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godmadeaterribleerror · 19 days ago

Text

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him.

Almost as much as he might love you.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! I love thinking a fic will be 5k and then. it's not.

Word Count: 8.3k

“Why’d you lock him in the car?”

“Uh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck, letting out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t. He sorta locked himself in there.”

Your nose wrinkles, and you lean a little further down, trying to get a better look at Dean.

He’s sprawled out on the back bench, knocked out and drooling onto the seat.

He looks adorable.

His hair is mussed, his eyes keep fluttering slightly, and if you climbed over him he’d probably be just as strong and warm as when he yanks you into his chest, making sure you don’t stumble or trip during a hunt.

You can’t crawl over him while he’s asleep. You’re not sure if he’d want you to, or if you’d just get shoved off his body with a grunt and glower. Ruining everything, and bombing the careful fantasy you’ve built where maybe Dean flirts with you a little more than other girls, and maybe he gets so pissed at you because he cares, and there’s a small, thin chance that he likes catching you just as much as you like falling into him.

And you’re never going to tell him you do it on purpose. That it’s dumb, and reckless, and pathetic, but sometimes you’ll be a little less cautious, just so Dean will grab you. So his arms will wrap around your stomach, he’ll glare at you with enough venom to make your skin hot, and you can smile up at him like nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be, as long as Dean was holding you.

But something is certainly wrong right now.

“And he let you drive?”

Sam shrugs awkwardly. “He’s sick.

You give him a flat look. “I’ve seen Dean drive when he was actively bleeding out.”

“From his stomach.”

“So?”

“It’s- He could still drive.” Sam’s voice is lame, as if he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. “This was a fever. He’s not lucid.”

“Sam.” There’s panic rising in your chest, hot and tight and suffocating, but you force your voice to remain flat. “If he’s not lucid, we need to take him to a hospital-“

“No! I-“ Sam’s eyes widen, darting between you and Dean at a frantic pace. “It’s- He’s fine! It’s a magic fever.”

“A magic fever-“

“Witches. He hates them.”

“I know that-“

“He just needs to sleep it off,” Sam’s voice is suddenly firm and determined, and something is very wrong. “It’ll be easier if we don’t bother him.”

“But-“

“Can you got get some ice from town?”

You frown. “We have ice.”

“Right.” Sam glances back to Dean. “What don’t we have?”

“I don’t know, I don’t do audits while you guys are gone-“

“Do we have soda?”

“I don’t know-“

“Pie?”

You let out a long, slow breath, and Sam is very close to being punched in the face. “We have pie. We always have pie. Sam, what’s going on-“

“I just- I need to get Dean out of the car. And I-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m not supposed to let you help.”

Your mouth falls open, something tearing up your chest that’s made of Dean doesn’t want your help, he knows how useless you really are and he can’t even imagine you carrying him to bed.

Sam must see the shatter of your heart, just a layer under your face, because he shakes his head, and his words are quick.

“No it’s- it’s not like that-“

“I’m fine.” You mumble, drawing yourself to stand tall, keeping your gaze firmly fixed away from Dean. “You don’t have to-“

“He might be contagious.”

You give him a dry look. “You’re still going to touch him, though.”

“I was in the car with him.” Sam mutters, not fully meeting your gaze. “I’m already exposed. And there are some, uh- Weird side effects. To the curse.”

“Weird? Weird like-“ You cut yourself off at Sam’s apologetic expression, letting out another heavy sigh. “You can’t tell me.”

“He just- You know Dean. It’s a weird curse, and doesn’t want you to have to deal with it-“

“I wouldn’t mind.” You mumble, frowning down at your hands, and you can feel Sam’s look of pity.

“I told him that, he… Didn’t seem to care.”

You glance up, and your voice has to remain neutral. You’re almost certain Sam knows—he must, he’s seen you trail after Dean like a shadow on every case, laugh at all his stupid jokes, run to him whenever he so much as stubs his toe, and glare at him every time he gets hit on and basks in it because you love him too much to hate him for it, and that makes your skin blister—but that doesn’t mean you have to admit it.

It doesn’t matter if you admit it.

Even if Dean flirts with you, it’s still just flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he’s never really shown that he’d want anything more with you. Maybe just skin on skin in the dark, but not his lips on your brow in the morning, and you head resting on his chest in the dead of night.

Not what you’d need. What you’ve needed, from the moment he appeared over you on the street, both of you drenched in the blood of a decapitated vamp, Dean offering you a hand that once you took, you never wanted to release.

But Sam knows that too. He was there when Dean asked you to stick with them, and you had an expression like the Sun had dropped at your feet and asked you to orbit around it forever. Sam’s noticed that you never even try to sleep around, and that whenever someone hits on you at a bar you never take it past smiles and words.

You think Sam believes you have more dignity than you actually do, though. That if Dean offered you just one night, you wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat. That you’d keep coming back like an addict, until Dean decided he was done giving you what you crave. Sam thinks you wouldn’t break yourself for Dean.

It’s sweet, that he thinks that highly of you.

That doesn’t make him right.

“Can you-“ You pause, trying to find the right thing to say, that will just give you a chance to help. “If there’s anything-“

“I’m gonna talk to him. He’s being- You know.”

Sam glances back to Dean, and you do know. Dean’s never been good at asking for help.

He’s still fully knocked out and snoring so loud you can hear it through the windows.

Still adorable.

And when he’s finally up, and feeling better, you’re going to shove his stupid, broad chest and yell at him that no magical side-effect could ever make you not want to help.

For now, you’re going to take one of the spare cars and drive in circles, until the ache in your chest hurts just a little less. And when Dean calls for you, you’ll be there.

You’ll always be there.

But he doesn’t call for you.

The day passes and turns into night, and the night turns into another day, and then suddenly it’s all blurring together and it’s been a week. And you haven’t spoken to Dean once.

You only know he’s in the bunker because you can see the light from under his door, and food is vanishing that Sam would never touch. When you wake up there’s enough coffee left over for you to have a cup, just like every morning, but usually Dean is leaning against the counter and waiting for you to join him. Now it’s just the mug out and the pot half-full. Same as how books keep going missing from the library before reappearing the next day, but Dean never once even wanders into the room. The Impala is gone for hours, and then you’ll check the garage again and it’s back. Dinner gets made, but you never see it. Dean doesn’t appear over your shoulder in the library and call you to dinner, you just wander into the kitchen and find it made.

“He’s avoiding me.”

Sam shakes his head, not looking up from his laptop. “No, he’s not.”

“I haven’t seen him once-“

“He’s still sick.”

“Sam-“

Sam says your name back, and when he looks up, there’s a heavy exhaustion in his gaze. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine, the fever broke, but Dean- I can’t tell you.”

“Why.” Your voice is desperate, but the ache in your chest has only grown. You miss him. Even ignoring the in love with him thing, Dean’s your best friend. You miss talking to him while he cooks, and bothering him with the books you’ve read, and trying to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth.

But he’s avoiding you. Even if Sam won’t say it, you know he is. You’ve tried to catch him. You get up an hour earlier, but he’s already gone. You try and stay up for a whole day just to see him—to make sure he’s okay, and that he didn’t die and Sam just hasn’t figured out how to tell you—but you pass out around 4am and wake up with a blanket over your body, and another three books gone. The next time the Impala is gone you sit in the garage all day, leave once to go to the bathroom, and come back to it returned and Dean nowhere in sight.

You don’t understand why.

“I-“ Sam exhales, shaking his head again. “I wish I could tell you. But that- You know I trust you. Dean trusts you. But explaining it- I’d be violating Dean’s trust. I’m sorry.”

He looks it. Sam’s expression is tired, and you can hear the strain in his voice, but it doesn’t make anything hurt less.

Dean’s avoiding you.

And you just want to see him. To know what’s wrong, so you can tell him you don’t care about the curse.

That evening, you try to camp the kitchen. Dinner never comes out that night, and around eight, Sam wanders in and asks if you can just order.

“No.” You mutter, sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Sam sighs.

“I’m hungry,” he says your name with a pleading tone. “I know you’re hungry too. And I’m going to order for myself, so just text me if you want anything and I’ll pick it up while I’m out-“

“I don’t want anything.”

Sam gives you a sympathetic look, and you want to curl into yourself and hide. It can’t be that obvious. Even if Sam knows, there’s no way he knows-

“If you’re waiting for him, he’s not going to come out.”

You scowl, shooting Sam a glare. “So he is avoiding me.”

Sam sighs your name. “I- Yeah. He is.”

“Why-“

“I can’t-“

“Tell me.” You finish for him, rubbing at your face as you continue, until it’s raw enough to hurt a little. “Yeah, I got it. Is he-“ You have to swallow on a lump in your throat. “Is he okay?”

“He will be.” Sam mutters. “I- I think I’ve almost got it.”

“Can I help?”

Sam shakes his head, and you swallow, leaning down until your back is flat on the table.

“Okay.”

“Do you, uh- Want anything?”

You want to help. To understand.

Dean.

You want Dean.

“No.”

There’s a silence for a second, and you’re convinced Sam is gone, right up until he mutters your name. His voice is impossibly soft.

It just makes this hurt more.

“He’s in his room. And he knows you’re in here. He’s not going to come out.” Sam sighs. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

You frown at the ceiling, trying to work out what that means, but by the time you sit up Sam is gone.

Dean’s in his room. And he’s not going to come out. And it does not take a few hours to pick up dinner, but Sam will be gone anyway, and-

Oh.

Okay.

You slide off the counter, keeping your steps soft as you walk down the hall, and stop in front of Dean’s room.

“Dean?” You knock, and he’s not a subtle as he thinks he is.

The noise from the TV turns off.

“Dean,” You knock again, still to no answer. “I know you’re in there.”

Nothing.

“Dean Winchester, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it in-“

“Don’t.”

His voice is barely a grunt. But it’s the first time you heard it in a fucking week, and a sob rises to your throat.

He’s alive. He can talk, and he’s been avoiding you, but he’s okay.

“Fuck, Dean, are you-“

“Don’t come in here.” His voice is rising slightly, and something starts to prickle over your skin.

It’s the same feeling you get on a hunt, when something is just a little off.

A warning.

“Dean-“

“Please.” There’s a desperation in his voice, and it just makes the prickle grow into a stinging itch. “Don’t.”

“Don’t-“ You swallow. “Don’t what?”

You can hear his deep breath through the door. “Come inside.”

“De-“

“Just- If you need something, go ask Sammy-“

“I don’t need anything, Dean.” I just need you. “I want to talk.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then, “We’re talking right now.”

“This doesn’t count, I want to see you-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“I’m not dying,” Dean snaps your name. “You don’t need to help.”

There’s a harsh tone to his voice that you’ve rarely heard in your direction. The tone he uses on hunts and when he and Sam are fighting. His pissed tone.

He’s serious.

But it’s only making the itch feel like a burn. You need to see him. Just for one second, so you know he’s not lying, and he has to look you in the eyes and admit that he’s been avoiding you. He doesn’t get to be pissed when he’s been dodging you. That’s not how this fucking works.

You want to help, still.

But Dean does not get to be angry about that.

“I’m going to open the door.”

Dean hisses your name. “I’m tellin’ you, don’t-“

“I won’t if you give me a reason-“

“I don’t want you to see me.”

You freeze, your hand hovering up to push open the door, and your heart might have frozen and dropped into your stomach.

He didn’t want you. Doesn’t want you. Not just your help, but to see you at all. He doesn’t want you, and your heart is fracturing in strange places you didn’t know it could break—but you should have, only Dean has ever been able to touch them—and Dean doesn’t want you-

“Fuck, are you- Son of a bitch-“

There’s a shuffling and banging sound from the other side of the door, and the world is blurry. It might have something to do with the soreness in your throat and the choked sound you couldn’t stop from escaping.

“Don’t cry, sweetheart-“

“I’m not.” You take a step back from the door, your hand falling back to your side. “I- Sam’s out, if you need something, call him.”

“I know, it’s-“ He sounds closer than before. “It’s complicated, but I’m not pissed at you-“

“So why are you avoiding me.”

The silence is tight. Long. You can hear Dean’s heavy breathing through the door, and your fingers are straining to touch him, to make it better, but he doesn’t want you.

“I’m not crying, Dean.” Your voice has to be neutral. He already has your heart resting somewhere stronger than just the palm of his hand, he doesn’t get to have every other piece of you too. Not when he’d only toss it right back. “I know you got cursed, and I know you don’t want my help, but you don’t need to be- I would help. I’d always help. You’re my friend-“

There’s a dry, slightly muffled chuckle through the door. “Friend, huh.”

“Yeah, I am.” You raise your chin—he can’t see it, but it makes you feel better—and narrow your eyes at the door. “And I know you’re avoiding me, so don't try to deny it-“

“Can’t.”

You blink. “What?”

“Can’t deny it.” He grunts. “I’ve been avoiding you.”

“I- Oh.” The world is getting blurry again. He doesn’t get to have the rest of you. “Why?”

Dean groans, and you flinch as a heavy thud sounds from his room. “Fuck.”

“Dean-“

“Don’t ask me that.” He grunts, his voice right on the other side of the door. “Please.”

“I- Why?”

“Goddamnit, just stop asking me questions-“

“Dean, I need to know-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do-“

“Trust me,” he mutters your name. “You don’t.”

You scowl at the door.

He doesn’t get to do this. No matter what type of righteous shit he’s got in his head, no matter what this curse is, Dean doesn’t get to just say he’s avoiding you, then not say why. Doesn’t get to tell you what to do when he won’t look at you.

Doesn’t get to have all of you if he doesn’t really want it.

“Dean Winchester.” You move your hand back to the door, and you could swear you hear him stiffen. “You do not get to tell me what I need.”

He chuckles again, and you can hear it this time. The pain in the sound. “Then you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one-“

“I can’t trust you.” You cut him off with a snap. “Not when you won’t answer my questions. You can even lie, you just have to be convincing-“

“I- Fuck- I can’t!”

Dean’s voice has risen to a shout, and you pause. He sounds wounded. Like a distressed animal.

“I can’t goddamn lie.” He grunts, his voice lowered to something heavy. “The witch truth-roofied me, and I can’t say a lie.”

You frown. “Then why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”

“I- Shit,” he groans again. “There are some questions I don’t want you asking me. Safer for all of us.”

“Safer for you to ignore me-“

“I haven’t been ignoring you.”

“We haven’t spoken since you got back-“

“Cause I’ve been avoiding you-

“Which is better?”

He pauses, his voice falling to a mumble. “No.”

You let out a soft, insane sounding laugh. You’re going to strangle him, or hug him, or shove him off a cliff before diving after him. He’s not stupid, but he can be such a fucking idiot.

“What were you planning on doing, when the curse was broken?” You lean against the door, keeping your voice dry. “Just popping up and acting like nothing ever happened?”

“Uh-“ Dean coughs. “Yeah? Are you pissed at me?”

“Yes.”

“Oh-“

“But.” You hum, watching the door as if you might be able to see Dean through it. “I’ll be less pissed if you tell me why.”

You can feel his glare. “I told you why, truth curse-“

“That’s a stupid reason. I know everything about you.”

There’s the chuckle again. “No, you don’t.”

“Yeah, I do-“

“I told you to trust me-“

“And I told you I can’t.” You take a slow, stuttering breath. “Please, Dean, we’ll be fine if you just tell me the truth-“

“No.”

“Dean-“

“You don’t want to know the truth-“

“I don’t even know that you’re actually cursed with that!” Your voice is rising, but he’s such an idiot, and you love him, and most of what you can feel is hot. Worry or anger or stress or just want. You want to see him, to help him, to punch him in the face and trust him. But you can’t. “For all I know, you’re lying to me right now-“

Your words are cut off with a yelp as the door swings open, and you stumble a step forward, right into-

Dean.

He’s catching you. Keeping your upright by pressing you right to his chest, his hands framing your face and his eyes boring right into yours.

And he looks tired—bags under his eyes and his hair a little messy from lack of care—but he’s still Dean. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, strong and hot around you, a growl in his voice that you can feel vibrate through his chest as he speaks.

“Ask me something.”

You blink at him. “You said-“

“Not that. Anything else.”

“I-“ You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “Can you tell me something embarrassing?”

His jaw twitches, but you get a firm nod. “I used to hide hentai mags in Sam’s bag, so chicks wouldn’t see them and think they were mine. One time I ate a pie off a girl’s stomach, and I enjoyed the pie more than the sex. I tried one of Sam’s running smoothies and it wasn’t dogshit, but then I spent twenty hours of the toilet after. Body wasn’t ready for it, I guess. Uh- One time I got turned on by holding a book-“

“A book?” You frown at him. “What book?”

“Uh, Wicked.”

“Oh. I love that book.”

“I know.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Do I look like I’m lying?”

“No,” you whisper, your hands shoot up to hold Dean’s against your face. “I- No.”

“Good. You trust me?”

“I- Dean, I still need you to tell me why.”

Dean’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring slightly.

You might be about to melt. You’ve never been this close to him, he’s never looked at you like this—as if he wouldn’t mind only looking at you for the rest of your life, or maybe he’d just like to eat you alive—and there’s a firmness to his voice that’s lighting a fire in your core.

“I told you not to ask me that.” He mutters, and you shake your head.

“I need to know, Dean, please.” You pull your lips between your teeth. “You didn’t even talk to me, and you told Sam not to tell me, and it really- It wasn’t-“ You swallow, your voice turning to almost a whine, and you can’t stop it. “That wasn’t fair, I thought you were mad at me and I just- I wanted to help-“

“I know you did, baby.” Dean sighs, and your lips part slightly.

Baby.

“I’d never be mad at you,” he runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and it’s becoming really hard to not give him all of you. “I- You’re just- I-“

He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Diving down and pulling you up at the same time, crashing his mouth against yours with almost a bloody desperation, and you did melt. You’re all heat as your fingers curl against his chest, and his lips mold perfectly against yours, and he’s kissing you like you’re going to disintegrate and he’s going to die and he’s kissing you-

It’s over as soon as it starts. Your head is spinning, and your lips are already swollen from the bruising force of his kiss, but Dean’s drawing back with an almost frantic expression, stumbling back and leaving your swaying into the middle of the room.

“I- Son of a bitch- I’m sorry-“

You blink at him, still a little dazed. “You’re sorry?”

Dean nods, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Shit- I shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, I-“

“Why?” Your voice is soft, and he frowns at you.

“You- I didn’t-“

“Dean.” You force yourself to stand tall, wrapping your arms around your stomach. He can’t do this. Just kiss you like that then say it shouldn’t have happened. He fucking kissed you. “Please just tell me why. I- You can’t just ignore me then do that and not say- You have to tell me why-“ You won’t cry. “Please-“

“I love you.”

Time might not be moving. Dean’s just staring at you from across the room, and you can’t really feel your legs, and-

“What?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.

“I- I fucking love you.” He mutters, his gaze falling down to the floor. “And I know you deserve better, I do- But I always wanna tell you, and I would’ve, so I had to- I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off, and I- Goddamnit, I never wanna make you cry, but you shouldn’t have to worry about turning me down-“

It’s your turn to move. You cross the room before Dean can keep saying stupid things, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him back down into a kiss.

It’s even better than the first one. Dean falls into you in half a second, his arms flying out to hold you right to his chest, almost lifting you off the ground as he pushes his tongue between your lips, then groaning down your throat when you nip at it and wrap an arm around his neck. He tastes so good, and he fits better against you than you thought possible, and his hands are roaming all over you like he’s trying to check you’re real.

You’ve never felt more real. There’s a wildfire spreading through your body, building as broad fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and Dean’s mouth is starting to wander, sucking your upper lip between his teeth before starting to kiss down your neck, and his hand squeezes against your ass-

You move back, shoving his chest with all the strength you have, and he stumbles away, blinking at you with a wide, lust-blown expression.

“Never,” you poke his chest, glaring up at his dumbstruck, handsome face. “Do that again. I have loved you since I met you, Dean, you fucking idiot, and if you ever pull something like that again, I will shoot you with the gun you gave me.”

Dean blinks at you, and his face splits into a wide grin. “You love me?”

“Of course I love you-“

“Awesome.” He takes a step forward, and you stop him with a palm on his chest.

“Not awesome, Dean, I’m still mad at you-“

Your words turn into an unconvincing sigh as Dean grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, pulling you back into a longer, deeper kiss.

It’s slow and soft, like you have all the time in the universe, and you feel as if you’re floating. Like everything is only light and warmth and the taste of Dean, lingering on your tongue when he hums against your lips, and pulls back with another wide, boyish grin.

“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He tangles a hand in your hair, tipping your head back until your gaze is locked onto his. “You can kick my ass later, but right now I’d really like to give you a reason to stop being pissed at me. You want that?”

You pause, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I still get to be mad later?”

Dean nods, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your mouth.

“Dean-“

“Lemme show you how much I mean it,” he hums against your skin. “Can’t lie right now, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest things I’ve ever goddamn seen. Fuckin’ hated avoiding you, missed you so much-“

“I- Missed you too-“

“I know you did, c’mon, lemme take care of you-“

“Okay.”

He pulls back, watching you carefully. “You sure?”

You nod eagerly, and his face splits back into a grin.

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” your voice is breathy, and Dean’s grin widens.

But he doesn’t get to get off that easy.

“What do you want to do to me, Winchester?” You give him a teasing smirk, and his hands tense on your waist. “If you’ve been thinking about it that much…”

You raise your brows in a silent suggestion, and Dean groans.

“That’s not playing fair,” he leans back down, and you dodge, moving to kiss along his jawline.

“Tell me what you want-“

“You’re starting something, sweetheart,” his words sound pushed through his teeth, and you giggle.

“And you’re dodging the question- Dean-“

You squeak as his hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks you back to meet his gaze.

He looks almost feral. Darkened eyes and full, swollen lips that are already parted with heavy breath. You’re pressed right against him, and his hand still on your waist is kneading your skin until you’re almost melted in the sheer heat and want, and-

He’s pressed right against your thigh. Hard. Big.

The ache between your legs is unbearable. You might come apart from nothing at all.

Or just from the sound of Dean’s voice, deep and rough and filled with hunger.

“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, baby,” he mutters, and when your hands shoot up to wrap around his neck and tug at his hair, a soft moan escapes his lips. “Son of a bitch, I want you all the fuckin’ time-“

“How?” You whisper, and his eyes flash.

“You really wanna know, sweet girl?” Dean starts to walk you backwards, towards his bed, and lets out a hiss when you yank on his hair again.

“I’m asking-“

“I’ve thought about everything,” his voice is almost a growl, and you squeak as he tosses you back onto the mattress. “Thought about eating you out until you screamed, or just touching you to see what kinda sounds you’d make,” Dean pulls his shirt of as you gape up at him, before crawls over you with a wide grin. “Had dreams about those freakin’ sounds, how you’d moan for me if I did this-“

One big hand slides under your shirt, palming at your breasts before rolling a nipple between two fingers, and you fall fully back with a gasp.

“Dean-“ You grab at his shoulders, squirming below him, and his grin grows, his hand wandering over to the other breast to repeat the movement. “Oh, god.”

“Nope.” Dean leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his hand starting to wander down your stomach, until he’s cupping you over your shorts. “Just me, sweetheart.”

You moan, shaking your head. “That’s so bad, De- Fuck-“

He smirks as his fingers slide under your shorts, and it falters for only a second as they find your bare pussy.

“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He grunts, and you flush, turning your face into the pillow.

“Laundry day,” you mumble, and Dean chuckles.

“Sure, baby-“

“It is,” you twist to glare at him, and his grin just grows.

“I believe you,” he leans down, brushing his mouth right over yours, and you squeak as one finger trails between your pussy lips. “But I also believe you’re always this wet for me. And sometimes,” his thumb presses right over your clit. “You’d go bare and hope I’d just pin you down and fuck you.”

You moan shamelessly, your eyes wide and trapped on Dean’s and his voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it.

“I think you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, just like I touch myself thinking about you.”

There’s no chance to respond before his finger pushes inside of you, his thumb starting to rub slow circles around your pussy, and you’re flying. The only tether between the earth and pleasure, white-hot and perfect and teasing, is Dean’s voice, right in your ear.

“Dream about your pretty mouth on my cock, babygirl. Or your hands, or being buried in the sweet pussy until you’re a perfect mess for me.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and your nails dig into his back. “Kinda like this, actually.”

“De- Shit,” a second finger pushes in with the first, and he’s still moving them so slow. “Feels good, so good-“

“Yeah, it does,” Dean groans, and your eyes flutter open to see him rutting against the mattress, his own face almost a mirror of your own desperation as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. “Jesus, you’re so pretty-“

“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and his eyes snap onto yours. “More.”

He blinks at you for a second, but then gives you a tight nod.

His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing against that hot, spongey spot inside of you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. His thumb is gone from your clit, only giving it quick, frenzied flicks as you’re dragged right up to the edge, and he won’t look away from you-

Then he’s gone. You’re dangling right on the edge of release, but Dean yanks his fingers away with a taunting grin, and a high, pathetic sound escapes your throat.

You start to grumble an incoherent protest, but it dies in your throat at the sight above you.

He’s pushing your legs up to help you out of your shorts. He kisses against your calf before tossing everything into a corner of the room, and shoves your knees back apart. Then the two fingers push back into your for only a second, long enough to pull another moan from your throat, and Dean settles back between your legs with a grin.

Then he’s gone again. And one hand grabs your chin to keep your eyes trapped on his as he brings his fingers up to his mouth.

Dean cleans his fingers of your arousal, his gaze never leaving yours, and a sound that’s awfully like a moan rumbling through his chest.

“Taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, and you shudder with pleasure as he goes back, dragging those same fingers back over your soaked core, dipping slightly into your cunt like he’s trying to gather as much as he can. “Shit, I would’ve let a witch get the jump on me years ago if I knew I’d finally get to have this.”

You blink at him, your voice so soft and needy you almost don’t recognize it. “Years?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean nods, a slight blush seeming to creep over his cheeks, even as his thumb starts to drag slow circles around your clit. “Told you, sweetheart, you’ve been in since I saw you.”

“I- Why didn’t you-“

He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want it. Taste.”

You frown at him, opening your mouth to protest—your mind doesn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around not wanting Dean—but the sound falls into a moan as his fingers press on your lower lip. They’re soaked in your wetness, and asking for further permission, and under Dean’s almost adoring gaze, you don’t know how to do anything but grant it.

Dean groans as he pushes his fingers almost all the way down your throat, and you feel his still-clothed cock twitch against you when you start to suck.

“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back with another one of those moans. “You’re so freakin’ perfect-“

“Dean,” you whine, scratching at his chest and bucking your hips up to try and grind over his bulge, but he just grunts, dropping his full weight down to pin you against the mattress.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”

You shake your head, wiggling below him, and his eyes flutter shut.

“God-“ He moans your name as you manage to get your legs free, wrapping them around his waist and rolling your hips against his still hidden cock. “Shit- Alright.”

Dean grabs you by your waist, and you yelp as he rolls you over without warning. Suddenly you’re straddling his bare chest as he pulls off his sweats, his gaze locked on yours the whole time. Then your shirt is being all but ripped off your body, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s got one hand on your ass and the other back on your jaw, hold your eyes down to his.

He mutters your name, and your fingers curl against his bare chest. “I’ve got a condom in the side drawer-“

“I’m clean.” Your words are too quick, and his eyes flash. “And I- I’m on birth control. If- If you’re- If you too-“

He laughs, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and the sound rolls through his chest, vibrating against your pussy and making your mouth fall open.

“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Dean’s hands drift to grab you by the waist, and he shifts below you, making sure he’s more leaning against the headboard than flat on his back. “Hold on.”

His grip tightens, and a stupid, high sound leaves you as he picks you up and pushes you down onto his cock.

He’s big. And thick. And you’re being filled up so good, already cockdrunk and a little out of your mind at the feel of him splitting your open and pressing on all the right spots, but he’s not moving. Dean’s just watching you with a wide, adoring gaze, grunting whenever you try to grind against him and hissing when you clench around him.

“I said,” he lands a light slap on your ass, his eyes narrowing on yours. “Not yet. Wanna feel you, baby. We’re gonna stay just like this until you’re begging for it.”

You gape at him, every word coming up as only a gasp or whimper as you try to move again, and he hits your ass again, and Dean raises his brows.

“Good?”

You nod, leaning down to press your brow to his. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”

He frowns. “Fair- If you don’t-“

“I like this.” You mumble, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “A lot. Love it.”

Dean grunts, dragging you down into a full, deep kiss that makes it almost impossible not to squirm against him.

“What’s not fair, then?” He hums against your lips, and now that he knows you’re good, he seems to be all back on teasing. “C’mon, baby, you can tell me-“

You shove his chest, and he laughs. He can’t keep doing that. It’s like a small vibrator against your clit, and he’s so handsome, and you don’t know how to not clench around him. But all that gets you is another slap of your ass, and you might be starting to drip down your thighs and onto Dean’s.

“Asshole-“

He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You love it.”

You do. “Never should’ve told you that,” you grumble, and he laughs again, and you might be on the brink of insanity.

“Too late. I know it now. Never gonna let you or this pretty pussy go neglected again, babygirl, so watch out.”

He pokes your side, grinning as you let out a squeaking giggle, but it quickly falls into a moan as his free hand moves up to play with your tits.

“Dean-“

“I know,” he hums, flicking your nipple before leaning up to press a kiss over the hurt. “But you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Being such a good girl.”

You moan against, and Dean smirks.

“You like that, don’t you. Like being my good girl-“

“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind against him, and whimpering at the next slap on your ass. “Fuck, please-“

“That’s closer.” He hums, resuming his movements on your tits. “But you still have to tell me what’s not fair.”

“It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, trying to regather your thoughts. “It’s not important-“

“Anything you think is important.” He mutters, and you swallow at the intensity in his gaze. “Tell me, baby. Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”

Fuck.

He can’t lie.

And just from the expression on his face, you can almost feel how much he means it.

“It’s just, I-“ You take a slow breath, watching him carefully. “What about you?”

Dean frowns. “What about me.”

“You had, um- a lot of ideas.” You trace your fingers over his tattoo, trying to focus on your words instead of Dean’s cock, hard and pressed into you and making you almost burn with desire. “And I- I just don’t want it to only be about me-“

You’re cut off as Dean laughs again, your words falling into a high, gasping moan, and almost in a reward, Dean slams himself up to meet the rolls of your hips.

You still get a small spank for the movement.

Worth it.

Dean drawls your name, looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “You think having you sit on my cock under you’re begging me to fuck you is about you?”

You flush, shaking your head weakly, and he chuckles again.

You moan, fluttering around him, but this time the slap on your ass comes with Dean pinching your nipple, and slamming up until he’s hitting your cervix.

“Trust me, baby,” he grunts, squeezing your ass and tugging you back down into a long, slow kiss. “This is all about me.”

“But-“

“We’re gonna do all of that shit later,” Dean pulls back, just enough to hold your gaze, and his arm wraps around your back, pinning you firmly down. “Trust me, babygirl, I mean it. I’m gonna give you everything.”

“Dean-“

“But right now, I want you to come on my cock, and I want you to say please.” Something strange flashes over his expression, and his voice drops impossibly lower. “Need to know you mean it, sweetheart.”

Oh.

You’re not under a truth curse. And Dean is adorable and handsome and strong below you, but he’s still Dean.

And you can see it in his eyes.

He’s still not sure you do mean it.

You have nothing to do but prove him wrong.

“Dean.” You whisper, forcing your hips not to roll as you lean down, holding his gaze. “Please. I want it. Want it so bad. I dream about you and touch myself thinking about you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me, cause I love you and I need you, Dean. I’m going to go insane if you don’t fuck me, please.”

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters, his grip growing bruising on your hips. “Feel so good, baby, just need you to give me one more-“

“Please-“

Your voice turns into a long, heavy moan as Dean rolls your hips along his cock, and the whole world lights up with good.

“Good girl,” he mutters, and you throw your head back as he helps you repeat the movement, every single nerve in your body glowing with Dean. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

There might be something teasing to his voice, but you can’t really hear it. You can’t really think of anything past the feeling of him inside you, or the low sounds that you keep pulling out of his chest as you grind down. You’re riding Dean’s cock like your life depends on it, gasping his name whenever your clit rubs against his groin or his hips jerk, making him bump that sensitive spot deep inside of you.

And he’s a vision below you. Moaning your name and kneading at your ass, watching you move above him like he’s looking at all the stars in the sky. His lips are parted with heavy breathes, and one hand is drifting slowly up to the nape of your neck, squeezing slightly with his eyes wide on yours, and you tip your head back without a question.

Dean groans, his hand moving to grab your throat, and you move faster. He’s not holding you that tight, but there’s a possessiveness to his touch that’s like fire up your spine, and you want him to leave a mark. Want everyone to know that he’s yours, and he’s touching you, and-

“Fuck-“ Dean grunts your name, his grip squeezing slightly, and you move faster. “Shit- Sweetheart, you’re-“

His head throws back with a groan as you clench around him, chasing your release desperately, and you want him to come with you. You need him to. You need him to fill you up, to feel the burn of him in a week, to be so fucking ruined by him you can’t even walk-

“Dean,” you gasp, and his grip tightens even more. Stars are starting to dance behind your eyes. “So close, feels so good-“

“I know,” he grunts, and you gasp as his hips rut up. “Hold it, babygirl.”

You shake your head, grinding faster. “Can’t- Need you-“

You whimper as Dean squeezes your throat, and his eyes flash. “C’mon, sweet girl, be good for me-“

“I- Dean-“

He grunts, and you’re not sure when the shift happened, but you’re not in charge anymore. Dean’s arm is wrapped around your waist, pinning you against his chest as he surges up, his hand moving to your jaw to hold it still. The kiss is deep and bruising and all spit and teeth, and he’s fucking you. Drilling up into your aching cunt without relent, kissing all over your face and down your neck, over the small marks his hand left. Moving back to your mouth as you start to shudder around him, scraping at his shoulders in a plea for release and moaning down your throat.

“Gonna cum,” he groans, his pace growing uneven. “Where-“

“In. Inside. Dean, just- Fuck-“

You almost scream as his thumb moves back to your clit, leaving a featherlight touch that’s somehow too much and not nearly enough.

“Dean-“

“Cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, pressing his thumb down so hard it lights a firework in your whole body, and you don’t know how to do anything but listen.

Your orgasm hits your like a wildfire, sweeping through your whole body until your toes are curling and you’re slumped in Dean’s arms, and he meets you with one last, beautiful moan of your name and a slam of his hips home. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he fucks you through his release, making yours rise and crest once more, and when it’s done, everything feels sort of bright and dizzying. A high, cockdrunk giggle escapes your throat, and Dean groans.

“Shit-“ He mutters your name, and you realize you’d squeezed around him. “Goddamnit, that was-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, curling further into his chest. “Thanks.”

He chuckles, but it falls into another moan as you flutter around him once more. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”

Dean’s breathing is ragged in your ear, and you keep your arms wrapped tight around him as he pulls out. You don’t manage to stop your soft moan, feeling impossibly empty and raw from the absence of him, but it’s alright.

He’s still here.

And now, he’s yours.

Dean presses a soft kiss to your brow, his words soft in your ear. “You want me to clean you up, baby?”

You shake your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”

“We made a mess-“

“Later.”

He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

You smile, and grab him a little tighter. “Are you still truth cursed?”

“Course I am. Wasn’t a sex curse, this is just a benefit-“

“Shut up.” You tug on his hair, and all you get is a laugh in return.

You lean back, just enough to meet his eyes, and he can’t have looked at you like this before. Like you’re his whole world, and he’d never want to ever be anywhere else but you.

You would’ve seen it.

You hope you would’ve.

“Did you mean it?” You whisper, and he frowns.

“Mean what?”

“That you’ve loved me since we met?”

Dean’s jaw twitches, and he lets out a slow sigh. “I’ve wanted you since we met. Didn’t love you until a few months after. But it didn’t take much.”

You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes.

“You’re really taking advantage of how that I’m cursed, you know-“

“It was first sight for me.” You whisper, and his mouth snaps shut. “You saved me, then helped me stand up, and I felt like an idiot because I was in love with the stranger who just decapitated someone in front of me.”

Dean’s throat bobs. “You still feel like an idiot?”

“Yeah.” It’s only fair you’re honest, if he has to be. “But only because I spent years pretending, I didn’t love you, and didn’t get to have this.”

You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lip, and he lets out a soft sound that almost has you ready for round two.

“You punched me.” He mutters, and you lean back with a curious expression.

“Huh?”

“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He mutters, rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot, but you’d never held a gun so you were shit at it. And I already liked you, so I was, uh- Kinda being an asshole. Pushing you too hard. And I said somethin’ about you not being able to defend yourself, and you suckered me right in my fuckin’ jaw. Started shouting at me about how I was being a dick, but- Um-“ He’s blushing, giving you an almost sheepish expression. “Didn’t hear a word you said. Think I was making heart eyes or something. Remember thinking I’m either marrying you, or no one.”

You can’t stop your wide, almost idiotic smile, but it’s worth it. Dean mirrors it right back, and his eyes flutter as your run your hand carefully through his hair.

“I love you.” You whisper. “And I can punch you again, if you want.”

He chuckles, shaking his head, and leaning up to pull you down into a long, slow kiss. And you can feel it, in this one. How he really has been as hungry for this as you have. How—just as you don’t think you ever want to move from his lap, even if the rapture floods the world and the sky starts to fall—he never plans to let you go.

“That can be one of our later things,” he mutters, tracing his tongue over your lower lip. “Right now I just wanna sit with my girl.”

You beam, nipping at his tongue. “Who you love?”

“Yeah.” He snorts, squeezing your ribs and grinning as you jump, almost falling over him with a whine. “Who I love.”

End Note: The Dean Winchester mind cannot comprehend that he is lovable (I am going to force that knowledge down his throat).

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hadesrise · 6 months ago

Text

## one true love !!

summary──── ben feels true love with you, his enemy, and finds himself able to break from the toxic masculinity he surrounded himself with.

pairings──── soldier boy / benjamin x anti-hero!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, porn with too much feelings, fluff, slight angst, foul language, probably (very definitely) ooc soldier boy, top!reader, sub!bottom!ben, gentle love, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vibrator, pet names ( love, baby, pup, etc. ), short oral ( r. receiving ), love-making, mating press, missionary, riding, aftercare, light D/S dynamics, pillow talk, a lot of vulnerability, ben proposes to reader unexpectedly, enemies in forbidden love, internalised homophobia, morally grey!reader, possessiveness, homophobic slurs, canon typical misogyny, reader’s anti-hero name is lucifer, reader has magical powers

author’s note──── i might’ve made him too soft and vulnerable, so forewarning that he doesn’t show much of his asshole side in this fic. the ooc warning already says much, i guess?

MINORS DNI !!

Peaceful jazz music and well dressed crowd fills the grand hall decorated in gold curtains, men and women from different wealthy families flaunting around their riches with drinks in hand. Adorned in nothing but expensive attires that feeds off of the poor were most guests that have been invited to celebrate another success of Vought-American with a superhero movie that starred its own team, Payback, while the heroes themselves remained in their pretty little costumes for the publicity and fame.

Cameras, photographers, and journalists lurked in the corner section of the hall, where they’ve been assigned to fulfil their destiny of capturing significant moments that are interesting enough to be written on headlines or shown on television.

Nights like this were when Soldier Boy wanted to beat the shit out of Vought employees for their incapability in making celebrations entertaining. The lack of excitement and chaos infuse Ben with excessive boredom that just gives him the urge to shoot himself in the head, all of its professionalism becoming nothing but a burden and straight up pain in the ass. He’s been hardly enjoying the night, having to put up with Crimson Countess attached to his hip at all times to keep appearances, which he admits is worse than fucking a loose cunt. It didn’t make him feel better that Stan fucking Edgar was watching, making sure things are under control.

The jazz music suddenly stops short with a loud screeching sound that has everyone covering their ears in pain, startled murmurs filling the air as all eyes turned to the stage where a famous band stood, confusion also plastered across their faces. One of them repeatedly presses down on the piano’s key, frowning when it does nothing as if it lost its function all of a sudden. Sensing the panic slowly rise among guests, Stan opens his mouth to speak, only for his words to die in his throat when the lights begin to flicker.

“You know, I’m quite displeased to not have received an invitation.” Deep, resonant, husky voice littered with confidence and cockiness erupt out of nowhere as the flickering lights return to normal, an utterly familiar figure making themselves known.

Gasps, of either excitement or fear, falls from everyone’s lips to your powerful presence that almost immediately caused a shift in atmosphere. Soldier Boy’s breath hitched, feeling his throat dry as he cleared his throat and swallowed.

You don’t miss the quick look of surprise and panic flashing across Stan’s face before they were hidden behind his casual mask of greedy businessman, making the corner of your lips twitch up.

“You’re simply not welcome here, Lucifer.” The man uttered with barely contained irritation despite his best efforts to remain calm, spitting your antihero name — given by, not Vought, but the public themselves — in distaste.

Amusement emerge on your expression, completely unbothered by the antagonistic perspective Stan sees you with.

There’s an underlying overconfidence and arrogance to the way you hold yourself, a man who clearly knows how influential and threatening your own existence is and isn’t even apologetic for it. It wasn’t just for a show — you knew you mattered, knew exactly your worth, and didn’t hide behind the fake persona of a beloved public figure that pretends they’re enjoying a single bit of what they’re doing. Your ego and pride seemingly rivals that of Soldier Boy’s yet yours come more naturally, like you were born with it without the need to develop them in amidst of your life to trick yourself into feeling more relevant. You held charisma, a charm that seems to pull people closer to you despite the dangerous, deceitful, fucking jackass attitude you had that’s supposed to be driving them away. It makes Ben want to either punch your face or suck your cock like a fag whore.

“Fair enough,” You shrugged. “But I certainly make parties more fun. You could learn a couple or two from me.”

Stan’s eye twitches in annoyance at your arrogance; it’s much worse that he can’t use anything to stomp on it because your ego wasn’t fragile like the others. While most men, supe or not, wrap their self-importance in toxic masculinity in order to feel superior than they actually are, you were fully comfortable with yourself. Your emotional capacity was extremely high that developed you to become invincible against criticism or rejection. He can attempt to hurt your feelings, manipulate you, use your own ego against you all he wants — none of it will force you to surrender or submit no matter what because you, quite simply, loved yourself too much to be under power hungry maniacs.

When Stan can’t seem to muster a snarky remark, you smirk and invite yourself in, walking further into the grand hall as you snap your fingers, the white bright lights turning into colourful disco lights with your magic.

You stared at the band members on stage, eyes glowing red, and forcefully overtake their minds to play an upbeat party worth music instead of the boring jazz they did. It’s not that you dislike jazz music, it’s peculiar and beautiful on its own, you’re just not really fond of formal parties where everyone’s required to be in their good behaviours, barely having the time of their life if not to shove their riches down less wealthy people’s throat, which you don’t particularly find amusing or fun at all.

It seems to excite the guests, some of them even beginning to bop their heads to the catchy rhythm, moving their previously still bodies along with the beats. Energy surges through them, life revealing itself within their eyes that was filled with misery before you barged in.

“Let go of the fucking formality, ladies and gentlemen.” You grinned wide with your arms spread open to your sides. “It’s time for a true fun party!”

Ben was in awe when all cheered at your declaration, how quick you were able to turn this entire place into your own playground despite the hosts — authorities — being present, how much of a natural you were at gaining people’s faith and attention without doing more than show up and be yourself.

It should be making him envious; he’s doing all these heroism, model, actor bullshit and hiding behind a perfect macho-man façade to be loved and paid attention to for fuck’s sake, and yet it’s so easy for you to bend people at your own will just by being yourself. He should be pissed as he always did when others get the spotlight more than him, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to.

How the fuck is he going to be pissed when you look so disgustingly hot doing all of it?

“He’s fucking doing it again,” Countess seethes through gritted teeth, glaring at you. Her little tug on his arm snaps him out of daze as he shifts his gaze to her. “Taking all the attention away from you. With the rate he’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he interrupts everything you’re in.”

Ben had to pretend to irritably clench his jaw, and smiled with sarcasm. “As if I’d let him. Fucking asshole needs to be put in his place.”

He knew you heard him when the corner of your lips pulled up in a smirk, one of your brows raising to shoot him a challenging look. It sends a thrill down Ben’s spine as he scowled, giving you a death glare that everyone sees for it is; rage, hatred, despise.

“Pleasure to see you here, Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess.” You greet in a feigned enthusiasm, swiftly taking a cocktail from the waiter that just passed, and approach them in all your glory.

“Fuck you,” Soldier Boy quickly snarled as Countess spits, “Get the fuck away from us.”

Amusement instantly cross your face, nearly making both of them want to punch you. “So much for greeting lovebirds in clown costumes,” You dejectedly say with a hand over your chest for dramatic effect, in contrast to the mocking way in which you spoke. “C’mon, I just made this boring, useless party worth your precious little time. At least now you can stop being a pussy hiding behind an awfully constructed television personality.”

That strikes a nerve in Soldier Boy as his face hardened and a cold look appeared, stepping forward warningly, “I’d choose my next fucking words wisely if I were you.” Countess tugs his arm in a nervous manner while scanning their surroundings, taking notice of people watching your interaction.

You meet his glare with a calm yet daring look and leaned closer, “I wouldn’t. I know I can beat you.” Your eyes glowed in red once again as you grinned confidently.

Ben’s hand twitched, but before he could make a move, a woman approached you from behind and tugged on your elbow, interrupting the little rivalry you had going on. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we dance and have fun for a bit?” She shyly but bravely asked you, not even sparing Soldier Boy a glance.

An unimpressed look flashes in your eyes that only Ben took notice of, the subtle annoyance to the woman for cutting into your rather hostile conversation. You, however, plastered on an emotionless smile within a split second, not giving anyone the chance to see through you. “I’ll lead the way,” You barely looked at him before walking off with her to the centre of the hall where bodies swayed to the beat.

It takes everything in Ben not to square up and make a mess of this party when you started dancing with her, your body dangerously close to hers as she stares at you with a look that made him want to strangle her slim neck. As if you’re a divine sculpture created by Gods, like you’re the entire universe, most precious being to ever exist in this planet, like she knew everything about you when she, in fact, absolutely did not. But he does.

And Ben knows he’ll be screaming your name, holding you impossibly close to him, digging his nails onto your back as you grind into him — everything she wished you’ll do to her — when all of this shit show is over.

At the end of the day, no slut or pussy fucker would come home to you but him; you’ve chosen him despite the countless amount of people throwing themselves pathetically at you, and Ben will make sure he’ll forever be the only one who does.

Lewd squelching, sucking sounds fill the dimly lit bedroom of your home as the stench of sex and arousal surround the air, more prominent due to your and Ben’s enhanced senses. You sat comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed with Ben in between your legs as he sucks and slurps your cock, taking it as far as he can in his mouth and gagging. Tiny muffled moans or groans escape him occasionally, hips grinding against the mattress to stimulate his own aching dick while the vibrator you bought for him nestled deep inside his prepped hole.

“You love my fuckin’ cock so much, don’t you?” You chuckled hoarsely, almost degrading, and Ben shudders. “It’s alright, love. m’not goin’ anywhere.” Your fingers tread through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp, making him groan as his hips stutter.

Maintaining eye contact with you, Ben inhales a deep breath through his nose before taking your cock further down his throat, tears gathering in his eyes when he nearly gagged. A genuine smile adorns your face when he looks at you expectantly, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen holding desperation and self-doubt. Pleading expression that he shows only to you.

“You want me to praise you, pup? Call you good boy?” He whines in response — God, that fucking sound you know he’d rather die than let anyone else hear. Ben doesn’t have any idea how much it affects you, the fact that you’re the only one whom he allows a vulnerable side of him show.

Realising he has to earn what he yearns for, Ben gently wraps his hand around the base of your cock where it didn’t fit and starts to bob his head. You moaned softly, throwing your head back; the sight being such a blessing to Ben’s eyes that makes his own cock throb and needy. He swirls his tongue on the underside of your shaft, his free hand gripping your thigh for support.

“Doin’ so good, love. You’ve gotten better at this,” You cooed, petting his hair and gently thrusting up into his throat. Ben closed his eyes, a blissful look appearing on his face as he relaxed and allowed you to move instead.

The trust and faith Ben has in you makes something explode within your chest, heart swelling in love and adoration at your troubled yet adorable partner.

Building a healthy and trustful relationship with him was more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before, considering the absolute bigotry his father forcefully fed into him and all the unresolved issues he had with himself. Despite the tough and harsh exterior he constantly put on, you had seen right through him when you first met — those broken spirit that yearned to be loved or needed by people hiding behind his douche, Soldier Boy persona, a man that his imbecile of a father always wanted him to be. It amused you as much as it squeezed your chest; one of the first strongest superhero being a fucking attention starved bastard was undeniably funny, but pitiful. It’s also why you fell in love with him.

You’ve accepted that Ben was always going to have a deep rooted homophobia in him, that there won’t be a day where you’ll be seen in the public with him holding hands like star-fucking-crossed lovers, that he’ll always be too much of a pussy to be fully himself — but you never expected him to be so open, comfortable, with you like this to the extent of willingly trusting you with a needy and desperate version of himself.

Benjamin is laying his heart out bare for you to take, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to make love to him or fuck his brains out. You decided with the former.

Confusion settles on Ben’s expression when you gently pushed his shoulders to make him pull away, a sudden worry if he’s done something wrong, but all thoughts flies out the window after you passionately smashed your lips against his and guided him on your lap. Ben gasps when you pulled the vibrator out of his hole and replaced it with your thick fingers, hooking his arms on the back of your neck.

“So good, love. Lookin’ all pretty for me.” He moans at your praise, the compliment making his heart flutter rather than boost his ego.

“s’for you…” They come out in whisper from his lips, littered with slight reluctance around the edge, but you hear it loud and clear. “All for you. I— fuck… just for you,” He grinds on your fingers, crying out when you curled them just right to stimulate his prostate.

You almost feel dizzy for his words that he’s never uttered before.

The utmost pride he upholds made it difficult for Ben to completely submit to you, often being a disobedient brat that needs to be put in his place or a quiet, reserved man that’s embarrassed to be loved by another man which causes him to be tense for the first half of this activity — so seeing him like this, hesitantly yet openly letting you in to his comfort zone, spilling the thoughts he’s always been fearful of admitting, holding you tight to him as if you’d slip from his grasp if he let you go, was pleasantly surprising. Your heart flutters, butterflies filling your stomach as the urge to protect and gently take him apart piece by piece runs like electricity through your veins, fuelling your desire for Ben.

You thrust your digits with gentle pace, Ben’s hips moving on its own to chase the pleasure. “That’s right, baby. All f’me, yeah? My pretty darling?”

The gentleness of your whispered voice and your eyes staring at him with pure love sends shivers down his spine; Ben holds your face and nods, pulling you in for a kiss. You can feel his suppressed fear through his desperate lips, the doubts that lingers in his mind that you might see him differently for being so vulnerable like this, and you quickly silence his thoughts by slipping your tongue inside his mouth.

Ben mewled when you add another digit in him, now having three fingers penetrating his hole, as he breaks the kiss to breathe for air. There’s a hazy look in his tearful eyes when he meets your gaze, “Take care of me, please.”

You groan at the plea, immediately pulling your fingers out to instead align your cock with his entrance. Ben must’ve been waiting for so long because he doesn’t hesitate to sink down on it almost in an instant, a loud collective moan escaping the two of you. Your hands gripped his hips while he rested both hands on your shoulders, and fuck he felt so fucking good. The way his warm, tight velvety walls deliciously clamp around you as if swallowing your cock whole, the way his divinely beautiful body perfectly fit against yours like he was made for you.

“fuck… you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” You praised, kissing up his throat as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Completely mine, so is Soldier Boy. Everythin’ about you, Ben. It’s all mine.”

Ben nods vigorously, gripping the back of your neck and starting to ride you at a perfect pace, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. Slipping his fingers through your hair, he gently tugged on them just enough that had you groaning, and laid his forehead to rest against yours. “Y-yours- ah… Yours as… as much as you’re fucking mine,” He grunts out, possessiveness hanging onto his every word that shot excitement through your body. “No one gets to f-fucking have you… oh fuck—!” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan when you snapped your hips up.

“Yeah? Not even that slut that danced with me on the dance floor?” You teased, smirking.

His bright green eyes seem to darken as he sinks even further down on your cock, forcefully stretching himself out, hissing at the delicious pain. You moaned, wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your chest. “Fuck, especially her.” Ben almost growls, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, feeling you throb and seemingly get bigger inside him due to it. “You… belong to me, o-only me.”

You hum, moaning softly when he squeezed your jugular just right. “Always, my love.”

Relief washes over his entire body as he begins to roll his hips and move again, leaning down to suck and kiss on your exposed collarbone. “Oh fuck… It’s— a-agh…! Tell me- tell me, please…” He whined desperately.

Ben needed to hear you say it, have the promises of you completely belonging to him nailed into his brain so he’ll never feel insecure or doubtful again. He’ll never admit it, but you always know every little thing that goes on inside his head, those haunting words of his father that seems to have a tight grip over him. You’re the only one that could see right through his soul; someone exactly opposite from his father, someone who fearlessly challenges the normality or ancient traditions, someone who actually have their shit together that enabled you to be mature, wise, unapologetically yourself.

You were extraordinary in every way possible, and Ben knew his inner vulnerable — not quite the man his father wanted him to be — self was safe with you. Always secured. Never judged nor ridiculed, instead embraced perfectly by your strong and warm arms that shields him away from the mental, emotional harm.

He knew you would catch him when he falls. You would keep him and his treasured thoughts safe. You weren’t afraid to love him loudly, wholeheartedly, and Ben allows himself to be brave just this once without thinking about his fears.

Trailing one of your hands up his nape, you pull him back to a searing kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Ben melted, his hand on your throat loosening as you gently twist your bodies around to lay him down on the bed without pulling out. He whimpers and chases you when you detached your lips from his, which nearly made your heart explode.

“I belong to you, my love.” You whispered, kissing down his neck and chest, thrusting your cock sensually slow inside him. Nothing quite like the animalistic sex you two usually have due to your powers, but it was more right than ever. “My heart, my body, my soul, my spirit. All for you, belong with you.”

Ben feels as if his heart would hammer right out of his ribcage from how rapid it was beating.

Your soothing yet powerful presence all over the place, hovering over him and embracing every bit of the damaged part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. There’s resistance gnawing on his skin, the unhealthy urge to push you away and guard himself again with a thick wall despite being the one who willingly showed vulnerability, but Ben uses all of his ability to shove it down. He wanted to listen to your overwhelmingly romantic and gentle words that he’s been taught men should never utter, he wanted to be held with so much care like he was your most prized possession, he wanted to be actually loved. For once, he wanted to allow himself to not be drowned in the toxicity his father had force-fed him with.

It doesn’t take you a second to notice him relaxing even further underneath your body, practically leaning onto your existence as the pretty noises escaping his mouth seems to gradually get louder, like he stopped holding himself back.

An awe surrounds your expression, genuinely taken aback by him letting everything go, and a soft sigh of pleasure falls from your lips. “That’s it, baby. You make the most prettiest sound. Don’t hold back,” Cooing gently, you adjust your hips and rolled into him, brushing his prostate at a perfect angle.

Ben keened, arching his back. “Fuuuck… oh, please. Deeper.”

You obliged, keeping the same slow and sensual pace but pushing further inside. “You’re made for me, aren’t you? Just as I’m made for you,” You sharply snap your hips once to emphasise, and he cries out. “We’re one, my love. No one can have me, I come home to you and only to you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, the pleasure and your words sending explosions of euphoria into his brain, nodding mindlessly at your promises. “Y-yes, fuck… I’m- I’m yours, too— ah, hng…” Tears spill from his beautiful green eyes as he spread his legs more wide, one hand grabbing your wrist that was propped beside his head to stabilise your body, almost clinging onto you while the other scratched against the mattress. “F-fucking Christ, always- always yours.”

“I know,” You softly acknowledged. “Always mine, no matter how much some part of you can’t accept it. I can see right through you, love. I understand everything about you.”

“I- oh yes! There, fuck!” Ben sobs when you start picking up your pace, hips bucking against you. “Y-you do… God, you a-always fucking do.”

That causes a grin to spread across your lips before you leaned down to devour him again.

Truth be told, Ben was afraid of how much you saw everything he’s been trying to hide all his life. It takes a bit of his soul every-time he learns to be indifferent, more sick and twisted. The innocence in him had died out long ago, but the desperation of a child never vanquished — the pathetic, ruined and heavily deprived of any love someone that he always forced himself to forget or get rid of, was seen entirely by you without much effort. He didn’t need to say anything, you always understood all the hidden insecurity, longing, pain, and fear nested deep in his mind. You also understood why he was the way he was, why he does what he does, who he had to become.

To be loved is to be seen and understood, he guesses.

A love he’s never thought he’ll ever experience from anyone, let alone his supposed enemy. You gave it to him, though. All so willingly, happily, like he was meant for it, like he was always meant for you.

Strangled, loud moan was forced out of him when your hand wrapped around his achingly hard dick, making him feel dizzy from all the overwhelming desire and pleasure. Every bit of love that emits from your touch sends a frying electricity through his veins, fulfilling his inner thirst that was supposed to be unquenchable.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—!” Ben wails, arching his back and digging his nails on your forearm as your thumb rubbed his sensitive slit and smeared precum all over. “C-close… oh, Christ! Cummin’, cummin’, please—”

“It’s alright, Ben. I got you,” You purred, slamming your hips down on him. “Let go, cum for me.”

As if that’s all the permission he needed, Ben instantly tumbles over the edge with a loud breathy whine as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sticky loads shooting out from his cock to his stomach. Body spasming and head thrown back, letting his mind-blowing orgasm wave right off of him, still clinging onto you. You gritted your teeth when his hole tightened impossibly around you, feeling yourself throb and ache to release.

Ben — in spite of his cloudy, mushed state of mind as well as hazy and cock-drunk look in his eyes — suddenly wraps both strong legs around your hips to keep you in place, which forces you forward to bury yourself deeper inside him, eliciting a growl of curses from you.

His mouth splits into a dumb, shit-eating grin. “Inside, baby. Fill me up… give me all you got. I need you.” He moves his hips and squeezes down like a fucking expert prostitute, and it’s enough to have you let out a guttural groan as you spilled inside his tight hole.

Ben released a shattered breath, moaning delightfully at your warm cum that taints his insides, his hand that was gripping your forearm moving down to caress his belly where he could feel you finishing.

It makes your breath hitch; the action sparking a deep hidden desire and possessiveness within you that you’ve had shackled for so long in order to not be too greedy.

But Ben, oh your precious Benjamin, pressed down on his perfect belly and whined so brokenly that tugged the strings of your heart, as if he wanted something so unreachable. He attempts to bury his face on the pillow in what you recognised as shame and you quickly hold his face to keep him from hiding from you, subtle concern glimmering in your gentle eyes.

“What’s bothering your mind, love?” You whispered with such carefulness, afraid speaking too loud would break the bubble of sensitivity that surrounded the two of you as you pressed a light kiss on his temple. “You can tell me, Benji. It’s not embarrassing nor shameful.”

Ben’s heart swells at the way you cage him in your protective arms and words, the back of his eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to come out. He doesn’t deserve you; he never did, but you’re so good to him and he doesn’t think he can live without you. No, he knows he can’t live without you.

What would he do without your captivating eyes looking at him with so much passion no one ever gave him before, your gentle voice uttering such carefully crafted words that embraces rather than cut through him, your big and muscular yet warmly protective arms holding him like he was a treasure to behold, your soul healing and rebuilding every damaged bit of his spirit like it was your purpose? What would he do without you?

And fuck, everything would be so much easier if he wasn’t a fucking man. If he wasn’t such a pussy who’s afraid of risking everything.

You gently roll your hips against his, slow and steady, as if to comfort his nerves and overthinking thoughts with a soft pleasure.

Letting out a quiet, breathy sigh, Ben holds your face close and internally fights back against the restraints that wanted to keep him from opening his soul up to you. “We’d be… We’d be so much happier if I wasn’t a fucking man,” His whispered voice breaks at the end.

His heart ached and so did yours, a realisation dwelling on you of how serious Ben actually was with your relationship. It comes off as an unexpected admittance. While you knew he did love you like you love him, you didn’t think it was to this extent of imagining the countless possibilities if either of you was a woman instead, much less he’d think of himself to be the woman. It was odd and so unlike him — true love brings out something within people, you suppose.

Tears glimmered in his green eyes that’s filled by storm of emotions.

Ben hated this, hated you for making him such a crybaby and a pussy, but he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts. He doesn’t know what triggered him to be an annoying, pathetic, insecure loser the moment you held him. God, he’s Soldier Boy for fuck’s sake!

Then, you look at him with so much tenderness like he hung the moon and was the only thing that grounds you down to earth, and Ben realises it’s this.

“You’re such a fucking fool,” You affectionately cursed with a tone barely above whisper before pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have spared you a glance if you weren’t. Women never captivated me, love. Only you.”

Wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face on the crook of your neck, Ben inhales your scent as you gently rock your bodies together. “Love me more,” He almost demands, voice low and trembling.

You smiled, “Of course, Benji.”

Pressing a sweet kiss on his head, you grab the back of his thighs and push them to his muscular chest, Ben’s flexibility despite his well defined physique making it easier for you to fold him. In a swift motion, you slam down on him, beginning to pound away the loud thoughts that made home in his mind. Angelic, high pitched sounds escape Ben’s mouth with each rough thrusts, bordering on pornographic. The blissful look across his face enhance his already ethereal features, and you can’t help but stare intently at him.

“You look so beautiful like this, love. Taking me in so well, letting me cherish you.” You praised, earning a needy whimper from the love of your life. “My Benjamin… my brave soldier.”

At the unexpected pet name, Ben’s body jolts and a choked sob erupted from his throat, suddenly pushed over the edge as he cums undone on his stomach. “F-fuck!”

“G-god, baby…” You groaned, shuddering in pleasure at the way his gummy walls spasms around your girth. “Drivin’ me insane, y’know that? Cummin’ with just my words alone? Shit, wanna fuck you hard and love you at the same time.”

Digging his nails on your back, Ben attached his lips on your collarbone with an intent to leave several possessive marks, making you jut your hips forward. “D-do it, fuck me.” He mumbled breathlessly.

That’s the only permission you needed to let go of your own self-control and just rut into him like an animal, thrusting your cock with more vigour and roughness that forced the headboard to repeatedly bang against the wall. Feeling the way your shaft practically drill into and rearrange his guts that brought immeasurable ecstasy, Ben finds himself finally unable to make out a coherent thought as drools drip down his chin. The two orgasms you milked out of him already left him sensitive enough, his thighs quivering under your grasps.

Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelches filled the room, accompanied by feral noises of both of your moans and grunts.

It’s nearly incomprehensible how you’re able to quickly switch between loving him and treating him like a slut next, a perfect balance to Ben’s constant yearning for admiration or appreciation and his tendency to always be an inconsolable brat that needs to be put back in his place.

He feels so complete and whole, so loved. And so so fucking dumb for your cock. He could stay like this forever without heavy expectations weighing over his head all the time, just taking you whole and letting you ruin his body, looking all pretty and beautiful for you. Yeah, he can do that. Being pretty and sexy has always been a talent of his, after all. He can even learn to cook for you like a fucking perfect, pretty housewife, maybe you’ll stuff him full of your cum again while at it and tell him to keep them in. Fuck, he can do that too. He wants to do that.

“Oh fuck, Ben…” An almost pornographic, low growl rumbles from your chest when he squeezed down on you, his warm walls fluttering against your girth from the imagination. The coil in your stomach tightens as you twitched inside him, too close to your high.

“I- ah—! Please, pleaseplease—!” He babbles, one hand shifting to press your ass and push you in deeper, syllables slightly slurred from how cockdrunk he was.

Understanding his wordless signal, you increase your pace with an angle that drives your instincts wild, a chill running through your spine from the overwhelming pleasure. Seeing Ben completely fall apart and surrender underneath you gives your ego an infinite boost, the powerful man such a sobbing, wrecked, pretty little mess just because of your cock. Drunk in every little euphoria and precious love you feed him. Oh, how fucking adorable and gorgeous he was.

Before long, Ben feels you throb inside him and pulls you in with what little willpower he had left, clumsily slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming you with different sensations of his body against yours. It’s enough to have you harshly ram your hips down in one swift motion and empty yourself inside him, a loud wail of your name leaving Ben’s lips as he finishes as well. You feel his body tremble violently due to overstimulation, breath stuttering.

“You look so fucked out,” You laugh breathlessly, hips softly grinding to ride out your climax. “Still fuckin’ hot when you’re all dumb n’ mindless.”

Petting his disheveled hair, a soft contented hum leaves Ben as he closed his eyes and nuzzled to your touch. The entire erotic sight of his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, tears staining his cheeks, hazy look across his eyes, and swollen lips sends amusement and satisfaction through your veins — you definitely fucked whatever self-loathing thoughts he’s had out of his head.

Having completely spilled inside him, you moved to pull out only for Ben to groan in protest. “Stay the fuck in,” He grumbled, panting to catch his breath.

“I need to clean us up, love.” You gently say, but kept yourself sheathed inside him as your lips attach to his neck. “Wanna take care of you properly.”

Ben quietly sighs in content, “You already do.” Before he tilts his head to capture you in a passionate kiss. You slowly pull out of him in amidst of the moment, holding his face and reciprocating with equal passion.

He breathes low and heavy when you start to wipe him up with a wet towel you magically conjured up, running it across his body gently as your other hand massaged his sore hip with such tenderness. Your eyes taking in every part of his physique feels much more innocent now compared to before, deep appreciation and subtle awe flashing across your irises the more you stare, which causes his cheeks to tint slightly. You find it adorable how shy or embarrassed he gets whenever you look at him like he’s something born out of the stars in contrast to the overinflated cockiness he displays when others compliment him; it just proves he feels different, more special with you.

You shoot him a gentle smile that makes his brain shut down and his heart jump.

Christ on a cross, just what did you fucking reduce him into?

“Will you marry me?” The words had left his mouth before he could even process.

You froze, eyes wide as you snapped your gaze to him at the same time his own widened in shock. Fuck, did he just say what he thinks he did? After you fucked him ‘til he couldn’t even speak properly? God, his legs feel wobbly after all that delicious pounding of your dick in his tight little—

His distracting thoughts were interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. There’s a bit of doubt lingered across your expression, worried that you mistakenly heard him, and Ben’s gaze softened. “Will you marry me?” He repeats quietly this time with genuine emotion, wiping away your worry.

Excitement and happiness seem to explode within you as you beam; “Yes! Fuck, yes, I’ll marry you.” However, your smile slowly deflates and a foreign look of insecurity replaces the joy surrounding you. “Are you… are you sure? You’re not pushing yourself?”

Confusion spreads across his face, “Why would you think I am?”

“It’s just not that easy to break away from all the homophobia, love.” You softly remind him. “You’re still having a hard time accepting it, could barely even call yourself the right term. You’re afraid, and that’s fine. We can continue on like this. You don’t have to marry me because you feel obligated to.”

Ben frowns, his hand pulling you down to the mattress at his side as he props up on his elbow and stares at you incredulously. “You think I wanna fucking marry you just ‘cause I’m guilty about hiding this? Did it ever occur to you that I actually fuckin’ love you?”

You smile to yourself; what a long way it took for him to just be able to admit that. At least he’s letting himself know he can be vulnerable with you now, compared to when he was convinced you’ll despise his inner self — a big fucking pussy, he says — and completely shut himself off in the beginning.

“Hey,” He grabs your chin to make you pay attention. “I know I still don’t do enough to show you, but I do. I really fucking do, baby.”

You look into his captivating green eyes for a second before releasing a deep breath, “I know. Trust me, you don’t have to do enough to show it, I can already tell. And I love you too.”

Ben nods and kisses your lips, lying down beside you. Your hand instinctually attaches to his waist, caressing his soft skin and shooting warmth throughout his body.

He can’t help but stare at your features, the way you look different now from how you looked at the party you crashed earlier. A certain amount of coldness, hostility and displeasure usually lurked your expression in a daily manner — hidden behind the undeniable charisma and obnoxious arrogance — directed at others that told exactly what their worth to you was; nothing. Ben hasn’t seen a day you were even remotely pleased by someone in the long years of knowing you, the people who attempted to get in your good graces often ended up screwing everything up instead and irritating you enough to kill them off.

But with him, you wouldn’t even spare him a cold glance. Your gaze twinkling with a pleasant spark, always warm, always comforting, always proud. God forbid you look at him with hatred like you’re supposed to. So affectionate for a man who’s been named after the Devil by the idiotic public that only sees what you let them see.

It is then had Ben realised; to him, true love is you.

True love is when you embrace a part of him that he deems undesirable, mend his broken soul, and melt the ice of deep rooted trauma surrounding his heart — it is when Soldier Boy doesn’t drive you away from seeing Benjamin, an ordinary boy from South Philadelphia who desperately wanted to make his father proud. You see them as one, as equally significant parts of him.

Good fucking Lord, he was a gigantic imbecile if he didn’t want to marry you, even if the idea still makes him feel quite… odd. Fuck’s sake, he really needs to learn how to deal with this homophobia bullshit, doesn’t he?

Ben licks his lips anxiously, reluctance plastered on his face. “I… I actually got the rings,” He hesitantly admitted.

Your eyes widened. “You did?”

“I- Jesus Christ, of course I did! I know I don’t fucking do shit like that, okay?” He snapped before quietly muttering, “Just wanted you to believe me when I propose.”

“I do,” You don’t miss to give him comfort, grabbing his hand. Ben’s nerves soothes at your touch. “I just thought we still have a long way to go and you need more time to figure yourself out.”

He shakes his head, “Gotta claim you before some fucker decides you’re free for them.”

“Yeah?” You smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Could’ve gone with a collar, y’know. It would get your point straight across. Plus, it’s more visible.” Tapping your neck to emphasise, which made Ben swallow.

Yeah, you’ll look good with a collar in his colour. You can even wear both. That’ll definitely get his point across to anyone that even looks at you. Maybe next time, he decides.

A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, “That’ll fucking work best. Think I could put a leash on you too?” He teased, letting out a chuckle and sliding his hand up to your neck and hold you there.

“Mhm, fuck yes,” You almost purred from how pleased you were at the idea.

Ben laughs, lightly squeezing your neck in affection before turning around to rummage through the cabinet on the side of your bed, pulling out a velvet box that’s in the shade of his green. You could tell he was enthusiastic and overwhelmed with emotions from the way his hands slightly trembled, though you made no mention of it to avoid bursting his adorable bubble.

His grin was as bright as the sun on a sunny day when the ring perfectly fits around your finger, already snuggling comfortably on your skin and bringing a weight of new purpose in life. You slip the other ring on his as well, feeling the entanglement of your destiny with one another, the red strings of fate on both of your pinky fingers thickening. It’s a sacred oath that ties you to each other forever.

Warmth spreads around your chest at the fact it’s his first time giving you a gift and it’s something so unexpectedly intimate. A silver engagement ring with a ruby in his shade of green and his name engraved on the inner side; practically a part of his soul, settling itself home around your finger. You shift your gaze to the one he wears — the same silver ring but with a dark red ruby instead, your signature colour, and you assume also have your name engraved on the inner side as well.

A big, significant step for a man who’s constantly afraid of what others think about him, and you couldn’t be more prouder.

Lying back down on the bed together, Ben turns his back on you and scoots closer to your chest, making you smile when he grabbed your wrist to pull your arm over his torso. He always loved being hugged by you from behind despite the fact he’ll never admit it out loud; as much as it sounds pathetic and unmanly, he doesn’t argue with himself of how it gives him safety and protection from the harsh judgmental world. Being in your arms always dissipated the cruel words of his father carved in his mind.

You gently pulled him closer to your body and pressed a kiss on his shoulder blade. “Don’t have to rush about coming out, love. It’ll take more than a simple courage to be open about something considered taboo by our society. You’re still dealing with personal issues, we’ll focus on that for now.”

Ben’s heart warms at your consideration, unable to resist the urge to stick to you like a glue as he leans back on your chest. “How the fuck did you do it? This feels like a pain in the fucking ass,” He muttered disdainfully, though there was a hint of willingness in his tone, like he’s willing to make an effort just for you.

You shrugged, “m’not exactly shaped by my childhood trauma, Benji, and I didn’t like my parents that much. Never really gave a fuck about somethin’ that has no benefit to my life whatsoever.”

“Entitled asshole,” He laughs.

“So are you,” You teased, making you both erupt in loud laughter.

I could get used to this, Ben thinks as genuine happiness glows bright in his heart, your love anchoring him and providing a solid land for him to stand on. Dealing with his own problems doesn’t sound so bad when you’re there for him every step of the way. With your protective arms around his body, both Soldier Boy and Benjamin knew their heart will always be safe with you.

For once, Ben believes he can finally learn to create a family of his own.

Until disaster struck and life suddenly decides to not be fair on someone as fucked up as him — ripping his world apart into shreds in the form of coward, betraying bastards known as his fucking teammates.

1K notes · View notes

lostalioth · 9 months ago

Text

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

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jollyhunter · 2 months ago

Text

Shower Reliever

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE Dean Winchester x f!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT 18+ MDNI, established relationship, menstruating (evil cramps!!), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, mention of blood (light), Dean being dorky and cute, guided masturbation in the shower? (idk how to tag this sryyy), Dean’s misuse of a shower head as a magic wand, no use of Y/N, English isn’t my native language

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY It’s that time of the month; Cramps are tormenting you, but Dean’s there to cheer you up and look after you by giving you some relief. ♡ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 4,2k

It’s afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening.

How are you supposed to know when you’re surrounded by the bunker’s concrete and artificial light all day?

A pathetic, writhing-weeping blood sacrifice wrapped up in bed sheets like a burrito. That’s what you are. Ready to be served. Honestly, though? Big Hellhound pupper toying with your guts suddenly seems much more appealing than a day ago. At least the doggo wouldn’t take three damn days to rip your innards out.

But you won’t complain. Because right now? Things seemed oddly… okay? It’s almost suspicious.

A deep sigh of relief falls of your lips and you dare to sprawl out on the mattress. Star-fish formation. Plain ceiling staring back down at you.

You’re maybe 5 seconds into your newfound content - and then the little bitch ruins it by raking her peeler down your walls. A sharp hiss presses past your clenched teeth.

Nevermind. Here she goes again.

Peeling your uterus out from the inside. Like Lilith herself is down there, having a feast on your unborn – and very non-existent – baby.

Muffled by Dean’s pillow, you scream. Fuck that time of the month.

Why’s it always that time of the month? Again and again and again.

Why can’t you just get the period twice a year like a bitch and get on with it? It’s not like you signed up for this. In fact, you’d very much like to file a complaint.

Not that Chuck would care. “That bastard knows why he doesn’t own an uterus...” you grumble.

A hot flush shoots through your body. Wheezing takes over your breathing. The bedsheets go flying along some of the pillows you’d burrowed yourself in.

Burning up. Hot. Your body feels like your ovaries decided to have a meltdown.

You roll around the bed, aimlessly. A ball of messy hair. Entangled in the sweat-drenched pyjama you couldn’t get yourself to change from. Arms clutched around your stomach, fingers clawing at the hot-water bag which so far hasn’t done much more than give you third-degree burns and only add to the feverish heat steaming beneath your skin.

When the door to your and Dean’s bedroom opens, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head. Instead you’re curled up like a salted snail, squirming, each and every noise escaping from you thick with pain.

“Hey baby, ‘m back…” Dean greets you from across the room, his voice dying down as he spots you on the bed just where he'd left you this morning.

Your face plants into the sheets when you double over from another stab to your uterus.

“It’s trying to kill me, Dean,” you whimper into the mattress. Dean’s face contorts at your strangled sound.

“That bad?” It’s a stupid question, and he realizes it the moment it leaves his mouth. Of course it’s bad. You look like hell.

And worst is, it’s been going like this the entire day already. First time Dean’s witnessing it from the start, too. You’d been together for a couple of months now, but you being you, you’d so far managed to slip away just in time before your period kicked down the door.

Now that you moved in with the boys in the bunker that didn’t seem an option any longer.

You watch Dean’s face harden, the way it always does when he starts to feel helpless.

Indeed, Dean could feel the frustration claw on the inside of his chest. To the point he secretly wished your state would just be the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.

At least he would know what to do then, y’know? Clean your wounds, stitch you back together if needed – maybe it wouldn’t look as neat as when you did it, but it’d do the job – because that’s what he’s good at.

But this? He didn’t quite know how to work with this.

There’s no injury he could just patch up. No swig of whiskey to dampen the pain. No way for him to help. And watching you writhe like you were being tortured from the inside, was killing him.

He sighs. The shopping bag in his hand gets dropped to the floor and he rounds the bed to your side. A frustrated hand ruffles back his hair. His eyes taking in the battlefield you’ve caused. And they come to rest on your crumpled form, smack in the middle of it all.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” he mutters softly. And he means it. You know he does. The words were simple, yet you know that if he could, he’d take your pain away in a heartbeat. But he can’t. Because for some reason, despite all the supernatural crap you get to deal with on a daily basis, this isn’t an option.

Damn you Chuck.

You make a sound between a whine and a sigh at the grave conclusion, at which Dean’s eyebrows pull together.

The bed dips down beside you and next moment the warmth of his body presses against your side. He slowly runs his hand over your shoulders to rub your back in soothing circles.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better..?” he asks.

“Rip it out. Use it for your next blood sacrifice. Sell it to Crowley. I don’t care- I don’t want it no more,” you wail while crawling into his lap, your face burying into his grey shirt and the blue jacket that’s partially covering it.

“Jesus,”– Dean laughs softly, his deep voice rumbling under your cheeks –“Yeah, not happening.”

His arms wrap around you to pull you closer. The familiar smell of his fills your senses when you nuzzle your nose into the fabric of his clothes. A combination of his musk, fresh lemon and a hint of sweetness of his cologne clouds your mind.

Your muscles relax for a fraction. Melting into his heavy embrace. It’s odd how just a smell can have such a calming effect. As of right now, you wished you could just climb into his shirt, buttoned-up, and pressed flush against his body. All safe, warm and fuzzy.

But Uterus-Lilith had different plans. The sharp wince you try to bite back, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“My poor baby… C’mere…” He leans down to place a tender kiss onto your crown while he cradles you on his lap like a wounded animal.

His chin comes to rest on top of your head. Lips press against your hair. “It’ll pass… You’ll feel better soon… My brave girl…” he murmurs softly and you sigh.

Another twinge to your abdomen. Your body jolts, then caves in. Dean startles for a moment but then tightens his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest.

While he continues to rub your back, his other hand begins to card through the back of your hair. “Shhh, it’s okay… I got you…”

“It’s like the damn thing is committing sepukku,” you lament with fingers curled into his shirt. Nose buried in his chest. Trying everything to physically ground you until the cramp goes by.

At that comparison, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch into a pressed smirk. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh.” His stomach contracts and shakes beneath you.

In response, a disgruntled noise gets huffed into his chest. And Dean can’t help a short, surprised snort.

“Sepukku?” He tries so hard to sound serious and to hold in his chuckles, but finally loses his battle. “Seriously?” He shakes his head lightly and his green eyes crinkle slightly when he continues to tease you, “You telling me, you got a wee little Samurai down there?”

A wee little Samurai throwing a tantrum in your uterus? Okay, that image carried a smile to your lips. Sounds a lot cooler than Lilith feeding on your unborn child.

Unfortunately the wee little Samurai was not amused and rammed its katana once more into your uterus.

Another jolt goes through your body. Another strangled sound follows. You burrow your face even further into his arms in hopes that his smell will just work like some narcotics.

Perhaps it’ll just knock me out when I dig my face deep enough into his shirt? A weird thought. But you guess that’s just what menstrual hormones mixed with pain does.

“Yes,” you wince, “And it failed to conceive a child,” then groan in agony, “So now it wants to punish me for it.”

Now Dean actually has to bite back a hearty laughter. “Oh, sweetie,”– he taps your head lightly with his finger –“Look on the bright side. At least we know I didn't knock you up. It's like a free monthly pregnancy test.“

That jab would have earned him a deadpan glare of yours if it wasn’t for the next attack on your inner walls and your body jerked into his arms this time.

Dean’s light-hearted expression contorts into a pained one. Jaws clenched with a twinge of guilt.

“Want me to get you some painkillers? Or – uh – maybe some whisky?” he inquires, his head tilted down in an attempt to meet your gaze. But your eyes are scrunched up, face still hidden in his bunched up shirt.

“Baby, can you look at me for a sec?” he pleads, while his hands slip underneath to cradle your chin now, coaxing you out of your den. You lift your head, just enough to meet his concerned eyes.

“None of that helps…” you mutter. Although you did wonder whether whiskey might even do the trick. Get the wee little samurai bitch a little tipsy down there, hm? Maybe it would pass out?

No – no, now you’re thinking like Dean. That’s a terrible idea.

“Imagine you’re getting stabbed in the stomach and the blade gets twisted. Repeatedly. For hours.”

Dean winces inwardly at your description. A hand instinctively clutches his stomach. He doesn’t have to imagine what that pain feels like. He knows.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of some memories from downstairs, his eyes back on you just when you writhe again with a stifled groan.

“Okay, that‘s enough. I‘m getting you off the rack,” he declares and you don’t even get the chance to react when he’s already scooping your curled up form up into his arms.

“W-what? What are you going to do, Dean?” you ask confused while he pulls you to your feet and starts leading you out the bedroom and down the bunker's hallway.

"I'm going to distract you," he replies, glancing back over his shoulder at you while he leads you to the main bathroom, "I did some digging this morning... to see what I could do to help with your period cramps, and it looks like an orgasm might do the trick."

You stop in your tracks. Quick enough for Dean to almost stumble into the bathrooms doorframe.

"N-no," you squeak, eyes wide.

"No, what? No it won't work or no you don't-"

"No, I'm fine."

"So it does work?"

"Well- uh-" you trip over your words when the heat rushes to your cheeks, "It's - it's different when I... uh..."

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be ashamed of," he chuckles softly and brings up his hand to cup your cheek, "Is it 'cuz of the blood? You do know I don't care about it, right? You really think I won't touch you just 'cause you're on your period?"

"No, but... it's awkward... and gross..." you mumble, eyes averted as you can feel the heat going both ways now.

Because, even if you wouldn't admit it, you did feel a bit horny. It's just one of those many fluctuating emotions a period entails. In those blessed days, it feels like your mood is being regulated by a pinball machine. And as of right now, it hit the tingling nub at the very bottom.

"Gross? Honey, I've been covered in guts, sludge, crap and all sorts of other nasty stuff. Do you honestly think a little blood's gonna phase me?" He tilts your head up to make you look at him, his lips twitch in amusement but his words are genuine, "You're not gross, sweetheart. Not to me..."

"But-" the next argument forms on your lips when he dives down to muffle them with a kiss. Your cheeks cradled by his large hands. Tender, soft, but enough to shut you up and make you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his plump lips still hovering inches from yours, he speaks softly.

“Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

His green eyes flick back and forth between yours, intense and yet calming. And really, how could you ever say no to him when he looks at you like you'll break his heart if you don't let him help you.

A sudden twinge in your stomach has you hunch over, and it's enough to finally convince you to let go of your tribulations with a weak nod of yours.

“Okay," you wince under your sharp exhale. The pain in your voice has Dean's hands dart down, one to your contracted stomach and one to the small of your back.

"Alright then, c'mon, sweetheart..." he mutters. Then gently guides you towards the shower after he closed and locked the door behind you.

When he notices how your teeth pull at your lower lip the way they always do when you're overthinking things, he grabs both of your hands. He squeezes them to get you to look at him, just to bestow you with one of his trademark grins. Confident, cheeky and oh so lovable.

“You trust me, right? It won't be awkward, promise. Nothing wrong with giving my girl some relief. Besides... This is purely therapeutic,” he quips and winks at you.

Once both of your clothes are piled up in a corner, you pad over the cold tiles and into the shower. Dean slides in after you, his naked body flush against your skin, his body heat a warm welcome in the cold air of the large bathroom. His arms envelop you from behind, one hand splayed out on your stomach to try and sooth your cramps, the other reaching for the shower head to pull it from its holder.

“Lean back, I got you baby,” he assures you while tugging you gently further back into his chest.

He turns on the shower, tests the temperature until it's the perfect heat and then slowly brings it down to the level of your stomach with the spray of water still pointed to the floor.

“Spread your legs a bit for me, sweetie,” he gently nudges his knee between your thighs, coaxing you into a wider stance while he continues to hum above you, “Mhm, that's it. Now just relax and lemme take care of you...”

Dean rests his chin on top of your head, the stubbles tingling your scalp as he does so. The air around you slowly begins to mix with steam while his body holds you close. Save and protected. The world reduced to just the two of you and the warmth hugging you from head to toe. Your thoughts and worries are drowned out by the rhythmic pattering of the droplets hitting the smooth shower floor as the sound echoes off of the tiled bunker walls all around you.

You feel yourself relax against him, despite the occasional, small jolts of pain which keep reminding you of that fact.

At last, a heavy sigh drops off your lips. The signal Dean has been waiting for.

He tugs at the hose, just enough to guide the water up your legs, then your thighs...

When the first jet of water hits right on your bundle of nerves, you almost buckle over with a gasped, “Oh shit-”

Your fingernails bite into the skin of his forearms, drawing a hiss from him. He moves his free hand to your hip, his grip on your squishy flesh gentle but strong. Steadying and grounding you.

“Feels good?” he asks while playing with the angle of the shower head.

You nod. Jolting whenever one of the water jets grazes your sensitive spot.

“Want me to keep goin‘?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

The hand on your hips slides over the bump on your bones and dips down between your legs. Next moment, calloused fingers slip along your folds to spread them open.

You shiver under the touch of his rough fingertips and at the feeling of him coating them in some of your arousal.

He angles the shower head slightly lower now, until a row of water jets skim your entrance. Your breath hitches. Then comes out in a shaky whimper.

Your legs start to go weak, feeling like jello.

Dean gently tugs you up again and pulls your back flush into his chest to keep you upright, making sure he's your anchor in this tidal wave of pleasure he's drowning you in.

“Just let go... that’s it…” he coos, now his head angled to nuzzle his nose against your temple.

Another shockwave travels through your body and tightens your coil even more, to the point it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

Your head drops back onto Dean‘s shoulder. Neck draped over his collarbone, just where his anti-possession tat lays. Shaky and ragged breaths mingle in the damp air of the shower.

“Just relax,” he places a kiss to your temple, his stubbles tingling the wet skin as he murmurs, “I got you.”

His fingers spread you further while he brings the shower head closer, allowing some of the water to push past your entrance.

“Oh fuck- Dean-” you gasp and whine at the same time.

„Language, young lady,“ he chides playfully, „This is purely therapeutical, remember?“

You choke on a giggle when he moves the shower head a fraction lower and the water jet grazes your sensitive nub just the right way, enough to send an intense jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Ah, so that's the magic angle, huh?” Dean laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out in a weak whimper as Dean's making sure to keep the right angle.

The intensity has your nerves on fire, like your core's being hooked up to electricity with hundreds of little needles tingling your most sensitive spot.

“M-move - p-please,” you beg in a shaky voice that has Dean's smile next to your cheek widen.

“Guide me,” he prompts softly, the hand on the shower head waiting for your instructions. You slip your hand along his strong arm, over the bump of his wrist, until you cover his hand with your tender fingers.

Slowly you begin to guide his hand into small, circular motions. The water jets brush your nub now from all sides, the overwhelming sensation enough to make you whimper weakly and your head loll to the side to bury your nose under his jaw.

“Too much?” he asks, his head tips to the side to look down into your eyes. You shake your head, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as they meet his. Hair’s stuck to your damp, flushed, skin, pupils blown wide, gaze intoxicated from pleasure.

The corner of his lips tugs into a smirk at your blissful expression. It's such a stark contrast to what you'd looked like moments ago when you were doubling over from pain. And if it wasn’t for the special circumstances, he’d make sure to keep you in this state all day and night. The growing pressure of his own arousal heavy against your back is evidence of his thoughts.

But this is about you now. His needs will just have to wait for – for… how long did a period even last? A day? Two? Hm, maybe if you’d feel comfortable enough, he wouldn’t need to wait this long. But one step at a time.

When your legs begin to shake, Dean presses his lips to your ear, murmuring into it, deep and hoarse from his own arousal.

“You’re doing so well for me… Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to just relax and feel…”

You don't have to be told twice. The intensity is enough to make your eyes flutter close, squinting them even as your face contorts from the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body like a firework.

“Now I want you to imagine it's my mouth down there...”

While he keeps you distracted with the images he's painting in his husky voice, the hand on your folds leaves you and he reaches for the tap, increasing the water pressure.

“Y'know... the way I like to wrap my lips around you… and suck on that cute little bean 'til you're sobbing.”

“O-oh my God-” you mewl after the hard jet of water swallows your pulsing nub, causing your legs to buckle. The feeling's like a lightning bolt has just hit you. And it just keeps striking. Your other hand darts to his thigh behind you, fingernails biting into his skin in an attempt to ground you. But the jolts of pleasure set the nerves down your legs on hot white fire now, with everything from your stomach downwards tingling.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for…” he chuckles and keeps going with his sweet words of praise somewhere outside of your clouded mind.

Images of Dean kneeling between your legs pulse under your eyelids. How his broad shoulders shove your knees apart, keeping your legs spread as they begin to fight him from the intensity of his mouth on your core. How the soft flesh of your thighs is squished under the force of his fingers, how you witness the veins on his arms pop as his muscles work relentlessly to prevent you from squirming away. How he holds your gaze the entire time, pupils blown up wide from hunger and lust as they eat away the deep emerald pools circling them.

Ragged breaths leave your lips. Another row of jolts has your body shaking in his arms. Each one driving you closer to your climax until you’re teetering on the edge. When your body begins to fight him and thrash around, Dean quickly tightens his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

He moves his lips to your temple, planting a tender kiss there, prickling stubbles brush the side of your face while he continues to talk you through it.

“You're doing so well... Let go for me, sweetheart... I've got you, I'll catch you, promise.”

Just when you feel yourself tip over, his free hand leaves your core to the constant onslaught of the circling water jets and moves it to your hand. His fingers slide between yours, intertwining them.

Then the tidal wave crashes down on you.

Dean's hand squeezes yours. The corner of his lips still pressed to your temple.

A guttural sound leaves the back of your throat when waves after waves of ecstasy course through you, enough for your knees to give in as your body goes limp.

“Oh- we goin' down?” he jokes softly as he follows your movement.

As promised, Dean catches you right after you've dropped some inches. Chuckling lightly above you as he pulls you back to your feet. Legs still shaky like a newborn foal’s.

“C'mon, bambi...” - he teases and slides the shower head back into place before he wraps both of his arms around your waist and turns you to face you with a soft smile - “…there you go.” You smile back at him, your hands finding purchase on his hips, gaze still a bit woozy.

He brushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, head tilted down to your eye-level, “Hey there, sweetie. You feeling better?”

“Yes,” you sigh, one of relief at the missing pain. At least for the moment. You melt into his embrace, feeling how your wet and naked bodies lock together like a perfect puzzle piece. “So much better.”

“Good, that’s good…” he murmurs into your hair after your forehead had dropped to his chest.

After a moment of peaceful silence, a mischievous grin creeps onto his face.

He clears his throat.

“You want me to battle that wee little samurai with my sword now?”

It takes your dazed mind a moment to catch up with his rather creative innuendo.

Once it hits you, you sputter an amused chuckle, “Please don’t.”

Dean huffs through his nose, feigning disappointment.

“Aw c’mon… Y'know, I’ve always wanted to fight a samurai… I’d make a pretty good Nathan Algren, don’t ya think?” he quips, then his lips quirk into a boyish, innocent grin as he adds, “...and my sword wouldn't mind getting bloody either.”

Now this has you raise your head to meet his cheeky expression and burst out in laughter.

“You do us both a favour and keep your mighty sword in your pants for now, you hear me? Idiot-” you playfully slap his chest, the wet sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. Dean’s grin doesn’t waver, instead his hands on your back slide down your spine until they reach your ass cheeks.

He clicks his tongue.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, s’all I’m sayin’,” he jabs softly as he pats both your ass cheeks. His eyes crinkle at the corner, and he's got a secret smile on his face, proud of how he made you not only smile, but laugh, despite the hell trip you’re on. Maybe he’s not as helpless as he thought.

His features suddenly harden, eyes narrowed as they dart down to your stomach, a pointed finger now prodding the spot below your bellybutton.

“Now back to you,” he growls, you giggle, and he has to fight to keep a straight face and his voice especially low and warning as he continues, “You leave my girl alone now. Or else I’ll personally come down there and take care of you, Tom Cruise style. You hear me you evil little bitch?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J/NOTES May Dean bring some relief to all of you poor, fellow victims of Uterus Lilith. <3

And thank you, @ambiguous-avery for your help with the correct name for the shower head lol 😌

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ambiguous-avery · 3 months ago

Text

Tangled Sheets

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 8464

Summary: Sam and Dean would give up anything for the other. Even if that includes the girl they’re head over heels for. But did anyone ever think to ask her thoughts on the matter?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, threesome (no wincest), femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected P in V/A sex (make safe decisions, friends), double penetration, consent checks via traffic light system, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Let’s let these three finally have their moment. So here, a story about a girl and her dogs boys idiots. This picks up immediately following Untamed Soul.

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

The motel room was colder than your cocoon in the bathroom and only contributed to your deepening scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest. You had slipped into your pajamas for the night because you were sure that the rough fabric of your jeans would be too much against your still-tingling skin. Decency be damned. It wasn’t like they were anything scandalous. An old-oversized shirt you had stolen from Dean forever ago and sleep-shorts you usually reserved for hot summer nights. Nothing you hadn’t worn around them before.

Dean had pulled the horribly outdated recliner chair over to the table in the room and was lounging in it, beer in hand. Sam sat opposite of him in a wooden chair that creaked with every little movement. Dean twisted in his chair, turning to look at you and flashed you a grin.

“And you get on my case for long showers. You been in there since we left?” Dean teased. You shifted your weight between your feet, making a very conscious effort to ignore the way his voice rolled over you. Behind Dean, you could see Sam’s gaze drop to your bare legs, and you tried your best not to read into that too much. You had nice legs. You would’ve been offended if he didn’t look.

“It’s a different story when we all draw from the same hot water tank,” you finally said.

“Oh I know all about sharing, sweetheart.” Dean’s gaze caught yours, and you could almost feel the heat from his stare searing into your skin. Why had he said it like that? “Hell, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you I’m a giver.” You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that decorated the room instead of the images of Dean’s head between your legs that flashed through your mind. Sam cleared his throat.

“Do I need to sleep in the car tonight?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, finishing off his beer and setting the now-empty bottle down.

“Nah, Sammy, we’re just getting started. Come on, take a seat. Got a cold one for you.” Dean said your name as he stood and grabbed three bottles from the mini fridge in the room, setting them down in front of each of you. You sat down in the third chair between them with a sigh. You’d survive the loss of your personal time, but you were definitely locking yourself in your room when you got back to the bunker. You didn’t care what kind of excuse you had to give them to get them to leave you be. Hell, you’d tell them exactly what you planned to get up to if it meant they gave you your precious few hours alone.

“What, you strike out at the bar tonight?” you asked as Dean cracked open his beer.

“Wouldn’t be the same without you there, sweetheart. Figured we’d bring the drinks to you.”

“I think you guys would survive one night without me. We only live together.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sick of us. Stick around. Play a game. Celebrate an easy hunt.”

You glanced at Sam who shot you a look that said Yeah I don’t know what he’s up to either.

“I couldn’t be sick of you guys even if I tried,” you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You really couldn’t imagine hunting without Dean and Sam by your side. “Alright, what are we playing?” Dean smirked like you had just stepped into his perfectly laid trap.

“I was thinking truth or dare.” He reached for the empty bottle and tipped it onto its side. The glass clinked softly against the tabletop. “Whoever the bottle lands on has to do a dare. Or… spill a secret or whatever the truth is.” To your left, Sam scoffed.

“Really, Dean? How old are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Interesting choice of game, but I’ll bite,” you said, opening your beer. The hiss of escaping carbonation filled the air, and you took a swig, the cold bitterness a refreshing reprieve from the fire that roiled within. Meanwhile, Sam shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips as he resigned himself to Dean’s antics.

Dean grinned and gave the bottle a spin. You watched with amusement as it twirled on the table, the neck slowing down until it pointed directly at you. Dean’s green eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

With Dean, it was a genuine toss up on whether he’d ask a potentially embarrassing question or give you a harmless dare. The devilish glint in his eye suggested that neither option was going to be wholly safe, and there was a non-zero chance that a dare from him was going to be to flash him or Sam your tits. You would’ve done it. And that was the problem.

“Truth.”

“Alright…” Dean drummed his fingers on the table, clearly having expected that you would pick dare. “What’s your favorite position during sex?”

You heard Sam choke on his beer beside you, and you were thankful when Dean turned his attention to him. It gave you a moment’s reprieve to tamp down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered. You leaned over and clasped Sam’s shoulder, only to immediately regret it because your eyes inadvertently went to his hands that held the beer bottle. Hands that you had imagined doing other things to you mere minutes ago. You pulled your arm back and instead chose to focus on your own drink.

“What? The questions have to be dirty otherwise it’s no fun! And besides, I could’ve asked far worse,” Dean said. You cleared your throat and took another sip of beer, buying yourself a moment to school your features into a neutral expression before replying.

“Cowgirl,” you said simply, and you had to fight every urge to grin as both Winchesters turned to look at you, eyes wide. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, feigning innocence. And then, because you were still frustrated at Dean for his interruption, you dug your heel in and added, “I like watching people squirm beneath me.”

Pride swelled in your chest as your words hit the mark dead on. You watched as Dean swallowed thickly before taking a long pull from his beer, and Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently, the pulse in his neck pounding. You could’ve cackled at how perfect their responses were. If this was how the game was going to go, you were all too eager to play it. Dean coughed awkwardly, his typical bravado momentarily faltering as he tried to regain his composure. Sam opened his mouth like he might’ve had something to say then closed it wordlessly.

“My turn, right?” you asked, pretending not to notice their reactions. They each nodded silently. You leaned forward and gave the bottle a spin. It rotated slowly before coming to a stop, pointing at Dean. You smiled sweetly at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it was because he was still recovering from the revelation you had dropped on him, but Dean’s response of, “Truth. I ain’t got nothing to hide, sweetheart,” in a strangled voice was a little surprising. You had fully expected him to pick dare. Nonetheless, you took a moment to think, letting your gaze linger on the way his jaw clenched slightly, the stubble on his chin catching the dim light in the room.

“Alright… where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor despite the flush creeping up his neck. You could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug.

“Probably the back of a food delivery truck,” he finally admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he was daring you to ask about details. You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected answer and the mental image of Dean with his pants around his ankles, ass bared for anyone who might walk. You laughed harder.

“Seriously?” you chucked, raising an eyebrow. Sam snorted beside you.

“Dude, pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Sam said while shaking his head.

“Cut me some slack. We could all use some fun every now and again. If you got your nose out of your books every once in a while, maybe you’d experience it.” Dean’s voice carried a hint of challenge to it.

“I have fun, Dean,” Sam said defensively. “It just doesn’t include public sex.”

“Hey, we closed the door. And I’m skeptical that your fun includes any sex.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

The bottle clinked as Dean spun it. Sam glowered at his brother across the table as the bottle pointed at him, and Dean grinned. You watched as Sam’s expression shifted to mild apprehension, but Dean’s heckling must’ve got to him because the apprehension gave way to determination. Sam leaned forward in his seat.

“Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Dare, jerk. Do your worst.”

“Gladly. I dare you to… kiss her.” Dean’s gaze flicked over to you.

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise, clearly having expected Dean to put him through something ridiculous or demeaning. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what the least suspicious reaction would be. Were you supposed to be offended? Shocked? Horrified? Into it? You wouldn’t even have to pretend for that last one.

You shot a quick glance at Sam, but he was already looking away, his cheeks tinged with a light pink hue. Dean watched the exchange with a smug grin, clearly relishing the discomfort he had caused. However, when you looked at him, you were sure there was something more in those green eyes of his. If you weren’t mistaken, it was something akin to longing. A twinge of disappointment and more. You would’ve tried to dig deeper into it, but Sam’s movement in your peripheral vision drew your attention back to him.

“Are you okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He was looking at you, eyebrows drawn up in concern and something unnamable in his eyes. While there had been no physical change, something about the way Sam was looking at you felt different. More charged. Like the prospect of kissing you had opened some sort of floodgate and there was no way to close it again.

“I’m sure you could make her plenty comfortable, Sammy.”

“Dean...” Sam gave Dean a look for the briefest of moments, and you made the executive decision that the best way to navigate the situation was to be as cool about it as possible. It was just a kiss. A kiss with one of the men you had just imagined fucking you into next week, but a kiss nonetheless.

“You’re not afraid of little ol’ me, are you, Sammy?” you asked, laying the charm on thick. Actually, maybe if you leaned way into it, the boys would be none-the-wiser. Hide your attraction in plain sight, so to speak.

You hadn’t ever called him ‘Sammy’ before. That was a privilege only Dean had, but in the moment, it felt right. Like it fit right in with the teasing tone you took. But when Sam let out a long, audible exhale through his nose and something dangerous flickered in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you had crossed a line. He had never outright said that you were allowed to call him that, and you had seen how defensive he could get about the nickname. The word ‘sorry’ was on the tip of your tongue, but Sam spoke before you could say it.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t what he said that caused your stomach to flip. It was how he said it. Like he was a predator stalking his prey. Like he was on the verge of pouncing. Like he was a wolf calling a lamb to him. You had it backwards. Maybe you were supposed to be afraid of him. And before you knew it, you were out of your chair and standing between his legs after he had scooted away from the table. Even sitting down, he was so damn tall. “You okay with this?” he asked again, the usual, gentle Sam you knew bleeding through whatever personality had taken him over. You nodded numbly.

“Yeah… It’s just a kiss,” you said, more for your sake than his. It didn’t do anything for your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The air between you crackled with tension as you held your breath, the heat of his hand sinking into you like a balm. He closed the distance between you.

All your fantasies and previous ideas of what kissing Sam Winchester would be like flew out the window in an instant, every one of them a mockery of the real thing. His lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the lingering bitterness of beer. But the kiss was nothing like the playful teasing you had expected from a simple dare. There was something deeper to it, something raw. A silent confession of things left unsaid for far too long. You were sure Sam could hear your heart hammering in your chest as you melted into the kiss, unable to resist the pull of his lips on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and the world around you faded away until all that was left was Sam.

Sam’s hand on your cheek. Sam’s lips against yours. Sam’s comforting, woodsy scent enveloping you like a hug. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. Your hands settled against his chest, firm and steady beneath your touch.

Dean’s low whistle shattered the spell between you.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” Dean said with a chuckle, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t sit right with you. You pulled away, breathless and cheeks flushed. Sam’s gaze found yours, his expression entirely unreadable. You took an unsteady step away from him and turned to look at Dean. You hadn’t been imagining it before. There definitely was something gnawing at him that he wasn’t letting on.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved to stand from his seat. He let out a humorless laugh.

“Look, as fun as it is to watch you two dry hump, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel on a bicycle.”

Your stomach lurched. You could feel the balance between the three of you tipping. Everything was going to come crashing down around you. Pandora’s box had been opened, and there was no going back. The phrase “the person who chases two rabbits will catch none,” came to mind, but whoever had said it clearly had never met you. You couldn’t lose them. That might actually kill you.

“Dean,” you said at the same time Sam said your name. You looked back at Sam. He had the same indiscernible thing in his eyes that Dean had, and it was really starting to bug you. Normally you could read these two like books, but right now, it was like someone had taken all the words out and scrambled them. Sam tipped his head in Dean’s direction.

“If he’s feeling left out… then why not give him a kiss too?”

Your jaw went slack, and every thought racing through your head came to an abrupt halt.

Were you dreaming? Did you hear him correctly? Or had that kiss with Sam actually short-circuited your brain?

Dean must’ve been going through a similar thought process because all he could muster was a dumb,

“Huh?”

“Are you joking?” you asked and immediately regretted it. It made it sound like you didn’t want to kiss Dean. Dean looked genuinely hurt.

“No,” Sam said. “Do it. I dare you.” And he purposefully grabbed the bottle on the table and turned it to point at you. You were tempted to point out that that’s not how the game was supposed to work, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s fine. Look, I know you guys got this… thing between you. I’m not gonna get in the way of it.”

“You and her obviously have something more, and I don’t want you guys to not do anything about it because of me,” Sam countered.

“Guys,” you cut in, hoping you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. They both looked at you, and the weight of their gazes slammed into you with all the force of a semi truck. You stood your ground. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “You and Sammy have been making heart-eyes at each other for long enough. I figured you needed a little push. Based on that kiss I saw, I was obviously right. So I’m just gonna go take a nice, long drive and maybe get a second room.”

“What are you talking about? You two have been emotionally edging each other for months now! I figured you were taking your time because you liked her and didn’t know how to deal with those feelings.”

“Hello? Guys? I’m right here.”

The realization of what was happening began to sink in, and your mind raced to catch up with your heart. No one spoke. The room suddenly felt too small. Suffocating you with the tension. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.

You looked from Sam to Dean, their expressions mirroring a strange blend of determination and vulnerability. As if they had thrown each others’ cards on the table and now were waiting for you to make a move. You had hit a point of no return, and all that was left was to keep going forward. You took a steadying breath.

“You both like me.” It was a statement, not a question. You knew. “And I like both of you.” The two of them glanced at each other, silently communicating in the way that – despite having been with them for several years at this point – still made you feel like an outsider. “Don’t make me pick. Please. It’d be like telling me to pick my favorite leg and cut the other off.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“We should’ve talked about this before it got to this point,” he said, his eyes flickering between you and Dean. Dean nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think we have two options,” you said solemnly. “The first is that I follow through on Sam’s dare. You and I,” you motioned between yourself and Dean “kiss, we call everything even, and we shove this all back in the box that it came out of and never talk about it ever again.” Dean wet his lips.

“And the second option?”

“The second…” Oh God, were you really about to say this? Out loud? To them? “The second option is… we consider that the concept of sharing can extend to people, too.”

Dean let out a slow breath, eyeing you carefully like you were going to say, “Just kidding!” a second later. You didn’t.

“Sharing,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “That’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional, but not impossible,” Sam added quietly, his gaze intense as it bore into you. “We’ve always been good at defying the odds.”

He had a point. The three of you had faced countless challenges together, overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable. You were confident that there was nothing in the world that could stop the three of you together. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a hunt to complete or a monster to behead. This was potentially a messy knot of emotions with the very real possibility of a disastrous outcome.

“Has it ever even crossed either of your minds?” you asked slowly. They shared a guilty look. Your eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it has!”

“It might’ve been a... passing consideration,” Dean admitted quietly. “But it’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation.” It was Sam’s turn to agree with Dean with a nod. He said,

“But now it’s here, right in front of us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that this isn’t something that just happens and everyone is okay with everything. But you two are more than worth the fight. What do you guys think? Sam?” You looked at him, sincere determination burning in your eyes. He met you with the calm assurance that you had come to associate with Sam. As though any doubts that he might’ve had were already laid to rest.

“I think that I care about the both of you enough to give this a serious try,” Sam replied, his voice steady and earnest.

“Dean?” You turned your attention to the other Winchester, the one who you felt would be the most resistant to the whole idea. There was a beat before he answered.

“I think Sam gave you a dare that you haven’t followed through with, sweetheart.” And then, Dean flashed you that brilliant smile of his, all teeth and dimples. And fuck if that didn’t go straight to your core.

The tension between the three of you shifted rather than dissipated, remaining charged and heavy.

You took a tentative step towards Dean, keeping a careful eye on each of them as you approached. Sam’s eyes were a challenge, and when you finally were in front of Dean, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your gaze met Dean’s, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You leaned in slowly, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he changed his mind last minute. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It was everything you had hoped for and more. It was nothing you had imagined – it was better. Way better. Couldn’t even begin to describe how much more perfect it was than you had ever pictured in your mind. Kissing Dean was like being wrapped in warmth and safety. He was all passion and confidence and fire, and all you wanted was to let it consume you. And it went deeper than that. There was a hunger shared between you that couldn’t be denied. A desire that was more profound than you could find the words for. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer and sweeping you up in a whirlwind of Dean. He was a storm. Wild. Intense. Powerful.

Dean’s tongue swiping against your lips. Dean’s scent of leather and whiskey curling around you. Dean’s hand sliding up your back and holding the back of your neck. Your lips parted, and your hands settled on his broad shoulders, all corded muscle and strength beneath your fingers.

You broke the kiss, only because you might have forgotten that breathing was a thing while you lost yourself in the one and only Dean Winchester. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you in awe, as though he couldn’t believe that the two of you had just kissed. His eyes flicked down to your tongue that darted out to wet your lips.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart?”

Oh, you knew.

After all the years spent by their sides, how could you not? How could you not know that Sam would treat you so kindly and gently? He was the type who liked to savor his women like a fine wine. You had always imagined that Sam would take his time with you. Pleasure you and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And Dean? Dean played rough. He’d tease you. Edge you. Claim you. He was the kind of guy who was always in control, and you would gladly give that to him if he asked. You’d heard enough of his encounters through the paper-thin motel room walls to know that Dean made women sob and whimper.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Sam’s voice cut in, and when your eyes found him, he was your anchor. A grounding point. Ever-steady. Unwavering. You swore you fell for him just a little more every time you looked at him. “We should probably establish a safeword. Or we could use the traffic light system.” You nodded along with him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of your eye. He was doing his best to hide it, but you recognized his expression as the same one he wore when he was trying to piece together something in a case.

“Green for all good. Yellow for take it slow, and red to stop immediately, right?” you asked just so that everyone was for sure on the same page. Recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, and he quickly agreed.

With the indulgence of a heated kiss with each of them and the friendship crisis averted – at least for now, – your arousal from your interrupted shower was thrumming through you, singing through your veins like a siren’s song. Tempting you to lose yourself in the two men in front of you. You had tamped down that temptation for far too long. Thankfully, it seemed like Dean was already there with you.

“So, how do you want to do this?” he asked carefully.

“Any way I can get the both of you.” You might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you responded if they both weren’t looking at you with darkened eyes that suggested that they were already thinking the same thing. You were pretty sure you were going to be the first official case of spontaneous human combustion. Nothing supernatural about it. It was them, your honor. They set you ablaze, and you were absolutely helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Like... at the same time?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and a smirk tugged at your lips as his breath caught in his throat. “That okay?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course, totally fine,” he stammered.

“Green?” you prompted. He nodded and repeated,

“Green. Dark green. Fucking emerald, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” You shifted your attention to him and picked out all the ways you could see his self control unraveling at the seams. The way he watched every little movement. The way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as though that were the last bastion of composure keeping him in check.

“As a forest, pretty girl.”

And that was all it took.

Dean was on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours like a wave that had spent too long away from the shore. His tongue slid against yours as he slowly backed you towards the bed, only giving you a reprieve when you stumbled backwards onto the mattress with a yelp. He chuckled, following you down and peppering kisses across your cheek before settling himself on your right, propped up on his elbow.

A gentle hand touched your arm, and you pulled away from Dean slightly, turning to see Sam’s warm gaze meeting yours. You hadn’t heard him move and only barely felt the dip of the mattress as he took up the spot on the other side of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you replied, reaching for his hand. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his kiss softer, more tender than Dean’s, but no less intense. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet longing and deep affection, and it made your heart ache in the best way possible. He slid his hand across your stomach before slipping down over your hip and settling on your thigh. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers dragged over your clothed center. At the same time, Dean pressed kisses against your shoulder, his own hand toying with the hem of your shirt before dipping beneath it, his fingers dancing across your skin. He pushed your bra up and cupped your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and teasing it.

No fantasy of yours could’ve ever prepared you for this. They all paled in comparison. Having Sam and Dean’s hands and lips on you simultaneously was something your brain never could’ve conjured up properly compared to the real thing. And when Sam’s hand found its way beneath the elastic band of your shorts and underwear and found you wet and waiting for him, you felt him smile against your lips.

“Hardly even touched you, pretty girl,” he teased, his voice low.

“I might have gotten a bit of a head start in the shower earlier,” you admitted cheekily. Dean chuckled.

“Oh shit, I interrupted that?”

A witty response died on your tongue as Sam chose that moment to find your clit and roll it between his fingers. You moaned and your eyes fluttered shut as he teased you, fingers sliding through your wetness but never quite dipping into you. And just when you were ready to tell him that you needed more otherwise you might actually die, Sam gave you a quick peck on the lips before he slid down off the end of the bed and kneeled between your legs. He helped you out of your shorts and panties in a smooth motion before you felt his warm breath brushing against your core. He propped one of your legs up and over his shoulder, holding it tight while his other hand splayed over your thigh, holding you open as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against you.

His tongue. His lips. His fingers digging into your thighs. Your responding cry was high and thready as Sam held you and pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and you would’ve carded your fingers into his hair if Dean hadn’t caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We’re the ones touching you right now,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. Your head fell back against the comforter. You had always imagined Sam would be good with his tongue. He was so eloquent, so well spoken. But God, you had no idea just how good. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before focusing solely on it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you gasped, using the leverage you had on his shoulder to rock your hips against his face. Sam’s grip on you tightened as he worked you over.

Dean grabbed your chin with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists and turned your face to him. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as Sam continued. The dual sensation was overwhelming – Sam between your legs and Dean’s possessive kiss stealing your breath away. You were drowning in pleasure, caught between them in the only way you ever wanted to be.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you,” Sam muttered against your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin before he dove back in, sliding two fingers inside you while his tongue circled your clit. Your back arched off the bed, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Pretty noises from such a pretty girl,” Dean said, his lips trailing down your neck. “Bet you can be louder, though.” His free hand slipped under your shirt again, palming your breast. The rough drag of his calloused hands against your sensitive skin had you gasping for air. His fingers pinched your nipple, and the sharp pain-pleasure turned your next moan into a whimper halfway through. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Your hips bucked as Sam curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made stars dance in your vision. You were so hopelessly trapped between them, caught in the perfect storm that only they were capable of creating. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of Sam’s tongue, every twist of Dean’s fingers, every breath hot against your skin.

“F-fuck. Sam, Dean, I–” You couldn’t find the words as Sam’s long fingers pressed deeper, and you felt your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly in your ear, and all you could offer in response was a low whine. “Come then, baby girl.” And dear God, if that wasn’t the hottest command you’d ever received in your life. Your body went rigid as you came apart in their hands, tensing and shuddering as pleasure flooded through your system. Sam worked you through it, his movements slowing as your trembling subsided, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

Dean released your wrists, and you immediately reached for Sam, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. His lips were slick with you, hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You taste better than I ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with want. Dean chuckled beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before backing off as Sam crawled back up your body, leaving kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally capturing your lips. Meanwhile, Dean’s hands stroked along your sides, pushing your shirt up as they went. You and Sam maneuvered just enough for Dean to help pull your shirt above your head, and your bra didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s deft fingers.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that I’m the only one naked here?” you asked, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. Dean’s signature smirk returned as he sat back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming over your body and taking in every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” You huffed your disagreement and grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Too many clothes,” you whispered against his mouth. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel, and he chuckled, helping you push it off over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the anti-possession tattoo that matched yours and Sam’s. You turned to Sam next, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”

Sam complied immediately, ridding himself of his shirt to expose the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth went dry at the sight of both men half-naked before you, something you had only ever dreamed of. The difference between them was stark but no less appealing – Dean’s broader build with more defined muscle versus Sam’s leaner, taller frame.

“How do you want us?” Sam asked, his voice husky with need. You bit your lip, considering the options that lay before you. The endless possibilities. All the ways you could have them both at once.

“I want… both of you. Inside me. At the same time.” Your voice was surprisingly steady considering the request that had just left your lips. You watched as both men’s eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating even further with lust.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice strained as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “That’s… intense.”

“I’m sure.” You nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Sam’s hand found your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

Dean was the first to move, the metallic clink of his belt buckle sending a shiver down your spine as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him fully naked, his cock hard and leaking. Sam followed suit, standing to remove his remaining clothes. When he straightened up, it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. Sam was… proportional to his height, to say the least.

“Everything you imagined?” Dean asked, noticing your expression.

“So much more,” you managed to reply, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him. Dean hissed through his teeth at the contact, his head falling back as you stroked up his length. There was something intoxicating about having him at your mercy. You didn’t mean to be a tease, but your touch was light and your movements slow as you marveled at the weight of him in your hand.

Sam moved behind you, pressing his chest against your back as his hands slid around to cup your breasts. His cock pressed against the small of your back, hot and heavy.

“You call the shots, baby. Who do you want where?” Sam murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. You mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last.

“You underneath, Dean behind,” you decided. Both men groaned at your words, and you felt Sam’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I like the way you think,” Dean said. “Probably need lube, though.”

“My bag. Under the bed,” you said. Dean shot you a surprised glance, as though the thought of it genuinely shocked him. “Oh sure. A guy keeps condoms with him and it’s fine, but a girl has lube in her bag, and you’re clutching your pearls?” You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he let out a low exhale.

“Smart girl, always prepared,” Dean smirked, moving off the bed to retrieve it. You watched as he bent down, presenting you with a perfect view of his backside. You couldn’t help the appreciative hum that escaped your lips. Sam chuckled against your neck, and you turned your head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Sam’s tongue slid against yours as Dean returned, bottle in hand. You felt the mattress dip as Dean settled in front of you, his lips finding the spot just above your collarbone.

Sam settled himself on the bed, reclining against the headboard as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, his voice like gravel. You crawled over to him, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on your hips. His cock stood proud between you, and you couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke him, relishing the way his breath hitched when you did. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it, spreading the moisture down his length. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily. His hands squeezed your hips as you positioned yourself over him.

Dean’s hand slid up your back, his chest pressing against you as his lips found the nape of your neck. The feeling of being sandwiched between them was indescribable – all heat and muscle and desperate want. You heard the cap of the lube bottle click open and moments later, you felt Dean’s cool, slick fingers pressing at your ass.

“Anyone ever play with you back here, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers lightly pressing against your hole. You shook your head.

“No, you’re the first.” He let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck, okay. Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise.”

His finger circled teasingly before pressing inside. You braced your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam leaned forward to kiss your brow as he gently guided you down onto his cock. You each let out simultaneous moans as you sank down, clenching around Sam’s cock and Dean’s finger.

“Such a good girl for us,” Dean said, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he worked you open with careful precision. Us. Dean had said ‘us,’ and you’re pretty sure your heart skipped a beat at it. “What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you said breathlessly when Sam was fully seated in you. “What’d you say before? Fucking emerald,” you echoed Dean’s sentiment from earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as Dean pressed a second finger into you, the dull burn quickly dissipating. The dual sensation of Sam inside you and Dean' working you open was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Sam’s hands stroked up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam murmured, leaning forward to capture your lips in a tender kiss. “So fucking perfect for us.” There was that word again. Us. This time from Sam. These two were going to be the death of you. Sam’s hips shifted beneath you, and you gasped against his mouth as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you, and you had the very distinct feeling that it was taking all his willpower not to thrust up into you. “Feel okay?”

“So good,” you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement caused Dean’s fingers to press deeper, and you moaned at the fullness. You whimpered.

“God, you feel incredible,” Dean groaned, carefully pressing a third finger into you. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you as Sam made shallow thrusts beneath you.

“Dean,” you gasped, pushing back against Dean’s fingers. “Need your cock so bad.” And, really, Dean stood no chance when you said something straight out of his fantasies to him.

“Need me to fuck this pretty ass of yours?” Dean asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged, your body trembling with anticipation. Dean withdrew his fingers slowly, and you only had a brief moment to lament the loss before you felt the blunt head of his cock press against you. Both of their grips on you tightened, holding you completely still as Dean smeared the lube over himself.

“Easy now,” Dean murmured, pressing forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “Breathe for me. Just like that. Good girl.”

You leaned forward, burying your face in Sam’s neck and breathing deeply as Dean sank into you. It was a stretch. Intense and just shy of painful. But Dean’s patience and careful movements kept it from tipping into being too much. He paused as the head of his cock disappeared into you.

“Color?” you heard Sam ask.

“Y-yellow,” you panted, “give me a second.” Every muscle in you was pulled taut, adjusting to the new sensation.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. No rush,” Dean’s voice was strained but gentle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “We’ve got all night, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Sam’s fingers trailed up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “So beautiful taking both of us. We’ve got you.”

You focused on your breathing, on the feeling of being completely surrounded by them. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been in your life. Safely nestled between them. Right where you belonged. You could’ve cried from the sheer joy you felt. Sam and Dean and you. That’s all you needed.

The initial discomfort gradually faded, giving way to a fullness that bordered on overwhelming in the best way possible. You shifted experimentally, drawing a grown from both men.

“Green,” you whispered with a small nod. Dean took that as his cue, pressing forward inch by agonizing inch until he was fully seated inside you. The sensations were beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Pleasure. Pressure. Fullness. Your breaths came in short gasps as you adjusted to them both, your body stretched to its limits.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Dean groaned, his fingers digging into your skin. “So tight around my cock.”

“Doing okay, pretty girl?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam’s first thrust in while Dean pulled back knocked the air from your lungs. The second one fried whatever circuits were left in your brain. And the third? Well, you never fully recovered from there.

They quickly found a rhythm, one moving in as the other withdrew, never leaving you empty for a single moment. You were helplessly caught in a tide of pleasure, rising and crashing with each thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed. The sound of their labored breathing. The drag of their cocks against your walls. The delicious friction. Sam’s hands on your breasts. Dean’s lips on your neck. The taste of Sam’s skin as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. The sight of his face contorted in pleasure. The praise from both of them. They each sounded so reverent. In awe.

“Look at you,” Dean panted behind you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Like you were made for this. Made for us.”

Sam’s hands were everywhere – in your hair, on your hips, on your thighs – leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his release. You felt your own orgasm building, the same coil from before winding tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

“D-Dean– Sam–” you gasped, your nails digging into Sam’s chest as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you got another one for us?” Sam encouraged. “Come on. Let us feel you.”

Sam’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You cried out their names as you came, your body clenching rhythmically around both of them. The sensation of your walls pulsing around them was too much for Sam, who followed you over the edge with a deep groan, grinding his hips up into you as he filled you with his release. Dean thrust one, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan of your name, his cock twitching as he spilled deep within you.

For a long moment, none of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your shared high.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. “That was… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, unable to form more coherent thoughts. Dean carefully withdrew from you with a hiss, and you whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty as he moved away. Sam rubbed a soothing hand along your thigh as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running, and moments later, he returned with a warm washcloth.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, helping lift you off Sam. Your legs were boneless as you collapsed onto the bed between them. Dean’s touch was gentle as he cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing against your sensitive skin. Sam shifted beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before getting up to clean himself. “You okay?” Dean asked, his voice soft with concern as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. He tossed the washcloth somewhere towards the bathroom. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach.

“Better than okay,” you murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That was… wow.” Sam returned, sliding into the bed on your other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned your head to look at him. He brushed stray hair from your face.

“You sure we didn’t hurt you?” Sam asked.

“Just sore in the best way possible,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth in Sam’s eyes made your heart flutter. “Worth every ache I’ll feel tomorrow.”

Dean chuckled and draped his arm across your waist.

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on giving you plenty more reasons to be sore.” His voice held that cocky edge you knew and loved, but there was something softer underneath it now.

“Insatiable,” you teased, turning to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Both of you.”

“Only for you,” Sam said with a soft laugh, his large hand splaying across your stomach, fingers brushing against Dean’s arm. The possessiveness in his touch sent a pleasant shiver through you despite your exhaustion.

“Pretty sure you two have ruined me for anyone else.” You nestled into the pillows, your body deliciously sore in places you’d never felt before.

“That was the plan,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. There was something different in his eyes now. A softness that hadn’t been there before. Something unguarded and vulnerable, and it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

There was a long silence as the tension from before crept back in. You didn’t want to, but there was a conversation that needed to happen. Sooner rather than later. So you mustered up the courage to voice it.

“So… what happens now?”

Dean’s arm tightened around you almost imperceptible, and Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean before returning to you.

“What do you want to happen?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but serious. The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and possibilities.

“I want this,” you said simply, looking from one brother to the other. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want us.” The admission made you feel vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your nudity. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably insane, but–”

“Sweetheart, our whole lives are complicated and messy and insane,” Dean interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s one more thing?”

Sam’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gentle along your knuckles.

“I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for too long to let it go now,” he admitted.

“Same here,” Dean added, propping himself up higher to look at you properly. “This wasn’t just scratching an itch for me. Not with you.” Relief flooded through you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” you whispered.

It wasn’t always going to be easy. You knew that. You were a hunter for God’s sake. You knew that life was never simple. But this? This strange, beautiful arrangement between the three of you? It was worth fighting tooth and nail for. Worth the inevitable complications and challenges that would come with it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Together,” Dean added, the word carrying more weight behind it. You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest as the realization that these two men – these incredible, frustrating, brave, stubborn men – were yours.

And you were theirs.

---

I just want to say that this is the longest piece I have ever written, and I am seriously so proud of this for once. I was able to set all of my self-doubt aside for this and just write, and I genuinely feel like this is the best piece of work I have ever written in my entire life. I thank you so very much for reading it all the way through. 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @maddie0101

Both: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

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bettystonewell · 4 months ago

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TO YOU I BELONG SERIES MASTERLIST

Main Masterlist || On AO3 || On Wattpad

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

The demons in your life, though? They’re closer than he realises, more personal, and his inner alpha won’t let him leave you behind with them. But can Dean embrace everything that comes with claiming someone? 18+ only MDNI

Tags: omegaverse, soulmate AU, pregnancy, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, SMUT, breeding, claiming, knotting, nesting, angst, fluff, endgame is Dad!Dean (and the parenting skills we all know he has), Protective!Dean, (dual POV), somewhat of a fix-it

WARNING: This story implies/references some potentially triggering topics including domestic abuse, sexual assault, a past miscarriage (chemical pregnancy), and follows the journey of how the characters deal with it. Please consider these carefully before reading. I can’t stress this enough!

A/N: This all started out as a one shot idea of Dean playing with kids and nerf guns. That one shot hasn’t been written yet because my brain wanted to know where the kids came from, but Dean will get his hands on a nerf gun in this fic.

uploading weekly on Fridays 🇦🇺🕕

Chapter 1 - Yearning

Chapter 2 - Harbouring

Chapter 3 - Confronting

Chapter 4 - Familiarising

Chapter 5 - Languishing

Chapter 6 - Domesticating

Chapter 7 - Honeydaying

Chapter 8 - Disconcerting

Chapter 9 - Ruminating

Chapter 10 - Saddling

Chapter 11 - Containment

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Disappointment

Chapter 16 - Ligament

Chapter 17 - Retirement (working title)

Chapter 18 -

Chapter 19 -

Chapter 20 -

TIMESTAMPS TBA

EXTRAS/RELATED

Writing Game Snippet

100 Followers Celebration Sneak Peak

WIP WEDNESDAY (20/02) Chapter 16

Please Remember folks, abuse isn’t always physical. It’s also not easy to admit when you’re going through it, or sometimes even realise. Look after yourselves, and keep an eye out for signs from those you love. ❤️

If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

I’ll be tagging all the lovely people signed up for my DEAN TAGLIST too, of course 🥰

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waynes-multiverse · 2 months ago

Text

Florida!!!

Summary: One fishy monster hunt, one sweaty afternoon at the beach, and one innocent popsicle – Florida is fucking hell for Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: +18 language and smut in the form of dirty fantasies, severe pining, one idiot in love, humor, Florida, one popsicle, unresolved ending & feelings

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: My entry for @chevroletdean's 500 Follower Celebration! Congrats again, lovely, and thank you so much for hosting this challenge and creating this awesome moodboard!! I was immediately inspired (and have wanted to write something set in Florida for an eternity). This was perfect and so much fun! 💛🧡🩵

Main Masterlist || DW Masterlist || Tag List

Florida can eat his ass.

Dean’s decided this at least seventeen times today. He has known this little fact since the first time he set foot here at nineteen, chasing a ghoul through backyards full of pink lawn flamingos and chainlink fences.

And Dean doesn’t mean the good kind of eating ass, either. Nope, he means the swamp-ass, sunburned, get-mauled-by-an-alligator kind.

Because no matter how pretty the scenery looks – sugar-powder beaches and sea-glass tides, slats of the boardwalk bleached bone-white under a honeyed sky – the whole damn state feels cursed.

It’s humid enough to drown standing still, and the sand sticks to everything, including parts of him he’s not ready to confront.

And between the humidity thicker than chowder and the scent of fried seafood and moldy flip-flops lingering like a bad decision, every drone-sized mosquito here is carrying at least three diseases and a vendetta. The crime rate also looks like a Mad Libs page: “Florida Man assaults alligator while wearing tutu and high on bath salts.”

It’s too hot, too wet, and too damn weird and crazy. Every breath here tastes like sweat, regret, and a hint of swamp water.

Florida’s not even a real fucking state. Can’t be.

Dean’s convinced it’s a bad trip someone had in the ‘70s that somehow got voted into the union. The sun feels less like it’s shining and more like it’s attacking. Everyone’s either a retiree, a guy named Skip with a neck tattoo of a flaming dice, or some batshit meth-head who thinks they saw Bigfoot behind the Waffle House.

Dean hates it with every fiber of his being. Florida is Satan’s back porch.

And now, thanks to a string of weird drownings at a no-name beach town outside Destin, Dean is trapped in the sweaty armpit of the country, baking alive in jeans, while trying very hard not to stare at you.

Which is impossible.

Because you’re right next to him in a little turquoise lounge chair and a skimpy bikini the color of wild citrus – or tangerine, maybe. You hum a little tune – that stupid Weezer song that only plays on the radio during summer. You kick your feet lazily in the sun, flashing him a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could get him legally blinded.

The bikini strings are tied in neat bows at your hips, a popsicle melting bright mango-orange between your fingers, and you’re working the thing over like it owes you goddamn money with the most sinful mouth he’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

All tanned legs and unapologetic sunshine. A vision of temptation under the molten saffron sun.

Dean sweats. Internally and externally. Better than that: He is cooked. Absolutely fried. Every casual motion of yours is branding itself into his frontal lobe forever.

Your tongue flickers out again – pink and wet and glistening – smoothing a drip from the rounded tip, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re currently starring in every X-rated daydream Dean’s ever had.

His vision whites out at the edges.

You hum absently, flipping through the manila folder in your lap. Your voice floats over, sweet as saltwater taffy. “So,” you say, casual and sunny, “are we thinking mer-creature, or like, a shapeshifter with a thing for boats and aquatic cosplay? Or what if it’s a water demon? Like a kelpie, but more murdery?”

Dean makes a strangled sound that’s supposed to be a word but comes out more like a dog’s dying whimper.

You blink at him. Tilt your head. Wait.

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah. Mer-thing. Whatever.”

“Or,” you muse aloud, tongue darting out again to lap at a drip, “maybe it’s like–… like a water wraith? Something that sucks the breath outta your lungs?”

You pop the popsicle out of your mouth with an obscene little smack. Dean’s mouth works soundlessly. Because all he can imagine is you on your knees, tongue slick against him, big eyes wide and innocent while you–

Focus, he barks at himself. For the love of fucking God, focus, Winchester.

Dean swallows hard, dragging his eyes off your mouth and back down to the battered folder in your lap.

This isn’t normal. He’s doomed. Maybe even cursed.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it. He’s probably been hit with a lust spell. Florida is full of weird shit, right? That would explain why he’s three seconds away from dropping to his knees and offering to be your loyal, desperate, sunburnt servant.

But then again, this isn’t entirely new either.

You’ve been driving him nuts for goddamn years. Laughing too loud at his dumb jokes. Sitting too close in motel beds when you both casually watch movies. Calling him Winchester in that honeyed voice that makes him feel like he’s being dared to fuck up and kiss you.

And still, he’s always been good. Good at pretending. Good at stuffing all that want somewhere deep under rib and bone and battered leather jackets.

But this? This is fucking torture. This is some bikini-clad Greek tragedy, starring one dumbass in boots on a beach who can’t stop fantasizing about licking saltwater off your thighs.

He should be thinking about the case. About that water-witch or whatever the fuck they are hunting this time. He should be thinking about hex bags and salt rounds, not about how your bikini bottoms ride up just a little when you stretch your arms over your head–

Stop it!

You lean forward to show him something on a photocopied page and tap a newspaper clipping about the latest victim – some unlucky fisherman who swore he saw a “golden-scaled woman” before getting dragged into the shallows.

But the little bow at your hip shifts, skin glinting like bronzed sugar under the clear sky. Dean makes a small, wounded noise in his throat, and his brain immediately supplies another vivid fantasy:

You perched in his lap, that bow coming untied with a lazy pull of his fingers, your thighs slick and hot against him, the ocean thundering in the tropical background while you ride him so slow it borders on a religious experience.

He blinks against the burning sun, feels himself slipping again, heat and blood rushing downward. The image hits him so hard he has to adjust himself in his jeans, subtle as a heart attack.

His dick twitches miserably.

He slouches lower, trying to think of anything not filthy – taxes, Sam’s hair care routine, the time Bobby caught him naked in the kitchen with a meatball sub – but it’s useless.

“Dean? You even listening?” you ask, laughing, poking his leg with your sandy toes.

Dean grunts something noncommittal that might be English, jaw clenched so tight he’s surprised his teeth don’t shatter. He tries to answer. Really, he does. But the words get bottlenecked behind the visual of you dragging your tongue slowly up the side of the melting treat.

You bite your lip, thoughtful, tapping the end of the popsicle stick against your mouth. “Maybe it’s something worse,” you continue. “Like a siren who doesn’t seduce you to death, just… I dunno. Sucks you off and leaves you floating.”

Dean’s soul physically leaves his body.

You tilt your head, grinning wickedly. “You want me to suck you off too, Dean?”

Time freezes. The ocean quiets. The gulls still midair. Dean’s pulse slams loud and dizzy in his ears. His world narrows to you, your suntanned legs, the glint of sea-salt crystals on your skin, your bright and glistening mango lips.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You just–

Did you–

He stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Huh? What?” he croaks, voice pitched embarrassingly high.

You blink at him, then repeat – slowly, sweetly, “I said: Should we check if it sucks the breath outta people like a leech?”

“Uh, yeah,” he croaks. “Suckin’. Life. Outta dudes. Totally.”

You stare at him a second longer, suspicious, before shrugging and going back to the file.

Dean exhales, trying to will his hard-on into submission through sheer force of shame. You’re systematically dismantling his ability to think in complete sentences. His entire brain is on fire.

His internal organs shut down one by one. He drops his head back against the lounge chair, squeezing his green eyes shut. He is too old, too tired, and too desperately in love with you for this shit.

The sun beats down, hot and merciless, painting everything in shades of clementine and burning copper. Apricot umbrellas dot the beach like slices of candy. The ocean blinks lazy and endless, a rolling quilt of bottle-green and blue-fire sapphire. Seagulls wheel overhead, shrieking insults.

Dean’s mind drifts again.

He imagines dragging you down into the frothy surf, your hands curling into his hair, your giggles swallowed by the sea.

He imagines you mouthing at his jeans, impatient and greedy, while the sun sets behind you in a tangle of electric clementine and bruised lapis skies.

He imagines you kneeling between his legs, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock like you’re taste-testing it, humming around him, sweet and filthy and happy about it.

He imagines you under the boardwalk, hips rocking against his like the waves, bikini strings snapping loose with frantic fingers.

He imagines you bent over the hood of the Impala, bikini tangled around your ankles, hands bracing against the hot metal while he rails you like a man possessed.

He imagines your thighs caging his head, that same lazy, teasing look on your face, and him savoring your taste of sugar and salt and heat, while the whole crazy, humid, goddamn state of Florida spins off its axis.

“You’re quiet,” you chirp, tossing a sideways glance at him. “Florida getting to you?”

Dean clears his throat, gruff. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that, sweetheart.”

You raise your sunglasses, peeking at him over the frames. “You know, Winchester, you’re the only guy on this beach dressed like he’s about to sell used beach towels out of the back of a van."

Dean frowns, looking down at himself: worn boots, jeans, his favorite faded black tee with a sun-bleached flannel thrown over it. Practical. Battle-tested. Entirely inappropriate for beachside Florida.

“First of all,” he says, lifting a finger, “this is classic Americana ruggedness. Chicks dig it.”

You lean your head back and laugh, all bright and cruel. “You’re sweating through your ‘Americana ruggedness.’”

Dean scowls, dripping like a busted fire hydrant. “I told you. I’m not gonna wear fucking board shorts like all the other frat boy idiots here.”

You laugh again, the sound bright as bells, and Dean’s heart trips hard enough to hurt.

“You’re gonna die of heatstroke,” you tease. “Right here. Buried in Florida sand. Some old lady’s gonna find your corpse and knit you a ‘Bless Your Heart’ sweater.”

He snorts a chuckle. “I’ll haunt this beach just to piss you off.”

“Promise?” you ask, giving him a cheeky wink.

Dean is about five minutes away from lighting himself on fire. And honestly? Florida would probably consider it normal Tuesday behavior.

Your gaze drifts out to the ocean beyond your feet and sandy calves with a blissful little sigh. “It’s kinda pretty, though, isn’t it?”

Dean looks at you – skin kissed by flame-petals and sunset sugar, hair blowing soft in the briny breeze, popsicle stick clutched between your fingers like a crime scene weapon.

Yeah. Pretty.

Pretty much the goddamn end of him.

“Victim said he saw orange,” you murmur thoughtfully. “Bright, like-… like a koi? A clownfish?”

Dean is about to make a dumb Finding Nemo joke when you lick a bead of melted popsicle off your wrist, slow and absentminded.

And all Dean wants is to dig a hole right here in the sugar-white sand and bury himself alive in this cursed, gator-infested sandpit.

“Dean?”

He snaps back to reality so hard he gets whiplash. “What?” he wheezes.

You arch an eyebrow. “I said, should we check the tide charts? Maybe the creature only comes out during low tide.”

Dean coughs into his fist, face hotter than the sun overhead. “Uh, sure. Tide charts. Definitely. Research.”

But all he can think about is those legs locked around his waist, sand clinging to your thighs as he fucks you into the waves. You moaning into his neck, salty and sweet, fingers yanking at his shirt like you can’t stand to have him dressed another second.

You nibble at the edge of the popsicle, teeth scraping the melting mango sheen, and Dean watches helplessly as a single sticky bead runs down your wrist.

He fantasizes about leaning over, licking it off your skin, trailing his mouth up your arm to your shoulder, your throat, your mouth. He imagines you gasping against him, laughing breathless.

He fantasizes about hauling you out of that chair and onto his lap, mouth on yours, sticky hands sliding under the knot of your bikini top, tugging until you’re bared for him and only him, sunshine turning your skin to gold, and–

Greatly frustrated, Dean runs a hand down his freckled face. Why the fuck can’t he bring himself to stop? You’re unraveling him atom by atom.

But then, the fucking frozen treat drips again, and you lean forward to catch it with your mouth, lips wrapping tight around the end. Dean watches you hollow your cheeks slightly when you suck, head tilted thoughtfully like you’re considering footnotes and not absolutely wrecking his entire being. You pull the melting syrup back again with a soft, wet pop.

At this point, he wants to fucking throw himself into the ocean and let the sharks tear him apart like Hellhounds. He’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body, too.

He grips the arms of his chair so hard they creak in protest, knuckles turning white as he’s trying to tether himself to reality and not his fantasies.

Florida is hell.

You are hell.

And he’s a good man being punished for crimes he hasn’t even committed yet.

Dean shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other like that’ll hide the state of emergency going on in his jeans. He’s surprised no one here has asked any questions yet or called fucking 911.

Meanwhile, the world keeps spinning. The ocean rolls in lazy, glassy sheets of turquoise and teal. The sun licks liquid gold down your shoulders. The salt air curls the loose strands of your hair into a halo. And Dean – miserable, desperate, wildly in love – watches you polish off the last inch of your popsicle, tongue flicking the stick clean.

“Earth to Dean,” you sing-song, waving a hand in front of his face and kicking sand lightly at his boots.

Dean jerks back into consciousness. “Yeah?”

“Should we check out the marina witnesses after this?” you ask, tossing your popsicle stick into the trash bucket next to your chair.

Before he can say something catastrophic (like “Marry me right now” or “Please put your mouth on me, I'm begging”), Sam comes jogging up the beach, waving his phone like a savior in flannel.

“Got a lead! Marina worker said he saw something with gills and claws dragging people under.”

Dean launches out of his chair like his ass is on fire. A man escaping execution.

“Awesome. Let’s roll!” he barks, voice too loud and way too eager.

You tuck your notes into your beach bag and sling it over your shoulder, grinning wide and bright as the sunset. The same grin that ruined him long before the bikini did.

You hop up beside him, laughing, brushing sand off your thighs with maddening slow sweeps, and Dean bites back a groan so hard it nearly gives him a hernia.

“You sure you’re okay, Winchester?” you ask, teasing. “You looked like you were about to pass out there for a second.”

“I’m great,” Dean lies, voice strangled, letting the sun melt him into roadkill. “Peachy.”

“You sure? Seriously, you’re a walking heatstroke PSA,” you quip, hip-bumping him lightly as you fall into step beside him.

Dean coughs. “'M fine, sweetheart. Just… dehydration. And Florida. And mermaid murder.”

As you brush past him, the smell of your sunscreen and coconut shampoo punch him square in the gut. Dean follows, trying very, very hard not to watch the way your hips sway like you own the whole damn coastline.

He thinks about how easy it would be to slip his arm around your waist, how natural it would feel to lean in, to kiss you like he’s wanted to for years. Instead, he shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets and marches grimly through the sand, already planning a quick, ice-cold shower and about eight beers after this job’s done.

Yeah, Florida is one hell of a drug, but you’re the one that fucked him up.

Okay, I may have had way too much fun with torturing Dean here. Forgive me, guys 😂☀️🏝️

Hope you enjoyed this one! 🩵

Tag List Pt. 1:

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honeyroots · 3 months ago

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give you something to cry about, ft. SOLDIER BOY

SYNOPSIS: you disobeyed soldier boy during a mission, so he’s going to remind you just how compliant you can be.

WORD COUNT: 1350 WARNINGS: NSFW (18+) / fem!reader / dacryphilia / toxic secret relationship / age gap / humiliation / face fucking (f receiving) / oral (m receiving) / power play / orgasm denial / slight exhibitionism (they can be heard through the walls) / daddy kink

“You’re careless,” SOLDIER BOY was laying into you, his words sharp as a dagger while his finger waved in your face only an inch from your nose. Ben, unfortunately, was like a ticking time bomb, and you never knew what was going to set him off until he was already at his breaking point. “I don’t know what it is with your generation, but you’re a bunch of fuckin’ idiots. If I tell you something, you do it. That fuckin’ easy, sweetheart.”

The pet name rolled off his tongue sourly, the nickname doused in a bucket of evident distaste. Flinching at the tone of his voice and level in which he was speaking was your natural reaction to the situation. Hughie was always so sweet with you— same thing with Frenchie, M.M, Kimiko… Well, Butcher had his moments, but the point was that you had never been yelled at before. At least not until Ben emerged from that god forbidden cyro-chamber. To your humiliation, and your sensitive nature, tears accumulated at your waterline, causing a blur in your vision. The worst part about the whole thing? Ben was right, you were being careless by defying his orders, but who could blame you when he was so hard to trust.

“Say something,” Ben backed away, dropping his shield to the tiled floor, creating an echo of titanium to bounce between the walls and hone in on you. It was all so overstimulating; the sound of the shield dropping, the anger in his tone, the way you could feel your clothes against your skin. If the overstimulation of your current environment wasn’t enough fuel to the fire, Ben snorted at the sight of your tears, followed by a mock, “You’re crying?”

With as much discretion as possible, your sleeve found its way to your eyes in an attempt to sop up some of the tears threatening to spill over. Clearing your throat, you tried to gain as much courage as you could, but your voice cracked and your words fell flat. “No, I’m not.”

“C’mere,” Ben wrapped his arm around your bicep, his grip a little too tight for comfort and pulled you closer to him. Now standing directly in front of him, chests square with one another, you chewed on the inside of your cheek to combat the quivering of your lip. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

One of Ben’s fingers pointed at the ground and you knew exactly where he was going with this. No one knew what happened between you and Ben behind closed doors— they didn’t know how you ran to him when you were needy and desperate, or how he would sometimes make you get off by humping his boot. It was a dynamic you couldn’t even fully grasp, and you definitely didn’t need anyone else weighing in on it. With a compliance that came naturally, you sank to your knees, opening your mouth for him as the tears spilled over. Ben was quick to release his shaft from his supe suit, using the tip of his cock to wipe off the droplets streaming down your cheeks. Instead of tears drying on your cheeks, it was now a trail of precum.

“You’re careless in the field, but when I have you alone, you always listen.” Ben traced the outline of your lips with the tip of his dick, slowly feeding his cock into your mouth. Bit by bit, he pushed against your tongue and grasped his hand behind your head to steady your movements. “Say it. Say you’re gonna listen.”

Moving back, you tried to release him from your mouth to offer a repetition of his words, but he stabilized your head with his hand. Signaling with one flick of his eyebrow that he wanted you to talk around his dick, your words came out muffled, only adding to the humiliation of the situation but the warmth that grew in your lower abdomen didn’t go unnoticed. “G’na listen. Swear.”

“I was so mad at you, but then you started crying… Fuck, it got me so hard.” Ben said, but you weren’t sure the statement was meant for you or if it was his internal monologue slipping out.

With the kind of meanness only someone like Soldier Boy could possess, he gripped his fingers in your hair, tugging on the roots enough to make you yelp. Using the yelp to his advantage, he filtered more of his cock into your mouth, until his tip was poking the back of your throat. Dry heaving around him, you lurched forward as he gave you a proper face-fucking, and with the growing arousal in your underwear and the unadulterated noises you were making, you realized that this was a power move. It was Ben’s way of telling the team, he had you under his thumb— obedient and desperate for him. Thin walls separated the two of you from the rest of the team, where Hughie, Annie, Kimiko, M.M., Frenchie, and Butcher all sat outside, and with wide eyes, you made the connection.

Ben’s climax was almost immediate when he saw you piece two and two together; he had successfully embarrassed you after you had embarrassed him in the field. The realization flashing in your teary gaze was hard to miss, and exactly what he wanted. Pulling himself almost all the way out, he rocked his hips back into your mouth and shot his climax down your throat. Sputtering around him, you swallowed his seed and removed his shaft from your mouth, feeling like the length of it was never ending as you pulled it out. Watching it bob up, slapping his suit, you wondered if he was going to give you what you needed. It’s not like he needed a refractory period.

Ben grabbed your elbows, hoisting you up to your feet. With a sympathetic gaze, he gently toyed with the button of your jeans, peeling them down just enough for him to place his hand against your slit and collect some of your arousal on his fingers. A breathy-whine sounded from you as he pulled away. Ben looked at his fingers, observing the arousal he had collected in just a few seconds from it pooling in your underwear, he commented, “So wet, baby. It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Nodding your head in response, you began to loop your fingers around the waistband, getting ready to shimmy out of your pants and offer Ben full access to your body. Clicking his tongue, disapproval coating his facial expression, he offered a demand. “Use your words.”

“It is uncomfortable,” you confirmed, wiping away the semi-dry tears on your face. Part of you didn’t even want to look in the mirror to see how disheveled you must be after that— dried tears crusting to your face, precum present on the apples of your cheeks, swollen lips, and messy hair was expected after that. “Please help me?”

The sympathy etched on his face disappeared in an alarming fashion. Transitioning between a sympathetic look to a devious glare happened in such a manner, you almost didn’t even place the change. Ben’s mouth curved into a smirk, his eyes mischievous as he buttoned the front of your jeans and zipped them back up.

“That’s real tough, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll remember this next time. Why don’t you go tell the team that dad took care of your mistake? You don’t need to be scolded twice.” Ben swatted you on the butt as you headed toward the door, knowing the thin walls already alerted everyone of what was going on. Eyes clouded with the shame of disappointing Ben, you only nodded in response, realizing that whining and complaining about his denial was only going to get you into a bigger predicament.

“Hey,” Ben grabbed your hand, twirling you around before you had to go face the rest of the team. His lips grazed the top of your ear, the heat of his whisper making your stomach turn, “Don’t look so sad, this is a teaching moment. If you take it like a champ, I’ll give you a reward later.”

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easytiger-xo · 2 months ago

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texting dean winchester

Dean <3: hey.. u still looking for a new chair for ur place? Y/N: yea! u find something? Y/N: send pic! Dean <3:

Y/N: um.. thats not a chair..? Dean <3: anythings a chair.. Dean <3: if u sit on it ;) Y/N: wow. Y/N: just wow Y/N: how long u had that joke up ur sleeve? Dean <3: no idea what ur talking about.. Y/N: ok well Y/N: its rly pretty.. Y/N: but how sturdy is it? Dean <3: oh very! Dean <3: built to handle pressure Dean <3: easy to clean if it gets wet.. Dean <3: and very straddle-friendly. Y/N: uh huh Y/N: sounds fancy. Y/N: hows the height? Dean <3: fully adjustable. Dean <3: perfect no matter the angle. Dean <3: ease into it slow... Dean <3: or bounce hard.. Dean <3: this babys not moving an inch. Y/N: stability is important Y/N: but i rly need something i can use for hours.. Dean <3: oh sweetheart Dean <3: this one can take ur weight. Dean <3: all of it. Dean <3: over and over till ur legs shake. Y/N: kinda sounds like a challenge. Dean <3: more like a promise. Dean <3: all u gotta do is sit tight... Dean <3: and hold on. Y/N: god Y/N: i hate when ur not here. Dean <3: i know. Dean <3: but when i get back.. Dean <3: u wont need a chair for a week. Dean <3: just me Dean <3: under u. Y/N: yes PLEASE!! Y/N: ..but after that.. Y/N: can we go shopping for an actual chair? lol Dean <3: of course babe.

❤︎ I just know this man loves a good bit.. especially a dirty one.

credit & links:

✦ read more leaked text here.

⟡ pics from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by easytiger-xo.

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dangerousstrawberryshark · 5 months ago

Text

Full Circle

🔥Pairing(s)🔥→ Stepbrother Dean Winchester x Male reader ⚠CW⚠→ stepcest, gay, gay-sex, top Dean Winchester, bottom male reader, possessive Dean, obsessive Dean, choking, spanking, praise kink, rough sex, Dean stalks you, jealous Dean, sort of fluff then smut, anal, anal sex, anal fingering, masochist reader, and Dean is rough but loving. He sabotages your relationships. 🔥Rating🔥→ Explicit 🔥Requested🔥→ Yes

🔥Word Count🔥→: 3.3k

🔥Summary🔥→ Dean has been in love with you since you moved in. It was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. He intimidated all your pursers and made sure you were single. However, he stopped his ministrations when he saw he was ruining your love life. He watched with jealousy as you got into relationships. His moment came when you came crying to him.

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING!

This fic doesn’t follow the supernatural timeline!

It was wrong. Anyone who saw it will say it's wrong to love your stepbrother beyond a family bond. Dean didn’t see it like that, though. He defended himself by saying, “We’re given the title of brothers, but we’re not related in any way.” People will still say it's wrong, but at this point, Dean didn’t care.

Dean still remembers the day you appeared in his life.

Dean was eighteen when their father announced he was remarrying again and that they’d get a new brother. Dean wasn’t too happy about getting another sibling—he thought he and Sam were enough—but he stayed quiet and didn’t complain. John then gave another announcement that they’d be meeting their new mother and brother.

The older Winchester was reluctant to meet the addition to the Winchester family. From the information he was given, you were a year younger than him. He was spacing out and blocking external interactions. ‘Why must father’s new wife come with an attachment? It would’ve been better if it was just her… not some “brother” that’s coming.’ Dean cursed as he bit his lip from annoyance even though they hadn’t arrived yet. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear his father calling out to him. “Dean! Change that attitude and meet your new brother.”

Dean groaned and sighed as he drank his soda before looking up to meet his new stepbrother. He choked as he made eye contact, hacking as the soda itched his throat the wrong way. His face was flustered from embarrassment as he tried to clean himself. ‘Shit! I wasn’t expecting him to be that…’

The Winchester who was usually confident, charming, and witty embarrassed himself. He was gobsmacked, he didn’t expect you to be cute, handsome, and attractive! Dean never found another man attractive but he was bi-curious; guess he’s bisexual. After his humiliation, Dean introduced himself, attempting to brush off the incident.

“Well, I guess we’re gonna be stepbrothers! Nice to meet you..”

XXX

You were a plague on his mind. You filled his mind every waking day as he tried to push down those feelings for you. It only got worse after the wedding ceremony when you and his new mom moved in. The older Winchester unknowingly began watching your moves; how you acted, dressed, and talked. Every last piece of you made him want you more.

He went as far as to steal your underwear, jerking his cock to your musky scent. His imagination went full drive, imagining you in various positions. Begging and whining for him while he fucks you to oblivion. Dean had the greatest orgasms in his life, painting himself with his load.

“Dean! Where is my underwear?” You yelled as you searched your room. This was the fourth time this week that your underwear had gone missing! Other belongings had gone missing like some clothing, pillowcases, and even your toothbrush.

At first, he was adamant about you, but now he was becoming obsessed with you. Whenever you two spoke together, he cherished those memories and every detail. He started stalking all your social media accounts, gathering every piece of information. His obsession reached the point where he could feel your presence in the room.

Obsession was blooming, but so was possessiveness.

Dean masked his possessiveness by acting like a concerned older stepbrother, justifying his actions to be out of love and protection for you! He was protecting you from rotten men! So, he invaded every aspect of your life, asking who you’re texting, seeing, or even where you’re going. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I just wanna protect you.”

“Aww, you’re worried about me?” You teased. You always wondered what it would feel like to have another sibling, especially one that’s protective. So, you played off Dean’s protectiveness as just a sibling thing. However, Dean was serious, something you couldn’t comprehend.

When you started attending his university, he began stalking your every move. Jealousy and fury surged through his body as he watched men and women alike talk with you. Your natural charisma and good looks caused more attention to come to you.

Dean attempted to cease further advancements from other men by making– forcing you– you to be in his group of friends. Using his popularity and large stature, Dean intimidated any of your pursers, blackmailing them, or getting physical. Whenever anyone came close, he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you possessively like you two were a couple.

You were flattered by Dean's possessiveness, unaware of his obsession though. He just wanted to protect you! That’s what a good stepbrother does, but it's starting to get out of hand. Because of Dean’s ministrations, you were lacking any type of social interaction or relationships. All the guys you talked to distanced themselves or refused to speak to you again.

Dean was too blind to see how you were feeling until he heard your cries coming from the dorm. Whenever he looks at you now, you just look depressed– saddened that nobody wants to be near you or be in a relationship. The older Winchester began questioning himself.

After days of contemplating and trying to justify his actions, Dean decided to back off. Even though the deepest parts of his mind were telling him that everything he did was for your safety. Despite his own unpopular opinion, Dean backs off and watches as you engage with other men. It took a lot of willpower to not stomp over there and snatch you from them.

As a way to channel his jealousy and fury, Dean went to the gym every day as he continued to watch you. The constant routine caused him to become bulky. Many men and women threw themselves at him, and Dean indulged, trying to bury his affection and jealousy. However, none of it worked. Someday, Dean hopes your feelings will come around.

That day finally came three years later.

XX(three years later)XX

For three years, Dean watched in agony and jealousy as you got into an intimate relationship with someone who wasn't him. Dean, from day one, said he didn’t approve and made it abundantly clear. He watched like a cuck as the guy was lovey-dovey with you. Even worse, he could hear the sounds of moaning and bed squeaking at night. Admittedly, he did jerk off but only imagined himself being the one fucking you.

Every day, Dean prayed to whatever God there was for misfortune to strike your relationship. It was an asshole move to pray on the downfall of his stepbrother's relationship, but Dean felt something was wrong with that man. He was later proven right.

“H-He cheated on me! That fucking asshole! I… I did everything…” you yelled as you took all your anger on some pillow before crying and burying your head.

Dean watched, having the face of a concerned brother but inside, he was ecstatic. This was his chance! He could use this moment to slowly insert himself back into your life. Surely, helping you overcome this massive obstacle would make you fall in love with him! Dean will never cheat on you like that asshole did and could be a better boyfriend, maybe husband.

Because nobody is gonna pay some guy or girl to come after him!

“Hey, Hey… it's okay. Come here, let me hug you.” Dean says tenderly as he pulls you into his embrace. Your cries muffled into his flannel jacket as the older Winchester soothed your cries. He could hear your rugged breathing calm down as you relaxed into your stepbrother's hold.

Dean repeated this for the next few days which turned into weeks and months. He did everything to make you forget that man; taking you out to eat, movies, just sitting around and talking, or playing games together and just getting closer. Closer than what’s accepted between stepbrothers. He made sure you blocked the asshole's number and got rid of everything that reminded you of him.

You were starting to feel something with Dean. You never looked at your stepbrother like that but now you were seeing him differently. His charming smile, funny personality, and bulky body from hours at the gym. You often caught yourself staring at Dean for long periods before turning away embarrassed.

His biceps flexed, pulling his shirt slightly up to show his happy trail, walking around with no shirt on, or hugging you from behind. You blushed and smiled as Dean’s muscular body pressed against yours, and it was something you didn’t expect to need. These unexpected thoughts led to constant wet dreams– Dean pushing you into the bed, ramming his cock into your ass as he praises you for being a good boy.

“So fucking good… You’re amazing, baby boy.” Dean groans as he nibbles and kisses your neck as he fucks his cock into your tight ass. His large burly hands roam your body to soothe you from the pain.

You woke with bad morning wood.

Everything was going as planned, if anything, faster than Dean anticipated. He could feel you warming up to him and often begging for his attention. You two were hanging out in your room, doing nothing, and the older Winchester felt the time was right.

“Y/n… I feel like this is the right time to tell you. I’ve always loved you ever since we met.” Dean confessed as he got closer. His natural scent filled your nose as his large body was close to yours. The room was turning around, it felt like it was getting hotter as you processed what Dean said.

You didn’t remember what you said, probably saying you loved him back, but it ended with you and Dean being in a heated kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth as he took the dominant role and pushed you into submission. Feeling your submission, he pulled you onto his lap.

“D-dean…” You whine as you feel your stepbrother pulling your shirt off. His worn hands roam your body as he touches every crevice. His thick fingers tweaking your nipples, your moans muffled by the kiss. Suddenly, the rest of your clothing was torn off as Dean moved you from his lap to the comfortable bed.

The cold air touches your cock causing you to moan softly. Looking up at Dean, you could see lust in his eyes and he hastily takes off his clothing, almost tripping. His whole body was only for you to see. He was muscular, with perfect abs and pectorals along with his biceps. Tone thighs as his long cock was erected, acting like a third leg.

Dean looked down at you, seeing the eagerness in your eyes from seeing his cock. You're shifting comfortably, thrusting your hips upward to get stimulation and spreading your legs further to let Dean get more room. “Look at you… all needy and I barely did anything.” Dean groans as he wraps his hand around your aching cock, giving it slow strokes. Your breath was caught in your throat as you tried to chase the pleasure, thrusting into Dean’s hand for more. Suddenly, a loud slap rang; Dean’s hand leaving a significant handprint.

Instead of feeling pain, you felt pleasure from being hit. This caused you to thrust more which resulted in Dean slapping your thighs. “Ah? My baby is a fucking masochist? Want me to continue?” Dean purrs as he hears you moaning like a bitch in heat. You nodded desperately, wanting more. He continued his ministration, slapping your thighs until they looked bruised– not that you minded. Your cock was throbbing painfully, coating the older Winchester’s hand with your precum.

Dean was doing everything to prevent your orgasm: ruining it by pulling away when he feels you were close and squeezing or pinching your cockhead. While it may look painful to others, you were ascending to another reality. Your moans filled the room, and you started begging for more. “P-please… I-I need… god… more. Please! Touch me.” Your whines were music to Dean’s ear as he felt you were ready for the next stage.

“Darling. Lick my fingers,” Dean says as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. Three thick digits filled your mouth as you lathered them with saliva, slobbering around the digits, tongue swirling. It felt like you were losing air when Dean pulled his fingers out– satisfied by how coated they were. “Good job, darling. Amazing.” the older Winchester says causing you to whine with happiness from his praise.

Slowly, Dean pushes one finger inside, grinning as he sees you pushing yourself back onto his finger. Your breathing got heavier with only one finger filling you, and flashbacks of your boyfriend filled your vision, but Dean was much better. He was thicker and bigger, speaking about his fingers, you’re nervous about his cock. “Breath, darling. I know you’re eager, but you need to calm down so I stretch you.” Dean says as he uses his other hand to soothe your thighs.

Letting a soft “yes” you started relaxing. The tension leaves your body as you feel Dean pressing and pushing two more fingers inside. He was stretching you nicely, reveling in the way you were keen on fucking yourself on his fingers. Dean continued pumping his fingers, loud squelching mixing with your moans and whines. He sees your body squirming and wiggling, trying to get more.

Dean groans with mild frustration as he tried to find the sweet spot. After wiggling and thrusting his fingers, feeling your hot ass clenching around his digits– “Dean! There! Right there!”

Bingo

He began abusing your bundle of nerves. The tip of his fingers rammed into your sweet spot as he was milking that spot for your pleasure. Feeling the signals your body was giving, an orgasm, Dean pulled his fingers with a loud pop following. “W-why did you stop?” You whine before Dean gave your ass a harsh slap.

“I want you to cum with my dick inside you,” Dean says as he strokes his cock. Opening your drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube. He put a generous amount on his hands before lathering his aching monster cock with the substance. “Please… fucking, please. Fuck me,” you whine as you gave Dean teary eyes.

Who was Dean to deny his darling his pleasure?

Dean grins, slowly thrusting his cock into your ass, pausing when he is fully inside. He wants you to adjust, your ex-boyfriend probably never filled you this much. He was right. Just from him entering, you were on cloud nine. You’ve never been filled or stretched this much. Your ass clenching around Dean’s large cock, trying to pull it deeper. “Fucking hell, darlin'. That pathetic man didn’t fill you this much?” Dean groans as he starts rocking his hips, thrusting in, pulling back, and then slamming into you.

You were already cockdrunk. The perfect feeling of Dean’s large cock filling you up, cockhead ramming into your bundle of nerves. His rough thrusts caused the bed to squeak which mixed with your loud moans and groans, caused your cries for Dean to rougher. “Fucking slut, darlin’. You feel so fucking good. This ass was made for me.”

His praises sent you to spiral more. You then feel Dean’s worn hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing it but not hard enough to close your airways. Eye contact was made as Dean looked down– you were fucked beyond your comprehension. Drool seeped through the corners of your mouth, and your eyes rolled back as you gripped the bed sheets. “Who owns you, darlin’?” Dean growls as he grips your hips.

“Y-you! I’m all yours!” you cried as tears rolled down your face from the stimulation. You were desperately trying to keep up with Dean. With your prostate being consistently abused, you were on the verge of prostate orgasm.

“Atta, boy. You fucking belong to me. No longer than the pathetic excuse of a man. Only me! That’s all you need! Me…Only I get to see you like this.” Dean growls as his thrust gets sloppier. His breathing was getting heavier, your ass was heaven and it was about to send him there too. “Keep speaking. I wanna hear your voice, keep telling me who you belong to.”

You began babbling that you belonged to him repeatedly. Your mind was completely fucked to the ground. The only thing was pleasure surging through your body, your aching cock throbbing and swinging.

Dean was internally patting himself on the back. You were wrapped around his finger. His dreams throughout the years were finally coming true. He could have the future he had planned since he was eighteen.

With each bucking and rocking of his hips, you grew closer and closer to your orgasm. Desperate for your orgasm, you began pushing back against him, attempting to match the rhythm of his thrusts. You were driving each other crazy, your bodies covered in sweat, mixing with the stench of sex filling the room. The sound of skin slapping, the symphony of your moans and his groans, and the bed squeaking; heavenly music that Dean could do every day if you were up for that.

“So fucking good, darlin’. You’re perfect for me. I don’t care if we’re stepbrothers, you were always more than that since the day I met.” Dean moans as his breathing began to hitch, his large cock throbbing. He began praising you, making sure you would come undone. “I-I’m gonna cum… cum with me, darlin’,” Dean whines as he wraps his hand around your cock to ensure you both cum at the same time.

Both of your breathings got rugged. Your ass trying to milk Dean’s cock off its thick creamy load, and Dean stroking your aching cock while he rams into your prostate. “I-I’m cumming!” Dean growls as he collapses onto your body, biting your shoulder harshly. Your cock exploded, its thick load coating Dean’s hand and your chest.

Dean roars as he gives one final thrust, his cock throbbing, balls churning its load before his spend was flooding your velvety walls, painting your insides white. He groans as this is the best orgasm in his life. The ecstasy lasted for a few minutes, Dean licking the wound on your shoulder. The iron taste of blood touched his taste buds as he licked it clean. Now, people will know who you belong to. He was going to make sure of that to everyone.

“I love you darlin’,” Dean says as he pulls his flaccid cock out, a loud squelch and pop echo as a wave of his thick cum gushes out. He bred you well. The older Winchester lay down and pulled you closer to him, wanting you to nuzzle into his body.

The sounds of ragged breathing as you both calm down from the intense session. You cuddled into Dean’s larger body and you could feel his cum oozing out your abused hole. “I love you too.” You said as you slowly drifted off to sleep, Dean’s heartbeat comforting you.

Dean was satisfied with how things turned out. He finally got everything he wanted.

Your feelings and his went in opposite directions, but you both came back in a Full Circle.

THE END

A/N: Hello, my strawberries! Wow, this is the longest fic I made in a while. I do hope you’ll enjoy this. Very special thanks to my proofreader, @sagethegaywitch

TAGLIST: @spnfanboy777 @zamfam4272 @ghostking4m

#x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader imagine #smut #x male reader smut #dean winchester #dean winchester smut #dean winchester fic #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester x male reader smut #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x male reader #gay #supernatural fic #supernatural x male reader #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles x male reader

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supernotnatural2005 · 7 months ago

Text

'Ride em' Cowgirl'

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY, swearing, fluff.

AN: Here it is, the requested part 2 of my 'Giddy up Cowboy' Drabble. I'm blown away by all of the love and support on my work lately and had to give you something tasteful in return for all your lovely appreciation. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Tagging: @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog and @rizlowwritessortof

Main Masterlist

The ride back to the motel feels like an eternity. The engine of the Impala hums beneath you, a comforting sound you’ve grown used to over the past few months of hunting with the Winchesters. But tonight, that familiar hum does little to calm the storm that’s building in the air between you and Dean.

Sam sits in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the electricity crackling in the space between you and his older brother. His head is turned slightly, eyes focused on his phone as he scrolls through something, probably researching the next hunt. He’s completely oblivious, lost in his world, but you and Dean? You're both caught up in something far more dangerous.

You shift in your seat, the leather of the Impala's interior squeaking slightly beneath you, but it’s nothing compared to the way your body is reacting to the proximity of Dean, to the memory of the words you said back at the bar. "I think I can ride him better." The double meaning of the comment, the tease that you’d laid on him, was still hanging heavily in the air.

You glance at him, his profile visible from the corner of your eye. His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too hard, and you can’t help but notice the way his bicep flexes with the tension. The urge to reach over and touch him, to bridge that last bit of space between you, is almost overwhelming.

Sam’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as he glances over his shoulder, a slight grin on his face. “You two are awfully quiet. You sure everything’s alright?”

Dean clears his throat, his voice low, a little too steady. “Yeah, we’re fine, Sammy. Just tired.”

Sam nods, not catching the edge in his brother’s voice, and goes back to whatever he’s reading on his phone. You, however, catch the way Dean’s eyes flicker to you—a brief glance, but enough to make your pulse quicken. You feel that familiar heat rise between you both, the kind that only the two of you understand.

Every mile feels like it stretches on forever. You catch Dean’s gaze again, and this time, his eyes linger a little longer, something raw and unspoken in them. You know he’s struggling to keep his composure, just as you are.

Finally, the motel comes into view. The neon lights of the sign flicker, the soft hum of the parking lot filling the quiet car. Sam lets out a loud yawn and stretches, oblivious to the way the tension between you and Dean has reached its breaking point.

“Man, I’m pretty beat.” Sam says, giving you both a tired smile as he climbs out of the car. You and Dean follow suit, both of you stepping out with a quiet but unmistakable urgency.

Dean’s hand brushes against yours as he walks you to your room—just a few doors before his and Sam’s, and it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You both stand there for a moment, looking at your motel room door in front of you, the unspoken weight of everything you've both been avoiding for so long finally sinking in.

Sam walks on ahead, muttering something about needing to “hit the hay,” and you both watch as he disappears into the room before Dean turns to you, his voice low and controlled.

"You weren’t kidding earlier, huh?”

"No," you say, your voice just above a whisper, because you can’t take it anymore, and it’s enough to send the heat between you two spiralling. "I wasn’t.”

Dean doesn’t need any more encouragement. He moves first, closing the distance between you two with a single, decisive step. His lips crash against yours, hard and desperate—like he’s been holding back everything he’s been feeling for far too long.

His mouth is warm and insistent, and you open up to him instinctively, your hands finding their way to the open fabric of his flannel, pulling him even closer.

You moan into the kiss, clinging to him as if he were your last source of oxygen. Consuming what he was willing to give as long as he was willing to give it. Dean’s hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave small fingerprint indents when your tongue slides past his lips. His responding groan is low, bordering on a growl, and he walks you back against your door, his hands unable to stay in one place for too long.

His touch, his scent, and his delectable mouth were quickly descending you into a state of ecstasy. You were already hooked and desperate for more.

“Inside.” You mumble against his lips, and he offers you a curt nod before he breaks the kiss, allowing you a moment to breathe as you turn to unlock your door. He’s already pressing himself against you from behind, his hands wandering from your hips to boldly cupping your breasts over your thin t-shirt, beneath your jacket.

It takes you until your third try before you finally stumble inside. Dean quick to kick the door shut with his foot as he ravishes your neck with wet kisses and thumbs at your pebbled nipples poking through your lace bra, risen from both his ministrations and the cool air.

You push back against him and gasp at the feel of his obvious arousal through his jeans. His reaction to you sent a thrill of excitement through you as well as a feeling of pride swelling in your chest.

"Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” Dean pants into your neck as you roll your hips against him. He presses into you with each roll, making his eyes roll back and his hands move to find purchase on your hips again.

“I think I have some notion.” You quip with one last push back against him before turning in his arms. You offer him a sly smile and look up at him through your lashes as you trail and hand down his firm chest and over his toned stomach before cupping him through his jeans. His hips instinctively thrust into your palm, and you grant him some relief by adding pressure and rubbing your hand along his length.

His gaze is stormy as he looks down at you, watching you watch your own hand grope him in wonder. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. Suddenly, he pulls your hand from him, the feeling both incredible yet frustratingly not enough, and you look up at him in question, but he’s quick to reclaim your lips again.

The urgency from before is back with a vengeance as you claw at each other’s clothes, peeling away layers upon layers between heated kisses, until finally, you’re left in nothing but your panties, and Dean in his boxers.

His gaze roams over you unapologetically, taking in every curve and scar; your heaving breasts on display with a hunger you’d never seen in another man's eyes before. But there was more behind his desire. There was a look of longing, of wanting this for so long and finally having it, simmering within those pools of green. And you understood. Because you felt the exact same.

As if in sync, you reached for one another again. Dean’s hands framed your face as he dipped down to kiss you again. This time softer, more tender, making you all but melt into his arms. He walked you backwards, never parting his lips from yours, until the backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress.

You pulled away from him then and climbed up onto the bed, with him quickly following, crawling up and over you like a predator stalking his prey. Your head fell back onto the pillows as his firm body covered yours, his mouth quickly attaching itself to your neck, kissing, sucking, and nibbling at the tender flesh until you were bucking your hips up against him.

He smirks into your neck, loving the fact you were so reactive to him, even by the simplest of touches. He decides to give you some relief and trails his mouth down your body, stopping at your chest. He waited for you to look at him, his warm breath fanning over your perked nipple, and only when you finally meet his gaze does he wrap his lips around your pebbled nub.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, watching his eyes fall shut as he sucked and nibbled at your nipple. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and your hips ground for any kind of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs. Your hand slid into his hair, pulling harshly at the soft spikes atop his head, making him groan, and the vibration sent tiny shocks of pleasure throughout your nerve endings.

He moves onto your other breast, the wetness of your abandoned nipple cooling against the air conditioning unit, softly buzzing in the background, the feeling only adding to the incredible pleasure his mouth was giving your other breast.

“Fuck, Dean.” You gasp, just as his left hand trailed down your side and sneakily slipped into your panties. Two of his thick digits were quick to find your clit and you shuddered from the contact. He begins to circle your bundle of nerves slowly, much like the motion of his tongue against your nipple.

You fist his hair again, moaning loudly as he dips an experimental finger into your soaked hole, gathering your wetness and resuming his attention back on your clit.

“You’re so wet, baby.” He grunts against your chest, frowning in concentration as he picks up his pace. “That all for me?” All you could do was nod and then cry out as his fingers rubbed you faster, sending jolts of pleasure down to the tips of your toes, which soon curled as your body began to tense.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You repeated it like a mantra, the coil in your belly wound tight and ready to spring.

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over my fingers.” He husks in your ear, and you look down your body, watching the muscles in his forearm dance with effort from the maddening pace of the hand buried deep in your underwear. The sight was your undoing, and your whole body stiffened. Mouth dropping open in a silent scream, the sound trapped in your throat as your body convulsed and shuddered against him.

Dean’s hand began to slow with your descent into bliss, coming to a complete stop once you deflated back onto the mattress, completely boneless.

“Holy shit.” You huffed with an incredulous chuckle because, holy shit. You’re not even sure you’d ever come so hard with your own hand. And if just his fingers could bring you so much pleasure, it left you wondering what else you were in store for. Although you didn’t have to wonder for much longer when Dean shifted beside you and you felt the straining press of his cock against your thigh.

You turned to him and cupped his cheek with your right hand, pulling him into a slow and sensuous, grateful kiss. He hummed happily against your lips as you rolled him onto his back. His arms coming up to wrap around you, to keep you close as you took his breath away.

With him distracted, you grasped his tented length, massaging him as best you could through the fabric of his boxers. He broke the kiss and dropped his head back against the pillows, eyes shut tight as you relieved some of the pressure.

You smiled devilishly at him and rose to your knees beside him. He watched you in wonder as you peeled the last item of clothing from him, helping you by lifting his hips. Your eyes widened in both shock and amazement at the sight of him. Your mouth watered and pussy throbbed, desperate for a taste, for the feel of him inside you.

You gathered him in your hand, relishing in the warm weight of his impressive cock. Dean released a deep sigh at the feel of your delicate hand slowly, teasingly pumping him. He was as hard as granite, throbbing in your hand, and you marvelled at the way your simple movements had him panting, wanting and desperate beneath you.

Laying comfortably between his parted thighs, You ran your tongue along the length of him. The deep, responsive moan from him giving you the encouragement to do it again and again until he was slick with your saliva and fisting the sheets beneath him tight.

“Holy.. shit.” Dean gasped as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his silky head before sinking your mouth onto him. The action brought with it a salty tang and a variety of praises and profanities. Between your legs, a new wave of wetness coated your already ruined underwear as you worked him over in your mouth and with your hand.

Looking up at him, he was a sight to behold. His skin glistening, chest heaving, sinful lips parted, and eyes squeezed shut. He was beautiful in every scenario it seemed.

“Oh God.” Dean’s eyes snapped open then, his body tensing, and he quickly sat up, pulling you from him. You looked at him alarmed, wiping at the spit collected at the corners of your mouth.

“What? What’’s wrong?” You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to take a few deep breaths before he released a breathless chuckle.

“You were about to make me cum.” He told you honestly, and you blushed a little, but wondered why he’d stopped you?

“And?” You giggled softly, though squeaked, when he suddenly manhandled you into his lap. You had to bite back a groan at the feel of his hard length bumping against you through your panites.

“And? I was promised a ride.” His voice is low and sultry, but his face is filled with his usual boyish, giddy excitement. You giggled and shook your head, realising you’d somehow fallen for a complete dork.

You cup his scruffy cheeks in your palms and plant a warm kiss against his lips, the smiles on your faces quickly fading as your tongue swept against his, reigniting the ache between your legs and the need for more.

You reluctantly pull away and slide off of him, removing and kicking away your underwear before climbing back onto him. He welcomes you eagerly, claiming your mouth once again with a kiss filled with passion and ignition.

You slowly guide him onto his back and pull away breathless. His hands slide from your back to your hips as you sit up, grinning down at him. His green eyes look up at you, dark and entranced, roaming over every inch of you in amazement.

You bite down on your lip as you settle against him, the wet seam of your pussy covering his length, making you both groan at the contact. You roll your hips experimentally, your head falling back as you steadied yourself against his firm stomach, picking up your pace until you were slick and ready.

“Fuck sweetheart. You’re a dream.” Dean says breathlessly and with an honest gaze. You smirk down at him, slowing your roll, and he watches you.

“I think it’s time I make do on that promise.” You tell him. “Think I can last the full 90 minutes?” You tease, and Dean chuckles, rubbing lovingly at your thighs, hips, and up your sides.

“I have no doubts, baby.”

In one swift movement, you rise up on your knees and grasp his length, angling him just right before you sink down onto him. Both of your mouths drop open in respective pleasure. You’re slick enough to take him most of the way, only rocking gently a few times until he’s fully sheathed.

“Fuuck.” He moans, and it’s long and drawn out because Dean can’t quite fathom the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He’s been to heaven, hell, and everything in between, but this was something else entirely. The best pie he’d ever tasted, the feeling he got behind the wheel of baby—all things paling in comparison to this moment.

Once the initial stretch of him blurred from pain into pleasure, did you then rise up and slowly slide back down, gasping in almost disbelief at the incredible feel of him inside you. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm, rocking, rolling, and grinding your hips to find the most intense spots of pleasure.

All the while Dean let you ride him, watching in awe as you did in fact “ride him better." However, to give you a challenge, he bucked his hips up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust. You held on tightly, eyes rolling back at the much harsher thrusts hitting you just right, but you weren’t about to let him win.

With one hand firmly planted on his chest, you leaned back, reaching your arm around to fondle his balls. Dean jolted in surprise but moaned deep and loud as you gently caressed them in your palm. You smiled in triumph as he relinquished his thrusts, and you sped up your movements, feeling his balls draw tight.

“Oh, fuck, oh shit.” His words were breathless and strained as his body tensed, brow furrowing, hands gripping tight onto your hips as he came. Hard. You felt his warm seed coat your walls along with a long, deep groan as you circled your hips, milking every last drop.

You grinned down at him as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting hard and weightless. You could feel him still twitching inside you, and you involuntary clenched at the sensation, making his head pop back up to look at you.

His eyes were wild, his chest flushed red, and wordlessly he slid a hand over to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit, making you gasp. Dean’s eyes closed at the feeling of you clenching around him but began circling your clit with the digit, watching on in admiration as you slowly rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your own sweet release.

Dean was a generous lover, but you’d given him a run for his money in that department tonight. It was only common curtesy he had you come again. Even if your pussy was all but strangling his sensitive cock, it felt incredible—a sensation he’d never felt before. He could feel himself hardening again at just the sight and feel of you, surprising you as much as himself.

“Oh God.” You cried out, your walls fluttering around him as you ground into his hand, his thumb flicking against your clit, harder and faster until you were shaking above him. Then he thrust his hips up, once, twice, three times, and you were falling apart. Your body tensed and twitched above him, your mouth falling open in a silent cry as the white hot pleasure of your orgasm rippled through you.

“Shit.” Your eyes popped open when you felt it. Warmth spread inside you for a second time as Dean cried out in painful pleasure. Holy shit was all that you could comprehend as he tensed beneath you.

Shocked silence filled the room as you both stared at one another, catching your breaths, until a chuckle of disbelief slipped from his lips, triggering your own laughter.

You fell onto his chest, letting his soft cock slip from you with a slight hiss from him. You soothed a hand a long his chest, planting a sweet kiss there before leaning up and coming face to face with him.

"So, was I…Better?” You wondered curiously, whilst absently playing with his mused, sweat slicked hair. Dean grinned in response and cupped your jaw tenderly.

"Oh, you so were." He replied before pulling your lips to his.

AN: Okay so this one was just pure smut! 😂 but let me know what you think? Was this a good tie up for these two 👀

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godmadeaterribleerror · 6 months ago

Text

I Could Have You

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving), light angst, soulmates, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

You'll defiantly be able to just ride this out.

Author's Note: I had a lot of fun with this one, I hope you enjoy it!

Title from Normal Fucking Rockwell by Lana Del Ray

Word Count: 6k

You’re losing your mind.

Your skin is on fire, your back is flat on the cold bathroom floor, and you’re moaning and whining and bucking into the air but nothing is fixing this. Nothing is relieving you, not your fingers or the pillows or the toy a very red-faced Sam had bought you. Nothing is going to save you, because only one, stupid, handsome, selfless idiot can, and he’s suddenly too good to just fuck you.

Hell, that idiot is the only reason this is happening. According to Sam and Bobby, Dean got hit with a sex spell in Colorado, you started whimpering for him in South Dakota, and you’re not allowed to have sex with him for… reasons.

Reasons no one seems willing to fully share with you, but reasons.

You know Dean wants you. You’ve known he wants you. Neither of you have ever been able to do something about that—never going beyond flirting and lingering touches and stares—but you’re certain he feels the same way. Maybe not the exact same way, because you want whatever Dean offers you, his body or mind or heart or very soul, but you know he’s attracted to you. And if the countless little pieces of evidence you’ve hoarded in your brain—winks and smirks and long, apperceive scans of your body—weren’t enough for you to know, this was. You’d heard Dean roar your name from outside Bobby’s cabin as the Impala door slammed. You’d seen the feral, lust-blown expression on his face as he’d charged at you. Sam had tackled him to the ground as you’d grown a little dizzy with need, and Bobby grabbed your wrist, dragging you upstairs. Away from Dean, from the cure, from his big hands and soft mouth and huge-

“You’re gonna need to stay in here.” Bobby had muttered, refusing to meet your eyes as he shuffled out of the room. “Least until we get Dean’s head right, or figure out what the hell is going on.”

It’s been almost a day, and they’ve made almost no progress. From Sam’s last update, all they’re certain of is: Sex spell, you and Dean, no other options except you and Dean.

“What do you mean no other options,” you’d said, leaning up to frown at Sam. “Did Dean-“

“No.” Sam shakes his head, giving you a sheepish expression. “I mean, Bobby and I suggested it, but he said no.”

“Oh,” you’d mumbled, falling back down on the mattress. “Why?”

Sam had shrugged, leaning into your line of vision. “Do you want to have sex with me?”

“No, Sam, what the fuck-“

“That’s why.”

He’d stood up and left, and you hadn’t had a clue what the hell he was talking about. Sure, you didn’t want to have sex with him, but he was like a brother to you. Dean, somehow, wasn’t. Dean was Dean. And it wasn’t like you’d say no to a random, no-strings attached hookup right now-

Something had tugged in your gut, and you’d realized—staggering to the toilet and vomiting up your lunch—that you could not do a random hookup. You wanted Dean. You needed him. You might die if you didn’t get him, and it had to be him, and he must feel it too, but when you’d asked Sam he said no.

“No?!” You’d rolled over on the floor to glare up at him, wishing you could find the strength to surge up and punch him in his stupid, apologetic face. “What do you mean No?!”

“Dean, um,” Sam had sighed again, and if he kept doing that you were going to kick him in the balls. “He made us lock him in the safe room. He won’t come out until we cure him.”

“Why did he-“ You’d cut yourself off as it hit you, another, softer wave of sickness rolling over your body. The sickness lived in your heart. This sickness was made of the tragic reality that Dean might want you, but he didn’t want you. Maybe that was why he’d never made a move. Maybe he was attracted to you physically, but couldn’t see you like that, and didn’t really want to try to.

Maybe Dean was disgusted by the idea. Maybe he hated that his body found you hot, because he thinks of you like you think of Sam.

“Oh,” you’d rolled back onto your stomach, and prayed Sam would leave soon so you could go back to humping the floor. “Okay.”

Sam had said your name, waiting until you hummed an acknowledgment to continue. “We’re going to fix this-“

“I know.” You’d let out a long, slow breath, curling into your own body. “We always do.”

They would fix this. And then you’d have to look Dean in the eyes, and find a way to be okay with his rejection. Teach yourself how to not turn into a pining dumbass, chasing after someone who obviously didn’t want you. You wouldn’t lose him, he was your best friend, but you’d also have to learn to pretend it didn’t feel like your heart hadn’t just been ripped out of your chest and stomped on.

And now you’re here. Hoping Sam and Bobby will fix this soon, crawling into the empty bathtub to try and sleep. The bed is too warm, too intimate, to inviting of fantasies that will never be reality. Daydreams of Dean’s hands on you, trailing over your skin and setting of little sparks as he maps your body. Those same hands pushing open your thighs, two of his fingers teasing over your pussy, his mouth wrapping around your nipple as he started pumping and scissoring and crooking inside you-

There’s a knock on the bathroom door, and you yank your own fingers out of your cunt, wiping them on the towel as you speak, your voice far too hoarse. “Yeah, Sam?”

“Not Sam.” Bobby grumbles, his voice slightly muffled through the door. “You decent?”

You toss a towel over your body, having long abandoned clothing. “Yep, is everything-“

You cut yourself off as Bobby pushes the door open, his face angled up to avoid you.

“I said I’m decent, Bobby, you can look.”

He grunts, and you sit up a little straighter, making your voice a little firmer.

“It’s weirder if you don’t, you know.”

Bobby nods, his gaze slowly dropping to yours as he sits on the toilet, bracing his arms on his knees. “Sorry.” He mutters. “Ain’t tryin’ to make it uncomfortable. Just not lookin’ to see one of my, uh-“

“I know,” you sigh, leaning your head back on the tile. “I get it. Must be weird seeing Dean as well.”

“Eh.” Bobby shrugs. “I’ve walked in on him with lady company before, this ain’t new-“

“But it’s new with me?” You ask, raising your brows, and Bobby glares at you.

“I didn’t help raise you girl. And you’re just as important to me as those boys, but you’re also a girl. I mean, not a girl, but I don’t got those parts-“

“Jesus, Bobby.” You mumble, bringing your knees up to your chest. “I’m teasing. I know what you mean, I promise, just,” you swallow, shaking your head slightly. “Sorry. I’m tired.”

Bobby rolls his eyes, but his voice becomes a little softer, and far less panicked. “That ain’t nice, kid, you’re gonna give an old man a heart attack.”

“You’d be fine. I know CPR.”

He gives you a flat look. “We both know you ain’t in any condition to give me CPR.”

You wave him off. “I’d call Sam.”

“He wouldn’t hear you, he’s down in the panic room with-“

Bobby cuts himself off, and you roll your head to the side, giving him a bored glare.

“You can say his name, Bobby.”

“Fine.” He grunts. “Sam’s down checkin’ on Dean. He,” Bobby frowns at the air. “He still ain’t listenin’ to reason.”

You hum, hoping Bobby doesn’t notice how you’ve moved the towel between your thighs, just for something. “Reason?”

“We don’t have anythin’ to cure this except, uh, that way.” Bobby mutters. “And he’s still insistin’ we keep him chained up.”

“Ah.” You swallow. “Awesome.”

Bobby says your name, and it’s gentle. Like he’s consulting a child who’s had a nightmare, instead of a grown woman who was just finger-fucking herself in a tub. “You don’t gotta pretend this ain’t hurtin’ you.”

“I mean, it doesn’t feel good-“

“Not the spell.” Bobby says, and you frown at him.

“What-“

“Dean. He’s bein’ a fuckin’ dumbass, and you don’t need to act like he’s not.”

Your voice drops to a whisper. “He’s not what?”

“Killin’ you.” Bobby grunts, scanning over your face. “Rippin’ your heart out and take a big fat shit on it.”

You grimace. “That’s gross, Bobby-“

“Truth ain’t always sunshine and glitter-“

“It’s not the truth!” You snap, your voice suddenly harsh as something wilts and twists in his your chest. “I’m fine! I get it! Dean doesn’t want to do that, and that’s not his fault.”

Bobby leans back on the toilet, holding your glare with his own. “Why do you think you and Dean are the only idjits gettin’ hit by this? Why isn’t Sam humpin’ pillows and leavin’ stains on my walls?”

You feel a rush of heat from that thought—the image of Dean fucking into his hand flashing through your mind and leaving a mark between your thighs—and your voice is almost a squeak. “Because Dean’s the one that got hit?”

“Sam says he was in the line of that bitch’s fire too. But only Dean got,” Bobby makes a vague gesture over you. “This.”

“I don’t-“

“And Sam ain’t in love with his fuckin’ brother, so he was safe.”

You flush, gaping at Bobby for a long, wired silence, and when you speak your voice is a squeak.

“I- I’m, I’m not in love with Dean. I mean, maybe I have a crush, or something, but that’s, that’s not love-“

Bobby gives you a flat, disbelieving look. “You feel safer ‘round him?”

“Yeah, but I-“

“You laugh at all his jokes?”

“Maybe, but he can be funny-“

Bobby mutters your name, shaking his head. “I love that boy like a son, and he ain’t half as funny as he thinks he is.”

You frown. “He’s funny-“

“He can be,” Bobby shrugs. “But his jokes ain’t all winners. And you laugh at every single oneof ‘em. And,” he sighs, rubbing his beard. “He laughs at all’a your jokes.”

“Hey.” You scowl. “I’m a riot-“

“Didn’t say you weren’t. But even you can miss, girl. And he never seems to care.”

“So?” You shuffle on the floor, desperate not to starting grinding on the air in front of Bobby, but getting more and more wet from just the mention of Dean. “We’re friends, friends laugh at each other’s jokes-“

“Do friends get connected by sex spells ‘cross state lines?”

“I dunno,” you mumble. “Never been hit by a sex spell before.”

“You weren’t hit by one,” Bobby snaps your name, starting to sound exasperated. “Dean was. And that’s my damn point. Sam and I, we,” he sighs, giving you a long, confusing look. “We got it. We know what’s goin’ on.”

“Fuck,” you sit up, glowering at him. “Why didn’t you lead with that-“

“Cause you ain’t gonna like it.” Bobby grunts. “It’s an old location spell. Back in the day rich assholes would cast it on their highest eldest sons, so he could find his,” Bobby cringes, his last word pushed through his teeth. “Mate.”

“Mate?” You repeat, letting out a dry, huffing laugh. “What are we, fucking dogs-“

“Soulmate.” Bobby mutters, giving you a look that might have been sympathetic, or kind, or pitiful, but you’re suddenly a little dizzy and can’t really think or see.

“That’s not,” you shake your head. “No, Bobby, soulmates aren’t real-“

Bobby says your name, his voice stern. “You should know better than to say somethin’ like that in our line of work. Sam called Cas, and he said they’re real, but population increases or somethin’ made them ‘logistically impossible’, so they aren’t on the shop line no more.”

“But- But wouldn’t we have like, I don’t know, noticed? If that was true?”

“You shoulda.” Bobby shrugs. “Cas seemed pretty shocked you hadn’t. Said he had assumed you knew, because the pull is like a magnet or some shit. Spell’s only an enhancer, to move the train along.”

“So why-“

“You hopped in right after Dean got back from hell.” Bobby mutters. “Dean’s soul mighta been fucked enough not to recognize you. Spell mighta jumpstarted it.”

“Oh.”

“Yep.”

It’s a few minutes before you speak again, and Bobby waits patiently as you spiral. Down, down, down in your head, trying to rationalize how this could possibly be true. It couldn’t be true. There was no way it was true. Sure, you’ve liked Dean since you first met him, from the moment he introduced himself with a cocky grin, smirk, and fake name. You liked him even more when you called him out on his fake name, and he’d just chuckled, figured out you were a hunter, and offered to buy you a drink. You’d liked him when that drink had turned into a long, sleepless night of only conversation, and when you’d joined him and Sam on the road. And you’d kept thinking of him like that, and you thought of him all the time, but that didn’t mean anything. You didn’t love him. It’s not like you feel better when you wake up in a motel bed and he’s next to you, or a smile always tugs at your lips whenever he so much as looks at you, or the thought of him being in alone or pain makes you physically ill. It’s not like, if he grabbed your hand and told you he was done with hunting—the only life you’d ever both known—then asked you to join him in a boring, easy apple pie life you’d immediately say yes and kiss him, because you’ll go wherever he goes and he’s the only person you’ve ever really-

Oh.

You might be in love with Dean.

You might be soulmates with Dean.

“What, um,” you swallow, watching Bobby carefully. “What did Dean think? Of this?”

“We have told him yet.” Bobby’s jaw ticks, holding your gaze. “We ain’t sure he’ll-“

“Yeah.” You whisper, turning your attention back to the ceiling. There’s a little crack on it. Jagged and split through the white paint, easy to stare at and get lost in. Helpful in pretending this doesn’t hurt like a bitch. “Okay.”

Bobby mutters a promise of at least trying to talk some sense into Dean, but you both know his words are empty. Because Dean won’t believe this. It won’t be a matter of you and Dean, it will just be Dean, believing something like a soulmate could never happen to someone like him. He’ll insist they’re lying, or Cas is wrong, or all of this fucking bullshit.

“You ever wondered about aliens?” He’d asked you once, leaning against the Impala as you lay on the hood, watching him from an upside-down angle.

“Just like, in general?”

“Yeah.”

“I guess,” you’d tilted your head at him. “Why?”

“I dunno, just curious.” There had been another moment of silence, then, “You think they’re real?”

“They have to be right?” You’d reached over your head, grabbing his chin and tilting it up, until he was staring at the night sky. “I mean, look at that, De. It’s huge.”

He’d chuckled, swatting your hand away. “Where have I heard that before-“

“Eat me, Winchester.” You’d rolled your eyes, and his shit-eating grin had grown. “No. Shut it.”

He’d raised his hands in surrender. “Didn’t say a thing.”

“Uh huh.” You’d let your own attention trail up, over the vast darkness above you, splattered in infinite stars that you think—if you really tried—you’d be able to grab and hold in your hands. Maybe offer one to Dean. He’d deserve it.

You were silent for a while longer, you watching the sky, Dean waiting for you to come back to earth, and when he’d spoken again his voice was soft.

“You think you’d want to go? If they were?”

You’d looked back to him with a frown, and found him already looking at you. “What, aliens?”

He’d nodded, and you’d furrowed your brow in thought.

“Maybe. I’ve never thought about it before. I kind of like Earth.” You’d rolled onto your stomach, swinging your legs around to rest in Baby’s open window as you looked down at Dean. “What about you?”

“Nah,” he’d held your gaze, pulling himself up to sit at your side. “Not now.”

“Not now?”

“I would’ve when I was younger, if I coulda taken Sammy with me.” Dean had let out a dry chuckle. “But I’m not that lucky.”

He wasn’t that lucky. Dean didn’t get to be abducted by aliens, because he wasn’t lucky. Because saviors and little lights to guide you forward don’t just drop out of the sky.

But you didn’t drop out of the sky. You’d been on the ground, and tangible, and very, very real.

You feel real, to yourself. You didn’t feel like a possibility, or a myth, or a lie.

And you might love Dean.

And you know that, the longer you don’t get to at least see him, touch him, breathe him, the more you go mad. The harder it becomes to speak to Sam and Bobby when they check on you, the less you allow them to even say the word Dean, because it makes you writhe and moan and everyone just gets very uncomfortable.

So if Dean’s too much of a righteous, noble, self-loathing buttface to do something about this, you will.

You wait until the house is dark and quiet. Until you hear Bobby mutter a goodnight through the door—about an hour ago you’d started whining every other breath and fucking the edge of the bathtub, so Bobby wasn’t coming into the room anymore—and Sam walks in backwards to make sure you’re not dead and have enough food and water. Like you’re a caged animal.

You do feel a little like one. You feel like someone’s sucked everything rational and careful out of your brain and replaced it with Dean. Dean, Dean, Dean, you need him or you’ll die. He needs to need you, or something worse than death will happen.

And you’re willing to risk that, that small possibility of Dean looking at you—bare and wet and pleading for him—and still turning you away, because at least you’ll see him.

You need to at least see him.

It’s shocking easy to sneak around the house. For two seasoned, well-respected hunters, neither Sam nor Bobby seem to wake up as you crawl down to Dean, despite the floorboard creaking under you movements and the downright pathetic whimpers that keep escaping your mouth. It takes all your focus to grab the key to Bobby’s panic room, unlock the door, and push it open.

It’s dark. Pitch black. But you know Dean’s in here, because every nerve is trying to fly off your body and into the shadows. To Dean.

“What the hell are you doing,” Dean groans your name from the back of the room, and you feel molten. “You can’t be here-“

“It’s not your panic room, Dean.” You mumble, pushing yourself up on the wall and fiddling around for the light switch. “I can be wherever I want-“

“Not here.” Dean snaps. “Go.”

You shake your head, and the lights blind you as you flip them on. It takes a moment to adjust—blinking and hugging your body in a desperate play to not leap across the room to Dean the moment you see him—and when you do a high whine escapes your mouth.

Dean looks as feral as you feel. He’s just as naked as you are, just as drenched in sweat and flushed, and—if the proud, massive cock between his legs, standing at full attention and twitching as he scans over you, is any sign—just as aroused.

“Dean.” You whisper. “Please.”

“You need to leave.” He grunts, his fists clenched at his sides. “Now.”

“I don’t want to go-“

“Yes, you do.”

You frown. “You don’t get to tell me what I want, Dean. I want to stay-“

“No,” he hisses, and you might come just from him looking at you like that. Primal and wanting, with a gleam in his eyes that feels like a promise. “You don’t know what you want-“

That gets you to scoff. “Fuck off, asshole-“

“See!” He makes a dramatic gesture, then flinches back from himself. “I, I can’t let you do this. You don’t want me,” Dean mutters your name, running a hand over his face. “The spell wants me. Doesn’t count.”

“Yeah, the spell does want you, you idiot!” You take an unsteady step forward, and he steps back. “Because I want you!”

“No, you don’t-“

“Yes, I do! I need you, Dean, and I think you need me-“

“Doesn’t matter what I need.” He grunts, bracing his body and you take another step. “Go back upstairs.”

“Did Bobby talk to you?”

He scowls. “Bobby’s wrong. That’s- No.”

“Because it’s me?”

“Of course not,” he snaps, and it’s too quick. “Because that, that’s not a thing. People would be runnin’ around, selling soulmates in little bottles if they were real. And we’d have known by now-“

“We do know now.” You whisper, swaying slightly in the middle of the room. “And Cas says-“

“Cas is wrong.” Dean mutters. “I don’t, there’s no way that’s true. Not for me.”

His beautiful, deep eyes look so sad. Glossed over and weighted down of years of that being the truth. That things like that, like this, don’t happen for Dean.

You’d really love to be the first exception.

“What about for me?”

“What are you-“

“What about for me, Dean.” You watch his jaw clench, his nostrils flaring. “Does it get to be true for me?”

He doesn’t answer, and you push on.

“If it’s true for me, it’s you.” You talk another step forward, and this time he doesn’t flinch. “Just you.”

“It’s just the spell.” He mutters, and you don’t think he’s convincing himself. Not when his throat bobs and his eyes darken. “You don’t want me, baby, not really.”

You almost fall over from that. From Dean calling you baby, and saying it the exact same way he says your name. Low and rolling and lined with something soft.

“I do.” You hold your ground, raising your chin. “I want you, Dean Winchester. Fix this.”

He shakes his head, barely a jerked movement, and you start to feel a little faint.

“Dean. I need you to look me in the eyes,” your voice starts to rise, growing pleading and frantic. “And tell me you don’t want me. Say that you wanting me is just the spell, and I’ll go. I promise. I just need to you to fucking say it, Dean, just fucking say you don’t want me or need me or love me-“

He moves before you even realize what’s happening. Almost leaping onto you as his mouth crashed into yours, his hands cupping your face as he walks you back, back, back into the wall and growls down your throat. And you’d been wrong. His hand on you don’t feel like small bursts of electricity. They’re like lighting. Dragging something you hadn’t known existed to the surface, and setting off a storm of need in your body.

“Course I want you,” one arm snakes around your waist, pressing your right into his erection. “Always fucking wanted you. You’re smoking hot,” he starts to kiss over your face, his words slightly muffled against your skin as you cling to his body. “Funnier than I am, and smart as hell. You feel like home and smell so good and, fuck, I’ve lost sleep thinkin’ about how it’d feel to get lost in you. I’d have to be fucking blind and dumb not to want you,” Dean grunts your name, returning your mouth to yours with a painfully soft, gentle, featherlight kiss. “But I’m not-“

“If you say good for me,” you mutter, leaning back to glare at him. “I’ll punch you.” He chuckles, and it’s dry and low, rumbling from his chest into yours. “I’m not-“

“You are.” You whisper, offering him a small, slightly broken smile. You need him to get this. You might start crying if he doesn’t. “You’re good for me. And I want you. I love you.” Something flashes in his eyes, and you don’t care if he believes you. He doesn’t have to believe you. He just needs to get it. “No spell, Dean. I’m here, and I’m yours. Take me.”

Your nails dig into his skin—attempting to leave a mark of him if he turns you away—and his breathing is ragged. Heavy and hot, fanning across your face as he stares at you, just stares at you, why is he just staring at you-

“Dean-“

This kiss is brutal It’s teeth and tongue and bruising lips, like he’s trying to move into your body. His hands are everywhere on you, squeezing your ass and palming your tits, rolling your nipple between two fingers before groaning down your throat when you moan.

“Fuck,” Dean mutters your name, his hand on your ass glides onto your pussy, playing with your folds and flicking at your clit once, twice, three times and you feel fucking high- “So wet for me-“

“For you,” you whimper, nodding stupidly as Dean presses him thumb down on that bundle of nerves, rubbing slowly. “Fuck, Dean, all for you-“

“Need to taste you,” he growls, pulling his mouth fully back, watching you grind onto his hand with a dark gaze. “You gonna let me taste you, baby? Let me eat that pretty pussy-“

You’ve barely nodded before he’s on his knees, one arm still around your waist to support you both as he dives into your cunt.

Oh.

He’s good at this. Really, really fucking good at this. You can’t really think anything that’s not Dean, or make any noise that’s not a moan kind of good at this. He’s ravenous and starved, his nose bumping and pressing into your clit in an impossibly mind-numbing rhythm, his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt until your squirming above him, desperate for more.

“Dean,” your hand tug at his hair, and you don’t know if you’re trying to push him deeper or pull him away. “Shit, Dean, I’m gonna cum-“

He groans against you, his eyes opening to watch you come apart above him, and you think he might be getting off on this.

“Please,” you whimper. “God, please, I need to cum-“

Dean bites your clit, and your orgasm crashes through you like a tidal wave. It’s all bliss and relief and a high, bright haze of Dean, and then you’re falling down.

Dean’s pulling you down. Onto his lap as he leans back, moving you to straddle over him as his cock throbs between his legs.

You want to touch him.

You push back on him, just enough for his grip to loosen, and take him in your hand. He’s huge. And pretty. Dicks aren’t supposed to be pretty, but Dean’s is, and it might be because every part of Dean is pretty. Every part of him is impossible pretty, from his cock twitching in your hand as you run your thumb over the slit, to his lidded eyes and parted mouth as he watches you with wonder.

“Shit,” he moans your name, and fuck, even that was pretty. “What are you doing to me-“

“Handjob,” you whisper, placing your free hand lightly on his chest in a silent request for him to lay back. “I think.”

Dean huffs a laugh, leaning back with a smirk. “Ya think? You sure you know what you’re doing with that- Fuck-“

You hum around Dean’s cock, your lips wrapped around the base as your tongue swirls around his shaft, and his groans are sinful. The fire in your corse hadn’t lessened by any means from your orgasm, but it grows unbearable as you move Dean’s hand to your hair and let him guide you up and down. Let him set the pace, moaning when his hips jerk and he hits the back of your throat, and squeezing his thighs in silent reassurance that you’re good. You’re really, really good. You’re grinding onto Dean’s knee as he fucks your face, playing with his balls with your free hand and devouring every bit of slightly slurred praise that falls from his mouth.

“Fucking hell, baby, you always been this good at sucking cock? You’re, shit, you look like a wet dream, look like an angel, fuck.” He hisses at your teeth graze over him. “You look so good like this. Mouth stuffed full of cock, desperate and wet for me-“ You roll your hips against him, and Dean tugs you fully up, smirking at your swollen lips and glossy eyes. “Careful,” he warns, sitting up as his thumb swipes a little bit of drool from your cheek. “When I’m cumming tonight, I’m cumming in you, baby, got that?”

“Yes, please,” you whimper. You’re on the pill anyway. “Dean-“

“C’mere.” He tugs you into his lap with careful hands, scanning over you with a small shake of his head. “Son of bitch, you’re gorgeous. You’re sure you-“

“I’m sure.” You grind against his cock, never looking away from him as the head of him bumps your clit. It goes on for too long, Dean just watching you fuck yourself on his lap with his hands bruising your hips, and you start to whine. “Shit, Dean, need you-“

Dean surges forward, kissing you long and deep and slow, and keeps his brow pressed to yours as he looks down to where you’re moving on him.

“Hold on,” he mutters, and you follow the order without a second thought.

Your arms wrap around Dean’s neck just as he lines himself up, and you almost scream when he pushes into you.

“Shit,” he looks back at you, eyes wide. “Are you-“

“Don’t stop,” you moan, burying your face in the crook of his neck. “Fuck, it feels so good, Dean, don’t stop.”

He nods, kissing the side of your head, and slowly moves into your aching pussy until he bottoms out with a long exhale.

“Gonna, fuck-“ He groans as you squeeze around him. “Can’t do that, baby, I won’t last a minute-

“Sorry,” you mumble against him, playing with the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. “Didn’t meant to-“

“It’s fine.” He grunts, still not moving. “Just, fuck, you feel so good. So warm,” he groans, pressing his face onto the top of your head. “So tight and warm, feel so good-“

“Dean, please-“

You gasp as he gives one, short thrust upward.

“So good,” Dean growls in your ear, making another small, dizzying movement that presses him right up against that spongey spot deep inside of you. “Ready?”

“Ye-“

You squeal as Dean rises to his knees, keeping himself sheathed inside you as he falls forward, his hand splayed on your back and holding you carefully against him. His face is resting between your breasts, his cock angled so deep inside you it might drive you insane if he doesn’t start to fucking move, and his eyes stay yours as you only watch each other for a long moment.

He’s asking permission. Dean’s not pulling away, but he’s also not moving, because he’s offering you one last chance to turn him down.

You move one hand to hold his face, wrapping your legs around his waist and squirming around him in silent encouragement.

It snaps something in him. Dean grabs your hand, moves it onto the back of his neck, and lowers you fully onto the ground so you’re caged between him and floor. He scans over you for only a second, a small, cocky smirk crawling onto his face, leans down to give you one last, almost sweet kiss.

A soft moan leaves you as Dean traces his tongue over your lips, and his low growl is the only warning you get before he starts to fuck into you like an animal.

It’s sloppy and wet and loud, skin slapping against skin as Dean abuses your cunt, and fuck you’ve never felt better. You feel full, split open on his cock and right where you belong, alive in a way that seeps right into your soul and ignites your blood into a holy fire of Dean. Groaning your name on your skin and touching you with calloused, big, expert hands. Watching you as you unravel beneath him, scraping your nails over his back and making needy sounds that only spur him on.

You’re going to fly out of your body. Dean’s muscles are ripping above and around you as he fucks you into the floor, and his mouth is mold perfectly onto yours. Neither of you seem to care to breathe, or speak, or do anything but nips and suck and lick at each other. Trying to get impossibly closer, to drag the other over the edge so you can fall with them. You grind up into Dean, and Dean bites your lip. Dean rolls his hips as he bottoms out, making your mouth fall open for his tongue to plunge down your throat, and you scrape and claw as his chest until he groans, and you manage to slip one hand down to play with his balls.

He wins he swats your hand away and starts to rub small, firm circles on your clit. He’s unrelenting, and watching you with an affection that feels a little misplaced for the carnal hunger on his handsome features.

“Always want you,” he mutters your name, pressing his thumb flat against you. “Cum for me, baby.”

Your vision blurs as you find release, and it feels like heaven. Like stars and fire and water and light under your skin, in your blood, like a halo around your head that’s all just the pleasure Dean’s is still wringing from your body. Your pussy is fluttering and gushing around his cock, and it sends him over the edge with a roar, his hips slamming home as he paints the walls of your cunt white.

And when you’re both spent and Dean rolls you over—carefully adjusting you to be right on top of him, his body a barrier between you and the now-cold floor—you feel good. Really, really good. Fucked out and high, nothing trying to burst out of your skin or eat at your stomach. You feel better than you might have ever felt in your whole life. The only warmth in your body is heat you’re trading with Dean, and you feel good.

“We, um.” You trace over his tattoo, looking up at him under your eyelashes. “We should probably talk, or something-“

“Or something.” He agrees, grinning down at you. “Don’t feel like it’s a rush though. Sammy and Bobby will find us in the morning. Right now,” Dean kisses your brow, squeezing his arms around your body. “You’re all mine.”

You can be all his. It’ll be really, really easy to be all Dean, because he hasn’t said he loves you, but he does. You know he does. It lives in how he’s still touching and holding you, still talking to you like you’re his best friend and not a mistake, and running his hands through your hair mindlessly.

And you’ll have a lot to talk about later. A lot to fight about, and fuck about, and laugh and cry and scream about.

But right now you just have to be Dean’s.

And that will be really easy.

End Note: Bobby Singer you are fifty times the father John Winchester could ever HOPE to be.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery

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teamackles96 · 2 months ago

Text

Just Needed A Minute - The Baby Shower

summary: It's time for your baby shower and Dean is nowhere to be seen.

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader (so much fluff)

wordcount: 1370

Main Masterlist | Dean Winchester Mini-Series Masterlist

You couldn’t believe it—it was the day of your baby shower. As a hunter, you never thought this day would come. But here it was. Your mom and Mary had insisted on throwing a party to celebrate your pregnancy, knowing how rarely your families got to gather for something joyful.

A yellow sundress hugged your seven-month bump, flattering the new shape of your body. You’d even curled your hair and put on a touch of makeup—something you rarely had an excuse to do. Smiling at your reflection, you stepped out and made your way to the library, where the party was being held.

The old room had been completely transformed. Blue and pink balloons floated above tables draped in matching streamers and decorations. Your mom and Mary had gone all out, doing their best to make the typically serious space feel warm and welcoming. The soft golden glow from the scattered lamps gave the whole party a cozy, comforting feel.

Your eyes swept over the room, landing on the familiar faces of your loved ones scattered at various stations. Mary, Jody, and your mom were laughing over glasses of wine while decorating baby onesies. The three of them had hit it off instantly—it felt like watching old friends catch up.

Just behind them, at another table, your dad, Bobby, and John appeared to be deep in conversation. It might’ve looked serious if not for the fact that they were each attempting to drink beer from baby bottles. Bobby and John were growing increasingly frustrated with the containers while your dad struggled to hide his amusement.

Across the room, the party games were in full swing. Cas, blindfolded, was doing his best to follow Sam’s instructions on how to change a diaper. You stifled a laugh as Sam tried to keep his voice calm, clearly on the edge of exasperation. Cas, meanwhile, had the diaper completely upside down—but you decided not to mention it.

Next to them, Charlie and Jack were completely engrossed in a jar filled with multicolored dummies. The challenge was simple: guess the number of dummies in the jar. Closest wins. But, of course, those two were taking it way too seriously. Charlie was trying to calculate the volume of each dummy, while Jack attempted to count them one by one through the glass.

And Dean was—

Your gaze drifted around the room. No sign of him.

Rather than interrupt the fun to ask someone, you quietly slipped out to check the kitchen.

You opened the door to find the room empty—except for a single unopened beer resting on the steel counter. You were about to turn and leave when you saw a hand rise slowly from behind the counter, followed by the familiar hiss of a bottle opening.

There he was—Dean Winchester, beer in hand, his lap covered in old photographs. He hadn’t noticed you waddling into the kitchen, too focused on the photo he was holding: a faded image of him and Sam as kids.

“Hiding?” you asked gently.

Dean jumped slightly at your voice, clearly thinking he’d been alone. His green eyes met yours, softening when he realized it was you.

“Hey, sweetheart. I just needed a minute.”

You frowned at the exhaustion in his expression and slowly made your way over to him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” He leaned his head back against the steel cabinet, closing his eyes for a moment.

Your gaze shifted to the photos spread across his lap. They were snapshots of his childhood, a few of you mixed in too. You recognized them—pictures your families had collected for a scrapbook.

You made a decision then—one you would immediately regret—to try sitting on the floor beside him. It took some effort (and a very ungraceful huff), but you managed to settle next to him, surprising him a little.

You nudged a few empty beer bottles aside and laid your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his.

“It’s weird, right?”

“What is?” Dean lifted his head, looking at you.

“Seeing your life through photographs,” you murmured, lifting a picture of him and Sam grinning in the back of the Impala.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just remember the training, the traveling from motel to motel… It’s nice to see there were some moments worth remembering.”

“Of course there were.” You shifted so your chin rested on his shoulder, looking up at him. His emerald eyes met yours, and you could see there was something he wasn’t saying.

“What’s on your mind, handsome?”

You always noticed the little smile that followed when you called him that—and the faint blush. This time was no different.

Dean was quiet for a beat, and you let him take his time.

“You think…” he started, then stopped himself. He took a breath. “You think I’m gonna be a good dad?”

Your back straightened slightly at the question. Did you think Dean would be a good dad? Of course you did. But the look in his eyes—it broke your heart. He really didn’t believe it.

You glanced through the pile of photos and found one of a young Sam, smiling at the camera, his shaggy hair nearly covering his eyes. You held it up to Dean.

“I think you’re going to be an amazing dad. You know how I know that? Because of Sam.”

Dean looked down at the photo, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“When your parents were out hunting, you looked after your brother. You raised him to be the person he is today. Sam’s a gentle soul, but he’s got this strength—this fire—that comes out when it needs to. He has empathy, real empathy, which is so rare in this life. And he’s smart. I mean… Stanford? Come on.”

Dean let out a small chuckle, eyes still on the photo.

“You made sure that boy ate, slept, got to school. More importantly, you made him feel like he wasn’t alone. You want to know if you’re going to be a good dad?” You reached for his hand. “Just look at Sam.”

Emotion was creeping into your voice—maybe hormones, maybe just love—but you could see it landing. Dean looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again, his own eyes misting over.

“I wouldn’t want to be on this journey with anyone else.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks. Dean gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping them away as he leaned in and kissed you.

Even after all these years, that kiss still gave you butterflies.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered. “And for the record? I think you’re gonna make an awesome mom.”

You were about to reply when your eyes caught on something in his lap.

“Is that… baby Dean in a bathtub?”

Before you could reach for it, Dean had already snatched the photo up and held it protectively to his chest.

“No.”

“Oh, you looked so cute,” you cooed, reaching to grab it.

“Are you saying I’m not cute now?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” you grinned. “But look at your little cheeks!”

“Uh… guys?” Sam’s voice floated into the room. “We’re about to cut the cake.”

Your eyes lit up. “Ooh, cake. Help me up. Help me up!”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Dean got to his feet, moving carefully to help you up.

“Dean—it’s cake.”

Once you were on your feet, Dean rested his hands on his hips, staring at you with a grin.

“I love you.”

You beamed. “I love you too.” You reached up to kiss him—only to wince a little.

“Ow.”

The baby had chosen that moment to make their presence known.

Dean immediately dropped to a crouch and kissed your bump. “And I love you,” he said, rubbing your belly affectionately.

You loved when he did that. You couldn’t wait to see him with the baby in his arms. The thought made you smile—one that Dean mirrored perfectly.

It was a moment you could’ve stayed in forever.

But then you remembered.

“Dean… there’s cake.”

“Right!” He ushered you out of the kitchen, his hand resting protectively on your lower back as he stifled a laugh at your excitement.

Part 2

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bigtreefest · 4 months ago

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Tangled Up

Pairing: Andy Barber x Soft!Dark Reader

Summary: Andy has no idea how he’s found himself so quickly tangled up in your web. And your basement…

Word count: 2,756

Content/warnings: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI, dark themes including but not limited to kidnapping and isolation, restraints and interrogation, noncon/dubcon, emotional manipulation and humiliation, forced and semi- dom/sub dynamics, kissing, smut, grinding and pussyjob, p in v unprotected sex, cum tasting, mentions of starvation, swears

A/N: I’m SO EXCITED for you all to read this! This reader is a certified feral loony and such a blast to think about. Made in collaboration with @brandycranby

Comments, reblogs, and asks are especially appreciated!

Dividers by @ghoulbloggerrr

AU Masterlist | Bigtreefest Masterlist | Brandycranby Masterlist

Andy roused from a restless slumber fully confused and disoriented. His head was pounding, eyes crusty, hair matted to his forehead likely from a stress dream he couldn’t remember now, despite the way the cortisol still flowed through his bloodstream. Everything around him was unfamiliar, yet he’d memorized the barren surroundings in the couple days he’d been trapped in this basement. At least he thought it’d been a couple days. Time seemed irrelevant now.

He never thought it would happen so quickly, having been solitary for so much of his life. Before, being alone meant peace, but since the divorce, and a couple days with such few creature comforts, he realized that wasn’t the case.

He moved to run a hand over his face in thought, in an attempt to clear off his brow so he could focus a little better, but winced from the pull at his tender wrist. That’s right, the man with the goatee tied him up pretty tight. His back was slightly arched, shoulders digging in uncomfortably to the backrest of what he assumed to be a dining chair. His lower half was nearly numb from the worn cushion underneath him, tailbone growing sore. He attempted to adjust, just to remember his ankles were restrained, too which yanked him back down to the hard wood.

The hiss Andy let out mixed with the vague sounds of footsteps upstairs. It just barely made it through the soundproof walls, but was easily picked up through the deafening silence. That must’ve been what had woken him, they were coming. You were coming.

His body went stiff as a board at that, no longer groggy, but fully at attention. This would be the time to fight back. Maybe he could finally convince you to return him to his bachelor pad, to his life.

Andy sat in anxious anticipation. In seconds that felt like hours with the way his heart was in his throat, the door at the top of the steps cracked open, golden hour sunlight bouncing off of the drywall and towards his eyes through the double glass doors of his cell, the first non-fluorescent glow to hit him in eons. Andy had never been one to stop and admire the sunset, except maybe on vacations with Laurie, but now, he’d give anything for a glimpse of the sky. Because that would mean freedom. Freedom from this place that he still couldn’t quite understand that he found himself. It was gone too soon as the door clicked shut.

He watched as your bare feet padded down the steps, tantalizingly slow, revealing bare legs under a short, silk robe. Warm food steamed in a low-brimmed bowl that balanced on your hand, the other holding a glass of water with a straw. Your eyes were focused on the next step until you reached the bottom, finally looking up to meet his gaze. It was so beautiful, so blue, but so full of turmoil. You smiled, seeing him in all of his glory, finally in your house.

Your slow stalk towards him was diverted to the basement bathroom to grab a washcloth, before you resumed your walk to the airlock. As you made your way through the double doors, a smirk broadened your lips at the sight of Andy tied up in the center of the room. Unable to do anything but be at your mercy. You set the bowl of food and glass of water down beside his chair and sat sideways on his lap, placing a gentle hand on his cheek as your eyes roved over his face, taking stock of every detail. At your touch, Andy turned his head away and squeezed his eyes shut, causing your face to scrunch in disappointment.

“Andy, honey, let me clean you up.”

He moved just barely enough to shake his head as you lifted your other hand to his face, firmly guiding him to look towards you once more. He opened his eyes again to be met with a soft look.

“That’s better, now, isn’t it?”

You began to wipe off his eyes and forehead, doing your best to clean him up. Andy’s breath picked up as his lips parted.

“I want to go home.”

Your hands froze, just about to tousle his hair, cupping his beard instead. As your eyes bored into his, all Andy saw was deep, deranged darkness behind them.

“You are home, silly. How many times do I have to tell you that? I’m going to take such good care of you, but you just have to let me. The more you learn about how to be a good husband, the more freedoms I’ll allow you, hm? Now, how about some dinner?”

Andy’s eyebrows were furrowed in anger, disgust as he stared you down, pulling at his restraints until he realized it was better to avoid the rope burn that was developing. But you didn’t seem to be bothered by that at all, setting down the washcloth and swapping it for the bowl of food, no longer steaming, but still warm. He could tell it by the way the scent surrounded him, and he hated that he thought it actually smelled good.

As you resettled in his lap, Andy found himself looking in the bowl, seeing gravy, speckled with bright orange carrots and something green, over rice.

You nestled in close, putting together a spoonful of the food and clocking his curiosity.

“It’s beef stew. Curtis is nearly famous for it. So savory, so delicious, and packed with love for this very special Valentine’s occasion. It’s a real treat.”

He was confused by your evident excitement with the dish. Were you trying to sell this to him? Poison him? What was the point? Who was Curtis? And it was already Valentine’s Day? Where had the time gone?

You held a bite up to his mouth, eyes sparkling, but your eyebrows gathered when you were met with sealed lips.

“Open up, Andy. It’s good. You’ve got to eat. Don’t want those plush swimmer’s muscles wasting away. That would be a shame!”

The tone of your voice was almost as shiny as the lipgloss you wore, making Andy’s stomach turn more. You attempted to make another bite, a smaller one of just rice, and put it to his lips again.

“C’mon. Just a little. He worked so hard on it!”

Andy opened his mouth and scraped the grains off the spoon with his teeth, chewing slowly and swallowing them down. Carbs were good, maybe that could fuel him for a few more days like this, and keep him in your good graces. Your face softened in satisfaction to the way he acquiesced and you held up another spoonful, which he promptly refused. You shrugged and set the bowl down, this time straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck when you came back.

Your tone was congratulatory, yet nonchalant, “One bite! That’s progress. I’m sure I’ll have you eating out of my hand soon enough.”

Andy looked up at the ceiling. Anywhere but at you and the way your silk robe had parted where your legs had spread, teasing what little fabric lied underneath.

A grumble emerged from his lips. A mere mumble you were hoping you didn’t catch correctly, as you ran your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.

“What was that?”

He directed his face towards you again, eyes sharp as his nose and jawline, a killing look almost.

“You’re sick.”

You threw your head back with a light laugh.

“Honey, I’m nothing of the sort. I just know what’s best for you, and that’s being here, with me.”

He shook his head, moving to gesture to the nearly empty room, only to be reminded of his restraints again.

“This? This….empty torture chamber!? This is what’s best for me? There’s nothing down here! It’s just some shitty IKEA rug over a concrete floor, blank walls, a mattress, and a prison bathroom!”

Your face flashed a hint of anger at his defiance before you steeled yourself quickly, replacing it with a look of concern.

“Well, there’s not much down here because I don’t want you hurting yourself, Andy pandy. You don’t know what’s best yet, I’m taking care of you. Once you learn how to behave, there’s no need for these precautions. You can have all sorts of trinkets and decorations eventually. And if you’re really good, maybe you can come upstairs and stay in bed with me.”

His jaw ticked at that. This wasn’t his home.

“I have a house. It has everything I need. People are looking for me! I’m sure it won’t be long.”

You playfully rolled your eyes and your head dropped to your chest, a low, dry laugh emanating from your throat before you shook your head and met his eyes that were full of faltering conviction.

“Andrew, no need to lie to me. We can be honest with each other.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet and dripping with feigned sympathy. “I know you live in a sad, lonely apartment. And that your name as Assistant District Attorney doesn’t get you as far as it once did. Especially with the way you fumbled into success on your last case.”

His nostrils flared with ire. He opened his mouth to respond, deny, but was met with your shushing finger.

“Let me finish. A little birdie told me that you’re going to be let go any day now, especially with the several days you haven’t shown up, without a single call! And then what are you to do? Wither in your bachelor pad, squandering your nice severance payments? It’s not like Laurie would jump to comfort you. But I would. So, be a good boy, and let me take it from here.”

Andy shuddered as you shuffled closer to him, his tight lips denying the kiss you pressed to them.

“Still gonna be difficult? We can move to dessert. I know you hardly had any dinner, but let me give you a taste of how sweet things could be for you, old man. Just relax and sit back.”

Behind his back, Andy’s hands gathered into fists and his teeth clenched together. He had a feeling what your agenda was, and it was solidified by what he saw as you shrugged the pink robe off of your shoulders. Underneath it lied a white, lacy teddy, adorned with small pink hearts all over. So darling and sweet, and innocent. It was nauseating, the image coming together in front of him. The honey that poured from your mouth and hugged the curves of your body, soured by your true intentions that bubbled below the surface.

You tentatively ground your hips in a circle over the dress slacks that he still wore, pleased as he struggled to contain a moan. No matter how much Andy tried to deny it, his body was betraying him, blood rushing south, gaze sucked into the sight of your breasts being pushed up near his face by the flimsy lace.

Your pleased expression couldn’t be hidden either as you continued to hump against him, your hands moving to rub up and down his chest through his dress shirt which was no longer pristine and pressed. As you smoothed some of the wrinkles, you felt the broad expanse of what was underneath.

With a simmering eagerness, you began to undo the buttons painstakingly slow, revealing his faded undershirt. Your fingertips gently, teasingly grazed over the ridges of his pecs, thumbs flicking his nipples, gracing your ears with a low growl from his throat. You bit your bottom lip in excitement at what you were able to pull from him already, leaning in to press a soft, rewarding kiss to the straining muscles of his neck. He really was so beautiful like this, so needy already.

His dick was pressing against your thigh almost insistently with every fluid motion you were making to brush over it, mirroring the growing impatience you felt rising within your belly. Without wasting another second, you scooted back to undo the zipper of Andy’s dress pants and reached your hand in, his cock immediately standing at attention, precum already leaking from the angry red tip.

You swiped it up with your finger and sucked it off between your lips, taking pride in the way Andy’s breaths continued to pick up.

Genuine elation was filling you at that. “Mmm, tastes so good. Gonna give me more?”

His pupils went wide and dark, nearly as much as yours. You could tell his protests were wavering, despite the wispy denial spilling past his lips.

“N-no. Stop. I-I don’t want this.”

Your hand lowered again to cup his cock against the lace that covered your pussy, hips grinding up and down his length. The pressure and pleasure was almost dizzying with how you could feel the ridge of the head nudge your clit. The thin lace was quickly becoming soaked.

As you looked up at Andy, his face was turned downward and to the side again, so your brought your hand up to his hold his jaw, lovingly brushing your thumb over the apple of his cheek. You could tell he was biting the inside of his mouth to refrain from making any more noise, and you simply couldn’t have that.

You placed your forehead against his, speaking in the hot and humid air.

“I don’t believe you. I think you want more.”

You reached your fingertips under the gusset and pulled it to the side, revealing your bare, slick pussy, and pressed in closer, ground faster, watching as his cock was hugged between the lips. When your eyes flickered up to his again, his long eyelashes were brushing against his cheeks, gaze glued to the slick sight before him. It was the source of both his pleasure and his torture, and he evidently couldn’t get enough from the way his hips bucked into yours.

A wry grin graced your face as you took him in. A blush crept up his neck, and painted the tips of his ears. It was everything you wanted to see, but still not enough. You needed him to fully submit. To give in to just the beginning of the pleasure you knew you could give him. In your bounces over his lap, you inched yourself higher, his tip catching your entrance and slipping in with a delicious stretch, finally drawing a moan from the grumpy, stoic man.

It was all too much, all at once. The wet, tight warmth surrounding was him better than anything he’d felt in years. It only took a couple more bounces of your ass against his thighs, slaps muffled by his dress pants, for you to feel his dick twitch. You pulled him out just in time for his thick spend to coat your lower torsos, painting the innocent white material in sin. Andy whimpered, his orgasm torn from his grasp as you rubbed your clit to tip over the edge with him, the sight and sounds driving you towards bliss.

Drained to near exhaustion, he flopped forward as far as the restraints would allow him, straining every part of his body as it jerked and tensed beyond his will. His chest heaved, shoulders rising and falling with each heavy breath, eyes squeezed shut in a whirl of feelings and emotions. Shame, fear, relief, confusion.

You giggled triumphantly at the scene, smiling with fulfillment of the first step of everything you wanted from Andy. You brought your lips to his forehead and placed a kiss, speaking softly against his dewy skin.

“See? I think that was really nice for both of us.”

You lingered there for a second, breathing in his scent.

“Jake will be down in a little bit with a change of clothes and to help you freshen up.”

You pushed yourself up out of his lap. Andy sat there stunned, still in shock with his head limp and facing the floor. As you gathered your robe and shrugged it on, you made your way to the airlock and entered the code to leave his room, turning back for one final look. Andy just barely glared at you through those long lashes, resenting the sweet smile you gave him once again, but the cloudiness penetrating his mind made him think it was maybe a little less so than he did an hour ago. You waved teasingly with your fingertips before gracing him with your parting words.

“Welcome home, Andrew. And happy Valentine’s Day.”

Bonus A/N: who fed us after midnight? Because we’ve become gremlins😈

Taglist: @hawkeyes-queen @ronearoundblindly @mercurial-chuckles @steviebbboi @thiquefunlover63

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