#dean winchester x fem!reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bettystonewell · 4 months ago

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There Were Only Two Beds

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

If you steal the blankets from your charming, adorably cute and sexy best friend with whom you’ve shared more than just a kiss with, then, well, you might get quite a fright, and perhaps never live it down. 4.1k words

Tags: Smut, Fluff, Vulnerability, Friends to Lovers, Mutual Pining, Sexual Tension, One Night Stands, Casual Sex, Cunnilingus, P in V Sex, Motel Sex, Dean Winchester Doesn’t Do Too Badly With His Feelings, Dual POV MDNI 18+ Only

The sex was—it was great sex. The kind you gossip about with your girlfriends over every single detail.

Was he big? Was he wide? Did he curve in the middle?

Dean was a yes to all three. He was long, thick as a trunk, and he had a way of hitting all the right places. Places you could still feel where his round tip had hit thanks to his ingenious angling.

Your clit was…well used. He strummed you like an instrument. Plucked and brushed the sensitive bundle with both fingers and tongue. It stung a little when he wiped you over with the warm cloth. Felt the cool air when he retreated to the bathroom again.

You’d go there yourself, only your legs are jelly, also thanks to the angles he put you through, except when he came. That was by simple missionary. Your hands in his, his eyes on yours.

Dean Winchester was gentle then. His face contorted but euphoric. Mouth half smiling, making a rounded “oh,” with creased brows and a chuckle unlike any other you’d heard before. The moment captured when he stilled, all but down below.

The sounds he made were god given. Like his touch, his taste, his smell.

Like the leather from his father’s jacket hanging off his shoulders, giving him a shadow you’d liken to that of Yogi Bear; to the cheap whiskey he insists on drinking even though you swear it’d keep Baby going on a single drop. The Impala herself, with whatever oil change and wax he’s given her throughout the day while you weren’t looking.

His musk is musky like the earth itself. Full of the things you’d find in nature if nature was a thing you liked to surround yourself with.

It’s in the sheets. It’s in the room, and it’s only been two hours.

Your bags are on the table in the corner. His shot gun pokes out of the hole made by the zipper. The light from the street outside spills through the thin fabric of the ghastly curtains. Makes the silver of his colt sparkle.

The door does little to house you from the world. Trucks passing the motel on the nearby highway rattle the foundations, and wooden paneling opposite you.

You can hear Dean gargling beyond the walls of the bathroom, though that door is ajar.

What a charming place for your first tryst. Really sets the mood after the gruelling day of monster guts and dental-floss stitches, but you’re alive. And you had that really great sex to ease the tension. All thanks to Dean’s needless worry and martyrdom.

You stretch your limbs, crack your toes. Raise yourself up on your elbows and take a peek at what’s taking him so long. Should probably try to move. Get up and take a leak or cover yourself. How is this going to go down when he returns?

Fuck it.

You’re upright, standing, two feet on the ground. Tits out, panties remain…somewhere, so you reach for his flannel on the edge of the bed where you left it and slip it on. The worn material is soft, and the Dean smell only intensifies.

Great sex. Great smell. You could get used to this if this is to become a thing.

“You done in there?” you say, trying your best to put on your most normal voice. Let’s not let him catch on that you’re scared shitless of the after effects of what you just did.

You can keep telling yourself how wonderful he felt inside of you. How delicious the stretch still is as you take a tentative step.

The man just gave you aftercare, what little he could, but it was something, for fuck’s sake. For someone so hellbent on not wanting a relationship, his courtesy for a bed partner is wasted.

And that’s the problem, isn’t it? You want this again. Give him his refractory period and you’d let him fuck you, here and now. Tomorrow? Next week even? Oh god, don’t fuck this up. You’ve gotta play it by ear.

At the bathroom door now you call his name, and there’s no way he can’t hear you. You hear the faucet being shut off and his face with its huge grin appears. His eyes look you up and down.

“Nice shirt,” he says.

You don’t miss the linger when his gaze falls where your bra would be, but you don’t cover yourself. Don’t hold back the tug in your own mouth either, going for the playful, sultry lip bite. Making sure your lower lip plumps out just right.

“You done?” you’re asking again.

Dean nods. “Yeah.” His voice, just as practiced as yours was.

He’s under the covers of his bed when you return. His because there’s technically two. That one, where you fucked, and the one you didn’t, that’s yours because of its proximity to the main door.

His head’s nestled in his hands that’re nestled in the pillow. The white crisp sheets, full of too much starch, a blanket, no doubt scratchy, and the duvet cover his lower half.

He’s grinning at you. His eyes travel the length of your body once more, and if that’s not an invitation to slip under the blankets with him, you don’t know what is.

Still, you ask, “Care for some company,” keeping it cool and suave, of course.

“Haven’t had my post sex snuggle yet. Even a guy like me needs one of those.” And there’s that chuckle of his again.

“You’re an idiot. You know that?” you say, but you’re lifting the pile of bedding and slipping in underneath it all the same.

Dean lets his arm down and pulls you closer.

“Might be an idiot, sweetheart, but you just slept with me. What does that make you?”

“Thoroughly fucked.”

You can’t tell whose grin is bigger.

There’s an ease to this, and for the most part, what butterflies you had when you got up before are gone, but there’s still the unspoken hanging over your head. The what now? What do we do come morning?

You need to know.

Tentative as your steps were, you raise your knee and drape your thigh over his. Nothing unusual about that. This is a post coital snuggle after all. He used the word first, not you. This is just what you do with your partners.

You just don’t normally hold yourself still as a statue, waiting for them to flinch or move away.

But Dean grabs your hand. Intertwines his fingers with yours and even goes as far as bringing them up to kiss your knuckles.

“Thorough, huh?” He hums. The cracks of his crow’s feet, prominent so you know he’s smiling with his eyes. “It was good sex.”

“Damn good,” you add, ignoring the hammer in your heart that comes with like-minded thinking.

Your foot strokes his leg - the closest thing to a tail wag, were you a dog. It does that. During usually. Grounding your body further into the one you’re with.

His hair is soft. He doesn’t have much covering him in the scheme of things. You learnt that when you fell into bed, all but your underwear discarded.

Your legs were locked when the real kissing started. Like an involuntary action, spurring you both on. Your lips parted, tongues swiped, your calves caressed each other.

Ankles wrapped ‘round ankles. Your thighs wrapped ‘round his torso. There was that way he angled his hips and just…went for it. Pounded into you.

Women in the movies call it a jackhammer or something of the like. The speed, ungodly, you’d think him a vamp or wendigo, yet somehow he still hit that sweet spot inside again and again without slowing down the intensity. Your muscles pull from the bruising, most likely up in there.

He did it with his mouth, too. Well, his lips and tongue. You don’t really know what it was. besides, he had you begging for it. The pressure of his suction teed with his fingers dipping in and out of you just as fast. Your cheeks feel warm just thinking about it.

As does your cunt.

“Is that, ah, thing you did? Is that like a signature move or something?” you say.

Dean huffs through his nose. “What thing?” His bared teeth tell you he knows what you’re talking about.

“You know.” You raise yourself up on elbow and palm and look down at him. “What you did with your mouth?”

“Ah. That thing.” He chuckles. “I did good, huh?”

Your free hand drags his arm up, lays a faux punch to his cheek. You’d do it for real, but then you wouldn’t know where you stand, and you really need to find out. So, “Guess so,” you say, keeping the peace without giving him a big head. He has one of those already. Everything about the guy is big, and for a fleeting moment, you wonder what Sam might be like.

Lol - you just had sex with Dean - you’re lying in bed with Dean, and that’s where your mind goes?

Squash that quick smart. This has been a long time coming. The flirting. The looks. Arguments just ‘cause it’s more fun to rile him up. And let’s face it, “I wouldn’t complain if you did it again,” you say.

No time like the present, right?

It’s got him interested. At least he shuffles and turns to face you, letting go of your fingers to drape his arm over your waist and splay his hand across your back.

“Yeah?” He squeezes.

“Yeah,” you breathe and the world shifts so that all you see and hear is him. Sure, there are still the street lights with their fluorescent glow; the same rattling semi trailers screeching past, but there’s no place you’d rather be.

His eyes flit over your face, and he scooches in closer. The legs of his underwear brush against your own, and it’s him placing his thigh over yours now, his thing stirring behind them.

His breath is minty from brushing. The leather, the whiskey, the earth is there, too.

Moisture from the tip of his tongue leaves a trail when he plants generous kisses over your lips, cheek, jaw and into the dip by your collarbone. It cools your skin and sends shivers up and down your spine, but you’re not complaining.

No. Wait. You are.

“De?” you say. First time for everything. Voice caught in your throat when he sucked the crease made by your shoulder.

His answer is to hum, and that just sends more signals south, and it’s not what you want—no, yes, it is.

It’s exactly what you want, but you need to know the conditions, ‘cause you want more than just one more roll between the sheets.

Your, “No. Dean. Stop,” is said between pants. Takes everything in you to do so. Every touch, every nip, every graze electrifies your nerves, and, “I mean, I wanna keep doing this,” pushes through. “Not just tonight.”

Your fingers find his bicep. It’s firm. Nice. Stong. The way your hand fits ‘round it is fascinating as it is grounding. Yeah, you definitely want this again and again.

Your body tenses like it’s made of stone or steel, though glass is more fitting. You will break depending on what he says, and fuck - you’ve screwed it up, haven’t you? You can’t move forward and you can’t take it back. Friends being friends again never works out. Not on TV, not in real life, and Dean doesn’t do commitment.

He’s dangerous, he’s lost too much, and he’ll spiel some self righteous crap to keep you safe and distant.

So when he props himself back up. When he doesn’t let you go, doesn’t run straight for the hills or the bathroom ‘cause it’s closer, he stares at you instead.

Those green eyes of his flit again, and soon his mouth joins them.

It’s not quite a smirk. The corners raise just enough to mark the dimples on the sides. His top lip twitches and there’s a flash of white teeth beneath. It’s breathtaking.

Why does he have to do that?

“Me, too,” he says, and nope. Nope. That line’s the real breath stealer. “Least I wanna try. Maybe every second week?” He snickers, and the butterflies return. Warm you from within.

“Asshole.” You pat his cheek with your entire hand, hard. The soft slap reminds you of others you’ve made together during the night. When he had you from behind and his crown jewels slapped against your lips. When him above you made pockets of air that escaped on impact.

As does his hand, striking your rear. He soothes it and stretches the surrounding flesh. “Well, I have one. You do, too. Seemed to like it when I—”

“Dean.” Your voice is chastising to start, but it calms, grows uncertain. Jaw tenses, and your cheeks puff out when you say, “You really wanna?”

His do the same through his, “Yeah.”

It’s you who kisses him this time. Hand still on his cheek holds him in place as you press firm on his lower lip, tongue presses further into his waiting mouth.

His fingers roam the skin beneath his shirt. Hips bump and grind against your naked core. His hardness glides over your stomach. He’d be right up in there if it weren’t for the thin barrier keeping him shut away and his leg still over yours.

You weren’t expecting things to happen so soon. Well, you hoped, but as he bends and dips lower into the one between your boobs, questions, more troubles than they’re worth, come to mind.

Your hand moves to thread through his hair. Your fingers scratch over his scalp, and soon you’re tugging and bringing him back to look up at you.

“Does this mean no more girls at the bar?” you say, and his plump lips purse.

You’re at just the right angle to see his jaw tick when he swallows. See his eyes change from lust blown to deep in thought. And then his brow quirks, and the smirk is back. “Could say the same for you, sweetheart,” he teases.

“I’m serious.” You pull to turn away, but his thigh squeezes you.

Hands find yours and he rolls until you’re pinned and staring up at him. He lingers on his elbows above you.

“So am I.” His forehead nuzzles yours. “You’re gonna need to keep the short shorts and mini skirts home, darlin’.”

“What?”

“I can’t fight off every guy that looks at ya. Gotta save my strength for the real monsters.”

“But I don’t—”

It doesn’t matter when he kisses you again, attentive, slow.

His pelvis rocks against you and his fingers thread through your hair and you’re enveloped. He almost cradles you. His lips on fire, your lips, both sets, on fire, too.

“You want me, you got me, alright? We’ll make it work,” he says when he pulls back enough to hover inches from your face. “What do the normal people say? Exclusive?”

“We are normal.”

He snorts, and you can taste the mint still on his breath. “We just ganked a pack of wolves.”

“And then we came here and had sex.”

“No. We came here, and you stitched me up.” He smirks and his brows wag. “Then we had sex.” He dips and pecks. “‘Bout to have more.” Another. “If you can handle it?”

Your smile tugs at the corners, a thin line for someone being kissed. But all your blood has gone lower, and the ache between your legs makes itself known.

Your muscles are sore as his hands glide over them. The swell of your chest, tightened abdominals, and pangs in your lower belly that still throb when you shift. But his fingers caress you. Move, loving and tantalising. They make their way to your pillowed mound, where they breach your seam, and though you’re hissing at the contact, further in, you squeeze and flutter. Need everything he’s giving.

However long it lasts.

“You didn’t answer me,” he says even though he’s gliding through your wet heat. Eyes bore into you when he finds your entrance, and breaches it, too. You feel him twitch on your stomach at your surprise. “Gonna sing my name again when you come?”

His face is straight-laced, but his lips part when he twists and strikes. Adds another finger and he’s pulling at those crow’s-feat once again.

Deliberate and slow, he stretches you all over. Whispers more words, more encouragement. Speaks the dirty talk like it’s going out of fashion. You just won’t tell him he’s good at it.

You respond to it, of course. Encourage him to continue. All discomfort, replaced with longing the second his kisses move over you again.

Your hands are in his hair and you’re shoving him down. Anticipating the first strike of his tongue and it doesn’t disappoint. Who knew Dean Winchester was so willing to give head? You’d return the favour, but you want that thing he does again, and you ain’t afraid to beg now that he’s there.

“Whatcha need, darlin’?” he says against your lips. Gives you another swipe before pulling away. His hand is still there, though. His fingers coat more of you in your own slick. Slips his thumb down lower and places light pressure there.

You can just see his eyes looking back up at you behind his arm, holding your pelvis down. Hear the confidence when he adds, “You like it when I do that, huh?”

Dean knows you do. He sees it in your eyes.

But he also sees the hesitation, the nervous breath you keep dragging out that rattles your stomach muscles under his touch. The way your thighs try to creep in on him on instinct to cover yourself.

He’s not letting you. He won’t fuck this up. He’s already had you once, and he means what he says when he says he wants to make it work. He’ll try just as hard, if not harder, to keep you close by. Keep you safe.

He didn’t jump in front of you without reason. Would never take the fall for the hell of it, regardless of what you want to believe. No. He wanted to protect you. Needed to. Unaware that this right here is what he needed more. What was to come.

Dean moves his thumb. Slides his fingers back through your sweet cunt and brings his nose and lips down to treat himself again.

It’s you. Plain you, and nothing’s ever tasted better once he fights through the initial remnants of latex and lube.

“You want me here?” he says between tentative licks. Puckers his mouth over your clit, sucks, then looks right at you. “Tell me like you did before.”

He grins when you say, “There.”

His mouth is sore, if he’s honest. He’s been grinning since the first kiss. Whole body’s had a workout, but his dick is still rearing to go. So hard it’s almost painful, but he won’t wrap and tap until you coat his fingers and chin again. He sees your shift in movement. He knows what he’s doing alright.

Fingers curl and move in and out of you, searching for that spot each time. Doesn’t take long for your fingers to leave him. They grip the sheets and tug while his tongue laps and swirls. Increases in speed. Strains those muscles, but it’s worth it just to hear you cry.

“De—” you say. He loves it when it gets cut off. Knows he’s done right before your back even arches.

He pushes you down and presses his mouth firmer into you.

You reward him with more juices. Makes his slit leak and his stomach tighten. Fuck. He’s gotta make this quick.

He works you through it, albeit painfully slow. Then pulls away to rid himself of his damn boxers and grab another rubber.

He’s sheathed up, covered and back up top in no time. Well, he coulda been more graceful. But he’s here now, and you’re beneath him, and fuck - think unsexy thoughts.

“You okay?” you say. Your grabby hand has left him, but the other still rests on his cheek.

“Yeah.” He huffs. Counts backwards, four, three, two, one. “Just ah. He’s oversensitive. Wanna give ya a good time so you don’t change your mind.”

“You think I’m that shallow?” you ask, and shit, he’s done it now. But you’re grinning wider than he is and his attitude turns back to cocky.

“I’ve just been deep clam diving.” He cringes. “You’re perfect.” He saves.

Your brow quirks, but he’s capturing your lips. Pulling you close and rolling.

Dean’s head hits the pillow, and he stares up at you. Grabs your hands and looks on in wonder as you sink down and ride him for all he’s worth.

His hands grip your hips, he falls asleep still gripping them, but when he wakes, you’re not there.

He’d be happy about it normally. He would. His morning wood is the last thing you wanna feel if you’ve left him during the night, but as his heart takes in the aches and pangs of his body, and his eyes adjust, he’s also somewhat relieved to see your lump under the covers of the other bed.

You haven’t left the room at least. He’s not so high and dry. Guess you woke up with your senses. Must realise he’s not all you thought he was.

He thought you were going to make things work, but he must’ve got it wrong.

He sits up, looks around the room and narrows in on his underwear. Dives for them, coordinated as the sheet wrapped around him allows. He has to wriggle his hips a little to pull them up over his legs and around the bedding, but he soon stands covered, no longer naked inside and out. He could face the world. Just not you.

Dean dresses. Tucks and folds his dick into his jeans. Shirt over that. Flannel…wait.

You’re still wearing yesterday’s. He spots the sleeve peeking out under the blanket. Fingers curled, hand relaxed, light snores and steady breaths that move the shadows the morning light outside casts over you.

You didn’t leave the room. You didn’t change your clothes. Just—changed beds.

Why?

Should he… Should he join you? Wake you? Shut the bathroom door a little too hard when he goes and takes a leak.

Yup. Let’s go with that. Clicks the lock a second time for extra measure.

It’s enough to wake you. At least you’re awake when he returns. Sitting up, messy bed hair. You’re beautiful. Your plump lips are so damn kissable, but he’s wary of what you’ll do. What you’ll say.

Your “Morning” comes first. A smile creeps into your cheeks second and that has to be a good sign. You had great sex, twice. Asked him not to hit on girls at the bar.

You were thoroughly fucked. Twice!

“Hey,” he says, and you’re on to him. Your eyes pierce his. He may as well be still naked. Thank god his dick has gone down, for now.

“Is everything okay?” you ask. You stand up and walk over to him, too.

His flannel is still open and there’s nothing underneath, nothing except smooth skin, soft curves and warmth, care, love?

Hold the phone. Nope. He’s not going there. Not unless you say something first. He loves you like family. It’s just, regular families don’t want to kiss and taste each other and he’ll definitely have more of that

He nods to the bed. Bides his time to choose his tone and words so you can’t contrive them for anything else, but nothing eloquent is coming. “You, ah, you jumped ship.” He swallows. Creases his brow.

Didn’t mean to do that.

But you’re grinning at him again. Your arms stretch up and wrap around his neck. You’re pressing against him now, and he’s resorting back to unsexy thoughts.

“You’re a blanket hog.”

His neck ticks. His hands are on your ass and he ticks there, too. Grabs a handful of the plump flesh and digs his fingertips in to stop himself from spinning. “What?”

“I got cold,” you say, and peck his lips. There’s a definite shoulder shrug because your waist is lifting and your rack is brushing against him. “I tried to wake you, but you didn’t move. Though you did mumble something ‘bout five more minutes.” You chuckle. Pull back.

“But I’m definitely not Sam.” You stare into his eyes.

Yup. His cheeks are hot and his gut is doing flips. His lower stomach and the contents of his sack pull tight. “No. Definitely not.”

He presses his mouth to yours, presses you into his crotch. Feels your lashes flutter against his skin.

The sex was great. The second round was better. But this right here is where it’s at. His heart is full, his world is bigger, and for a few more hours, he’ll keep you to himself, and the blankets, too, if you’re gonna hold him to it.

And that’s how I spent my long weekend - besides dealing with fights from too much chocolate! Hope you liked it! ❤️

DEAN TAGLIST:

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa @jollyhunter @zepskies

@reluctanthalfwayoptimism @supernotnatural2005 @jackles010378 @kaz-2y5-spn @applelovesposts

@jaydensluv @foxyjwls007 @deans-spinster-witch @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse

@kazchester-fanfiction @maddie0101 @ladykitana90 @luvr4miya @amyjam78

@stoneyggirl2 @winchesterwild78 @missywinchester15 @deansbbyx @kr804573

@lyarr24 @salemslostwitch @mostlymarvelgirl @ladysparkles78 @multiversefanfics

@31miw-inkpsycho @yoursrosie @Theantisoci-alone @roseamie13 @krazykelly

@my-stories-vault @amberlthomas @levine-23 @ultimatecin73 @district447

@hobby27 @aylacavebear @stellawritesstories @middleearthlife @yeehawgiddyup13

@redwinexsupernova @artemys-ackles

If you’d like to be added, you can add yourself HERE, or if you’d like to be removed, please let me know ☺️

#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester fic #there was only one bed #except there’s not #one shots #jensen ackles characters #x reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #fem!reader #spn x reader #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic

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southernimpala · 4 months ago

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night moves

dean winchester x fem!reader

summary ↬ dean teaches you to play pool !

notice ↬ a lil suggestive but superrr fluffy, i want him to teach me pool, literally need this man so bad it's not even funny, i listened to night moves by bob seger while writing this, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 900

the crack of pool balls clinking rings through an old dive bar in indiana, old license plates and road signs littering the dimly lit walls. the place is loud, drunk people yelling and cheering and punching, classic rock echoing from a scratchy speaker.

but dean winchester is in heaven.

he’s standing over a pool table, holding his pool cue up as he assesses where to make his next move. you’re leaning against the wall, nursing a beer, as you watch him set his eyes on one of the pool balls, which seemed way too off path to roll into any of the pockets. he lines up the cue and starts to lean over the table.

“there’s no way you’re hitting that in,” you say teasingly, taking a swig.

dean doesn’t even stir at your comment, and without fault, strikes the billiard ball right into the far right pocket.

he straightens up and looks at you from across the table, giving you a shit-eating grin, “still think so, sweetheart?”

you’re still recovering from how he managed to make the shot, so all you can muster is a nod, “hmhm… yeah, totally can’t hit another ball in,” you say against the rim of your bottle.

he laughs, knowing there’s no way in hell you could. the deep rumble in his chest sends your knees buckling over themselves, “alright, lemme see what you got.”

you almost choke on the alcohol sliding down your throat, “what?”

“just try to hit a ball in,” he says, as if it’s the most straightforward task in the world. as he crosses over to you to hand you the cue, he gets close to your ear, “i promise, they don’t bite.”

you avert your eyes away from his jawline as it grazes yours, only for a second before he pulls away, taking your half empty beer from you and stealing your spot on the wall.

“alright, hit 7 into far left,” he instructs, pointing with the bottle, “yup, right there.”

you begin to sweat under the glowing white light above you—and because you can feel dean’s eyes watching you—almost knocking the ridiculously long stick into it as you orient yourself over the table. attempting to gauge a good spot for the cue to settle in your hands, you look to dean for help, “am i holding this right?”

“i don’t know, are you?” he taunts, taking a sip through a smirk.

you roll your eyes, huffing, before feebly trying to line the end of the cue up with the maroon ball staring at you dead in the face. you take a deep breath and slide the cue between your fingers before taking your shot.

without surprise, you completely miss, sending the cue flying right out of your grip onto the table.

and the ball?

not even touched.

“jesus, sweetheart, i think i’d hustle you,” dean jokes, shaking his head in contempt of your god awful performance.

“shut up,” you choke out, pitifully reaching to hand him back the cue, “just take the damn stick.”

but, he doesn’t. instead, he places your beer down on a nearby surface and signals for you to bend back over the table. with furrowed eyebrows, you listen, looking at him with confusion, “what are you doing?”

“teaching you how to hit 7 into the far left,” he shrugs, moving to stand behind you.

your face burns, eyes wide as you feel him pressed against your back, leaning on you as his hands reach around to adjust the stick in your grip. he skillfully places the end of the cue between your thumb and index finger—“there, keep it right there,”—resting it delicately in that spot.

you swallow harshly as dean’s fingers trace up yours, his touch so soft; so different from his usual roughness. it sends your stomach plummeting to your feet, dragging your heart along with it.

“alright, now, line it up—hmhm, but don’t move it from that spot—okay, you got that?” he mumbles as he adjusts.

a lump forms in your throat. you nod.

“right, now shoot,” he helps you slide the cue through the web of your palm, before sending it into the side of the ball.

it rolls straight into the far left pocket and relief spreads through you.

“i did it!” you call out, twisting around without remembering your extremely compromising position.

you were suddenly pressed between dean and the pool table, your faces only mere inches away as he’s still somewhat hunched into you. every time you exhale, your chest touches his, heart beating so wildly, you’re sure he can hear it through the bob seger and drunk singing.

“you did,” he says huskily, seemingly unbothered by your spot against him, but you swear his cheeks match yours in color, only a few shades lighter. he leans in slightly, eyes staring so intensely into yours, it’s impossible for you to look away, “think you can beat me in a match, now?”

you lick your lips on instinct and try to muster a smirk, something to signal you aren’t melting into the floor, “absolutely.”

dean’s gaze, hooded with something indescribable, flickers between your eyes, lips just brushing yours as he leans closer and closer before he abruptly stands up straight and shoves the pool cue back in your hands.

the bar suddenly sounds a million decibels louder. you’re frozen in your spot.

“show me what you got.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ dean winchester masterlist !

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x female!reader #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester one shot #dean x reader #fluff #dean x you #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x you #works

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dreamedinthedark · 2 days ago

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Get some rest

established Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Summary: Dean makes sure you take care of yourself when you have a migraine

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, just h/c and fluff <3, soft and protective Dean

1.2k words

a/n: ahh first official posted fic! feedback is appreciated!

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Dean loved every single moment of being with you.

The late night talks.

The spontaneous dates.

The feeling of just being near you.

Dean even loved the not-so-great aspects of your relationship.

You were full to the brim with good qualities. Dean could list off everything he loved about you until he was blue in the face. Your hair. Your eyes. Your smile. Your nose. Your kindness. Your intelligence. Your ass. Your sensitivity.

Your stubbornness.

Dean really did love your stubbornness, even if it caused most of his grief.

He had learned to recognize the signs. When you were pushing yourself too hard and desperately needed a break. When the cracks of the carefully laid foundation of you being okay were crumbling, and he had to step in to fix it.

Someone so wonderful, shouldn’t have to be plagued by things like stomachaches, or illnesses.

Unfortunately, you were ill quite a bit.

And though if it were up to Dean, you would never feel anything less than perfectly healthy and downright fantastic, he would be lying if he didn’t get excited every time he had the chance to take care of you.

When you started squinting at the laptop like it was the sun and periodically hunching over to pinch the bridge of your nose, Dean knew he had his opportunity to take care of you again.

“Sweetheart, you feel okay?”

You blinked up at him, then shook your head. “Yeah. Fine. Just need to finish this research.”

“You know I can tell when you’re lying, right?” Dean tilted his head. “You’re getting a headache. Or a migraine. It’ll only get worse if you don’t rest.”

“I’ll rest after I finish looking at this case. I’m almost done.” You gave him a pointed look before returning to your laptop.

Dean observed you for a few moments, noticing how you not-so-subtly clutched one side of your head as you tried to focus well enough to read the words on the screen in front of you.

“Alright.” Dean sighed. “That’s it. The pain is on one side of your head, that means migraine. Migraine means ibuprofen and rest.” Dean crossed the room and stood in front of you. “It’s time to get in bed. I’ll bring you water and meds once you’re snuggled up.”

“5 more minutes-”

Dean put his arm on the table right beside you to lean down and speak lowly in your ear, “you know, in the time we’ve been together, somehow I think you’ve gotten worse at taking care of yourself.”

“You’re one to talk, Winchester,” you fought weakly, but Dean had already reached out to push your laptop closed.

“Seriously, sunshine, you’re going to run yourself into the ground.”

“Will not.”

“Yes, you will.” Dean picked up the laptop and placed it on the table he had been working at. “Bed. Now. I still have enough brains to handle finishing this up.”

“But we were supposed to jump on it tonight.” You brushed a hand back through your hair.

“So?” Dean shrugged. “Cas and Sam can handle this case alone if they need to. I’m more concerned about you giving yourself an even worse migraine. You need to rest.”

You frowned. “I want to do my part for this case.”

“You already have.” Dean shook his head.

You and your damn tendency to want to do it all.

It’s endearingly frustrating.

“I don’t want to leave it all to you guys. Again.” You drew your knees up to your chest on the chair of the library.

“Hey.” Dean crouched down beside you, stroking the denim fabric over your thigh gently. “You’re not leaving it all to us. You’re sick. You need rest.”

“I ‘need rest’,” you air quoted, “a hell of a lot more than any of you do.”

“First of all, Cas doesn’t get sick or need rest,” Dean began, which earns a glare from you. “Second of all, there’s nothing wrong with taking the rest you need, sweetheart. Third of all, you’re a fucking badass in every sense of the word. We’re beyond lucky to have you in any capacity at all.”

You sighed, seemingly understanding that Dean isn’t going to let the rest thing go. “Will you come rest with me after you finish?” You asked quietly.

Dean couldn’t help but break out into a grin. “Just try and keep me away.”

“I won’t,” you replied. You began to stand, and Dean gently took your elbow to steady you.

“Easy there. I could carry you to bed, you know,” He offered, though he was already leaning down to pick you up, bridal style. He would never miss a chance to feel you this close to him. It was practically what he lived for.

“I could walk,” you grumbled.

“Don’t act like you hate being carried, sunshine. Remember, we’ve been together too long for you to fool me.”

Your cheeks tinged pink. You buried your head in his shoulder. “Shut up. You’re not allowed to tease me. I’m sick.”

“Oh, now you’ll admit it?”

“I thought you wanted me to rest,” you pouted.

“Of course I do.” Dean pushed open the door to your shared bedroom with his foot. He carried you like you’re made of glass over to the mattress, then carefully lowered you down. “You get comfy, yeah? Do you want the lights left off?”

“Yes, please,” you mumbled as you shifted in the bed to get comfortable.

“Alright,” Dean said softly. “I’ll be right back with your water and ibuprofen. Do you want some tea, too?”

“Yes, please,” you whispered. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sunshine.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading out to gather your supplies. He quickly checked in with Sam, ensuring that he’d be okay to finish up the research, before he returned to the room.

He closed the door, careful not to make too much noise, before he offered you the water and tea. Dean then took the medicine out of his pocket.

You sat up just enough to take the pills, then let your exhaustion sink you back down into the mattress.

Dean climbed gingerly in behind you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you back into him.

“Is this alright?” He asked quietly. “Not too… sensitive to touch, or anything?”

“No, it’s good.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

“Don’t keep thanking me. Get your rest.” He kissed the back of your head. “I’ll be right here.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweet girl.”

You drifted off to sleep in Dean’s arms.

As you slept, Dean decided he might like the moments when he finally convinces you to take care of yourself the most.

#supernatural #spn #dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader #reader insert #dean winchester x fem!reader #fanfic #fanfiction #no use of y/n #fluff #hurt/comfort #dean winchester fluff #soft!dean #protective!dean

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beausling · 3 months ago

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PUSSY STAINS ON MY STAFF

quick little drabble thing cus i’m having these thoughts n feelings and i really just need to get them out there..

warnings: pure smutty filth, porn without plot, sub!dean, puppyboy!dean, dom!fem!reader, mommy kink, bouncing on it, jackin each others shit, rubbing things together n gettin it all sticky, thigh riding, nipple sucking (f & m receiving), pet names (mommy, puppy, pretty boy, etc.), not proof read cus they never are, uhh i think thats all but idk my brain is Soo soupy rn

all work is mine, please do not steal/plagiarize, repost anywhere, or translate without my permission. likes and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!!!

18+ CONTENT, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, VIEWER DISCRETION ADVISED!

you desperately held back your own moans, just so that you could hear dean’s pretty whimpers as you rode him into the sun.

his big hands scrambling for purchase, touching you anywhere he could reach; your hips, your ass, your thighs, your breasts.

but you couldn’t hold back anymore as he surged forward, sucking one of your hard nipples into his mouth. it always made your brain go fuzzy, turned you into just as much of a mess as he was.

an idea sparked as your fingers threaded through his short locks. where you would normally grip on and shove him harder into your chest, this time you pulled him away, looking down at him with dark, heavy lidded eyes as a smirk pulled at your lips.

“mommy, please, let me-“ dean began begging, but you cut him off. “i wanna try somethin’ new,” you said, slowing down in your movements. “that okay?”

he just nodded in response, like an eager little puppy, so desperate to please.

you fully stilled your hips, slowly rising off his dick with a groan and letting it slip out of your sloppy cunt. his whines of protest filled your ears.

“shhh, s’okay, puppy.” you cooed softly, “‘m gonna make you feel so good. can you lay back f’me?” he immediately obliged, shifting slightly to lay comfortably against the pillows.

you moved once he was in position, one knee going between his legs while the other stayed beside his hip, leaning down and pressing soft, wet kisses up his tummy, to his chest, his neck, before going back down, all the while he was squirming underneath you.

“stay still, pup.” you command gently, warm breath fanning over his slick skin as your lips moved across his chest, stopping at one of his nipples.

you glanced up at him through your lashes, a grinch-like smirk gracing your face before you stuck your tongue out, and began laving at his pink, puffy nipple, watching his reaction; the way his eyebrows furrowed, and his mouth fell open — it told you all you needed to know.

dean was enjoying this.

you licked rougher, more insistently, nipping gently at the sensitive flesh and sucking it onto your mouth, listening to him gasp and whimper.

his pleasure had always been your pleasure, so hearing and seeing how he reacted to what you were doing made your stomach flutter.

you sucked harder, hips dropped down on top of his thigh as you moaned around his skin, grinding against him without even realizing it. this was just too good. you couldn’t get enough.

“mommy,” dean whined, one of his hands finding its way into your hair and grasping at the long locks. you simply moaned back in response, your eyes fluttered shut as you got lost in all the different sensations, rubbing your wet folds all over his plush thigh and making a mess.

soon you moved over, giving the same attention to the other nipple. and dean was absolutely losing his mind — head thrown back, eyes rolled to the back of his head, back arching slightly.

one of your hands drifted down between your bodies, fingers wrapping around his still hard cock and beginning to slowly jerk him off, feeling him twitch in your hand as his body shuddered.

“wanna make you feel good, too.” you heard him murmur, and seconds later his hands were gripping tightly onto your hips, lifting them up off his thigh before slipping two thick fingers between your soaking folds.

your head lolled to the side, mouth coming off his chest as you let out a loud moan, hips twitching into his hand as he pressed down on your swollen clit, making fast circles. that made your hand move quicker on him in return.

“pretty boy,” you crooned, “feels s’good — you always make mommy feel so good. my good boy, perfect little puppy.” you babbled on in praises that you knew were sure to get him to release faster, still making it a point to take care of him, prioritizing his pleasure.

you went on and on that way, kissing, nipping and sucking at every piece of skin you could reach, murmuring soft praises in his ears, and moving your hand swiftly over his cock until you felt it start to twitch and pulse more persistently against your soft palm.

“you gonna cum, pup?”

“yeah,” dean whimpered, his hips canting up, chasing down his orgasm.

“c’mon, cum for mommy — all over my hand like a good boy.” you murmured against his stubbled jaw, pressing kiss after kiss to his skin. “cum for me, puppy.”

that really did him in. hips stuttering and his body tensing up, eyes fluttering and face scrunched up in bliss, back arching as he let out a loud, whiny groan, thick ropes of sticky white shooting out from the tip and dripping onto your hand, getting all over his tummy, and a bit on yours.

and his undoing was your own. shifting your position so that you were straddling him fully again, slotting his sloppy dick through your slick folds and grinding into him, creating the most sinful sounds. your clit bumped against his tip over and over again, breathy moans spilling out of your parted lips, going after your own high.

dean let out another loud whine, “i know. i know, pup.” it was clear he was becoming overstimulated. “jus’ a lil’ bit more. you want mommy’s cum, too, don’t you?” seeing him nod eagerly through your bleary gaze, and whine again.

a huffy groan of frustration left you, lifting your hips and lining him back up with your entrance, quickly skinning down and bouncing at a rough pace. planting one hand behind you and arching back as you moved, your other fingers found your clit and rubbed in tight circles, that familiar heat making itself known, low in your belly.

your own orgasm crashed over you faster than anticipated, body going rigid while that coil snapped, your walls clenching, before you gushed around dean, a loud, gasping moan tearing out of your throat.

it was always pure ecstasy with him.

falling into his chest once you finish, dean wrapped his strong arms around your waist, hugging you tightly to him as he pressed a kiss to your hairline, while you kissed all over his cheek, the corner of his eye, his temple.

“you did so good.” you praised softly against his skin, wrapping your own arms around him, nose nuzzling the side of his head. his hands ran slowly up and down your back, laying there silently in the aftermath for a moment.

“so, we found out two things today…” he mused, voice raspy from all the noise he’d been making.

a confused hum came from you in response.

“you, like sucking nipples…and i, like having my nipples sucked — apparently.” he said in a slightly sardonic, teasing tone, sending you into a fit of giggles.

my first actual fic in A MILLION YEARS.. hEllOOO😧🔥

also my first time myself writing like FULLLLL smut.. SO PLEASEEEEE don’t crucify me if it’s really bad like AT LEASTTT I TRIEDD😭

꩜ tags: @soldiersgirl @jasvtsc @deanswidow @titsout4jackles @jensenacklesballsack @bluemerakis @dirtylittlesinkrat @callsignwidow 🎀 comment to be removed from the taglist, or here to be added !!!

#oct writes📓#dividers by sxmmerberries #dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #sub!dean x dom!reader #puppyboy!dean x reader #sub!dean #puppyboy!dean #dom!reader #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x y/n #supernatural #spn #jensen ackles #Spotify

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whorefordean · 11 months ago

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wear the hat || d.w

i read exactly one cowboy romance so enjoy (fake)cowboy!dean and the cowboy hat rule

wc: 1.9k

cw: raw dogging, semi public sex, use of petname (sugar), the cowboy hat rule

taglist: @the-last-ry

mdni 18+

you can’t help yourself. dean looks so goofy in the outfit, and you can’t refrain from teasing him about it. on this hunt, for whatever reason, dean thought it’d be best if he poses as a cowboy.

“to get more information from the locals. they’ll never talk if i look like a city boy, sweetheart,” dean says with a simple shrug. there’s a smile playing on his face, and you cann’t help but to roll your eyes.

“dean, you’re from kansas and you wear flannels every day. nobody thinks you’re a city boy. the hat is most definitely overkill,” you tell him as you cross your arms over your chest.

“i’m not taking it off,” dean huffs, matching your pose. you glare at him momentarily. he doesn’t look bad. in fact, he looks hot as fuck, and maybe, that’s why you need him to chill out on the disguise.

you toss your hands up in defeat and follow him into the bar. the two of you split up rather quickly. you’re working your charm on the drunken men for any information you could pry out of them about the missing people while dean made his way to a group of women to do the same.

almost an hour later, you finally manage to get the information you need, and you’re off to find dean. it’s nearing eleven pm at this point and you are ready to go. that is, until you see dean sitting at the bar with a girl who is entirely too close for your comfort.

you and dean aren’t an item, per se, but the two of you have been a little more than friendly on more than one drunken occasion.

you tap on dean’s shoulder lightly in an effort to get his attention. nothing. the girl he’s talking to is shooting you glares every chance she gets. you roll your eyes and decide that there was only one way to get his attention.

so you snatch the cowboy hat off his head and slip it onto yours. dean whips around to face you. you’re expecting him to snatch it right back, but instead, dean just smirks, seemingly forgetting all about the blonde he was talking to a minute beforehand.

“i’m ready to go,” you huff, adjusting the hat on your head. your hands finally rest on your waist, hip popping out. dean doesn’t say anything. just kept staring and grinning.

“dean, seriously? what?” you puff, annoyed at his behavior.

“you know the cowboy hat rule?” dean muses, leaning back to get a good look at you. his gaze rakes over you, sending a shiver down your spine.

“the what?” you ask evenly. dean’s grin grows wider, and you are half tempted to slap it off of him.

“the cowboy hat rule, sugar. wear the hat—” dean trails off. he leans forward until his hand rests against your waist, and his mouth is brushing your ear.

“—ride the cowboy.” your eyes widen as he finishes the phrase. he pulls away just enough to watch your expression change from shock to compliance. he smiles proudly, knowing that you're more than willing to obey the rules.

no words leave your mouth as you nod, allowing dean to drag you through the mess of people in the crowded bar. the cool summer air bathes both of you as dean pulls you through the exit door and ushers you to the impala.

his rough hands in yours had your mind racing with thoughts of what they'd feel like skimming your body. in the three times that you and dean have slept together, both of you were too wasted to remember much about it the next morning. you'd wake up with those delicious bruises on your thighs or hips and hate yourself for not being able to remember what the hell went down the night before. however, you aren't ballsy enough to ask him to fuck you when you’re sober, so you settle for forgotten nights.

your senses snap back to reality when you hear dean clear this throat. that shit eating grin is back on his face when he realizes that you'd been staring at his hand.

"what is it, sugar? got a thing for hands or just mine?" dean teases relentlessly. you roll your eyes at him, shoving his shoulder lightly. he catches your wrist before spinning you around until you're bent over the hood of the impala.

"dean," you gasp, bracing yourself against the black metal. dean laughs behind you and leans down until his chest is flush against your back. his lips brush against your shoulder, and you breathe out a sigh, dropping your head against the cool metal when dean starts to lift the hem of your dress up.

"tell me what you want," dean says softly in your ear, pressing a kiss against your jaw. you have never been more grateful to be parked at the back of the lot.

"you. need you," you whimper, reaching behind you to grasp at any inch of dean you could reach.

"mm, 'm right here, sugar," dean says playfully as he hums against your skin. you groan, shaking your head and letting your hand slip down to dean's wrist. you grab his hand and lower it to your aching core.

"need you here, dean," you say breathily when dean starts toying with your panties. you can hear him inhale sharply behind you, and you arch your back slightly.

"fuck, sugar," dean groans. without warning, dean rips your underwear down your legs, helping you lift one leg at a time until the fabric is completely off your body. the cool air makes contact with your exposed cunt, causing you to hiss in pleasure. the cold doesn't last long because dean is shifting onto the ground behind you. his hands grip at your thighs, nudging them further open before he dips his tongue into your waiting pussy.

you mewl as dean laps at you like a man starved. he hums something against your cunt, but you're too lost in the pleasure to listen. that is, until he slaps your ass. hard. you wince, lifting your head to look back at him.

"answer me when i'm talking to you. being nice enough to eat this pretty little pussy," dean growls, but he doesn't mean it. he'd gladly get on his knees for you, and he'd stay there forever if you'd allow it.

"what?" you whine, eyes rolling as dean sucks your clit into his mouth.

"thought you were supposed to be ridin' me?" dean hums again, clearer this time. he doesn't give you time to answer before slipping a finger into you. you cry out when he adds another almost immediately after.

"yes! yes, i will," you ramble, dropping your head to rest against the car again. your release is so close, and you clench around dean's fingers, his tongue still lapping away.

before you can cum, dean withdraws his fingers and pulls away completely. you jerk your head around to meet his gaze, eyes wide with need.

"no! please!" you beg pathetically, desperate for release. dean grips your chin lightly and pulls you back until he can kiss you, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. you moan into his mouth before he finally pulls away.

"come on," dean orders, and you nod compliantly as he pulls you up from the hood of the impala. dean slips into the back seat first, pulling you in behind him. you barely touch the leather seats before dean is tugging you into his lap.

his hardened cock strains against his jeans, and you can’t stop from rolling your hips over his clothed bulge. you tug at his shirt impatiently. dean doesn’t object, tossing the fabric off his body and into the front seat.

his hands grip your hips as he leans in to kiss you again. he guides your hips, the two of you groaning at the friction. your arms are wrapped tightly around his shoulders.

“fuck,” dean grunts again. he taps your ass lightly, so you pull away with a huff. your pout quickly dissolves when dean lifts you up just enough to undo the button of his jeans, allowing his cock to spring free.

“oh my god,” you mumble as you stare at his dick. dean smirks before pulling back onto his lap. dean settles your cunt over his cock, but he doesn’t push himself inside of you. not yet. instead, he opts for getting his cock wet with your slick first.

your eyes roll as you slide your pussy against his hardened dick. you grind your teeth when the head of dean’s cock slips against your clit repeatedly.

“please,” you pant. dean hums, watching as your movements get more erratic.

“dean, please. let me ride your cock,” you beg again. your eyebrows are knitted together with your eyes clenched shut.

“go ahead, sugar. take it,” dean grunts before settling into you completely. you inhale sharply when he grips your ass, pushing you even further onto himself.

you brace your hands against his shoulder, dropping your head to rest against one of them. dean gives you a second to adjust before he grabs your hips, urging you to move.

so you do.

you bite your lip, trying to keep your moans and mewls in as you ride dean. you couldn’t remember a time you felt so fucking full. dean’s dick was fucking perfect, hitting every spot that made your vision blur with ecstasy.

you lift your hips repeatedly before settling on grinding against him. you writhe in delight as dean drops his head back against the seat, hands gripping at the sides of your thighs as you continue to bounce and grind against him. you lower yourself to kiss against his neck before burying your face in his shoulder.

“right there,” you whisper repeatedly, nipping at dean’s neck as your hips start to stutter. dean grips your hair in one hand, tugging your head back until your neck is on full display for him. his arm wraps around your waist, holding you flush against his chest. dean groans as he adjusts the two of you until he has the mobility to drill his hips into yours, cousin you to cry out in pleasure. he doesn’t relent as you finally come around his cock.

deans sucks a deep bruise into your neck when he finally comes, muttering curses under his breath when his hips finally settle. the only sound in the car now is the two of you panting against each other. you lift your hips, whining as dean’s cum drips down your thighs.

you look up at dean, but he’s distracted by the sight. his cheeks are reddened, and his eyes are hazy as he watches his cum drip out of your cunt.

“dean–”

“fuck, sugar. gonna have to let you steal that fucking hat more often if it means i get to watch you take my cock like that. you look so fucking pretty like this, sugar,” dean grunts, swiping his thumb through the mess on your thighs. he swipes his thumb up further, pressing against your clit before finally bringing his thumb up to your mouth. without speaking, dean nudges your lips open, making you taste the two of you.

“goddamn it, sugar. can’t wait to use that pretty mouth next time.”

#dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester x reader #spn #dean winchester x reader smut #dean winchester smut #dean winchester x fem!reader #supernatural smut #cowboy!dean winchester smut #cowboy!dean winchester #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester fic

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bluemerakis · 6 months ago

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────────── ᝰ bluemerakis ༝༚༝༚ ────

❝ cream pie ❞

─ ۶ৎ ─

pairing ୨୧ munch .ᐟ dean winchester x fem .ᐟ reader

warnings .ᐟ cussing, reader somewhat oblivious to the obscene meaning of munch, tooth-rotting fluff, mentions of a sexual!cream pie, mild food play, finger-sucking, oral f receiving, pet names. pls lmk if i forgot any!

synopsis ─ dean’s always poked at you for being a slow-eater. likewise, you’ve always poked at him for being a fast-eater—going so far as to accuse him of an early death should he continue at that pace. so, on the night of his birthday, he decides to make a change to his eating habits, becoming deliberately slow in his meal’s devouring. only, that meal is you.

word count ~ 5.4k

──────────────────────

The doors to the diner announced the next newcomer with a shrill tinkle of bells, and by the nature of human curiosity—or a hunter’s paranoia—you found yourself glancing past Dean to witness a little girl ushered inside by an older woman.

You circulated a mouthful of fries as you watched the child bound over to the front counter, short, stubby finger outstretched to prod at a large print of the most obnoxiously decorated milkshake you’d ever seen—a mound of cream, candy and sprinkles that must’ve accounted for half the drink’s weight.

“Scoutin’ out for Sammy?” Dean asked suddenly—the words muffled by the burger he’d taken to devouring almost instantly after it’d arrived. Not even five minutes ago.

You forsook the view of the little girl to tune into the booth’s space, where the Winchester sat across from you with cheeks that had grown comically round. You couldn’t help but briefly stutter on your ground fries, perplexed by the plate that he’d wasted no time in clearing out. All that was left was the half-eaten burger currently clutched between his talons, where his lips closed in on to wrap around the bread-cocooned glory. The fries that had previously formed the burger’s first line of defence had not stood a damn chance.

With a thick swallow of your morsel, you cleared your throat to voice your concern—Dean’s question hurled out the current window of care. “Where the hell did all your food go, Dean? It literally just got here!” You reached across the table to take up your glass of water, downing a much needed sip that moistened the walls of your throat after the fries had brushed it dry on their downward journey.

Observing Dean, you almost felt like you were intruding on some intimate moment between himself and his burger, which he currently ogled from every angle in search of his next, perfect bite—yet to swallow down the last bite he’d taken. The appetite on this man was astounding. And so was the seemingly unlimited mouth space that he seemed to cram full squirrel-style, given any and every chance.

At your perplexed pry, the Winchester strayed from his guilty pleasure to grace you with a stupidly triumphant look, his vigorous chewing coming to a halt. “Just gave it a tour o’ my insides,” he mumbled grossly, eyes narrowing with smug amusement while he went out of his way to part his lips in a messy, food-kissed smile—just to get a rise out of you.

“Stop that!” You groaned, hand coming up in a defensive spread to shield yourself against the view of the chunky stew plastered along his teeth. “You’re disgusting,” you added with a meek giggle, chin perking slightly as you attempted to peer at him over the jagged horizon of your fingers.

You caught his Adam’s Apple bopping with a hefty swallow, the lump striding down the lean length of his neck, and it was a sight that made you feel safe enough to lower your hand once more. You watched him pass his tongue across both oil-kissed lips, savouring the essence with a pleasurable hum and smack of his mouth—like he’d never known the first thing about table manners. He passed the remainder of his burger to one hand, the other now freed to gesture in your direction.

“Hey!” he began—a clearer, more sophisticated sound. “I get my hands on somethin’ as delicious as this, I show her a good time,” he explained with a laughable seriousness. “You, of all people, should know this.”

You’d taken to plopping another fry into your mouth while he spoke, but at that last sentence, you dusted the lingering salt grains from your hands and made a hasty swallow before answering. “That you’re a munch?” You established innocently.

Dean perked at the observation you’d made many dinings prior—wore the title like a badge of honour. “Damn right I am, baby—and this was a damn preview,” he said with a charming wink, one that entertained his own, mental scheme.

“A preview of what?” You tested with a confused grin.

Dean’s glare turned the type of determined he usually reserved for an exhilarating hunt, his lips quirking with the utmost pleasure that you’d asked. “You, me, and your good friend down south—later tonight—” he began enlightening, but neglected to finish the sentence as he brought the last of his burger to his lips. Then, they crashed down onto the buns in an obnoxious motion—gluttonously garnering every inch into the compartment of his cheeks.

He began chewing with difficulty, at first, but no look of panic flashed across his features, despite your own worry that he might’ve started choking at any instant. Then, he rolled the empty burger wrapper between his palms, eyes droning into you with an unvoiced expectancy while his jaw circulated like a cow’s. You returned his stare with a cluelessness, taking a second to mull over his incomplete sentence—and it was then that his insinuation clicked into place.

Your cheeks flushed hot at that, the hands you’d nestled at either side of your plate drawing into fists. “I was talking about the food!” You said accusingly, his innuendo drawing a disbelieved laugh from your lips.

“Yeah, no, that ain’t what munch means, sweetheart,” Dean said smoothly, rocketing the crushed wrapper into the air before catching it and plopping it down onto his plate. His palms then came together in a scheming rub, eyes lowering to the menu beside his emptied plate. “Speakin’ of food,” he hummed thoughtfully, and you lifted your chin to get a better view of the options he was scanning through. Light meals.

You shook your head lightly, turning your attention back to your own plate. “You’re going to implode,” you remarked.

“Hey—drop the freakin’ fuss,” he grumbled indignantly. “‘Cause it just so happens that shit’s on the house for this birthday dude,” he added, hands coming up to gesture to himself almost proudly. “And I’ll be damed if I don’t do somethin’ ‘bout it.”

You flashed him a hopeless smile, but didn’t push him on his appetite any further. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Dean so unbothered and chirpy. As of now, life had been good—great, even. Bobby had offered to take care of this week’s hunts in order to free up Dean’s schedule, giving him the time to celebrate an event he hadn’t deemed worthy of a celebration for a long, long time. And Sam—ever the content third-wheel to you both—had taken the afternoon to kill time in his own Sam ways.

The deal you’d struck with the younger Winchester was that he get the morning to entertain Dean’s birthday, and you get the afternoon. The brothers were up at the crack of dawn to motor it over to some shooting range, where they’d completely obliterated the targets—earning dubious glances from the other, inexperienced hobbyists. You’d thought about asking why they’d opted for picking up a gun on their off-days, but Dean had returned with such a beaming smile that you’d swallowed the question entirely.

The only thing that mattered was that he was happy. Enjoying himself.

Eventually, Dean let out a decided exclamation, index finger coming down on the table to single out an option amongst the menu.

Your head lifted curiously. “What you got there?” You asked, plopping a fry into your mouth.

“The best thing to exist after cars,” he answered vaguely and with a playful waggle of his brows, his head then averting to do a sweep of the diner.

“With how easily amused you are, that could be narrowed down to an endless amount of shit,” you scoffed lightly.

“T-t-t,” he silenced with a finger in your direction, eyes still doing an intent scan of the space. When he managed to spot a waitress, it almost looked like his eyes could’ve slipped the keep of his sockets. His lips pierced to execute a perfect whistle, hand waving through the air to beckon her over—which she made haste on.

You turned your attention to the waitress as she pranced on over, fluster heavy in her rosy cheeks and sheepish smile as she glanced between yourself and Dean. “What can I get for you both?”

“One o’ these bad babies, please,” Dean requested with a show to the menu, hands then coming up in a thankful clasp as the waitress nodded lightly in response. “Sweet,” he murmured contently, his attention turning back to you. “Anythin’ for you?” He asked politely, but the hitch of his singular brow as he glanced between you and your stacked plate told you that he knew the answer.

“I’m good, thanks,” you told the waitress, who gave a small nod before scampering off. You turned back to Dean with a light shake of your head. “Oh, I know your heart hates you. You’re going to die an early death at this pace,” you scoffed, glancing down to where you began picking through your cooled fries in search of the crispy pieces.

“Yeah, whatever, happy deaths,” he answered lightly. “You gonna eat any o’ that?”

You glanced up to Dean’s famished eyes hounding the pot of edible gold still crowning your plate. “Yes, I’m gonna eat it!” You answered almost instantly. “I’m starving!”

“Well, you don’t look it,” he scoffed with a dramatic widening of his eyes—like he couldn’t believe you’d fault him for asking when your plate currently housed twice the calories of his. “Man, if my heart hates me, then your stomach hates you—teasin’ it like this with the one bite an hour ritual you’ve got goin’. You’re playin’ hard to get with the damn thing,” he huffed amusedly.

“It’s called savouring it,” you retorted with a light shake of your head. “You should try it some time.”

“Hey—I savour plenty, alright?” His brows perked pointedly, eyes lowering down your figure and straying to some view below the tabletop, where they lingered with a mischievous tongue poking at the inside of his cheek.

You caught on immediately, apples of your cheeks rounding with a grin. “I can’t even with you,” you sighed dramatically; warmly.

Dean’s eyes lifted back to you, forming a wink that he’d come to reserve just for you. “And yet you do, anyways,” he chuckled, then straightened in his seat with some new resolve. “Alright, c’mon—start stuffin’ up on fries. For every bite you don’t finish, your ankle’s gettin’ ganked—” he paused to reinforce the threat by nudging the toe of his boot against yours, “—and then I’m eatin’ whatever’s left.”

“What are you—five?” You giggled, and then his boot came forward to deliver the first of its taps against your ankle. You let out a squeal despite its gentle nature, hand flying forward to scoop up a handful of fries with a grin heavy on your lips.

Dean’s arms crossed as he watched you with equal amusement. “It’s called buildin’ character,” he said. “Consider this your motivation to eat faster.”

“Maybe you should try eating slower!”

He tsked in response to that, then offered a tiny nod. “Yeah, alright, alright, I’ll try it sometime,” he entertained, jerking his chin at you. “C’mon, wrap it up and we’ll go half on that apple pie I ordered.”

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

On the drive back to the motel, Dean had rattled Baby’s entire infrastructure with some deafening rock, his jaws testing out new heights as he accentuated every tune with utmost enthusiasm. He’d glanced your way a couple of times to enlist you into his self-hosted concert, still blaring along to the music, but you’d only managed to pick up on a few phrases here and there through your time spent as an audience to his hunting playlists.

Whenever a song came on that you recognised, you’d chime in to harmonise with Dean in a word or two before dropping off and taking to watching him ensue into musical madness, a grin heavy on your lips. God, you loved him. You loved him so much. And you loved seeing him recognise how much of his free-will he could cash toward buying his own happiness, instead of worrying about everything and everybody else—especially on a day like today.

The drive back to the motel was a cheery one you’d mentally documented as a day to remember. When you’d eventually pulled up at the motel, Dean had laid the engine to rest with an intense glance in your direction—one that you’d come to recognise as something to question. Because if you didn’t, there was no telling what was on a mind as carefully guarded as his.

You met his gaze with light confusion, acknowledging the silence he’d coupled with his dramatic shift in demeanour. “Is everything okay?”

Much to your relief, Dean’s features grew soft, his lips spreading with a thankful smile. “Everythin’s perfect,” he soothed quickly, but no less gentle. “Just. . . thinkin’ ‘bout today—how you and Sammy went outta your way to make this day so freakin’ awesome. I appreciate it—I do,” he added with a light chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he drank you in with love-struck eyes.

You shifted across the seat until your leg was flush against Dean’s, your hand coming up to gently cradle his jaw. “First off,” you began, thumb stroking gentle lines over the apple of his cheek, and you felt the unbridled weight of him melting into your hold—because he’d always felt safe enough to entrust all of him to all of you. “When it comes to you, nothing will ever be out of the way. You’re worth the time—worth taking that moment to think about how we can celebrate the man who tries so hard to keep us all together. You’re always jumping at the opportunity to do things for everybody else, but tonight—on your night—I’m going to honour everything that you are. And reflect on how blessed the world is to have its very own Dean Winchester. How blessed I am.”

Dean’s eyes twinkled at that—like a starstruck fanboy—and you felt honoured to be the recipient of his admiration. His love.

“Secondly,” you continued. “This day is all about you—officially, and everything—there’s a birth certificate out there to prove it. But I want you to know that you’re the type of person worth celebrating every single day. And I do, quietly—with every glance I steal of you because I’m just so thankful that we exist at the same time. And even in a life that gets as shitty as ours, I’m glad that it’s you I get to share the small breaths of a break with—you that I’m laughing it up with over a burger and beer, you that I get to share a cuddle with each night that feels like it could fend off every worry, and you, in all that you are, reminding me every single day of what good looks like—and why this world is worth saving. You’re the face of all things precious and scare in this world, Dean.”

At those words, Dean cracked with a twitch of his lip, giving rise to a smile that was simultaneously hurt and healed. As he gazed into your eyes, you saw their beautiful, green depths begin to glimmer at the borders. At the first comprehension of his growing tears, he was quick to dip his head into concealment, jaw turning an inch to catch his lips onto the hand you’d cradled his cheek within.

There, in thick silence, he pressed a long and tender kiss to your palm—as though trying to brand himself with the taste, touch and scent of you. A gesture to remind you just how much of himself he’d devoted to loving you, living for you, and embracing everything that you meant to him in ways that didn’t always embody words.

You sat there for a few seconds, watching as he became one with you—choosing you as his safety confines while he worked to sort through the feelings he’d never been apt at acknowledging this gently; vulnerably. Eventually, he stirred from your hold, but not to forsake it entirely, his hands outstretching to frame you tenderly at the neck.

“God, I love you,” he whispered with a shuddered breath, the tears he’d tried to quell with a moment of silence proving to be stubborn. But they came as gentle streams, providing just enough moisture to cast a soft sheen amongst his cheeks. “I love you so damn much,” he reinforced—the sound gruff, raw and passionate—and then his lips were pressed against yours with a hunger that felt desperately pushy and shy all at once.

You reciprocated the kiss with equal devotion, hands coming up to wrap around his wrists as you steadied yourself within his passionate grip. His thumbs rubbed gentle lines down the ledge of your jaw as his kiss continued to deepen—not particularly lustful, but just a very physical, passionate vow of loyalty. A show that he was yours, and all yours.

For a while, your lips remained entangled in a fervent dance, the world all around you dissolving into nothingness. What was out there didn’t matter, anyway, not when your whole world was right here, right beside you.

⋆ .˚⋆ ≐ ⋆ ˚.⋆

Back in the motel, you and Dean had slunk inside with the intent to not wake up Sam—only to find that when you’d flicked on the lights, the younger brother was nowhere in sight. For a second, you both stood in dumbfounded silence, heads swinging to scan the modest space that he couldn’t have possibly been hidden away in—not with the height on him.

Then Dean let out a soft noise of realisation as he left your side to stroll into the kitchen, hand outstretched to pluck a note from the fridge’s barren door. He brought it toward him with a focused furrow of his brows, eyes scanning over the information before he let slip a smug chuckle.

You wandered over to Dean curiously, and just then, he turned to you with the note waving about. “Sammy’s slipped out for the night—called a cab and said us naughty teens could have the place to ourselves,” he explained with a heavy, cheeky undertone as he glanced you over.

You drew up beside him with a smile to entertain his implications, arms coming up in a cross. “Oh, yeah? Guess we better make the most of it, then,” you murmured, leaning yourself against the counter bordering the fridge.

Dean wandered close enough for the fabric of his jacket to graze your arms, head lowering to yours in a painfully slow manner. “Hm. . . what’d ya have in mind?” He asked before pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then to the bridge of your nose.

Your nose scrunched playfully beneath his lips, eyes screwing shut at his very welcomed trespass. “I think—” you began, but were quickly silenced by the press of his lips against yours. After a few, greedy kisses with a point to prove, he pulled away to let you finish. “I think,” you repeated with a breathless laugh, eyes falling open once more. “You get the gist of it.”

“Think I damn well do,” he grinned, coming in for round two, but you stopped him with a finger to the lips.

“Not so fast, Casanova,” you steadied with a smile, making a point to tap his lips before pulling away. “I’ve got a little surprise for you, first.”

“What—it ain’t this?” Dean said ruefully, gesturing to all of you. “C’mon, man, quit teasin’ me.”

“I’m not teasing you,” you giggled before pushing yourself off the counter to round him in favour of the fridge. “I made you something.”

He hummed interestedly. “Well, colour me intrigued,” he drawled, turning to face you as he leaned himself against the counter to watch after your every move.

You opened the fridge and briefly ducked inside, rounding onto the point of your toes to grab the mystery meal off the top shelf. Beside you, Dean uttered a whistle of admiration, and you scoffed at his apparent leering. You lowered yourself with the prize in hand, shifting it to a one-sided grip as your free hand moved closed the door.

Dean studied the dish with interest as you strode over to him and placed it onto the counter. A part of you felt a sense of annoyance as you reflected back to the diner, where he’d gone and ordered himself two slices of pie despite your protest. You hadn’t wanted him to have his fill of it before tonight, where the dessert pie you’d baked him had been waiting for its time to shine.

Slowly, you pulled back the wrapping to reveal the dish—a dainty cream pie.

Dean took a moment to flutter his lashes, his lips forming a thoughtful pout—like he was trying to find the right words to decline your offer. You’d been afraid of this very reaction after he’d eaten enough pie for the next month. “More pie?” he remarked with an almost pained expression.

You let out a loose scoff, tossing the wrapping onto the counter. “I told you not to order another slice of pie at the diner!” You exclaimed, head shaking lightly.

“Yeah, but I just thought you were hasslin’ me over the eatin’ thing—not because you went and baked an entire one,” Dean laughed before moving to take a swipe at the topped cream. You watched as he crowned the pad of his index finger with a considerable cluster, then brought it up to his lips for a taste. After swallowing the smooth sweetness, he smacked his lips appreciatively. “But this tastes freakin’ amazing,” he praised with a warm grin. “Thanks, baby, I’ll savour it as much as the diner’s pie.”

“You’ll do that and more,” you shot back with a pretence of annoyance, but you couldn’t fend off the grin peaking through. “Cause it was hard work making this thing!”

He cocked a brow smugly. “Really? ‘Cause when last we hit the sheets, I seem to remember doin’ it in five minutes,” he said pointedly, teeth flashing a lewd grin as he gave an obnoxious wink.

Your jaw dangled at his shameless obscenity—alluding to a few nights ago where you’d begged him for a quickie, and had him finish inside of you. “Dean!” You exclaimed, hand coming forward to swat his arm lightly. “Think you’re a funny man, yeah?”

“I think I’m hilarious,” he replied charmingly, hand diving down to take another swipe at the cream. Just then, he brought it up to your face to slather the side of your cheek, which made your mouth curl around a gasp as you seized up on the spot.

“Asshole!” You sniped with no real anger, hand coming up to wipe some of the cream from your face, but Dean caught you at the wrist before you could eradicate the stickiness entirely.

“Fun-ass,” he corrected cheekily, gaze holding yours as he leaned himself down to wrap his lips around your index finger. You felt his tongue swirl around it to gather the cream, and even once he’d sucked it clean of all tangible sweetness, he kept up the wet whirlpool.

“Dean,” you laughed weakly. “Stop.”

Eventually, he freed your finger from his lips with a jarring pop, his chin wagging subtly with the pride of his action. “What?” He asked innocently, releasing your hand. “I’m just findin’ ways to make eatin’ this pie more excitin’.”

“Very innovative,” you giggled. “And messy.”

“Darlin’, don’t you worry—when I make a mess, I clean it up right after,” he remarked.

Suddenly, you became keenly aware of the cream still slathering your cheek. “Oh, is that so?” You retorted. “Because the records aren’t exactly reflecting right now.”

Dean’s hands came up in a gesture of his defence. “Hey, give me a chance,” he chuckled, then moved to wrap a hand around the nape of your neck. There, his fingers fanned the hair draping your neck, and he pulled you into his frame as his jaw made a dive toward your face.

You felt the warmth of his tongue drag a gentle trail up the curve of your cheek before drawing back to repeat the motion. You squirmed against the humid wetness, hands coming up to his chest as you let out a strained giggle. “That tickles, you weirdo!”

Eventually, he pulled back to face you, and the view of him was silly enough to send you into another giddy fit. The bridge of his nose was dotted with cream, and the trail dissipated along the curve of his glistening lips only to reappear within the divot of his chin.

“You look ridiculous!” You remarked with a warm laugh, finger lifting to wipe some of the cream off the button of his nose and present it to him.

“Yeah, well, you taste delicious,” he mocked childishly, linking his finger with yours to wipe the cream from the tip before plopping it into his mouth. He jerked his chin to the counter behind you, wiping his hands together. “Could ya pass me a paper towel, please? Behind you.”

Just then, an idea sparked to mind—shameless, and a little dirty, but fun. “Don’t bother,” you replied, and Dean’s brows shot up in surprise. Just then, you turned toward the pie, hand coming forward to scoop up an impressive amount of cream.

Behind you, Dean let out a soft huff, like he’d had an idea of what game you were about to play. Turning back to him, you hovered your cream-laden hand out in front of you, your other chaste one slipping beneath the hem of your tank to lift it up the expanse of your stomach. You terminated the stripping beneath the curve of your breasts, revealing enough of your abdomen to spur the Winchester on.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he breathed, his eyes unashamedly lowering down your exposed stomach before darting back to the cream cradled within your palm.

Without a word to spare, you began spreading a slow and messy trail across your stomach—starting at the divot between the curves of your breasts.

“Oh, I think I like where this is goin’,” Dean chuckled absentmindedly, lower lip drawn into a bite as he watched you paint the sticky trail down the length of your stomach—where you stopped just shy of your short’s hem.

Once you’d planted a generous path of cream, you brought your hand up to your lips to lick the last of it from existence, other hand still anchoring your shirt in its unobstructive place. “Rules of the game,” you began with a grin, Dean reciprocating one far more exhilarated. “Leave no mess behind—should be easy for you, he who always cleans up after himself,” you poked lightly.

“Easy?” He tutted cockily. “I’m gonna nail this out the freakin’ park. And then nail somethin’ else,” he added with a wink.

“Okay, mr. Big Talk, enough of the chitchat,” you laughed, free hand beckoning him forward.

Dean obliged with an eager, yes, ma’am, before inching his way toward you, leaning in to place a kiss on your forehead, then at the crook of your neck before he pulled back to gaze you in the eye.

“Happy birthday,” you murmured with an adoring smile.

“Happy freakin’ birthday to me, indeed,” Dean breathed in astonishment, taking a moment to lower his eyes along the candy trail that paved way to his personal jackpot down under before glancing back up at you. Then, with a determined smirk playing at his lips, he ducked from your view.

His hands took up firm grip at your waist, anchoring himself there as his lips took to your cream-kissed skin like the famished jaws of a zombie. Your head lolled back at the sensation of his tongue swirling along your skin, your free hand coming forward to plant itself within the jagged field of his hair. There, your fingers curled around unruly wisps—as if needing to ground yourself against the skilled tongue currently deconstructing your every sense—and your lips parted with a soft moan.

Dean, as if spurred on by that singular, sweet sound, added teeth into the mix, nipping lightly at the surfaces he’d licked clean before continuing to lower himself down your stomach. His grip at your waist became firmer—more desperate—and as if he couldn’t restrain himself any longer, his fingers grazed down your sides to slip beneath the waistband of your shorts and underwear. There, he tugged ruthlessly, successfully managing to pull the items down and over the curves of your hips and thighs.

You aided his efforts to strip you with a shimmy of your legs, allowing the clothing to plop to the ground. Shortly after, Dean’s fingers made a return to your waist, his tongue doing one, last greedy sweep of your navel to terminate the creamy line. He pulled back to gaze up at you—nose, mouth and chin slathered with the remnants of your game—but his pupils were blown wide with arousal, his teeth bared in a grin that told you he wanted to taste more of you.

“Jesus, baby, you’re gonna ruin me,” he uttered gruffly, breathlessly, and then without waiting for your input, he dipped into the yearning warmth nestled in the nook of your thighs, where his nose struck your clit with all the right force.

Like a starved and thirsty man deprived of everything essential to life, his tongue swept through your folds with the intent to garner every last inch of you. You let out a loud moan at that, hip collapsing slightly into the support of the counter, but Dean’s hands—anchored at your hips—tightened to remind you of his reliability, pulling you back onto the support of his mouth. There, his grip lowered to your thighs, squeezing lightly before they tightened mercilessly with the intent to grind himself deeper into your warmth.

Tears began to well at your eyes as the stimulation consumed you, head snapping back and eyes screwing shut to get lost in the abyss of Dean’s making. You felt, and heard, every flick and swirl of his tongue around your clit—the sound obscenely audible as wet fluttering—and it was enough to deduce you to a stew of mindless praises.

“Fuck, Dean, fuck,” you breathed—whimpered, tightening your hold within his hair until you were tugging meanly at his scalp. But he didn’t mind it—if anything, it elicited his own grunts of pleasure, which reverberated into your folds and added to the tension you felt building within your core.

He drew your swollen clit into a whirlpool, spinning it round and round his exploitative tongue with a moan of enjoyment. You could have listened to him utter that sound a hundred times over, and it jabbed at your core to know that Dean would never fail to find joy in pleasuring you.

“Fuck, baby, so wet, ‘nd so fuckin’ good,” he murmured against you, the words slurred by his discontent to disrupt the contact—and pace. He made a dive toward your dripping entrance, gathering the amalgamation of saliva and arousal attempting to slip away unnoticed, before he briefly slipped into your entrance.

You let out a broken gasp at that foul move, hips stuttering further into his jaw, but he steadied you upright with an accomplished chuckle to rattle you from within. His tongue retreated to drag back up your folds, re-establishing its rightful place running laps around your clit.

“S’alright, baby, I got you,” he murmured into you, adding fuel to the fire you felt about to erupt within you.

“I’m gonna come,” you muttered breathlessly, thighs clamping around his hold.

Dean gave a hum of approval at that, but kept up his slow and steady pace, only intensifying the stimulation with the pressure of his tongue.

The bundle within you began to grow and grow at your centre, tightening into an inexplicable mass that you craved to let go of. “Fuck,” you spat, eyes clamping shut as you chased your high. “Dean—don’t stop,” you breathed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ain’t ever stoppin’, baby,” he mumbled, hands squeezing your thigh pointedly.

“Can you. . . go faster,” you stuttered out, eyes faltering open and chin dipping to glance at him. “Please, I need it,” you whined softly.

Dean didn’t stray from his work to glance at you, and his pace didn’t budge, either. “Can’t,” he declined. “Gotta eat slower, remember?” There was a teasing flick across your clit, and you couldn’t help but let out a disbelieved laugh, eyes falling shut once more as you melted into his controlled pace.

“Asshole.”

“Fun-ass.”

──────────────────────

a/n ─ happy birthday to pookie!!! and this is a birthday gift bc dean’s a simple man—he’s a munch. fuck birthday presents & fuck birthday cake, this fucker just wants to devour you. best birthday song? the filth outta your mouth when his tongue’s surfing your clit. said who? me. dean told me. in my wet dreams last night. as a bonus for shits & giggles

thank you for reading! all likes, comments & reblogs are deeply appreciated

tags ─ @gibson-g1rl @bohemianblasphemy @fallbhind @titsout4jackles @ultravi0lence14 @angelicjackles @starzify @honeyryewhiskey @deansbeer @figthoughts @floralscented @walkslikesummeractslikerain @deansbbyx @whisperingdaze @maddie0101 @lieutenantchaos @spn-reader @bakugotypecrashout @jaydensluv @misatxox

want to become part of the taglist for any future dean winchester works?

other works ─ supernatural masterlist

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babeydollx · 3 years ago

Text

Drunk & Nasty

Warnings: cursing, smut, unprotect sex, one night stand, mentions of drinking, night clubs, mentions of being tipsy, mentions of being drunk

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female Reader

Summary: In which Y/N meets Dean at a night club and the night ends with her hooking up with him.

a/n: my first Supernatural fic, also my first fic for Dean Winchester lmao.

You were dancing with your friends and drinking on the dance floor when you noticed a man who was eyeing you from the bar. You couldn't help but study him longer. He was really fucking hot. You had told your friends that you were going to go talk to him and they all cheered you on quietly as you walked over to the stranger.

He smirked when he saw you making your way over to him at the bar. Once you got to the bar you took a seat on the bar stool beside him. He didn't bother to hide the fact that he was checking you out, looking you up and down as you sat there on display for him. "Well, I thought you were never going to come over here, pretty thing." He said with a devilish smirk.

You shrugged slightly. "Well what can I say? You're a hot, young stud. How could I not come over here and introduce myself?" You asked as you bit your lip. "Which now that I am on the topic, I'm Y/N Y/L/N. What's your name, pretty boy?" You asked. He smiled and chuckled a little. "Dean. Dean Winchester." He said. "Well, it's nice to meet you, Dean." You said with a smile. "It's nice to meet you too, Y/N. Gorgeous name by the way." He said.

You smiled and reached your hand over to gently caress his hand. He looked down at his hand and then back up at you before taking a sip of his beer. "Y'know, I was planning on leaving the club soon." You said. "Oh, well that's too bad, isn't it." Dean said. "Yeah but, I was just planning on going home... that would be so lonely. Maybe you could y'know... keep me company." You said with a smirk as you looked up at him.

"Fuck, I would love to keep you company, pretty girl." He said with a smirk. "Well, good." You said. "Well, shall we?" You asked with a smirk. "We shall." Dean said as he took your hand and the two of you walked out of the night club together tipsy and horny as fuck.

You both arrived at your apartment and you let him inside. Once the two of you got inside, you knew exactly what you wanted to do with him and you knew that he had the exact same idea as you had. After you put your clutch down on the table, Dean pinned you against the door. You looked up at him innocently and bit your lip.

Dean leaned down and kissed you. The kiss was passionate and heated. The two of you made out against the door for a while before he pulled back and picked you up. You wrapped your legs around his torso and giggled as he carried you into your bedroom. He gently tossed you onto the bed before crawling on top of you. The two of you were making out again on the bed, tangled in each other's arms. You then decided to flip the two of you so you were on top and he was on the bottom.

"Mm.. not today pretty boy. Tonight I am in charge." You said with a smirk. "Well, I don't mind having a gorgeous and sexy woman on top of me all night." Dean said with a smirk. "Well good, because that's exactly what you're going to get." You said. The two of you quickly removed all of your clothing. You got on top of Dean once again and aligned his cock with your core. Once you did so you then began to slowly sink down on his hard cock.

You both let out a soft moan as you slowly took his cock in. Once you bottomed out you began to bounce on his cock. Fuck, he felt amazing inside of you. You had never fucked anyone of this size before but, you're fucking glad that you were now. After you bounced on his cock for a while, you began to grind against him. Dean moaned out as you did so. You moaned out as well at the feeling of him deep inside of you. It felt like he was all the way in your stomach.

You then felt that familiar knot forming in the bottom of your stomach and you knew that you were going to cum any second now. You could feel Dean's cock twitching inside of you so you knew that he was about to cum too. You grinded against him a few more times and then he let out a loud groan as he came, shooting his load deep inside of you. His release was enough to trigger yours. Your eyes rolled and you moaned out as you gushed on his cock.

You took a moment to catch your breath before pulling yourself off of his now softened cock. You laid down beside you and he smiled and held you close. "Y/N.." He mumbled. "Yeah?" You asked. "Would it be bad if I wanted us to be more than a one night stand?" He asked. You smiled and reached up to kiss his cheek. "Of course not, Dean." You said with a smile. He smiled and held you close and after a while the two of you fell asleep tangled in each other's arms.

a/n: I hope y'all enjoyed this fic!

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honeyryewhiskey · 6 months ago

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when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt.

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets.

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don’t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.”

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.”

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself.

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced.

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

#dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester x reader #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fluff

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lazydoodlesandfanfic · 8 years ago

Text

Make it to me (Dean Winchester X Reader)

Characters: Dean Winchester X Reader

Universe: Supernatural

Warnings: Swearing, minor spoilers of Season 1???

Request: Hello! Could you do a supernatural Dean x Reader based of the song Make It To Me by Sam smith? Absolutely in love with your writing❤

“You’re thinking about Y/N again.” Dean snapped out his thoughts at his brother’s voice, making a humming sound to ask him to repeat. “Y/N. You were thinking about them again.” He repeated.

“Is it that obvious?” Dean asked, looking down at the beer in his hand.

“Yeah. You look right ahead and smile, and you used to look at them like that, and it’s like they’re sat right in front of you.” Sam commented. Dean could only smile sadly, knowing he’d been caught. “When are they going to call?” Sam asked, making Dean check his watch for the tenth time.

“In about an hour. It depends. They might not call till after midnight.” Dean told his brother, rubbing his face to try and relieve the sleep that wanted to consume him.

Dean had been like this every night for nearly a month. You were a hunter like the Winchesters, and you and Dean had been in a relationship for a few years now. Bobby, Sam and even Crowley had commented that you two were the definition of Soulmates. Dean being Dean, he called bullshit until Castiel rocked up and said it was true and you two were actually luckily enough to be true soulmates. Sam and Bobby always said they could see you two getting together before you actually knew each other- your parents knew each other and they’d work together when you were younger, though it took a while for Dean and you to actually talk, but when you did, you hit it off immediately. As soon as you were old enough to hunt alone, you’d go together and you’d been stuck by his side since John disappeared. That was, however, until last week.

You’d been called by some relatives overseas to help on a case, and being only able to afford one ticket, you had no choice but to go alone. Since then, you called Dean every morning, though it was always late at night for Dean, not that he cared. He refused to sleep without that call to say you were alright. He couldn’t.

Sam just stared at his phone, waiting for your contact to come up ringing with your favourite song blasting through it as your ringtone. He waited just going through the pictures he had of you, and some silly videos you had sent him and some he had collected over the years that never failed to make him smile. Before he knew it, it was far past midnight, and there was footsteps coming towards him. Heavy footsteps. “In here, Sammy.” Dean called, guessing and not looking up. He guessed he’d woken up, but that thought sent a rush of panic through Dean… what time was it? Clicking out the video playing, he was it was early morning. “Oh god… come on Y/N… where are you..?” He asked himself quietly, anxiety quickly growing in his chest and dread consuming him.

He felt it.

Your hand rest on his shoulder, your thumb rubbing his neck. “I’m right here, baby.” You told him. Dean shot around, seeing you there looking exhausted with a heavy bag over your shoulder, but there. He was quick to stand up, look you over for injuries, and when knowing you were alright, he sighed with relief and just hugged you tightly. The thud of your bag dropping to the ground woke up Sam, who only walked in to Dean rocking you in his arms… and possibly crying… yeah, he’s crying.

Hope you like it! If you have any questions, please send them in!

*Not my gif

TAGS: @courtneychicken @graysonmalfoy @straightasdeanwinchester @ariennisimpressed @captain-peanut-at-your-service

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castielsonlyangel · 3 days ago

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͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Dean Winchester NSFW Alphabet

content: pure filthy smut, mdni!! pet names (sweetheart, baby, darling, good girl), p in v, unprotected sex, switch!dean, cream pie, size kink, praise kink, marking kink, probably a lot more but honestly i’ve written so much already my fingers are about to fall off

pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

A - Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

Dean always made sure you were comfortable and satisfied after sex. He’ll run you a hot bath or shower if you wanted, he’ll hold you close to his chest and press kisses along your soft skin, lingering on the places he may have been particularly rough with.

“You were so fuckin’ perfect. So beautiful.” He murmured as he kissed your forehead, his hand carding through your hair slowly as to not startle you. “Just sleep, sweetheart. I’ve got ya.” He whispered assuringly, pulling the sheets over the both of you.

B - Body part (favourite body part of theirs and their partners)

Dean’s favourite body part of yours was your hips. He loved how he could grab them and pull you back onto his cock so easily. He also enjoyed how he had to press them back down onto the mattress every time he ate you out, feeling how desperately you wanted to basically ride his face to your orgasm.

His favourite body part of his own were his hands. Dean loved how much larger they were than your own and how he could pin both them up above your head with only one of his own, while using the other to either palm at your tits or to rub harsh circles on your clit.

“Stay still, darlin’. Let me take care of you.” He growled against your dripping pussy, your slick running down his chin as he looked up at you with lust blown pupils. His hand splayed flat against your stomach, pushing it back down onto the mattress. You whined as your clit throbbed desperately, his nose just centimetres away.

C - Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He loves to cum inside of you, no questions asked. He loves to watch as it leaks out of you, a reminder that you were his and his only. He would use the fingers that were previously inside of you to stuff it back in when it dripped down your thighs.

“Look at you, baby. So full of me, hmm?” He mused, voice dripping in faux sympathy and confidence. He pushed his fingers back into you, feeling how you clenched tightly around him as he stuffed his release back in.

D - Dirty secret (self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

It’s not exactly something he hides well from you, but Dean secretly loves when you dominate him. He finds nothing hotter than you doing your hardest to pleasure him. Not only does he find it hot, he feels loved and appreciated when he looks into your eyes and sees the determination and fondness in them.

Dean groaned and let his head fall back to the headboard behind him, hips twitching up to meet your soft hands that were squeezing around his cock with the most perfect pleasure. “F- Fuck, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum just from the way you’re lookin’ at me-“

E - Experience (how experienced are they?)

It was safe to say that Dean Winchester was very experienced. He knew exactly what he was doing and how to pleasure you properly and bring you to your orgasm every time without fail, unless he wants to tease or punish you, of course.

“Right there, oh my god!” You whined, hands gripping tightly at the sheets as Dean worked his fingers inside of you tirelessly, curling his fingers to hit your gspot perfectly every time. His face was smug and his tone was almost mocking. “Cumming just from my fingers, hmm?”

F - Favourite position (self explanatory)

COWGIRL - Dean loves everything about cowgirl. He loves palming and sucking on your tits, watching how they bounced each time you met his hips. The look on your face when you reach your climax and the sound of your broken whines and moans filling his ears as your head drops down to his shoulder is music to his ears. It’s the sight he saw every night when he closed his eyes, and what he imagined when he was jerking off alone by himself.

Your hips stuttered as your jaw fell slack, forehead dropping onto Deans shoulder as you felt your orgasm rip through you suddenly, the pure intensity of practically knocking you out. Dean slammed his hips up to meet yours, fucking you through your orgasm as his cock throbbed inside of you, one of his hands pulling one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking it earnestly as you choked out sounds of pleasure.

MISSIONARY - He loves missionary, especially if it’s in the backseat of Baby. Most of the time, he’d be too worried to mess up his (second) precious girl, but when you’d spent weeks on the road and hunting constantly, never finding a moment to yourselves without being interrupted by Sam or someone else, he’ll pull you to the backseat and basically tear your jeans off of you, pushing himself into you without any prep.

“Always so tight, fuck..” Dean groaned into the crook of your neck, kissing sloppily up your jaw when he bottomed out, waiting for you to adjust to his large size after so long of not having anything inside of you.

G - Goofy (how serious are they during sex?)

When he’s been through a long day of silent and subtle teasing from you and constant company, he’s completely determined and serious until he’d fucked you through multiple orgasms. Though, if it was a more casual and slow experience, he’ll crack a few jokes, briefly pulling the both of you out of the bliss running through you.

H - Hair (body hair)

Dean keeps himself relatively well trimmed, but neither of you feel it’s a big deal when it’s been awhile since you’d gotten a day to properly clean yourselves up and he’s not as clean as usual. Doesn’t change the way the fucks you so good you can’t even think straight.

I - Intimacy (how are they during the moment? romantic aspect)

When you first started dating/got together, he treated it almost like another one of his hookups every time you had sex. He’d still take care of you afterwards, of course, but he wasn’t as meaningful during the act. Barely any eye contact, a lot less praise than he gave you now. But after a while, he couldn’t have sex any other way. Dean loved to look you in the eye when he pushed inside of you, telling you how good you felt and how good you were doing for him, sounding a lot more possessive than he ever was before.

Dean’s hand tilted your chin up to ensure you kept eye contact with him as he increased the pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the otherwise quiet room. “Cmon, baby. I wanna see my girl when I make her feel good.” He huffed, grinning when he saw your attempt at keeping your eyes open for him. “Good girl, jesus, good fuckin’ girl.”

J - Jerk off (masturbation headcanons, how often, what he thinks of, etc.)

If Dean is feeling extremely pent up and you’re not around, he has no problem quickly rubbing one out in the bathroom before heading out to do some work for a case. He sets a slow pace, half thrusting his hips into his hand and half tugging himself off. Dean shuts his eyes and thinks of you, squeezing his fist around his cock and pretending he was pounding into your tight pussy.

“Holy fuck, sweetheart.” Dean groaned, feeling his length twitch in his hand, instinctively picking up the pace to make him finish quicker. “So tight around me.” When he came, he let out a guttural groan, grabbing a cloth to quickly clean himself up when he heard Sam call out from the other side of the door. “Dude, are you ready to go or not? I’m not interviewing her by myself.” “Y- Yeah.. Coming now..”

K - Kink (one or more of their kinks, what gets them going)

SIZE KINK - Dean had a big cock, that wasn’t something anyone could deny. Dean loved to watch as he basically split you open on his cock, revelling in the way you looked so fucked out from just his size alone.

“Dean, ‘s- ‘s too much!” You whined, the feeling of Dean filling you spread throughout your whole body, making your mind go blank. “You can take it, sweetheart. I know you can.” He groaned, giving you time to adjust before pushing in another few inches.

PRAISE KINK - For Dean, it went both ways. He adored praising you, the words spilling out of his mouth like second nature each time he pounded into you or felt you getting sloppy.

“Perfect girl f’me. Always takes me so well.” He spoke soothingly, hand running through your hair as he felt your legs shake around his torso, squeezing him in the way that let him knew you were close. “Let go, baby. I wanna feel you.” He told you, rubbing your clit with the pad of his calloused thumb, holding you close as you came on his cock.

As for praising him, he went weak when you spoke softly to him when you were on top. He felt ashamed at how needy he became, unapologetically yearning for you to tell him how good he was.

Dean whined — he actually whined — when you spat on his cock, looking up at him with a sultry look in your eyes. “Be good for me and stay still, mkay? I’ll make you feel good.” You hummed, your voice sounding like honey as you stroked him slowly, teasingly. He nodded instantly, one hand grabbing at the sheets underneath him, the other hovering over his own thigh. “Good boy.” You grinned smugly at the way Dean’s face flushed almost instantly when those words left your lips.

MARKING KINK - He was overprotective and possessive of you, no doubt. Dean left hickeys littered all over your body, places that were visible to everyone else and places that were very much meant for you and Dean, and you and Dean only.

“You’re mine, yeah? This is to let everybody know you’re not available.” Dean growled against your collarbone, sucking and biting down everywhere he could get his mouth on. The whimpers left your mouth before you could stop them, the feeling of Dean soothing the angry red and purple marks he had just created by lapping at them, kissing at them gently. “All marked up and all mine.”

ROLEPLAY KINK - The moment you walked into the room wearing anything ranging from a cowboy hat to a nurse costume, Dean is rock hard, cock straining against his jeans, leaking pre cum through his boxers. He enjoyed ‘normal’ sex as much as the next person, but something about getting to pretend to be something he wasn’t for a while appealed to him greatly.

Your hands lay flat against Deans chest, cowboy hat slipping down your head and over your eyes as you rode him, pace fast and rough. You huffed out a chuckle as Dean reached a hand up to fix the hat atop your head, grinning back up at you, expression elated and blissed out. “Easy there, cowgirl. Don’t wanna go losin’ whats left of your outfit, do we?”

L - Location (favourite place to have sex)

He would never say no to sex in a regular old bed, you couldn’t go wrong, he thought. But something about shower sex spoke to him. It always started with you in the shower after a hunt or in the mornings, Dean slipping in behind you with an innocent claim of ‘saving time and water’.

One hand was clasped over your mouth, the other gripping onto your waist tightly, singlehandedly keeping the both of you upright. You moaned into the palm of his hand, feeling the warm water hitting your back, almost in time with Dean’s brutal thrusts, clearly getting closer. “Gotta stay quiet, hmm? Don’t wanna wake anyone up and catch us in here, do you?” He groaned into your ear, earning a shake of your head and a soft sob as the coil in your stomach got tighter and tighter.

M - Motivation (what turns them on)

You. That was it. You turned him on. The moment you even remotely hinted that you were horny or that you wanted him, he was all over you like a man who was starved and deprived of human attention. Dean could cum in his pants like a teenager purely at the way you would rut against him when you were sitting beside him on the couch, his cock growing hard instantly.

N - No (turn offs, things they wouldn’t do)

Anything that involves you getting hurt, feeling uncomfortable, or being embarrassed and/or feeling shameful. Dean cares about you more than anything, and he wouldn’t ever even attempt to push you into something you didn’t want to do or try. The second he sensed your hesitation or unease, he was stopping and pulling you to his chest, whispering gentle reassurances and soft kisses to the top of your head.

“We don’t have to do anything, darlin’. We can just watch a movie.” Dean spoke assuringly. “You wanna watch a movie?” He asked you gently, watching for your reaction, hands rubbing your back slowly, grounding the both of you.

O - Oral (preference, experience)

Dean loves when you get on your knees for him, don’t get him wrong, but he loves nothing more than bringing you to your climax multiple times with his tongue alone. He was very experienced, there wasn’t anything he couldn’t do with his mouth that didn’t bring you pleasure.

Your thighs trembled around his head, trying to squeeze shut as you came on his tongue that was still lapping up the sweet taste of you without missing a beat. Dean grinned when he finally pulled away, looking at your fucked out expression and half lidded eyes as he wiped your juices off of his chin and lips with the back of his hand.

P - Pace (fast? slow? etc.)

His pace purely depended on the mood, position, and round you two were on. Dean could switch between slow and tender, focusing more on the intimacy of the moment rather than the actual sex, and fast on rough, both of you desperate for nothing more than your own climax.

Q - Quickies (opinions, how often)

Dean didn’t have a problem with quickies most of the time. They were the perfect solution when he needed to let out some tension and he had a free five minutes with you in the middle of a case.

Your hair was in a makeshift ponytail, Deans grip tight enough to be able to control your movements, but not tight enough to cause you pain of discomfort. “Fuck, we gotta hurry. Don’t got much longer.” He mumbled gruffly, bracing himself with his free hand against the wall of the gas station bathroom. It wasn’t the most sanitary at all, you were both aware of that, but it’d been days since either of you had gotten your hands on each other.

Sam was sat in the front seat of the Impala, expression impatient and increasingly growing annoyed the longer his brother and friend spent in the gas station. When he finally spotted the both of you walking out, a plastic bag in hand, he sighed in relief. “What took you both so long?” He asked the moment you opened the door to the backseat, and his expression turned to one of disgust after you and Dean shared a teasing glance with each other.

R - Risk (okay to experiment? take risks?)

Dean was willing and up to try anything with you if you suggested it. If you wanted to try a new position? Sure, why the hell not? If you wanted to try a new kind of roleplay? Great, Dean was already getting ready to put his horrible acting skills to use. As for taking risks, the only kind of risks he would take with you was any kind of semi public sex. Like with the quickies, he was okay with a gas station bathroom or the Impala even when it was parked in public during daylight, as long as no one but him got to see too much of you, he was perfectly fine with it, he encouraged it, even.

S - Stamina (how long do they last? how many rounds?)

Dean was usually able to hold himself back until after you came, not wanting to treat himself until he knew you were satisfied. As for how many rounds, he could go as many as he desired if he had enough time to recover in between. He’d never push you to go for another if you were feeling too overstimulated and worn out, but he had to admit sometimes he got a bit pussy drunk when eating you out.

“Just one more, baby. You taste so good” Dean spoke pleadingly, eyes wide with need and desire. You whined weakly, hand loosening in his hair as your pussy clenched around nothing, your clit throbbing as Dean began to suck at it again, the overstimulation feeling painful in the best way possible.

T - Toys (do they own toys? do they use toys, on themself or their partner?)

He wouldn’t say no if you asked him to use a toy on you, but he preferred to do it himself. He didn’t need the help of a silly little toy when he could make you cum with his fingers alone. But that being said, on the rare occasion he used a toy on you, he didn’t deny he loved to watch the way you squirmed against the vibrator on your clit, hips jerking up to chase your orgasm.

U - Unfair (how much do they like to tease)

Dean Winchester was a tease. That‘s all it was. He loved reminding you that he was the one that was in control in that current moment after a day of you teasing him, purposely making him horny before you both had to leave somewhere.

“Dean- Dean, fuck! Why-? I- I need to cum-“ You choked out a sob, the feeling of your orgasm escaping you every second that passed. Dean tilted his head, biting the inside of the cheek to stop his smug smirk from growing on his lips. “You weren’t being good earlier, remember?” He drawled out, his tone teasing and confident.

V - Volume (how loud they are, what noises do they make, etc.)

Dean wasn’t usually loud during sex. He’d grunt as he pushed himself inside of you, feeling your tight heat pulling him in, groaning as he spilled his large load into your aching cunt. He’d only whine if you were on top and caught him particularly off guard, nipping at his neck or squeezing your fist around his erection. Although he doesn’t let out many sounds of pleasure, he does talk a lot. So in that sense, yeah, he’s loud.

W - Wild card (a random headcanon)

Dean kept a polaroid of you sitting in the backseat of his Baby in his favourite pair of your lingerie in his wallet. He keeps it hidden so that if anyone got ahold of his wallet, they’d have to dig to find what’s his.

X - Xray (what’s going on under the clothes)

He’s 7.5 inches long, but it’s not only long, it’s thick too. Even though you’ve taken it countless times, sometimes when you saw it you worried it wouldn’t fit.

Y - Yearning (how high is their sex drive)

Very high. It was very rare that he didn’t want to have sex, and that usually only happened when he had way too much drink, so much that it would take a pill to help him get it up. He was in love with everything you did, and even you simply slipping on his shirt after long and intense sex, he gets hard just at the sight of you sweaty and in something of his.

Z - Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep after)

He stayed awake long enough to ensure you were okay and comfortable and he grabbed you whatever you wanted, whether it be food or a drink, or your favourite of his t shirts. He couldn’t rest until he saw the peaceful expression on your face and he felt the slow rise and fall of your breathing against his chest, but after that, he was out like a light.

“Here, sweetheart. Got you water and my shirt.” He placed the glass on the bedside table beside you and helped you put his shirt on, your limbs feeling like jelly. You nestled your head into his neck, relaxing against his chest, almost sinking into him as you let your eyes shut, feeling safe with Deans arms wrapped around you, pressing gentle kisses to your forehead.

‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

a/n: if you guys want a sam, cas, or joel miller version lmk by commenting or sending a request in my inbox! this took SO LONG. but i love how it turned out, and i hope it gets love. i got inspiration to make this from my angel @y0inked , show hers some love when she posts hers for sammy !! not proofread, if there are mistakes i need to change, lmk!

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deansbeer · 2 months ago

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face riding with dean but your thighs are burning.

sticky notes 𓏵 everybody thank that one dean gifset with his stubble because this was the inspo behind it <3

the motel room is dimly lit by the flickering vacancy sign outside, casting everything in alternating shadows and neon red. you’ve lost track of how long you've been like this — knees planted on either side of dean’s head, thighs trembling with exertion as you rock against his mouth. the cheap headboard creaks with every movement, and you’re grateful sam decided to get his own room tonight.

“dean,” you gasp, fingers twisted in his short hair. “i can’t... my legs...” the burning in your thighs has graduated from pleasant ache to genuine fatigue, muscles protesting every roll of your hips. you try to lift yourself up, give yourself a break, but dean’s hands on your hips keep you firmly in place.

“you can,” he murmurs against you, the vibration of his voice making you shudder. his stubble scrapes against your inner thighs, a delicious contrast to his soft tongue. “doin’ good for me, sweetheart. just a little more.” one hand slides from your hip to tap gently against your thigh — once, twice, encouraging you to keep moving.

the thing about dean winchester is that he’s relentless. whether he’s hunting monsters or taking you apart with his mouth, he doesn’t do anything halfway. his tongue works against you with the same single-minded determination he brings to everything else, and even though your legs are screaming, you can’t help but rock down against him.

“that’s it, baby,” he praises when you find your rhythm again, his free hand sliding between your legs to join his mouth. his thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make your hips jerk. “fuck, you taste so good. could stay here all night.”

“you practically are,” you manage to say, which earns you a chuckle that sends vibrations through your core. it’s true though — dean’s been at this for what feels like hours, drawing out your pleasure until you’re a shaking mess above him. the man has the oral fixation of someone who’s spent too many years eating gas station food and is determined to savor anything good.

your thighs are properly shaking now, not just from arousal but from genuine muscle fatigue. you’ve been essentially doing squats for god knows how long, and even though the pleasure is incredible, your body has limits. “dean, please, i really can’t—”

he pulls back just enough to speak clearly. “yes, you can. know you can. you’re so fucking strong, baby.” his green eyes are dark in the low light, pupils blown wide as he looks up at you. there’s something wrecked in his expression, like getting you off is getting him off just as much. “love seeing you like this. using me, taking what you need.”

the praise shoots through you like lightning. dean doesn’t often get verbal during sex — he’s more of an action guy — but when he does, it never fails to affect you. his thumb presses harder against your clit as his tongue dives back in, and you cry out, grinding down despite your protesting muscles.

“there ya go,” he encourages, the hand on your hip tapping another rhythm against your skin. stay, it seems to say. keep going. i’ve got you. “so fuckin’ perfect. look at you, riding my face like you own it.” his voice is rough, muffled but still clear enough to make you flush. “that’s cause you do. you know. all yours.”

the combination of his words, his mouth, and his thumb on your clit is devastating. you’re close, have been close for a while, hovering on that edge as dean works you over. but your trembling thighs keep breaking your rhythm, making it hard to chase that final push over the edge.

“can’t, baby,” you whimper, frustration mixing with pleasure. “dean, i can’t move anymore.” your legs are jello, muscles completely shot, and you could cry from how badly you need to come but can’t get there.

“shh, i got you,” he soothes, and suddenly both hands are gripping your hips. “don’t need to move anymore, sweetheart. just let me...” he lifts his head, sealing his mouth over your clit and sucking hard while his tongue flicks rapidly against it. at the same time, he uses his grip on your hips to rock you against his face, doing the work for you.

“oh fuck,” you sob, hands scrambling for purchase against the headboard. “dean, dean, baby, fuck—“ the new angle and intensity are perfect, and within seconds you’re coming hard, thighs clamping around his head as waves of pleasure crash over you. he doesn’t let up, working you through it until you’re begging him to stop, oversensitive and shaking.

when he finally lets you collapse next to him on the bed, your legs feel like they might never work again. dean’s face is a mess of your juices, his stubble glistening in the low light, and he looks supremely pleased with himself as he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.

“told you you could do it,” he says smugly, pulling you against his chest. you can feel how hard he is against your hip, but for now he seems content just to hold you. “fuckin’ incredible, sweetheart. could watch you fall apart like that every night.”

“might need a few nights off,” you mumble against his chest. “pretty sure you broke my thighs.”

he laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair. “worth it though?”

“shut up,” you say, but you’re smiling. yeah, it was worth it. with dean winchester, it always is.

#ೇ ⊹⟆ ♡ ︎⸝⸝.ᐟ ink dreams.#stubble!dean #dean winchester #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester angst #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x female!reader #dean smut #dean winchester imagines #dean fanfiction #dean angst #supernatural dean #dean supernatural

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southernimpala · 3 months ago

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soap n' suds

dean winchester x fem!reader

summary ↬ while helping dean wash baby, you get a little wet

notice ↬ she is smuttyyy !! (mdni !), unprotected p!v, a lot of describing dean's muscles because goddamn, wrote this in class (per my other post), and i think i should do that more often, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.5k

it must be close to a hundred degrees outside, the heat of south dakota summers burning tanlines on your back. you’re sunbathing in the tall grass of bobby’s front yard, bathing suit top and shorts melting into your skin. the scratchy towel beneath you—one that’s definitely seen better days with questionable spots and stains—absorbs most of the sun, but as the rest of the warmth suffocates you, you question whether a good tan or an ice bath would be more beneficial.

luckily, the occasional mist from dean hosing down baby results in a little relief.

he’s clad in his favorite jeans, specks of dirt decorating the denim, and a black t-shirt, hugging his chest and curling tightly around his biceps. his hair is slicked back with sweat and water, shades sloping down the bridge of his nose as he scrubs the steel hood.

you squirm at the view, watching his taut muscles contract and stretch, and the occasional grunt as he reaches across the car to clean the other side sends an electric jolt down right where you need him.

“like what you see?” he calls out against the eagles tape playing from bobby’s old radio, smirking as he notices how your eyes haven’t moved from their fixation on him.

you pretend to be unbothered, “just trying to relax without getting splashed.”

“you look hot,” he says casually, making your stomach drop. you sit up quickly, propping yourself on your hands just as he clarifies, “i mean, you look like you’re sweating.”

the fog in your brain clears, and you scowl, laying back down, “asshole.”

he laughs, a deep rumble in his chest like the roar of the impala, and you’re dizzy again, “i say it cause i think you should come help me,” he points the hose at you and spritzes, “cool you off a little bit.”

you wipe the mist off your sunglasses and cave quickly, standing up and brushing off any grass shards sticking to the sweat on your legs; you’re almost positive the ‘tan’ you think you’re getting is, instead, a burn bordering sun poisoning.

“alright, i scrub, you wash off, got it?” he instructs, handing you the long green hose stretching across the yard from the house.

you nod, but as you fumble with the hose, you twist the setting on jet, drenching dean in cold water as droplets run down his face and clothes. his shades fly off his nose, and you’re quick to try to get the water turned off.

“shit, shit!” you squeak out, aiming the hose down as it spurts water into the grass.

“i told you to wash the car, not me,” dean teases, running a large hand through his wet hair.

you give a lopsided smile, “guess i got my baby’s mixed up.”

“yeah, yeah,” dean brushes off, sending a smirk that gets your knees weak, trailing his hands down to the hem of his soaked shirt before lifting it off his body and over his head, “no point in wearin’ this then is there?”

you almost collapse, his jeans resting right at the edge of his waist, v-line on full display and abs staring you dead in the face, begging to have your lips run across them.

“no,” you choke out, shaking yourself back to reality as he grabs the soapy sponge again, “not at all.”

his back muscles flex under the sunshine as he starts lathering soap onto the top of the car, the smell of clean, sweat, freshly mown grass, and dean’s signature cologne—his own musk—practically paralyzing you. when he cues you to start washing off the soap, your movements are robotic, an incessant thought becoming truly unbearable.

the music fades in your ears. suddenly, the only sound registered is his breaths as he pants under the heat.

you’re sure you haven’t gotten that much water on you after helping him for close to fifteen minutes—save for a refreshing mist here and there, and a little soap in your hair.

but, you can’t help but notice that the bathing suit bottoms you're wearing under your daisy dukes are soaked.

the impala begins to shimmer gorgeously under the hot midwestern sun, rivulets of water dripping off the slick black paint. dean stands proud, crossing his big arms over his chest as he admires his baby, expunged of any blood or dirt from the previous hunt, now a gleaming beauty—the popular girl amongst the other dingy cars in bobby’s lot.

dean sighs contently, a smile painted across his sharp features, “isn’t my baby beautiful.”

“yeah,” you agree, but you aren’t looking at the car, “yeah, she is.”

“no need to dry her off since the sun will—”

his words are harshly cut as you press your lips hard onto his, wasting no time slipping your tongue between his teeth, sucking on his mouth like a deprived leech.

he melts into it for a moment before pushing you back gently, eyes now hooded with confusion and lust, “what was that for?”

“it’s a thank you for keeping me cool,” you respond quickly, another heat besides the sun’s pulsing through your body as your hunger refuses to be contained, and your lips are locked once more.

immediately, he’s taken, hands gripping the back of your thighs as he lifts you easily onto the impala’s hood, your mouths never parting—too much need and want soaking into the kiss while your hands fist and tug his stringy locks.

the hot steel scorches your skin, and the moan that slides off your tongue and into his mouth at the feeling has him pressing into you harder, responding with a grunt of his own as he trails his lips down your jaw, your neck, and eventually the space between your cleavage as he licks, nips, and sucks.

“god, you have me so crazy for you right now,” he groans into your collarbone, nimble fingers reaching around to untie your sultry bathing suit top and wasting no time popping the buttons of your shorts right after.

you drag your nails between the ridges of his abs before you fumble his belt off, tugging his jeans all the way down his legs as he captures your mouth again, stepping out of his soaked pants, bulge causing you to salivate with only a single barrier left between the two of you.

“here? outside?” he pants, eyes flickering to the house where sam and bobby are indoors, doing god knows what, hopefully not looking outside any windows.

despite the fleeting moment of hesitancy, you both know there’s no way either of you are stopping.

“outside,” you respond breathlessly, squeaking as he lifts you to shimmy off your drenched bathing suit bottoms, wet with your primal desire for him.

and, god, does he deliver.

in one, slick motion, he slides effortlessly into your wetness, a mutual gasp escaping both your lips. his forehead comes to rest onto yours, sweat sticking, skin slapping. as he starts to pump into you with more effort, the impala starts to shake underneath you, moving harder and faster as he takes you right there on his precious baby.

“shit,” he grunts as you drag your nails across his back, definitely leaving scratches but he just feels so damn good, muscles flexing under your touch, hardness filling every inch of you as you stick together under the swelter.

your stomach begins to knot as he thrusts harder, and you whimper when he attaches his lips to your chest, sucking harshly on the pointed nub as you squirm in his firm hold.

“dean,” you whine, gripping his hair so tightly he squeezes his eyes shut in ecstasy, “f-fu-”

“feel so damn good,” he breathes into your skin, like he’s feasting off your lifeline, desperate for every inch of you, savoring your taste as it runs down your body.

you can tell he’s starting to fall apart just as you are; thrusts getting sloppier, more breathy, whimper-y moans instead of hard-ass grunts and groans escaping his lips before he can even attempt to hold them back. your own mewls mirror his, legs crossed around his waist as you feel the knot twisting and tightening at each sound, each pump, each lick.

then, his fingers, calloused and rough, sneak their way between your bodies. you inhale sharply at the intense sensation, rugged pads circling right there, and you’re certain it isn’t long until—

a gush of euphoria explodes in your lower stomach. your eyes roll back, and your body naturally falls against the hot impala as you shake and whimper because dean isn’t stopping, only going harder at the view of you completely falling apart for him.

“oh, fuck,” he drawls, your warmth tightening and squeezing around him as he’s pushed over the edge. he quickly pulls out before spilling himself all down your chest and stomach, head thrown back, soft, swollen lips trapped between his teeth as he bites down a moan.

you both pant as you try and recover from your highs, now even sweatier than before, and probably desperate for a shower and aloe gel.

when he finally opens his eyes, they instantly skim over your figure, covered in his cum as it drips down your body.

he lets out a breathy laugh, “guess i need to clean my other baby now.”

you give a tired smile, letting your head fall against the hood again in exhaustion, “yeah, i guess you do.”

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ dean winchester masterlist !

#dean winchester #supernatural #spn #dean winchester x fem!reader #dean winchester x female reader #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester one shot #dean x reader #dean x you #dean x reader smut #smut #fluff #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfiction #works #dean winchester x you

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thirdsaltyhunter · 9 months ago

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If I Catch You

Dean Winchester x female!Reader

Summary: Dean chasing you through the halls of the bunker in a ghostface mask, what more do you need

Warning: SMUT, if I catch you I f*ck you trope, mask k*nk, choking, praise, edging, manhandling

A/N: did I forget to post this yesterday cause I was to busy partying... yes but hopefully you'll enjoy this enough to forgive me

You had always loved Halloween even despite being a hunter. It brought back the happy memories from your childhood, when there were no worries, the monsters were only people in masks and the good guys always won at the end of every scary movie. Dean shared your appreciation for the holiday. Even before you and him started dating, you would often spend Halloween nights curled up on motel beds, watching horror marathons with all the snacks and sugar you could handle. Sam on the other hand didn't see the appeal. Sometimes he would join you in your movie watching, but it was mostly to appease you and avoid ridicule from Dean.

This year you and your boyfriend had the bunker all to yourself. Sam had chosen to spend the night with Eileen and leave the two of you to your festivities.

The empty bunker allowed the perfect opportunity for you and Dean to play out a fantasy that you had talked about a few nights before, when you were cuddled up bingeing the Scream franchise.

"Ghostface is hot," you blurted randomly in the middle of the movie. You mostly said this to see his reaction, but there was a hint of truth to your statement.

"Why?" he said in utter confusion. He paused the movie and looked down at you in his arms.

You shrugged. "I don't know masked men are just hot."

"Masked men?" he tried to hide the hint of amusement.

"Oh yeah, it's a real popular thing now. I can show you all the thirst trap videos."

"Yeah I don't need to see that."

You laughed at his look of disgust before he continued.

"So what your saying is that I need to get a Ghostface mask, hm?" he said with a smirk.

"I mean I wouldn't mind, have you chase me through the halls in it." You tilted your head back to face him, your lips almost touching.

"What happens when I catch you?", he asked with a devious smile, his hold on you tightening slightly.

"You'll have to find out," you responded, your voice sultry and teasing.

"I think that can be arranged."

One costume store purchase later and you found yourself in only a set of sexy underwear, standing in the empty hallway. The concrete floor was cool under your bare feet, but your racing pulse kept you from being cold.

Dean had given you a head start before he would try to come and find you. Your excitement was growing. He wasn't going to chase you, if it came down to a sprint race, Dean would win every time. No, he was going to hunt you. You knew this made the game more even, but you also knew that he was crafty and smart. Though in all honesty you wanted to be caught, you were just going to be a little tease before you let him find you.

You had just rounded the corner by the kitchen, when the power went out, causing the bunker's red emergency lights to come on.

Nice touch, you thought.

You heard his voice echo through the hall, signaling that he was coming to find you. Your adrenaline was pumping. Not out of fear, you knew Dean would never hurt you, but out of anticipation for what would happen when he found you.

You slipped into kitchen looking for a spot to hide. Unsatisfied with the spots, you head to the library. You hid in the far corner behind one of the shelves and waited. You listened for his footsteps but heard nothing, years of hunting had trained him to be light on his feet. When you finally heard his voice call your name he was much closer than you expected. He purposefully stepped heavy coming up the stairs from the War Room, his boots thudding against the stone.

You took the opportunity to dart out the door in the back of the library. The bookcase blocked you from his view, but he definitely heard the door shut. You bolted down the back hall, heart pounding as you rounded the corner just as the door opened behind you.

Quietly you slipped into one of the bedrooms and hid under the bed. You listened until his footsteps passed the door and went down the hall. Crawling out from your hiding spot, you checked to make sure the hall was empty before sprinting the opposite direction.

As you ran past the next hall you saw him rounding the other end. You picked up the pace, knowing he had seen you. You turned the next corner and stopped, pressing your back against the cool tile wall to catch your breath. When you decided the coast was clear you went to move to the next hall, when an arm wrapped around your middle, you back pinned to his chest.

You tried to wriggle from his grasp just making it free when you stumbled. You caught yourself, but his hand caught your ankle dragging you across the polished concrete floor and pulling you under him.

He rolled you over and you came face to face with the black eyes and long mouth of the mask, illuminated by the red glow of the lights. This was the first time you had actually seen him in the mask and it was even hotter than you imagined. When he pinned your hands above your head you knew you weren't getting away.

"Gotcha," he growled.

"What are you going to do with me now?" you said through panting breaths, partially from running, partially from how incredibly turned on you were right now.

"You'll have to find out," he responded before using one hand to pull his belt from his jean and loop it around your wrists.

Ok that was hot.

When your hands were secured, he stood up scooping you up off the floor and tossing you over his shoulder, delivering a quick smack to your ass before walking toward your shared bedroom. It wasn't often that he manhandled you like this and you were loving every second of it.

When you got to the bedroom, he tossed you onto the bed and straddled your legs. He hooked two fingers into the belt around your wrists.

"You want this to stay on?" he asked.

You nodded eagerly. Even being dominant and aggressive, he never wanted to push you limits, solely focused on giving you what you wanted.

"Stay," he ordered, getting up from the bed to strip down to his boxers, leaving the mask in place.

You watched him with lust blown eyes, your chest still rising and falling rapidly as you admired his body. He moved to the end of the bed, grabbing your ankle and pulling you to the end. Your underwear was pulled down your legs and tossed over his shoulder. He wrapped you legs around his hips and you could feel his clothed erection. You moaned grinding down on him until his arm crossed you hips, holding you still.

He ran two finger through your slick. '"So wet for me. Is this just from me chasing you?"

You nodded again.

He lowered to his knee, his masked face coming level with your dripping cunt. Two of his fingers dipped into you, immediately curling into the spot that made your back arch and your knees weak. Your head fell back letting the pleasure wash over you.

From the box under the bed, he pulled out your vibrator. He planned to torture you tonight.

"Don't cum until I'm inside you. Do you understand me?" he said turning the toy to the lowest setting and pressing it to your clit.

"Yes," you moaned, hands gripping the sheet above your head. You didn't know how long you were going to last. You were already on the edge of release and he had hardly touched you yet.

As you got close he removed the vibrator, running his hand up your thighs and squeezing your hips to sooth you. You whined and looked at him between you legs. You tried to give him your best puppy eyes, but you couldn't see his expression. You only were met with the blank stare of the mask and the vibrations returning to your sensitive cunt.

He continued teasing you, edging you another four or five times. You hated it and loved it at the same time. It amazed you how he knew exactly where to keep you on edge, or at least it would amaze you, if there was a single part of your brain that could think straight.

"Dean," you whined again, desperate for release.

"Beg for it," he responded sternly, fingers dipping inside you again.

"Please, fuck me." You squirmed, you didn't know if you wanted to get away from he sensation or fuck yourself on his fingers.

He sped up his motions and leaned over you body until he was face to face with you. You could just barely see his eyes, but you knew he was watching you fall into ecstasy.

"Please," you begged.

He removed his fingers and dropped his boxers. His cock was thick and dripping precum, edging you had teased him almost equally as much. He pulled your hips even closer to the edge of the bed and hooked your shaking legs over his shoulders. His hands gripped your hips firmly as he slid into you, filling you completely.

He watched your face as your head fell back in pleasure, a loud moan escaping your lips.

"That's my girl," he praised, running his hands up and down your sides, desperately trying to keep himself together.

He started thrusting into you, slow, but so deep you could hardly take it.

"Look at me," he said, his hand came up to circle around your throat to put your attention back on him.

Your eyes opened to watch as he fucked you. You could see a blush of exertion creeping down his neck from under the mask. He gently added pressure to the sides of your throat as the speed of his hips increased.

Your hands reached for him as you got closer to falling apart. Noticing how close you were, he started to circle your clit with his thumb. You came with cry of his name, your hand gripping his forearm, his hand loosening from your throat, causing you to feel almost high.

He planted his hand beside your head as his hips stuttered and he came with a deep moan. You both stilled for a few minutes, panting and trying to regain your bearings.

After a moment, he gently pulled out to go get a towel to clean up your combined mess. You squirmed from the sensitivity as he wiped you down. He whispered an apology before tossing the rag and undoing the belt from your wrists.

Finally removing the mask, he ran a hand down his face and smiled down at you. It was funny to see him have that boyish grin after playing the sexy, dangerous slasher for the past hour. He lifted you up to place you at the top of the bed against the pillows.

"That was awesome," he said, laying down beside you and wrapping you in his arms.

"Yeah it was, I fucking love you." You laughed and buried your head in his neck.

"I love you too sweetheart, and I love that I can do things like this with you."

You nodded in agreement before you started to feel how worn out you were.

Both of you were exhausted from your activities and quickly fell asleep, deciding to take a nap before settling down for a night of Halloween movies and junk food.

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bruisedfig · 2 months ago

Text

depression — dean winchester ݃⁺݄+

summary: it’s breaking dean’s heart to see you wilting away in his bed, suffering from a depressive episode.

warnings: depression (symptoms, behaviours, thoughts, etc.), non-sexual nudity, angsty fluff, angsty/sad dean, pure comfort, loverboy!dean, depressed!reader, set in the bunker/later seasons (bf!dean x gf!reader)

wc: 4.28k

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dean winchester had never been a stranger to letting dark feelings consume him; he knew what it was like to feel like you’re drowning from the inside with thoughts that made your soul crumble piece by piece.

he knows.

he gets it.

but with you? it was different.

you weren’t like him—you allowed yourself to wallow in your sadness, letting it suffocate you like a weighted blanket until one day it magically lifts and you’re back to being yourself. it was routine at this point, something you just accepted as part of your life.

dean, however, spent his days existing alongside his depression, running through life like a bulldozer, never allowing himself to rot in the sadness—because deep down he knew he wouldn’t be able to get back out—but instead using it as a means to keep himself going through the challenges he faced.

his heart ached as he watched you spend day after day in his bed, withering away amongst the sheets, letting your unspoken thoughts and feelings eat at you, draining the usual light in your eyes into dull lifeless voids.

each morning was the same routine.

“you want some breakfast, baby?” dean asks, sitting on the side of the bed with his hand carefully threading through your greasy unkempt hair.

you shake your head. again.

and dean sighs. it’s like clockwork.

“you sure? i can bring you something.”

“just wanna sleep,” you mutter, your quiet croaky voice barely louder than a whisper.

dean’s heart breaks in his chest. you look so sad. so broken. so absent.

he looks away, not wanting you to see his frown. “alright. i’ll– uhh… i’ll leave you be then,” he sighs and wipes a hand down his face. “i’ll be in the library with sam if you need me, okay?”

and with a creak of the mattress and another soft sigh, he’s out of the room, and you’re back in the quiet solitude of his bunker bedroom, blanketed by the dull smell and thick air that seems all-consuming.

back in it.

back in the midst of your own tired brain, spewing out things you’d never dare say aloud.

things you’d never share with dean.

but dean’s not an idiot. he knows depression like the back of his hand, and he’s seen your episodes before—though it doesn’t make it any less painful whenever you enter one.

you spend your days in and out of consciousness, swimming in the dire thoughts that plague your mind and leave you feeling empty.

and you perhaps look even worse than you feel. you should be embarrassed, you think, letting dean see you like this—the unwashed hair, the unbrushed teeth, the crinkled pyjamas you’ve been wearing for days that are starting to smell.

but you don’t care.

it’s hard to care.

you’re so wrapped up in your own brain, trying to fight the onslaught of grim thoughts, that you don’t even see the impact you’re having on dean.

he’s tried everything.

he was gentle at first—the soft-spoken words and tender touches that just made you feel worse.

guilty… maybe.

and when his soft love didn’t help, he moved onto bringing you things, like a meal or your toothbrush, but every time he tried, he was met with a grunt or hum of disinterest.

and it broke his fucking heart.

even sam could see the stress that your dynamic was having on dean. he watched his brother wallow in despair, going days without a smile and the usual bite of confidence that he walked around with. he was losing himself in worry, but yet, the pair of them were clueless when it came to helping you; they didn’t know what to do.

they’d grown up just coexisting in their shared anguish, not letting their afflictions get in the way of life. they couldn’t afford to let it get in the way, no matter how much they were struggling.

but you were different.

and to them it was different.

so as the days of you rotting in his bed went by, dean’s own light began to fade. he walked around the bunker dejected and heavy-hearted, just existing with a sad level of apathy. he didn’t care for the cases sam would bring up; he couldn’t find it in himself to worry about the potential victims or the entities that were no doubt wreaking havoc.

not when he was worrying about you.

you were lying in his bed, half asleep, as you heard dean’s footsteps patter down the hallway. you pulled the blanket further up under your chin, almost shielding yourself from him and whatever he was going to say to you.

the door opened with a creak, the light from the hallway illuminating the dark room. dean popped his head in, letting his eyes land on you. “sweetheart?” he asked quietly, letting his gentle voice float through the stagnant air that reeked of you.

when you didn’t respond, he sighed, opening the door wider and stepping into the room. you felt his weight pull down the mattress as he sat, and his hand met your side over the blanket, gently rubbing, trying to coerce a response out of you.

“it’s 4 o’clock,” dean murmured, studying your face and the way you hid it in the pillow. “you don’t wanna get up? you’re not hungry?”

he knew his questions were redundant. he’d asked them every day since you’d first fallen into this depression.

you shook your head against the pillow. “m’tired,” you muttered.

“i know, sweetheart. i just–” dean sighed, “i’d just like you to eat something. it’s late… and i’m sure you’re hungry.”

he waited.

but you didn’t respond.

“i can make you a sandwich. some toast?” he offered, still rubbing your side over the sheets.

you shook your head again, silently pleading for him to give up like he usually does with these conversations.

“baby, please,” dean’s voice wavered, his usual gruff tone wobbling with emotion as he looked down at you. “please,” he begged again.

“not hungry,” you muttered, finally giving him a reply with words.

dean sighed. his hand moved up to your head, brushing some hair out of your face. his touch was gentle and reverent, like you were something that’d break if he wasn’t careful.

cause perhaps you were.

“i know you’re not, sweetheart, but i want you to eat something. you need to.”

the stale air around you felt thicker as the moments of silence grew, and you felt it suffocating you.

“please, dean,” you tried.

“no… i’m gonna make you something, and you’re gonna eat it for me, okay?”

your eyes finally fluttered open and hesitantly looked up to his. dean’s eyes immediately softened. there you were.

“baby…”

the look of hopelessness on his face made your chin tremble—it was beyond your control. the way his eyes looked sunken in was a reflection of your own misery.

he moved his hand to rest against your cheek. his touch was warm, and you found yourself swimming in the contact.

“c’mon, angel. please…” his voice was strained, tight with emotion that he was trying to keep from spilling out all over you; he didn’t need to make you feel any worse. “let me get you up. come sit in the kitchen. just you and me.”

he didn’t give you time to argue with his words. instead, he gently peeled the blanket away and slid his hands under your body.

a groan of protest left your throat, but your body melted into his as he pulled you up off the mattress.

“there we go,” dean muttered, letting you sit against him. your tired eyes blinked at him, conveying all the words you couldn’t find the energy to speak. “i know, sweetheart, i know. just for ten minutes, yeah?”

you blinked slowly, watching his face search yours. his expression was a mixture of concern and empathy, and you felt your heart lurch at the sight, knowing you were the cause.

his hand stroked your cheek as the silence grew once more. “you’re… you’re a bit ripe, baby,” dean finally spoke, his tone gentle and a little reluctant.

you swallowed. you knew those words should embarrass you, but… you couldn’t find the energy to care. “i know,” you whispered.

dean nodded. “c’mere…”

his big arms wrapped around you, caging you against his chest. his hand rubbed your back, attempting to soothe away the sadness he could feel emanating off you.

you melted into his embrace, his warmth alleviating some of the tension in your body.

“i love you, baby. let me look after you… please. it kills me to see you like this,” he whispered into your hair.

you let out a soft noise, one that left your throat without your permission.

“i know,” dean murmured. he pulled back and looked down at your face, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. his eyes softened as he met your tired gaze. “i’m gonna run you a bath, okay? i’m gonna help you.”

he nodded along with his words, almost reassuring you with his actions.

you wanted to argue. you wanted to tell him to go away, that you didn’t want a bath, that you just wanted to sleep.

but the pain in dean’s expression stopped you. the way the frown tugged down on his lips and the way his eyes silently pleaded with you had your chest tightening.

“okay.”

dean let out a shaky breath. “yeah, okay. good… that’s my girl.” he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, letting his lips stay against your skin for a few moments before pulling back. “you stay here. i’ll be right back.”

he pulled away from you, your body instantly feeling cold at the absence of his touch. he ducked out into the hallway and down to the bunker bathroom, ready to fill the tub for you and wash off your layer of grime.

you slumped back down into the mattress, your heart beating faster in resigned anticipation. you didn’t want to get up. you didn’t want a bath. you just wanted to fall back into sleep and avoid being awake, like you’d been doing all week.

but dean’s face appeared in your mind, and you knew how much this meant to him. your heart ached knowing you were the cause of his sadness, and so you sat back against the sheets, waiting with a heavy heart for him to return.

dean entered the room again only moments later. he stood beside the bed looking down at you, a cautious yet glum smile pulling at his lips. “bath’s running. you just– you just wait there.”

you watched him pull out the drawers of his dresser, grabbing an old shirt and a pair of his boxers, before dipping back out of the room in a rush.

a few minutes passed before dean returned again. he approached your sad state on the bed and loomed over you with a steady presence. “okay, sweetheart. bath’s full. c’mere.”

he bowed down and slipped his hands under your lifeless body, pulling you away from the warm sheets of the bed and into him. your head instinctively ducked into his neck, searching for closeness as he began carrying you out to the bathroom.

“it's gonna be okay, baby,” dean murmured into your hair. “i’m gonna look after you, okay?”

his gentle words made your heart flutter, the first sign of life in your chest in days. a warmth spread, and you sighed, nodding in response.

dean walked you into the bathroom, closing the door with his foot before setting you down in front of him. the tiles were cold against your feet, and the fresh air of the bathroom invaded your nose. it was a lot, after being surrounded by the stale air of his bedroom for so long, but dean’s presence somehow made it all feel okay.

you looked at him, waiting to see what he’d do, but his eyes were already on you—round and wide with that same glimmer of concern, but still full of so much love.

“let’s get you undressed,” he said softly, his hands already moving to the pyjama shirt you’d been marinating in for the past few days.

you nodded, wordlessly, and let him pull it over your head, your arms slipping out of the fabric and covering your bare chest. dean’s eyes flickered down to the covered skin, and a small smile grew on his lips. “s’nothing i haven’t seen before, baby. you’re alright.”

you felt a smile threaten to tug on your own lips at his small remark—another beat of life returning to you momentarily.

dean pulled down your pyjama shorts and underwear in another careful movement, gently lifting your feet to slip them out of the leg holes.

“there we go,” he huffed softly, throwing your soiled clothes into the laundry basket.

dean’s face softened as his gaze returned to you, and his eyes swept over your form reverently. “my beautiful girl,” he breathed out, the love seeping from his words. your sad heart soaked it up as he cupped your cheek with his palm, the contact almost electrifying for a moment, waking you up from your slightly hazy state.

“let’s get you in the tub, yeah?” he murmured once again, his green eyes flickering between yours in assurance.

you nodded.

and dean nodded in return before leaning down and pressing a kiss to your forehead, “that’s my girl.”

he guided you to the bathtub. bubbles floated on top of the water, and steam plumed up into the air. the sweet scent of your body wash filled your nostrils as you stood in front of it.

dean watched your eyes take in the sight, a small smile gracing his face. “i did alright, didn’t i?” he let out a soft laugh.

you glanced up at him, your heart skipping a beat at his beautiful face. god, you loved him. “yeah,” you replied softly, your voice nothing more than a mere whisper.

but still, dean smiled.

he was pulling more words from you in fifteen minutes than he had been for the past week.

“hop in, baby. it’s nice and warm.”

you tentatively dipped a foot in, testing the temperature, before committing and taking a seat in the water.

the warm water surrounded you, gently lapping at your skin like gentle kisses on an ocean shore. it felt nice, and you were already feeling better than you had been all week.

“good?” dean asked as he lowered himself beside the tub, sitting on his knees.

you relaxed back against the porcelain. “good.”

dean smiled once more, taking in the sight of you. “i’m glad,” he murmured. he let his hand reach over the tub and dip under the water, meeting your knee. he gave it a gentle squeeze.

you let out a deep sigh, a long sound that seemed to escape your lungs without your consent. dean just nodded. “i know, baby,” he said, squeezing your knee again. “i'm gonna wash you and get you back to bed. i know you’re feeling rough, my baby. just let me do this for you.”

his tender words struck at your heart, your heartstrings tightening as a frown grew on your lips. as little as his words seemed at face value, they meant the world. he saw you. he saw the pain that existed within you, and yet, he was okay with it. he understood it, and you could see he was more than willing to help you shoulder it. that much was clear.

and so you nodded once more, words seeming too daunting for you to handle. dean hummed and picked up your shampoo bottle from beside the tub. “can you wet your hair for me?” he asked, his soft eyes falling over your face.

you swallowed and slipped down, dipping your head into the water.

you found yourself falling back into a hazy state as dean began washing your hair, his gentle hands massaging the suds into your scalp—the motion tender and careful, like he was touching you for the first time again, cautious that you’d pull away.

your eyes fluttered shut, your wet lashes draped over your warm cheeks as he rinsed and conditioned your hair. emotions bubbled in your chest at the feeling of being looked after, cared for like your soul had been aching for. dean took care of you with such love, and your fragile soul soaked it up, revelling in his presence for the first time in days instead of feeling repulsed by it.

the salty tears escaped your eyes while dean began scrubbing your body clean.

dean saw them.

“oh, sweetheart,” his voice wavered. his free hand came up and cupped your cheek, almost guiding your face to meet his gaze. “it’s okay. you’re okay.”

you looked at him through your blurry vision, the tears still spilling down your cheeks and your throat closing up from how much his touches were forcing up emotions that suffocated your airways.

you whimpered.

“i know, baby, i know. i’m so sorry you feel like this,” dean murmured. he leaned forward and placed a kiss on your forehead, letting his lips linger a few seconds longer than necessary, as if he was trying to kiss away some of the hurt from inside of you.

your lips trembled, and your chin quivered. it felt too much. it all felt too much.

you let out a sob—a quiet one, the sound broken and pained.

dean felt his heart rip. there was no other way to describe it. he felt your pain evaporate from your insides and expel itself into the air in the form of sobs.

maybe your tears were good, and maybe your sobs too.

he kept gently scrubbing your body clean, his heart twisting at every cruel sound that escaped you. “i know, angel, i know. i’m so sorry. i wish i could make it better.”

you cried.

for the first time in weeks.

you felt the floodgates open, and you had no way of closing them. the sounds were almost guttural, ravaging your insides and tearing out of your mouth.

but as painful as it all seemed, your sobs lightened it—lessened the load of what you were carrying inside, lightened the heavy feeling that had manifested itself into the dull ache in your chest.

you couldn’t see through your tears by the time dean had drained the bath and managed to wrap you in a towel and pull you into his arms.

“i wish i could take away your pain. i’d take all of it, every last drop, baby, just so you’d never have to feel like this again,” he whispered into your hairline. his voice was so soft, so raw, and so sincere. “i’m so sorry.”

he kept his strong arms around you, holding onto you like a vice, feeling like you’d shatter into a million pieces if he were to let go. you just collapsed into him, your body seeking his comfort after days of stubbornly rejecting it.

when really

it was all that you’d needed.

you couldn’t say how long you stood in the bathroom together, just letting him hold you. but it didn't matter. you felt your internal turmoil lessen with each second that passed, like dean alone was sucking out the oxygen that kept your pain’s flame alight.

your heart beat in your chest; a steady rhythm gently pounding under your skin. you could feel dean’s too, right under your ear as you rested your head against him, neither of you caring about soaking his shirt with your wet hair or the droplets of water that were landing on the floor.

it didn’t matter.

dean finally pulled his head back, a gentle sigh escaping his lips. his gaze flickered down to your face still buried in his chest, searching for solace in his touch, in his presence.

“i love you so much,” he muttered, his voice low and delicate, not wanting to break the moment. “i want you to get better… and i want you to talk to me, okay? i want to help with whatever’s going on in here.”

he gently poked at your temple.

you swallowed down the lump in your throat. it felt scratchy from how badly you’d sobbed your throat raw.

but you looked up at him, blinking. you nodded.

dean nodded back.

he was gentle as he pressed you against the counter, the back of your legs hitting the edge. and he was even gentler as he rubbed in your moisturiser and towel-dried your hair.

he was so beautiful. so patient. so understanding.

and though your insides were turning inside out, practically screaming at you to back away and hide in the comfort of his dark bedroom, you stayed put, allowing dean’s presence to mute the constant array of dark thoughts from bouncing around in your mind.

he soothed you. inside and out.

and part of you hated yourself for rejecting this for so long, denying yourself his comfort.

dean thought you looked vacant as he dressed you, pulling up his old boxers over your legs and covering you in one of his shirts. his chest hurt, but again, this was more from you than you’d given him in a week.

and that meant something.

he didn't let go of you the entire walk back to his bedroom. his hand was wrapped around yours, tight, almost like he was trying to remind you of the devotion he felt for you.

the smell of his bedroom air hit your nose as you walked back in. was it really this bad before? it was like your innermost thoughts were hung in the air, polluting the room with a foul stench that reeked of misery.

you frowned.

dean let his hand run up your arm, wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you into him again. you let him, melting into his warm embrace.

“you hungry? don’t say no.”

you glanced up at his face, taking in his softened expression. you allowed yourself to nod.

“okay, yeah. good,” he murmured. he pulled away, reaching over to his desk. you saw the plate in his hand. two pieces of toast sat on top of the ceramic dish.

“i texted sam…” he explained, trailing off as he passed you the plate.

you nodded again. “thank you,” you returned, a quiet muttering.

“i– i’m gonna change the sheets, sweetheart. i can’t– i can’t sleep another night in them… and that’s saying something… you know, coming from me,” he said, his humour lightening up the heavy mood of the room. he smiled gently. “you sit. eat.”

dean pulled out his desk chair and gestured for you to take a seat. you slumped down into it, letting out a soft sigh.

he kept his eyes on you as he pulled the dirty sheets off his bed, stripping it bare as he watched you take small hesitant bites of the toast that sam had made. you looked tired, practically fusing back into the chair, but at least you were up. that's what dean told himself.

“gonna grab some new sheets, okay? finish your toast, baby. i'll be back in a sec.” he spoke to you like how someone speaks to a toddler—gentle and soft like the wrong word or tone would send you spiralling back into bed for another week, but he couldn’t afford that, not when he had managed to get this far with you.

you nodded, and he left the room with the dirty sheets in hand, returning only moments later with the fresh linen that immediately lifted the room’s scent.

you had finished your toast by the time dean was done pulling the sheets onto the bed. you put the empty plate back onto his desk and looked up at him with wide tired eyes.

dean came over, standing in front of your legs. “all done?”

you nodded. “yeah.”

his hand made contact with your head, brushing some of your damp hair back and petting you. his movements were gentle, like he had to be extra delicate with you in your fragile state, but his touch sent a surge of love and affection through you—something that jolted you awake for what felt like the first time in days.

you looked up at his face, like really looked up.

“i love you,” you muttered out, no louder than a whisper.

dean’s hand paused in your hair. his face softened. “i know, baby. i love you too… more than anything in the world.”

his hand slipped down to your cheek, cupping it tenderly. his palm was warm, almost searing against your skin with unspoken words of affection. his thumb rubbed along your cheekbone.

“can i hold you?” he asked, his twinkling green eyes searching yours, rounded like he was bracing himself for you to say no.

but you nodded, leaning into his touch. “please.”

dean let out a breath. “mmkay, up you get then, angel.”

you stood up from the chair. he pulled the sheets back, helping guide you back into the warmth and safety of his bed. dean slipped in after you, the mattress dipping under his weight. his arms immediately wrapped around your waist, pulling you into him.

you felt your body relax for the first time in days, releasing all the tension from your muscles and melting against him almost innately. you sighed, closing your eyes.

dean pulled you closer. “i got you, sweetheart. you know i’ve always got you.”

fig yaps: first time doing proper angst !!!!!! i hope it’s not cringe omf i’m hiding away after i post this !!!! BUT comfort fic ??? hopefully !!! i started writing this when i took my lil break bc i was sad as hell and all i wanted was for dean to look after me LMAOOO i hope u enjoyed <3

reblogs and feedback are appreciated :P

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