ʚɞ

you’re not sentimental.

you just happen to remember things.

anyways, he’s late.

you’re in a motel, there’s a pink robe tied tight around your waist and a tube of lip gloss glistening on the nightstand. you’re on the second coat. the glitter’s peachy. it’s subtle. dean loves it. which is exactly why you’re not letting him near your face tonight... not until you get a photo.

he’s always ruining your lip gloss. like it’s his full-time job.

you hear the impala pull in, obnoxious as ever. and your stomach does that annoying twist thing like you’re seventeen with a crush. you ignore it. you grab your phone. you pout in the mirror, checking the shine. your mascara’s holding. hair’s cute. your little robe is short enough to be a threat to national security.

not that you care what dean thinks.

you’re just hot, generally.

The door creaks open.

“hey, sweetheart,” he calls, voice like warm. he’s juggling a greasy bag of food, two gas station sodas, and a mini bouquet of actual flowers. wildflowers. picked. with his hands.

…you blink.

“what the hell is that?”

“bouquet,” he says like you’re slow.

“yeah, i see that. did you rob a meadow?….”

“i picked them,” he replies, setting everything down on the table like he’s not casually being the most romantic man alive.

you blink at the flowers as if they’ve insulted you.

dean fucking winchester is standing in the doorway with a full bag of greasy diner food in one hand and a crooked little fistful of wildflowers in the other, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. and now he’s trying to walk in here like he didn’t make you wait forty-three minutes past when he said “i’m ten away.”

your eyes flick down to the bouquet. they’re scraggly and half-wilted. a daisy’s hanging on for dear life.

“you picked them?” you ask, skeptically.

dean shrugs. “yeah.”

“from where, the side of the freeway?”

“i picked them,” he repeats, with the same gruff, offended tone he uses when you ask if he wants a salad. “jesus.”

you hold back a laugh. you want to be annoyed, but you can already feel yourself cracking.

he shoves the flowers toward you with exactly zero grace and goes for setting the food down on the little table in the corner of the room. it’s one of those rickety wood-laminate ones that’s probably seen more crime scenes than you have. the soda cups slosh. you watch him pull a cupcake box from the bottom of the bag like he’s unveiling some sacred artifact. your stomach flips. they’re chocolate.

okay. so maybe you’re a little obsessed with him.

dean peeks up at you, like he’s trying to gauge your mood. you haven’t said anything yet. you’re still holding the flowers. they smell like grass. and kind of like… engine oil?

“this your weird way of saying happy anniversary?” you say finally, brows raised.

his mouth twitches like he wants to smile but knows better. “what anniversary?”

“oh my god.” you throw the flowers onto the bed and flop down dramatically. “you’re a manchild.”

“i didn’t say I forgot. i just didn’t know which one you were pretending we celebrate this time.”

you glare at him from the bed.

he shrugs off his jacket and sits on the edge of the mattress, like he’s unbothered. “last time it was our first salt-and-burn,” he says. “before that it was when I let you drive the car. and the time before that was, what? first time I didn’t flirt with a waitress?”

“i’m a romantic person,” you snap. “you should be grateful.”

he chuckles under his breath, looking down at the floor like he’s trying not to laugh too hard. “oh, I’m grateful, alright.”

you roll onto your side to glare at him harder. “dean. it’s the first time you kissed me, idiot.”

he lifts his head. that smirk finally softens. “…behind that gross bar in arizona?”

“yes.”

“the one with the jukebox that kept playing bon jovi?”

“correct.”

“and that awful bartender who kept calling you sweetheart?”

“i was so close to stabbing him.”

dean huffs a laugh. “you know i only kissed you to stop you from committing a felony, right?”

“yeah, right.. you kissed me because you were obsessed with me.”

he doesn’t argue.

you sit up and grab the burger from the bag, unwrapping it like you’re mad even though you’re not. you’d been planning to act a little annoyed all night. that was part of the fun. dean’s late, you pout, he apologizes with food and a gift, and then, eventually, you let him kiss it better.

to your surprise, there’s no teasing from his part. he just kind of… looks at you. and it’s weird, honestly, the way it happens sometimes, how he can go from smug and flirty and full of bullshit to just… that. like a switch flips. and suddenly you’re just sitting across from him in a shitty motel with a paper plate in your lap, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only good thing that’s ever happened to him.

you take a slow bite of your burger, pretending not to notice.

dean doesn’t say anything. he just chews his own food in silence for a while, his eyes dropping to your mouth every so often like he’s not trying to be obvious about it. and it’s not even in a sleazy way, it’s barely there. maybe he just likes watching you enjoy something.

the room hums with the kind of quiet that only happens when you’re comfortable. the TV’s playing some old cop show neither of you are really paying attention to, and you’re both barefoot. your knees keep bumping under the table, and Dean doesn’t move his.

eventually, you swipe at your mouth with a napkin and set the burger down. “that diner’s never gonna get your order wrong, huh.”

“‘course not,” he says. “guy at the counter’s scared of me.”

you smile. “so you bully them into remembering i don’t like pickles?”

dean shrugs, eyes on his fries. “i just know what you like.”

you feel that. low, tight in your chest. something warm that you pretend is just the burger, not what he said.

dean doesn’t push it. he just eats one more fry, then leans back against the headboard like he’s settling in for the night. one hand behind his head, the other fiddling absently with the hem of the blanket. he looks… relaxed.

and you suddenly feel very aware of your face. your lip gloss. the way your robe’s slipped slightly off your shoulder. you turn toward the mirror again and check your mouth. still glossy.

dean watches you from the bed.

“you’re not gonna let it go, are you?” he asks.

you glance over your shoulder. “what?”

“the lip gloss.”

“i just put it on,” you say, defensive. “It’s brand new. i haven’t even taken a cute selfie yet.”

dean lifts an eyebrow. “you really think I’m gonna let that mouth go to waste?”

“well, you’re gonna ruin it...”

“that’s kinda the point.”

you shoot him a look.

he smiles. god, that smile. the one that starts a little crooked and ends with your heart somewhere around your knees.

you fold your arms. “no.”

dean pats the empty space on the bed next to him. “come here.”

“no!!”

he tilts his head. “why not?”

“you’ll try to kiss me…”

“i’ll try very hard.”

you fight a smile. he knows it. you know it. the air between you starts to hum a little louder.

dean leans forward, elbows on his knees. “what if I’m gonna be good?” he offers. “what if I just… hold you for a second? that allowed?”

you hesitate.

then, before you can think better of it, you pad over barefoot and drop next to him on the bed. you cross your legs and lean back, keeping some strategic space between your bodies. dean’s arm lands behind your shoulders like it always does, lazy and casual.

you let your head fall back against his shoulder.

“you’re impossible,” you mutter.

“mm,” he says. “i’m being romantic.”

you snort. “you forgot what today was.”

“i brought you flowers.”

“they were dying.”

you laugh uncontrollably, until he turns to look at you, his mouth inches from your cheek. “still pretty.”

dean stares at you like it’s the first time he’s ever really seen you. not the lip gloss or the robe or the way your lashes look in the lamplight, but the version of you that he gets when nobody else is around. the one who steals his fries and rolls her eyes and curls into his side like she was made to be there.

you blink. dean leans in, slow and soft and sure.

“you’re gonna mess it up,” you whisper, even as your eyes flick to his mouth.

he doesn’t say anything. just watches your face like he wants to mess it up, wants to leave his mark there and wear it around like proof.

you should say no again. push him off. finish your burger and get that selfie before it’s too late.

but then his hand slides up, fingertips brushing your jaw, and his lips ghost over the corner of your mouth like he’s asking for permission without words.

so, fuck, you let him kiss you.

and it’s slow. so slow. he wants to take his time ruining you. your lip gloss doesn’t stand a chance. he kisses you like he’s been waiting all damn day for it.

his lips are a little chapped from the wind, but they fit against yours like he was made for this exact situation. he doesn’t rush it. doesn’t grope or grind or go straight for your throat like he does when he’s desperate.

his hand slides to your jaw, thumb brushing that spot just under your cheekbone, gentle enough that it makes your breath catch. you shift closer without thinking. his fingers skim down, tracing your neck, your collarbone, the open edge of your robe. he kisses you again, longer this time. messier. and when he pulls back just barely, he’s looking at your mouth like he wants to apologize and do it again at the same time.

your gloss is definitely ruined.

“oops,” he whispers, way too smug.

you open your mouth to say something back, maybe to slap him, maybe to pull him closer; but then he trails his fingertips down the slope of your throat and you completely forget what language is.

“you’re so warm,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your jaw now, hand ghosting over the curve of your shoulder. “every time. always runnin’ hot.”

“dean-”

“i’m not even doing anything,” he says, smiling against your skin.

which is a big lie.

because his palm is sliding over your waist now, and you’re melting under it. you’re not even sure when he moved, when you ended up half in his lap, one leg tucked between his and your hand gripping the collar of his shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the earth.

“let me hold you,” he says suddenly, low and serious.

you blink. “you are.”

“not like that.”

his hand glides down to your thigh, the edge of his fingers just barely brushing skin beneath your robe. he tugs gently, wordlessly, until you shift into his lap fully, your knees bracketing his hips, his back propped against the headboard. you hesitate for half a second.

then you settle.

and fuck, you shouldn’t feel this safe.

not with a man like him. not in a room like this. not with the world you both live in.

but dean winchester has this way of wrapping his arms around you like the universe makes sense when you’re in them. his hands rest heavy on your hips, like he’s grounding himself with the feel of you. you press your forehead to his. your lips hover, close but not touching.

it doesn’t take long.

one minute you’re in his lap, kissing slow and deep like you’ve got nowhere else to be. and the next, dean’s got your robe pushed off your shoulders and his hands dragging down your back like he’s trying to memorize it. his palms are so warm. he touches you like you’re delicate, even though there’s nothing tentative about it.

every movement is focused and so intentional.

he breaks the kiss only to look at you, his eyes flick down, soaking in every inch of you. he can’t believe he gets to do this. he’s not sure whether to fall to his knees or take you apart where you sit.

then his hands start moving. gripping the backs of your thighs. and you don’t even realize what he’s doing until he shifts you off his lap and lays you back on the bed like you weigh nothing.

he keeps looking at you. his hands trail up your calves, then your thighs. so slow you could scream. his fingers brush the insides. light strokes as if he’s teasing both of you.

“you’re already shaking,” he murmurs.

you glance down at him, propped between your knees, his shirt rucked up, hair messy. and you don’t even realize your breath’s gone uneven until he leans down and kisses the inside of your thigh.

“i haven’t even touched you yet.”

your hands clench the sheets.

“dean.”

“yeah?” he kisses higher. hotter. the scratch of his stubble makes you shiver. “what is it, sweetheart?”

“i swear to god if you don’t-”

“oh, you’re swearing to god now?” he grins, mouthing right beside the edge of your panties. “didn’t even do anything yet.”

your hips twitch.

dean lifts his head and smiles. that cocky, flushed smirk, equal parts brat and boyfriend, and then hooks his fingers under your panties.

“gonna take these off, alright?”

you nod, breathless. he kisses your knee before he does. like it’s a thank you. the panties go. you’re bare. and it’s like dean short-circuits for a second.

“fuck,” he says, voice suddenly low and wrecked. “you’re so fuckin’ pretty down here.”

your cheeks burn.

he doesn’t stop looking. doesn’t stop talking.

“you know that?” he murmurs, dragging his thumbs along the crease of your thighs. “how perfect you are? fuck. i mean, look at you, baby.”

you squirm.

he kisses the inside of your thigh again. then higher. then higher. and then he flattens his tongue against you.

you gasp, sharply, hips jerking, but dean’s hands fly to your waist and hold you there, fingers tight, thumbs rubbing in soft circles to keep you grounded.

“that’s it,” he whispers, already breathless. “god, you taste good.”

your hands claw at the sheets, eyes fluttering closed as he starts moving, slow, lazy licks, savoring it. the tip of his nose nudges against you, and the groan that rumbles out of him is borderline obscene.

he moves deeper. tongue slipping down and back up, dragging tight against your clit before pulling off just to kiss it.

you gasp, “dean, fuck-”

“i know, baby,” he mutters, voice hoarse. “feels good, doesn’t it?”

you nod frantically, whimpering when he locks eyes with you and moans right into your pussy. he could come undone just from this.

because he’s hard. you feel it in the air, his tension, the way his hips twitch sometimes, the quiet grunts he lets out when you moan too loud. he’s not touching himself. he’s not even thinking about relief. he’s too busy licking you like his life depends on it.

“want you to come on my mouth,” he says, lifting his head for just a second. his lips are wet, voice raw. “want it so bad, baby. let me have it.”

your thighs shake.

dean wraps his arms around them, burying his face like he’s drunk on you, groaning every time your hips roll or your fingers grab at his hair. he doesn’t stop. he just keeps worshipping, gentle licks, sloppy kisses, thick praise whispered between each one.

“look at you,” he groans, “look how fuckin’ good you are. my sweet girl, my good girl, takin’ it so perfect.”

you’re gasping, soaked.

“dean- i’m-”

he hums against your clit. “i know. i got you.”

and you do. you come so hard your vision whites out. your thighs clench around his head, and he lets them, groaning, still licking, needing to make you fall apart all over again.

and when you finally pull away, chest heaving, skin burning, you look down at him and see it. lip gloss smeared across his chin. and the hardest goddamn bulge in his jeans you’ve ever seen.

dean wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, panting a little. he’s still catching his breath when you sit up, face flushed, legs shaking, heart pounding out of rhythm. your thighs are sticky, and dean’s still on his knees between yours, looking like he just got hit by a truck.

you stare at him for maybe a second.

then you lunge.

you grab his shirt, yank him up by the collar, and crash your mouth onto his, tasting yourself, groaning into him, swallowing every stunned noise he makes. his hands shoot to your hips, steadying you instinctively.

“fuck,” he breathes, lips chasing yours. “you okay?”

“shut up,” you whisper. “take your pants off.”

dean blinks.

“wha-”

you’re already fumbling with the button, dragging the zipper down while he tries to remember how to speak. his mouth hangs open, his brain still lagging behind, like he can’t quite believe what’s happening.

“wait, sweetheart-”

“shhh,” you say, looking up at him through your lashes. “you’ve had your fun. now it’s my turn.”

dean curses under his breath, hips twitching as you tug his jeans down. you can see how hard he is, straining against his boxers, leaking already, the wet patch massive. you run your fingers along the edge of the waistband, deliberately slow.

dean exhales, it’s killing him. “fuck. you’re tryin’ to make me lose it.”

“kind of the point,” you mutter, tugging his boxers down and letting his cock spring free.

he groans.

and yeah, he’s big, thick and so pretty. red at the tip. already glistening. he’s been like this for you, suffering quietly, grinding into nothing while he ate you out like he was starving.

you lick your lips.

dean makes a sound, somewhere between a whimper and a prayer, and you swear you feel his cock twitch in your hand.

“oh my god,” you murmur. “you’re throbbing.”

“i’ve been hard since you sat in my lap,” he says, eyes fluttering shut. “you gonna do something about it or just admire it all night?”

you smile. “you look pretty when you’re desperate.”

“fuck.”

you don’t waste time. you lean down, still between his thighs, and press a kiss to the base of his cock. one hand wraps around the shaft, stroking slowly, while your mouth works its way up, little kisses, light licks, until you reach the tip.

dean is silent. staring down at you with his mouth hanging open, his fingers digging into the sheets, so fucking gone.

then you take him into your mouth.

“shit-“

it’s not gentle. you want him to feel it, to know how much you’ve been holding back. you sink down slow, tongue pressed to the underside, spit already dripping, your hand twisting at the base as you suck.

dean chokes on a groan. his hips buck once before he catches himself.

“baby,” he pants. “jesus christ, you can’t just- fuck-”

you hum around him. sink deeper.

he throws his head back, adam’s apple bobbing hard, one hand flying to your hair to anchor himself. but he doesn’t force anything. just holds, like he needs to touch you or he might break.

you pull back with a wet pop, eyes glassy.

“dean.”

his eyes snap open.

“you’re so hard it’s leaking,” you say, licking the tip slowly, dramatically, a threat.

he twitches again. “because of you. because i- god, baby, you’ve got no fuckin’ idea what you do to me.”

you smirk and take him back in, this time deeper, sloppier, tongue swirling, cheeks hollowing as you suck him like he’s your favorite dessert. you want him to feel every single second of it. you want him wrecked. whining. yours.

he’s cursing under his breath, moaning your name, hips flexing in tight little jerks he can’t control. he keeps trying to be good, trying not to fuck up the rhythm, but you see the strain in his thighs, his abs tightening when you moan around him, the way his hand starts trembling in your hair.

“you’re gonna make me, fuck, i’m not gonna last if you keep—”

you pull off for a second, spit trailing from your lips to his cock.

“again, that’s kind of the idea,” you whisper.

and then you go harder.

no teasing, no breaks. just the wet, messy pleasure. your throat works, your hands pump, and your mouth wraps tight around him like he was made for this.

he loses it.

“baby, fuck- i’m coming, i’m-”

he groans so loud, his whole body jerking as he spills into your mouth, his hand fisting your hair, not pushing, just clinging. his thighs shake, hips stutter. he’s panting, moaning your name like it’s the only word he remembers.

you don’t stop until he’s done twitching. you swallow. slowly. dean slumps back on the bed, wrecked. dazed. and when he finally opens his eyes, he looks at you like he’s in love. which, honestly, he is.

dean’s still panting, chest rising and falling fast, sweat darkening the edges of his hairline. his hands are still in your hair, his cock resting against his thigh, soft but not for long. you can see it, how his pupils are blown so wide there’s barely any green left, the way his gaze drags over you like he’s trying to memorize every inch.

and then he moves.

one second he’s slouched back, dazed and ruined. the next, you’re flat on your back, your knees hooked over his arms, and dean is on top of you, mouth on yours before you can even breathe, kissing you deep, licking into you like he’s starved. you taste like him and yourself and it makes him groan, low and filthy.

“sweetheart,” he mutters against your lips, “you just about killed me.”

you smile against his mouth, but it’s gone the second he grinds against you, he’s already hard again, the hot, heavy press of him throbbing against your soaked folds. your breath catches.

“jesus christ,” you whisper.

he smirks, kissing down your jaw, your neck, biting gently before soothing the spot with his tongue. “yeah, i know. but baby? you’ve got no idea what you do to me. no idea how bad i’ve been wantin’ this… wantin’ you.”

his hand slips between you, fingers sliding through the wetness he left earlier. he groans like just feeling you is enough to snap him in half.

“fuck. you’re dripping,” he breathes, and you swear you feel him twitch against your thigh. “that for me?”

“yeah,” you manage, but it comes out more like a whimper.

“that’s my girl,” he says, voice going low, and your stomach flips. “always so fuckin’ good for me.”

he doesn’t waste time. he lines himself up, dragging the thick head of his cock through your slick folds slowly, deliberately, just enough to make you gasp and squirm. he’s watching you the entire time, eyes half-lidded but locked on your face like he’s cataloging every twitch and sound.

and then, without warning, he sinks into you.

you both groan. loud.

“jesus-” he hisses, jaw clenched, eyes squeezing shut. “you’re so tight, baby, so fuckin’ warm, oh my god.”

he bottoms out, hips flush against yours, and just stays there for a second. feeling you around him. you’re clinging to his shoulders, nails digging in, your legs already wrapping tight around his waist.

“dean-”

“shh,” he says softly, pressing his forehead to yours. “i got you. gonna take such good care of you.”

when he starts moving, it’s slow at first. deep, dragging thrusts that have you moaning with every roll of his hips. his hands grip your thighs, thumbs stroking over your skin, but there’s nothing gentle in the way he’s looking at you. it’s pure hunger.

“look at you,” he murmurs, picking up the pace just enough to make you gasp. “taking me so well. you were made for me.”

your nails scrape down his back. “dean, god- you feel so good-”

“that’s right, baby,” he growls, thrusts getting sharper. “say my name. say it again.”

“dean, dean, fuck-”

“yeah? you like this? like me filling you up?” his voice is rough, ragged, his hips slamming into you now in quick, punishing thrusts. “this pussy’s mine, sweetheart. always.”

you’re gasping, whining, pulling him closer, and he’s everywhere, his breath in your ear, his hands gripping you like you might disappear, his cock hitting deep enough to make your vision blur.

“god, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he says, and it’s almost reverent. “every time you look at me, I swear I could lose my damn mind.”

he kisses you hard, thrusts never faltering, until you’re breaking the kiss just to breathe. you’re so close, every nerve alight, and dean feels it, he knows.

“that’s it, baby. you’re right there. let go for me. come on my cock like the good girl you are.”

it’s the way he says it. low, commanding, but oh so full of love, that pushes you over the edge. you’re clenching around him, crying out, and dean’s right there with you, groaning your name like it’s a prayer, hips stuttering as he spills into you, filling you so deep you swear you feel it everywhere.

he collapses against you, breathing hard, his face buried in your neck. his weight feels grounding, and you’re still shaking when he presses a kiss to your skin.

“happy anniversary.”

and happy anniversary it is!! :)

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it was stupid. like, really stupid. you weren’t even trying. you’d laugh at his dumb jokes. real laughter, like you hadn’t just heard the same crap a hundred times, and you’d tilt your head and smile at him like he wasn’t forgetting how to breathe.

“morning,” you said one day, walking into the motel kitchen like you weren’t single-handedly ruining his life.

dean stared at you. big eyes. soft smile. hair messy from sleep. you had two pop-tarts in your hand and offered him one like it was no big deal. like you didn’t just rock his whole world on a tuesday morning.

“i saved the strawberry one for you,” you said, biting into the other one.

“you, uh... saved it?” he asked, heart doing parkour.

“yeah,” you said casually, like it wasn’t the most romantic gesture anyone had ever made. “i know you like the pink ones.”

he took it from you slowly, reverently, like you’d just handed him your heart or a wedding ring or the keys to your apartment in heaven.

he could hear sam snorting behind him.

“don’t,” dean muttered as he sat down, carefully unwrapping the pop-tart like it was fragile glass.

“you’re embarrassing,” sam whispered from the other side of the table.

dean kicked him under it.

you were just… nice. that’s what killed him the most. you were a hunter, sure, you’d seen the worst shit out there, but you still had this goodness to you. you said “bless you” when he sneezed. you brought him water when he had a headache. one time, you tied his hair back when he had engine grease in his eyes, and he swore he saw the gates of heaven for a second.

but the worst part? you thought he was just being friendly.

dean “i’ve been flirting with you since missouri” winchester was being interpreted as “just a pal.”

he helped you salt your room every night. gave you his shotgun when yours jammed. carried you to the car like a damn hero when you twisted your ankle. and what did you say?

“you’re such a good friend, dean.”

he was so fucking sick from it.

you never thought twice about it, you were just like that. but dean? he was one look away from falling to his knees every time you smiled at him for too long. it wasn’t cute anymore. it was actually getting kinda dangerous.

like, last night? you had the audacity to reach over during a movie and fix the collar of his flannel. just tugged on it real gently and said, “there. lookin’ good, winchester.” oh, as if you weren’t sending him into full cardiac arrest.

he blinked at you, totally dazed. “you, uh… wanna do that again?”

“what, fix your collar?”

“no. just… yeah. that.”

you giggled and went back to your popcorn like it was nothing. he genuinely had to pause the movie and walk out to the car to scream into his hands for a full thirty seconds.

dean decided right then, enough was enough.

he was gonna make a move. no more fake-flirty shit. he was gonna say something. do something. shake it up. see if maybe you felt any of this too.

so he did. he started getting bold. subtle, sure, but still. he stopped pulling away when your hands brushed, let his fingers linger. he’d bump your hip when you were standing next to him, catch your eye during long drives and hold the stare for too long.

and then one night, as you both sat outside the motel after a long-ass hunt, him with a beer and you with a root beer bottle sweating in your palm, he leaned in just a little too close. close enough that you could feel his breath on your jaw. you didn’t flinch, just smiled, eyes on the stars.

“y’know,” he said, voice low. “i like this. you and me. nights like this.”

you grinned. “yeah, me too. feels like we’re in a movie or somethin’.”

dean turned toward you, full body, arm draped across the back of the bench so it looked casual, but he was literally using it to inch closer to you.

he dropped his voice even lower. “if this was a movie, i’d probably kiss you right now.”

you snorted. snorted.

“you’re such a dork,” you laughed, sipping your soda. “you always say the corniest stuff.”

dean just blinked at you. you weren’t even joking, were you? you thought he was playing around. he wasn’t even sure what expression was on his face anymore. but he smiled through it. “yeah. guess I do.”

he wanted to crash the car into the nearest ditch. just a light crash. nothing fatal. just enough to knock some sense into you.

little did he know it would all start with a fight.

not a big one. just one of those dumb, hot motel arguments that always happened when you two were tired and hungry and road-tripping for way too long. he snapped at you over directions. of course his stupid ass decided it would be romantic to let you drive. you rolled your eyes. then he got real quiet. you knew something was bubbling under the surface.

“you gonna stay mad all night?” you asked eventually, dropping your bag on the motel bed and kicking off your boots. “it’s not like i crashed baby or something.”

dean didn’t answer. just stood there, jaw tight, hands on his hips, staring at the wall like it had personally offended him.

you huffed. “jesus, dean. chill out.”

that did it.

he turned around so fast you flinched, not because you were scared, dean didn’t scare you, but because his face looked wild. raw and flushed and just done with everything. “chill out?” he repeated, voice sharp. “chill out? you think this is me being mad about directions?”

you blinked. “uh. yeah? it kinda felt like-”

“i’m in love with you!”

the words dropped like a bomb. cut through the air so cleanly you honestly thought you misheard him.

you froze. “what?”

“i said I’m in love with you, you fucking idiot,” he snapped, and this time his voice cracked, not from anger, but from the weight of it. the years, the months, the fucking hours he’d spent holding it in. “do you even get what it’s been like for me? watching you walk around every damn day like we’re just buddies, like i don’t wanna rip my own heart out every time you look at me like that?”

you stared at him, stunned.

“like what?” you whispered.

“like you don’t know,” he growled, stepping closer. his hands were fists now, not angry ones, just ones that didn’t know what to do with themselves. “like you don’t feel it too. you laugh when I flirt with you, like it’s a joke. you wear my damn shirts, sleep on my shoulder, hold my hand when you’re tired, and I’m supposed to just… what, pretend it’s casual? just friendly?”

you opened your mouth. nothing came out.

dean shook his head, laughing bitterly. “i’ve been trying, okay? i’ve been trying to keep it cool. to let you come to me. but you’re either the most oblivious person I’ve ever met or you’re just cruel.”

“dean-”

“no,” he cut in, voice breaking again. “i can’t do it anymore. i’m in love with you. real, scary, punch-me-in-the-face love. and i swear to god if you don’t feel the same, i’m gonna lose my damn mind.”

and then you did the absolute worst thing imaginable.

you laughed.

dean’s face fell. he looked completely shattered. “are you kidding me?”

but you were already crossing the room, already putting your hand on his chest and shaking your head, grinning like an idiot.

“i know,” you said, breathless with laughter. “i know, dean. of course i know. you’re the most obvious man on planet earth.” he stared at you, completely stunned. you smiled. “i just didn’t think you meant it. i thought that was just… you. being dean.”

he blinked. “i was being me. me is fucking in love with you.”

you laughed again, soft this time, and your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt.

“im in love with you too, dumbass.”

his mouth opened like he was about to say something, probably some sarcastic little remark, but you kissed him before he could. pulled him down by the shirt and smashed your mouth against his, and it wasn’t gentle or careful or slow. It was sloppy, overdue, and desperate.

dean groaned, hands flying to your waist like instinct, pulling you in so tightly you could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. “you have no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that,” he muttered against your lips.

you kissed him again.

and again.

and again.

when you finally pulled back, dazed and smiling, his hands still on you like he was scared you’d vanish, he just stared at you. like he couldn’t believe it was real.

“so,” you said, a little breathless. “still mad about the directions?”

dean leaned in again, forehead resting on yours, his voice hoarse with relief. “you could drive us into a lake right now and i’d thank you.”

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it doesn’t matter if it was rough, slow, quick, emotional, or downright feral, he’s still checking in. he’s the type to brush your hair out of your face while your chest is still heaving. he cups your jaw and whispers, “you okay, baby?” with that raspy, post-orgasm voice. he won’t stop touching you, but not particularly in a sexy way. like, lovey-dovey touches. his palm on your thigh. his fingers lacing with yours. that kinda thing.

sam’s also super intuitive. if you’re the talky type after sex? he’s gonna lie there and listen to you ramble and giggle with you like you’re both drunk off each other. if you go quiet? he’ll pull you to his chest and just breathe with you, run his fingers down your spine. let the silence feel safe.

lowkey, he’s a clean-up king too. grabs a towel, helps you wipe down, maybe even carries you to the bathroom if you’re too wobbly. you just KNOW he’s the kind to whisper “i’ll be right back, don’t move” before slipping out of bed to get you water or a snack.

and let’s not forget, he’s always gonna be overthinking. even if everything went perfectly, sam’s still gonna be laying there like, was i too rough? did i make them feel good? do they still like me? so if you curl into him, praise him a little, you can feel his body relax as if you just unclenched every knot in his soul.

B = BODY PART..

sam’s favorite part of himself? his hips.

this man is so unaware of how lethal he is until you’re under him, and suddenly that slow, deep roll of his hips becomes his favorite weapon. sam doesn’t walk around thinking he’s sexy, but the second he sees the way you react to the way he fucks, the way you grab his waist, beg for more, whimper when he grinds deep and doesn’t let up?

that’s when it clicks.

and it turns into obsession. he’ll hold your legs open and grind slow, steady, deep, not just to get himself off, but to feel you fall apart. it makes him feel powerful. like you were made for him and he was made to fit into you just right.

however, when it comes to you… your stomach.

soft or toned, flat or plush, he’s obsessed. the gentle curve of it. the way it twitches when he runs his fingers low. the way it stretches when you arch. he’ll pull your shirt up just to kiss it. slide his palm over it slowly while you’re laying together. during sex, he’ll rest his hand there, right under your ribs like he’s holding all of you together while he fucks you open.

and if you’re insecure about it, beware, sam’s the guy who will not shut up about how beautiful you are. “don’t hide from me, baby,” he’ll whisper, lips hot against your skin. “you know how crazy you make me?” and then he’ll show you. with his mouth, with his hands and most importantly, with his cock.

C = CUM..

okay, he’s is not some careless, casual spur-of-the-moment guy when it comes to this, nah. when sam finishes, it’s a whole experience. he’s in his feelings about it. his soul is involved.

where he likes to finish? sam’s a deep finish kinda man. he wants to come inside. always. that doesn’t mean he does every time (he respects boundaries 1000%) but he’s obsessed with the idea of being inside you while he fills you up. it does something to his brain. you’d feel his hips shudder and he’d bury himself all the way in, holding you still, letting out this low, broken groan.

if you let him? that whole “dripping out of you” thing after? he stares at it. literally lays there between your legs and just watches it slowly spill out while you whine and try to close your thighs. he’ll spread you open again and mutter something like, “god, look at that… made you take all of it.”

how he cums? LOUD. sam does not cum quietly. all that control, all that restraint, gone. he’s whimpering, panting, moaning into your neck or your shoulder or your fucking mouth if you’re kissing when it happens. it’s deep, it’s needy, and it’s so goddamn personal.

also, i just have to mention his breeding kink. sorry. sorry but NOT sorry. that man does not casually cum in someone, he breeds. he fucks you like he’s trying to own you. doesn’t even mean he wants babies, necessarily (though that fantasy might linger in his brain on bad days when he wants a life he thinks he doesn’t deserve) but it’s the claiming. the act. the feeling of “i gave you everything i had.” that gets to him. hard.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

sam winchester’s dirty secret? he fantasizes about being corrupted.

yeah, i said it. it’s not even about you being some evil little seductress or whatever, it’s about him not having to be good for once. he grew up being the “responsible one,” the “good son,” the guy who overthinks every moral choice. but in the dark, behind closed doors? he dreams of letting go. of someone dragging the sin out of him, teasing it out, making him beg for things he’d never say out loud.

in his head, it’s always messy. shameful. hot.

he pictures you tugging his hair while he’s on his knees. telling him he like being used. he does. he fucking does. he likes the idea of you riding him until he’s whimpering. scratching your nails down his chest while he stutters apologies for how fast he came. of you pulling him in by his dog tag or his belt loop and saying, “c’mon, sammy. be bad for me.”

he’ll never admit this to you. ever. he plays it cool. maybe a little dominant, a little protective. but behind his eyes, he’s imagining what it’d feel like to lose it. to fall apart under you. to be the one who’s teased, overstimmed, punished a little. he wants to feel like doesn’t have to hold it together anymore.

and the dirtiest part of all? he touches himself to the thought of you ruining him. he’ll come fast. embarrassingly fast. and then hate himself a little for how bad he wants it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

this is not a “yes or no” question per say.

sam hasn’t slept with as many people as dean, not even close. his number isn’t low-low, but it’s definitely selective. he’s never been the one-night stand guy unless he’s in a full-on emotional spiral (see, post ruby, soulless sam era, or when he’s trying to shut his feelings down). he doesn’t fuck just to fuck. that’s never been his vibe. but when he does fuck?

he means it.

sam’s got emotional experience. he listens to your body. he feels everything, and that makes him dangerous in bed, not ‘cause he’s reckless, but because he’s so focused. he’s a fast learner, a people pleaser, and painfully observant. you gasp a little louder when he sucks there? that’s now in the rotation. your legs twitch when he angles his hips just right? he will not stop until you’re begging.

soo does he know what he’s doing? too fucking well. and he doesn’t brag about it. doesn’t have to. he’s experimental, but only if you are too. he’s not scared to try new things, wants to explore. communicates really well. that whole stanford brain? it’s in the bedroom too. he analyzes what makes you tick.

and don’t even get me started on his stamina. that man can go multiple rounds and still have the audacity to ask, “you okay to go again?” while your legs are shaking. long fingers, long tongue, long everything. and he uses all of it.

but what makes it even hotter? that little rookie edge that never fully goes away. he’s not cocky like dean, he gets flustered sometimes when you praise him. looks down at you with those big brown eyes like he can’t believe you’re moaning his name like that. he still blushes if you say something filthy.

F = FAVORITE POSITION(S)..

1. MISSIONARY. BUT.. i’m talking feral missionary. let’s get this straight, sam loves eye contact. he wants to watch you fall apart, wants to see every flutter of your lashes, every little twitch of your mouth when you moan his name. he’s a romantic. a bit of a control freak. so missionary? when he’s deep inside you, his hands pinning your wrists into the mattress, sweat dripping down his neck, his forehead against yours while pounding into you? yeah. that’s peak sam winchester.

that skin-on-skin closeness is everything to him. he loves the intimacy. loves the grip he’s got on you. loves that he can thrust slow or hard or hold you still and grind into you while you gasp like he’s in your lungs. he livesss for your reactions.

2. YOU ON TOP, FACING HIM (COWGIRL). again, sam likes seeing your body, your expressions, your hands on his chest. but, now you’re in control. you set the pace. and he LOVES that. he’ll put his hands on your waist, let you ride him until he’s groaning through gritted teeth, whispering things like, “fuck, just like that… keep going, baby…”

but if you get tired, he flips the script. grabs your hips, starts thrusting up into you while you whimper, overwhelmed. he lives for that whiny, fucked-out look you give him when he takes control back just enough.

3. FROM BEHIND, BUT.. make it emotional. this is like, on the bed, both of you half-naked, bodies tangled. he’s kneeling behind you, one hand in your hair, the other gripping your waist or rubbing slow circles over your clit. deep, controlled strokes while he leans in to kiss your shoulder, whisper in your ear, “you feel so fucking good… you take me so well, sweetheart.”

if he’s feeling unhinged, he’ll hold you by the throat and fuck into you like he needs it. but afterward? he’ll press kisses down your spine like he’s sorry for ever letting go like that. because that’s sam. gentle and a freak.

G = GOOFY..

sam is serious in the sheets… most of the time.

he’s focused, he’s got a fucking mission, to worship you, ruin you, and make you feel so good you forget your own name. especially if he’s in a soft or angsty headspace? he takes sex seriously. every moan, every stroke, every look feels like a fucking prayer.

BUT…

he has a very chaotic goofy side that only comes out when he’s really comfortable with you. like if you’ve been fucking for a while, there’s trust, there’s closeness, there’s banter… THEN it starts.

to give out a few examples, he’ll chuckle when your stomach growls mid-foreplay and be like, “we should’ve eaten first…” while still pulling your panties down, or he’ll groan dramatically when he realizes he forgot a condom again like, “okay this is the fourth time this week, i swear i’m not doing it on purpose..” if you make a stupid joke while you’re on top of him, he’ll laugh, but then thrust up suddenly and say, “still funny?” with that smug fucking face.

and oh the post-nut giggles? oooh he gets them. not every time, but if it was extra messy or especially intense, he’ll bury his face in your neck and laugh like, “jesus christ, what the hell did we just do.” it’s sweet. and it’s sexy as fuck.

H = HAIR..

let’s start with the obvious, yes, the carpet matches the damn drapes. brown. thick. yeah. he’s not fully shaved, he’s neatly groomed down there. enough that it’s never in the way, never too wild, but still super sam. you pull his pants down and you’re greeted with trimmed hair, a big cock, and the scent of his skin and it’s just so real. so raw. you’re instantly feral.

chest hair? OH MY GOD. YES. it’s there. it’s fine but it’s still enough to feel when you’re lying on him after sex. a little patch between his pecs, trailing down his stomach in a v-line of sin. that happy trail™, it leads straight down and you follow it with your lips every time like it’s ritual.

facial hair? depends on the era, obviously. sometimes he shaves. sometimes he’s stubbly. but when he’s got that little beard scruff going on? oh yeah. you feel it burn your thighs when he’s going down on you. you feel it drag along your neck when he kisses your collarbone. you tell him not to shave and he listens. every time.

I = INTIMACY..

like i already said, sex with sam is emotionally based. and that’s what makes it so intense. sam’s the kind of lover where even if it starts rough, needy, desperate, somewhere in the middle of it always turns into something deeper on a personal level.

he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.

when he’s inside you, it’s like the whole world disappears. nothing else matters except the way you’re holding onto him, moaning into his mouth, whispering his name like it’s the only word you remember. he’s so connected. he makes you feel like you’re the only person who has ever touched him.

kissing? always. he has to kiss you during sex. even if it’s messy, even if you’re turned away or on top, he’ll find your lips. he’ll guide your face to his with shaking fingers, panting against your mouth like he needs it more than air.

he says the sweetest things, too. especially when you’re not expecting it. it hits harder because he means every single fucking word.

and the thing is? he can rail you into the mattress and still make you feel like you’re the center of his universe. that’s the duality. he holds your heart while he ruins your body. because for him, intimacy is everything. not some accidental side effect, it’s the whole reason he’s there.

J = JACK OFF..

first of all, how often? sam pretends he doesn’t do it much. he’ll act busy, always reading lore, training, being the world’s biggest buzzkill, but behind closed doors, he’s so fucking down bad it’s unreal.

if he’s around you and can’t have you? it’s a big (no pun intended) problem. he’ll lock himself in the bunker’s bathroom after seeing you walk around in one of his hoodies with no pants on, cheeks red, muttering to himself like, “fucking hell, get it together, sam.”

and then… yeah. the pants come off. fast.

when? at night. in the shower. when he’s on a hunt and misses you so bad he can’t sleep. when you send him a voice message that wasn’t even hot or something, but your voice alone has him rock fucking hard. and sometimes, middle of the day, unexpectedly. you laugh a certain way, bite your lip, literally anything. yeah. he’ll be hard for hours and finally give in when he’s alone.

sometimes he leans back against the wall and imagines you straddling him, fingers digging into his shoulders while you whisper in his ear. other times he gets on his knees in the shower and pictures you standing over him, telling him what to do. either way, he finishes hard. with a groan he tries to muffle.

and afterward? he’s so ashamed. full hands-over-his-face, “god, what’s wrong with me” energy. but it never stops him from doing it again the next night.

K = KINK(S)..

1. PRAISE KINK. sam needs to hear how good he’s making you feel. he craves that validation. “you’re the only one who makes me feel like this.” he’ll literally start panting harder, fucking deeper, the second you whimper that shit. he never grew up being told he was good enough. so in bed? it wrecks him. he’ll mutter little broken replies too, all breathless, “yeah? i got you, baby… s’only me, right?” (YES IT’S ONLY YOU SAMUEL.)

2. OVERSTIMULATION KINK. he’s lowkey addicted to watching you come over and over again. the first orgasm is just the beginning. he’ll use his fingers, his tongue, his cock… and he doesn’t stop until you’re shaking, pulling at him, whimpering that it’s “too much.” but he’s so sweet about it. he whispers, “you can do it, baby… gimme one more. just one more.” and when you cry for him? that’s when he praises you even more, calls you his good girl, pretty thing, perfect angel while he works you through it with those perfect fucking fingers.

3. LIGHT DARCYPHILIA. hear me out, if you ever cry during sex, (from the pleasure of it or from being so emotionally overwhelmed, mayhaps.) he goes into full teddy bear mode. whispers your name over and over. kisses your tears. tells you how beautiful you are, how you feel so good, how he has you. he’s never felt anything like that before, and it makes the orgasm hit harder. for both of you.

4. HAIR PULLING (ESPECIALLY HIS). if you tug his hair when you’re on top or while he’s between your legs, his hips will stutter. he’ll let out this rough, low, “fuck- do that again.” and he loves to gently pull your hair too. mostly to make you look up at him while he fucks you. to get that eye contact he’s obsessed with, to see your face while he ruins you.

L = LOCATION..

1. HIS BED. this is his main HQ for sex. why? because it’s safe, private. cozy. he can take his time, strip you slowly, light a candle or two if he’s feeling it. the sheets are always warm. his pillow smells like him. there’s usually a lore book or journal half-open on the nightstand that he shoves aside to pull you underneath him. he’ll fuck you into the mattress like it’s the last time every single time.

2. THE IMPALA. he tries to not do this often because dean would literally murder him if he found out, but when you’re both desperate on a hunt, there’s only one room available at a shitty motel and you don’t wanna traumatize dean? yeah. that backseat becomes your whole universe. you straddle him, bouncing in his lap with your panties shoved to the side, and he’s gripping your hips like his life depends on it. one hand braced on the ceiling, the other shoved up your shirt, and he’s groaning your name like a prayer. everything’s cramped and sweaty and messy and ughhh. yeah.

3. MOTEL ROOMS. you step into a cheap, flickering-light motel room and the second the door locks, sam turns into a different man. he doesn’t care about taking it slow, he wants you. against the wall. on the desk. on that creaky-ass bed with the ugly blanket bunched up under your knees. he loves fucking you in front of the mirror there, too. one hand in your hair, the other on your waist while he watches you both move. and god forbid the shower’s working. that’s where he gets especially filthy, pressing you to the wall, sucking water off your skin, fucking you under the spray until it runs cold.

4. LIBRARY TABLES IN THE BUNKER. you’re sitting in his lap. trying to “study.” his laptop’s open. his eyes are locked on your neck. and before you can even flip a page, his hand is sliding under your skirt. he eats you out on top of lore, bends you over old books, moans your name into the crook of your shoulder while he fills you from behind. you’re panting. he’s groaning. pages are fluttering off the desk. afterwards he marks the page and says, “we’ll come back to that later.”

M = MOTIVATION..

1. YOUR VOICE. soft. whiny. teasing. sleepy. anything. you could just be reading off a menu, and he’ll suddenly be thinking about your lips around his cock. you moan a little too loud during a stretch? “goddamn it…” he’s hard. and now he has to figure out how to not fuck you into the kitchen counter.

2. YOUR BRATTY BEHAVIOR. sam doesn’t know how to handle it when you talk back. he just gives you that look. that “are you sure you wanna start this?” look. and the second you smirk or sass him again, you’re pinned to the mattress in 0.4 seconds with his hand on your throat and his voice in your ear, “you’ve got a mouth on you tonight, huh?”

3. NEEDING HIM. you curl into his lap and whimper “sammy, please?” he gets this overwhelmed, aching urgency to take care of you. to fuck you slow, kiss every part of you like he’s trying to fix something inside you. because what turns him on most isn’t just sex. it’s that you trust him. that you want him. that you’re so fucking trusting with him and no one else gets that.

4. FEAR OF LOSING CONTROL. oh yeah. sam’s biggest turn-on is that moment where he realizes he can’t not have you. it’s psychological, a little dark. that feeling like, if he doesn’t touch you, fuck you, hear you fall apart for him, he might lose his mind. it’s what makes the sex rougher, it makes him whisper “mine.” it’s what makes him finish so deep and so desperate that he can’t even open his eyes for a second afterward.

N = NO..

anything non-consensual, degrading, or humiliating. even in roleplay, even in dirty talk, no means no. period. sam’s not into anything that makes you feel small. he’s obsessed with you, babe. he’d never be able to look you in the eye after calling you names or slapping you across the face. he doesn’t even like it when you say you’re not good enough.

also, public sex where you could actually get caught. he’ll bend you over in a secluded spot, sure. he’ll pull you into the backseat on a lonely road. but the second there’s even a chance of someone seeing you? absolutely not. not even a little exhibitionism. not his thing. it makes him tense. he’s so protective, and the thought of you being exposed, humiliated, or seen like that by some random asshole makes his stomach twist. he wants your body to be just for him.

pet play, daddy kink, or calling you baby girl is a big no for him, too. it’s just not his language. it makes him feel weird. he’s not into calling himself “daddy.” or calling you “baby girl.” he’ll call you baby, sweetheart, angel, his girl, but nothing that gives off weird power dynamic vibes. especially not the kind that messes with your innocence or infantilizes you. that shit makes him uncomfortable.

and meaningless sex. maybe he could’ve in his soulless era. maybe during some fucked-up grief spiral post jess or post ruby. but normally? if he doesn’t care about you, he’s not hard. he’s not mentally or emotionally there. he’s an intimacy guy. he needs that trust.

O = ORAL..

let’s start with the only thing that matters, sam loves going down on you more than he loves himself. no exaggeration. that man lives between your thighs. you sit on his face and it’s like home sweet home. he’ll literally moan into your pussy, his big hands gripping your thighs like they’re sacred.

he’s slow at first, torturously slow. draws lazy circles with his tongue, looks up at you through those ridiculous lashes while you twitch. he’s obsessed. keeps his mouth on you the whole time, staring up at you with that ruined, messy face like he wants to see your soul leave your body.

and oh my god, he talks. you grind on his tongue and he’s saying shit like, “that’s it… tastes so fucking good… look at you.”

he eats pussy like he’s starving. and when you cum, he doesn’t back off. he locks you down and rides it out, tongue still working you while your legs shake around his shoulders and you’re whining his name like a prayer. if you push at his head, he growls, “uh-uh. one more. gimme one more.”

and yes, he jerks off to the memory of it later. one hand wrapped around his cock while he thinks about the way you screamed when he sucked on your clit. degenerate. oh my god who said that??…

now let’s talk receiving.

he loves it. he’s just not needy about it, never ask for it, but the second your hand brushes his thigh, he spreads his legs a little wider, eyes locked on you like, are you sure? are you really gonna do this right now? and when you drop to your knees his head tips back. he moans like you just saved his life.

there’s definitely a few times he accidentally finished faster than he wanted to and blushed for the rest of the day. but he’ll make it up to you. oh baby. he’ll drag you onto the bed and make you cum twice with his mouth before you can even breathe.

P = PACE..

his default pace is slow, sensual. he moves with full strokes, hips grinding slow, keeping his forehead against yours or his mouth on your neck. every thrust has weight has meaning. he needs to feel all of you, how your body grips him, how your breath catches when he rolls his hips just right, how your thighs tremble when he doesn’t pull back all the way and instead just grinds into your spot again and again and again, “that feel good, baby? yeah? that’s it. let me take my time.” sam wants to witness you falling apart. he wants to be right there, eye-to-eye, panting into your mouth while you gasp and squirm under him.

but oh, when he gets desperate…

it happens when he’s been holding back for too long. on a hunt, or when he’s been jealous, or if you tease him all day and act innocent. suddenly you’re bent over the desk, hands braced, and sam’s behind you pounding into you so hard the books fall off the shelf. he’s gripping your hips, his voice tight, low, groaning things like, “this what you wanted? hm? couldn’t wait five minutes?” he’s not always vocal, but when the pace picks up, he’s feral. he curses, says your name like it’s the only word he knows. you’re not walking straight tomorrow if he’s in one of those moods.

Q = QUICKIE..

he’ll pretend he doesn’t like them. sam will act all rational, “i’d rather wait till we’re alone… i don’t want to rush anything… it’s better when we have time…” but deep down??

that man is a fucking liar.

because when he’s hard, when he’s needy, when you press up against him in the hallway and whisper “five minutes. please, sammy.” he’s already unzipping his jeans.

it doesn’t happen super often. sam doesn’t crave them as much, but when they do happen it’s because he’s so overwhelmed by you he can’t think straight. when you wear something provocative, grind on him and stuff like that. suddenly he’s grabbing your hand, dragging you into the nearest room, locking the door like, “okay. bend over. now.”

how he feels after? lowkey guilty. but not for long. he wipes you down with his shirt sleeve and kisses your forehead like it was a sacred act. he always promises to make it up to you that night.

R = RISK..

public stuff / getting caught? like i said. NOPE. IMMEDIATE SHUTDOWN. sam is not into getting caught. he will risk your back being blown out in a gas station bathroom, sure, but he needs control.

but for example, fucking you with the bunker door unlocked while dean’s asleep down the hall? yes. that kind of “you have to stay quiet” risk is alright. he gets off on the idea that he’s the only one who knows how ruined you look under him, it’s secret.

HOWEVER, THERES A FEW RISQUÉ THINGS HE WOULD DO, LIKE..

⭑ letting you tie him up. (nervous at first, but goes feral once he trusts you. he begs so pretty.)

⭑ phone sex in the middle of a hunt. (voice all low and strained while he jerks off in a motel bathroom.)

⭑ letting you suck him off while he’s on the phone with someone. (pretty self explanatory.)

S = STAMINA..

first round energy?? foreplay for a solid 20 minutes minimum. fingering you slow, teasing kisses down your body, tongue between your thighs until you’re a sobbing mess and he’s still calm as hell, like, “one more before i even touch you, yeah?”

then when he finally slides in, it’s slow. he doesn’t like to rush. he doesn’t even care if he finishes right away, his entire goal is to make you cum at least twice before he even thinks about pulling out.

but when he gets close, he lasts. like… too long. you’re still on round one, shaking, nails clawed into his back, and he’s still going with sweat dripping off his jaw and his voice all raspy like, “almost there, baby… just hold on for me a little longer.” like no. sir. i can’t. i physically cannot take any more. and yet you do, because he holds you through every stroke and tells you how good you are the entire time.

multiple rounds?? YES. ABSOLUTELY. CONSISTENTLY. he’ll go two rounds minimum on a regular night. if you’re both worked up or he’s been gone for a while… three, okay, four.

his recovery time is quick, too. man’s metabolism is on crack. give him 10-15 minutes and a sip of water and he’s ready again, hard against your thigh while he kisses your shoulder and whispers “can i?” all it takes is a praise session. a little pillow talk about how fucking perfect you are. and he’s back in action.

T = TOYS..

YES. sam owns toys. he just keeps them very private. hidden in a locked drawer in his bunker room, tucked under layers of boring-ass lore books, so dean never even thinks about touching it. he doesn’t have a million flashy things. his collection is intentional. a little sleek, intimidating. and all designed to make you scream.

on you? oh babe. that’s his favorite. he uses toys like a study tool. he’s learning your body from scratch.

like, a vibrating bullet while he fucks you? he watches your face while he turns it higher. moans softly when your back arches. he’ll hold it against your clit and stay buried inside you, whispering, “come on, baby. let it go. i’ve got you.” he does not move until you’ve cum twice. he livess for how soaked it makes you.

on himself? he doesn’t usually need them… but for you?? he’ll do anything.

you ask him to try a cock ring? he nods, already flushed. you want to ride him while controlling the vibrator against his dick? he’s breathless, trying not to bust instantly just from how filthy it looks. and handcuffs?? don’t even get him started. you cuff him up one time, sit on his face, and he’ll be ruined for the rest of his life.

U = UNFAIR..

first of all, he’ll spend hours making you squirm just because he loves seeing that pretty little tension in your jaw. you whimper, he smirks. you roll your hips toward him, he backs away. and when you pout and beg, “you’re so cute when you’re needy, baby.” AND THEN DOESN’T EVEN TOUCH YOU.

thinking about physical teasing, he’s a literal terrorist. he’ll touch everywhere but where you need. kiss your thighs. suck your neck. drag his fingers up your stomach and stop right before your clit, just to hear you whimper.

one of his favorite moves is holding the base of his cock, rubbing the tip through your folds for what feels like forever, grinning at how messy and needy you get. AUGHGGSGG.

V = VOLUME..

sam is a moaner… the first time you go down on him? he gasps, whimpers, whines. his hand tangles in your hair and he’s trying so hard to hold it together, but that first swirl of your tongue? he chokes out a guttural “fuck, baby…” and it just keeps going from there.

he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. he gets so wrapped up in the moment, so into you, that his brain just shuts off and all that’s left is raw sound.

OH AND when he goes down on you? he moans into your pussy like it’s his job. every single one of his desperate little grunts are just as much for your pleasure as his own. he gets off on your sounds. groans louder the louder you get.

however, sam is the loudest when he cums. if it’s one of those long, slow, emotional kind of finishes, he’ll whimper. full-on, breathless, high-pitched whimpers. and he collapses on top of you, still murmuring, “so fucking good… jesus… i love you so much…”

W = WILD CARD..

sam has a very specific, deeply repressed kink for being caught jerking off. AND LISTEN. he doesn’t want to want it. it goes against everything he thinks he is. but somewhere in the deep dark crevices of that messed-up stanford dropout brain of his, there’s a wire that got twisted. a part of him that lives for the shame of it.

he has a whole-ass fantasy of you walking in on him. not in a hot, “oops babe caught you” way. no!!! he wants it messy. he wants to be red-faced, panting, fist wrapped tight around his cock, back hunched, completely wrecked, sweaty hair sticking to his face and his mouth hanging open like a desperate animal.

and then the door creaks. and you’re standing there. watching. “oh my god, sam?” he freezes, hands still. “fuck, i thought you were asleep, shit-” he scrambles for a blanket but it’s too late. you’ve already seen everything. and instead of looking disgusted, you tilt your head and give him a look. and that’s it. that’s the fantasy. that look you give him. that sick little thrill that comes with being caught with his guard down, not in control. it makes him cum so hard he blacks out.

realistically? he’d NEVER bring it up. too mortified. too wholesome on the surface. he WANTS to be humiliated, but only by you. don’t be fooled though. he’s still your good boy. even when he’s trembling with guilt and cum all over his hand.

X = X-RAY..

YOU better listen carefully because im about to get real fucking specific out here.

let’s not even lie about it, this man is hung. “why is that shit still growing??” kind of way.

soft? it’s still intimidating. you accidentally brush his thigh and think it’s a wallet or a knife but no, ma’am. it’s the holy weapon. hard? you’re staring at it like, “okay. that’s gonna hurt. and i want it to.”

we’re talking like 8.5 inches BUT HE FUCKS LIKE IT’S TWELVE. because he knows how to use it. it curves just slightly up and hits your g-spot like he’s got a goddamn degree in it. a little too wide to comfortably deepthroat without tears but you still do it like a patriot!!

when it comes to girth, this is where he’s unreasonable. thick. like genuinely. your hand doesn’t close all the way around it and the first time he slides in.

⭑ tip? pink. a little swollen when he’s worked up.

⭑ shaft? a couple veins, nothing too crazy, but one nasty one that runs up the underside and THROBS when he’s close.

⭑ curve? slight, upward, aka DESTROYER OF WORLDS.

⭑ balls? big. warm. hang low when he’s relaxed. he’ll literally grunt if you play with them too long like an old man getting up from a recliner.

oh, and i imagine he’s got that silky skin but steel underneath kind of vibe. when you jerk him off, it’s smooth as hell but you can feel how rock hard he is. sometimes when he’s super turned on, it jumps in your hand. it literally twitches just from the sight of you.

overall vibe check? (…yes im doing this.) that dick has the audacity to look polite and wholesome and then ruin your cervix like it’s personal. it didn’t ask for permission, it gave a gentle kiss and then wrecked your shit for hours. the kind of cock that ends friendships, starts wars, and has you sitting there the next morning with shaky legs and a religious awakening.

Y = YEARNING..

i feel like i may be repeating myself, (that’s what i get for caring way too much just to write one paragraph for each headcanon.) sam’s sex drive is pretty high, but it’s rooted in emotion. when he loves you, he’s in it, he wants you all. the. time. in ways that go way beyond just “i’m horny” and straight into “i need to be inside you to feel like a person again.”

it’s the longing that kills him. he could go days without touching you and still be craving you like he’s starving. just seeing you laugh across the bunker, feeling your hand brush his thigh under the table? he’s hard, aching. he has to excuse himself to the hallway to take a few deep breaths.

he’s SO emotionally attached to sex. he jerks off just thinking about your moans. not your tits. not even the way you ride him. just the sound you make when you whimper his name. i gotta drive that point home.

Z = ZZZ..

it depends on the type of sex.

if it’s a full-blown, body-shaking, filthy, 3 round, “i’m gonna wreck you” session? that man is out like a fucking light. he rolls over, panting like he just ran 15 miles, wraps one massive arm around your waist, and just… collapses.

if it’s slow and emotional? he stays awake a little longer. just to soak it in. you’re all pressed against his chest, sticky and glowing, and he’s whispering shit like, “that was everything.” he strokes your hair while you fall asleep first. he tucks the blanket around your shoulders and passes out with his mouth slightly open against your hair. probably drooling a little. would lick it up ngl.

but if you’re not okay? shaky? sensitive? just need aftercare?? sam will stay up all night. no matter what. cleans you up real gentle, makes sure you’re warm, gets you water, and pulls you into his chest.

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“‘welcome to morrow creek. population 1,206.’” you squinted out the window, voice flat with disdain. “cute.”

dean snorted from the driver’s seat, tapping the steering wheel with a finger. he was already bored. “bet they sell nasty homemade jam.”

“three women,” sam muttered from the passenger seat, flipping through the thick folder of clippings in his lap. “all under twenty-five. found dead in bed, no forced entry, no signs of struggle, uh, local cops think it’s a carbon monoxide leak. but each of ‘em..” he paused, glancing back at you. “they were all virgins.”

the word dropped heavy between the seats, even though dean chuckled like it was just another day at the office. “so.. we’ve got a purity-sucking monster. awesome. what’s next, a ghost nun with mommy issues?”

you leaned your head against the cold window, lips quirking into a smirk that felt a little too tight. “well, good thing none of us fit the bill, right?..”

dean laughed under his breath, but you felt sam’s eyes flick back to you, too quick to mean nothing. you didn’t meet his gaze. instead, you stared hard at the road and let your smile fade.

the motel was standard horror-flick material, though. the three of you tossed your bags into one of the two-bed rooms and you immediately claimed the lumpy couch in the corner before the brothers could bicker about it.

“i’ll take the death trap,” you said, dropping your bag with a thud. “i’ve had worse.”

dean smirked, eyeing the couch like it owed him money. “suit yourself, sweetheart. hope you like springs in your spine.”

sam didn’t say anything, just watched you with an unreadable expression he got when he was thinking too hard. “you sure?” he asked after a beat. his voice wasn’t pushy, it was gentle, as if he wasn’t asking about the couch at all.

you raised an eyebrow, already pulling out the iron blade you kept tucked beneath your jacket. “don’t worry about me, sammy. i’m not exactly delicate.”

that earned the tiniest smile from him, but his eyes didn’t let go of yours right away. you turned your back before it could linger.

the three of you spent the afternoon digging through the town’s pathetic excuse for a library. sam and dean did their usual tag-team, sam sweet-talking the clerk for access to records, dean bitching about how much dust was on the damn files. you tucked yourself into a quiet corner and started scribbling connections, your fingers stained with ink and that familiar buzz of adrenaline humming under your skin.

you were good at this. better than good. you’d learned from the best, but you had your own rhythm now, your own gut instincts that whispered before the lore caught up.

you leaned over the table and tapped your notebook with the back of your pen. “look at the dates. all three deaths were on the waxing crescent. always between midnight and 3 a.m., always in their homes. no signs of entry. that means it’s either incorporeal, or it’s being let in.”

dean leaned over your shoulder, and you caught the faint scent of his cologne. “damn,” he muttered, lips close enough to your ear to make your skin prickle. “you’re getting scary good at this.”

“i’ve been scary good,” you replied coolly, not looking at him.

you could feel sam watching you again, from behind the half-wall of old encyclopedias. you could feel he was trying to peel something back. you didn’t give him the chance.

by the time night crawled in, the motel felt colder than it should’ve. dean was lounging on his bed with a beer, flipping channels, while sam meticulously salted the windows and doors, making sure every corner was sealed. you added your own touch, drawing sigils on the mirror with charcoal, tucking your blade under your pillow, double checking the line of salt at the threshold until it looked right. you told yourself it was just muscle memory. that you weren’t nervous.

but you were. not because of the hunt.

because of you.

because the second Sam said the v-word earlier, your body went cold. not because you were ashamed, or insecure, or anything stupid like that. you just hadn’t wanted them to know. you hadn’t wanted them to realize you were the kind of girl this monster wanted. pure, untouched. you’d spent years building yourself into something sharp and untouchable. and now, something out there could sniff it out like blood in the water.

you cracked open a beer and forced yourself to take a long sip, masking the shake in your hands with practiced ease. then you stood. “i’m beat. gonna crash early.”

dean waved you off with a lazy salute. “sweet dreams, killer.”

sam said nothing. just watched you walk out like he already knew something you didn’t want him to.

your motel room was just a few doors down, but it felt like another planet once you locked yourself inside. you did what you always did. you locked the door, salted the windows, tested your knife grip, triple-checked the lines on the floor. but your chest still felt tight. your palms were damp. your skin felt… exposed.

you weren’t scared of dying. that had stopped being your biggest fear a long time ago. what made your stomach twist was the idea that you might get chosen. that this thing might sniff you out, and suddenly sam and dean would know. they’d look at you differently. pity you, protect you.

and you didn’t want to be protected. you wanted to be seen as dangerous.

but right now? sitting alone in a dark motel room, knees pulled up to your chest as you stared at the door like it might explode inward, you felt like prey.

a knock broke the silence. your head snapped up.

“hey… it’s me.” sam’s voice was low through the door, almost gentle. he already knew not to scare you more than you were.

you hesitated, heart hammering. “what the hell, sam?”

“i saw that expression when you left,” he said. “you okay?”

the words caught in your throat. you didn’t know how to lie to him right now. there was a long pause. thank fuck he didn’t push.

you stood slowly, crossed the room on quiet feet, and undid the lock. your hand trembled just slightly on the doorknob before you opened it.

“…come in.”

sam stepped inside slowly. honestly, he wasn’t sure you’d actually let him. his eyes scanned the room, your over-prepared salt lines, the open blade on the nightstand, the half-drunk beer. then they found you again. that same look.

and that, somehow, felt even worse.

he stood in the middle of your motel room like he didn’t want to make the first move.

“you gonna say something?” you asked, voice quiet but sharp. defensive. if he touched the wrong nerve, you might shatter or explode. you weren’t sure which.

sam’s gaze softened a little, but it didn’t lose focus. “did you really come in here just to sleep?”

you turned away, busying yourself by pretending to adjust the salt line by the window. “what the hell does that mean?”

“you’re scared,” he said, blunt now. “not of the hunt, or the monster. of being its target. and I think you already know why.”

you felt your pulse in your throat, your fingers twitching at your sides. “so what? you gonna tell dean? put me on some kinda leash? lock me in the car like a liability?”

he was behind you before you even heard his steps, his voice brushed close to your neck. “no. i’m not gonna tell him anything. i’m not here to judge you. i’m here because…” he paused, like he needed to find the exact words. “because if you are what this thing’s looking for, that means you’re in danger. and i’m not letting anything happen to you.”

you turned to face him, and suddenly he was close, his chest nearly brushing yours, his hand ghosting over the air between you. “you don’t get it,” you said quietly. “you don’t know what it’s like… walking around with this stupid secret. being the only one in the room who hasn’t-.. who is-..”

“a fuckin’ virgin?” sam finished for you, gently but without hesitation. “yeah, i got that part.”

your cheeks burned, but you didn’t look away. “…you think it makes me weak, don’t you?”

“no,” he said, voice low and certain. “i think it makes you brave as hell for coming out here and hunting with us anyway. for pretending like it doesn’t matter when i can tell it’s tearing you apart inside.”

you felt something split wide open in your chest. a dam cracking. you were so tired of holding it in. of hiding behind sharp jokes and harder walls.

“i didn’t plan on staying that way forever,” you murmured. “it just… didn’t happen. didn’t feel right. not yet.”

sam’s thumb brushed your jaw. “and now?”

you swallowed. looked up at him through your lashes. “now i feel like a goddamn target. like it’s this thing hanging over me and, sam, i hate it. i hate being afraid.”

his lips hovered close to yours, voice a whisper against your skin. “then let me help.”

you stared at him. “you don’t have to-”

“i want to.”

there was no hesitation in his eyes. no lust-fueled pressure. he leaned in, mouth catching yours in a kiss that was patient but deep, like he’d been holding it back for too long. you melted against him before you could even think, hands grabbing the front of his shirt like it was the only thing anchoring you.

his tongue brushed yours and the groan he let out was filthy, like the taste of you knocked the breath out of him. “you taste so fucking sweet,” he muttered against your lips. “been wondering what it’d feel like to kiss that mouth since you first mouthed off at me.”

you pulled back slightly, breathless. “that was, like… day three.”

sam smiled, hand sliding down to the curve of your hip. “yeah. i’m patient.”

you tugged his shirt off, finally getting your hands on all that muscle he kept hidden under layers. his stomach taut under your fingers as he stepped you back toward the bed.

“you sure about this?” he asked one last time, voice rough but gentle.

you nodded. “i don’t want it to be fear that takes it away from me. i want you.”

that did something to him. suddenly he was all over you, mouth on your neck, hands gripping your thighs as he lifted you onto the bed like you weighed nothing. he kissed down your body like a promise. every touch was careful and intentional, but so hungry. and when he finally pushed your thighs apart and knelt between them, he looked up at you like he was about to ruin you.

“i’m gonna make this good for you,” he murmured, voice so deep it made your toes curl. “so good you forget why you were scared at all. so good it won’t matter that you waited this long.”

you barely managed to gasp before his mouth was on you. hot, skilled, tongue licking long deliberate strokes on your pussy. he was memorizing every single sound you made. you clawed at the sheets, moaning his name like a prayer, and he just held you open with those strong hands, eating you out. he’d literally die if you pulled away.

and when you finally came, shaking and gasping, he kissed back up your body, slow and sweet. “i’ve got you,” he whispered, brushing his lips over your jaw. “let me take care of the rest.”

sam moved over you like he’d been dreaming about it. until now, until your back was arched against the bed and his body was finally settled between your thighs, all warmth with pressure and want. the motel room around you felt like it didn’t matter. the only thing real was him.

“you good?” he asked again, voice wrecked and whisper-rough, his fingers brushing your cheek while his other hand slowly guided his cock along your folds, teasing. not out of cruelty, but to give you time to breathe.

you nodded, but your voice cracked a little when you said, “yeah. i want it.”

he kissed you again, slower this time, like he was trying to calm your heartbeat with his mouth. “gonna go real slow,” he murmured, forehead pressed to yours. “you tell me if you want me to stop. you say the word, and i back off. no questions.”

“i won’t,” you whispered, hips already lifting to meet him. “i want you, sam. just you.”

the first push was gentle. he went slow, careful, watching your face the entire time, not even trying to hide how hard he was breathing. you were tight, hot, the stretch just on the edge of too much, and the feeling of him filling you had your eyes rolling back almost instantly.

“oh my god,” you gasped, fingers gripping his shoulders. “sam..”

“i know, baby. i know.” his voice was tight, controlled, but he was barely holding back a growl. “you feel-fuck-you feel perfect.”

he paused once he was buried inside, letting you adjust, kissing your neck and running one hand slowly up your thigh like it would help you relax. “breathe,” he whispered. “you’re doin’ so fuckin’ good.”

you were trembling, half from nerves, half from the feeling of him, all of him, seated so deep inside you, stretching you open in a way that felt devastating and intimate all at once. you didn’t even realize tears were brimming at your lashes until sam kissed one off your cheek. “you okay?” he murmured, thumb brushing under your eye again.

“i’m perfect,” you whispered. “just, holy fuck, don’t stop.”

his hips pulled back slowly, and when he pushed in again, it was smoother. still deliberate, but deeper, more rhythmic, trying to find his pace with you, tuning his body to yours. you wrapped your legs around his waist and let your head fall back, moaning shamelessly as he started fucking you in deep, slow strokes that made your breath hitch every time he bottomed out.

“that’s it,” he grunted, forehead still pressed to yours, sweat beading at his temple. “taking me so fuckin’ well, baby… i’ve got you. just let go.”

you couldn’t think. couldn’t speak. the way he was moving slow, his name kept falling from your lips in a quiet chant, the only word you could seem to remember.

sam’s hand slid between your bodies, thumb pressing soft circles into your clit. you gasped, body jolting, and he smiled against your neck. “that feel good, sweetheart?” he whispered. “you like when i touch you like this?”

“yesyes, please, don’t stop-” your voice broke again as pleasure started coiling hot and heavy in your belly. “i’m gonna, sam..”

“i’ve got you,” he said again, voice so loving it hurt. “you can let go. you’re safe.”

you came around him hard, clenching so tightly around his cock that he had to bite his lip to keep it together. your whole body tensed, then collapsed under him as you shook and gasped through it, and he held you like you were something precious, whispering through every twitch.

“that’s it, that’s my girl… fuck, baby, you’re so beautiful like this…”

he kept moving, chasing his own high now, breath stuttering as he fucked into you deeper, a little faster, but never rough. his face was buried in your neck, hand gripping your thigh, and when he came, it was with a full-body groan. he buried himself to the hilt, hips stuttering, panting like he’d just run a marathon.

and then… silence.

heavy breathing. the weight of him on top of you, solid and real and safe. you ran your fingers through his hair, and he let out the softest sound, content, like he didn’t want to move.

he stayed draped over you, his hand still curled around your waist like he needed to keep you close in case you disappeared. you felt wrecked, in the best way.

after a while, sam leaned up on his elbow, pushing the sweaty hair off your forehead, looking down at you like you were made of fucking starlight. “you still okay?” he whispered, and his voice was so gentle, so low and fond, it made your throat get tight.

“mhm,” you mumbled, already half-asleep, still spread out and naked beneath him. “i think you fixed me.”

sam chuckled, brushing his lips over your temple. “i’m a healer now?”

“literally,” you sighed. “virginity demon who?”

he kissed your jaw. “oh, the spirit is banished, alright. world saved.”

you rolled into him, lazy grin pulling at your lips. “one orgasm at a time.”

“…one?”

you blinked up at him, then immediately burst out laughing as he smirked like the smug bastard he was. “okay, chill, sam,” you groaned. “my body’s not even functioning yet.”

“i’ll give you thirty minutes,” he muttered, pulling you into his chest, tucking the blanket around both of you like you weren’t still sticky and sweaty and fucked dumb.

“i’m gonna fall asleep like this,” you whispered, fingers drawing little shapes on his bare chest.

“good. you should.” his voice was all honey again. “you’re safe with me.”

and that was the last thing you heard before you drifted off, wrapped in sam’s arms, thoroughly wrecked and absolutely ruined for anyone who wasn’t a 6’4” soft-spoken demon hunter who fucked like he was trying to put your soul back together.

it felt nice finally falling asleep. your legs were tangled with sam’s, your head tucked under his chin, and his hand was still splayed across your ass like it belonged there. which, to be fair, it did. the room was still warm with sex and body heat and whatever leftover cologne he wore that now lived in your hair.

until the door slammed open like it was kicked by a cop.

“you have got to be kidding me.”

you screamed. sam jolted awake with military precision, reaching for the knife on the nightstand in one motion while covering you with his body in the next.

and standing in the doorway, framed by shitty motel light and holding a crumpled paper bag full of snacks, was dean winchester.

mouth open. face full of regret.

you just stared at each other.

“…dude,” sam said groggily, arm still around you like he didn’t have his whole ass out under the sheet. “what the fuck.”

dean blinked again. “nah.”

he turned around immediately. stared at the wall. took a deep breath.

“oh, no, no no no, this is not happening. this is not how I start my fuckin’ morning. i got beef jerky and a coke and now I have to go pour bleach in my brain because my little brother decided to go all lust in the dust with you.”

you groaned, flopping onto your back and dragging the sheet over your head like a corpse. “please kill me. please kill me now.”

“don’t tempt me.” dean yelled, still facing the wall with his arms out like he was trying to keep a crime scene untouched. “i trusted you! you were the normal one! you sat next to me during stakeouts! you made fun of him with me! what the hell?!”

“i don’t think I’ve ever made fun of sam with you-” you started to say, but dean spun around dramatically, index finger raised like a furious little league coach.

“don’t lie to me now, sex goblin! i saw what i saw, and i can’t ever go back from that!”

sam had the audacity to rub his eyes and mumble, “you could’ve knocked, dude.”

“oh, don’t you start,” dean snapped, pacing now. “i’ve heard you. i knew you were in here. i was trying to be respectful. i thought, ‘hey, they probably just fell asleep watching TV, maybe they’re sharing the room, maybe sam’s just being weird and overprotective, maybe she had a nightmare..’ BUT NO.”

he spun to face you both again, looking personally betrayed.

“y’all were out here doing the monster mash and i walked in ten seconds too late to stop my retinas from dissolving.”

you peeked out from under the covers. “we didn’t mean for you to find out this way.”

“oh really?” dean scoffed. “how were you planning to tell me? group text? powerpoint? smoke signals from your fucking bedroom?!”

sam sighed. “dean-”

“no. no ‘dean.’ i need castiel to erase the last ten minutes of my life.”

he turned back toward the door, paused dramatically, and looked over his shoulder with the most betrayed face known to man.

“i hope you know,” he said solemnly, “that i will never sit on that bed again.”

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“don’t fucking move,” he growled, sinking to his knees between your legs, yanking your skirt up so fast the fabric damn near tore. “i knew you were acting up for a reason. all needy ‘n squirmy in the damn car. you should’ve told me you were this wet, sweetheart.”

before you could say a word, his mouth was on your cunt. dean fucking devoured you like you were the only thing keeping him alive. his tongue worked deep, curling and dragging inside you like he was licking into the core of your soul, while his nose pressed tight against your clit, giving you no room to breathe.

“oh my god, de-”

your voice cracked into a high, wrecked whine, legs trembling, back arching off the bed, but he just growled, shaking his head slightly while he sucked at your clit until your vision went white. the sounds were obscene, slurping like he wanted everyone on the floor to hear just how messy he could get for you.

“keep your legs open,” he grunted into you, voice muffled by your pussy. “wanna feel you cum on my tongue. right fuckin’ now.”

you came so hard it was embarrassing. thighs clamped around his head, moaning so loud you swore the damn windows rattled. but dean didn’t stop. he wouldn’t stop.

he dragged your limp body further up the bed like you weighed nothing, and before you could even catch a breath, he was on top of you, cock already out and rock hard, brushing against your overstimulated pussy.

“you thought i was done?” he rasped, eyes burning into yours. “nah, baby. you’re gonna take all of it.”

and he shoved inside, one brutal thrust, balls deep, stretching you open until you cried. he didn’t give you time to adjust. every inch of you shook as he pounded into you like he hated you.

his hand came up to your throat, gripping just enough to make your head spin, while his hips snapped forward in ruthless, punishing strokes that left no space between your bodies. you were wrecked, babbling nonsense, mouth open but no sound coming out.

“that’s it,” he groaned. “fuckin’ take it. you love this, don’t you? my good little girl, so tight, so fuckin’ wet for me.”

his other hand snaked under your knee, pinning your leg up high, and the new angle had his cock hitting deep, right against that sweet spot that made you scream.

he was using you now, chasing his own high. dripping sweat onto your chest, panting through gritted teeth as your pussy clenched around him like a vice. “fucking hell,” he growled, slamming into you harder. “this pussy’s mine. say it. say it, sweetheart.”

“m-mine.. no, yours! it’s yours, de, i swear-!”

“damn right it is.”

and then he spit in your mouth, without warning. it was so degrading, and your whole body shivered with how nasty it made you feel. he kissed you right after, tongue deep, like he couldn’t get enough of your taste mixed with his.

“i’m gonna cum so deep you feel it tomorrow morning,” he hissed into your ear. “maybe I’ll fuck you again at breakfast, bend you over that goddamn minibar while you’re still wearing my shirt.”

his thrusts turned sloppy. desperate. he bit your shoulder, your neck, your jaw. marking you like he wanted the whole world to know who you belonged to. and when he came? oh, baby, he roared.

pressed in all the way, cock twitching as he filled you up, hips grinding in slow circles to make sure not a drop slipped out, buried so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach, rutting through every spasm like he wanted to mark your womb with his name.

when he finally pulled out, he looked down at your used, twitching body with the dirtiest fucking smirk.

“drunk little slut,” he whispered, dragging two fingers through the mess between your thighs. “let’s see how many more times i can make you cry tonight.”

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He looked at you with that warm, boyish smile, the one that always made your chest ache. The kind that said I love you, even when he hadn’t said it out loud yet that day.

“You comfy?” he asked, sitting on the edge of the bed beside you, brushing his fingers lightly over your ankle.

You nodded, stretching a little under the blanket. “I am now.”

He chuckled softly, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “Good.”

You watched him for a moment. The way his hair curled slightly behind his ears. The curve of his lips. His hands— big, careful, resting gently on your leg like he didn’t want to startle you. You’d been together for a while now, but something about tonight felt different. Softer. Slower. Like everything had paused just so you could feel it more.

You reached for him, and he came willingly, laying down beside you, head resting on his arm, his body warm against yours. He smelled like cedarwood and fresh air, like comfort and safety and everything good.

“I missed you today,” you whispered, your fingers tracing the edge of his jaw.

“I missed you too,” he said, turning his face slightly to kiss your palm. “All day. Kept thinkin’ about you.”

Your heart fluttered.

He looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. Like he could see straight through you and still wanted to hold every piece.

His hand found your waist, fingers brushing the hem of your shirt, but not moving further. Just resting there. His thumb stroked over the fabric, slow and soft.

“Can I hold you like this for a while?” he asked gently.

You nodded, cheeks warm.

He pulled you in, wrapping his arms around you completely, your face tucked under his chin, your legs tangled together. His hands moved slow— one at your lower back, the other cradling the back of your head like you were something fragile. He didn’t try anything else. He just held you.

“I love the way you feel in my arms,” he whispered after a moment, lips brushing your hair. “Like I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

You sighed into his chest, your body melting into his. It wasn’t about heat or urgency. It was about being seen. About being wanted in the gentlest way.

He tilted your chin up, just a little, and kissed you— slow and sweet. Not deep, not rushed. Just enough to make your lips part and your breath catch.

His breath hitched the second your hips shifted under him, your thighs parting a little wider as he nestled between them. He was already hard, and god, you could feel it, the thick press of him against your core, even through the thin layer of fabric still between you.

“Sorry,” Sam whispered, his voice wrecked with need, his forehead pressing into your shoulder. “I didn’t mean to… it’s just…”

You reached up and cupped his cheek, heart thudding in your chest, “I want you to,” you said softly. “I want all of you.”

He shivered like the words physically hit him. His eyes fluttered shut, his hand brushing your cheek like he needed to ground himself.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered. “But I just… I need to go slow. You’re so important to me.”

You nodded, lifting your hips toward him in a silent invitation, and that’s when he let out the softest, neediest little moan you’d ever heard from him, like he was trying so hard to hold back but couldn’t help the way his body was reacting.

He pulled back just enough to slide off his boxers, and when you looked down and saw him, your breath caught. Thick. Heavy. Hard in a way that made your thighs tremble just from imagining how it’d feel.

Sam blushed, actually blushed, cheeks pink, eyes darting away for a second like he was embarrassed.

“I-it’s okay if it’s too much,” he said gently, rubbing your side. “I’ll stop if you want. I just—” his breath caught again, “I wanna make love to you. Not just rush through it.”

Your hands slid down his stomach, slow, and wrapped around the base of him, and he groaned, hips jerking forward just slightly.

“You’re perfect,” you whispered. “Please, Sam… just go slow like you said.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, body pressing down against yours, as you quickly disregarded your shorts and panties. You could feel the head of him slipping through your folds, dragging through the slickness that had built between your thighs, and he gasped against your lips.

“You’re so warm,” he breathed. “So wet for me… I can’t believe I get to do this with you.”

When he finally pushed in, slowly, carefully, you felt the stretch immediately. He was thick, filling you inch by inch, and he kept stopping to make sure you were okay, brushing your hair back, whispering little praises.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Just a little more, almost there…”

He was trembling above you by the time he was all the way in, buried deep and still, his arms locked on either side of your head.

“Y-you feel so good,” he said, voice shaking. “I’ve never… it’s never felt like this.”

You clung to him, your body trying to adjust, and when he finally started to move, just barely rocking his hips, shallow little thrusts, it already felt like too much.

So slow. So deep. So full.

You gasped, eyes fluttering shut, and Sam kissed your forehead, your cheeks, your mouth. “Is that okay?” he asked between kisses, his voice rough but still so gentle. “I’m not hurting you, right?”

You shook your head, breathless. “No—feels so good, Sam.”

He let out this soft, desperate sound, hips rolling harder, deeper, grinding into you just enough to make your back arch and your fingers clutch at his shoulders.

“I’m sorry—I’m trying to go slow,” he mumbled against your skin, “but you’re just so tight… and warm… and I’m already so close, baby…”

His words made you clench around him, and he felt it, his whole body jolting, breath stuttering.

“Oh—just like that,” he gasped. “D-don’t move too much—I won’t last…”

His rhythm stuttered, hips grinding in deep, his forehead pressed to yours as he whimpered your name.

“I’m gonna—oh God—I’m gonna come already,” he whispered, voice broken. “You’re too perfect. You’re everything…”

And when he finally let go, it was messy. His whole body trembled, cock pulsing deep inside you as he filled you completely, his mouth never leaving yours. He moaned your name, soft and needy, like he was falling apart right there in your arms.

Afterward, he stayed buried inside you, breathing hard, fingers still brushing your cheek.

“I didn’t mean to finish that fast,” he mumbled, blushing. “You just… you felt like heaven.”

You smiled, pulling him closer. “It was perfect.”

And fuck, it couldn’t have been more perfect.

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Then warmth.

Not the kind that blankets you, but the kind that feels alive. A palm brushing your forehead, calloused but careful. Fingers threading through your messy hair like you were something fragile. That’s what woke you. That, and his voice.

“Hey, mama.”

Dean’s voice wasn’t loud, it was barely there. Like if he spoke too hard, the moment would shatter. His eyes were red, but he wasn’t trying to hide it. He stood at the edge of the bed, hands shoved into his jacket pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them, eyes locked on the tiny bundle resting on your chest.

He looked at you like he’d been struck. Like he’d seen a ghost and fallen in love with it.

“You— baby, you did it.”

You blinked slow, trying to pull yourself up on your elbows, but your body protested instantly. Everything ached. Your muscles, your head, even your teeth. Dean noticed immediately, rushing to your side and pressing a hand to your shoulder, shaking his head.

“No, don’t— don’t move. I got you. Just rest. Just breathe.”

And then he reached down; gently, reverently, and picked up the baby. Like it was holy. His hands were big around them, careful, sure. His breath caught in his throat the second he had them cradled against his chest.

“Oh my god,” he whispered. “Oh my god, look at you.”

There was a beat. The kind of silence that means everything. And then he laughed, low and breathless and a little broken. The kind of laugh you let out when you’re looking at something you never thought you’d get to hold.

“You made this,” he whispered, glancing at you like you were the moon. “You made this, sweetheart. Jesus.”

The baby made this tiny, sleepy noise, and Dean’s whole body curled in around them. Like instinct. Like it was the only thing his body knew how to do anymore. He sat on the edge of your bed, eyes wide and heart in his throat, and rocked the baby with a rhythm that was too natural to be learned.

“I didn’t even know it was possible to love something this fast,” he said, voice cracking. “Didn’t know it could hit like this.”

You were so tired. Every blink felt like it might be the last before sleep pulled you under again. But you didn’t want to miss a second. Not this. Not him.

Dean looked over at you, tears sliding down his cheeks like they didn’t even belong to him. “You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met,” he said. “You’re so fuckin’ brave. I don’t know how I got this lucky, but I swear to God I’m gonna spend the rest of my life making sure you know.”

He leaned over, kissed your temple. His lips stayed there for a while. Breathing you in. Like he needed proof this was real. Like if he let go, he might wake up in the Impala in some cheap motel parking lot, and this would all disappear.

Then he whispered something to the baby. Too quiet to catch. Just soft enough that you knew it was sacred.

When he sat back again, he started humming. Some old rock ballad you couldn’t place through the fog in your brain. He rocked the baby like it was muscle memory, smiling down like he’d just been given the world wrapped in hospital blankets.

“I’m your dad,” he told them, chuckling to himself. “I’m your dad, holy shit.” he looked back at you again, eyes soft, “And you’re their mama. The love of my life. My girl.”

And maybe it was the exhaustion, or the hormones, or the rawness of it all, but you cried. Quietly. Just tears slipping out the sides of your eyes while you laid there, overwhelmed and in love and full of something you couldn’t name.

Dean didn’t panic. Didn’t freak. He just reached for your hand and kissed it like he’d do it a million times more. “Sleep, sweetheart,” he murmured. “We got you. Me and this little bean— we’re on night shift.”

You let your eyes fall shut, finally.

And the last thing you heard before sleep took you under was Dean Winchester singing your baby to sleep with a voice meant for backroads and lullabies.

The next morning feels like a dream dipped in gold. You’re not even sure what time it is. Could be noon, could be 4 AM, but you wake up to the sound of a soft knock, the rustle of flannel, and a baby’s breathy coo. Everything hurts less. Or maybe it still hurts, but it doesn’t matter anymore. Not with the way Dean looks standing by the window, sunlight catching the edge of his jaw, holding your baby like he was made to.

He’s swaying again. Same slow rhythm. Same whisper-singing under his breath like he’s telling secrets only the two of them get to hear. The baby’s nestled against his chest, all tucked into a blanket that he probably rewrapped five times to get perfect. He looks down at them like he’s memorizing everything; the tiny lashes, the soft fists, the weird little way their nose scrunches when they yawn. And then he sees you.

“Hey, sleepy girl,” he says, voice soft like syrup. “We missed you.”

You blink at him, hazy and warm, and he crosses the room like he can’t stand being that far from you. He leans down and kisses your forehead like it’s instinct, like he’d do it every hour on the hour if you let him. He’s so gentle when he sits beside you, so proud it hurts to look at him.

“She smiled,” he whispers like it’s breaking news. “I mean, probably gas or something, but still. She smiled. And she’s got your nose. Totally. It’s not up for debate.”

Your heart folds in on itself. You let him pass the baby to you, watching the way his hands linger for a second longer than they need to. He doesn’t want to let go. You don’t blame him.

And then, chaos, but the tiniest version of it. A nurse walks in with discharge forms. You’re cleared. You’re going home.

Dean’s whole face lights up like a Christmas tree. “We get to take her with us?” he asks, like she might still belong to the hospital. The nurse laughs. “She’s yours, dad.”

Dad.

That word hits him hard. You see it, the way he swallows it down, the way it echoes in his chest like thunder. He helps you dress, one hand always hovering at your back, as if the world might hurt you if he lets you go for a second.

And when it’s time to buckle the baby into the car seat, he hovers like he’s defusing a bomb. Arms crossed, pacing, muttering to himself. “Too tight? Is it too tight? Is her neck gonna snap? Holy shit, is this thing even safe?”

You have to gently lay a hand on his arm to stop him from spiraling. “Dean. She’s fine. You did good.”

He still insists on sitting in the backseat the whole drive home, one hand on the baby’s chest, the other gripping the side of the car seat like he could shield her from gravity itself. You’re driving— don’t ask how that happened, and he keeps glancing at you through the mirror like you’re some kind of divine miracle.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asks every two minutes. “You need water? Food? A blanket? Jesus, I should’ve packed a cooler.”

Home is a safehouse two towns over. A small one. Quiet. Warm wood floors, soft lamps, the faint smell of sage and dust. Dean spent a week prepping it before the due date. Baby clothes folded into drawers, bottles lined up on the counter, a rocking chair in the corner that creaks with love.

He carries the baby in like she’s made of glass. You’re close behind, a little wobbly, but smiling. And the second you walk through the door, Dean exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the hospital.

“We did it,” he says. His voice cracks again. “We fuckin’ did it.”

You collapse on the couch, baby in your arms, body tired and soul full. Dean disappears into the kitchen and comes back with a peanut butter sandwich cut into triangles. “Best I could do,” he shrugs, and sits beside you like he’s been waiting his whole life to do exactly this.

You’re both quiet for a while. The baby’s breathing softens. The room is golden with early evening light. Dean reaches over and tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “You’re my whole world, y’know that?” he murmurs. “Both of you. That’s it. That’s the whole thing.”

And then, when the baby makes that tiny little noise again; that sleepy, airy half-laugh that sounds like she’s dreaming something sweet— Dean just loses it. Tears. No warning. Just full-on tears sliding down his cheeks as he laughs softly and presses a kiss to your temple.

“I didn’t know love could feel like this,” he says, voice thick. “I didn’t know I could feel like this. But I’m never going back.”

You nod, eyes full. You’re never going back either.

You look down at your baby— your baby, and you still can’t believe it. That they’re real. That they came from you. That you carried them, made space in your body, let your bones shift and stretch just to bring them here.

And now they’re here. Tiny and perfect and loud in the most beautiful way.

You’re not the same. You know that. You’re not just you anymore. You’re someone’s home now. You’re the arms they’ll fall asleep in. The voice they’ll search for in a crowd. The one who’ll know every cry, every little sigh, every look on their face before they even learn how to talk.

It’s terrifying. And holy. And so gentle it makes your hands shake.

You think about the way Dean looked at you in the hospital. How he still looks at you, like you’re the sun. The way he calls you mama now, like it’s always belonged to you. Like it’s more than just a title, it’s sacred. He doesn’t say it casually. He says it like it’s a promise.

There are moments, especially in the quiet, where you just hold your baby against your chest and cry. Not because you’re sad. But because it’s all too big. Because your love doesn’t have words big enough. Because you’ll never be able to explain it— but you’ll spend your life showing it.

This is what love is. What it’s meant to be. Loud and soft all at once. A song only the three of you know.

You kiss the top of your baby’s head and whisper, “I love you so much it hurts.”

And you mean it.

You’ll always mean it.

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And now he’s here.

He kicks the door shut behind him and leans against it like it’s the only thing keeping him upright. He’s a mess, mud on his jeans, dried blood across his temple, knuckles cracked open and dripping. That forest green shirt you like so much is torn across the chest, and his mouth is set in this brutal, tired line.

But when he sees you— bare legs, wide eyes, that old tee of his riding too high on your thighs, his whole body softens. Just a little.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says low, like he’s afraid to say it too loud and scare you off. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

You cross the room without thinking, wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face to his chest. He’s solid and warm and alive, and you can finally breathe again.

“I thought you were—” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss to your hair.

“I know,” he whispers. “I’m here.”

He leans back just enough to look at you, thumb brushing under your eye like he knows you’ve been crying. Then his gaze drops. To your mouth, to the way your hands are already sliding under his shirt, touching him like he’s precious.

And he’s so damn tired, but the way you look at him? Like he’s still your hero, even bloody and broken? He can’t help it. He starts to get hard right there.

“You wanna take care of me, baby?” His voice is lower now, rougher, like it’s dragging over gravel. “That what you need?”

You don’t answer. You just sink to your knees in front of him, hands already tugging at his belt, slow and deliberate.

“Ohh, fuck,” he groans, his head falling back for just a second. “Knew you’d do this. Knew you’d be waiting, fuckin’ angel on her knees, huh?”

You free him from his jeans, and he’s already half-hard, thick and heavy in your hand. The sight of it makes your mouth water. You pump him once, twice, slow and gentle, before leaning in and licking a long stripe from base to tip.

Dean shudders, one big hand finding the back of your head. Not to push. Just to feel. “Jesus, sweetheart. You got no idea what you do to me..”

You take him in slowly, letting the weight of him fill your mouth, your jaw going slack as he hits the back of your throat. His hips twitch forward, like his body’s reacting before he can even think.

“God, your mouth. Your fuckin’ mouth’s made for me,” he groans, jaw tight. “So fuckin’ warm. So good.”

You hum around him, sucking deep and wet, letting drool spill down your chin just to hear him swear again. Your fingers dig into his thighs for balance as he gets harder, thicker on your tongue, his breathing going rough.

“You’re my fuckin’ dream, y’know that?” he pants, voice cracked with emotion. “Little thing like you… taking me this deep? Pretty eyes, pretty lips, just for me.”

You moan softly, and the vibration makes him snap, his hand tightening in your hair as his thighs tense. He’s fighting not to fuck your mouth right there, and you can feel it in the way his hips rock forward once, then again.

“Shit—shit, baby, I’m not gonna last if you keep—”

You don’t let up. You look up at him through your lashes, cheeks hollowing as you swallow him deep, spit pooling down your chin, dripping onto your chest.

“Oh, fuck, that’s it— fuck, m’gonna cum— shit, baby— fuckin’ take it—” He groans so deep it rattles in his chest, and then he’s spilling down your throat, his hand gripping your hair like it’s the only thing anchoring him to earth. You swallow every drop, not breaking eye contact once.

You pull off with a soft pop, licking your lips, eyes glassy with affection and spit and heat. Dean sinks to his knees in front of you.

“C’mere,” he breathes, pulling you into his lap, cupping your face like you’re something holy. He kisses you like a man starved, tongue tasting himself on you, moaning into your mouth like he wants to crawl inside you and stay there.

“Need you, baby,” he mutters against your lips. “Need you on me. Right now.”

You don’t even hesitate, you straddle him right there on the motel carpet, your knees bracketing his hips, tugging that ruined green button-up off his shoulders. He winces when it drags over a healing cut, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. He can’t. He mouths at your lips, your jaw, your throat like he’ll die if he doesn’t taste every inch of you.

“You sure?” you whisper, your breath hitching as you grind your hips against the bulge growing again beneath your soaked panties.

His hands slide up your bare thighs, settling on your waist. “Sweetheart, I haven’t felt right since I left this room. All I want… all I fucking want is you.”

You reach down, push your panties down low, and lift your hips just enough to line him up. You’re already so wet, aching and open for him.

“Go slow, baby,” he breathes, eyes locked on your face. “Wanna feel every fuckin’ second.” You sink down onto him— inch by inch, and it knocks the wind out of both of you.

Dean’s head falls back with a guttural groan. “Jesus Christ, you feel unreal.”

Your hands settle on his shoulders as you start to move, slow and gentle, rolling your hips in tight circles. He fills you so perfectly it’s obscene, thick and deep and hot inside you, dragging against every sweet spot like his body was made to live in yours.

His eyes flutter open, and he looks wrecked. Pink in the cheeks, chest heaving, lips parted like he’s been starved of air.

“You’re killin’ me, baby,” he moans, hands roaming up your spine, down to your hips, holding you like you’re the only thing tethering him to this earth. “So fuckin’ tight, so good, just… yours, I’m yours, okay?”

You ride him slow, not chasing anything, just feeling. Just being. Your forehead brushes his. He’s breathing like he’s about to cry. And maybe you are too.

“You love me?” you whisper.

His arms wrap fully around you, dragging you closer, fucking deep into you even from under. “Love you so much,” he growls. “Been in love with you since the second you looked at me like I wasn’t broken.”

You bury your face in his neck as you keep grinding on him, your body trembling with how full you feel. “You’re not broken,” you whisper.

He groans, desperate, in awe of you. “Gonna cum inside you,” he pants, voice shaking. “Fill you up, sweetheart. Gonna stay buried right here, keep you stuffed with me. You want that?”

You nod into his shoulder, kissing his throat. “Want it so bad.”

He holds you tight and thrusts up hard, once, twice, and you moan into his ear as he spills inside you, hot and thick and endless. His arms lock around you as he comes, hips twitching, burying his face in your shoulder like he can’t handle it.

“Fuckfuckfuck, I love you— love you, baby, fuck—”

When it’s over, you stay just like that. Breathing hard, still joined, your chests heaving against each other. He doesn’t let go. Instead, he leans back against the wall and pulls you with him, cradling you in his arms like something fragile.

You both stay on the motel floor for a while, his cum leaking out of you slowly, your thighs still shaking, his hand rubbing lazy circles on your lower back.

Dean’s arms wrap you tighter as you both slump against the grimy motel wall, the world outside fading into nothing. His chest rises and falls with slow, heavy breaths, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, steady against his.

He presses a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, his lips warm and rough like he’s memorizing every part of you. “You okay, baby?” His voice is low, husky, filled with something that sounds like relief and awe all tangled up.

You nod, resting your head against his collarbone, listening to the steady thump of his heart under your ear. “Yeah. I’m good. With you.”

He lets out this soft grunt, like a laugh mixed with a sigh. “Damn right you are.” His fingers ghost along your spine, tracing lazy patterns that send shivers down your skin.

For a minute, you just sit there, tangled up in each other, the silence between you filled with quiet warmth. Then Dean pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes, those green eyes, glossy and soft.

His breath hitches, his hand tightening around your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. “You’re my whole world, sweetheart. When you’re with me, nothing else matters.”

You press your lips to his, slow and tender, tasting him, still warm, still yours. The kiss lingers, full of promises and comfort, and when you pull away, Dean’s forehead rests against yours again.

“I wanna hold you all night,” he whispers. “Tell you how much I love you till you fall asleep. Let you know you’re safe. Let you know you’re never alone.”

You sigh, heart swelling. “I want that too.”

Dean’s fingers trail down your arm, his touch feather-light but grounding. He moves so carefully, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His thumb strokes your cheek, wiping away a stray tear you didn’t even realize had fallen.

“Don’t ever forget, baby,” he says, voice breaking just a little. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You bury your face in his neck, breathing in the scent of leather, sweat, and something soft, “I don’t forget.”

Minutes stretch, but time doesn’t matter here. Just Dean’s hands in your hair, his whispered love, your steady breathing against his chest.

Eventually, he presses a kiss to your hairline, then pulls a threadbare blanket from the bedspread behind you. Wrapping you both up like a cocoon, he holds you close, humming low and soothing.

“Sleep if you want. I’m right here.”

You close your eyes, feeling his heartbeat slow, matching yours. Safe, warm, and loved.

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HIS MUNCHIES ARE CHAOTIC.. this man will literally eat a grilled cheese with pie inside it. he also thinks cool ranch doritos and peanut butter are “a bomb combo.” you’re stuck enabling him.

HE GETS REAL CUDDLY.. dean + weed = clingy lil baby. he’s got his arms wrapped around you, face buried in your neck, mumbling stuff like “you smell like heaven, y’know that?” in a raspy voice that’s half-asleep.

HAS A RANDOM URGE TO TEACH YOU POOL.. halfway through he’s not even holding the cue stick right anymore. “okay, okay, now bend over. no not like that- wait, yes, exactly like that.” then he forgets what the lesson was.

STONER MOVIE NIGHTS ARE SACRED.. you two binge pineapple express, half baked, and dazed and confused on rotation. he always quotes matthew mcconaughey’s “alright, alright, alright” and then says you make him feel that way. ugh.

HE MAKES HIS OWN EDIBLES AND THEY’RE.. WEIRDY GOOD?.. dean will make weed brownies but then he’s like “what if we did a thc bacon mac n cheese?” and you’re like “pls no” and next thing you know you’re drooling on his chest 20 minutes later after one bite.

DEAN GETS THE GIGGLES SO BAD.. belly laughing over nothing. you’ll say “pass the lighter” and he’s crying like “yo you sounded british for a sec.” he thinks you are the funniest person alive when he’s high.

NOT THAT MUCH FOR BIG TALK WHEN HE’S HIGH, BUT HE’LL ALWAYS FIND WAYS TO SHOW LOVE.. like making you your favorite drink, lighting candles, or just sitting beside you in silence, holding your hand.

SURPRISINGLY GOOD AT READING YOUR MOODS WHILE HE’S HIGH.. if you’re quiet and anxious, he’s your silent rock, just holding you close. if you’re a little overwhelmed, he’ll softly remind you to breathe and maybe put on some chill tunes.

„WEED NAPS” TOGETHER ARE A FULL ON RITUAL.. he’ll get you both stupid high, pull you into his chest, kiss your forehead, and knock out mid-sentence. you wake up and he’s snoring softly with a dumb lil smile and his hand still on your thigh.

TRIES TO TEACH YOU HOW TO ROLL A JOINT, BUT ENDS UP GIGGLING LIKE A CHILD.. he’s all, “okay, babe, lemme show you, this is high level skill,” and then drops the weed all over the table and starts giggling like “shit… ignore that, i got it.”

TALKS TO HIS JOINTS LIKE THEY’RE FRIENDS.. “alright little guy, let’s do this.” lights up “you’re burnin’ nice, buddy. real proud of you.” ur just staring like ??? and he’s chillin’ like it’s normal.

SMOKES OUT OF STUPID STUFF.. “you think I can turn this apple into a bowl?” he does it. successfully. and grins like he just won the super bowl. “macgyver ain’t got SHIT on me, baby.”

GETS EMOTIONAL OVER LITTLE THINGS.. seeing you laugh or watching you tuck your hair behind your ear, he’s totally smitten and might get a little teary eyed, whispering “i’m the luckiest man alive.”

HIS STONED KISSES? LOTS OF EM’.. he leans in real lazy, eyes half lidded, pupils blown, and just melts into your mouth like he’s never been fed before. you pull back for air and he chases your lips like, “nuh-uh. more.”

GETS HIGH BEFORE DOING CHORES AND TURNS IT INTO A CONCERT.. vacuuming in just a flannel (unbuttoned), doing the dishes while singing into a spatula, shaking his hips with a joint hangin’ from his lips. you’re just sitting there, blushing and dying.

GETS WAY INTO ASMR WHEN STONED.. whispers into your ear like a pro, “babe, you hear that? that’s the sound of love.” then he makes weird mouth noises and you’re dying. (again).

SAID „I COULD TOTALLY BE A STRIPPER” ONCE.. put on ’pony’ by ginuwine, tried to do a sexy dance, tripped over a sock, and fell into the laundry basket. you almost passed out laughing. he’s still proud of himself. “tell me i wasn’t kinda hot tho.”

STILL MANAGES TO BE THE MOST ATTRACTIVE HUMAN ALIVE.. even with red eyes, messy hair, and a dorito stuck to his hoodie, he’s somehow radiating sex appeal. he winks at you and you’re just like, ugh, fine, let’s make out.

TRIES TO INITIATE MAKEOUTS AND ENDS UP MAULING YOU.. started with a forehead kiss. then a peck. then a soft little “hey pretty…” and BOOM now you’re straddling him, shirtless, and he’s breathless whispering “god, i’m so high and you’re so hot.”

“CAN WE HAVE SEX IN THE BUNKER LIBRARY?”.. deadass high and suddenly asking the most degenerate stuff. “i just think it’d be hot, like, you bent over the table, surrounded by old books. kinda academic. slutty much?”

LOVES PULLING YOUR UNDERWEAR TO THE SIDE, NOT OFF.. something about the laziness of it drives him wild. he’s like, “i ain’t wasting time, sweetheart. i want it now.”

LIKES TO MAKE YOU RIDE HIM WHILE HIGH.. sprawled out on the couch, joint still smoldering in the ashtray, hands on your hips like he’s watching a movie. “mm, just like that, baby. show me how pretty you are.”

LAZY, SENSUAL STROKES TOO!!.. he’s not pounding you into oblivion. he’s rolling his hips, slow, deep, mumbling “you feel too good… can’t stop…” it’s sloppy. sweaty. sooo vocal. just full-blown “fuuuuck, baby- uhhh, yeah…”

GOES DOWN ON YOU LIKE IT’S A RELIGIOUS EXPERIENCE.. high dean is locked in. hair pushed back, gripping your thighs like you’ll float away. will not stop until you’re shaking. and when you’re done? “you taste like heaven. i need another hit.”

PUTS HIS FINGERS IN YOUR MOUTH WHILE HE’S FUCKING YOU.. he’s like, “suck, baby. just like that. god, i love those lips.” and then keeps thrusting harder every time your tongue swirls around.

HIGH DEAN GETS DISTRACTED BY HIS OWN DIRTY TALK.. mid sentence, he pauses, laughs, and goes, “wait… did i just say that out loud? fuck, I’m high as hell.”

LOVES IT WHEN YOU TAKE CONTROL.. dean loves it when you tug his hair or bite his lip, he gets that glint in his eye like “yeah, show me what you got, baby.” but then he always wins with a growl and a kiss that steals your breath.

AFTERWARDS, YOU CUDDLE AND HE’S STILL KINDA HORNY.. hands back on your ass, mumbling half asleep, “round three in like.. fifteen minutes. just lemme nap inside you.”

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HE HATES MISSING MILESTONES.. if he’s on a hunt and misses a first word or first step? he’ll MAKE cas rewind time or beg sam for a cursed object to see it. he’d call you in tears like “babe, what’d they say? was it ‘dada’? please tell me it was ‘dada.’”

HE BUILDS THEM A BUNKER-LEVEL PILLOW FORT.. rainy day? you better believe that living room becomes a war zone of blankets, snacks, and flashlight tag. “no demons in this fort, soldier. only snuggles.”

HE TEACHES THEM HOW TO RESPECT PEOPLE.. manners. loyalty. standing up for others. “you protect the people you love. always. no matter what.” dean raises the kind of kids that other parents admire!!

BUT HE SUCKS AT DISCIPLE WHEN THEY CRY.. one look at those watery eyes and he’s DONE. “aw c’mon, don’t do that to me, sweetheart… i wasn’t even that mad.” ends up cuddling them on the couch whispering “daddy’s not mad, just worried.”

ALWAYS TUCKS A NOTE IN THEIR LUNCHBOX.. i know it may a be a bit unbelievable for him, but stay with me now, little post-its with stuff like “be brave today, champ!” or “love you more than pie. almost.” you find the notes years later, kept in a shoebox.

DEAN HAS A WEIRD OBSESSION WITH CAR SEATS NOW.. he installed that thing like it was a bomb. double-checks it every single time. “my kid’s not going anywhere unless it’s safely strapped into baby.”

HAS ZERO CHILL WHEN THEY’RE SICK.. one cough and he’s pacing like a war general. blankets, soup, forehead kisses. “you okay, bug? you want daddy to beat up the virus?”

HE KEEPS BABY PICTURES OF THE KIDS IN HIS WALLET.. and he shows them to literally anyone he knows, “that’s my little kiddo in their first flannel. got that same ‘handsome’ face.” with a stupid grin on his face.

HE CRIES AT DANCE RECITALS AND LITTLE LEAGUE GAMES.. tries to hide it behind his sunglasses, but you can see the sniffles. “that’s my kid out there. did you see that spin??” oh my gosh, he’s such a softie.

HIS RINGTONE IS THEIR LAUGH.. he recorded it one afternoon when they were giggling at his fart jokes. it’s been his ringtone ever since and he refuses to change it. “best sound in the damn world.”

CARRIES THEIR ART IN EVERYWHERE.. you open the impala’s glove box and there’s a crayon drawing of dean with a giant smile labeled “my hero.” he pretends to be chill about it but he’s totally cried over it in the garage.

HE TEACHES THEM TO SAY ‘NO’ EARLY.. “i don’t care how small you are. if someone makes you uncomfortable? you say ‘no’ loud. clear. mean it. and if they don’t back off, tell daddy. i’ll handle it.”

BABY-PROOFING THE BUNKER TURNS INTO A WHOLE MISSION.. sam walks in and dean’s like “i’ve sealed every electrical outlet, covered all corners, and enchanted the nursery against monsters. what have you done today, uncle sam?”

HE STARTS CARRYING DIAPERS AND WIPES IN HIS WEAPONS DUFFEL.. multitasking king!! there’s holy water, salt rounds, and a pastel blue binky. he pulls it out like “don’t judge me, i’m prepared.”

TEACHES THEM HOW TO SHOOT WITH NERF GUNS FIRST.. you come home and find the house COVERED in foam bullets. he’s in full camo, kids are giggling like maniacs, and all you can think about is who’s gonna clean this mess up??

WHEN THEY GET HURT, HE BLAMES HIMSELF.. they fall off a bike? scrape a knee? dean acts like the sky is falling. “i should’ve been there. i should’ve caught ‘em.” and you literally have to literally hold his face and be like “they’re okay, babe. you’re a great dad.”

HE STARTS READING PARENTING BOOKS IN SECRET.. you catch him late at night with what to expect the first year under a flashlight like it’s a case file. “don’t look at me like that, woman. i just wanna be prepared. babies don’t come with manuals, this is the closest thing.”

HE LETS THEM PAINT HIS NAILS AND DOESN’T WASH IT OFF FOR DAYS.. he’s out on a hunt with chipped sparkly polish and when sam’s like “what the hell’s on your hands?” dean’s all, “my daughter’s masterpiece. you got a problem with that?”

DEAN’S SECRETLY TERRIFIED HE’S GONNA MESS THEM UP.. sometimes he stares at them sleeping and whispers, “you deserve better than i ever had, kid. i’ll never let anything happen to you.” and then he crawls into bed and pulls you close because you’re the only thing that calms that storm.

HE GETS JEALOUS WHEN THEY CLING TO YOU TOO MUCH.. playfully, but still. “c’mon, they were on your hip all day. dad needs cuddles too!” he pouts until the kid crawls into his lap and he’s smug like “that’s right, dad’s the favorite now.”

ALWAYS MAKES TIME FOR ONE-ON-ONE DATES.. he’ll take each kid out individually for a milkshake or a trip to the arcade and call it “dad-and-me time.” he says it’s for them, but it’s really for him, too.

WRITES THEM LETTERS “JUST IN CASE”.. stored in the bunker. one for every birthday. every milestone. “if something ever happens to me… i want them to know i was there. i loved ‘em every second.”

WHEN YOU’RE ALL SNUGGLED UP IN BED, HE HOLDS THE BABY AND WHISPERS TO YOU.. “we really did it, huh? we made this little one. and I’m not goin’ anywhere, sweetheart. ever.”

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the Impala’s parked near this little clearing he found off a back road, far enough from town that it’s quiet except for the crickets and the occasional owl that hoots like it’s judging you. he’s got a fire going like it’s second nature, and you’re sitting on a worn blanket, legs stretched out in front of you, hoodie zipped halfway up, and dean’s flannel draped over your shoulders because “you always steal it anyway, might as well make it official.”

he’s crouched in front of the fire now, focused as if he’s defusing a bomb, turning a marshmallow slowly over the flames. his tongue is poking out a little in concentration and it’s so unnecessarily cute, you’re kind of obsessed.

“you’re taking this very seriously,” you note, eyebrows raised.

dean doesn’t even look at you. “sweetheart, if we’re doin’ this, we’re doin’ it right. no charred marshmallow here. i have standards.”

you lean back on your hands, grinning. “okay, gordon ramsay. impress me.”

“oh, i will.”

a minute later, he’s stacking the marshmallow between graham crackers with a square of chocolate that’s already melting in the fire’s heat. he finishes and holds it out to you like it’s a priceless gift. “for you, m’lady.”

you snort, “i feel so honored.” as you take a dramatic bite, your eyes widen. “oh my gosh. this is amazing.”

dean puffs his chest looking exactly like a smug golden retriever. “told ya. ten outta ten.”

“okay, my turn,” you say, already grabbing your stick. “let’s see if I can live up to your high-class marshmallow standards.”

you try to mimic what he did, but yours catches on fire almost immediately, burning. a tiny marshmallow torch, you might say.

“whoa— oh my god—” you start flailing the stick around hoping you can put it out by waving. dean’s already laughing, grabbing the stick from your hand and blowing on it dramatically until the flames die.

“you were supposed to toast it, not summon satan,” he teases, dropping the blackened marshmallow into the grass.

“i panicked!” you cry, laughing so hard your stomach hurts. “it escalated fast!”

dean’s grinning at you, full dimples, all bright eyes. he brushes his fingers through your hair quickly, like he just can’t help touching you. “you’re dangerous with a sugar stick, babe.”

you stick your tongue out at him. “you still love me.”

he smirks. “that’s true. but I’m making your s’mores from now on. for safety reasons.”

you roll your eyes, but let him build another one for you anyway. this time, you feed it to him, smearing chocolate on his lip on purpose just so you can lean in and kiss it off, giggling against his mouth.

he licks his lips afterwards, and then like he’s in heaven, flops back onto the blanket. “you’re killin’ me, woman.”

you crawl over and lay beside him, resting your head on his chest while he steals another marshmallow straight from the bag and pops it into his mouth. he offers you one too. not roasted, just plain and pillowy, and you take it with a happy little hum.

the stars are crazy bright, the fire’s still crackling, and dean’s arm curls around you like he was made to fit there.

and sure, your fingers are sticky, your hoodie smells like smoke, you totally burned that marshmallow and there’s chocolate on your jeans, but it’s still the best night ever.

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HAND-HOLDING IS HIS FAVORITE THING EVER.. he knows you’re shy about PDA, so he never forces it, but when you do reach for his hand, oh, he cherishes it. he’ll squeeze your fingers gently, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles, completely focused on you.

LOVES HEARING YOU TALK ABOUT THE THINGS YOU LOVE.. even if you’re shy, when you finally start opening up about something you’re passionate about, sam is so happy. he’ll listen intently, nodding along, asking questions, just completely mesmerized by how cute you look when you get excited.

SAM READS TO YOU.. out loud. you’re laying in bed, curled up under a blanket, and he’s got a book in one hand, your hand in the other. he has the most soothing voice ever and every few lines he’ll glance over at you with the softest smile like, “still with me, sweetheart?”

LOVES IT WHEN YOU GET SLEEPY AND CLINGY.. if you ever get too tired to keep up your usual shyness and just snuggle into him, sam is in heaven. he’ll wrap you up in his arms, stroking your hair, whispering, “you can fall asleep, sweetheart. i’m not going anywhere.”

HE KEEPS A LITTLE MENTAL LIST OF THINGS THAT MAKE YOU ANXIOUS.. crowds, loud places, random new people. he notices and makes plans around it. if you’re ever somewhere you don’t like, he’ll quietly lean over and whisper, “want to head out, babe?” and if you nod? he’s already guiding you out like a prince in plaid.

HE LEGIT BRAGS ABOUT YOU IN PRIVATE.. if he’s talking to dean or someone he trusts, he gets this dreamy little smile and is like, “she’s shy, yeah… but she’s got the biggest heart. smartest girl i’ve ever met.” he’s so down BAD.

WHEN YOU’RE OVERWHELMED, HE GIVES YOU HIS HOODIE.. and i mean, immediately. you’re not even asking, he just sees you getting overwhelmed and wordlessly tugs it off, wraps it around you, and kisses your hair. now you smell like him and feel safe.

SAM IS OBSESSED WITH YOUR VOICE WHEN YOU TALK JUST TO HIM.. you might be quiet around others, but when it’s just the two of you? when you’re cuddling and whispering things only he gets to hear? he treasures it. he’ll literally say, “i love your voice. it’s so peaceful.”

HE NOTICES EVERY TINY CHANGE IN YOUR MOOD.. you don’t even have to say anything; he can just tell. he’ll come up behind you, wrap his arms around your waist, rest his chin on your shoulder and softly ask, “what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?”

HE HAS A BABY VOICE, JUST FOR YOU.. not like silly baby talk, but that extra affectionate tone that only comes out when he’s holding you close or waking you up in the morning. “c’mon, sweetheart… time to get up. i made your tea.” like PLEASE he’s your emotional support giant.

HE’S SO GENTLE WHEN YOU’RE UPSET.. if something’s bothering you, he’ll never push you to talk, but he’ll always make sure you know he’s there. he’ll rub slow circles on your back, murmur soothing words, and just be there until you’re ready to open up.

SAM LOVES WHEN YOU PLAY WITH HIS HAIR.. you’re shy about touching him, but the first time you nervously threaded your fingers through his hair, sam melted. he closed his eyes, leaned into your touch, and let out the softest sigh. now he begs for it. “c’mere, baby. Just for a minute.”

YOU HAVE A SAFE WORD FOR SOCIAL EXITS.. sam came up with it. like if you’re somewhere that’s draining you, all you have to do is say the word (maybe something dumb and cute like ‘moose tracks’) and he’ll immediately get you out, no questions.

HE WRITES YOU NOTES.. little sticky notes with stuff like “drink water today, babe <3” or “i miss you, even if you’re just in the next room” and sticks them where you’ll find them. your journal, your laptop, the fridge, your pillow, everywhere.

HE FINDS YOUR AWKWARDNESS SO HOT.. when you try to be flirty but your voice shakes, or you avoid eye contact after saying something bold? sam is grinning so hard. he’ll bite his lip and softly say, “that was really cute. keep going.” and you’re immediately done for.

IF YOU CRY, HE’S IN FULL ON SOFT MODE.. no panic, no ‘don’t cry’ BS. he just holds you close, rocks you gently, and says stuff like, “let it out, sweetheart. i’m right here. i’m not going anywhere.” literal human comfort blanket.

HE NEEDS A KISS BEFORE BED.. even if it’s just a shy little peck. and if you’re being all bashful and hiding your face under the covers, he’ll laugh softly and coax you out with kisses to your hands. “don’t hide that pretty face, baby.”

HE BUYS YOU BOOKS THAT REMIND HIM OF YOU.. the titles are always something cheesy like “quiet is beautiful” or just some cheesy romance novel with a blushing heroine. he always scribbles a note inside like “saw this and thought of you. you’re my favorite.”

HE LIVES FOR THE LATE NIGHT CONVOS.. you’re in bed, half-asleep, and you whisper something like “do you think the stars look different in heaven?” and this man is suddenly wide awake and in full philosophical mode, holding you and telling you what he thinks while stroking your arm.

HE TOTALLY PICKS UP ON YOUR SOCIAL ANXIETY AND SUBTLY HELPS YOU OUT.. if you’re in a conversation and get flustered, sam will gently step in without making it obvious. he’ll steer the conversation smoothly so you don’t feel pressured to talk too much, all while giving you reassuring little touches, like a hand on your back.

SAM OFFERS YOU HIS JACKET WITHOUT YOU ASKING.. cold? you get the jacket. nervous? you get the jacket. just existing in the world? guess what, you’re getting the damn jacket. it’s like a hug from him, and you know he gets a little weak seeing you wrapped up in it.

HE NEVER LETS YOU DOUBT HOW MUCH HE WANTS YOU.. you’re quiet and might have moments of thinking you’re too awkward or not enough. sam sees it immediately and pulls you into the warmest hug, whispering, “you’re everything i’ve ever wanted, sweetheart. don’t ever think you’re not.”

ADORES THE WAY YOU TUCK YOURSELF INTO HIS SIDE.. like a little shy koala. if you ever burrow into him, face in his chest, holding onto his flannel? he’s DONE. he’ll just wrap you up and murmur, “god, i love you so much.”

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DEAN LOVES TEASING YOU.. like, he’s constantly making little comments just to see you get all flustered. he’ll lean in real close and murmur, “whatcha’ blushin’ for, sweetheart?” with that damn smirk. and when you hide your face? oh, he’s chuckling and pulling your hands away.

YOU STRUGGLE WITH EYE CONTACT, AND HE ALWAYS FINDS IT ADORABLE.. sometimes he’ll tilt your chin up with two fingers and say, “c’mon, lemme see those pretty eyes,” all gentle but firm. other times, he’ll playfully move his head into your line of sight when you try to look away.

HE’S RIDICULOUSLY PROTECTIVE.. because in his eyes, you’re just this soft little thing and the world is way too rough for you. if anyone so much as looks at you funny, dean’s throwing an arm around you and giving them the scariest glare. “you got a problem?”

DEAN SECRETLY LOVES THAT YOU GET NERVOUS AROUND HIM.. he’ll catch you fumbling with your words and just grin, all cocky. “damn, sweetheart, do i make you that nervous?” but the moment you get overwhelmed, he softens up and reassures you, “hey, take your time, baby. i ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

EATS UP YOUR AWKWARD ATTEMPTS AT FLIRTING.. if you ever try to compliment him, you’ll probably stammer through it, and dean just grins. “aw, sweetheart, that was adorable. you tryin’ to flirt with me?” if you get flustered and deny it, he just chuckles and tugs you close. “it’s workin’, baby. big time.”

HE’S OBSESSED WITH YOUR LITTLE MANNERISMS.. like the way you fidget with your sleeves, or how you get shy when you compliment him. if you stammer out a “you look really nice today,” he’ll lean in all smug and go, “yeah? that so?” just to watch you get all flustered.

DEAN IS YOUR ULTIMATE COMFORT PERSON.. if you ever get anxious, he’ll pull you into a bear hug, rubbing slow circles on your back while murmuring, “deep breaths, sweetheart. i gotcha.” if you’re too overwhelmed to talk, he’s totally okay with just holding you in silence.

HE ABSOLUTELY MELTS WHEN YOU INITIATE AFFECTION.. since you’re shy, you don’t do it often, but when you finally work up the courage to kiss his cheek or reach for his hand? he’s grinning like an idiot, heart skipping a beat. “damn, sweetheart, you tryin’ to kill me?”

DEAN’S A PHYSICAL TOUCH MENACE, SO YOU JUST HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT.. he’ll sling an arm around your shoulders, pull you onto his lap outta nowhere, or nuzzle his face into your neck because he can. if you squeak or squirm, that’s just a bonus for him.

HE’S PATIENT WITH YOUR AWKWARDNESS.. if you’re struggling to put feelings into words, he won’t rush you. if you get too nervous in social situations, he’ll subtly shield you from attention. he gets that you need time, and he’s more than willing to give it to you.

JEALOUS, BUT NOT IN AN AGGRESSIVE WAY.. if some guy gets too close, dean just slides in between you two and goes, “hey, buddy, she’s with me.” but if you’re just naturally awkward around other people you don’t know that much, he’ll tease you later, “damn, sweetheart, you’re nervous around everyone but me, huh? guess I really am special.”

CONSTANTLY REASSURING YOU THAT YOU’RE PERFECT JUST THE WAY YOU ARE.. whenever you second-guess yourself, whether it’s about your awkwardness, how you look, or anything else, he’s there, reminding you how amazing you are. “you’re perfect, sweetheart. don’t ever think otherwise. i love you exactly how you are.”

SOFT FOR YOU IN WAYS NO ONE ELSE GETS TO SEE.. to everyone else, he’s all bravado and sarcasm. but for you? he’s tucking you in, brushing your hair behind your ear, whispering, “you okay, baby?” when he sees you retreat into yourself. he’s your safe space, and he loves being that for you.

GOD HELP YOU WHEN HE FLIRTS.. he thrives on making you blush. he’ll say something suggestive just to watch your brain short-circuit, then kiss your forehead and go, “relax, sweetheart, just messin’ with ya.” (he’s not. he loves seeing you flustered.)

HE LEARNS HOW TO READ YOU LIKE A BOOK.. you don’t always say when you’re uncomfortable, but he knows. the second he sees you shifting awkwardly, playing with your sleeves, or avoiding eye contact? he’s immediately stepping in, guiding you out of the situation, pulling you close, or giving you a reassuring squeeze. “s’just us, sweetheart. you’re okay.”

HE ADORES HOW POLITE YOU ARE.. like, you always say “thank you” when he does literally anything. opens a door, passes you something, even when he kills a monster like, “thank you for saving me, de..” and he just snickers, ruffling your hair, “sweetheart, it’s kinda my job, y’know?” but he secretly melts every time.

HE GIVES YOU SMALL BUT SWEET SURPRISES.. dean isn’t big on grand gestures, but he’ll randomly pick up flowers for you after a hunt or get you something cute that reminded him of you. “just thought you’d like it, sweetheart.”

HAND-HOLDING IS KEY.. at first, you’re too shy to reach for his hand, so he starts sneaking little touches, his pinky brushing against yours, his fingers ghosting over the back of your hand. and when you finally take his hand one day? oh, this man smirks and squeezes tight. “took ya long enough, sweetheart.”

CUDDLES ARE MANDATORY.. if you’re shy about initiating them, that’s fine; because dean has zero hesitation. if you’re sitting next to him? he’s pulling you into his lap. if you’re lying down? he’s throwing an arm around you. and if you get all stiff and awkward, he just chuckles, “relax, sweetheart. I ain’t lettin’ go.”

ABSOLUTELY LOSES IT WHEN YOU GET JEALOUS.. you wouldn’t dare say anything outright, but dean notices. the way you suddenly go quiet, the little pout on your lips. oh, he’s loving every second. he’ll lean down and whisper, “aww, sweetheart, you jealous?” with the biggest grin. if when you deny it, he just laughs, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “s’okay, baby, you got nothin’ to worry about. i’m all yours.”

LOVES WHEN YOU CLING TO HIM.. when you grab onto his jacket or press up against his side in public, he’s thrilled. this man walks around like your personal bodyguard, keeping a hand on your waist, making sure everyone sees that you’re his.

WHEN YOU’RE SHY ABOUT BEING PHYSICAL, HE’S PATIENT.. at first, you’re not totally comfortable with PDA, so he makes sure to read the room. but once you start leaning into him, dean gets SO excited. he’ll kiss your forehead and be like, “i’m the luckiest guy alive.”

HE MAKES YOU FEEL SAFE LIKE NO ONE ELSE EVER HAS.. the world is loud and overwhelming sometimes, but with dean? It’s different. you know that as long as he’s around, you’re okay. and he makes sure you never forget that. “ain’t nobody touchin’ you while i’m here, sweetheart.”

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he’s the type to make it feel like you’re the only thing that matters in the world, and even though he’s usually tough and rugged, with you, he’s all heart. it’s about comfort, care, and making sure you feel cherished. it’s his way of showing that the connection doesn’t end after the heat of the moment; it only deepens.

B = BODY PART..

dean’s hands, they’re his favorite body part, and not just because they’re strong or capable. no, it’s the way they feel when they’re touching you, when they’re pulling you closer, slipping under the fabric of your clothes, and tracing the softest parts of your skin. when it’s just the two of you, alone in that quiet space, his hands will roam over your body with purpose. he’s all about the slow burn, his fingertips brushing across your neck, making your breath hitch as he dips lower to the curve of your waist. he’ll take his time, working you up, feeling every inch of you as if he’s memorizing you, ensuring you’re completely in his control.

as for his favorite part of you? dean can’t stop thinking about your thighs. when you’re alone, he’ll have you straddling him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he slowly moves against you, feeling the heat building between you two. your thighs are soft, but firm, the perfect balance of strength and vulnerability, and when you press them together, it’s like a promise of something hotter. his hands will travel down, gripping your thighs, pulling you closer until he can feel every inch of you moving against him. he’s obsessed with the way your body reacts to him; your thighs pressing tightly against his sides as you rock against him, your breath shaky, your skin heated under his touch. he’s rough when he wants to be, but in those moments, when it’s just the two of you, he’ll make sure everything is slow, deliberate. each kiss, each touch, each movement a way of savoring you.

C = CUM..

his favorite spot to cum is definitely inside of you.. not just for the convenience of making less of a mess. it just feels way more personal. when dean finally hits that point, it’s like everything just snaps. his hands are gripping your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he pulls you down on him. he’s moving deep, hard, every thrust bringing him closer to the edge. he can feel himself losing control as his body trembles, and when he finally releases, it’s rough and intense. you can feel it, that pulse deep inside you, as he’s coming undone, his grip tightening, his body jerking with each wave.

he’s not shy about it either.. he’ll tell you how good it feels, how he can’t stop because you’re just too good to let go of. and when he’s done, there’s no shame, he’s all over you, holding you close, whispering how amazing you are, not wanting to let you go even for a second. dean’s the type to make sure you’re completely satisfied, whether that’s with kisses, gentle touches, or reminding you how much you mean to him, even after that intense release.

he’ll want to stay inside you for just a little longer, feeling that connection, letting everything settle between the two of you. it’s about the way he’s completely consumed by you that gets him in the moment, how every touch and every moan is for you, how your body makes him lose control in the best way.

dean’s all about giving too. when he’s going down on you, lips brushing along your neck, his hands guiding you as he kisses down your body, he knows exactly what he’s doing. his eyes are on you the whole time. he loves watching the way your body reacts to his touch, how your breath hitches as he moves lower.

when he finally gets to your thighs, he’ll take his time, teasing with his tongue, pressing soft kisses against your skin, before finally kissing that sensitive spot. he’ll take his time with you, making you feel like you’re the most important thing in the world. his tongue moves with purpose, driving you crazy, circling and flicking just the right way, making sure you’re feeling every bit of pleasure.

“fuck, you taste so good,” he’ll growl, barely able to hold back as he keeps moving, pushing you closer to the edge. he won’t stop until you’re breathless, trembling underneath him. he’ll make sure you hit that release, his lips and tongue working together, guiding you to that explosive moment. and when your body spasms from that climax, he’s right there, feeling it with you, never stopping, never pulling away.

when dean’s on the receiving end, you better believe he’s not quiet about it. when you start to make your way down his body, his breath catches in his chest, a low groan escaping him. his eyes are on you, heat in his gaze, as his hands rest in your hair, but he’s letting you take your time. he loves the anticipation, the slow build-up as you tease him, running your hands along his thighs, giving him just enough to drive him wild.

“c’mon, baby, don’t make me wait,” he’ll tell you, voice hoarse, his patience wearing thin as you hover just above him. but he loves the feeling of you taking control, how your mouth makes him lose himself in you. when you finally take him into your mouth, he’s lost. his head falls back, a moan slipping from his lips as he tries to hold it together. you know how to move, how to make him feel like he’s in heaven, your tongue working its magic as you make him see stars.

dean’s not the kind to just lay back, best believe. his hips start to move with the rhythm, not in a desperate way, but in sync with your movements. his hands will grip your hair, gently guiding you, wanting to feel all of it. when you take him deep, he can’t help but let out a low curse under his breath, his body shuddering with pleasure. “fuck, that feels so good,” he’ll mutter, completely lost in the sensation of you giving him everything. ughhsgghs.

D = DIRTY SECRET..

dean’s dirty secret? It’s not something he just tells you about. it’s something he keeps tucked away, buried deep beneath the tough guy act. but you start to realize it when you’re alone, when it’s just the two of you in the quiet of a motel room, the world outside forgotten.

dean’s secret is that he loves when you take control, when you push him to his limits and make him beg for it. most people would never guess it. hell, dean barely acknowledges it himself, but you see the way he looks at you sometimes, like he’s waiting for you to take the reins. it’s the way his voice goes low and rough when he whispers your name, the way his body stiffens in anticipation when you shift on top of him, taking charge. it’s the way he fights it, but you know that he’s completely fucking powerless when you take control.

he’s defo not used to it. dean’s the one who’s always in charge, the one with the power in every situation. but with you? he’s different. he loves being dominated by you. he loves it when you pin him down, when you whisper dirty things in his ear that make his heart race. he loves when you don’t let him speak, when you kiss him so hard he can barely breathe, all while you keep him trapped beneath you.

but the thing is, he doesn’t want to admit it, not to you, and especially not to anyone else. it’s his dirty little secret, the thing that’s so out of character for him. he’s too proud to openly admit that sometimes he craves to be the one who’s helpless to your touch. but deep down, he knows you’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and it drives him wild that he can’t stop wanting it.

E = EXPERIENCE..

dean’s very experienced. this man’s been around the block a few times, we know that. he’s been in all kinds of situations, with all types of people, and let’s just say, he knows exactly what he’s doing. but his experience isn’t just about the physical stuff and knowing how to make you feel good. he knows lots about reading people, knowing how to make them feel wanted and understood. he’s learned what works, what doesn’t, and how to please a partner in ways that make them melt.

he knows how to take his time, how to build that tension, and when to slow things down. he’s got that natural rhythm that’s just right, making sure you’re comfortable, but also giving you exactly what you need when it comes to your desires. and when it comes to giving or receiving, he’s all about the details; the gentle touches, the teasing, the deep, intense moments. there’s no awkwardness with him. he knows when to press, when to pull back, and when to take things to the next level.

but don’t get it twisted, he’s not cocky about it. his experience comes from years of both hunting and dealing with personal stuff, and there’s something about his confidence that makes him so good at pleasing. he’s been around enough to know how to handle things, but with you, it’s not just about getting off. he wants to make sure you’re satisfied, emotionally and physically. he’s all in when it comes to giving you a good time, even if he keeps it cool on the outside.

of course, there’s a soft spot when it comes to you. because with the way dean feels for you, he’d want to make sure everything is perfect. all that experience? It’s used in service of you, babe, making you feel like you’re the only person who matters. and trust me, when he’s focused on you, he’s a damn expert at making you feel amazing.

so sweethearts, yes, dean knows what he’s doing. he’s got the experience to back it up, and he uses it to keep you hooked, wanting more every single time. <3

F = FAVORITE POSITION..

it’s definitely the one where he’s in full control, making sure you’re completely at his mercy, but let’s be real, he likes mixing it up depending on how the night’s going. his go-to? probably doggy style, hands down.

when he’s got you in that position, he gets to see everything.. every little movement you make, every expression that crosses your face. it drives him wild knowing he’s the one causing it. he’ll grip your hips, pulling you back into him as he takes his time, slow and deep. the way your body reacts under him? It’s like pure music to his ears, and that view? It drives him insane. He loves feeling you clench around him, knowing that every thrust makes you feel it even more.

but that’s not all!! dean’s also big on missionary when he’s feeling extra connected. he likes to look you in the eye, making sure you’re completely focused on him, feeling every inch of the connection. he loves that intimate, powerful rhythm where he can feel your heart racing beneath his, his hands tracing your curves as he moves inside you cuz that’s when things get real intense.

and when he wants to switch it up, he doesn’t mind getting a little rough with you, flipping you over, having you straddle him or him taking you from behind while you’re bent over a surface. whatever drives the mood. the chemistry between you two? it makes him want to explore every possible position, and he’s down to try new things, especially when it means making sure you’re both satisfied.

at the end of the day, dean’s favorite position is the one that makes you feel like you’re his, but it’s not about being possessive. it’s about connection, mostly. a sweet balance of passion and control. and dear god, he’s got plenty of ways to show it.

G = GOOFY..

dean can definitely get a little goofy in the moment, esp when he feels comfortable with you. it’s like he knows he can let his guard down and just be himself. while he’s definitely the type to take charge and keep things intense, he’s got that playful side that comes out in the heat of the moment.

sometimes, when things get heated and you’re both in the middle of it, he’ll throw in a cheeky comment just to make you laugh. he might tease you with a quick “i’ve been waiting for this all day,” or a smug little smirk while you’re on top of him, making sure he’s enjoying every second. his confidence lets him crack those playful jokes because he knows he’s got you hooked; and he loves seeing you blush when he gets a little too cheeky.

dean can also get a little goofy in the way he teases you physically. light, playful taps on your ass, or that sexy growl he uses when he’s trying to rile you up. he’s got a natural way of mixing humor and passion that keeps you on your toes. he might even act like he’s serious at first, but then that mischievous grin pops out, showing you he’s not taking things too seriously.

the way he’ll whisper something ridiculously sweet in your ear, only to follow it up with something teasing, like “who’s the lucky one now?” he can switch between being intense and ridiculously charming in a second, making you laugh one moment, then melt the next.

but when it’s time to get serious, dean knows how to flip the switch. If things get more intimate or passionate, that goofy side fades into the background, and he’s all about the connection. but even then, you’ll catch those little glimpses of humor, the way he looks at you with that playful glint in his eye, showing he’s not completely lost in the moment, he’s just enjoying it with you.

so, yeah, while he’s definitely got that serious energy, dean’s no stranger to being goofy when the mood strikes. and honestly? it’s part of the fun. it keeps the vibe light, playful, and even more intimate. that mix of humor and intensity makes the connection between you two even hotter.

H = HAIR..

…now, when it comes to down there, oh yeah, dean keeps himself trimmed. he’s not the type to go completely bald, but he definitely takes care of business. he keeps things neat, a little shorter, so everything’s clean and ready to go when it’s time for action. it’s just the right amount of scruff, leaving enough to tease, but nothing over the top. dean’s whole schtick is about being practical, but he’s also aware of how much it adds to the vibe. he knows exactly what works for him and what makes his partner want more.

as for you, being completely honest, he wants to feel the texture when his lips press against your skin, that slight pull of hair beneath his lips as he moves lower. the perfect amount; not too much, not too little. when he feels the light trim and the soft brush of it against his fingers or mouth, it drives him wild. he might tease you about it when he’s between your legs, maybe give a little chuckle before running his fingers through the soft, trimmed hair, and whispering “god, you know this is exactly how I like it” as he looks up at you, hungry eyes burning with desire.

if you’re the type who prefers to keep things smooth, that’s good too. because when dean’s down there, he’s all about pleasure, and he’ll take his time, loving every inch of you. but give him just a hint of natural, and that’s his weakness. he’ll get lost in the feeling of your skin, fingers grazing over every curve, savoring the way the hair feels when it’s just enough to give him that little extra something. it drives him crazy when you arch your back, a slight gasp escaping your lips, all because he’s finding that sweet spot. he just loves savoring the experience of you more than just the action itself.

so dean doesn’t have that much of a opinion abt it, it’s about what turns him on, and you’re turning him on anyway. whether you like a clean smooth look or a little natural fuzz, he’s just as obsessed with how you feel about it. but if you’re asking him, that little hint of trim? it’s justt the right level of perfection to make him lose control.

I = INTIMACY..

dean might have that gruff exterior, but when it comes to intimacy? he’s got a side to him that will absolutely melt you. when you two are wrapped up in each other, it’s like the world disappears.

he’s the type who can’t help but stare at you with that softness in his eyes when he’s touching you; gently running his hands up your arms, tracing your jaw, just taking you in like he can’t believe you’re actually there with him. there’s this feeling he gives off, like he’s not just having sex, but connecting with you on a level that means so much more than just the physical release. he’s a completely present partner.

when he’s inside you, it’s like he’s not in a rush, savoring every inch of the moment. there’s no slamming or pushing for a fast release. dean’s always making sure you’re feeling every single second of him. whether it’s kissing you deeply, whispering sweet things in your ear, or taking the time to gently stroke your body while he’s inside you, it’s about showing you just how much you mean to him in that moment.

dean doesn’t need to say a word to make you feel loved. his hands, the way he looks at you, the way he moves, his words, it all speaks louder than anything he could say. his kisses are deep, passionate, but with that soft, tender edge that shows he cares. every caress is deliberate, every movement intentional.

when he pulls you close after, he’ll hold you in his arms like you’re his world, his heartbeat steady against yours, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles on your skin. he’s always checking in with you, making sure you’re okay, both physically and emotionally. It’s the romantic side of him that you rarely get to see, but when it’s just you and him? that’s when he shows you all the affection and love he’s been hiding under his tough exterior.

intimacy with dean is a beautiful mix of gentle passion and heart-stopping moments. he’ll bring you closer, make you feel desired in ways you didn’t even know you needed, and leave you breathless with every second of it. but it’s never just about the sex. it’s about him connecting with you, body and soul, and making you feel like you’re the most important thing in his world.

J = JACK OFF..

dean’s a man of many talents, and when he’s alone? he’s not shy about taking care of his own needs. let’s be real the man’s got a lot of built-up tension, and he knows how to relieve it.

dean’s not a guy who needs to jerk off all the time, but if he’s been going through a stretch where he’s missing you or hasn’t been able to see you in a while, he’s definitely going to be indulging a little more frequently. if he’s on the road, and he’s away from you for a few days, you can bet that he’s getting in at least a few sessions, or when things have been tense between the two of you, he’s not going to forget about how much he wants you.

and he’s about thinking of you, all the time. when he’s missing you, or when he’s worked up after seeing you earlier, maybe after a steamy, flirtatious interaction.

when he’s in the mood, dean doesn’t rush it. he’s got a deliberate rhythm as he strokes himself, thinking about you. he’s imagining your body beneath his, your moans in his ear, your hands gripping his back as he takes you deeper. he’ll bite his lip, letting his thoughts of you fuel the fire, and if he’s really worked up, he might even mumble your name, like it’s a prayer that makes him hit that spot just right.

dean knows exactly how to handle himself. his hand moves with just the right pressure, and his breaths get quicker, heavier, as his thoughts go straight to you. how you feel, how you look when you’re under him. he might even get a little rougher with himself when he’s thinking of you taking control or teasing him.

but when he’s about to come it’s like his brain switches to those intimate moments with you, the way your body shudders beneath his touch, how you look when you’re lost in pleasure. he’ll let out a groan as he finally releases, knowing exactly how much he wants you, how needy he’s gotten for you. and afterward? you can bet he’s not ashamed. he’s used to getting his hands dirty, but he’ll always clean up and shake it off like it’s just part of the job.

so yeah, dean gets off on his own, but it’s always with you in mind, a little fantasy to keep the fire burning when you’re not around.

K = KINK..

dean’s a man who’s lived through a lot, and he’s had his fair share of experiences, both good and bad. so, when it comes to his kinks, he’s definitely someone who knows what he likes, and he’s open to a bit of variety.

POWER PLAY.. he likes to be in control, especially when things get heated. he loves the way you melt under his touch, how your body responds to him taking charge. whether it’s gently pushing you down on the bed or pinning you against the wall, dean gets a thrill out of seeing you submit to him. but it comes from a place of mutual control. he’ll let you take the reins when it suits, but only when he’s good and ready for it.

BITING.. dean is soo into the idea of claiming you. he’s not afraid to bite, nip, or mark you with hickeys. it’s about showing everyone that you’re his. he wants to leave his mark on your body, something that says, ‘yeah, you belong to me’, but it’s also a sign that you’re his desire.

ROLEPLAY.. honestly? i think dean’s got a thing for slipping into different characters. sometimes it’s a hunting situation, sometimes it’s something a little more dangerous. he loves the idea of playing a different version of himself, or making you act out a scenario where he’s your protector, your savior, your everything. the idea of pretending you’re strangers or something forbidden really gets him going, and he’ll do whatever it takes to bring that fantasy to life.

IMPACT PLAY.. oh, he loves a little spanking. he’ll get rough, but in a way that keeps the pleasure high. he might not do it every time, but when he does, he knows exactly where to land his hand, just enough to make you gasp in surprise, followed by a whimper of need.

TEASING & DENIAL.. dean’s great at this. he loves making you wait, teasing you with a kiss, a touch, and just enough attention to leave you desperate. he’ll get you so close to the edge, but then he pulls back, just to make you ache for more. It’s a power play, sure, but it’s also about making you feel like you’re at his mercy.

DIRTY TALK.. dean’s mouth might be full of jokes and sarcasm, but when it’s just you two, his dirty talk can be downright filthy. he’ll whisper the dirtiest things in your ear, telling you exactly what he wants to do to you, making sure you know how much he needs you. that low growl of his? yeah, you’re done for.

BONDAGE.. dean’s not afraid of a little bondage. he’s into tying you up in the heat of the moment, making you submit completely to him. whether it’s just a simple tie or something more elaborate, he loves the visual and the control it gives him. the way you’re completely at his mercy. it’s a massive turn-on for him. dean will tie you up just enough to keep you restrained, but not so tight you’re uncomfortable, making sure you’re both safe and, well, fully into it.

MORNING SEX.. dean loves the feeling of waking up next to you. there’s something about the vulnerability of early mornings that makes him want to make love to you before the world even has a chance to wake up. he’s gentle at first, but it doesn’t take long before things heat up, and he’s got you pressed against him, rutting into you, his hands roaming over your body. there’s something so intimate and raw about the way he makes you feel in the morning, like you’re his whole world, and he can’t wait any longer to be inside you.

PUBLIC/RISKY SEX.. there’s a bit of a thrill in doing it in places where you shouldn’t. maybe it’s a quickie in the back of the impala when you’re on the road, or sneaking around while sam’s off doing his own thing, dean loves the danger of possibly getting caught. the risk makes everything hotter. the adrenaline rush of having to keep quiet, of needing to be fast, but also wanting to drag it out as long as possible? it makes his blood pump harder, and he knows it’s just as much a turn-on for you as it is for him.

L = LOCATION..

let’s be honest. dean’s not picky, but he definitely has his favorites. this man is always on the road, always moving, so he’s got to get creative when it comes to where he gets down to business.

THE IMPALA.. this one’s a classic. the backseat, the hood, hell, even the front seat if things get desperate. baby is dean’s home, and there’s something about having you in his space that makes it all the more intimate. the windows fogging up, the leather creaking under your bodies, the absolute risk of getting caught, he lives for it. plus, he loves having you ride him in the driver’s seat, gripping the steering wheel behind your back, knowing damn well he’ll never be able to sit there again without thinking of you.

MOTEL ROOMS.. dean’s been in hundreds of cheap, crappy motels, but when you’re there? they don’t feel so bad. the shitty wallpaper, the questionable beds? none of it matters when you’re beneath him, moaning his name. the fact that you two don’t stay in one place for too long, it makes every night feel urgent, needy, like he has to take full advantage of every second before you’re off hunting again. and let’s be real; he loves when you get loud, and in a motel, there’s no one to stop you.

AGAINST THE WALL.. not necessarily a location, but dean loves pinning you against a wall. there’s something about having you trapped between his body and the hard surface that drives him insane. he loves the way you cling to him, the way you have to hold on, and the power he feels when he has you right where he wants you.

SHOWERS.. dean’s a sucker for shower sex. he loves the intimacy of it. hot water, steam filling the air, the way your bodies slide against each other. he’ll stand behind you, hands roaming everywhere, whispering filthy things in your ear as he helps you brace yourself against the tile. and after? he gets to wash you off, take his time kissing every inch of you, and maybe go for another round while you’re still warm and slippery. everybody wins.

HOOD OF BABY.. dean is a romantic at heart, even if he doesn’t admit it. there’s something about pulling off on a deserted road in the middle of the night, laying you out on the hood of the Impala, and having his way with you under the stars. knowing that in that moment, it’s just you and him against the world. plus, he loves the way the cool metal feels against your skin, the contrast between the chill of the night air and the heat of your bodies moving together.

M = MOTIVATION..

dean might act all cool and in control, but the second you push the right buttons? he’s donee for. so what gets him off the most?

CONFIDENCE.. there’s nothing sexier to dean than watching you take charge. if you walk up to him, grab his collar, and whisper something dirty in his ear? immediate problem in his jeans. he loves knowing you want him just as much as he wants you. if you tease him, pulling back from a kiss too soon, giving him that look that says ‘come and get me’.. he’s going to get you.

but on the flip side? if you’re a little shy, a little hesitant, biting your lip like you’re unsure if you should make the first move? yeah. that also destroys him. he loves pulling that shyness out of you, making you let go of your inhibitions until you’re gasping his name. that’s all the motivation he needs.

YOUR BODY.. dean lives for the little things; the curve of your hips when you walk past him, the soft skin of your thighs when he rests his hand on them, the way your neck tilts when you throw your head back laughing. it’s the casual, effortless sexiness you don’t even realize you have. and if you’re wearing something that hugs your figure just right? he’s barely holding himself together.

YOUR VOICE.. dean’s a sucker for sounds. the way your breath hitches when he gets too close, that soft gasp when he drags his fingers down your spine, the way you moan when he finally gives you what you want. if you let out the smallest whimper? he’s done for. it strokes his ego and sets him on fire at the same time.

and if you talk dirty to him? ohhh, babe, he loses it. whisper something in his ear, tell him what you need from him, what you want him to do to you, he’s throwing you on the bed before you can finish your sentence.

SEEING YOU FRUSTRATED.. dean loves a good challenge. if you’re trying to stay in control but he keeps pushing you right to the edge, and you start getting desperate for him? that’s it. that’s the moment he snaps. he loves teasing you, making you beg, watching you squirm under his touch. the more you fight him on it, the harder it is for him to hold back.

YOU AFTER A HUNT/WORKOUT.. dean is an absolute animal for the way you look after any kind of physical activity. your hair a little messy, your skin flushed, your body all warm from exertion? it just makes him think about what you’d look like beneath him, all breathless and needy. and if you’re wearing something a little tight, maybe some sweat dripping down your chest? HES TRYING NOT TO CUM IN HIS PANTS.

N = NO..

dean might be down for a lot, but there are definitely things that cross the line for him. For one, he’s not into anything that makes you uncomfortable. if you so much as hesitate or seem unsure, it’s over. he’s always paying attention, making sure you’re into it just as much as he is, and if he ever got the feeling you weren’t? he’d pull back immediately, no questions asked.

pain that goes beyond a little roughness is a hell no for him. he’ll leave grip marks on your hips, occasional love bite, maybe even pin your wrists if you’re feeling particularly desperate, but hurting you? that’s not even on the table. he might love making you squirm, but it’s never about making you feel bad. he needs to know you’re enjoying every second of it, even when he’s driving you crazy.

another hard no? anything that makes things impersonal. he’s not the type to treat sex like some casual transaction, when he’s with you, he’s with you. so anything that makes it feel detached, things like calling you degrading names in a way that isn’t playful, acting like you’re just some random hookup, or taking the emotion out of it completely kills the mood for him. he needs that connection, that fire, that undeniable feeling that you’re his, and he’s yours.

and lastly? anything that risks losing control too much. dean can be dominant, sure, but he’s never going to push things to a point where it feels like he’s not himself. he’s got his demons (literally and figuratively) and he never wants to cross a line that makes either of you feel unsafe. the moment things stop being good for you, they stop being good for him, too. because at the end of the day he’s in it for you.

O = ORAL..

teased you guys a bit already in C, anyways! dean lives for oral, giving, receiving, all of it. he’s ridiculously good at it, too, because let’s be real, the man is competitive in everything he does. if he’s going down on you, it’s to wreck you, to leave you so overstimulated and shaking that you can barely remember your own name.

when dean’s between your thighs, he’s super dedicated. he takes his time, really enjoying it, like it’s his favorite meal. he’s got this cocky little smirk when he first gets down there, like he already knows he’s about to ruin you, and he loves hearing how fast he can pull those desperate little sounds out of you. he’s teasing, using his fingers, dragging his tongue in slow, deliberate movements, only to switch things up when you least expect it. and the eye contact is devastating. he’ll look up at you with those green eyes, pupils blown wide, and if you’re gripping his hair, pulling him closer, moaning his name? that’s it. he thrives on that, moaning into you just to watch you fall apart. and he will not stop until he’s got you trembling, gasping, completely lost in it.

as for receiving dean loves it, obviously, but what really gets him isn’t just the feeling, it’s the way you do it. if you’re teasing him, dragging your nails down his stomach, taking your time just to watch him get frustrated? immediate weakness. he’s a sucker for eye contact, for feeling your lips around him while you look up at him with that innocent little gaze that he knows is anything but. and if you go slow at first, making him beg, gripping his thighs or holding his hips down when he tries to thrust he’s losing it. he loves when you make him work for it, when you edge him just a little, force him to ask for more. but the second you actually give in and let him have it, he’s loud, moaning your name, throwing his head back, gripping the sheets or your hair because it just feels too good. and when he finally can’t take it anymore, he’s dragging you up to kiss you, growling something filthy about how good you are for him, and immediately flipping you over to return the favor.

P = PACE..

dean’s pace is everything. fast and rough when he’s desperate for you, slow and deep when he wants to savor it, but always intense no matter what. when he’s needy, been thinking about you all damn day and finally has you underneath him, there’s no patience left. he’s pushing you up against the wall, knocking the breath out of you, gripping your hips hard as he pounds into you like he’s got something to prove. he loves hearing the way you gasp, the way your nails dig into his back, how you whimper his name like you can’t take it, but he knows you can. he wants you to feel him in every inch of your body the next morning, to know that no one could ever touch you the way he does. his thrusts are deep, relentless, his fingers gripping the back of your neck as he growls in your ear, “this what you wanted, sweetheart?”

but when he wants to take his time, that’s a whole different kind of torture. he starts slow, just to watch you squirm, rolling his hips into you deliberately, dragging out every stroke, making you feel every inch of him. his hands are everywhere. on your waist, on your face, your thighs, gripping your wrists above your head just to keep you from pulling him in faster. he knows exactly what he’s doing, watching your face, drinking in every little gasp and moan, smirking when you whine for him to move faster. but he won’t. not yet. he’ll tease you, whisper filthy promises in your ear, telling you exactly what he’s gonna do to you once you’re begging for it.

it doesn’t matter if it’s fast or slow, rough or deep, when dean’s inside you, it’s always toe-curling, mind-numbing, earth-shattering. he’s not just fucking you; he’s taking you, owning every single sound you make, making damn sure you know who you belong to.

Q = QUICKIE..

he thrives on the thrill of them, the way you barely have time to think before he’s got you pressed up against the nearest surface, unbuckling his belt with that cocky little smirk. he loves that rushed, desperate feeling, where there’s no time for slow teasing, no time to strip completely, just pure, raw need.

he’s the type to pull you into a supply closet at a dive bar, shove you up against the impala, or drag you into the motel bathroom while sam’s in the other room, covering your mouth with his hand as he growls, “gotta keep quiet, sweetheart.” and even though it’s rushed, even though it’s all about getting off as fast as possible, he never half-asses it. his pace is still devastating, his hands still gripping you tight, making sure you feel every second of it. he gets off on the idea that you can’t wait, that you need him now, just as badly as he needs you.

quickies happen a lot with him.. before hunts, after hunts, during hunts when the tension gets too high and he just has to do something about it. he doesn’t care where, against the Impala with the doors barely shielding you from the outside world, in a bar bathroom, even in the backseat if you tease him too much on a long drive. hell, if you so much as look at him the right way, he’ll pull you into the nearest empty space and take care of it right there.

but the best part is in the way he acts completely normal afterward, like he wasn’t just wrecking you two minutes ago. he’ll walk out of the room, running a hand through his hair, giving you that smirk while he adjusts his belt, acting like he didn’t just ruin you in record time. and if sam or anyone else notices you looking thoroughly wrecked, dean just chuckles, winks at you, and mutters, “what? can’t help it when my girl looks that good.” pervert.

R = RISK..

dean is definitely down to take risks. he thrives on a little danger, and when it comes to you, he’s got a filthy, adventurous side that’s always looking for new ways to keep things interesting. he loves the thrill of getting caught, as we discussed, of doing something he shouldn’t be doing, knowing that you’re both toeing the line of what’s acceptable and what’s downright reckless. he’s not gonna do anything that makes you uncomfortable, but if you’re game? he’s all in.

public stuff? big yes. i’m probably repeating sm stuff but he’s got a thing for taking you somewhere risky, against the Impala with nothing but the darkness to hide you, in a bar bathroom with music thumping outside, in the backseat while sam’s off getting food. he lives for those moments where he has to slap a hand over your mouth, whispering in your ear, “be good for me, sweetheart. don’t wanna get caught, do we?” but you both know he’d get off on the idea of someone almost hearing.

as for trying new things? dean is curious, and if you suggest something, he’ll at least consider it. so yeah, he’ll push boundaries, he’ll test limits, he’ll get filthy, but he’ll always pull back if you need him to. because for all the risks he’s willing to take, the one thing he’ll never gamble with? you.

S = STAMINA..

dean has insane stamina. like, we’re talking borderline superhero levels of staying power. he’s not the type to just rush through it and call it a night, when he’s into you, he’s in it for the long haul. you’ll see him go for multiple rounds, no problem. he’s the kind of guy who’ll keep going until you’re absolutely spent, and even then, he might give you a second wind. because dean? dean knows how to make it last.

after the first round, he’s not slowing down. in fact, he might get even more fired up, his confidence only growing as he sees you fall apart for him. and the thing is, he doesn’t just go fast and hard and get off quick; he’s got control, so he can pace himself while still making sure you’re writhing under him. he’ll adjust his rhythm, slow things down when you need it, build you back up, only to throw you back into the fire with his relentless pace.

if it’s been a long day, a stressful hunt, or just a case of too much tension between you two, he can go for hours. he’ll go until you’re on the brink of exhaustion, making you beg for him to stop or giving you exactly what you want. but even after you’ve had your fill, he’ll still pull you in for more, teasing you about how perfect you are, how you look so fucked out beneath him. the way he looks at you, all sweaty and breathless, tells you he’s not done, not even close.

he loves the challenge, loves showing you just how much he can handle, and every round is another chance to make you shatter for him. so yeah, stamina? he’s got it in spades.

T = TOYS..

dean’s not opposed to using toys, but it’s not something he needs all the time. if he’s in the mood to experiment, he’s down, and he might surprise you by pulling something out of his bag. he doesn’t have a collection or anything flashy, but he’s got a few items stashed away for when the moment feels right. maybe it’s a vibrating toy, something to use on you while he’s taking his time with your body, or maybe it’s a blindfold or a set of handcuffs something to heighten the sensation, and get you begging for more.

when it comes to using them on you, dean loves to take control. he’ll slip a toy inside you while he’s kissing you, watching your face as the pleasure builds and he takes his time with you. he might tell you to keep quiet, to stay still, while he moves the toy slowly, getting you worked up while he strokes your skin. he’s into it, watching how you react, getting off on the way you squirm, the way you beg him for more.

if dean’s ever using a toy on himself? it’s probably just a quick solo thing when he’s away for a long stretch of time, maybe after a particularly stressful hunt. but honestly? he much prefers the real thing. toys are fun for when he’s feeling a little extra, but nothing compares to the way you feel wrapped around him. so, yeah, toys are in the picture occasionally, but they’re more of a spicy bonus rather than a regular go-to.

U = UNFAIR..

dean is a master of teasing. it’s practically in his DNA. he loves to get you worked up, make you beg for him, and he absolutely thrives on the power he has over your body and your reactions. there’s nothing he loves more than seeing you squirm, the way your breath catches when he drags his fingers over your skin just a little too slowly, the way your eyes roll back when he whispers something filthy in your ear. he’s got a wicked sense of humor, and teasing you? it’s his favorite game.

he knows exactly what drives you wild, what makes you ache for him and he will absolutely milk that. he’s totally aware of how badly you want him, how desperate you are for that release, and he loves keeping you on the edge, giving you just enough to keep you hooked but never quite enough to make you snap. he knows it drives you crazy, and that’s exactly why he does it.

sometimes, when he’s in the mood to be a little extra sadistic, he’ll barely touch you, just enough to make you itch for more, but never enough to actually give you what you need. he’ll tease you with his hands, with his lips, maybe even with his words; telling you how good you look, how he can’t wait to ruin you, only to pull back again, leaving you desperate for him.

it’s not that dean is being mean.. he’s just having fun, enjoying how you fall apart in his hands. and the best part for him is the moment you finally get that release, it’s worth every second of the teasing. when he finally lets you have it, it’s mind-blowing. and he’s got no problem doing it all over again, because teasing is just part of the fun for him.

V = VOLUME..

dean is definitely loud in the heat of the moment. he’s not the type to stay quiet, especially when things are getting heated. his moans, grunts, and low growls fill the room, getting deeper the more intense things get. he’s not shy about expressing how much he’s enjoying himself, and the sounds he makes are like fuel to the fire, only making you want him more. his voice gets rougher as he gets closer, the way he groans your name sounding almost desperate, like he can’t get enough of you.

he’ll growl when you move just the right way, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper when he’s trying to keep himself under control but failing miserably. when he’s on top of you, he’ll grunt in time with his thrusts, his hands gripping the sheets or your skin, as if he needs something to ground him. when he’s kissing you, he can’t help but moan into your mouth, the sounds deep and needy, telling you just how much he wants you.

and when you really hit the right spot? you’ll hear him loud and clear. he’s not shy about letting you know how good it feels, and it’s a total turn-on to hear those ragged breaths, the way his voice cracks when he says, “god, babe… you’re so tight.” he might even get more vocal as things go on, grumbling something filthy in your ear like, “you’re making me lose control.”

in the heat of it all, dean’s volume is as much a part of the experience as everything else. his sounds only add to the intensity, making everything feel real, making every movement feel like it matters. and when it’s over? he’ll probably be panting, chuckling, or murmuring how perfect you are, still trying to catch his breath from all the noise he made.

W = WILD CARD..

dean loves watching you. when it comes to it, dean is absolutely mesmerized by every little thing you do. it starts off slow. he’ll catch you in moments when you’re unaware, when you’re just going about your day, and he can’t help but let his gaze linger. maybe you’re getting dressed, stretching after a nap, or adjusting yourself on the couch, and he’ll just stare, his eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing every curve, every movement. there’s something about seeing you unaware, just being your natural, beautiful self, that drives him absolutely wild. He might not say anything, just look at you with this low, dark expression that makes you feel hot under his gaze.

he loves watching you when you’re aware, when you know exactly what he’s doing, and the tension between you two gets electric. he might make you stand in front of him, just so he can admire you, his eyes moving over your body, drinking you in. when he’s getting you undressed, he’ll slow things down, taking his time to look at you, making sure you feel exposed and desired. every inch of your body is a masterpiece to him, and he’s all about seeing it, touching it, taking it in.

when you’re in bed together, he’ll love when you’re on top, especially when you’re riding him or grinding down on him, because he can watch every movement you make, the way your body reacts to him. he’ll watch the way your chest rises and falls with each breath, the way your eyes flutter shut when he’s hitting the right spot. he’ll groan under his breath, watching you move, maybe even whispering things like, “that’s it, baby, just like that,” or “god, you look so fucking good like this.”

for dean, the act of watching is an extension of the control he has. he loves to see you fall apart under his gaze, to see you lose yourself in the moment. it’s a form of foreplay in itself, a way for him to build tension, to draw things out before he finally gives you the release you crave. the more he watches, the more addicted he gets to the sight of you, and it becomes this unspoken dance, a game where he’s always a step ahead, enjoying how you react.

X = X-RAY..

dean’s confidence in this department is off the charts, and he knows he’s got something to be proud of. he’s not the type to brag, but when you catch a glimpse, you definitely don’t miss it. he’s got a solid, nice size that makes you ache to touch him, with just the right amount of thickness and length to hit every right spot. he can make you shiver with anticipation just by pulling down his jeans, letting you see it all before he lets you touch, before he lets you do anything.

he’s big enough to make you take a deep breath, make you want to prepare yourself, but he knows how to use it, how to give you just the right amount of pressure, just the right angle. he’s more than willing to build you up, letting you take your time with him, watching you as you slowly trace your fingers down his length, his breath catching every time you get too close.

and alright, babe, let’s be real. dean’s got a size that’s definitely above average. we’re talking about around 7 to 8 inches. he’s thick too, enough to stretch you just right and make you feel every inch of him, pushing all the right buttons. he’s got the perfect length and girth that makes every thrust feel deep, filling, and intense. when he’s inside you, you can feel it, and you can’t help but gasp when he hits that spot that drives you wild.

but it’s not just about size. he knows how to work with what he’s got. he’s slow, deliberate, using every inch of himself to maximize the pleasure, to make you beg for more. he’s got that perfect balance of everything, and when you feel him, when you take him in, there’s no mistaking that he knows exactly what to do with it.

Y = YEARNING..

dean’s sex drive is through the roof. this man is always hungry for you. whether he’s been working on a case all day or just had some time to himself, his need for you is almost constant. he’s got that deep, insatiable yearning, like he can’t get enough of you. it’s not just physical, there’s something emotional tied to it too. he’s always looking for that connection, that intimacy, and he craves the release you give him. he doesn’t shy away from taking things to the next level whenever the moment feels right.

he’s the type to get touchy and needy, even in public. a lingering hand on your waist, a kiss on the back of your neck when no one’s looking. dean will always find a way to sneak in his desire. but when it comes to the bedroom (or wherever you happen to be), he’s like a man possessed, eager to claim you and make sure you know just how much he wants you. he’ll go for round after round if you’re both up for it, each time a little more intense than the last.

if you’ve been apart for any amount of time, the moment you’re alone? it’s like a switch flips, and he’s all over you. he’ll get you worked up in seconds, kissing you like he hasn’t seen you in forever, his hands roaming all over, eager to feel you again. you won’t have to wait long before he’s all in, fully driven by that yearning to have you, to feel you, to make you feel as good as he does when he’s with you.

Z = ZZZ..

after everything’s said and done, dean’s not the type to just crash immediately. but it doesn’t take long. if you’ve had an intense round of sex, he’ll be exhausted, and it’s not uncommon for him to be a little out of breath, still feeling the high of it all. he might pull you close, his arm wrapped around you as you both try to catch your breath, and once the adrenaline fades, he’s pretty much out. dean’s a heavy sleeper, so after he’s satisfied, he’ll be out like a light, snuggling you in his arms with a content, relaxed sigh.

he’s got a calming way about him after sex; almost like it’s his way of grounding himself. you can feel his body relax next to you, and it’s like he just melts into the bed, not really caring about the world outside. if you’re still awake, though, he’ll lazily pull you into him, wanting to keep you close, maybe whispering something sweet or teasing you about how perfect you were, before his eyes start to flutter. and soon enough, you’ll feel his breath even out as he drifts off into a deep sleep, his body completely satisfied and at rest.

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you felt it before you even opened your eyes. the warmth of his body pressed against your back, his stubble scratching as he nuzzled into your neck. then, his hand. wandering.

“mm,” you grumbled sleepily, trying to burrow deeper into the pillow. “dean, it’s too early…”

“too early for what?” his voice was husky, thick with sleep, lips brushing over the shell of your ear. “for me to touch my girl?”

his hand dragged lazily down your stomach, fingers skimming over your bare thigh. you shivered.

“you’re insatiable,” you murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at your lips.

dean chuckled, his breath warm against your neck. “nah, just obsessed with you.” his hand slipped under the hem of his own t-shirt that you’d stolen to sleep in, fingertips teasing over your hip. “you gonna stop me, sweetheart?”

you let out a contented sigh, tilting your head to give him more access as his lips trailed slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “i’d be an idiot to stop you.”

“damn right.”

and just like that, you were flipped onto your back, dean hovering over you, a cocky grin on his face. his green eyes sparkled with something both mischievous and downright sinful.

“you’re unbelievable,” you huffed, running a hand through his messy hair.

dean leaned down, lips barely brushing over yours. “and you love it.”

yeah. yeah, you did.

his kiss was slow and deep. he had all the time in the world. his hands roamed, tracing every inch of you like he was committing it to memory.

dean was all over you, lips pressing slow, teasing kisses along your jaw, your neck, the dip between your collarbones. his weight caged you in, keeping you right where he wanted you, but his touch was gentle. worshipping.

“mmm, i could stay here all day,” he murmured, nipping at your skin just enough to make you squirm.

you tangled your fingers in his hair, sighing as he kissed his way down your chest. “who’s stopping you?”

dean chuckled, voice low and lazy. “sam’s gonna kill us if we don’t hit the road soon.”

you grinned, dragging your nails lightly down his back. “then maybe you should stop teasing and get to it, de.”

his eyes flicked up to yours, dark with amusement. “oh, sweetheart… you know better than to challenge me like that.”

before you could process his words, he was shifting lower, trailing his lips over your stomach, hands gripping your thighs as he settled between them. his smirk was downright sinful.

“dean—”

“i got you, baby,” he murmured against your skin, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

and damn, did he.

he took his sweet time, teasing you with his mouth, his hands. dean wasn’t in a hurry, that much was clear. he was enjoying taking you apart piece by piece, relishing in every little reaction he drew from you. every moan and shiver fueled his own hunger.

his lips found the soft skin of your inner thighs, and he sucked a mark there, his stubble leaving a delicious burn in the wake of his mouth. you bucked against him, but his grip on your hips was relentless, holding you down as he continued his slow, torturous path up your body.

“patience, sweetheart,” he drawled, his gravelly voice sending heat pooling between your thighs. he nipped at your thigh, the sharp edge of his teeth just shy of pain, just enough to make your toes curl. “gotta enjoy my dessert first, right?”

"damn, you look good like this," he murmured, his voice a rough caress in the intimate space between you. his fingers flexed on your hips, like he was physically holding himself back. "so pretty, all spread out for me..."

he let his nose brush against you, inhaling deeply. “smell so good too, baby. so sweet, just for me.” his lips curled into a wicked grin as he added, “now, let’s see how you taste…”

without another word, he hooked a finger under the fabric, slowly pulling your panties down, past your hips, down your thighs, off your legs, and tossing them away. he took a moment to admire the view, licking his lips in anticipation.

“mm… so desperate for me already,” he murmured, and you could hear the smug satisfaction in his voice. “look at you… all wet and needy, just for me.”

and then he was on you, his tongue parting your folds, and your brain short circuited. his name left your lips in a broken whimper as he coaxed pleasure from you with slow, measured strokes. heat coiled low in your belly, building with every movement, but he wasn't letting you reach that peak just yet. he was taking his time, like savoring a fine wine. every touch was calculated to keep you right at the edge, but not quite yet.

it was almost too much. the heat, the pressure, the way he knew just how to move to make you see stars. your hands found his hair, fingers tangling in the short locks as you gasped his name in a ragged moan.

he groaned against you at the sound of his name, his grip on your thighs tightening. “mmm, i like that,” he murmured, his voice sending vibrations through you that left your legs trembling. “say it again, sweetheart.”

you obeyed reflexively, your voice a breathless whisper, “dean… dean, dean—”

he hummed in approval, the sound sending tremors through you. “that’s it,” he growled, the scrape of his stubble deliciously pleasurable. “fuck, you’re beautiful like this.”

you felt like you were losing yourself in the sensations, your body writhing under his touch. dean seemed to know every sensitive spot, his mouth finding them and lavishing attention on each one, until you were mewling with desperation.

“dean, please…” you gasped, your fingers clenching more tightly in his hair. your body was trembling on the edge, needing his permission to fall apart.

“i’ve got you, baby,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths. “just let go. i’ve got you.”

his words were like a command, sending you spiraling over the edge. a shudder rocked through you, leaving you wrecked beneath him. pleasure washed over you, hot and sweet, and you couldn’t hold back the strangled cry that escaped your lips.

dean finally made his way back up your body, looking far too proud of himself. you were still catching your breath when he leaned in, lips brushing against yours.

“you awake now?” he teased.

you huffed, shoving his chest playfully. “cocky bastard.”

he grinned, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him so you were sprawled over his chest. his fingers traced lazy circles on your spine. “you love that about me.”

you kissed his jaw, settling against him with a satisfied hum. “yeah, yeah.”

dean’s hand brushed over your hip as he leaned his forehead against yours, his voice a rough whisper. “you’re incredible. fucking incredible.”

you giggled softly, lazily kissing him back. “i could say the same about you.”

dean smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. he didn’t move from his spot, content to just be with you.

the afterglow was perfect. you were all tangled up in each other, his hand tracing lazy circles on your bare back, his lips brushing over your temple. It was so safe, something neither of you got enough of.

until it wasn’t.

because suddenly, the motel door swung open.

and there stood sam.

holding a few cups of coffee.

looking like he’d just witnessed a crime scene.

you were both still tangled in the sheets, dean’s body half over yours, your legs intertwined. you were both spent, breathing heavily, the evidence of your time together all too clear on the both of you.

sam blinked. his hand faltered with the coffee cup as he took in the scene. his big brother and his best friend, completely out of it, looking like they’d been worn out.

“oh, come on—” sam’s voice cracked as his eyes widened in horror.

you barely had time to yank the blanket up to cover yourself before dean, completely unbothered, grinned up at his brother. “mornin’, sammy.”

sam made a strangled noise in the back of his throat, immediately slapping a hand over his eyes. “i knew this would happen one day. i knew it, and yet somehow, i wasn’t prepared.”

dean chuckled, stretching lazily beneath you like he hadn’t just traumatized his little brother. “c’mon, man, we’re all adults here.”

sam was frozen. his face was a mix of disgust and sheer confusion. he slowly took a sip of his coffee, looking as if he was trying to will himself into believing this wasn’t his reality. “i swear to god, i just wanted to bring coffee.”

dean stretched lazily, like he didn’t have a care in the world. “well, you could’ve knocked, sammy. instead, you’re ruining my post-coital glow.”

sam’s jaw dropped, his eyes darting between you and dean. “post-coital glow? what is wrong with you two?”

dean only shrugged, completely unbothered. “nah, you’re right. should’ve just locked the door. but hey, it’s not my fault you barged in at the wrong time, man.”

sam groaned, turning on his heel so fast you thought he might trip over himself. “i live with you two. i share motel rooms with you two. i just wanted to be nice for once and bring coffee! that’s it! that’s all I wanted!”

dean smirked, amused by the whole situation. with a lazy grin, he looked over at sam like it was the most normal thing in the world. “appreciate it, sammy.”

“i hate you.”

you were dying at this point, burying your face in dean’s chest to muffle your laughter. Dean just wrapped his arms around you, clearly enjoying this way too much.

sam groaned again, scrubbing a hand down his face. “i’m leaving. i need bleach. for my eyes and my brain.”

as he stormed out, dean just called after him, “you sure you don’t wanna stick around? we could use a referee!”

the door slammed.

you swatted dean’s chest, still laughing. “you love torturing him, don’t you?”

dean just grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. “best part of my day.”

you, still in a fit of giggles, buried your face in dean’s chest, not sure whether to be mortified or entertained.

dean’s hand stroked your back soothingly as you calmed down. “i think we ruined him. and I’m here for it.”

you snorted, playfully shoving him. “you’re terrible.”

dean smirked, clearly so pleased with himself. “you love it. just wait ‘til he gets over his trauma and we’re on the road. then we’ll talk.”

and with that, dean kissed your forehead, settling back into the sheets with you, as if the world hadn’t just gone off the rails for both of you.

but sam? well, sam was gonna need some serious therapy.

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you had a second of peace, just standing there, breathing him in, when you heard the unmistakable sound of dean’s boots behind you. you turned slowly to see him standing in the doorway, eyes dark, smirk curling on his lips.

“really?…” his voice was thick with amusement, but there was a layer of something else beneath it, something hungry. “stealing my clothes now, huh?”

you shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest, the oversized flannel making you feel like you were drowning in it, but it felt damn good. “what? it’s comfy,” you said, teasing him, but the heat in your gaze was unmistakable.

dean’s eyes scanned you slowly, taking in every inch of the way the flannel hung off your body. he stepped forward, the air between you crackling with tension. “comfy?” he repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm, but his eyes were anything but joking. “you look fucking irresistible in it.”

you bit your lip, feeling the heat rush through your veins at his words. you could feel the tension building between you two.

“you gonna keep stealing my shirts now, sweetheart?” dean said, his voice rough, low, sending shivers down your spine as his hand reached out to trail down your arm. “or do i get to make you forget about it?”

you swallowed hard, looking up at him. “why would you want to? i can tell your cock definitely likes it.”

dean smirked, and before you could blink, he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you in so close that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. his lips were on yours before you could even react, hard and demanding. his hands slid under the flannel, grazing your skin, his fingers burning a trail up your sides.

you gasped into the kiss when his hands slid lower, cupping you through the fabric of your jeans, the heat between you two growing unbearable. his mouth moved to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as his hands began to work the buttons of your jeans.

“dean,” you moaned softly, your hands pulling at his shirt, desperate for more contact, for more of him.

“don’t say my name like that,” he muttered against your skin, his breath ragged. “you want me to fuck you right here, in my clothes, hm, baby?”

you felt your body tremble at the thought. his filthy words, the way he was looking at you like he couldn’t wait to strip everything away, made you ache.

“please,” you whispered, fingers tugging at his belt.

dean growled, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you effortlessly, pushing you up against the nearby wall, your legs wrapping around his waist. his mouth claimed yours again, with an unrelenting pace.

his eyes darkened, lips brushing against yours, "you're so fucking perfect. you know that?"

you shivered at his words, the combination of his raw dominant tone and the sweetness of his compliments sending a rush of heat through your body.

"de.." you murmured, hands slipping beneath his shirt to explore the muscles of his back, skin burning with every touch. "i need you so bad, please,"

your touch sent a jolt of desire coursing through his veins, his breathing growing heavy as he ground against you, the hard length of him pressing against your hip, the friction driving him wild.

"you feel that?" he asked, his voice rough, "that's what you do to me, sweetheart."

you gasped softly, feeling the evidence of his arousal straining against his jeans, your body responding involuntarily, arching against him in search of more of that delicious friction.

"bed?" you managed, the word barely a whisper. "need you in a bed, not against a wall.."

the corners of his lips curled into a smirk at your desperate plea. he wanted you too, craved you like the air he breathed, but he loved teasing you, pushing you to the brink before giving in.

"not yet," he murmured, his grip on you unrelenting. "we're not finished here."

he dipped his head, his mouth trailing a path down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

you writhed under his touch, your body alive with sensation, every nerve ending singing. "dean, please," you whimpered, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

he savored the sound of your breathy pleas, relishing in the way you came undone beneath his touch. "i know, baby.. love hearing you beg for me like that," he whispered against your skin, his voice roughened by arousal. “enough of that, though. get on your fuckin’ knees.”

your knees almost gave way at the command, a sharp gasp slipping through your lips. "de—," you protested weakly, but there was no real resistance, just a trembling anticipation.

"do as I say," he insisted, his grip unyielding as he guided you to the floor, your knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. he stood above you, his eyes burning with intensity as you knelt before him, your face level with the obvious bulge in his jeans.

"take my belt off," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

your hands trembled as you reached for his leather belt, your fingertips brushing against the cool metal of the buckle. it took you a few attempts to undo it, your fingers clumsy with desire.

once the belt was undone, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he guided your hand to the zipper of his jeans. "keep going, sweetheart."

your heart was hammering in your chest as you unzipped his jeans, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise silent room, your fingertips brushing against the fabric of his boxers.

"now... pull them down, slowly." his words were a command, a challenge, but beneath the dominance, there was an underlying tenderness, a hint of vulnerability that only showed itself in moments like these.

you obeyed, your hands reaching for the waistband of his jeans, fingers trembling with anticipation as you shimmied them down his hips. the material was rough against your hands, and the sound of denim sliding over his muscular thighs sent a shiver down your spine.

he stepped out of his jeans, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers, the fabric strained by his arousal. he looked down at you, his eyes roving over your body, taking in the way you knelt before him, sweet and submissive, ready to do whatever he asked.

he reached down, cupping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. his thumb traced your lower lip, his touch tender despite the commanding tone of his voice.

"you trust me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"yes," you whispered, the word escaping your lips without hesitation. you did trust him, implicitly. he had seen you at your most vulnerable, your darkest moments, and he had never once taken advantage of it. instead, he had been your pillar of strength, your protector, your safe harbor in the storm.

his thumb continued tracing your lip, a gentle smile curving his mouth at your response. "good girl," he murmured, the praise sending a jolt of desire through you, his approval filling you with warmth. “now, open that pretty lil’ mouth for me.”

your heart skipped a beat, the simple command igniting a fire within you. without hesitation, you parted your lips, your eyes locked on his as you waited for his next command.

his thumb slipped past your parted lips, tracing the outline of your tongue. “suck it,” he demanded, his voice low and sensual.

you obeyed without hesitation, your tongue swirling around his thumb as you sucked it into your mouth. the action was both submissive and rebellious, your eyes defiant even as you yielded to his command.

dean groaned, his eyes darkening as he watched you. "that's it," he said, his thumb withdrawing from your mouth with a wet pop. "look so good on your knees for me, baby."

he threaded his fingers into your hair, his grip firm as he angled your head to look up at him. his eyes bore into yours, his expression a mix of tenderness and dominance.

"you know what I want, don't you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

you nodded, a wordless affirmation that you understood exactly what he was asking for. your lips were parted, your breath coming in heavy pants, your body already trembling in anticipation.

he ran his hand over your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the rough command. "go on then, touch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

your hand trembled as you reached for him, your palm sliding over the rough cotton of his boxers, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. your touch was tentative at first, but as you heard him draw in a sharp breath, your confidence began to grow.

his hand tensed in your hair as your touch grew bolder, your fingers tracing the outline of his arousal through the fabric. "mmm... that's it," he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure, "just like that, sweetheart."

your hand cupped him more firmly, massaging him through the fabric until he was practically vibrating with need. "f-fuck... you're so good for me, aren't you darling?"

your response was a strangled moan, your body responding to his praise like a flame to gasoline. you were on fire, consumed by a desperate need for him, the ache between your thighs growing with every passing moment. "please," you gasped, looking up at him, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. "dean, please... i need you."

his jaw clenched at the view of you. It was a sight that never failed to get him going, his control almost at its limit. "yeah? you need me that bad, huh?" he teased, his fingers tangling more tightly in your hair.

you nodded, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. "yes," you breathed, your hand still massaging him through the fabric. "so bad, dean. i need you. please."

the desperate plea in your tone and the way you were touching him pushed him to the edge. he was already struggling to hold back, and the sight of you on your knees, begging for him, was almost too much.

"then take what you want," he commanded, his voice a hoarse rasp, "cmon, angel.. you know what to do."

without hesitation, you reached for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down with a swift motion, freeing him from the last barrier of fabric. you swallowed hard as you took him in, your hand wrapping around him, the weight and heat of him feeling like the missing piece to a puzzle you hadn't known was incomplete.

he let out a guttural groan as you touched him, your grip firm and sure, almost worshipful. "fuck.. just like that, sweetheart," he gasped, his eyes closing for a fraction of second before refocusing on you, watching your every move. "you know how to drive me crazy.."

the praise from him sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching towards his, your hand moving in a steady rhythm. you loved the way you could make him lose control, the way he looked at you now, completely undone by your touch.

"yeah, just like that.. just keep touching me, babe," he whispered, his hand tightening in your hair again, guiding your mouth towards him. "i need you, sweetheart. I need-"

you didn't hesitate, your tongue darting out to taste him, the saltiness of his skin making your head spin. he groaned, his breath hitching as he watched you, his grip on your hair becoming almost painful. "you're perfect.. so damn perfect..," he murmured, his words interspersed with ragged breaths. "just like that.. don't stop, sweetheart.. please don't stop.."

you quickened your pace, your tongue swirling and tasting, desperate to drive him over the edge. you wanted to give him everything he needed, to show him just how much you wanted him.

"oh, I'm close... keep goin.." he gasped, his hips canting forward automatically, seeking more of the pleasure you were giving him. "just a little bit more, sweetheart.. you're so good.. so perfect.. I'm gonna-"

you knew he was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his breath came in ragged gasps. you looked up at him, your eyes meeting his gaze, and that was it.

his release was sudden, his body shaking with the intensity of it, a hoarse cry passing his lips. he held on to you tightly, the grip on your hair probably painful, but you didn't care. you loved seeing him lose control, the way his face showed every emotion, the way he let himself be vulnerable around you.

he panted heavily, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark and satisfied as he looked down at you. "goddamn, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice still thick with arousal. “think you- fuck, think you might need a reward for that, huh?”

a mixture of pride and exhaustion filled you as he spoke. you were trembling, your body almost as spent as his from the intensity of your actions. but the thought of a reward made your eyes gleam. "a-a reward?.." you asked, the word almost a purr.

he chuckled, the sound deep and rough. "yeah, sweetheart, a reward," he confirmed, his hand moving from your hair to your face, his thumb tracing the lines of your face. "you did so good.. you deserve something special."

his touch was gentle, tender even, a stark contrast to the dominating way he had been moments ago. it always surprised you how he could switch between the two, one moment being demanding, the next tender. but that was just who he was. a man of contrasts.

dean helped you up, steadying you on your shaky legs before leading you over to the bed. he sat you down on the edge, pulling you onto your back, your legs in between him. he held you close, his arms wrapping around you with a possessiveness that was both comforting and arousing.

he kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue moving against yours, tasting and exploring. it was a gentle, almost loving kind of kiss, one that belied the intensity of the moment. he pulled away after a few seconds, his gaze roaming over your body hungrily.

"i could ravish you right now," he murmured, his hand roaming over your body, "but I don't want to rush this.. i want to take my time with you, baby. i want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."

your breath hitched at his words, anticipation building in your chest. you knew he meant every word, and the thought of what was to come made your body tingle. "i want that too," you whispered, your hands coming up to toy with his hair. "i want you, dean. all of you…"

He smiled at your words, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "and you'll have me, sweetheart," he promised, his tone confident. "every part of me.. yours to do with as you please."

he leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses down your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin. each touch was slow and deliberate, as if he was mapping out every inch of you. his hand slid up your side, his fingers playing lightly at the hem of your shirt before tugging it up, slowly baring more of your flesh to him.

he pulled the shirt over your head, tossing it aside before leaning back to look at you. he took his time, his eyes roaming over your body, drinking in every detail. "so damn gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "i never get tired of looking at you."

his hands began to wander again, exploring territory that was both familiar and exciting. he traced your collarbone, his thumb gently brushing over the sensitive area, before moving down to your breasts. his touch was light, teasing, his eyes fixated on your face to gauge your reaction.

you gasped as his thumb brushed over your nipples, the fabric of your bra the only barrier between you. he smirked, noticing your reaction, and did it again, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through you. "mmm... so sensitive already." he murmured, his voice low and teasing. he let his fingers go down your back, undoing your bra with skill.

your breathing hitched, your body arching involuntarily under his touch. his words, combined with the sensations he was eliciting in you, were almost too much to handle. "dean.. please.." you gasped, your body craving more of his touch, more of him.

he smirked at your plea, his hand tracing down over your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your shorts. "what do you want, darlin’? use your words," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

you swallowed hard, your mind fuzzy with desire. "more.." you managed to gasp out, your hips lifting slightly in a desperate attempt to get more of the contact you craved. "please, more.. I need more.."

he chuckled at your desperate tone, amused and turned on by the effect he had on you. "such a needy little girl, aren't you?" he murmured, his fingers still teasing at the edge of your shorts. "i love how impatient you get for me, sweetheart.. it's almost endearing."

he leaned down again, his mouth finding a sensitive spot on your neck, his teeth nipping gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. his hand was more demanding now, his fingers slipping down the fabric of your shorts, now dancing along the edge of your underwear.

your body was on fire, your skin overly sensitive to every touch and kiss. you whimpered, your thighs clenching as his hand continued to tease you. "please.. I can't take much more of this," you gasped, your hands gripping at the sheets beneath you.

"you can take it," he murmured, his mouth trailing down to your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. "i know you can, sweetheart. and don't worry, you'll get everything you want in just a minute.. if you behave."

you knew exactly what he meant by behaving. you'd be obeying him tonight, and he was reminding you of that fact. you shivered beneath him, the anticipation building. "i'll be good," you promised, your voice almost a whine. "i'll be so good for you, just.. please, dean."

his hand moved lower, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing the sensitive flesh there. "fuck," he murmured, his eyes glued to your face. "so wet for me. You got that wet just by sucking my cock?.."

you couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips, the sound almost embarrassing in its neediness. "yes," you admitted, "just from that. Just from you."

he groaned in approval, his fingers moving gently over you. "that's it, sweetheart," he murmured, "that's my good girl. you're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

you nodded, your body shaking as his touch became more demanding. "i—i just wanted to make you feel good," you managed to gasp out, your hips lifting slightly in time with his movements.

"oh, you did," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. "you made me feel so good, sweetheart. but now it's my turn to return the favor..."

his mouth moved down your body, his teeth scraping against your skin, his tongue trailing a wet path towards your thighs. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a smirk on his lips. "you want me to take care of you, sweetheart? want me to taste you like you tasted me?"

you nodded fervently, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "yes," you gasped, the word almost a sob. "please, please, i need you, dean."

he chuckled, the sound low and dark. "that's what I wanted to hear," he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open before him. "just relax, princess. i'm gonna make you feel so damn good."

his tongue was hot on you, his touch firm and sure. he tasted and teased, his mouth working you into a frenzy. it was almost overwhelming, the way he knew all your sensitive spots, god, he knew exactly how to touch you to drive you wild. you writhed beneath him, his finger curled up in you.

"so damn sensitive.." he murmured, his mouth moving against you, his words sending vibrations through your body. "you're so fucking reactive to everything i do to you, sweetness.. i could do this all night, i could do this until you're a shaking, sobbing mess beneath me.. begging me for more..."

you were close, your body tensing, the coil inside you ready to snap. "dean-please—" you gasped, your back arching off the bed, "i'm—oh God, i'm so close-just-just a little bit more—"

his tongue flicked over you, his pace picking up, his fingers digging into your thighs. "that's it, sweetheart," he murmured, "cum for me. i want to hear you say my name, i want to feel you let go for me.."

and with his last words, you shattered, crying out his name as pleasure crested over you. you shook, your body arching, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. the intensity of it was mind numbing, the sensation washing over you.

he didn't stop, his mouth working you through it, prolonging the sensation. you moaned, your body trembling, your senses overwhelmed. It was too much, yet somehow not enough. you clutched at him, your hands running through his hair, needing something to ground you.

finally, he pulled away, his mouth trailing kisses up your body as he moved back up to your face. He looked at you, his eyes dark, his expression satisfied. "you're incredible, baby," he murmured, kissing you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

you tasted yourself on his lips, the realization making you shiver. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your body still humming with aftershocks of pleasure. "that was.. that was amazing," you managed to gasp out, your voice hoarse from screaming his name.

he smirked at that, his ego clearly boosted by your words. "damn right, it was," he said, pride evident in his tone. he ran a hand through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender. "and we're far from done."

your eyes widened at his words. far from done? you weren't sure you would be able to handle much more, but the heat in his gaze told you that you didn't have a choice. you swallowed hard, your body already responding to his touch.

he chuckled at your expression, his hand rubbing small circles on your thigh. "you look like a deer caught in headlights, sweetheart," he teased, his smirk growing. "don't worry, i'll take care of you. i just need you to do one thing for me."

you nodded, your body already responding to his command. "anything," you replied breathless.

he leaned in, his mouth close to your ear, his tone dropping. "beg for me, doll. i want you to beg me to fuck you."

your cheeks flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. "please," you whispered, your eyes meeting his. "please, dean, i need you to—" you stopped, the words almost stuck in your throat.

he chuckled, his hand moving lower, his touch teasing. "come on, sweetheart, you can do better than that," he encouraged, his eyes dark and demanding. "i know you want it. i know you want me. just let yourself say it. beg for it."

you felt a thrill run through you, the combination of his words and his touch pushing you over the edge. "please," you whispered, "please dean, please- i need you. i need you inside me. i need you to take me, to make me yours. please, please, please just—just—" you couldn't finish, your words strangled by your own need

his lips crushed yours, silencing your words with a bruising kiss. "that's what I wanted to hear, pretty girl," he murmured against your mouth, "fucking hell, you know how to get me worked up."

he pulled back, his eyes roaming over your body, his expression hungry. "now, let's see how much more you can take."

with that, he steadied himself against you, slowly teasing his hard arousal against your wetness. you gasped, the sudden movement catching you off guard.

"you good, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice low. "color check."

you took a deep breath, your mind still fuzzy with desire. "green," you managed to gasp, your body begging for more.

he smiled, satisfied with your answer. "good girl," he said, his hands gripping your thighs, he lifted your legs up over his shoulders. "just relax, angel. I'm gonna take good care of you."

he leaned down, his mouth finding a sensitive spot on your neck. as he sucked and nipped at the skin there, slowly, agonizingly slow he pushed into you. your head fell back against the bed, a low moan escaping your lips.

you could feel every inch, your body stretching and adjusting to him. he filled you completely, the friction sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. you gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "dean, please..," you whimpered.

"please what, sweetheart?" He murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse with need. "you know you have to use your words."

"move," you gasped, your body shaking with need. "please, just.. just move. I need you to move."

he chuckled, the sound a mix of amusement and arousal. "bossy, are we?" he teased. but there was a hint of satisfaction in his tone. he pulled back slightly, before slowly pushing back in. "like this, baby?"

you gasped, your back arching against the sheets. "yes," you managed to gasp, "just like that, yes. please, more."

he set a steady rhythm, his movements deep and sure. he knew exactly how to touch you, where to touch you, which spots made you shudder, which made you moan. his hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "so damn tight," he groaned, his breath ragged. "you feel so fuckin’ amazing.”

his words, combined with the sensations he was eliciting, were almost too much. you were quickly unraveling beneath him, your body aflame with pleasure. you pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair, needing something to ground you.

"look at you, sweetheart," he murmured, his mouth finding your ear. "you're so damn perfect like this. all needy and desperate for me."

his words sent a thrill down your spine, his tone filled with hunger. you could feel him everywhere, his body pressed against yours, his scent surrounding you. It was all too much and not enough. "don't stop," you gasped, "don't-ah- don't stop, please, f-faster."

he groaned at your words, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. he was losing control, his grip on you tightening. "you feel so damn good," he gasped, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "i'm not gonna last much longer angel, you're driving me insane."

you were close, the coils inside you about to snap. you needed more, you needed it to last just a bit longer, even though you didn't know if you could take it. but dean knew what you needed, he was always so in sync with your body.

"cum for me one more time sweetheart," he murmured in your ear, his voice rough and commanding. "i want to feel you come all over me. i want to hear you say my name. just let go for me, my beautiful girl."

and with his words, you were lost, your body seizing as pleasure washed over you again. you gasped, your hands clutching at him, his name a strangled cry.

dean felt you tighten around him, and it was too much, he bit down on your shoulder, his own release hitting him like a wave. he shuddered, his body tensing, his fingers digging into your flesh. "fuck," he groaned, his voice hoarse. "sweetheart, you're gonna make me cum again, ‘gonna cum all in you.”

it was then you felt it. he slowed, stilling, his body shaking slightly. he looked at you, his expression a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. "that.. that was…" he trailed off, his voice slightly raspy.

the room is still thick with heat, your body boneless against the mattress, breath coming in slow, uneven pulls. the last echoes of your moans still hang in the air, mixing with dean’s heavy exhales as he finally collapses beside you.

for a moment, neither of you move. his arm is still hooked around your waist, his grip loose now, but his fingers are still there, brushing over your skin like he’s making sure you’re real. like he’s not ready to let you go yet.

then, in that low, raspy voice that makes your stomach flip, he murmurs, “you good, babe?”

you make a sound, half a hum, half a sigh, and barely manage to nod. that seems to be enough for him. he chuckles, voice still rough around the edges, and leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “yeah, i gotcha. just breathe for me, baby.”

his hands move without thinking, smoothing over your back, tracing lazy circles into your skin, as if mapping out every place he touched, every mark he left. when his fingers ghost over a spot he might’ve grabbed too hard, he tuts under his breath. “shit, hope I didn’t go too hard on you.” his lips follow where his hands were, warm and soft against your shoulder. “might owe you a damn back rub after that one.”

eventually, he grumbles and pulls away, just for a second to grab the water bottle from the nightstand. he presses it into your hand, watching you with that lazy, smitten smile as you take a few slow sips. “there we go,” he murmurs, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your face.

and then, without another word, he tugs you against his chest, settling you into the warmth of his body like you belong there. like he needs you there.

his breath is warm against your hair as he mumbles, half-asleep already, “m’not moving. you’re stuck with me, sweetheart.”

so much for stealing a fucking flannel.

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