#supernatural

Bonus:

STACKEDNATURAL ⇉ 258/327 (part 1)

movieshark18: Supernatural Fans I need you

─── ꒲ nsfw size kink / headlock fucking w dean winchester . . . ❜ ﹗ ﹙୨꣒﹚ ⊹⠀ᯓ‎ 𝄞 surrender , suicide ⌇ f!reader , ❜୧ ‎ ‎ ˙ ⁴⁴⁴

The bunker garage is thick with the smell of motor oil and hot metal, the low hum of classic rock drifting from an old speaker Dean rigged up years ago.

He’s bent over the same motorcycle he’s been tinkering with for weeks—some beat-up vintage Harley he salvaged from a hunt a few months ago gone sideways. His broad back is glistening with sweat under the harsh overhead lights. No shirt. Just worn jeans slung low on his hips and a streak of grease across one sharp cheekbone.

You pause in the doorway, throat dry. He’s absolutely massive like this.

Shoulders carved from years of dragging monsters into graves, back muscles flexing every time he handles a wrench. The dim light catches on the ridges of his abs when he straightens, wiping sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm. That v-line disappearing into his jeans makes your pulse stutter.

“Eyes up here, sweetheart,” he drawls without even turning around, voice rough like gravel under tires. But there’s that smirk in it. He knows exactly what he does to you.

You step closer anyway, boots quiet on the concrete. “Thought you said you’d be done by now.” Dean sets the wrench down with a metallic clink and finally faces you.

God, he’s big.

Six-foot-one of pure hunter, chest rising slow, those green eyes dark with something that has nothing to do with the bike. His hand—fuck, that hand, flexes at his side, palm wide enough to span half your ribcage if he wanted.

“Got distracted.” His gaze drags down your body like a physical touch. “C’mere.”

You don’t make it two steps before he’s on you. One big arm hooks around your waist and hauls you up against him, your feet barely brushing the floor. He’s already half-hard in his jeans, you can feel the thick line of him pressing into your stomach, heavy and insistent.

"Dean—” you breathe, but he cuts you off with a filthy kiss, tongue sliding deep, claiming. His free hand cradles the back of your head, fingers spread so wide his pinky brushes the top of your spine.

Your skull fits in his palm like it was made for it.

“Been thinkin’ about this tight little pussy all damn day,” he growls against your mouth, nipping your bottom lip. “While I’m out here sweatin’, gettin’ my hands dirty… all I can picture is you stretched around my cock, cryin’ for more even when you’re already full.”

He walks you backward until your ass hits the edge of the workbench. Tools rattling, and then suddenly, he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing, setting you on the scarred wood and stepping between your thighs.

His abs contract as he leans in— completely cut like fresh hawaiian rolls, glistening, the kind of muscle that makes your mouth water. You run your hands over them, nails scraping, and he hisses.

“Yeah? Like what you see, baby?” He grabs your wrist and presses your palm flat against his stomach, letting you feel every ridge.

“All this for you. But you know what you really want.”He grinds forward, letting you feel the massive bulge straining against denim. Even through layers, it’s intimidating. Thick and long. The kind of dick that ruins you for anyone else.

Dean doesn’t waste time. He yanks your shorts down your legs in one rough tug, panties gone with them. Two thick fingers drag through your folds and he groans low. “Already soaked. Such a needy little thing. Can’t even wait for me to finish work before you’re drippin’ for this cock.”

He sinks one finger in, then two, stretching you open with practiced ease. His knuckles are thick, veins standing out on the back of his hand as he pumps slow. You whimper, thighs trying to close around his wrist, but he just chuckles darkly and forces them wider with his hip.

“Look at that. Barely two fingers and you’re already shaking. Gonna look so pretty split open on the real thing.”

He pulls his fingers free, brings them to his mouth and licks them clean while holding your gaze. Then he’s shoving his jeans down just enough. His cock springs out—heavy, flushed dark, thicker than your wrist. The head is leaking, veins wrapping around the shaft like they’re daring you to take every inch. It twitches under your stare, curving up toward his abs.

Dean wraps one hand around the base and strokes once, slow. “See this, sweetheart? This is what’s gonna wreck you tonight.”

WIthout any hesitation, he lines up and pushes in, both slow and delectably relentless.

Your mouth falls open in a silent cry as the you feel his cock stretching you wide. He’s so big it burns in the best way, every inch forcing your walls to part around him. Halfway in and you’re already gasping, nails digging into his shoulders.

“Fuck, baby,” he coos, voice wrecked. “So goddamn tight. Look down. Watch how you take me.”

You do. The sight is obscene, your pussy stretched so needily around his thick cock, lips gripping him like they never want to let go. He’s only halfway inside of you and you already feel full, pressed right against the limit.

Dean’s hand returns to the back of your head, cradling you, anchoring. His other grips your hip hard enough to bruise.

“Breathe, sweet girl. You can take it. You always take it so fucking good for me.”

He bottoms out with a deep roll of his hips and you sob at the pressure. The head of his cock kisses your cervix, grinding against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. His abs flex against your stomach with every shallow thrust, like he’s fucking you with his whole body.

“Atta girl. Takin’ every inch of this big dick for me—jus' like that baby. I knew you were made for it.”

He starts moving—deep, devastating strokes that punch the air from your lungs. The workbench creaks beneath you, your thighs trembling around his waist. Every thrust makes your tits bounce under your shirt until he yanks it up and latches onto a nipple, sucking hard.

“Dean—oh god—”

“Yeah, baby? Say my name again while I ruin this pretty pussy, tremble f'me, call out to me, tell me i'm yours.”

He pulls out suddenly, spinning you around and bending you over the bike’s seat. The leather is cool against your overheated skin. Dean kicks your legs wider, lines up, and slams back in with one brutal thrust.

“Fuck yes,” he growls, hand fisting in your hair. “Ass up, just like that. Let me see how deep I get inside this sweet cunt.”

The new angle is even worse—or better. He’s hitting spots that make your knees buckle. You can feel him in your stomach, the bulge of his cock pressing against your lower belly with every thrust.

Without warning his arm hooks around your throat. He pulls you up into a headlock, your back flush to his sweaty chest. His bicep bulges against the side of your neck, forearm locked under your chin, holding you right where he wants you. You’re completely at his mercy, feet barely touching the ground, impaled on his massive cock.

“Mine,” he snarls right in your ear, voice low and filthy. “This tight little cunt is mine. Gonna fuck you so deep you feel me for weeks.”

He starts pounding up into you—hard, fast, relentless. The headlock keeps you arched, helpless, every thrust driving straight into that perfect spot. His free hand slides down to press against your lower stomach, feeling the way his cock moves inside you.

“Feel that? Feel how deep I am, baby? No one else gets this far. No one else fills you up like this big fucking cock.. hmm?? tell me.”

You’re shaking, gasping, tears pricking your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure-pain. His abs are slick against your back, muscles working as he fucks you stupid. The wet slap of skin on skin echoes through the garage along with his filthy praise.

“Such a good little slut for me. Takin’ it so deep on my bike f'me. That’s it—milk my dick, sweetheart.”

Your orgasm hits suddenly, causing you to cry out, body seizing, pussy clamping down hard around his thickness. Dean groans, hips stuttering, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he fucks you right through it, headlock tightening just enough to make your head spin in the best way

.“Fuck, that’s my girl. Come all over me. Soak this cock.”

He pulls out only long enough to flip you again, this time facing him. Your legs wrap around his waist as he lifts you, impaling you once more in one smooth glide. Back against the workbench, Dean’s hand returns to cradle your head like you’re something precious even while he ruins you.

His thrusts turn slower, deeper, grinding. Every roll of his hips makes his abs drag against your clit. His cock is still impossibly hard, throbbing inside you, stretching you to your limit.

“Gonna fill you up,” he pants, forehead pressed to yours. “Gonna pump this pretty pussy full of my come. You want that, baby? You want me to breed you so full that I make you a pretty little mama—hmm?"

You nod frantically, nails raking down his back.

Dean laughs—low, smug, breathless. “Yeah you do. Greedy girl. Made for me. Such a perfect fuckin' fit.”

He kisses your temple, almost tender, even as his hips snap harder.“Mine. All fucking mine.”

When he comes, it’s with a deep groan, cock pulsing as he floods you.

You feel every thick spurt, warm and endless, until it’s leaking out around him. He stays buried deep, grinding lazy circles as he whimpers out, keeping his come right where it belongs.

His hand stays at the back of your head, thumb stroking your jaw. Voice soft now, just for you.

“You’re made for me, baby. It's always you n' me— huh?" He chuckles, rubbing circles against your back.

The garage is quiet except for your ragged breathing and the distant crackle of the radio; 'Surrender' by Suicide solemnly playing in the background as he cradles around you.

His forehead rests against yours, breath warm and steady. Those big hands—so rough from years of hunting and wrenching on engines—are impossibly gentle now.

One stays cradling the back of your head, thumb brushing slow circles over your temple. The other slides up your back under your shirt, palm splayed wide between your shoulder blades like he’s trying to press you even closer.

“Easy, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and velvet-rough, lips brushing yours in the softest kiss. Then another. And another. Little presses that turn sweet and lingering, like he’s tasting the quiet between heartbeats. “I’ve got you. Always got you.”

You melt into him, thighs still trembling around his waist, pussy fluttering lazily around his thick length. He’s still so big, still so full inside you, but the sting has melted into a warm, heavy ache that feels like home.

Dean smiles against your mouth. A small, crooked, boyish in a way he rarely lets anyone see.

“Look at you,” he whispers, nudging your nose with his. “All flushed and pretty, takin’ every inch of me like it’s nothing. My sweet girl, you make me so proud.”

He kisses the corner of your eye, then your cheek, then that spot just under your ear that makes you shiver. “You did so good for me. Always do.”

The song swells softly. Dean sways with you just a little, barely a rock of his hips, more comfort than thrust. His cock gives another lazy twitch and he hums, low and pleased, like the feel of you around him is the best thing he’s ever known.“Stay right here,” he says, pressing another kiss to your temple. “Don’t wanna move yet. Feels too damn perfect.”

His hand drifts down to rub slow, soothing circles over your lower belly, right where he’s still buried so deep. “Love feelin’ you like this. All warm and full of me.”

You tuck your face into the crook of his neck, breathing in motor oil, sweat, and that familiar scent that’s just Dean.

He keeps you there for long minutes, trading lazy kisses. His hand never stops its gentle petting—your back, your thigh, the curve of your waist,like he can’t bear to stop touching you.

“Gonna keep you full a little longer, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes. Then I’ll carry you inside, clean you up real nice, maybe run you a hot shower…” Another kiss, slower this time.

“Or maybe I won’t pull out at all. Keep you on my cock all night. Would you like that, baby?”

You nod, both dazed and happy, and he grins, that bright, heartstopping grin that makes him look like a goddamn angel.

“Atta girl.” He nuzzles into your hair, holding you tighter. “My sweet, gorgeous girl. All mine.”

And you know—he’ll be ready to go again soon. He always is. But right now he’s content to just hold you, cock warm and deep, heart beating steady against yours while the radio plays on and on.

᭝⁀⠀᭝⠀@obsessivekniss

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