tastes so good | d. winchester
Dean Winchester x reader ♡ Supernatural ♡ 1.2k ♡ Ao3 ♡ masterlist
summary. on an empty stretch of road, sometimes all a pretty girl wants to do is have a dick in her mouth. dean is more than happy to help her with that.
tags. 18+nsfw; smut, porn without any real plot, oral sex (m receiving), cum swallowing, road head, lots and lots of praise, pet names (sweetheart, baby, sweet thing, babygirl), cock-drunk!reader, no use of y/n, written in third person
jayne's yaps. i am ovulating SO hard and I wanna give my muse head SO bad but i have to be patient so i did the healthy thing and wrote this instead. enjoy. title inspired by the sabrina claudio song. thank you muse for feeding into my fantasies and thereby inspiring me to write this 🖤
It's been a long, hard hunt. What was supposed to be a simple hit and run turned into a 4-day chase around a desolate little town to find a shapeshifter that had been wearing the skin of a dead local legend.
It's left Dean all messed up. It wouldn't be obvious to an outsider, but she can read him like a book. She knows what every little microexpression adds up to; the set of his jaw, the way his hand grips the steering wheel of the impala, the tension in his shoulders. The poor guy is stressed out beyond thought.
She hates to see him upset. He's her pretty boy after all, and she wants nothing for him other than for him to feel good. And, she has to admit, she's been wanting to make him feel good for a while now, it's just that they've both been so damn busy they haven't had the time.
The road ahead of her is dark, but clear. It's late at night, no one else is driving around here until at least tomorrow morning.
She starts slow. The slightest brush of her hand over his leg, a soft tease. It's innocent enough to be taken as a comforting gesture, as her trying to heal his worries with her touch.
He reciprocates soon enough, his own fingers grazing idly along his wrist while he drives.
"S'been a long couple days," She muses, voice with that slight innocent edge to it, and she feel his leg flex instinctively under her hand. He knows what she's doing, not that he's complaining about it.
"Lemme give you some necessary stress-relief." She punctuates it with a soft lip bite, looking up at him with big eyes that are blown wide with desire.
And he's pathetic for her, would do anything she asked, so if she wants to suck his dick, he's damn well going to let her.
She's got her hands on his belt the minute he nods his consent, fumbling with the buckle and unbuttoning his jeans. Her lips are sucking into his neck in a way that he knows is going to leave a mark, and he's trying to stay composed, to keep his eyes on the road, but god, when she's acting so needy like this all he wants to do is give her his full attention.
She leaves wet kisses along his jaw, his neck, runs her hand down his chest to his cock, already half-hard in his boxers. It's crazy, how quickly she can get a response like this out of him. He's leaking pre-cum by the time she pulls him free.
She leans down, pushes her hair out of the way over her shoulder, and flattens her tongue against him, from the base of his shaft to his tip, and god she's a sight. If it was up to him, he'd hang a painting of her like this in the louvre; eyes big and teary, lips wrapped around his cock.
"Oh, fuck, sweetheart," he groans out as she moans around him, his foot stamping down on the gas pedal and his hand tightening around the steering wheel.
It's been a while now, and he's forgotten how good she is at this, how warm her mouth feels around him, how much effort and love she pours into doing this for him. She takes him so well, takes such good care of him. He wonders how he ever got so lucky.
He runs one hand lovingly over the back of her head, gently guiding her pace. "Yeah, just like that." He gasps out, hand tightening in her hair – not too hard, but enough to feel every little movement she makes. The car swerves just slightly before he corrects it with a jerk of the wheel.
"Forgot how good you were at this shit," he pants, hips bucking up helplessly into her mouth. "Christ alive..." A sharp inhale as she hums again. His boot slams down on the gas reflexively and the impala lurches forward with a roar.
She gently pops off of him, a thin line of spit still connecting her bottom lip to him. She uses her hand to play with him for a moment while she catches her breath, her eyes meeting his. “Good?”
The car swerves even worse this time when that single word leaves her mouth. Dean swears and grabs the wheel with both hands again, taking a couple of ragged breaths as he tries, at least, to right it, to stay on the road.
"Damn good," he grunts, eyes on the road. His lips are parted and a thin sheen of sweat glistens at his brow. "Real– really damn good."
She smiles, proud of herself, before leaning back down again. She flattens her tongue against the tip of him, savoring the saltiness coming out of him for a moment before she closes her lips around all of him once again.
He's gonna crash the car if she keeps going like this.
Logically, he knows he should stop her, tell her to sit up. That they can have this later, in a motel, when they're not on a highway and he isn't driving.
Dean's not one for being logical, though. He's one for being reckless.
"Keep goin', sweet thing," he gasps, his boot pressing down on the gas.
She moans in answer, a soft rumble around him. She loves doing this for him, loves making him feel good. It’s all she ever wants him to feel, and if she can help him with that, she’s damn sure gonna do her hardest.
She loves feeling him in her mouth. In a weird way, there's something comforting about it. It gives her the chance to turn her brain off, to just not think for a while.
"Baby–" The petname tears out of him like a prayer, rough and desperate. His free hand flies to her hair again, tight this time—no more gentle guiding. He's lost in the rhythm she's setting now, hips jerking up into that sinful heat.
The Impala swerves dangerously across lanes as Dean lets his head thump back against the seat with a groan. "Fuck, I ain't gonna last–"
A sharp curse as he feels it building: too fast, too soon– but hell if he cares when she sounds like that.
"Jesus Christ–" Dean's whole body locks up, a choked-off groan ripping from his throat as he comes hard down her throat. His grip on the wheel is white-knuckled, boots slamming against the pedals in a way that makes Baby lurch violently.
For one terrifying second, he swears they're about to flip.
He's panting like hell when it’s over; forehead pressed to the steering wheel for half-a-beat before peeking at her through bleary eyes: "Ah, fuck..."
She’s looking up at him with playful eyes, one hand still wrapped around him while the other wipes at the evidence of him in the corner of his mouth.
Dean watches the wipe with wide eyes. Watches that slender hand wipe him off. Watches those innocent eyes, like you didn't just about kill him.
"Babygirl," he croaks, voice a rough, low rasp. "Jesus hell."
He reaches out and takes her chin between his thumb and forefinger, wiping over her mouth with a thumb.
"You're a goddamn menace."
