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supernotnatural2005 · 2 months ago

Text

Wow…

Jolly this was, holy moly 🥵

The tension, the intimacy and chemistry between these two! 😭 and the heat between them. Oh my lawd 🥵

I love that she knows what he needs (in true Dean fashion he’s no good at verbally conveying his feelings) and can compromise with letting him deal with it his way 🥹

“Love me the way you need me.”

I really loved this line! It just showcased showed her level of commitment to him 😮‍💨

And then that ending, leaving me on the edge!

😩 i can’t wait to dive into part 3! Amazing Jolly 💗💗

"Love me the way you need me" - Part 2.

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE BadWolf!Dean x SweetVixen!Reader 🍓🥃 -> MASTERLIST [Special Forces AU, SquadLeader!Dean]

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT (light) 18+ MDNI, established relationship, age gap, fluff, teasing, dom!Dean, needy!Dean, slight somno, sleepy!reader, Dean being desperate for reassurance, slow build up!, petting, (almost) fingering, praising, pet names, arguing, angst, cliffhanger for part three smut (hehe). POV's all over the place. lmk if I forgot something!

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY Dean returned home pretty rattled from the last hunt. But it's nothing some good morning sex couldn’t fix, right?

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 5k

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTE Might edit later?? My partner's holding me at gun point, "just post it" - okay sir 😭

Previous: Part 1. <- -> Next: Part 3.

Stubbles prickle the shell of your ear. Scratch your sensitive skin to make your cheeks twitch. Your eyelashes flutter, but the heavy sleep holds them down.

You must’ve fallen asleep again.

For just a split second, you allow the living room to come into view. The warm, golden light of the room filters through your eyelashes before you quickly dip back into the comforting darkness of sleep.

Early morning still, you figured.

But something claws at the inside of your chest. Wiggles its way down to your subconscious. Invading your peaceful slumber.

Then realization hits you; Dean.

In an instant, the drumming of your pulse hammers in your ears and your breath catches in your throat.

Memories of Dean, battered and beaten, resurface, the images pulsing and fading across the darkness of your inner eye. It has your stomach contract with knots and the heat shoot under your skin as the void surrounding you slowly morphs into a nightmare and —

Soft breaths interrupt your spiralling thoughts, right next to your ear.

Your heartbeat slows again;

He’s here.

Against your back, the drumming of his heart mixes with yours.

And he's okay. You remind yourself, and allow the tension to fade away as his warmth seeps through your thin fabrics like a calming blanket.

A deep exhale leaves your body. The familiar smell of leather, as well as Dean’s faint musk and the subtle remnants of his last salt-and-burn fill your senses. Reassuring you of his presence.

Below you, the leather of the couch creaks softly. You stir slowly from kisses trailing a way up to your left cheek, each movement accompanied by the familiar whisper of the chain clinking around his dog tags. Another sign that he’s returned safely from the mission.

Dean’s chest is still pressed against your back, his strong arms enveloping you from behind, pulling you flush against him. Shifting in his protective embrace, your body nudges further into him as it searches more of his body heat. As if to calm your mind, to reassure yourself that he’s still here, he’s not going anywhere.

Another deep breath leaves your lungs and you relax into his firm chest.

His left hand responds by sliding down your front, lightly massaging your thighs through the fabrics of your pyjama. A shiver runs through your body, making your dozy mind buzz in excitement. Still halfway asleep, you instinctively tip your head to the side, gaining him better access.

Dean takes the cue.

Leaning over you, he places a few tender kisses to the crook of your neck. Here one, there one. Slow. Teasing. Mapping the slope of your neck. Ghosting your skin before his chapped lips wet and he steals another patch of your body by claiming it as his. Just like a wolf marking its territory.

You feel him hum, the sound tickling your ear.

He sounds content.

A tired smile creeps onto your lips.

„Mornin’, sunshine…“ Dean’s voice is deep and thick with that early morning huskiness.

The raspy tone vibrates through your body, tingles your core and has your head roll back into his shoulder in submission.

Even with your eyes closed, your sleep-addled mind can perfectly picture the way he looks down at you right now.

How the corner of his lips tug at the rough stubbles covering his jaws, playing at his lazy smile. How his hair’s dishevelled from burying his head in the crook of your neck. How his hooded eyes keep changing colour in the soft light. Like golden speckles dancing across emerald glades.

You keep slipping in and out of consciousness. Sleep just seems as alluring right now as feeling Dean’s touch.

“...You good?” you hear his low voice somewhere next to your ear, his weight pressing into you.

You manage a slurred “Hmm” in response, lips melted into a content smile as sleep clings to you and coaxes you back to dreamland.

“...Just relax for me…” he says soothingly, his breath brush your ear shell. Prickling and soothing at the same time.

And you do relax. Knowing that he's here, with you. Feeling his content smile rest next to yours. It has every part of you melt into his touch while you mentally pull the blanket back over your head.

With a soft sigh, you give in to the weight pulling you down and you sink back into your light slumber.

“...That’s my girl…”

Meanwhile more kisses make their way across the side of your face.

Slow, sloppily, as he drags his lips along your jaw. Open-mouthed and wet once he reaches the corner of your curved lips, where the tip of his tongue maps the silent content which still embellishes your face.

Your lips part with a soft moan.

In response, Dean groans against you. The sound hoarse and the smell like whiskey when it enters your mouth.

His fingers leave your thigh to slip under your pyjama’s hem, forcing the top to make room for his large, warm palms. He pushes further up, his fingertips tracing the curves just below the swell of your bosom. You shiver and subtly arch your back into his touch until he finally cups your breasts.

A moan shakes through your chest when he starts to knead your tits, perked nipples pinched between his fingers.

The noises that slip past your lips has Dean’s low growl rumble next to your ear.

He twists your pokies between his thumb and trigger finger – until you gasp. Then feel him nip at your earlobe, cheekily, while his groping picks up in intensity.

Oh okay, someone's clearly in the mood.

As if to proof you right, Dean starts to grind his hard erection against your back while he drags a lazy trail with his tongue all the way up to the underside of your jaw. Silently telling you ‘I licked it, so it’s mine.’

You shudder.

„De…“ his name tumbles out, with your tongue still heavy with sleep.

„Mmmh-hm,“ he hums.

The kisses grow in intensity, his breath picking up in excitement.

You feel his teeth graze your skin as his mouth works his way along the crook of your neck again. Wet, sharp, the breath of his mouth hot. Whatever part he can reach, he makes sure to coat your skin in slick, to mark his path. Tasting you like it's his first meal in weeks. Which, sexually speaking, is the case.

With every exhale through his nose, the cold puffs of air elicit a trail of goosebumps along your damp skin.

You shiver and squirm. Eyes shut, still caught somewhere in a state of light slumber.

Dean’s grip tightens. Rakes his teeth across the soft flesh at your pulse point – like a playful warning – but the familiar pinch of his bite remains absent.

You still. Breath heavier, shaky. The heat’s pooling between your legs, unconsciously rubbing them together to find some form of friction.

“Ah-ah-ah… let me do the work…” he chides. One of Dean’s knees slips over your side to trap your restless legs under the weight of his strong calf.

“De… please…” you push the words out, thick with need and heavy from drowsiness.

“I know, baby… I know…” he murmurs, and places a tender kiss to the corner of your lips.

Before he gets to tease you any longer, you angle your shoulders and turn your head to the side to capture his lips, needing more of him.

The first real kiss since he’d came stumbling home. The first in two long weeks.

Dean doesn’t protest. Instead he moans against your mouth, the sound close to a strangled, hoarse whimper, like he’s secretly been waiting for you to do this ever since he returned.

His tongue pushes past your lips, demanding and hungry as it dances with yours, drawing a row of wanton noises from you.

You taste the hint of aged whiskey still clinging to his tongue. Iron briefly mixes into it when your teeth graze his split lip. His nose presses into your cheek. Teeth chasing your lips to pull you back into a passionate kiss. His facial hair scrapes your soft skin - has your lips buzzing when they brush across stubbles to tug at them teasingly.

His sounds, his taste, his plump lips on yours, the familiar beardburn - it all has you gasp for air. Like a firework’s burning inside you, threatening to unleash a whole wildfire.

You revel in the way your other senses seem to be sharpened with your vision still wrapped up in darkness. The heavy, but comfortable weight of sleep mixes with your arousal. It’s intoxicating. It’s exciting. It turns every touch of Dean’s into your only connection to the outerworld. Your only source of pleasure.

Whenever Dean wakes you with his kisses and hands exploring your body, it makes something inside you want to stay in this vulnerable position. It has you give in, ready to hand over complete control. To entirely submit to him. To let him do with you whatever he pleases, while you hang in the sheets and just let him claim you all over, again and again.

That man, he could truly make you want to be at his mercy with just a single touch of his fingers.

And worst? He knows. Oh he knows. And he loves to take advantage of it.

One of his hands abandons your breasts to slip out of your top, sliding back up your body to your throat. At the same time you lift your arm over your head to blindly thread your fingers into his hair, tugging him down.

“C’mere…” he groans against your lips and grabs your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your face for a better angle. The kiss turns fervent, both of you fighting the urge to catch your breath.

When he finally pulls back, just enough for you both to suck in the hot air that has gathered between you, your eyes flutter open and your gaze locks for the first time.

The air catches in your throat. First thing you see through your eyelashes; Intense emerald orbs hold onto your hooded eyes.

It’s raw. It’s intimate. It’s calming as much as it’s hot and sending sparks flying.

Your chest’s heaving, just like you can feel his press into your back heavily. Dean’s breath blows against your face. The hot puffs of air are flooding your senses. The distinct smell of his cologne, a taste of his last liquor, a tinge of motor oil and gunpowder- mixed with that musky smell of raw Dean – it fills your lungs, clouds your still sleep-addled mind. And it makes you weak – has your head reeling.

“There you are, gorgeous,” he murmurs huskily, his split lips still hovering above yours.

You giggle softly, your lips brushing his by doing so. “Hi there, handsome.”

The air between you feels charged. Hot with lust and yearning.

But there’s also a flicker of something else in his eyes. It passes by so quickly that you can’t be sure whether it was of any importance or you’re just overthinking again.

Yet you feel like the air shifted for a beat. There was a flash of – what was it? Uncertainty? You couldn’t tell – and before you get to comment on it, Dean suddenly moves.

His hand grips your hip like a handle, using it to roll you over onto your back while he slips between your legs to hover over you. A surprised gasp gets knocked out of your lungs when your shoulder blades hit the leather and the ceiling comes into view.

Dean crawls over you like a predator, lowering himself until his forehead rests against yours, propped up on his forearms on each side of you, chest hovering over you and his dog-tag’s jingling at his neck as they find purchase in the valley of your covered breasts.

“Look at you… You’re so perfect for me… you know that?” his voice comes out deep and low. Intense eyes search yours, his breath hot when it mingles with your own as his nose brushes yours.

The response forms on your lips but he dips down to catch them before the words make it out.

He swallows your sounds before he pulls at your lower lip with a low groan, close to a growl. Eyes darkened with hunger.

You lift your hands to card your fingers through his hair. The nails scrape his scalp, earning yourself a strangled whimper. Your lip slips from his teeth and his head drops to your shoulder as he succumbs to your touch like a tamed wolf.

Leaning in, you push the fabric of his white shirt aside, just enough for you to place a row of tender kisses there.

His tense muscles twitch from every contact.

The reaction has your eyebrows furrow.

“You’re so strung up, honey…” you coo, searching his green eyes for a hint of an admission. It’s clear as daylight that the last hunt must’ve rattled him more than he’s willing to admit. And sure enough, his gaze averts yours, as if the fuzzy rug under the coffee table’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the room.

You sigh, your focus back on his shoulder. “Lemme ease you up…” You let a hand slip from his hair and down to the crook of his neck, your fingers rubbing into the taut string of muscle there.

“’M fine.” he says gruffly, his face turned your way now, eyebrows pulled low.

Your hand stills at his pointed look. Yet you cannot help but let your eyes flit across his lined face in concern.

“Just le-”

“Nuh-uh.” He perks his lips and shakes his head. “None of that crap now.” Before you get to say another word, one of his hands dart up to capture both of your wrists, guiding them above your head and pinning them there.

“Sweetheart,” Dean sighs, “I said I want you to relax.” His lips twitch into a crooked smirk. It makes him seem cheeky, but you don’t miss the hint of an underlying plea to it. “Think that stubborn ass of yours can do that for me?”

You huff in response. When he narrows his eyes and tilts his head in that reprimanding way of his, you give in and nod.

“That’s my girl.”

Shifting his weight to the other arm next to your head, he switches hands to wrap his fingers around your wrists again, freeing his other, so he can run his large hand over the bumps and valleys of your body.

Whenever the tips of his fingers brush a part of exposed skin, a shiver runs through your body.

While his palm starts to dip down your pants to stroke your stomach, his darkened eyes are on yours the entire time.

Dean watches you closely. Not just the twitches and shivers that run through your body when his fingers dip between your legs teasingly. But how you let go, how you give him full control, how your body’s at his full mercy, how you trust him -

The thought has his stomach twist.

You trust him without a second thought. Out of all people – with all the things he has done in his life. After what he'd done on his last hunt.

He shakes his head, almost imperceptibly. His focus returns to you.

How your body responds to his every touch as he skims the insides of your thighs, how you moan at his words, his voice, his hands, his lips and teeth – all of him leaving love letters scattered across your innocent body like he‘s ruining you with his love.

Could he ruin you? His muscles tense up at the idea.

The fingers hover over your slick folds, hesitant.

Your body twitches from need for some form of relief. “Please- Dean… don’t stop-” you beg him breathlessly, your eyes fluttered closed as you’re trying to fight the urge to buck your hips up.

“Right- yeah... yeah, I got’ya baby, I got’ya…” he mutters, voice gruff as he snaps out of his spiralling thoughts once more.

His fingers run along your folds, the slick coating his digits as he spreads your wetness across your flesh all the way up to the bundle of nerves that’s itching to be touched.

A guttural moan drops off your lips, head tipped back, hands straining under his firm grip.

The reactions he can coax out of you has him bite back a groan, eyes fluttering close for a moment.

God – It makes him want nothing else but to claim you all over again. Mark you. Have you mark him.

When you suddenly buck your hip up and start to rub yourself against his covered erection which is throbbing and straining his boxers, he goes stiff, his eyelashes fly up and a low growl rumbles through his chest.

“Don’t,” he warns gruffly while his hand leaves your wrists to lock your hips in place, “Don’t move. Just… lemme take care of you… Wanna make you feel good… Please.”

You still, taken aback by the way he added a weak ‘please’, like it just slipped his mind due to every fraction of his will being trained on keeping control over his body.

“Dean,” you whisper softly but he seems too much lost in thought, his fingers idly circling your clit again.

“Dean, stop.” You try to get his attention once more and this time the latter word seems to cut right through to him.

His hand stops mid-motion and his head snaps up, eyes searching yours in concern but also befuddlement. “What’s the matter?”

“I’m fine,” Your hands rush down to grab the one holding onto your hip, squeezing it in reassurance. “But your head's not in the game… and you’re holding back,” you state, your thumbs gently tracing the coarse bumps of his battered knuckles.

He stiffens. Of course you’d noticed.

“I just really missed you...’n I’m tired… Wanna take it slow. S’all.” His jaw clenches after the last word, realizing that probably didn’t sound as convincing now that he said it out loud with his words rough and strained from the effort to keep his crotch from grinding against you.

“You sure you alright…?” you ask softly, and you know he isn’t. You witnessed him, felt him how he’d clung to you like a drowning man no more than an hour ago.

"Nothing some good morning sex with my pretty girl couldn't fix." He chuckles as he tries and fails to add to his credibility.

“De,” you smile at him knowingly, “You’re pent up… I can feel it. You were pretty shaken-”

“Oh, come on!” he cuts you short, hands pulled from your body and suddenly he’s off the couch and on his feet the same beat, “I said, I’m goddamn fine.” The sudden movement has you flinch – more out of surprise than anything else. You quickly regain your breath and slowly sit up, meeting his gaze again as he turns to look at you.

Now glaring down at you with that gravel tone of his would have had most cower, but not you. You know he won’t bite.

“You wanna talk about it..?” you offer, after giving him a moment to steady his breath, your own voice still slow and hoarse from sleep.

“No, damnit.” he says firmly, his face hardened in the way he always does when you can practically watch him raise his walls around him. “What good s’it gonna do anyway, hm? Want me to ask for your insightful advice, Dr. Laura?” And of course his sarcasm doesn’t miss to snap at you next.

It was always the same with Dean when it comes down to this.

You shake your head softly, sigh, and shift to rest your shoulder against the backrest, the silence stretching between you until Dean suddenly speaks up again.

“Okay. Look, we’re going in circles here. When I got back… can we just pretend I didn’t”- he vaguely gesticulates with his hand towards the couch, where you’re still settled in between cushions and a twisted blanket, struggling to find the right words to describe his previous behaviour without getting anywhere near the word ‘vulnerable’ – “whatever the hell that was.”

“You mean when you came stumbling through the door like an hour ago?” you say flatly and slip your feet off the couch and onto to the fuzzy rug.

“Yeah. Whatever. Just forget about it, okay? I wasn’t in my right mind. Probably some blood sugar thing.”

“Blood sugar,” you repeat in a deadpan and now you’re up on your feet as well.

“Right,” you scoff, “What do I look like to you? Five? Come on, cut the crap. It’s me you’re talking to. You keep telling yourself you’re fine, but I’m not an idiot, I can see that you’re barely holding it together. Hell, I can feel it the way you touch me!” Dean tosses a hand in the air at that and rolls his eyes, ready to fire the next sarcastic remark when you soften your voice and sigh, “Please, Dean, talk to me.”

The hand drops and slaps down onto his thigh with a groan, the other rubbing his mouth while he’s turning his back to you, taking a few steps across the living room, muttering angrily under his breath.

“Dean..?” you prompt once more. His hand slips off his face before he whips around to face you again.

“Fine. I screwed up. Big time. That’s all there is. Alright?” he snaps, voice deep and rough from pent-up emotion. “You happy now?” You huff in response and this time you can’t help but roll your eyes with a sarcastic remark under your breath, “Damn, don’t go overboard with the details.”

You turn to face him again, voice sobered up. “Just because I’m rarely working in the field, that doesn’t make me any less of a hunter. Whatever the hell happened, you can talk to me about it, you know that, right? After all, I know how ugly it gets, I work with you guys day in day out.”

Dean’s eyebrows knit together and he raises his voice, firm and sharp, “Yeah, and believe me, not a day goes by where I wish you didn’t.”

You suck in a sharp breath, lips press into tight line.

His eyes flutter close and he takes a breath to reign in his anger. “I mean, dealing with me, with all this crap? You don’t deserve that, okay?” His emerald eyes lock with yours again. Intense, raw, voice cracking at the last sound.

You blink at him.

“And you do?”

He just stares at you.

The unexpected words of yours seemingly having taken the heat right out of him.

You can watch how all the determination slips right off his face, how his shoulders slump and his eyes search yours in disbelief.

Your heart sinks.

All of a sudden, he looks more like a lost teenage boy, not knowing where to go with himself, than the hardened hunter he was seconds ago.

With gentle steps you walk over to him and without a word wrap your arms around his rigid body.

After a moment, his hands move to the small of your back and he pulls you in.

“It’s okay…” you murmur, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head.

He sighs heavily.

“I just don’t want you to deal with my crap,” he admits, his voice a low, raspy murmur next your ear. “That’s my job.”

And that’s what you love and hate about him at the same time. He’d carry the world on his shoulders while he’s knees deep in blood and guts, and still tell you he's fine.

You sigh in resignation.

“Want me to make us some breakfast?”

Dean shakes his head, burying it in the crook of your neck.

He inhales your scent and fuck – his fingers twitch around your waist – it makes his boxers uncomfortably tight within seconds. The adrenaline’s still pumping through his system and the blood’s collecting in his hard length which is twitching to be freed from its confines.

“I want you...” he drawls huskily, the admission backed up by his fingers slipping under your pyjamas hem, the blunt nails sinking into your skin. A shiver goes down your spine, the heat pooling between your legs again.

You bite your lips. Maybe it’s time for me to poke the wolf.

"You want to blow off some steam, Bad Wolf? That it?" you suggest playfully, your lips curving into a mischievous smile as you’re well aware of the effect you have on him when you use his callname.

Sure enough, Dean’s eyes flutter shut at the way his nickname rolled off your tongue.

He’s silent. Your words do all sorts of things to his body. And none of them help his desperate attempt to control his pathetic needs.

You don’t need to see inside his head to know what’s going on.

Dean’s way to deal with his emotions has always been physical instead of verbal; The more vulnerable and helpless he feels, the stronger the need for control grows inside him. You notice it by the way he seeks your touch after a hunt gone wrong, the way he longs to be even more physically and emotionally close to you again, the way he sometimes comes back from a mission frustrated and silently asks for your permission to just fuck you until he’s satisfied.

And now was no different.

Except that this time, his mind and body was so goddamn conflicted.

Something feels different.

He wants to be gentle. Be slow and careful, savour every kiss of yours and melt into it – but at the same time that snarling and pent-up wolf inside him wants nothing more than to take control. Bend you over the next surface and take you. Hard. Without having to think or hold back – just being in the moment, grounding himself, feeling alive. Feeling good, making you feel good. And mostly, feeling all of you.

Damnit – Now the images flood his mind, while his blood checks out of his control centre to head south.

Yeah. He wants nothing more than to feel you underneath him, feel you clench his cock while he fucks you into the couch, have your wanton whimpers and whines drown out the screams that are playing in his head in loops like a broken record – Gods, I need you so damn much… it’s kinda pathetic. He mentally punches himself.

You tilt your head sideways to watch him rub his head against you, like he’s fighting an inner turmoil, his rough beard scratching your skin in the process.

Unaware of his circling thoughts, you feel his shoulders tense up and his hands subtly clench and unclench with the bunched up flesh on your hips still squeezed under his calloused pads.

“I… yeah.” he finally admits, the truth sounding raspy.

Dean doesn’t want to ‘talk about it’, alright, you accept that – at least for now. Doesn’t want useless words to remind him of what he’d done.

He wants actions to distract. Because sometimes, words just make things worse, as he’d once told you.

“Then let go, baby… s’good… I’ve got you… Take what you need from me…” you say soothingly. Then start to rub your stomach against his hard erection.

Dean nearly doubles over at the sudden friction, but what hit him even more, was that goddamn offer of yours.

It makes his breath stutter on its way down to his lungs, now clawing at his vocal cords instead. A low growl vibrates at the back of his throat, the sound sending a shiver straight to your core.

“You - you sure you want me to be rough, sweetheart..?” he warns you, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hipbones to hold you still, “‘M not exactly in the best of moods…”

“Dean,” you hum his name, “You’d never hurt me… I trust you. Please, just... don’t hold back because of me.” You move both of your hands to reach for his hair on his crown. He groans against your ear when your fingernails start to scrape his scalp in a calming manner and you continue in a low voice.

“Love me the way you need me.”

Fuck. A strangled moan escapes him. And his tired body shudders against yours at your words.

Despite all the lust that’s coursing through his system right now; His heart swells. You trust him.

“You’re a goddamn angel, y’know that..?” Dean’s eyes flutter shut, his head tipped back with a sharp inhale as he tries to steady his breath.

Next moment Dean’s grip on your hip moves down to your bum, grabbing your ass-cheeks firmly as he heaves you off the floor in one swift, unceremonious movement. A gasp slips your lips, your hands flying to his neck to hold onto him while his hands slip under your thighs and he carries you over to the couch in three hurried strides.

His back hits the backrest as he drops into the cushions, your knees coming down to straddle his hips, your lips seeking each other out as you dive into a passionate kiss once more.

Dean swallows your moans as his hands roam your body, running up and down your sides, slipping under your shirt. Hungry, desperate, like he can’t wait to devour you. Meanwhile your fingers tangle in his hair and he hisses from the sharp pain as you tug his head back to deepen the kiss.

“You’re driving me mad,” he husks out, his eyes fluttering close as your tongue swipes his lips and your nails scrape his scalp while you begin to grind down on his hard erection.

“Show me how mad,” you challenge him, breath hot against his coarse lips before you tug at it with darkened eyes.

That draws a low rumble from his chest and the whiskey-chipped emeralds of his eyes darken even further as he warns. “Careful there, little vixen.”

The taunting smile on your face falters when his fingers dig into your hips possessively and he leans in, his beard rasping across your skin, his voice dropped to a deep timbre, his hot breath licking at the shell of your ear as he speaks into it.

“I might just fuck you like I own you.”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J / NOTE Writing this was one hell of a rollercoaster. It's my first time writing a dom!Dean and I had to navigate between angst and smut and I'm still not happy how it turned out to be honest, but this thing's been collecting dust in my drafts from the many times I've rewritten it and I need to let go.

Also, it blew up to over 11k and I decided to part it again, so the steamy smut is for the last, third part. sorryyy <3

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