Tell me about being in a cabin with Dean, having a calm, romantic night, and having sex while it snows outside.
Boots and Blankets and Things -
His boots were by the door. Snow was melting off the treds as the heat from the fireplace reached across the big room. The little puddle was nothing to worry about, they could clean it up later.
The thick blankets were tossed aside and rumpled beneath them; the warm wool threads frayed from years of use. They didn’t make blankets like that anymore, they were only ever found tucked away in the back of closets or stowed in car trunks in case of emergencies.
An empty whiskey bottle lay on its side on the floor, kicked over by an elbow, a foot, who’s to say? They’d drunk their fill and then some, raiding Bobby’s stash in the bedroom until they were warm and giddy, drowning in lust and rye.
Flannel shirts were balled up as pillows and stuffed beneath her head. Denim was cast away aside like trash, cotton was sprinkled like breadcrumbs across the cabin.
Outside a gentle snow fell onto freezing earth, weighing down the pine trees, erasing the gravel driveway, the stairs, their hopes of escape. It piled up on the windows, stuck in the muntin, fogged up the glass.
Inside, he held her close, spreading kisses like honey down her body. His lips were chapped from the cold but oh so warm as they nipped at her shoulder, suckled on her breast, parted her lips with hungry kisses.
Light from the fire played across their nakedness, casting shadows in curves and illuminating sacred spaces usually kept hidden. Dean kissed every spot, let his fingers glide over every inch previously unknown. Y/N held her breath as he explored, moaned his name when he struck the sweet spots. She scraped her nails down his back, nibbled gently on his ears, fit her thighs snug around his trim waist.
There was no rush, no need to worry. There were no monsters lurking behind the trees, no doomsday clock ticking away over their heads. There was only the perfect falling snow and the fire, only the passion between them and the stillness of the forest.
Tomorrow, they would dig their way out, shovel the Impala free and fight their way down the mountain. But tonight they slept in peace, sated and calm, wrapped together on the floor by the fire. Tonight they found the love they both needed, the safety of old wool blankets and the warmth of each other’s arms.
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Living under the thumb of her well-meaning if overbearing parents, Sakura has little time to explore her burgeoning relationship with her dark-haired teammate. When Sasuke unexpectedly gets the family house to himself the night of his 18th birthday, however, Sakura decides that it is high time to take matters into her own hands.
[another non mass au which has established relationship and awkward first times. This was so damn cute I am crying in my smluff feels]
A/N: This is my birthday gift to my darling Stephie, @torn-and-frayed. I don’t do mushy, but here goes: you are awesome, and as I’ve told you… you’re the reason I started tumbrling and writing and I’m so glad we started talking. Hope you have a great birthday, dude.
“What the hell is all this?”
As soon as you stepped through the Bunker door you knew something was up. Well, in truth you'd known all day. Dean had sent you out of town with a weird list of supplies and had been dodging your calls all day. You knew he was up to something, you just didn't know what. Until now.
Your fingers gripped the metal rail as you leaned over the balcony, looking down into the War Room. It was definitely a sight to behold. The air was filled with bright blue balloons, some tied to chairs in bunches, others flying free against the high ceiling. The glowing table was filled with groups of various items, and Dean Winchester stood by the bottom of the stairs looking up at you with a rather nervous grin.
“Y/N,” he greeted as you descended the steps quickly, “Happy birthday, baby.”
“What did you do?” you laughed as Dean grabbed your hips and lifted you down the last two steps to stand beside him.
He kissed your cheek and motioned towards the table, holding your hand as he led you over to it. “Well, I know you were kind of freaking out about turning thirty, so I thought I would show you that thirty can be good.”
“That's insane,” you laughed, “but really sweet.”
Dean grinned and waved his hand over the table as he pointed out your gifts, all your favorites in groups of thirty. “First, thirty packs of gummy worms, for your sweet tooth. Then thirty cans of Coke, to mix with your thirty mini bottles of Captain Morgan. Thirty boxes of those pens you like, so you stop stealing them from every place we go. And thirty blue candles on your vanilla on vanilla birthday cake.”
“You baked me a cake?” you smiled in disbelief.
“Actually,” he confessed, “I baked you two. I burned the first one.”
“This is too much, Dean. Thank you.”
“It was going to be more. I wanted to get thirty pizzas, but Sammy talked me out of it.”
“Where is he, anyway?” You looked around for your friend, but found him absent.
“Ah,” Dean smirked, moving towards you and liking his lips. “That may be my favorite thirty. I sent him to Tulsa for some Film Noir festival. He won't be back for thirty hours.”
You giggled as Dean's hand caressed your shoulder, “I think I'm starting to like thirty.”
Dean curled his fingers around the back of your neck and urged you to lift your face to his. “How would you like thirty kisses?”
“Just thirty?”
His lips hovered over yours for a second as he breathed, “We can start there...”
His nose brushed against yours as he kissed you sweetly. It was quick and tender, leaving a smile behind on your lips when it was done. “One,” he whispered, wiggling his eyebrows at you.
“When do I get the rest?” you asked, running a hand up over his firm chest. You slid your fingers underneath his flannel and over the soft cotton tee, running up to grip his shoulder.
“Be patient, baby. They're coming.” Dean's hands fell to your hips, hooking around the empty belt loops of your jeans and tugging you to him. “Two,” he announced before making it so. This kiss was a little firmer, but just as quick as the first. He pulled back, leaving you pouting and anxious for the rest.
You pushed your breasts against him, hoping to encourage him to continue, but he merely smirked and shook his head slowly. “I said, be patient Y/N.”
“I don't think I can,” you whined and batted your eyes at him.
Dean's hands traveled up your sides and slid around your back as he bent his neck to you once more. ‘Three’ was full and wet; his tongue parted your pliant lips and rolled with yours, creating a throbbing pulse between your legs.
‘Four’ was placed carefully just below your ear. A hard pull and scrape of teeth, a soothing sweep of tongue.
Kiss number five left you breathless as Dean's mouth claimed yours again, his hot tongue returning to your mouth as his fingers twisted in your hair.
Six was a kiss between laughs as Dean chased you down the hallway, his long arms catching you around the first bend and pulling you against him. Seven pressed your back into the wall while eight fell below the collar of your shirt. Nine was on your clavicle, ten and eleven on each breast. Twelve made you shiver and tug a hand through Dean's short hair.
Your clothing was left like a trail of breadcrumbs in the hallway leading to your room, kisses thirteen through eighteen meeting each newly exposed patch of skin.
Nineteen was amazing, the stuff of daydreams. As he kissed you, Dean lifted you in his strong arms and carried you to bed. The next four kisses were fire sparking, blood pumping, whimper invoking presses of his hot, plump lips against your tingling skin.
Twenty four, five, and six led his mouth down the length of your body to settle betix your legs.
Twenty seven was longer than the rest and slightly more than a kiss. Dean nipped at your clit, drove his tongue into your heat, worshiping your pussy with number twenty seven.
Twenty eight covered your scream as Dean slammed his hips against yours, pushing his throbbing cock deep inside.
When you came it was hard and it curled your toes, it stopped your breath and shook your bones.
Kiss twenty nine you instigated, pulling Dean down to you as his hips locked and he exploded inside of you. Green eyes met yours with love and pride; his smile wide and filling his freckled face.
When he rolled away, he didn't go far. Dean opened his arm and you curled into his chest, lazily tracing his ink with two fingers.
Kiss number thirty, your final for the night, was gentle and heartfelt, meaning so much more than all the others. Dean looked down at you as you shifted up to meet his gaze. His fingers ran across your cheek and he held you still as he concluded your gift. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered against your lips before sealing his words with a kiss.
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