#jensen ackled

Mark groaned and sucked in a hiss through his teeth as the familiar aching, white hot pain shot through his head.

His left hand came up to massage at his forehead, the movement doing nothing to sooth the pain he was feeling. The bed sheets rustled as you stirred awake from your boyfriend’s groans which you recognised all too easy now. “How bad is it?” You murmured groggily as you stretched out your sore muscles beside him, one of your legs settling on top of his, hooking around them as you hugged his torso.

“Very.” Mark grumbled, voice tinged with bitter frustration towards the constant unbearable headaches he couldn’t make go away. You frowned lightly at his response, peppering soft kisses onto his bare chest in an attempt that you knew was useless to sooth your partner.

“‘M sorry, honey. I wish I could help more.” Mark shook his head and dismissed your apology as soon as he heard it. He hated when you felt helpless and useless when it came to his condition, because you both knew you’d do anything to make it go away.

You gave one last kiss, this time on his lips, before getting up and heading towards the bathroom to grab his medication. By the time you returned back to the bedroom, Mark was sitting up and half way out of bed. “No, no. You don’t have to leave for work for two hours.” You said firmly as you handed him the pill bottle and then pushed him to lie back down. “You’re gonna stay in bed with me for at least another ten minutes.” He couldn’t help but let out a chuckle at how motherly you sounded.

He opened the pill bottle and swallowed them down swiftly as you got back into bed beside him. Mark grunted as he felt you practically climb onto him, breath hitching as your inner thigh brushed against his crotch. You noticed how he tensed up underneath you, raising an eyebrow in his direction when you saw how he was already half hard in his boxers from that simple brush. “Really, Mark?”

“Not my fuckin’ fault you’re perfect.” He grumbled as he rubbed a hand over his face, and you could’ve swore his face was flushed. You chewed the inside of your cheek in an attempt to stop the smirk growing on your lips as a thought suddenly filled your mind. You moved so that you were now straddling him, purposefully grinding lightly against his hardening cock.

Your movements were slow enough that if he wanted you to stop he could simply just pull you off of his lap and to his side, but the soft groan he let out and the way his hips twitched up towards you told you that he didn’t want to stop. His hands flew to your hips, holding them tightly as you guided you to grind down onto him again.

The only thing separating the two of you was Mark’s boxers and your underwear, and you could feel how he grew even harder through the thin fabric. Heat followed your fingers as you trailed them up his chest to his neck, your head dipping down to give a heated kiss that sent overwhelming desire racing through his head.

Marks rough fingers hastily pulled the cotton panties down the delicate skin of your legs, dragging them off and tossing them god knows where without breaking the messy kiss. Using one of your free hands, you tugged Marks head back by his hair, trailing sloppy kisses all the way down his jaw and to his neck where you nipped at the sensitive skin, revelling in the grunts it drew from him.

When Mark brought two fingers to your dripping slit, you pulled back and wrapped your hand around his much larger wrist, pulling it away despite your whole body screaming for more. “I’m gonna take care of you, okay? You just sit back and watch.” You spoke with authority in your voice that you never used in intimate situations because you’d always been happy to sit back and take it while Mark does all the work.

You let go of his hand, letting it fall back onto the mattress before replacing where his fingers had previously been with your own. They weren’t as thick and skilled as his were, but you were determined to do it yourself.

Mark watched with pure awe in his lustful eyes as you pressed two fingers into your aching pussy, mouth opening slightly at the feeling of preparing yourself for him. He twitched underneath you at the filthy sight in front of him, needing to be inside of you now. “Baby, fuck- You’re so hot.” He growled, his voice thick with arousal. “Need to feel you around me.”

After pumping your fingers in and out of yourself a few more times, you pulled them out and pressed them against Mark’s lower lip, pushing them into his mouth as he began to suck the sweet taste of you off of your fingers.

You lifted your hips to help him take his boxers off, pulling your fingers out of his mouth to steady yourself against his chest while stroking his hard length with the other hand. You smeared the precum that was leaking from his tip with your thumb, feeling how he throbbed from being sensitive.

Mark held your hips bruisingly tight as you dragged his swollen head through your soaking folds, collecting slick to help him sink into you easier. “Rub your clit for me, sweetheart.” He demanded roughly, trying to keep down the whimpers and grunts from the feeling of your soft hand on his thick cock.

You nodded and brought a shaking hand to your clit that was throbbing desperately, a whimper escaping from your mouth as you rubbed tight, steady circles as you lowered yourself onto him. Mark dug his nails into your plush hips as he threw his head back onto the pillow, feeling you squeeze him and take him slowly.

When he bottomed out inside of you, you tried to catch your breath as you felt the of stretch inside of you. He trailed a hand from your hip up to your face, cradling your cheek and rubbed a thumb over it as if to reassure you. “You take me so well, pretty girl. You’re always so tight.” He praised you gruffly, it was obvious it was taking everything in him not to take control and fuck you stupid right now.

After you had adjusted to how big he was, you braced yourself with your hands on his shoulders and lifted your hips up, leaving barely just the tip in, before lowering yourself back down. You both moaned as you felt how your walls dragged against him, clenching tightly around him.

Mark reached a hand under your shirt as you set a steady pace, feeling and groping at your breasts as they bounced from the way you rode him. You let out a gasp when he rolled of your nipples in between his thumb and forefinger, your hips stuttering their movements momentarily.

Your thighs burned as you felt the coil in your stomach grow tight, a band of pleasure threatening to snap at any second. Mark felt it in the way you clenched around him and how your pace became sloppily and irregular. “Come on my cock, baby. Wanna see your face when you do.” He cooed, earning a desperate whimper from you.

You rutted down onto him, your clit rubbing against his pelvis making you whine and tense up as your orgasm tore through you. Mark pulled you down for a kiss, swallowing your moans as he moved your hips for you, helping you through your orgasm.

Your cunt squeezed around his throbbing length as you pulled him in deeper as you came, bringing Mark closer to his finish in turn. After you came down from your high, you broke away from the inconsistent kiss and continued to ride him weakly, feeling the need to make him come.

Mark felt how you struggled through the overstimulation, and he couldn’t take it anymore. He gripped your waist with his calloused hands, thrusting up into you roughly and chasing his own orgasm.

It wasn’t long until he let out a guttural groan anf you felt his warm load fill up inside of you, dripping down your thighs and his tip when he pulled out. “So fucking beautiful.” He mumbled as he collected his cum with his fingers and pressing it back inside of you.

You collapsed against his sweaty chest, your hair sticking to your flushed face. “Feeling better now?” You asked breathlessly, a hint of teasing im your shaky voice. “Way more than better.” Mark smirked as he ran a hand through your hair.

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a/n: new countdown episode means new mark meachum fic! you’re all so hungry for meachum smut, and i don’t blame you guys. love you all! please send in some requests, xoxo

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"Oh, I didn’t. Someone won it for me." You had not stopped smiling since.

Ben—no, Soldier Boy, though he had asked you to call him Ben, had disappeared back into the thick of the fair after your brief, unexpected moment together. You had kept playing that in your mind.

The ring toss.

His arm around you.

That deep, rough, intoxicating voice calling you Princess.

You tried not to think too hard about the part where he patted your head like some kind of shy kitten. But also? You kind of loved it. And now, as you wandered closer to the Funhouse like he'd ask, dragging your bear and still tasting powdered sugar from a funnel cake you’d caved in and bought your heart palpitating with each step forward.

You never usually did things like this.

Waiting for a superhero.

Especially not him. Soldier Boy was legendary in... complicated ways. But for some reason, you were not nervous.  You felt safe, in the weirdest, warmest way. When you rounded the corner, you saw him. He was leaning against a food cart, arms crossed over his chest, looking incredibly out of place among the pastel-colored balloons and carnival lights. His whole vibe screamed 1940s war drama, but there he was, squinting at a blue raspberry slush like it had personally offended him. You smiled. Couldn't help it. 

His shoulders dropped, and his brows relaxed.

"Was starting to think you ditched me," he said, half-smirking.

"I got distracted," you said sheepishly, holding up the bear. "He's a little hard to travel with."

Ben nodded solemnly. "Yeah, he looks like trouble."

You laughed. He blinked, then looked away quickly—almost as if he was shy. "Hungry?" He asked, gesturing to the cart beside him. "They got corndogs, and that fried Oreo thing. Not bad."

You hesitated, then gave a small nod. "A little...but not for the corndogs or the fried Oreo..."

He smiled. "Then what do you want-"

"Funnel cake." You said abruptly.

Before you could even reach for your wallet, he had already tossed a twenty on the counter. You opened your mouth to protest, but he gave you a look that shut it right down.

"I said I wanted to win you more stuff," he grunted. "Didn't say it had to be from a booth."

The vendor handed him two funnel cakes and a soda."

Ben handed them to you like he was passing along sacred treasure.

“I… thank you,” you said quietly. You were sure your face was red.

He scratched the back of his neck, looking around like he was suddenly overwhelmed by the color and noise. Then, softly, “I don’t usually do this. Talk to people.”

You blinked. “You’re… literally a public figure.”

“Yeah, and I hate it,” he muttered.

“This.” he gestured to the two of you standing awkwardly near the food cart, surrounded by laughter and neon lights, “This is different.”

Your stomach did a funny little flip. You looked down at the corndog in your hands and smiled. “I think it’s nice.”

He looked at you for a long moment. Then, like he didn’t know what to do with his hands, he shoved them into his pockets and jerked his head toward the Funhouse.

“You wanna walk?” You nodded.

The two of you wandered past spinning rides and slow-moving games. You talked a little. He asked about where you were from, and you told him. He asked if you came to the fair often, and you laughed because, really, who says that? He grumbled about the noise. You apologized like it was your fault.

“Don’t do that,” he said suddenly, stopping mid-step.

You blinked. “Do what?”

“Apologize. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Oh. Right. Sorry—I mean, I—” He gave you a look.

You smiled sheepishly and nodded. “Got it.”

“Good girl.” Your knees nearly gave out.

At the edge of the fairgrounds, you reached the Ferris wheel. The line was short now, most of the families having cleared out. Ben eyed it skeptically.

“I don’t trust things that spin.”

“Come on,” you said softly. “It’s slow. You can see the whole fair from the top.”

He hesitated, glancing at the creaky metal frame like it was going to launch him into orbit. You bumped your shoulder gently into his arm.

“Scared?” you teased.

His head snapped toward you. “I’m a war hero, sweetheart. I don’t get scared.”

“Then ride the Ferris wheel with me.”

He stared at you a moment longer. Then sighed, dramatically.

“Fine. But if we die, I’m blaming you.”

The Ferris wheel groaned as it started to move. The two of you sat side by side in the little metal carriage, the teddy bear wedged awkwardly between your knees. The higher you rose, the more the noise of the fair began to fall away. You weren’t afraid of heights, but the moment felt fragile somehow, like if you spoke too loudly, it might disappear.

Ben shifted beside you, the bench creaking under his weight.

“You’re different,” he said suddenly.

You looked at him, surprised.

“Most people… look at me like I’m a freak. Or like I owe ‘em something.”

“I don’t think you’re a freak,” you said quietly.

He studied you, green eyes a little too honest in the dim lights.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s the problem.”

You didn’t know what to say to that. But your hand, without thinking, reached across the space between you and gently touched his. He froze. Then slowly—so slowly—you felt his fingers wrap around yours. When the Ferris wheel reached the very top, you looked out.

Stars. Lights. The glowing cotton candy sky of the fair beneath your feet.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” Ben said beside you. “It is.”

You turned to look at him and found that he wasn’t looking at the lights. He was looking at you. The wind was gentle this high up. It tugged at your hair, carrying with it the smell of sugar, fried food, and salt air. Below, the lights of the fair twinkled like stars strewn across earth instead of sky. And still, he was looking at you.

Ben wasn’t grinning. He wasn’t smirking. He wasn’t flexing for attention or cracking a joke. His green eyes were steady, focused. You looked away first.

“People must tell you you’re charming all the time,” you said softly, trying to break the weight of it. “Even if you pretend, you’re not.”

Ben’s brows lifted slightly. “They mostly tell me I’m a jackass.”

You smiled. “That too.”

He gave a breath of a laugh—quiet and genuine. And then he said it, voice low enough it might have gotten carried off by the wind if you hadn’t been listening so closely:

“You make me feel like I ain’t some… relic.”

You turned toward him slowly. He was still watching you, but now, his gaze had dropped to your hand, where his fingers still lightly curled around yours.

“I don’t know what I’m doin’ here,” he said, voice rougher now, more vulnerable. “I don’t date. I don’t… try with people. But you—”

“I didn’t ask you to try,” you said, gently.

“No,” he agreed. “You didn’t have to.”

Your heart thudded hard against your ribs. The Ferris wheel gave a quiet groan as it reached the very top and paused, the ride halting for a moment like it knew what was happening. Ben leaned a little closer. Not sudden. Not demanding. Just… close. His shoulder brushing yours, his eyes searching your face like he was still trying to figure out if this was real or something cooked up in a coma-dream from the ‘80s.

And then, as soft as a whisper: “Can I kiss you?”

You nodded.

He leaned in.

And the kiss—wasn't what you expected. Not from Soldier Boy. It wasn’t messy or rough or rushed. It was gentle. Warm. Careful. Like you were something he wasn’t used to having but suddenly wasn’t ready to let go of. You kissed him back. And when he pulled away just a few inches, still close enough for you to feel his breath, his voice was quiet:

“You got a little powdered sugar on your lip.”

You smiled. “You could’ve just said you wanted a second kiss.”

Ben smirked. “I always want a second kiss.”

You wandered back toward the edge of the fair sometime later, the teddy bear trailing behind you in Ben’s arms now. He carried it like it was a shield, one arm slung around its belly and the other casually brushing against yours whenever your hands got too close.

“I still say it should be named after me,” he said.

You raised a brow. “We agreed on Benny. It’s a compromise.”

He grunted. “I gave you Homelander the dragon. You owe me naming rights.”

You reached into the little paper tray of leftover funnel cake and plucked one, holding it up like a peace offering.

“Call it even?”

Ben stared at the cake again, like it had personally wronged him, then leaned down and bit it out of your hand.

You squeaked, laughing. “You’re such a menace.”

“And you like it,” he said, crumbs on his mouth.

You did.

Maybe too much.

When you reached the parking lot at the far edge of the fairgrounds, the lights behind you shimmered in the night like the whole place was fading into a dream. Ben shifted the bear into one arm and turned to face you. “Where’s your car?”

You pointed a little ways down.

He nodded. “I’ll walk you.”

You didn’t argue.

At your car, it got quiet again. Not awkward. Just… soft.

Ben shifted on his feet, suddenly unsure of himself in a way you wouldn’t have believed earlier.

You reached for the bear—but he didn’t let go right away.

“What?” you asked, tilting your head.

He shrugged. “I just… I dunno.”

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered. “Tonight was already more than I expected.”

“I don’t want it to be the last one,” he said, blunt and honest.

You blinked up at him. “It doesn’t have to be.”

Ben gave a slow nod. Then reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pen, and—oh, God—scribbled his number on your wrist.

You laughed. “Very romantic.”

“It’s the only thing I remember how to do from the ‘80s. That and roller disco.”

You looked down at the number. He hadn’t even written “Soldier Boy.” He wrote Ben.

He watched your face, then leaned in and pressed one last kiss—shorter this time—to your forehead.

“Call me when you get home.”

“I will.”

He gave the bear one last pat on the head, handed it over to you gently, and stepped back.

“Night, Princess.”

“Night, Ben.”

You heard the boots shuffle and the door slam before you saw him. Sam and Dean had come back from a hunt.

You were sat with your legs crossed and a book in hand— one you liked to read for pleasure instead of research, which Dean found impossible — when Sam trudged into the room, looking defeated. “How’d it go? You hurt?” You asked softly as you put your book down and made your way towards him.

A concerned frown formed on your face as you saw the tears that shone in his eyes against the warm light coming from the corner and his lack of response. “Sammy, what happened?” You pried gently, holding hid hands in yours, waiting patiently for him to open up. Sometimes it was a pain trying to get Sam to talk about his feelings or what happened during a hunt, usually having to find out through Dean or Castiel, but this time was different. He never cried after one, not that you saw.

He broke down as quickly as he had come into the room. His hands moved from yours to your back, pulling you to his chest and hugging you tightly. “I- I’m sorry. I couldn’t save him. I- I let the little boy die.” He choked out through the broken sobs. Your heart ached at the pure sadness and guilt in his voice and with how hard he was clinging to you. You pulled away from his tight embrace so you could lead him to sit down, which he did immediately. “You didn’t let him die, honey.” You whispered as you began to kiss away his tears. “Tell me what happened.”

“I was supposed to keep the family safe while Dean went to burn the bones.” Sam spoke, voice wavering every other word. “I dropped my gun. I mean, when have I ever done that before? It’s my fault. I couldn’t shoot it before it killed the kid.” You watched quietly as he spoke, squeezing his hand lightly as a form of comfort. You knew that once Sam started talking, it was best to let him keep going uninterrupted before he closed himself off again.

“The parents watched as their son died because of me-“ He said before he started to sob again. He buried his head into your shoulder and you hugged him tight, letting him know you were there for him always. “It’s not your fault, Sammy. It never is.” You mumbled against his hair. “You saved two other lives today, that has to count for something. Two is better than none.”

“But it’s worse than three.” He sniffled, his voice mumbled from your shoulder. You paused at his words, and sighed quietly. “You’re so hard on yourself, sweetheart. I know it’s horrible to see someone die because you felt you could’ve stopped it, but you’ve saved more lives than you haven’t. Hell, Sammy, you’ve saved mine more times than I can count.” You spoke steadily, trying to get through to him that it was okay to make mistakes, even with a job like this.

After a few more minutes, Sam had stopped crying. He looked at you and gave a lopsided smile. “Thank you for- for always being there for me and keeping me grounded.” You just smiled softly at him in return for his thanks. “Go take a shower and then we’ll go to bed. You stink.” You teased lightly, poking his cheek.

You were already lying in bed when Sam sat down beside you, holding you close as he pulled the covers over you both. His hair was still damp as he buried his face into your shoulder. “I love you, baby.” He mumbled quietly, already feeling the sleep begin to wash over him. “I love you too, Sammy.” You yawned as you cuddled into his chest.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

a/n: do guys prefer when i post more shorter fics or do you want less, longer fics? let me know what you think of this one because i’ve noticed i get a lot more interactions on my dean stuff rather than my sam and cas stuff. do you want more sam stuff or more dean? lmk in my inbox !!

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You didn’t wear red.

Not because you didn’t like it—hell, you loved it. It was bold, confident, striking. But it reminded you too much of her. Crimson Countess. With that hourglass silhouette, those legs for miles, that cleavage like a goddamn billboard. She was the kind of woman comic books were built around, a living pin-up.

You? You couldn’t even look in the mirror without that tightness in your chest. The softness of your arms, the slight roll of your belly when you sat down, the way jeans always cut into your waist even if they fit in the legs—it all just felt wrong. Like you were the before photo in an ad that had never aired.

And yet… somehow, Soldier Boy looked at you.

Sometimes.

And God, did that make it worse.

It started with glances.

Quick, casual, meaningless. You’d tell yourself that. Had to. Because the second you believed they meant anything more, your mind would immediately summon her. What he used to have. What he wanted back.

What you could never be.

He’d crash on your couch when he wasn’t laying low in some safe house, mumble about how the others were all assholes, flick his Zippo and pretend not to notice the way your voice dipped when you answered his questions. You tried to hide it—your affection. Your awe. Your hunger.

It was embarrassing. You knew better. He was Soldier Boy.

And you? You were just… the chubby girl who blended into the crowd. Not curvy in the glamorized way. Just soft. Plain. The one who made herself small in pictures and avoided full-body mirrors.

But tonight, something shifted.

He was drunk. Or high. Or both. Slouched on your couch, boots kicked off, green eyes fixed on the TV but unfocused. His flannel hung open over a stained white tee, his dog tags glinting dully against his chest. You padded into the living room barefoot, arms crossed over your oversized shirt.

“You ever heard of pants?” he drawled, voice rough like sandpaper dipped in honey.

You flinched. Then looked down. Just a long tee and bare thighs. Chubby ones.

“I’m at home,” you muttered, tugging the hem down. “Didn’t know I needed to dress up for company.”

He turned his head toward you. Really looked at you.

And it was a problem.

His gaze lingered on your legs, then back up to your face—lazy, appraising. But not cruel. Not mocking. It made you burn.

“I like it,” he said. Simple. Grunted it out like a truth too obvious to need repeating.

You blinked.

“Don’t mess with me,” you whispered, almost too soft to hear.

His brow furrowed. “I’m not.”

You stared at him.

“You don’t have to pretend,” you said, heart thudding. “I’m not Crimson Countess. I know what I look like.”

His expression darkened. He sat forward, arms on his knees, cigarette ash dusting the carpet.

“Don’t say that name around me.”

You flinched again, but this time from his tone. Like it hurt him. Like it stabbed.

“She was... the perfect kind of beautiful,” you mumbled anyway. “Not like me. You know that.”

There was a silence that felt like walking a tightrope in a storm. Then:

“The hell I do.”

You looked at him, startled.

Soldier Boy stood, slow and deliberate, towering over you now. That flannel, that stubble, that barely restrained violence. You took a step back instinctively.

“I knew a woman who wore red like it was war paint,” he said, eyes cold. “Who kissed like a lie and smiled like a blade. Who turned on me the second I wasn’t useful anymore.”

His voice dropped, rough with memory.

“She was never soft with me. Not once.”

You swallowed. Your hands trembled.

“I’m not useful,” you murmured, meaning I’m not pretty. “I’m not—why would someone like you even look at someone like me?”

He stared at you for a long, weighted moment.

Then he closed the space.

“Because you’re real,” he said, biting off each word. “Because you don’t flinch when I lose it. Because you make eggs without acting like I’m a fucking monster. Because your laugh sounds like something I didn’t think existed anymore.”

His voice cracked. Just a little.

“And yeah, because you’re pretty. You’re fucking gorgeous. And if you ever say otherwise again, I swear to God—”

Your breath hitched.

“Say it again,” you whispered.

He blinked. “What?”

“That I’m pretty.”

It came out small. Desperate.

His face softened. Just barely. The tension bled from his shoulders, and he touched your cheek like he didn’t trust his hand not to ruin you.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, like it hurt to admit. Like he didn’t know how to say it right. “Not in some picture-perfect, pin-up bullshit way. In a way that makes me feel like maybe I’m not dead inside.”

You made a small, broken sound.

His thumb traced your cheekbone. Rough fingertip, tender pressure.

“I don’t know what the hell this is,” he muttered. “But when I’m with you, I don’t wanna blow shit up. I just… wanna stay. Eat breakfast. Watch dumb TV.”

You couldn’t help the tears that welled. You hated that. But his hand cupped the back of your neck and pulled you in.

“I see you,” he said, voice low. “Every inch. Every curve. Every soft part you hate. I see it. And I want it all.”

You melted.

And when he kissed you—gruff and clumsy and starved—it didn’t feel like a fantasy. It felt real. Heavy with scars, trembling with need.

You weren’t Crimson Countess.

You were something he had chosen.

ceilings, plaster

Your boyfriend, a man by the name of Thomas Devin Monroe, continued to hammer nails into the roof of your house as Dean, your best and closest friend helped him. You knew Dean Winchester to be a fairly hard working man, who definitely knew how to get the job done. So when your boyfriend Thomas needed help, you were so quick to call up Dean who knew a thing or two about construction and fixing things.

The only problem was--was that you could tell that Dean hated your boyfriend. Reasons that were unbeknownst to you entirely.

"Ah, fuck you man!" You heard Thomas holler as you raced outside to see what was the matter.

When you looked up you saw your boyfriend holding his thumb as Dean held the hammer and looked smug as ever.

"Hey...I told you not to put your hand there when I have the hammer and nails." Dean replied. Thomas grumbled a "fuck you" before climbing down the latter.

You calmly walked up to Thomas.

"Let me take a look at it-"

"No. You can tell your fucking asshole of a friend to leave. I already told you I didn't need help with the roof." He hissed brushing past you and into the house.

can't you just make it move faster

You looked up at Dean with your hands on your hips.

"Did you really have to go and do that?" You called up to him. Dean turned his head and craned his neck to look down at you.

"I warned him Y/N." He said. "I really did."

You shook your head with a smile, before you could hear your boyfriend calling you from inside the house.

"I think its best if you go Dean, we can pick this up more tomorrow." Dean sighed and nodded, packing up his toolbox and sliding down the ladder with finesse. He towered over you, with his usual look. His freckles were noticeably more prominent today, and besides smelling like his usual scent of blood, and smoked wood, he smelled much like whiskey and sandalwood. A scent that you favored a lot.

lovely to be sitting here with you

You were mid thought when Dean hugged you goodbye. It was initially quite amusing to see the large man having to bend down to catch you in a tight embrace.

"See you tomorrow Dean." You murmured.

"Mhm." He replied. "You too."

You're kinda cute but it's raining, harder.

A few weeks went by as Dean was on a hunt with his brother and hadn't been around lately, much like your boyfriend who was mostly not around now.

My shoes are now full of water

Thomas wasn't answering his phone when he was supposed to be picking you up from work. So instinctively you asked Dean for a ride. You were soaked head to toe while you shivered typing in Dean's number. The phone rang a couple times before he answered.

"Hey!" You beamed, your teeth chattering.

"Are you outside?" He asks outright. You answered with how you were just waiting on Thomas to come pick you up from work, and that it was just cold.

"Oh...do you need anything?" You were about to answer Dean when Thomas called.

"One second, Thomas is calling." So as you hung up the phone to answer.

"Hell-" You never got to finish your sentence when Thomas spoke.

"I think we should break up..." You froze, not really understanding at first.

"It's not working out, Y/N. I just can't be with someone like you..." He continued. "You should probably find someone else to come pick you up from work, because I am a little busy at the moment." Thomas said that last part as a half-moan and chuckle. Which was how you also came to the realization that he was currently cheating on you with someone else.

The rain poured on while you chose to hang up the phone on Thomas. Overwhelmed you sat down on the sidewalk, getting drenched to the bone. You cried hard into the wet sleeves of your coat. wiping rain water from your eyes, calling Dean back, the phone rang before going to voicemail.

You tried Sam's phone, answering on the first ring.

"What's up Y/N?" He asked, a little concerned by the tone of your voice.

"Is Dean there with you?" Sam hummed.

"No, actually, he said he was going somewhere, are you sure you're okay?" You lied and told Sam that you were okay before ending the call.

You sighed tossing your phone into your pocket and hiding your face into your hands while the rain continued to drench you. You needed a moment to take all of this in. The state of your relationship was in shambles, the weight of how overwhelmed you were hung heavy on your heart.

Before long, you heard the revving of an engine and the sound of the door shutting.

Lovely to be rained on with you

"Y/N..." You glanced up at the sound of your name. Dean's worried face came into view while you buried your face into his chest. Everything came onto you all at once.

But it's

So short and you're driving me home

Dean had gotten you comfortable in his car, driving you home. Your head leaned against the window looking out, as beads of rain water dripped from both the window outside and from you onto his seat and floor mats.

"I'm sorry, Dean... I'm ruining your seat." You cried.

He reached out to grip your thigh with his hand.

"I don't mind." He said softly. "I'm happy that you're safe." He added.

And I don't want to leave

But I have to go

You slip silently out of his car as he comes around to help you out. His warmth that emitted from him made you shiver again, looking up at him.

You kiss me in your car

His eyes eyed your lips before looking up into your eyes. You looked away before he leaned down, capturing your lips in his. You close your eyes, arms reaching to wrap around his neck as he pulled you up into his arms. You pull away...

"Dean..."

"Y/N..." He answered. "Was it too much?"

You shook your head and pulled him back in for more.

Bedsheets, no clothes

Touch me like nobody else does

Feeling Dean Winchester in between your legs was something you never even imagined, yet here he was, your best friend, making you unravel and cum onto his relentless, empowering thrusts. He had one hand on your headboard, gripping it like a vice, the other hand caging you in as he fucked you. Your nails dug into his scarred back while he hissed.

He then moved to kiss you once more, then to kissing your forehead. His hands intertwined with yours as you felt his cock twitch inside you. Dean looked spent as he tiredly thrusted more and more into you, moaning "I love you's" to you. Something you hadn't heard much lately.

"Dean..." You cried out again, reaching your climax. "Dean!" As you came, crashing down, feeling your arousal dripping lewdly. Dean was next to reach his own. You felt him give another thrust before releasing into you. Holding you tightly against him, he stared into your eyes as he did so, giving another soft kiss, another one after that, then another "I love you."

You felt hot tears come flooding before the two of you laughed as he hugged you tightly to him.

Lovely to just lay here with you...

"I've waited so long for you, Y/N...." You heard his mutter, his fingertips brushing your bare hip. Turning to nuzzle his neck with your nose, you pressed a kiss to his throat.