Wanderlust⋆✴︎˚｡

it was 10 minutes since you had pulled up, a sigh leaving your lips at his usual lateness. you had plans with your friends that evening, planning to go out to the bars and drink till you couldn't stand. the dress you wore was one you had bought after your divorce, deciding to do something for yourself for once instead of trying to please sammy all the time. you had started working out more, dressing a little more revealing, and going out more when you didn't have your son. your top priority was always him though, making sure he was happy whenever he was at your house. "you excited to stay with daddy this weekend?" you spoke, turning back in your seat to your son who was 4 now. all he did was nod, the toys in his hands keeping him distracted.

you were snapped out of your thoughts at the sound of a door closing, sammy making his way outside with a smirk on his face at the sight of you. he had changed quite a bit too since your divorce. he was fitter than ever, having lost a lot of his weight, cockier than ever, and loved to push your buttons ten times more. you only glanced at him before you were climbing out of the car, going to the backseat to unbuckle your son. what you didn't see was his smirk drop and eyebrows furrow together at your outfit. "daddy!" your son called as he ran to sammy, hugging onto his legs tightly. sammy was quick to lift your son up, pressing a kiss to his head. "hi buddy, you have a good time with mommy?" he hummed to the boy, smiling to his son before his attention was turned to you, watching you bend over in the backseat to grab his bag of clothes.

you leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your son's cheek, shoving the bag into sammy's free arm. his cologne was strong, the same one he wore when you were married. the same one you were so addicted to. "say bye to mommy and head inside, i have to talk to her," sammy spoke, your son reaching to hug you tight before he was wriggling out of his father's arms and running to the door of the police station. you were already turning around to get back into the driver's seat, sammy's hand slamming against the door to keep you from opening it. "got plans or something?" he mumbled, an irritated sigh as leaving your lips as you turned to face him.

his eyes looked you up and down slowly, his teeth clenching at the sight of your cleavage popping out. "yes. now let me go, sammy," you mumbled, trying to push his arm from the door but he was quick to grab your wrist. "where you going? especially wearing this?" he mumbled, his fingertip moving to run against the top of the dress where it rested on your tits. you couldn't help but swallow hard, goosebumps popping up all over your body that had him smirking. "out with my friends. now if you'll excuse me i am going to be late because someone can never seem to be on time," you murmured, trying to free your wrist from his tight grip.

that only made him hold tighter, pulling you close so your bodies were pressed together. "don't be like that, baby," he hummed, hands moving to rest on your hips as he looked down at you. "could skip your plans and come over for dinner? lil family night," he suggested as he leaned down to your ear, pressing a small kiss to it. you hated the effect he still managed to have on you after all this time. curse him and his smooth talking and his sexy face. "not happening, it's amanda's birthday," you mumbled, hands moving to his police vest to try to push him back but he didn't budge, his hands only squeezing at your hips. "just come over after then. he'll be asleep. just wanna see what you have on under this," he continued to press soft kisses to your ear, knowing it was your weak spot.

you couldn't stop your thighs from clenching together, the sight of it making the evil smile on his face grow. "you're a pig," you mumbled, shoving him back before climbing into the driver's seat. he was quick to move between the door, not allowing you to shut it. he leaned across you to buckle your seat belt for you, pressing a small kiss to your cleavage. "you have my number, sweetheart. call me when you're all done tonight," he spoke, shooting a quick wink at you before he was shutting the door behind him.

The campsite was quiet; only crickets hummed in the distant background, and the occasional crackle of fires smouldering in the distance. Trees rubbed and bumped each other, and you were laughing quietly, walking with your boyfriend.

Venturing into the woods late at night wasn’t the best idea, but it was his idea. He thought it would be fun and adventurous, walking through a closed-off trail, going by the river when it was too dark even to see what was ahead of you, and you agreed and held his hand, trusting him.

“What was that?” you had muttered to him softly, quickly squeezing his hand and looking over your shoulder. “It sounds like… someone is following us. I wanna go back,” you protested, shaking your head.

“Babe… no one is out right now. Half the campsite is sleeping or has gone home; nobody is following us,” he reassured, lightly tugging you along to keep walking deeper into the woods. 

You nodded and decided to trust his poor decision, continuing to walk along the trail–that’s until there’s a soft squish under your feet, and you jump back, squealing.

“What the hell did I just step in?” you asked, eyes widening as you squinted, trying to see what slimy mess was spread across the trail, and why you were the one who had to step in it.

“It was raining hours ago,” your boyfriend excused, waving his hands. “It’s a muddy trail; stop being so dramatic.” 

You shrugged off the uneasy feeling that came with stepping in a mystery goo and continued your stupid venture into the woods—that’s until you saw something that you’re definitely not supposed to: a large figure, tall and gruesome, dripping in goo that’s hitting the moonlight perfectly, probably the same goo that was stuck to the bottom of your sneakers and it’s wearing the face of a camper you saw just horus ago. You screamed louder than you ever have, and you and your boyfriend ran back to the campsite, quick feet hopping over logs and branches, attempting to ignore the animal-like growls following the two of you back.

It’s not until the next morning when it’s brought up again, not by you, but by someone else.

Your boyfriend is off elsewhere, probably early-morning fishing down by the lake, his rod cast into the water, trying to brush off the events of last night you both have decided to act like didn’t happen, and you’re hunched over in the tent, getting dressed for the day.

“Uhm, excuse me,” a deep voice mumbles, shamelessly unzipping the flap of your tent, and you look over your shoulder, clutching your shirt over your bare chest.

“I’m kinda in the middle of something–” you awkwardly say, not getting a proper glance of the mystery man who just thought it was a good idea to rush into a random girl’s tent.

When you’re finished getting dressed, you crawl out and see him standing there; tall and broad, with a short haircut and a clean-shaved face, but green eyes that catch in the sun when he turns to you. He whistles and shakes his head, and your eyes widen at the suggestive gesture.

“They should not be lettin’ girls as you sleep alone in tents,” he hums, sauntering over to you, his hands stuffed into his leather jacket. 

“They don’t,” you retort and shake your head, gazing up at him. “My boyfriend is usually with me; he’s just not here right now,” you explain, watching his face drop and his eyes look elsewhere.

“Okay, well, I’m Agent Getty,” he starts, pulling out his FBI badge, showing it up your face, and you squint. “Agent Lee is up further, askin’ others about what happened last night.”

“Agents Getty and Lee,” you say flatly, tilting your head to the side. “Getty Lee? Rush?” you ask, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion, and he looks taken aback, like he didn’t think you’d notice the phony names named after a popular band.

He laughs nervously. “Coincidence…”

“Right,” you nod, looking past him and at the Land Rover pulled into the trail, just shy of the campsite. “Anyway, what’s happening?”

“Well, you should know,” he says, gazing at you. “You see somethin’ weird last night? In the woods?” he asks, his two hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, but it was probably just an animal or something, I don’t know,” you excuse and shake your head, blinking. “Why? Did something happen?”

“There’s been other accounts of it,” he tells you, gazing around the site. “All sayin’ somethin’ about… this animal, wearing people’s faces. That ring a bell?”

You swallow hard and shift awkwardly on your bare feet, gazing up at the FBI agent, before looking down at your feet. You hesitantly nod.

“Was it Mrs. Wagner? Is that face you saw?” He asks, lowering his head to find your gaze.

“I don’t know… but it was a woman I saw around here earlier. I don’t know her name, though.” You shake your head and cross your arms, looking at the other man approaching the situation.

“Hey… hey, what’s goin’ on here?” the other man chimes in, his Texan accent making you turn your head. “Leave her alone–who are you?” he asks, turning to the FBI agent who looks personally offended.

“Who am I? Who are you?” the agent asks, his eyebrows raising.

“Sheriff Arlen, Beau Arlen… and you? Who sent you?” Beau asks, his eyes narrowing.

“I’m–I’m– Okay, I’M Dean. I’m an FBI agent, sent here to investigate what happened here last night,” Dean says, gazing at the Sheriff, and you’re caught in the middle of it.

“Sweetheart, we didn’t ask for any FBI agents, please, just head back to your tent,” Beau says to you, shaking his head, gazing back at Dean, who is scratching his jaw.

“No… no, it’s fine; he didn’t do anything,” you defend Dean and shake your head, looking between the two men. “He’s just helping… even if he’s a fake agent.”

Dean’s lips flatten into a line, and he sighs loudly, gazing around the site before looking back at you. Beau has his fingers hooked into his belt, and his eyes are focused on you; his gaze is soft.

“Do you mind showin’ me where this happened?” Dean then speaks up, and Beau turns to look at him, shaking his head. 

“You know nothin’ about crime scenes, kid–we’re not takin’ you there, darlin’, you’re gonna wait here, and take you back home,” Beau reassures, stepping a bit closer to you, like he’s shielding you from the fake agent.

“C’mon,” Dean rolls his eyes, looking away from the Sheriff. “How are we supposed to do anythin’ if the only person who has seen the thing… isn’t allowed to show us where it was?”

“Thing?” Beau asks, his eyebrow furrowing, and steps a bit closer to you. “It was an animal, a wild bear, that’s what mauled Mrs.Wagner, and I’m not subjectin’ an innocent thing like her to that.”

You watch as Beau joins your side, and you look up to him. He rests a hand on your shoulder, rubbing it gently, soothing you as a man in authority would to keep the civilians at rest. You gaze at Dean, who has his head tipped back in frustration, and his facial expression knitted in disgust–he’s sure Beau is slightly hitting on you, and that’s kind of his thing.

“Fine,” Dean says and sighs heavily, looking away from the two of you.

“It’s okay,” you cut in, looking to Beau and then to Dean. “I can show you where it happened; it’s fine,” you shake your head, feeling his hand gently squeeze your shoulder, almost reassuring you that you don't have to do it.

“See?” Dean says with a shit-eating grin, gesturing to you. “Women are capable of things,” he mumbles, painting in a Beau bad light, and you’re almost laughing to yourself at these two men bantering.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Beau asks, turning to look down at you, and your eyes meet him–that same shade of green, but the corners are crinkled, and his beard is growing in, and Dean is rolling his eyes into the back of his head.

You nod. “Mhm.”

The two men step back and watch you disappear into the tent again, throwing on some better-suited clothing for the walk in the forest—denim shorts and a blouse, a pair of white socks and your sneakers following. You drift out of the flap, finding the two of them eyeing each other. 

“You ready?” Dean asks, his eyes gazing down at your thighs, and you nod again, quickly joining the two of them.

Beau mostly begins to lead the way, and you trail behind the man with Dean, who constantly looks like he’s trying to say something to you, but isn’t sure how. His eyes look everywhere but always land on you, and Beau is whistling quietly, guiding all three of you back to where the whole disaster started in the first place.

“This the right trail, sweetheart?” Beau asks, pausing and turning around to look at you.

“Yeah… I can probably lead the way,” you suggest, taking a step away from Dean and a step ahead of Beau, leaving the two men following you instead.

It’s awkward between them; both trying to save this damsel in distress, despite her boyfriend being by the lake, and not even doing a thing to keep her safe. And now they walk side by side, both eyeing the way your shorts ride up, your soft thighs glistening in the sunscreen you splattered on, and they both look at each other.

Dean clears his throat. “She’s like your daughter’s age, right?” He asks, giving Beau a smile that’s the most condescending thing in the world.

“Nah,” Beau shakes his head, sniffling and looking down at the trail beneath his feet. “Not thinkin’ about anythin’ like that, kid,” he replies.

“Yeah, you are,” he nods, keeping that smile on his face. “How could you not? Look at her,” he gestures towards you and the sway of your hips, your hand constantly adjusting the strap of your shirt.

“She’s sweet,” Beau says with a slow nod, adjusting his belt. “Not somethin’ I wanna sleep with.”

“Okay, so you don’t have dibs on her?” He then asks, turning to look at Beau, who is sighing louder than ever, shaking her head.

“Ain’t middle school,” he replies, turning to look at the younger kid beside him. “Do what you want.”

Dean smiles and looks at you like you’re a prize he has to win, and Beau is mentally facepalming at the immaturity of this punk beside him. The two men continue to follow you, watching the way you stop and look back at them.

“Here,” you tell them, nodding. “Here, I stepped in… some weird goo, I don’t know… it might’ve been mud.”

“Goo?” Dean pipes up, walking away from Beau, who is wiping his brow. “Like? Ectoplasm?”

“Okay,” Beau cuts in and shakes his head, breathing a bit heavier. “This ain’t Ghostbusters; this is real-life,” he says, feeling his joints aching—that’s what happens when you’re forty-seven, and with a girl in her mid-twenties, and a fresh thirty-year-old. 

You bite your lip and look between them, watching the glares and the soft curses, the clear disagreement, and you can’t help but laugh a little, finding it quite amusing.

“I don’t care if it’s ghost stuff or a bear; I just want everyone to be safe,” you explain and shake your head, and they look at you, nodding. “My boyfriend… he’s out at the lake, and I don’t feel safe.”

“Well, maybe he should be with you,” Dean pokes, taking a light jab at your boyfriend. 

You go quiet and turn around, continuing to walk deeper into the trail, and Beau and Dean mindlessly follow you, walking deeper into the woods, the sunlight dimming as the trees grow thicker and the leaves block the warm rays. 

The three of you end up at a dead end after a while, and you turn around to face them; Beau’s eyes are soft and understanding, but Dean has that furrow in his brow, that look that says he’s a bit pissed off that the three of you have been going around in circles for hours.

“It’s fine, darlin’,” Beau says before you can whine and apologize; he’s used to reading faces. “Ain’t your fault, you were probably shakin’ up, I don’t blame you for not rememberin’ clearly.”

“I-I don’t know, I thought it happened here!” You say, shaking your head, and Beau is stepping forward, lightly bringing you into a hug.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Okay… okay, enough, we just keep lookin’ then,” he shrugs, glancing around the forest.

Beau’s hands are warm against your body, keeping you closer and against his chest, large hands cradling you, and you close your eyes, soaking in the warmth. You’re not used to this, physical affection.

“Yeah, where?” You ask when Beau pulls away, joining your side. “We just looked everywhere! I’m gonna take you guys in circles all day—you’re missing out on actual problems.”

“This is a real problem,” Beau says, looking at you. “A woman died, and more will if we don’t keep searchin’… It’s fine, sweetheart.”

You sigh and nod, looking between the two of them, finding it difficult to grasp that they’re more understanding than pissed off, even if Dean is clenching his jaw and rolling his eyes too much. He never vocalizes it, and the three of you begin walking again, turning onto an even smaller trail. 

Beau mostly leads the way this time, his hand focused on the gun in his holster, and Dean has his hidden in his jacket, not wanting to cause even more trouble with the Sheriff who wouldn’t mind cuffing him up and taking the son of a bitch back to the station for carrying a weapon—an unlicensed one, at that. 

“So,” Dean starts quietly, gazing at you as the two of you wander through the forest, keeping his voice low. “This your first time campin’?”

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your voice just as low. “This is the first time I’ve seen a monster, though.”

“So it is a monster, and not some bear?” He asks.

You glance up ahead at Beau, and then back to Dean. You quietly nod, and his eyebrows raise, and he clicks his tongue, laughing.

“Well, shit,” he breathes out, shaking his head. “I was hopin’ he was right, and we’d just run into a pissed-off mama bear, not a monster wearin’ a lady's fuckin’ face,” he sighs, and you laugh quietly.

Beau looks over his shoulder and sees Dean making you laugh and smile, and he looks ahead again, his teeth grinding against each other—the words ring in the back of his head: old enough to be your daughter.

The trail winds and turns, and you’re giggling with Dean as Beau leads and leads, protecting the ‘kids’ behind him, ensuring a monster doesn’t pop out of the bushes and decide to wear one of your faces next. He sighs and shakes his head, pausing.

“We gotta start headin’ back,” Beau drawls, wetting his lips. “It’s gettin’ dark out, and these things like to come out at night, clearly,” he explains, and Dean scoffs.

“I hunt in the night all of the fuckin’ time,” he says, waving off Beau. “It’s better to; maybe we’ll actually see this bear that wears people’s faces,” he taunts, his eyes narrowing at the sheriff.

“No,” Beau says and shakes his head, his hand hitting Dean’s chest as he tries to walk past him. “We’re headin’ back to camp, makin’ sure this little lady is okay, and then we’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

Dean’s eyes drift to the older man, his eyes narrowing even more, and he flares his nostrils as his jaw ticks. He’s trying his best not to punch this guy square in the face because Dean Winchester doesn't give up on a hunt, not after hunting for years and solving every fucking case, and saving every pretty girl he meets along the way.

“He’s right,” you speak up and shake your head, and Dean looks back at you. “If we all die, then… there’s really no point in any of this; all of our evidence and knowledge will be destroyed.”

Beau nods, and Dean is restraining himself. He sarcastically smiles and nods, walking past you, making himself the leader this time around, and Beau joins you, deciding to walk along with you now. 

“I’m sorry again,” you say quietly to Beau, and he laughs, shaking his head.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about,” he tells you, his eyes looking at Dean. “You tried n’ we’ll try again tomorrow, kid,” he reassures, reaching over to pat your lower back.

“You all came out here to help, and I didn’t help at all,” you shake your head, gazing down at your sneakers as it grows darker outside. 

“Not your job to help authorities,” Beau drawls, his Texan accent smooth on your ears. “Or… whatever he is,” he gestures to Dean.

“Heard that,” Dean calls back, and you laugh, biting your lip.

“Your boyfriend gonna be upset?” Beau then asks, his eyes looking at you.

“He probably didn’t notice,” you laugh nervously, shrugging. “He’s probably still fishing, or flirting with a girl a few tents up.”

Dean and Beau both mentally note that: neglected girl, clearly under the impression her boyfriend is cheating, and clearly needs something to make her feel better.

“That ain’t right,” Beau mumbles to you, and Dean glances back and over his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be with a man like that.”

“Well, my parents think I’m gonna marry him,” you explain, nodding. “I don’t wanna shatter their dreams of me being a bride.”

“You still can be,” he says, his hand finding your lower back again, guiding you now. “Jus’ not to some loser.”

You turn your head and look up at Beau, his lips curled into an understanding smile in the dark forest, and Dean is overhearing this romantic sob story that’s really only registering as “I can fuck her and make her feel better.” He’s not really sure where the Sheriff’s head is at, though. 

The three of you finally head back to the campsite, and your boyfriend is sitting there; he’s sitting around a fire he lit, his eyes widening when you emerge from the trail, two men behind you, and he swallows hard, quickly running up to you.

“Baby, where the hell were you?” He asks, pulling you into a hug. “I’ve… I’ve been looking for you all day,” he mumbles, pulling back and holding your face.

“It was about last night,” you tell him, nodding. “The thing we saw…”

Your boyfriend looks over your shoulder and sees the two men behind you, awkwardly hovering beside each other; Beau rubbing his beard, and Dean messing with his gun that Beau has decided not to nip him for.

“They take care of you?” He asks.

“Yeah… yeah, really well, actually,” you smile and nod, but your eyes notice something, probably worse than the monster you saw last night.

The tent flap shifts, and a figure dips out of it; a taller girl, long blonde hair, curled to perfection, and she’s sauntering back to her campsite—that’s the girl you had told Beau and Dean about, the one you caught him flirting with a few times this trip.

Your boyfriend notices the look on your face, the sudden dissociation, and he turns his head. She waves bye to him, and your lips part in surprise at the interaction, and he nervously laughs, shaking his head.

“Baby—“ he starts, shaking his head.

You don’t bother entertaining a situation like that, not at all. You merely push by him, nudging his shoulder as you dip into the other tent, the one you had set up in case your friend showed up, who ended up not coming at all. It’s also better than the one that probably smells like sex from some random chick and your boyfriend.

Dean’s jaw is slack with surprise, and Beau is just as surprised at the moment. Your boyfriend stands there and puts his hands on his hips, clearly confused as to what to do.

“You pay her at least?” Dean speaks up, taking a few steps towards your boyfriend. “The hooker.”

“Fuck off,” your boyfriend replies, waving him off, and Dean lifts his hands like he’s guilty. “You don’t know anything about what just happened.”

During the whole exchange, Beau gets a call on his radio, and he curses quietly to himself—some disturbance a few sites up again, and he can’t be bothered to say goodbye to Dean, and he’s driving off in his rover, quickly heading to others in distress.

“I’m just sayin’,” Dean drawls, licking his lips. “Usually, I tip the prostitutes I fuck, and I also don’t cheat on my girlfriend with ‘em,” he shrugs, running his tongue over his teeth.

“Who are you, man?” Your boyfriend asks.

“What’s it to you?” Dean asks, narrowing his eyebrows.

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes and walks off to god knows where, and Dean can only pray that whatever thing was in the woods comes out and bites his head clean off. He decides to walk towards the tent you’re huddled in, and he dips his head in, finding you sitting there, wiping your eyes.

“Sorry bout’ that,” Dean mumbles awkwardly, quietly dipping in through the flap, and you let him. “He’s a piece of shit… knew the minute you said that he left you alone this mornin’.”

You nod a little, wiping your eyes, and Dean sits before you, his legs crossed. He stares at you; your head bowed, your eyes red, and he feels bad. He’s not used to comforting crying girls, only cursing out Sammy and making fun of him when he gets too emotional sometimes.

Dean reaches forward and grabs your cheek, cupping it gently in his rough hands, his thumb collecting tears. Your lips part in surprise at the gentle gesture, and he feels the heat spread to your cheeks.

“I’ll protect you tonight,” he promises and nods, rubbing your chin with his thumb, just before he pulls back and places his hand in his lap. “Won’t let anythin’ hurt you.”

Dean is working off his leather jacket, discarding it at the side of the tent, and you swallow hard, gazing at his biceps against his V-neck black shirt, and you blink. You bite your lip, and he looks up at you, noticing the look in your eyes.

The gesture is surprising but wanted; he’s kissing you, a lazy press of his lips against yours, and you’re already kissing back. Slow movements between the two of you unfold; you’re lazily letting your tongue tangle with his, and he’s pushing you back onto the sleeping back, nudging his way between your thighs.

He’s kissing your lips, quickly and roughly, eager brushes and licks and swipes, your tongues colliding, and your head is tipping back, the side you feel his lips against the side of your neck.

“Dean,” you moan softly, his chapped lips moving along the soft skin, lightly kissing down, his teeth grazing your pulse point, where it beats and throbs. 

His lips move over your skin, hands finding their way up your shirt, bare, rough hands grabbing at your waist, holding you, squeezing you. You whimper at the grasp, feeling how different he is compared to your boyfriend—there’s something hungry in the way Dean moves.

He bites now, teeth sinking into your skin, and you whine, and the noise is a song to his ears, and he smirks, hands sliding down your bare waist and to your denim shorts. He fiddles with the button and zipper.

“You feelin’ good?” He asks you, and you nod quickly, your stomach moving with your heavy breaths. “Makin’ you feel better?”

He carefully slides the denim down your thighs and over your ankles, a quick maneuver he’s clearly done time and time again. He wanted it since he saw you getting changed, that innocent look on your face; the parted lips and blinking eyes.

Dean has your shorts discarded off to the side, and he glances at your underwear; white and cotton, a tiny bow on the front, and he reaches down, his thumb roving over the little detail. You bite your lip, watching.

“Makes me wanna corrupt you, or somethin’,” he breathes out and shakes his head, his jaw clenching. “Too sweet.”

Your eyes look the same as when he caught you; wide and blown out, but there’s that hint of lust sweeping over them, glossy and evident. He slides his hand and gently cups you, his thumb going over where he knows your clit is, all through the warm fabric.

Your head tips back, and you whine, your body shifting against the sleeping bag. He watches in awe at the way you react.

“Neglected thing, aren’t you?” He asks quietly, tilting his head to the side. “Squirmin’ from a little bit of touch, baby…”

“Sorry—“ you mumble and shake your head, feeling embarrassed for melting so easily. Dean loves it.

“Shhh…” he hums, lightly hooking fingers into your underwear. “Jus’ let me make you feel good, yeah?”

Once Dean is satisfied with the damp mark on your underwear and the soft noises you make, he works on tugging down your underwear, leaving it with your shorts. It’s followed by a few soft clicks of his belt and jeans, and he’s helping himself out of his boxers. You swallow hard, glancing down.

“Pretty thing,” he whispers, shifting further between your spread thighs, letting his hard cock press against your folds; warm and wet, and he groans in response.

You bite your lip, eyes squeezing shut as he carefully slides closer to you, letting himself gradually sink into you. You’re already so wet, slick and dripping; he moves in so easily, just a simple glide, and your head tips back in awe, your back arching.

“Oh, my gosh,” you breathe out, quickly reaching up to grab his shoulder. “Dean—please—“ you groan through your teeth, and he’s already panting, leaning over you.

There’s an immediate difference from the last time you had sex; Dean is bigger, thicker, and he starts with quick and heavy thrusts, your body immediately rocking. Your body shifts with the rolls of his hips, and you’re whining, your mouth agape.

“Yeah? Feelin’ even better, doll?” Dean grunts out, his hips mercilessly fucking into you, a back-and-forth motion in the small tent, and the sleeping bag rustles. “Yeah… I bet you are, you are.”

You’re nodding, your head tipped back in awe at how rough he’s turned, and how quickly the sweet words and gestures bleed into relentless thrusts and hard grips and grasps on your hips and waist. You know there’s gonna be bruising, and you’re not against it.

“Takin’ me so good, good girl,” he breathes out, his own head tipping back as he pounds into you, and you’re almost drunk on such a feeling you thought you were used to—sex with your boyfriend was never like this.

Dean relentlessly hits the deepest parts inside of you, sending your head back, and your hand grips his shoulder tighter and tighter, your whole body tense, tears lightly streaming down your face. It’s overwhelming and rough.

“Poor thing… why’re you cryin’?” He asks, his head tilting to the side as he grips your hips harder, keeping you pushed against the sleeping bag. “Don’t cry… be a big girl, baby, just take it,” he taunts, nodding.

It’s all fast-paced and filthy, his words and his movements, the way he enjoys watching your eyebrows furrow and your mouth hang open, how your hips shift and you whine and cry more. He fucking loves it, until it’s interrupted. 

Beau Arlen is there; eyes wide, his lips parted; Dean between your bare thighs, tears streaming down your face, and you’re whining even when Dean has stopped, even when he’s buried inside of you, his own eyes widened.

The call was a quick one—something about a kid going missing, when the little guy had really just walked into someone else’s tent and didn’t know the concept of opening it and leaving when he felt scared. The parents had flipped.

And now Beau came back to this.

“Beau,” you whine, and Dean’s head turns to look down at you, his eyebrows raising at the words. “Beau…”

Beau swallows hard and isn’t sure what to do right now. Dean is buried inside of you, five seconds away from cumming, and you’re softly whining, beckoning him to crawl into the tent.

He goes against every instinct and does it carefully.

“He hurtin’ you, sweetheart?” Beau asks quietly as he moves towards you, and Dean realizes the odd dynamic and feels an odd turn in his gut. He doesn’t mind it.

Dean picks up thrusting again, and Beau watches your head tip back, your eyes closing. He’s right there, beside you, lightly placing his hand by your jaw, rubbing your cheeks as the tears drift down.

“You’re okay, darlin’,” Beau suddenly drawls, and Dean continues to rock back and forth, and he watches that pretty face contort. “He makin’ you feel good, ain’t he?”

You stare up at Beau and nod quickly, biting your lip as you hold back whimpers and whines, and you're squeezing Dean’s shoulder. Dean is still gripping your hips, keeping you still.

“Makin’ her feel real fuckin’ good,” Dean groans, the sound of skin on skin getting louder and louder. “She’s fuckin’ tight,” he mumbles, his head tipping back, and Beau only looks at you.

“Yeah? You tight, baby?” Beau asks, his eyes gazing down, watching your shirt drift up, the bare stomach showing. “He’s in your tummy, ain’t he?”

“Uh-huh…” you babble and stare at Beau, but your eyes slowly go back to Dean, who looks like he’s running off nothing but lust right now. He growls, keeping up the pace.

“Poor thing,” Beau mumbles, sliding a hand to rest against your forehead, his thumb grazing between your brows. “You can take him… and then you’ll take me, too, sweet girl.”

You nod and look away, your body limp against the sleeping bag, a relentless pounding from Dean as Beau coos, softly reassuring you, his hand even going to splay over your stomach. He rubs gently.

“I know, it’s a lot,” Beau whispers, nodding, rubbing your stomach. “But it’s gonna feel good… when he cums in here, makes you feel all warm n’ full. Your boyfriend ever do that?”

You shake your head quickly, moaning louder as Dean suddenly buries himself inside of you, and cums, fast and hard; he pumps inside of you, a consistent stream of his seed spilling, and Beau slides his hand away, letting Dean’s take his place.

“Fuck,” Dean groans, his ring cold against your bare stomach, and you look up at him. “Took me so fuckin’ good, god damn,” he breathes out, holding himself inside of you as Beau begins to undo his belt next.

It was hard not to get hard when you’re whining and whimpering, when you’re staring into Beau’s eyes as another man fucks you. And the process is about to be repeated, once again.

Dean slowly pulls out, and Beau is right there, in line to take over. He carefully pushes in, not leaving you any time to adjust to the lack of cock inside of you, and you whine all over again, your back arching off the sleeping bag, and Dean is going to where Beau once sat.

“Oh, baby,” Beau drawls out, Dean’s cum acting as a second layer of lubricant. “You feel so good… You feel good? Feelin’ okay?”

Your eyes are closed, but a gentle tap on your cheek is when your eyes open; Dean is tapping his cock against your cheek, still hard and throbbing, and your eyes widen. He’s on his knees, right by your head, and your mouth instinctively opens, and Dean slides himself right in there.

Beau is focused on thrusting back and forth, holding your hips gently, a lot less rough than Dean, and Dean is just letting you lazily suck on his head, gagging you, keeping you quiet.

“Pretty girl,” Beau groans, watching your body rock once again, your hips shifting more, and he keeps them still. “Suckin’ like that, all while takin’ me… ain’t you the sweetest thing?” He coos, his words a stark contrast to Dean’s movements before.

You whimper around the cock stuffed in your mouth, letting Beau use you, even though he’s being really fucking sweet about it; all whispers and sighs, grunts and groans that he doesn’t want to make, and a thumb lightly rubbing on your lower stomach.

“Good baby,” Beau whispers, and Dean is gazing down at you, watching your eyes flutter and brim with tears. “Bein’ so good for us.”

“Yeah, real good,” Dean chimes in, his voice deeper and Beau works on keeping you close—he can see it in the way your muscles tense and the way you clench, that you’re getting close. He loves it.

The two of them work together to use you, stuffing you in your mouth and core, keeping you as full as possible, and you’re enjoying it more than you thought. There are Dean's rough whispers, dirty thoughts spilling into confessions, and then there’s Beau’s gentle hands and murmurs, reassuring you, letting you know that you’re doing well, that you have to hold on a bit longer.

“So close, my girl,” Beau drawls, nodding, his own head beginning to tip back in awe. “Jus’ keep takin’ us, you’re okay,” he breathes out, and Dean doesn’t really care—he’s focused on fucking your mouth now, desperately wanting more.

Your mind is cloudy and heavy, a mix of thoughts you can’t seem to comprehend right now; you’re all gagged and full, your eyes closed as your senses are filled beyond what they usually are.

“Forgettin’ about that boyfriend of yours, ain’t you, sweetheart?” Beau drawls, that southern accent somehow deeper than it was before. “Your mind all fuzzy n’ broken right now? ‘Supposed to be like that… want you to forget.”

Your moans and whines are all gagged when you finally cum, and Beau groans and leans over you a bit more when he does—you’ve been stuffed two times in less than forty minutes, and Dean is also spilling into your mouth for a second time today.

Dean purposely lets himself hang over your face, cum dripping onto it, and Beau keeps himself buried inside of you. The two men are exhausted and heaving over you, all pants and soft grunts, and you’re a mess against the sleeping bag, trying to ignore how that was the best sex you’ve had in your entire life.