voice rough. âi was.â
silence stretches between you. the neon outside keeps pulsing. red-blue-red. the clock ticks over to 3:17.
you swallow. âwhat was i doing? in the dream.â
deanâs breath catches. he could lie. brush it off with a joke, roll over, pretend it never happened. but heâs so fucking tired of pretending.
âyou were in my bed,â he says, low. âcrawling under the sheet. straddling me. taking me in your mouth like youâd been waiting for it all night. swallowed everything. didnât stop till i was begging.â
your breath hitches. you shift closer, knee pressing into the mattress beside his hip. âand you liked it.â
âliked it?â he laughs again, hoarse. âi came so hard i almost blacked out. then you woke me up before i could finish the afterglow.â
youâre quiet for a beat. then your hand slides down his arm. stops at his wrist where heâs still gripping the sheet like itâs armor.
âlet go,â you whisper.
he does. fingers uncurl one by one. the sheet slips lower on its own, exposing himâcock flushed dark, slick at the tip, twitching under your gaze.
you look at him like heâs something precious and dangerous all at once.
âyouâre still hard,â you murmur.
âyeah.â his voice cracks. âhavenâtâhavenât come yet. not for real.â
your eyes lift to his. âwant to?â
deanâs heart slams so hard heâs sure you can hear it. âmore than anything.â
you donât answer with words. you just lean in, kiss himâsoft at first, testing. he groans into your mouth the second your lips touch his, hand flying up to cup the back of your neck, holding you there. the kiss turns hungry fastâteeth, tongue, the taste of sleep and want.
you break away only to slide down his body. settle between his legs. your hair falls forward, brushing his thighs. he hisses at the contact.
ây/nââ
âshh.â you wrap your hand around himâfirm, warm. stroke once, slow. his hips jerk up into it. âlet me.â
then your mouth is on him.
hot. wet. real.
deanâs head falls back against the pillow with a choked sound. you take him slow at firstâlips sliding down, tongue swirling around the head, tasting the precome thatâs been leaking for what feels like hours. you hum softly, the vibration ripping a whimper from his throat.
âfuckâbabyâgodââ
you take him deeper. deeper. until he hits the back of your throat and you gag just a little, eyes watering, but you donât pull off. you swallow around him instead, throat working, and deanâs whole body locks up.
âshitâshitâjust like thatââ
his hands fist the sheets. then your hair. not pulling, just holding on like youâre the only thing keeping him on earth. you bob your headâslow, then faster, hollowing your cheeks, tongue pressing flat along the underside.
heâs shaking. thighs trembling, abs clenching, breath coming in ragged pants. every sound he makes is brokenâwhimpers, moans, half-formed curses.
ây/nâpleaseâiâm so closeâbeen close for fucking foreverââ
you pull off just long enough to speak, lips brushing the tip, voice wrecked. âcome for me, dean. want it. want to taste you.â
thatâs all it takes.
he comes hardâharder than the dream, harder than anything he can remember. hips snapping up, back arching, a raw, guttural moan tearing out of him as he spills into your mouth. pulse after pulse, hot and thick. you take it all, swallowing around him, moaning softly like itâs the best thing youâve ever had.
you keep goingâgentle now, tongue lapping softly, working him through the aftershocks until heâs oversensitive, whimpering, hips jerking away and toward you at the same time.
when you finally pull off, lips shiny, you crawl back up his body. collapse against his chest. deanâs arms wrap around you immediately, crushing you to him, face buried in your hair.
heâs still shaking. breathing like heâs run a marathon.
âholy shit,â he mutters after a long minute. âthat wasââ
âreal,â you finish for him, voice soft, a little smug. you press a kiss to his collarbone. ânot a dream.â
he laughsâshaky, relieved. âyeah. definitely not a dream.â
you nuzzle closer. âyou were whimpering my name in your sleep. thought you were having a nightmare.â
ânightmare?â he snorts, hand sliding down your back. âbaby, that was the best dream iâve had in years. and the wake-up call was even better.â
you smile against his skin. âgood.â
silence settles, comfortable now. the neon keeps flickering outside. red-blue-red.
dean kisses the top of your head. ânext time you wanna play bait in a dress like that,â he murmurs, âiâm not waiting till 3 a.m. to do something about it.â
hello!! i love ur fics and im SO GLAD i found ur acc cause ur writing is just so perfect. i cant stop thinking about dean being so drunk and begging the reader to eat her out, and almost passing out while doing so, and was thinking if i could request it by any chance?? thank u đЎ
ÍĄÍÍâ â whiskey tongue
dean winchester ٠࣪â female reader ٠࣪â smut
summary. dean's favorite place is between your legs. that's where he's the happiest. good for everything. even sleeping.
wordcount. 1194
warnings. explicit sexual content, oral sex (f!receiving), intoxication/alcohol use (dean heavily drunk), consensual but sloppy/enthusiastic drunk sex, begging & whining, risk of passing out mid-act, messy/desperate.
itâs past 2 a.m.
the overhead lights are too bright, buzzing like angry bees. deanâs slumped in one of the metal chairs, legs sprawled, empty bottle dangling from loose fingers. his flannel is half-unbuttoned, sleeves shoved up, hair a wreck from running his hands through it all night. his cheeks are flushed, eyes glassy and heavy-lidded, that crooked grin permanently stuck on his face.
youâre leaning against the counter in just panties and one of his old band tees, arms crossed, trying not to laugh at how pathetically adorable he is when heâs this far gone.
âcâmere,â he slurs, voice thick and wrecked. he pats his thigh like youâre a cat heâs calling over. âcâmere, baby. please.â
âyouâre hammered, winchester.â
âyeah,â he nods too fast, almost tips the chair. âand iâm dyinâ. swear to god iâm dyinâ if i donât get my mouth on you right now.â
you raise an eyebrow. âyou can barely stand.â
âdonât need to stand.â he licks his lips, a tease even through the haze. âjust need to lie down. or sit. orâfuckâcrawl. whatever. just lemme taste you. been thinkinâ about it since the bar. your pussy on my tongue. please.â
the please is so whiny it almost makes you laugh. almost. because the way heâs looking at youâpupils blown, mouth slack, cheeks pinkâis doing dangerous things between your legs.
you step closer. he immediately reaches for your hips, big hands clumsy but eager, tugging you between his spread thighs.
âbaby,â he groans, pressing his face to your stomach through the shirt. inhales deep like heâs trying to memorize the scent. âsmell so fuckinâ good. always do. lemmeâcâmon, lemme eat you out. iâll be good. promise iâll be so good.â
âdeanââ
âplease.â he tips his head back, looks up at you with those wrecked green eyes. âiâll beg. iâll fuckinâ beg on my knees if you want. justâneed it. need you. been hard since you walked out in those little shorts earlier. hurts. hurts so bad, sweetheart.â
his hands slide under the hem of the tee, palms rough and warm on your bare skin. heâs tremblingâtiny, drunk shivers.
you sigh, half fond, half already soaked.
âfine. but if you pass out mid-lick iâm leaving you on the floor.â
his face lights up like you just handed him the holy grail.
you push him back gently so the chair scoots. he almost topples, catches himself on the table with a sloppy laugh. you hop up onto the edge of the heavy oak table, spread your legs. the surface is cold against your ass. you hook your thumbs in your panties, start to slide them down.
deanâs on his knees before they even hit the floor.
heâs wobblyâhas to brace both hands on your thighs to stay uprightâbut the second his eyes land between your legs he makes this broken, starving sound.
âjesus christ,â he breathes. âlook at you. so fuckinâ pretty. so wet already. all for me?â
âyouâre the one who begged,â you remind him, voice breathy.
âyeah. yeah i did. and iâd do it again.â he leans in, nose brushing your inner thigh. inhales againâloud, shameless. âfuck. smell like heaven. taste even better.â
he doesnât tease. doesnât have the patience or coordination for it tonight.
his tongue drags up your slit in one long, messy stripeâflat and greedy. you gasp. he groans like heâs the one being touched.
âfuckâyesââ muffled against you. âso sweet. always so sweet.â
he dives in like a man starved. tongue pushing inside you, curling, thrusting sloppy and desperate. his nose bumps your clit with every forward motion. hands grip your thighs hardâfingers digging in, spreading you wider so he can get deeper.
you thread your fingers through his hair, hold on. âdeanâslow down a littleââ
he shakes his headâno. frantic little side-to-side. âcanât. need it. need more. pleaseââ
heâs whining into your cunt now. actual high, needy whimpers vibrating against your clit every time he sucks it into his mouth. drool slips down his chin, mixes with your slick. the sounds are obsceneâwet, loud, filthy. gluck-gluck-gluck every time he buries his face deeper.
âtaste so good,â he mumbles, barely coherent. âwanna live here. justâfuckâstay here forever. tongue in your pussy. your thighs around my head. best place in the world.â
you laughâbreathless, shaky. âyouâre gonna pass out, baby.â
âdonât care,â he slurs. âworth it. so fuckinâ worth it.â
he doubles down. tongue flicking fast over your clit nowâmessy circles, then long drags, then sucking hard enough your hips jerk off the table. one hand leaves your thigh, two thick fingers sliding inside you without warning. he curls them immediately, stroking that spot that makes your vision white out.
âdeanâoh godââ
âthatâs it,â he pants against you. âcome on my face. wanna feel it. wanna taste it when you come. pleaseâplease come for me, baby. need it. need you to soak me.â
heâs shaking. whole body tremblingâpartly from the alcohol, partly from how hard heâs trying to please you. his breathing is ragged, uneven. every few seconds he has to pull back to gasp for air, lips and chin shining, eyes glassy and unfocused.
âlook so pretty when youâre close,â he mumbles. âeyes all big. mouth open. fuckâgonna come just from this. just from youââ
you clench around his fingers. the pressure coils tight, fast.
âdeanâiâmââ
âyesâyesâgive it to meââ
he latches onto your clit againâsucking hard, tongue flicking relentlessly. fingers pumping fast. the wet sounds are deafening in the quiet kitchen.
you come hardâback arching, thighs clamping around his head, a broken cry tearing from your throat. slick floods his mouth; he groans like heâs dying, swallows greedily, keeps licking through every pulse until youâre shaking, oversensitive, pushing weakly at his forehead.
he doesnât stop right away.
keeps lappingâslow, gentle now, cleaning you up like heâs savoring the last drops. soft little moans still slipping out. his movements are getting slower. clumsier. his grip on your thighs loosens.
âdean?â
no answer. just a muffled hum against your skin.
you look down.
his eyes are closed. lashes dark against flushed cheeks. breathing shallow, uneven. head heavy between your legs.
heâs literally falling asleep with his face still buried in your pussy.
you laughâquiet, fond, a little breathless.
âdean.â
nothing.
you card your fingers through his hair, gentle. âbaby, youâre gonna fall on your face.â
a sleepy mumbleâsomething that might be your name, might be âso goodââthen silence.
you carefully slide off the table. his head lolls forward; you catch him under the arms before he can slide to the floor. heâs heavyâdead weightâbut you manage to maneuver him so his cheek rests on your thigh instead.
he sighsâcontent, blissed-outâeven in his half-passed-out state.
you stroke his hair, smiling despite yourself.
âyouâre a mess, winchester.â
no response. just soft, even breathing against your skin.
you lean down, press a kiss to the top of his head.
âsleep it off, drunk boy. weâll talk about your begging skills in the morning.â
the kitchen light keeps buzzing overhead.
the bourbon bottle rolls lazily across the floor.
and deanâface still shiny with youâsleeps like the happiest, most pathetic, most perfect man alive.
Heyyy I dont know if you are doing requests but I got referred to here by one of my fav writers, wendichester. So, Could you write a Dean X Reader, who loves sucking on cherry lollipops. And one day she gets an idea. She straddles him and swipes the lollipop on his lips, making them red and glossy. And asks him to kiss her so she can eat it off his lips. Thank you in advance ;)
summary. you love to tease dean any chance you get. and lollipops just became his favorite sweet.
wordcount. 956
warnings. suggestive/teasing content including light grinding, heavy making out, food play (lollipop), explicit language.
the impala is parked behind some nowhere gas station just off i-70, engine ticking cool in the late-afternoon heat. samâs inside paying and probably grabbing another energy drink he doesnât need. you and dean have maybe seven minutes alone.
youâre in the backseatâlegs tucked under you, cherry lollipop between your lips, red tongue flicking against the candy every few seconds. deanâs twisted around in the driverâs seat, one arm slung over the backrest, green eyes locked on your mouth like itâs personally offending him.
âyou gonna keep suckinâ on that thing or are you tryinâ to kill me?â he mutters, voice already rough.
you pull the lollipop out with a slow, wet pop. âjealous of candy now, winchester?â
âjealous of anything that gets to be in your mouth that isnât me.â
you laughâsoft, lowâand crawl forward over the seat. dean doesnât move, just watches, throat working when you swing one leg over his lap and settle straddling him. the bench seat creaks under the shift. your knees bracket his hips. the lollipop hovers between you, glossy and bright.
âhold still,â you whisper.
he doesnât.
his hands immediately find your thighs, squeezing once, hard, like heâs anchoring himself.
you drag the sticky cherry tip across his bottom lip. red smears in a glossy line. deanâs breath catches. you trace the curve of his upper lip next, painting him careful and obscene. his mouth parts on instinct; you swipe the candy over the seam, letting him taste the sweetness.
âfuck,â he breathes. âwhatâre you doinâ to me?â
âmakinâ you pretty.â you lean in, nose brushing his. ânow kiss me so i can eat it off you.â
dean groansâlow, wreckedâand surges up to meet you.
his mouth crashes into yours, hungry. lips slick with cherry and spit. you open for him immediately; he licks inside like heâs starving, chasing the artificial sweetness youâve painted on him. tongues slide messy, wetâcherry flavor mixing with the faint salt of his skin and the coffee he drank earlier.
you rock down against him onceâslow grindâand he jerks, hips lifting to meet you. the hard line of him presses right where you want it. you do it again, dragging your clothed heat over the bulge in his jeans.
âshitâbabyââ he gasps into your mouth. âyouâre killinâ me.â
âgood.â you nip his bottom lip, suck the last of the cherry glaze off it.
his hands slide up your thighs, under the hem of your skirt, gripping your ass hard enough to bruise. he pulls you down tighter against him, rocking you both nowâslow, filthy rhythm that has the car rocking faintly on its springs.
âkeep movinâ like that and iâm gonna come in my jeans like a goddamn teenager,â he pants against your throat. teeth graze your pulse point. âwant that? want me to lose it just from you grindinâ on me?â
you moanâquiet, needyâfingers tangling in his hair, tugging his head back so you can lick another stripe across his swollen lips. theyâre redder now, glossy with spit and melted sugar.
âmaybe,â you tease. âor maybe i just like watching you fall apart.â
he dives back in, kissing you deeper, dirtier. one hand leaves your ass to cup the back of your neck, holding you exactly where he wants you so he can devour your mouth. the other stays clamped on your hip, guiding your movementsâfaster now, harder. the friction is perfect; heat coils tight low in your belly.
you break the kiss just long enough to whisper against his lips. âstill taste me?â
âeverywhere,â he growls. âgonna taste cherry on my tongue for days.â
you grind down particularly hardâright over the head of himâand he chokes on a moan, head falling back against the seat.
âjesusâdo that againââ
you do. again. and again. slow, punishing rolls that have him swearing under his breath, hips stuttering up to chase the pressure.
his hands grab yours suddenlyârough, desperateâfingers lacing tight. he brings them to his mouth, kisses your knuckles once, then pins them to the seat behind his head so youâre arched over him, chest brushing his.
âdonât stop,â he pleadsâactual pleading in his voice. âdonât you fuckinâ stop.â
you donât.
you rock faster, harder, mouths crashing together between gasps. cherry flavor fading now, replaced by salt and heat and him. his tongue licks into your mouth like heâs trying to crawl inside you. you swallow every broken sound he makesâwhimpers, curses, your name over and over like a prayer.
the car windows are starting to fog.
somewhere outside, a bell jinglesâgas station door.
samâs coming back.
dean doesnât care. neither do you.
you grind down one last timeâslow, deliberateâand he shudders hard beneath you, hips jerking, a strangled groan muffled against your neck.
âfuckâbabyâiâmââ
you kiss him quiet. swallow the rest of his curse. let him ride it out against you, shaking, panting, hands squeezing yours so tight your fingers ache.
when he finally stills, forehead pressed to yours, breathing ragged, he laughsâsoft, wrecked.
âyouâre dangerous,â he mutters.
you smile, kiss the corner of his sticky mouth one last time.
âyou started it.â
the back door opens.
sam freezes halfway in, shop bag in one hand, eyes wide.
dean doesnât even flinch. just grinsâlazy, satisfiedâlips still red and glossy.
âtook you long enough, sammy.â
you laugh against deanâs throat.
sam mutters something about âgrossâ and slams the door shut again, climbing into the front seat without looking back.
dean squeezes your hands once more after you return to the backseatâgentle this timeâbefore letting go.
ânext gas station,â he murmurs, just for you, âiâm buyinâ a whole bag of those lollipops.â
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Ubbe is knee-deep in the river when he notices you standing on the bank, your figure still against the slow movement of the morning. You seemed lost in thoughtâfar from him, far from your daughters. Absent.
The sun glints off the water, catching in his daughtersâ hair as they crowd around himâthree of them, all elbows and laughter and stubborn determination, each insisting her line will be the one to catch a fish.
âEasy,â Ubbe chuckles, steadying the youngest as she nearly topples into the river. âPatience. The fish do not like shouting.â
They protest loudly, of course, and Ubbe laughs again, deep and unguarded. It is in the middle of that laughter that his eyes find you again.
You havenât moved.
Your hands are clasped at your waist, fingers twisting together as if you are bracing yourself against something unseen. Your smile is thereâbut thin, strained, not reaching your eyes. Ubbeâs laughter fades at once.
âGirls,â he says gently, guiding the lines back into their hands. âWatch the water. Iâll be right back.â
He wades toward the shore, water darkening his trousers, his attention fixed on you. When he reaches you, he searches your face, concern already etched into the lines he wears so rarely at home.
âWhat is it?â he asks softly. âWhatâs wrong, my love?â
You hesitate, your gaze slipping past him to where your daughters are now crouched together, whispering fiercely as if the river itself might overhear them. Your voice, when it comes, is quiet and unsteady.
âI worry,â you admit. âThat you wish for a son.â
The words hang between you, heavy with everything youâve never said. You tell him how you see other men boast of heirs and bloodlines. How you fear that, despite his kindness, despite his love, there may be some small disappointment he does not speak aloud. That you have given him daughtersâthree beautiful, wild girlsâbut not the son you think a man like him is meant to want.
Ubbe stares at you for a long moment.
Then he laughsânot loud, not mocking, but soft and incredulous, like the idea itself has surprised him.
âA son?â he repeats, shaking his head. He steps closer, close enough that you can feel the warmth of him, the familiar scent of river water and woodsmoke. He lifts your hands from where youâve clenched them and holds them between his palms. âIs that what has been weighing on you?â
He tips your chin up so you have no choice but to look at him. His eyes are gentle, steady.
âLook at them,â he says, nodding toward the riverbank.
Your daughters are now splashing deliberately, shrieking with laughter as the eldest pretends to command the others like a shieldmaiden leading a charge. Ubbeâs mouth curves with unmistakable pride.
âThey are brave,â he says. âThey are stubborn. They are clever, and they have your fire in them.â His thumb brushes over your knuckles, grounding. âThey will break hearts and bones if they choose to.â
Your throat tightens.
âI never once wished my life to be different,â he continues, voice firm now, certain. âNot when the first was born. Not when the second followed. And certainly not when the third arrived screaming like she meant to challenge the world.â
He leans his forehead against yours, the weight of him comforting, familiar. âThe gods gave me everything I need. A home. A wife I love. Daughters who will grow strong and fearless. What more could I ask for?â
You let out a shaky breath, the worry easing from your chest at last.
Ubbe pulls back just enough to smile at youâwarm, crooked, full of quiet devotion. âAnd besides,â he adds lightly, âhave you met our daughters? Any man who thinks sons are stronger has never faced them.â
As if summoned by his words, one of the girls whoops triumphantly, holding up a wriggling fish far too big for her hands. Ubbe laughs and turns back toward the river.
âCome,â he says, squeezing your hand. âTheyâll want to show you what theyâve caught.â
This time, when you follow him, your smile is realâand your heart feels whole.