#priest!dean

“Thank god,” he mumbled, making his way over to you. His heart always fluttered just a little when you were near, something he pretended not to notice—yours did the same when you helped him put the collar on, which got him a little worked up. Maybe it was your hands on him, or the way your breath smelled like spearmint, or the lace of your bra peeking out. Nonetheless, you’d been on his mind ever since he went holy.

“Brought you pancakes,” you said, handing him plastic silverware and the container. His lips parted ever so slightly, grabbing both from your hands. 

“How’d you know?” he sighed, opening it immediately. He cut a piece and shoved it in his mouth without hesitation. His eyes widened at the sugary softness on his tongue—he almost pretended it was you. 

“I know you.” 

He swallowed another bite—so he didn’t choke on the flutter—and pointed the fork at you. “Any new information?” Air went through your teeth as you moved to sit in a pew to pull out your notes. 

“Not much, Your Holiness.” His next bite chewed away the tiny smirk on his face as your voice echoed softly through the church and his body. He paced around with his pancakes as you filled him in on everything again. Your gaze lingered on him, the pancake-eating priest you would do anything for. He’d been here for two days, trying to figure this case out, and only now did you realize how much you missed him. 

“Did you do a sweep?” you question, tilting your head softly at him. 

“Did I—of course I did.” He grumbles, shoving the last bite into his sticky mouth. You raise your hands slightly, sliding out of the pew and back into the aisle. 

“Well, Pancake boy,” you exhale, “maybe you didn’t do a good job.” He stops mid-step, staring at you and the wide smile you’re wearing. 

“Been here two days, sweetheart. ‘Course I did.” 

"Then you won't mind if I check your work, Father.” You start moving through pews, flipping through random Bibles, hoping to find something. He eventually joined you, flipping through himself and pretending like he wasn’t distracted by you. He was never really good at being subtle around you. He always found your eyes in the room, made an excuse to be near, and would say anything just to hear your voice. So, it wasn’t a surprise that you two made eye contact every thirty seconds. 

He started making his way to the pew you were in, looking through the Bibles you had already checked. “Already checked those D,” you mumbled, crouching down to grab another. 

“Then you won’t mind if I check your work, sweetheart.” His smile echoed through the church, fingers flipping through pages, but it didn’t last long. His eyes lingered toward you, running down your body before landing on your bottoms that were hugging your ass—he stared for two minutes, completely losing himself in you and every crouch you made. 

“Dean,” you said softly, noticing his lack of movement. 

“Yeah,” he spoke quickly, putting a bible back and moving down the pew with you. He was right behind you, pancake syrup on his breath, and your ass inches away from his aching cock. He was being stupid right now, and he knew it, but he didn’t mind being stupid for you. 

“What was that?” He said lowly, hands moving to your waist, pulling you close so that your ass was pressed to him. 

“What?” you chuckled softly. 

“I thought I heard something.” 

He needed an excuse to feel you. He was holding you tight, just in case he wouldn’t get the chance later. You look back at him, already in tune with the game he’s playing. So, you pressed your body deeper into him as you went forward to put a book back, which nearly caused him to moan. 

“We’re in a church,” he said, shaking his head. 

“Yeah…where you been?” 

“Don’t be a smart ass, sweetheart.” 

“I didn’t do anything, Father.” 

His grip eased once you made it back out into the aisle, but he still stayed close. He watched you walk down the aisle toward the front of the church, near the confessionals. His arms crossed over his chest as you opened the door, peeking your head in before slipping inside. He tilted his head, watching you scan the small space just in case. His voice rumbled through the church as he made his way over to you. “Need to confess something, sweetheart?” 

A hum left your throat before you pulled the door shut, garnering a small smirk from him. You took a deep breath, trying to ease the fluttering that was moving through your body. On the other side, you could hear the soft creak of Dean sliding into place, the space swallowing the sound of him clearing his throat. 

“Alright…Father Winchester at your service.” 

His words hung in the tight air, voice held by the wood, and face barely visible. Your body wanted to tremble under the suffocation. “Mm,” you exhaled softly, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.” 

“Good start,” he hums, and your eyes drift toward the thin screen between you. The walls of his voice are caving in on you, pressing into your body like his hands do. You could listen to his words rumble from his throat for hours. 

“I’ve been wearing your leather jacket.” 

“Yeah?” he exhales, and you can hear his grin melting with his voice. “Does it look good at least?”

“It smells like you.” 

For a moment, the only thing you hear is Dean’s breathing on the other side. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Missed you too, baby.” 

The second the words roll off his tongue, you’re suddenly aware of just how small this space is. You’re suddenly aware the game has changed. Your bottom lip rolls into your mouth, but a soft whine escapes your throat. That tiny sound sends that familiar flutter through him, and without thinking, he is pressed against the screen.

“I like the way your voice sounds when you say that.” 

Fuck. 

The second he stepped into the confessional, you forgot the rules of the game. You forgot you were supposed to tease him and dance in the palm of his hand. 

“I like your hands,” you say quietly. “They always find me. Always feel good on me.” Your voice softens. “I like sleeping on your thigh when we drive for too long. And that you always smell like my shampoo.”

You can hear the soft thud of his head falling back against the wood. He swallows hard, and the confessional falls quiet again. His hands grab the seat between his thighs, creaking underneath his grip. “Baby…” he starts, then stops. 

“Say that again,” you say, lower this time. 

“Fuck baby,” he grumbles, shifting in his seat like it’ll bring him some relief. Your name slips out under his breath. His head turns toward the screen to find you through the lattice, and your stomach flips at the sight of him looking for you like that. 

“I think about you all the time.” You pause. “Such a distraction, Dean.” 

“I know,” he says quietly. Heart fluttering beneath his black suit. His mind is spinning; he’s caught on you and all the little things you think about—if they’re the same as him. “Tell me?” he asks, his voice deep and rough. A pause stretches too long in the confessional. He turns his head slightly toward the screen again, like he can’t help himself. His jaw is tight, and he’s looking for you, looking for your eyes in the darkness. 

“I wanna fuck my priest,” you say softly.

The booth goes quiet aside from soft creaks of the wood. You shut your eyes, trying to fight off the embarrassment about to take over. But then, the door to your side opens. 

“C’mere,” he mumbles, already moving towards you to grab your face. He doesn’t waste a single second before meeting your mouth. Once your lips melt with his, he’s absolutely undone. The door shuts behind him as he’s pulling you closer, deepening the kiss in the tiny space. He’s moaning softly in your mouth, and you’re tugging at his hair to keep him close. The confessional is practically swallowing you both whole, creaking louder around you.

He comes off for a second, eyes dragging over your puffy lips and dilated eyes. He’s taking you in with furrowed brows, reveling in you and the soft pout you’re wearing. His hand moves to settle on your throat, pulling you back in. “Think about you—“ he breathes against your mouth, moaning softly when your hand presses to his cock. “All the time.” You kiss him harder, whining into his mouth as you start palming his aching cock.

“Need you, Dean,” you pant, coming off of him. He can feel his cock twitch in his pants. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he pants, “Need you too.” His hand grabs yours, pulling you out of the confessional. His eyes scan over the church, trying to find a place where he can give you what you both need. You’re both desperate right now, and the feeling you kissing the side of his neck is making it worse. “Oh, fuck it,” he breathes, pulling you down the aisle and up the tiny set of steps to the altar. 

Your lips came to meet his neck again, fingers curling around his priest collar. His hands gripped your waist as your fingers began unbuttoning his shirt. He’s melting, melting into the trail of kisses you’re leaving from his neck to his chest as you work your way down. You started lowering yourself onto your knees, lips running down his chest. His hands make their way into your hair once you’re fully on your knees. “You gonna pray for me, sweetheart?” 

“Yeah,” you hum, fingers moving to undo his belt. “This is my penance.”

“Atta girl,” he groaned, watching as his cock popped out, inches away from your small smile. You gave him a tiny lick before spitting on his cock and running your saliva down his shaft. He let out a moan at the feeling of being wrapped around your hand. His eyes were heavy as he watched you take his tip in your mouth, swirling your tongue around him. Your saliva started dripping down the sides of your mouth as you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. His sounds were low and deep in his throat, his hands were tight in your hair, and he was starting to lose the strength to stand. 

But you kept going. 

“Fuck…baby,” he pants, throwing his head back as he felt the back of your throat. You hold him there before coming off with wet lips and a hum. You look up at him, mouth dripping and eyes big. He lets out a deeper moan when you go back, taking him all the way again. You bob your head as much as you can before moving back to his tip, dancing your tongue over him. “God, you’re so fucking good,” he sighs, savoring every feeling of your mouth on him. 

After a couple of minutes of playing with his cock, you hum, pulling off with a breath. He grabs your face as he kneels, kissing you hard. “Lay down,” he says, hands already moving to take off your pants. He met the wetness between your thighs as your back hit the thin carpet on the floor. His hands dug into your hips, pulling you and your pussy closer. Your legs were on his shoulders as he moved his head between your thighs, immediately putting his tongue to you. 

“Fuck,” you whine. You could hear him groaning into you; he was enjoying every second of this—how you tasted, how wet you already were, and the sounds he licked out of you. He licked over you some more, his tongue delving into you before coming off with furrowed brows. 

“Taste so fucking good for me, sweetheart.” 

He went back for more, making you cry out. Your sounds were echoing through the church, even if you tried to lower your volume a little. Both your hands moved into his hair, gasping once he slid two fingers inside of you. “Dean…fuck…like—“ you pause, crying out in another moan. His mouth came off of you, fingering you deep while his wet lips met the side of your thigh. 

“Louder,” he said softly. “Gimme more, baby.” 

He goes back, licking and swirling you all over while his fingers stay moving inside you. You’re giving him even more moans, louder ones this time—obeying him. “Dean,” you whine, “You’re so—“ 

He hums in you, going faster with his fingers, getting you closer. His eyes flash up to look at you and the pleasure sitting on your face. He’s throbbing again. He’s in love right now—not like he hasn’t been. You’re almost there, and he can feel you tightening around his fingers, so he stays the course, not changing a single thing. Your hands are still in his hair, and his one arm is wrapped around your thigh to keep you close. And within seconds, he’s got you. A series of moans, whimpers, and mumbled versions of his name leave your lips, filling the church. 

He keeps going, making sure you get every ounce of your orgasm. You’re panting when he comes off of you to meet your mouth with messy kisses. His hands are in your hair, then they move to your face before he turns your head to kiss your neck. He’s so fucked right now, and he knows it. “Need to be in you, sweetheart,” he mumbles, kissing your jaw. “Need it so bad.” 

You whimper in his ear, and he lets out a breathy groan. 

“Fuck me,” you moan softly. “Please, Dean.”

“Yeah, baby?” he hums against your neck, voice rough. “Can’t wait to be in hell with you.” 

He immediately pulls back and wraps his hand around his cock, positioning it with your wetness. He looks at you before sliding in, and his jaw goes slack once he feels your warmth. A tiny gasp leaves you, only for it to shift into a moan once he starts fucking you. He’s watching you through heavy eyes, absolutely entranced by the pleasure on your face. He’s listening to every sound that leaves you as he fucks you like he’s never fucked anyone before—he’s giving you all he’s got, and it’s only been three minutes. 

He shifts the position slightly, moving your legs to his shoulders and stretching them toward you. He’s deep. So deep that your sounds are now visceral.

“Fuck,” you say through your teeth, hands moving to grip his biceps. “So good, baby, so good…please.” 

He’s panting softly, and his hand moves to grip the altar behind you. His knuckles are white, and his cock is drenched in you. He’s suffocating in your sounds and the echo that follows them. 

“God—“ he pants. “You take my cock so well, sweetheart.” 

“I know,” you say through a shaky breath. You’re practically spiraling. You don’t move your eyes off of him; even in the dimly lit church, he is still visible as ever. He looks unreal, and it almost makes you angry—you wanna live in this forever. Your name falls off his tongue, and he starts going faster, hitting you deeper, stretching you out even more.

He is making you a mumbled mess. Moans are flying off of you and mixing with the low ones he can’t help but let out. His cock is thick and soaked in you. You feel like nothing he’s ever felt before, and you keep tightening around him just to hear him groan. He’s about to break the altar with the grip he has on it, and you’re about to scream so loud someone might come barging in. 

He doesn’t want this to stop, but he moves your legs off so he can come closer—so he can kiss you. His one hand cups the side of your face as his mouth dances with yours. You can barely kiss him back because of your sounds, but he doesn’t care; he eats them up. He’s pounding and pounding. He’s groaning your name in your ear, and you’re moaning in his. He can feel himself getting closer by the second; maybe it’s the way his name sounds falling from your pleasure-stricken lips. 

“Dean,” you cry out. “Don’t stop. Please…want you to—“

“Baby,” he chokes out, your words pushing him right to the edge. 

“Yeah,” you pant. “Come for me, handsome.” 

And he does. Instantly. 

A low moan leaves his throat as he soaks in every second of his orgasm. Your hands run through his hair and kiss his face—which sends a flutter through him. He doesn’t move, just falls on you and fills your ear with soft pants. He stays there for a few moments before rolling over next to you. 

“Hope you enjoyed the show,” he says, voice rough.

“What?” you breathe, looking over at him. 

“Y’know.” He waves his hand around the church. “Pretty sure we had an audience.”

You chuckle softly, “Wish they’d give us a review.” 

Dean smiles, looking up at the ceiling. “Well,” he exhales. “Took us long enough, sweetheart. Pretty sure the review would’ve just said, about damn time.” 

ৎ୭ sorry if this is kinda sucks, hope you enjoyed anyway! feedback and requests are welcome here! or in the replies lol