chapelofdread

[chapelofdread]

dads best friend ben. pls. i love u.

cw: smut.ᐟ dbf!ben x reader.ᐟ au non-supe ben.ᐟ age gap [reader is in her 20s].ᐟ reader lives at home.ᐟ oral / face fucking [m.receiving].ᐟ dubcon.ᐟ power imbalance.ᐟ vulgar!ben.ᐟ pervy!ben.ᐟ cocky old man behavior.ᐟ suggestive tones.ᐟ pet names [honey, sweetheart pretty girl, sweet girl].ᐟ 18+

#notes: anon, this may have given me a reason to write one of my favourite tropes of all time. apologies if it's too filthy.

wc: 2500

ben's not a stranger, not by a long shot.

he's been in your life since you were old enough to climb onto the back deck barefoot with juicebox in hand and tug your dad’s sleeve to ask who the loud man with the beard was. “that’s ben,” your dad had told you, already half-smiling. “he’s a trouble maker sweetie.”

trouble, yeah. but familiar. too familiar, now. somewhere between scraped knees and summer jobs, ben stopped treating you like a kid.

at twenty, you came home from college for reading week. ben was already there hanging out, lounging at the kitchen island in a white tee and sweats— no boxers, never any boxers.

he smiled when he saw you. “well shit, look what the fuckin’ wind blew in,” and then pulled you in for a tight hug. one arm above the dip on your waist, the other dragging across your upper back.

“c’mon, give the old man a spin. lemme see what college did to ya.” he murmured near your ear.  you pulled back. his hand lingered too long, eyes dropped too slow. he clicked his tongue when you turned to leave and gave him the middle finger.

twenty-one. ben was staying in your basement that week while his house was getting work done— busted pipes, or drywall, or whatever fucking excuse he gave your dad to crash for free and drink all his beer.

you came downstairs to throw a load of laundry in. figured he’d be out with your dad like usual, but he was in the den recliner. his hand was tucked under the waistband of his sweatpants, not doing anything at first, just resting.

he didn’t move when you walked past. a subtle glance at you with those heavy-lidded eyes and adjusted himself once, palm shifting under the fabric. “relax, sweetheart,” he muttered without looking up from the TV. “just fixin’ the boys.”

that same week, you caught the bathroom door cracked open. steam poured into the hall, and in the mirror— his back, broad and freckled, towel hanging off his hips. and his cock, swinging low and heavy as he dried off without a care in the world. he wanted you to see.

then twenty-two, you were eating cherries out of the fridge, standing in front of the open door in a tank and sleep shorts. ben came in behind you, opened another beer, and leaned his hip against the counter. watching you pop the pits into your palm with your thumb.

“you always suck ‘em like that?” he asked, voice thick with something. you looked up and blinked. “the cherries,” he said, cocking his head. “you always roll ‘em around in your mouth? jesus christ, honey.” you tried your best to not let it go to your head, or better yet your cunt. but ben walked away before you had time to come up with an answer.

so yea, ben wasn’t a stranger. if anything, he was around too much— laughing too loud in your kitchen, always grabbing a beer from the fridge like he lived there. and he looked at you too long, lingered too close, stared in ways no friend of your dad’s ever should’ve.

all the while, your father had no fucking clue.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you’d been hearing them for the past hour— voices rising above the hum of the tv, the familiar thud of beer bottles against the kitchen counter, bursts of laughter so loud and guttural it rattled the light fixture in the hallway. ben's voice somewhere in the mix, always the loudest when he was around.

your father had called up to you a few minutes ago. asking you to come down to say hi, be polite. you almost didn’t, but with a roll of your eyes you did anyways.

the air was thick with a mix of cologne and stale beer when you stepped into the kitchen. five grown men crowded around the island— your dad, a few of his old work buddies, and ben, standing leaned back against the sink. the counter was cluttered with empty bottles, and fresh one's sweating in a lopsided cooler on the floor.

“there she is,” your dad said, smile splitting his face as he reached out to tug you into a side hug. “my girl’s staying in for the weekend.”

the others echoed their greetings, nods and smiles, but ben moved first. arms outstretched like it was nothing, pulling you in close with that slow grin he always wore when he'd had a few. his arms circled your waist, and you didn’t have time to hesitate before he kissed the top of your head— too sweet for someone who wasn’t family.

“‘bout time you showed up,” he murmured, half-drunken buzz clinging to every word. his hand lingered at your back a moment too long.

you stepped back, muttered something about grabbing a drink, and drifted to the living room couch where the tv flickered low. your fingers toyed with the hem of your shirt. the voices carried in from the kitchen.

“—nah, this one chick in montana, swear to god, made her cum just from sucking on her tits,” ben was saying, loud enough to be heard clearly from the living room. "poor thing couldn’t walk straight for days.”

more laughter. someone groaned. your dad barked a laugh. “you’re a fucking pig, ben.”

“takes one to know one,” he shot back, and you could feel the cockiness in his voice.

every time he told another story, his voice got bolder, more descriptive. women who’d sent him videos. girls who liked it rough. a flight attendant he once made cry— but in the ‘good way’, apparently. and every time, you caught his gaze slipping past the kitchen archway, trailing toward the couch. right towards you.

ben never said your name or directed a word your way. but he was aiming every filthy syllable at you— baiting you with the past he lived in and the kind of man he’d always been. the kind of man your dad kept around for god knows what reason.

he still hadn’t touched you. not really. not after all these years. but you knew him long enough to know that look. the half-drunk and cocky, beer bottle dangling from two fingers, eyes heavy-lidded and hungry.

eventually, the back door creaked open and the pack of them spilled outside. boots scuffed across the deck, someone cracked a joke about cigars and a bonfire, and the sharp metallic flick of a lighter snapped through the air.

you waited until the laughter dulled, and the drag of their boots faded to the backyard. the silence left behind made the house feel too big. told yourself you were only heading upstairs to get away from the smell of cigarettes and beer that lingered, and noise and him.

but the truth followed you with every step. ben's voice still echoing in your ears. all those stories. the stares. the weight of it never letting up. you slipped into your room, shut the door behind you, and pressed your back to it— just for a second. breathing in, chest tight. thighs tighter.

you didn’t bother locking it. some rational part of you knew better. but a part of you hoped. either way, the click of the knob turning minutes later didn’t surprise you.

“so this is where you hide, huh?”

you barely had time to look up before he was leaning in the doorframe, eyeing the mess of your room like he belonged in it.

“couldn’t handle bein’ near me anymore?”

you stiffened, fingers curled tighter in the edge of your blanket. “i was just tired—”

“bullshit,” he cut in, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him as if it was nothing. “you pressed those thighs together so tight i thought you were gonna make yourself come right there on the fuckin’ couch.” his voice lowered as he walked towards you. “you been like this for years,” he said. “ always sweet. lookin’ at me when you thought no one would notice.”

you looked away feeling sick with shame, but you couldn't even help the way your thighs clenched again.

“i mean fuck, look at the tits on you,” thick with booze and that low, too-casual slur that made your skin crawl. “y'filled out real nice, honey.”

you stiffened. he laughed, cruel under his breath. “what? you ain’t gonna say thank you when someone gives you a compliment now?”

he cupped himself through his jeans, palming the tent in his pants like he needed the relief, cause it was your fault he was hard.

“y'know, your dad would kill me if he knew what i used to think about when I was in that basement,” he muttered, almost to himself. “how bad i wanted to pull those shorts to the side and eat your cunt until you cried.” he paused a moment, watching your reaction.

“i always wanted to see if it’d taste as sweet as you looked down there all summer, bendin’ over in those tight outfits. thought you were subtle, huh?”

your knees buckled just slightly, but he caught your chin with two fingers, turning your face back toward him.

“nah, pretty girl. you always wanted me lookin’. fuck, you know what it does to a man? seein’ his girl grow up that pretty— walkin’ around the house in tiny shorts, not wearin’ a bra." ben's tongue darted out to wet his lips. "and now here we are.” his hand slid down to grip your jaw. “door’s shut. nobody comin’ up here, and you’re still lookin’ at me with those same curious eyes.”

“m'gonna kiss you now. would you like that, sweet girl?” his gaze flickered between your eyes and lips, watching you nod as he closed the distance between you two.

the clink of metal hitting metal made your stomach drop. starting with his belt, the zipper next— drawn down in a drag of teeth, loud in the stillness of the room.

and then he shoved his jeans down low on his hips, underwear pushed just far enough to free his cock— flushed pinks and reds and already leaking. coarse hair dark brown at the base, a heavy trail leading up his soft belly, dusted thick across his lower abdomen.

“yeah,” he smirked, watching you watch him. he wrapped a fist around the base, letting you see the dribbles of premium oozing from his slit.

“this what you think about when you’re touchin’ yourself, honey?” he asked, voice turned rougher, eyes half-lidded with heat. “you ever think about me while you had those little fingers stuffed inside your cunt? wonderin’ how much bigger i’d feel?”

his free hand found your chin again. this time, he held you still, made you look right at it. chubbed up, cut, flushed dark at the tip, glistening from the weight of his need.

“don’t be scared now,” he mocked, voice laced with sarcasm. “go on, you can touch it, won’t bite.”

your knees hit the floor a second later, thighs tight together from the way your whole body pulsed with heat.

“good fucking girl,” ben groaned, hand sliding to the back of your head. “knew you’d be good on your knees.” he let go of his cock, let it slap against your cheek, smearing pre-come across your skin as he nudged the tip along your plush lips.

“open up, sweetheart,” he rasped. “lemme see that tongue.” and when you did, he spit, landing right down against the shaft, guiding his cock into your mouth.

your smaller hands barely wrapped around his shaft, hands gripping at the base while you looked up at him. saliva already pooling and sliding down your chin. but ben didn’t care.

his hand tightened in your hair as he rolled his hips forward, just to feel your sudsy lips covered with bubbles of spit, choking on the length that slowly penetrated the back of your mouth. your nose started to nestle against the scratchy corse hairs at the base of his cock. he held you all the way down for a moment, revelling in the tightness of your throat.

ben's thrusts were getting sloppy. the heel of his palm pressing against the back of your head to hold you down, to make you take it.

“hear that?” he grunted. “fuckin’ mouth's squeezin’ me.”

your fingers curled against his thighs, trying to keep balance as he used your mouth, hips jolting harder now, ragged breath above you.

“shit, m'not gonna last,” he warned, barely holding together. “gonna shoot it right down that pretty fuckin’ throat. s’what you wanted all those years, right? daddy’s friend fuckin’ your face.”

he twitched in your mouth, grip tightening, and before you could brace for it, he came with a ragged groan— creamy splats over your tongue, too fast to swallow.

you tried, but it flooded your mouth, smeared down your chin, dripped onto your shirt. you coughed around it, choking, the mess forcing you back off him. attempting to apologize while blinking down salty tears mixed with mascara.

ben leaned down with a crooked grin. “if you were really sorry, you would’a swallowed like a good girl.”

his hand slid down your throat, then carefully swiped through the mess coating your skin. he brought a slick glob up on his index finger, holding it steady in front of your lips.

“but nah,” he murmured, full of mock disappointment. “you’re just a dirty slut who spilled it all.” his finger hovered there. “open.”

you blinked up at him, chest still heaving, lips parting slowly.

“there she is,” he rasped, watching as your tongue flicked out and pulled his finger in, sucking it clean like a fuck toy for his personal use.

you barely had time to catch your breath before the faint scrape of deck chairs sounded from below, a voice calling out through the screen door.

“ben? the fuck are you man, fire's blazing out here.”

your stomach dropped. ben’s head snapped up. he moved quick—tucking his softening messy cock back into his jeans, still half-hard, zipping up with a hiss and wiping his thumb across your bottom lip.

“get in bed,” he muttered, no room for question. “pretend you're asleep.”

you nodded, messy as fuck, and crawled up on to your mattress on weak limbs. the sheets were still warm where you’d left them, but nothing about you felt the same.

ben watched for a second longer, hand braced on the doorknob. then he slipped out without another word, quiet as he could, shutting it behind him with the softest click.

you lay there in the dark, heart thudding, mouth still tingling where he’d touched it— his salty taste lingering thick on your tongue.

downstairs, your father laughed at something ben said, some excuse he'd conveniently made up.

and you turned your face into the pillow, trying to hold back a fucking smile.

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[chapelofdread]

DEAN WINCHESTER ✧ 1.11 SCARECROW

[chapelofdread]

1 bicep to chew on please

[chapelofdread]

Favorite Shots Per Episode ✩ 1.11 Scarecrow (1/2)

[chapelofdread]

Supernatural (2005-2020) || Soul Survivor (10.03)

[chapelofdread]

Jensen Ackles as Tom Hanniger in MY BLOODY VALENTINE (2009)

[chapelofdread]

my brain is friedddd🙇‍♀️

too late for love ⋆₊˚⊹♡

part 4

dean winchester x hunter!reader

wc: 4.3k

summary based loosely-ish on 4x14 sex and violence. dean's been gone for a year, and by the time you’re tangled in the sheets, teeth at each other’s throats, you’re not sure if you’re punishing him or yourself.

warnings slight ooc most likely, mutual pining, porn with plot ! SMUUUUUT under the cut 18+ MDNI pls 4 the love of god, messsssssy oral (f! receiving), blowjob (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, dom!reader/sub!dean (switch vibes though), reader described as having tattoos. think that is it!! first time writing smut in like yrs so kind pls loooool<3

playlist for part 4:

love bites - def leppard

turn it on - danger danger

slipped her the big one - danger danger

here comes trouble - trouble tribe

whole lotta love - ledd zeppelin

i need you tonight - zz top

♪ im calling for someone like you,

baby, baby i need you tonight ♪ 

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t wait for his answer. 

the second your boots hit the ground, you hear the familiar creak of the impala’s door as it swings shut behind you. he’s following. of course he is. 

you don’t look back until you reach the motel door, keys in hand, your heart thudding in your chest. 

the lock clicks and the door swings wide open. you step inside. and then he’s there, standing just inside the doorway like he’s almost unsure if he’s allowed in, eyes dragging over you like he doesn’t know where to start.

you toe off your boots, slowly, methodically, the silence stretching thick and hot between you. the room feels warmer with him there, heavier. you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you tug your coat off and let it slip from your fingers to the carpet. he still hasn’t moved. not really. 

you take a step closer, shrinking the distance between you and him, and that’s when his hands find you. rough and warm, as he draws in a slow breath, exhaling heavy. his gaze stays locked on yours as he steps in closer, and without even glancing back, he kicks the door shut behind him. 

calloused hands trace over your arms, down your waist, fingertips brushing fabric as he toys with the hem of your shirt. he waits for you, waits until you offer him a soft smile in return, and then pulls it up slowly, lifting it clean over your head. the air is cool against your bare skin, your stomach and your chest, and you shiver slightly, arms instinctively folding before you let them fall again. his gaze drops, drinking you in, mouth parting like he wants to say something. 

but then his eyes catch on something new, something he hadn’t seen before at the club. something he hadn’t noticed, just below the curve of your shoulder. the ink is small. sharp. unmistakable. 

a scorpion. 

his brow ticks slightly as he studies it, a breath catching in his throat. his fingers move before he can stop them, brushing over the fresh lines of ink on your shoulder, gentle and slow. his voice is quiet when it finally comes, low and rough. “didn’t have this before.”. 

“nope.” you shake your head once, watching him from under your lashes. his thumb traces the curve of the tail before trailing lower, down your spine and over the soft dip of your waist, until his hand settles on the small of your back. 

his hands slide down, hooking into the waistband of your jeans. you help him, unbuttoning, unzipping, shoving them down enough to step out of them, leaving you in nothing but the delicate lace of the set you’d worn to the club. 

and that’s when he sees the second one. 

just above the curve of your ass, nestled low on your back - a tattoo he knows. anti-possession. the same as his. the symbol’s clean, fresh. he exhales hard, his hands settling on your lower back, thumbs brushing over the ink.

you shift slightly under his hands, arching into his touch. his breath ghosts hot against your shoulder as he leans in, the weight of him wrapping around you in slow, deliberate motion. 

his mouth trails along your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses, his stubble scraping lightly against your flushed skin. you tilt your head to the side instinctively, granting him more space, and he takes it gladly, lips dragging from your pulse point to your jaw. 

you reach for his belt - clumsy, needy. it clinks softly under your fingers as you undo the buckle, slow and sure, keeping your gaze on him the whole time. his hands drift up to rest at the dip of your waist, his thumbs tracing circles over your hip bones, as you pop the button, sliding the zipper down. 

you lean up to kiss him again, guiding him back a step at a time toward the motel bed. his jeans hang low on his hips, undone and forgotten, your fingers hooked into the belt loops, dragging him towards you. 

you climb onto his lap again, straddling him, his hands pressing into your hips as you drift your own over his chest, under his shirt. it’s soft, worn cotton and thin enough that you can feel the heat rising off his skin. 

“...off.” you whisper, voice caught in the contours of your ragged breath. 

he huffs out a laugh, breathless. “yes, ma’am”, he replies with a mock salute, his brow quirking back at you. 

he peels it off, dragging it over his head and tossing it somewhere to the side, leaving him bare beneath you as your hands drag slowly over his chest, your thumbs skimming his ribs. and that’s when you see it, barely there in the dark, but there nonetheless. 

a mark. distinct and seared into the flesh of his shoulder. a brand. five fingers, impossibly perfect, carved right into his skin. your breath catches in your throat, your hand stilling, as you blink down at him, the shock evident on your face. 

you trace the edge of it without thinking, the pads of your fingers following the shape of a palm too big to be human. 

“what is this?” you ask, your voice lower than you mean for it to be. 

his throat works, jaw flexing. he doesn’t answer right away. instead, his hands tighten once more on your hips. “it’s old…,” he says finally, pausing, “from…y’know...”, his voice trailing off, like that’s all he can offer. 

but your eyes stay fixed to the mark, your hand smoothing over it - flat-palmed and warm against the cool press of his skin. “does it hurt?” you murmur. 

he lets out a soft laugh, a dry laugh, “no, sweetheart,” his eyes burn into yours, “not anymore.”, and then he falls silent again.

his hands move again, one rising to cup the back of your neck, the other drifting down your spine. and then he kisses you, hard this time. and when you move against him again, it’s hot, something heavy with urgency now. 

your fingers tangle in his short hair, nails grazing his scalp as you shift in his lap, rolling your hips slow - deliberate, teasing, mean - dragging a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

his hands slide lower, gripping your thighs and waist, eyes blown wide as they flick down your body and back up again, like he almost doesn’t know where to start. his palms drag up your back, calloused and warm, slipping beneath the band of your bra, skilled fingers unclasping it in record time. 

you shrug the straps off your shoulders, without looking away from him, the lace slipping from your skin. his hands follow, his thumbs brushing over your ribs and then ghosting over your chest. you lean in, kiss him again, slower this time - deeper - your mouth parting against his. he groans into it, hands finally sliding up to palm your tits roughly. you rock your hips again and this time he bucks up into you with no shame. you let out a soft whimper as his mouth finds your neck again, then your shoulder, teeth dragging gently across your collarbone before he bites down, just enough to make you gasp. 

you press closer, fingers still twisted in his hair, the warmth of his jagged breath against your exposed skin igniting something low, and full of heat, in your belly. you move against him again, desperate. and that’s all it takes. he flips you with an ease that makes your stomach turn, pressing you into the mattress, large hands trailing down your cheek, your tits, your waist. his jeans are halfway down, yours abandoned now somewhere near the door, and he wastes no time now - hands skimming, mouth following. the whole thing is reverent. hungry. and you’re starving. 

he trails kisses down your chest, stopping at your tits to take one of your nipples in his mouth. it’s messy, his tongue swirling over the taught tissue - sucking, nipping, biting. you arch into his touch, an almost-whimper escaping your lips, “dean–” it slips out, soft and wanting and desperate.

his name sounds good in your mouth and he groans low, shifting again, hands pressing roughly now at your hips, driving you down into the bed.

he flicks the pads of his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, playing with the lace trim, tracing the edge where the fabric meets your skin. he pauses, glancing up at you through half-lidded, dark eyes. questioning, waiting. you nod, heart clawing at your throat, and he peels them down slowly, deliberately.

“holy shit, sweetheart.” he breathes out, hands resuming their position on your hips, as his eyes draw slowly, too slowly, over your pussy. his tongue darts out quickly across his lips, as he stares down at you like you’ve just presented him with his last meal. 

you gasp when his mouth finds the inside of your thigh - warm, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that burn. your hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more, and he chuckles against your skin. a low, wicked sound that has you wet. 

“you’re soaked,” he rasps against your pussy, voice barely holding it together, “ ‘s all for me, baby?” 

you mewl, nodding your head at the presence of his hot breath against your cunt, feeling yourself clench around nothing. “someone’s impatient.” he mutters, voice dark and amused. he’s enjoying this. 

“you’re taking your sweet time.” you manage, breathless already, squirming under him. 

he glances up at you from between your thighs, smirking, “yeah,” he says, dragging his mouth higher up to the crease of your leg, “because i plan on enjoying this.” 

you cry out as his tongue finally meets your pussy, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit, before he moves lower, licking up your slit in a single, deliberate stroke that makes your legs tremble. he groans into you, hands tightening on your thighs as he pulls you onto his mouth, locking you in place. 

his mouth is a fucking weapon, tongue flicking against your clit with precision and then dragging lower, dipping inside of you just enough to make your hips jolt again. he pulls back, just slightly, flicking his gaze to you. 

“fuck”, you whisper, jaw slack. your thighs twitch under the pressure of his hands as his tongue circles your clit again, slower this time. he’s teasing you. the cunt. 

you moan, hips tilting up for more. “don’t tease, dean.” you scold softly, trying to keep your voice stable through wayward whimpers that escape your lips. 

he eats you like it’s what he was made to do - slow, deep and messy - moaning into your cunt like he can’t get enough. his thumbs drag along the crease of your hips as your hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands as you grind forward into his mouth, chasing your high. and he doesn’t put up a fight. he lets you. lets you use him. 

you feel the pressure building low in your stomach, coiling deep in your belly, your whole body tightening with every flick of his tongue. “don’t stop, dean” you breath, voice raw and cracked at the edges. 

he doesn’t. 

he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. and that’s when his hands move, one gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, and the other sliding between your legs. and then you feel it. two fingers pressing into your entrance - slow, steady and deep. 

your breath catches, hips bucking into him as he groans, low and wrecked like he feels it too. his fingers curl inside of you, fucking into you slow, while his mouth stays locked to your clit, tongue flicking and dragging in time with his hands. it’s too much and not enough, your pussy squelching obscenely  - messy and hot and desperate and so good. you can barely think, barely breathe, as your fingers twist in his hair and you whimper his name like it’s the only word you remember (it is). 

his pace doesn’t falter. he gets rougher, deeper, like he wants to push you over the edge. 

“that’s it,” he murmurs against your wet cunt, voice thick and wrecked. “c’mon baby…give it to me”. 

everything inside you winds tight, as he laps at your clit. your orgasm hits you hard and hot and blinding, your whole body trembling. 

he doesn’t stop until you’re gasping for air, thighs shaking around his shoulders, as he sucks your clit once more, slowly, just to make you twitch. 

“fuck,” you whisper, wrecked, “fuck, dean”. 

he just smirks against your skin, lips and chin wet with your slick, eyes dark and starving. 

“told you i’d take my time”.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you lie breathless for a second, legs trembling, heart still trying to beat it’s way out of your own chest, your breath coming in shallow, broken waves. he stays between your thighs, head tilted back slightly to look up at you. 

“you good, princess?” he asks, voice low and teasing. 

you hum, slow and lazy, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it fall to your side. “mm. gimme a minute”. 

“take all the time you–” 

but you’re already moving, shifting your weight forward to swing one leg over him with practiced ease. he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise as you push him back, steady hands flattening against his chest until he’s sprawled out underneath you on the mattress. 

his eyebrows lift, just slightly, his mouth parting as he takes you all in - flushed skin, steady hands and a slow, dangerous look in your eyes. 

“you said something ‘bout takin’ your time?” you murmur, voice still hoarse, but controlled, as you drag your nails haphazardly down the smooth skin of his muscled chest. 

he blinks, surprised. swallows. “uh—yeah?” 

“good”, you lean down, mouth brushing his jaw. “because, dean…” you smirk, “it’s my turn”. 

your hands slide down his chest, slow and warm, fingers splaying across the tight muscle of his stomach as you sink lower, dragging your hips along his, teasing him just enough to mae him twitch. 

he groans, low and strained, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you. you smirk, brushing your nose along the curve of his throat, before you bite, just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. 

“sweetheart…” he warns, his breath uneven. 

 “mm?” you play dumb, as your hands move lower, palming him through his boxers - slow, steady pressure that has his hips jerking up into you. 

you glance up at him, lips parting in a lazy grin. “what was that, baby?”. 

he groans again, eyes fluttering and jaw locked tight. you laugh, soft,  and then hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down over his hips, your gaze never leaving his face. 

you sink back onto his thighs, eyes drinking him in. he’s beautiful like this, you think - flushed, panting, desperate, finally quiet. 

“you jus' gonna stare all night?” he asks, a strained grin tugging at his mouth.

“maybe,” you tilt your head, a smirk playing on your lips,

“‘m just getting started, dean”, you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. you watch as his chest rises and falls faster, his stomach tightening as you free his dick completely. he groans, low and raw, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, but you catch them, pinning them to his sides. 

“uh-uh”, you say, smiling lazily. “you don’t get to touch unless i say”. 

“jesus christ,” he mutters, breath stuttering. 

you just smile, fingers reaching for him, curling around his length - light, slow and measured. his hips jerk, completely involuntarily, and you glare at him, eyes dark. you tighten your grip around him, just slightly, “you stay still, dean”. 

he breathes out a laugh, half-strangled. “bossy tonight, aren’t ya?”

“c’mon dean, y’know me,” you murmur, thumb dragging along the tip of his cock, leaking with pre, watching the way his jaw clenches, “you just haven’t been payin’ attention”. 

he opens his mouth to respond, but whatever jackass comment he was about to offer dies in his through when you shift down, settling between his thighs, dragging your mouth along his length - barely there. 

he groans, loud this time, his head falling back as he flings one arm over his eyes. 

you smile, slow and pleased, and then - finally - you wrap your lips around him, just the tip at first, tongue flicking and teasing. cruel.

you breath, slow and shallow, pulling back to run your mouth along the underside of his dick, open-mouthed and hot, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you stroke him slowly from tip to base.

he bucks, helpless, hands flying to your hair, as he groans. it’s a sound that’s downright sinful. you glance up at him in mock innocence, “something you need, baby?”

he groans again, tightening his grip in your hair. “fuck, you…just—god”. 

“use your words, dean”, you purr, dragging your tongue along his throbbing cock, just shy of where you know he wants you.

“please,” he breathes, almost begging, “fuck, baby, please.” 

and with that you take him deeper, slow and smooth and deliberate, his weight of his dick heavy on your tongue. 

his entire body shudders as you hollow your cheeks and set a rhythm. he’s desperate. a mess beneath you, hips twitching, hands in your hair, breath broken.

you pull off of him with a final, filthy, evil swirl of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. he’s panting, chest rising and falling, pupils blown wide as he looks down at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire fucking understanding of god.

you crawl back up towards his face, lazy and lethal, fingers ghosting over his sides before settling your hips over his again, your thighs bracketing his waist. 

you reach between your bodies, fingers wrapped around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. the head of his dick catches on your clit before you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you’re full of him. 

he’s wrecked already, chest heaving as his mouth drops open with a choked sound, hands flying to your hips like he needs something to anchor himself. your breath catches in your own throat, pausing as you feel him pressing against your cervix. 

and then, you roll your hips, slow and deliberate. and that’s it. he’s done for. 

“fuck, sweetheart….” he gasps, hands gripping tighter as you start to move, slow and unhurried, grinding down on him like you’ve got all the time in the world.

your head tilts back, one hand dragging through your hair, the other planted firm on his chest, keeping him exactly where you want him.

“want you to lie back”, you murmur, voice lazy and thick, “‘n take it.” 

and he does. oh, he does. 

his eyes drag over you like he’s trying to memorise every part of your body, the rhythm of you grinding down into him and the way your mouth parts with every slow roll. 

the sound of skin on skin fills the room. and god, is it vulgar. his low groans grow rougher, more ragged and yours following, mixing right in with them, heat curling deep and sharp in your gut again.

his hands curl into the sheets, his eyes locked on you like you’re the last thing on the planet.

your hips grind down with a little more force this time, moving yourself relentlessly down onto him, deliberate and merciless.

“jesus…” he breathes, voice hoarse. 

you drag your nails down his chest again, a little rougher this time. “told you it was my turn," you murmur, breath ghosting hot over his throat. 

he bucks up instinctively, desperate to meet you, but you pin him back with your hips. “no, dean,” you whisper, nipping his earlobe just enough to make him twitch, “you don’t get to move unless i say”. 

he groans, jaw clenched so tight that you think he might pull a muscle. “you’re fucking evil, sweetheart”. you him in response, pleased, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck. 

he’s panting under you now, wrecked and flushed, as you roll your hips again, slow and deep. he brings his hands to your waist now, grip tight, a broken sound catching in his throat, and you lean back just enough to watch his face, hips still working in that punishing rhythm that has him bucking up against you. 

“look at you, d,” you whisper, tongue tracing a line on the underside of his earlobe, “so fucking pretty like this,”, dragging the tips of your fingers down the side of his torso as you ask, teasing, breathless and cruel,  “you close?”

he nods, eyes half-lidded and desperate. “fuck..yeah. yeah i’m–” 

“not yet,” you whisper, cutting him off with a sharp twist of your hips that makes him swear, loud and ragged, “not ‘til i say”. 

“fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second before you lean in again, palm sliding up his chest and curling around his throat, firm and grounding. his eyes snap open, wide and dark. 

“wanna watch you, dean” you murmur. and then he whimpers - actually whimpers - the sound going straight through you. you’re soaked. ruined. your hips dragging down into him over and over with a pace that’s steady and unforgiving. 

your thumb strokes along the edge of his jaw, affectionate and soft, even while you grind into him like you’re punishing him for the last year. “you’re doin’ so good for me,” you whisper, breath warm against his cheek, “takin’ it so well, dean. bet you’d let me fuck you like this forever if i asked.”

he groans again, loud, “please,” he pants, “please, sweetheart, i need–” 

“need to what, baby?” you pout at him, tone deadly sweet, the sound of your pussy devouring his dick filling the space between you both. 

he nods, frantic. “yes. please.”

you smile and shift your weight just right, grinding down harder and faster, your pace still controlled but cruel in its precision.

his whole body locks up, a loud, guttural moan ripped from his throat as he spills into you. you’re own orgasm comes rushing over you, white-hot, back arching as you move erratically. you ride him through it, slower now, easing him down. his breath stutters, chest heaving, a slick sheen of sweat making his skin glow ever so slightly under the low motel light. 

you watch him, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, your fingers soft now. you lean down, kissing the corner of his mouth. “told you it was my turn”. 

he laughs softly, breathless and completely fucked-out. “jesus christ”. 

you grin, climbing off of him slowly and collapsing at his side, heart pounding so loud in your chest that you swear he can hear it. 

he reaches for you on instinct, arm curling around your waist, dragging you close. “you’re insane,” he mutters into your hair. “mm,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you lie there for a while, both of you quiet, exhausted. the silence isn’t awkward, just full. warm and thick. 

dean’s breath is still settling, his chest rising slow beneath your cheek, as his thumb brushes gentle arcs into the curve of your spine. 

you shift a little, kissing the hollow of his throat and murmur, “you good?”

he exhales a laugh that doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “never been better, sweetheart.” 

your hand finds his under the sheets, fingers intertwining with his, his grip tightening over your digits. 

“can’t believe you’re here,” he says after a while, voice low and hoarse. 

“me neither,” you admit. you don’t say i thought i lost you. you don’t say you were gone a year and i didn’t know if you’d ever come back. you just press your forehead to his shoulder and breathe him in, a scent that is all dean. 

he turns his head to kiss your temple, soft and careful. “sorry, i…” he stops. starts again. “it wasn’t s’posed to be like that. leavin’ you.” 

“i know,” you say, and you mean it. even if your chest still cracks open every time you remember everything that had passed between you and dean. 

you shift so you’re facing him, your noses almost brushing, your legs tangled with his under the thin motel sheets. his eyes are tired, but softer now. greener. 

“you came back,” you whisper. 

he nods. swallows. “not all of me.” 

you nod too. because yeah, you know. you know now. he disappeared and now he’s back. and he’s different. but he’s here. 

your fingers trace along his jaw and the small smattering of freckles which dust his cheeks, like you’re reminding yourself of all of the things that hadn’t changed. 

“you’re still my dean,” you say.

he doesn’t hesitate. “always. always, sweetheart.” 

you kiss him again, slow and lingering, delicate. and when he finally pulls you into his chest, arms looped around you, one hand stroking up and down your back, you finally let yourself relax. finally let yourself go. 

you fall asleep like that, skin to skin, your breaths synched up, the past still sitting between you both. but it’s quiet now. almost forgiven. almost.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖑'𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑 hiiiii this was NOT proofread i just needed to finish it ! ꩜ i haven't written smut in aaaaaaages so pls b kind ! more parts incoming (when i have motivation) ⛧ hope you enjoyyy<3

© chapel of dread, est. 2025. as always, i pls ask that you do not steal, rewrite or repost (to any other site) any of my work without my permission !

[chapelofdread]

yall im watching supernatural again and its getting bad for me

dean winchester let me be ur controversially young gf (it’s not even controversial anymore. i’m 26. i just need him bad).

[chapelofdread]

too late for love ⋆₊˚⊹♡

part 4

dean winchester x hunter!reader

wc: 4.3k

summary based loosely-ish on 4x14 sex and violence. dean's been gone for a year, and by the time you’re tangled in the sheets, teeth at each other’s throats, you’re not sure if you’re punishing him or yourself.

warnings slight ooc most likely, mutual pining, porn with plot ! SMUUUUUT under the cut 18+ MDNI pls 4 the love of god, messsssssy oral (f! receiving), blowjob (m!receiving), unprotected p in v, dom!reader/sub!dean (switch vibes though), reader described as having tattoos. think that is it!! first time writing smut in like yrs so kind pls loooool<3

playlist for part 4:

love bites - def leppard

turn it on - danger danger

slipped her the big one - danger danger

here comes trouble - trouble tribe

whole lotta love - ledd zeppelin

i need you tonight - zz top

♪ im calling for someone like you,

baby, baby i need you tonight ♪ 

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you don’t wait for his answer. 

the second your boots hit the ground, you hear the familiar creak of the impala’s door as it swings shut behind you. he’s following. of course he is. 

you don’t look back until you reach the motel door, keys in hand, your heart thudding in your chest. 

the lock clicks and the door swings wide open. you step inside. and then he’s there, standing just inside the doorway like he’s almost unsure if he’s allowed in, eyes dragging over you like he doesn’t know where to start.

you toe off your boots, slowly, methodically, the silence stretching thick and hot between you. the room feels warmer with him there, heavier. you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze as you tug your coat off and let it slip from your fingers to the carpet. he still hasn’t moved. not really. 

you take a step closer, shrinking the distance between you and him, and that’s when his hands find you. rough and warm, as he draws in a slow breath, exhaling heavy. his gaze stays locked on yours as he steps in closer, and without even glancing back, he kicks the door shut behind him. 

calloused hands trace over your arms, down your waist, fingertips brushing fabric as he toys with the hem of your shirt. he waits for you, waits until you offer him a soft smile in return, and then pulls it up slowly, lifting it clean over your head. the air is cool against your bare skin, your stomach and your chest, and you shiver slightly, arms instinctively folding before you let them fall again. his gaze drops, drinking you in, mouth parting like he wants to say something. 

but then his eyes catch on something new, something he hadn’t seen before at the club. something he hadn’t noticed, just below the curve of your shoulder. the ink is small. sharp. unmistakable. 

a scorpion. 

his brow ticks slightly as he studies it, a breath catching in his throat. his fingers move before he can stop them, brushing over the fresh lines of ink on your shoulder, gentle and slow. his voice is quiet when it finally comes, low and rough. “didn’t have this before.”. 

“nope.” you shake your head once, watching him from under your lashes. his thumb traces the curve of the tail before trailing lower, down your spine and over the soft dip of your waist, until his hand settles on the small of your back. 

his hands slide down, hooking into the waistband of your jeans. you help him, unbuttoning, unzipping, shoving them down enough to step out of them, leaving you in nothing but the delicate lace of the set you’d worn to the club. 

and that’s when he sees the second one. 

just above the curve of your ass, nestled low on your back - a tattoo he knows. anti-possession. the same as his. the symbol’s clean, fresh. he exhales hard, his hands settling on your lower back, thumbs brushing over the ink.

you shift slightly under his hands, arching into his touch. his breath ghosts hot against your shoulder as he leans in, the weight of him wrapping around you in slow, deliberate motion. 

his mouth trails along your neck, slow, open-mouthed kisses, his stubble scraping lightly against your flushed skin. you tilt your head to the side instinctively, granting him more space, and he takes it gladly, lips dragging from your pulse point to your jaw. 

you reach for his belt - clumsy, needy. it clinks softly under your fingers as you undo the buckle, slow and sure, keeping your gaze on him the whole time. his hands drift up to rest at the dip of your waist, his thumbs tracing circles over your hip bones, as you pop the button, sliding the zipper down. 

you lean up to kiss him again, guiding him back a step at a time toward the motel bed. his jeans hang low on his hips, undone and forgotten, your fingers hooked into the belt loops, dragging him towards you. 

you climb onto his lap again, straddling him, his hands pressing into your hips as you drift your own over his chest, under his shirt. it’s soft, worn cotton and thin enough that you can feel the heat rising off his skin. 

“...off.” you whisper, voice caught in the contours of your ragged breath. 

he huffs out a laugh, breathless. “yes, ma’am”, he replies with a mock salute, his brow quirking back at you. 

he peels it off, dragging it over his head and tossing it somewhere to the side, leaving him bare beneath you as your hands drag slowly over his chest, your thumbs skimming his ribs. and that’s when you see it, barely there in the dark, but there nonetheless. 

a mark. distinct and seared into the flesh of his shoulder. a brand. five fingers, impossibly perfect, carved right into his skin. your breath catches in your throat, your hand stilling, as you blink down at him, the shock evident on your face. 

you trace the edge of it without thinking, the pads of your fingers following the shape of a palm too big to be human. 

“what is this?” you ask, your voice lower than you mean for it to be. 

his throat works, jaw flexing. he doesn’t answer right away. instead, his hands tighten once more on your hips. “it’s old…,” he says finally, pausing, “from…y’know...”, his voice trailing off, like that’s all he can offer. 

but your eyes stay fixed to the mark, your hand smoothing over it - flat-palmed and warm against the cool press of his skin. “does it hurt?” you murmur. 

he lets out a soft laugh, a dry laugh, “no, sweetheart,” his eyes burn into yours, “not anymore.”, and then he falls silent again.

his hands move again, one rising to cup the back of your neck, the other drifting down your spine. and then he kisses you, hard this time. and when you move against him again, it’s hot, something heavy with urgency now. 

your fingers tangle in his short hair, nails grazing his scalp as you shift in his lap, rolling your hips slow - deliberate, teasing, mean - dragging a low, guttural sound from the back of his throat.

his hands slide lower, gripping your thighs and waist, eyes blown wide as they flick down your body and back up again, like he almost doesn’t know where to start. his palms drag up your back, calloused and warm, slipping beneath the band of your bra, skilled fingers unclasping it in record time. 

you shrug the straps off your shoulders, without looking away from him, the lace slipping from your skin. his hands follow, his thumbs brushing over your ribs and then ghosting over your chest. you lean in, kiss him again, slower this time - deeper - your mouth parting against his. he groans into it, hands finally sliding up to palm your tits roughly. you rock your hips again and this time he bucks up into you with no shame. you let out a soft whimper as his mouth finds your neck again, then your shoulder, teeth dragging gently across your collarbone before he bites down, just enough to make you gasp. 

you press closer, fingers still twisted in his hair, the warmth of his jagged breath against your exposed skin igniting something low, and full of heat, in your belly. you move against him again, desperate. and that’s all it takes. he flips you with an ease that makes your stomach turn, pressing you into the mattress, large hands trailing down your cheek, your tits, your waist. his jeans are halfway down, yours abandoned now somewhere near the door, and he wastes no time now - hands skimming, mouth following. the whole thing is reverent. hungry. and you’re starving. 

he trails kisses down your chest, stopping at your tits to take one of your nipples in his mouth. it’s messy, his tongue swirling over the taught tissue - sucking, nipping, biting. you arch into his touch, an almost-whimper escaping your lips, “dean–” it slips out, soft and wanting and desperate.

his name sounds good in your mouth and he groans low, shifting again, hands pressing roughly now at your hips, driving you down into the bed.

he flicks the pads of his fingers under the waistband of your underwear, playing with the lace trim, tracing the edge where the fabric meets your skin. he pauses, glancing up at you through half-lidded, dark eyes. questioning, waiting. you nod, heart clawing at your throat, and he peels them down slowly, deliberately.

“holy shit, sweetheart.” he breathes out, hands resuming their position on your hips, as his eyes draw slowly, too slowly, over your pussy. his tongue darts out quickly across his lips, as he stares down at you like you’ve just presented him with his last meal. 

you gasp when his mouth finds the inside of your thigh - warm, sloppy, open-mouthed kisses that burn. your hips twitch involuntarily, seeking more, and he chuckles against your skin. a low, wicked sound that has you wet. 

“you’re soaked,” he rasps against your pussy, voice barely holding it together, “ ‘s all for me, baby?” 

you mewl, nodding your head at the presence of his hot breath against your cunt, feeling yourself clench around nothing. “someone’s impatient.” he mutters, voice dark and amused. he’s enjoying this. 

“you’re taking your sweet time.” you manage, breathless already, squirming under him. 

he glances up at you from between your thighs, smirking, “yeah,” he says, dragging his mouth higher up to the crease of your leg, “because i plan on enjoying this.” 

you cry out as his tongue finally meets your pussy, pressing a chaste kiss to your clit, before he moves lower, licking up your slit in a single, deliberate stroke that makes your legs tremble. he groans into you, hands tightening on your thighs as he pulls you onto his mouth, locking you in place. 

his mouth is a fucking weapon, tongue flicking against your clit with precision and then dragging lower, dipping inside of you just enough to make your hips jolt again. he pulls back, just slightly, flicking his gaze to you. 

“fuck”, you whisper, jaw slack. your thighs twitch under the pressure of his hands as his tongue circles your clit again, slower this time. he’s teasing you. the cunt. 

you moan, hips tilting up for more. “don’t tease, dean.” you scold softly, trying to keep your voice stable through wayward whimpers that escape your lips. 

he eats you like it’s what he was made to do - slow, deep and messy - moaning into your cunt like he can’t get enough. his thumbs drag along the crease of your hips as your hand flies to his hair, fingers tangling in the short strands as you grind forward into his mouth, chasing your high. and he doesn’t put up a fight. he lets you. lets you use him. 

you feel the pressure building low in your stomach, coiling deep in your belly, your whole body tightening with every flick of his tongue. “don’t stop, dean” you breath, voice raw and cracked at the edges. 

he doesn’t. 

he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. and that’s when his hands move, one gripping your thigh, keeping you open for him, and the other sliding between your legs. and then you feel it. two fingers pressing into your entrance - slow, steady and deep. 

your breath catches, hips bucking into him as he groans, low and wrecked like he feels it too. his fingers curl inside of you, fucking into you slow, while his mouth stays locked to your clit, tongue flicking and dragging in time with his hands. it’s too much and not enough, your pussy squelching obscenely  - messy and hot and desperate and so good. you can barely think, barely breathe, as your fingers twist in his hair and you whimper his name like it’s the only word you remember (it is). 

his pace doesn’t falter. he gets rougher, deeper, like he wants to push you over the edge. 

“that’s it,” he murmurs against your wet cunt, voice thick and wrecked. “c’mon baby…give it to me”. 

everything inside you winds tight, as he laps at your clit. your orgasm hits you hard and hot and blinding, your whole body trembling. 

he doesn’t stop until you’re gasping for air, thighs shaking around his shoulders, as he sucks your clit once more, slowly, just to make you twitch. 

“fuck,” you whisper, wrecked, “fuck, dean”. 

he just smirks against your skin, lips and chin wet with your slick, eyes dark and starving. 

“told you i’d take my time”.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you lie breathless for a second, legs trembling, heart still trying to beat it’s way out of your own chest, your breath coming in shallow, broken waves. he stays between your thighs, head tilted back slightly to look up at you. 

“you good, princess?” he asks, voice low and teasing. 

you hum, slow and lazy, dragging a hand through his hair before letting it fall to your side. “mm. gimme a minute”. 

“take all the time you–” 

but you’re already moving, shifting your weight forward to swing one leg over him with practiced ease. he lets out a quiet grunt of surprise as you push him back, steady hands flattening against his chest until he’s sprawled out underneath you on the mattress. 

his eyebrows lift, just slightly, his mouth parting as he takes you all in - flushed skin, steady hands and a slow, dangerous look in your eyes. 

“you said something ‘bout takin’ your time?” you murmur, voice still hoarse, but controlled, as you drag your nails haphazardly down the smooth skin of his muscled chest. 

he blinks, surprised. swallows. “uh—yeah?” 

“good”, you lean down, mouth brushing his jaw. “because, dean…” you smirk, “it’s my turn”. 

your hands slide down his chest, slow and warm, fingers splaying across the tight muscle of his stomach as you sink lower, dragging your hips along his, teasing him just enough to mae him twitch. 

he groans, low and strained, his hands twitching at his sides like he wants to grab you. you smirk, brushing your nose along the curve of his throat, before you bite, just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. 

“sweetheart…” he warns, his breath uneven. 

 “mm?” you play dumb, as your hands move lower, palming him through his boxers - slow, steady pressure that has his hips jerking up into you. 

you glance up at him, lips parting in a lazy grin. “what was that, baby?”. 

he groans again, eyes fluttering and jaw locked tight. you laugh, soft,  and then hook your fingers in the waistband of his boxers, dragging them down over his hips, your gaze never leaving his face. 

you sink back onto his thighs, eyes drinking him in. he’s beautiful like this, you think - flushed, panting, desperate, finally quiet. 

“you jus' gonna stare all night?” he asks, a strained grin tugging at his mouth.

“maybe,” you tilt your head, a smirk playing on your lips,

“‘m just getting started, dean”, you whisper, lips brushing the shell of his ear. you watch as his chest rises and falls faster, his stomach tightening as you free his dick completely. he groans, low and raw, his hands instinctively reaching for your waist, but you catch them, pinning them to his sides. 

“uh-uh”, you say, smiling lazily. “you don’t get to touch unless i say”. 

“jesus christ,” he mutters, breath stuttering. 

you just smile, fingers reaching for him, curling around his length - light, slow and measured. his hips jerk, completely involuntarily, and you glare at him, eyes dark. you tighten your grip around him, just slightly, “you stay still, dean”. 

he breathes out a laugh, half-strangled. “bossy tonight, aren’t ya?”

“c’mon dean, y’know me,” you murmur, thumb dragging along the tip of his cock, leaking with pre, watching the way his jaw clenches, “you just haven’t been payin’ attention”. 

he opens his mouth to respond, but whatever jackass comment he was about to offer dies in his through when you shift down, settling between his thighs, dragging your mouth along his length - barely there. 

he groans, loud this time, his head falling back as he flings one arm over his eyes. 

you smile, slow and pleased, and then - finally - you wrap your lips around him, just the tip at first, tongue flicking and teasing. cruel.

you breath, slow and shallow, pulling back to run your mouth along the underside of his dick, open-mouthed and hot, letting your spit drip down over your hand as you stroke him slowly from tip to base.

he bucks, helpless, hands flying to your hair, as he groans. it’s a sound that’s downright sinful. you glance up at him in mock innocence, “something you need, baby?”

he groans again, tightening his grip in your hair. “fuck, you…just—god”. 

“use your words, dean”, you purr, dragging your tongue along his throbbing cock, just shy of where you know he wants you.

“please,” he breathes, almost begging, “fuck, baby, please.” 

and with that you take him deeper, slow and smooth and deliberate, his weight of his dick heavy on your tongue. 

his entire body shudders as you hollow your cheeks and set a rhythm. he’s desperate. a mess beneath you, hips twitching, hands in your hair, breath broken.

you pull off of him with a final, filthy, evil swirl of your tongue, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. he’s panting, chest rising and falling, pupils blown wide as he looks down at you like you’ve just rewritten his entire fucking understanding of god.

you crawl back up towards his face, lazy and lethal, fingers ghosting over his sides before settling your hips over his again, your thighs bracketing his waist. 

you reach between your bodies, fingers wrapped around his cock, guiding him to your entrance. the head of his dick catches on your clit before you sink down onto him, inch by inch, until you’re full of him. 

he’s wrecked already, chest heaving as his mouth drops open with a choked sound, hands flying to your hips like he needs something to anchor himself. your breath catches in your own throat, pausing as you feel him pressing against your cervix. 

and then, you roll your hips, slow and deliberate. and that’s it. he’s done for. 

“fuck, sweetheart….” he gasps, hands gripping tighter as you start to move, slow and unhurried, grinding down on him like you’ve got all the time in the world.

your head tilts back, one hand dragging through your hair, the other planted firm on his chest, keeping him exactly where you want him.

“want you to lie back”, you murmur, voice lazy and thick, “‘n take it.” 

and he does. oh, he does. 

his eyes drag over you like he’s trying to memorise every part of your body, the rhythm of you grinding down into him and the way your mouth parts with every slow roll. 

the sound of skin on skin fills the room. and god, is it vulgar. his low groans grow rougher, more ragged and yours following, mixing right in with them, heat curling deep and sharp in your gut again.

his hands curl into the sheets, his eyes locked on you like you’re the last thing on the planet.

your hips grind down with a little more force this time, moving yourself relentlessly down onto him, deliberate and merciless.

“jesus…” he breathes, voice hoarse. 

you drag your nails down his chest again, a little rougher this time. “told you it was my turn," you murmur, breath ghosting hot over his throat. 

he bucks up instinctively, desperate to meet you, but you pin him back with your hips. “no, dean,” you whisper, nipping his earlobe just enough to make him twitch, “you don’t get to move unless i say”. 

he groans, jaw clenched so tight that you think he might pull a muscle. “you’re fucking evil, sweetheart”. you him in response, pleased, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck. 

he’s panting under you now, wrecked and flushed, as you roll your hips again, slow and deep. he brings his hands to your waist now, grip tight, a broken sound catching in his throat, and you lean back just enough to watch his face, hips still working in that punishing rhythm that has him bucking up against you. 

“look at you, d,” you whisper, tongue tracing a line on the underside of his earlobe, “so fucking pretty like this,”, dragging the tips of your fingers down the side of his torso as you ask, teasing, breathless and cruel,  “you close?”

he nods, eyes half-lidded and desperate. “fuck..yeah. yeah i’m–” 

“not yet,” you whisper, cutting him off with a sharp twist of your hips that makes him swear, loud and ragged, “not ‘til i say”. 

“fuck, sweetheart,” he gasps, eyes fluttering shut for a second before you lean in again, palm sliding up his chest and curling around his throat, firm and grounding. his eyes snap open, wide and dark. 

“wanna watch you, dean” you murmur. and then he whimpers - actually whimpers - the sound going straight through you. you’re soaked. ruined. your hips dragging down into him over and over with a pace that’s steady and unforgiving. 

your thumb strokes along the edge of his jaw, affectionate and soft, even while you grind into him like you’re punishing him for the last year. “you’re doin’ so good for me,” you whisper, breath warm against his cheek, “takin’ it so well, dean. bet you’d let me fuck you like this forever if i asked.”

he groans again, loud, “please,” he pants, “please, sweetheart, i need–” 

“need to what, baby?” you pout at him, tone deadly sweet, the sound of your pussy devouring his dick filling the space between you both. 

he nods, frantic. “yes. please.”

you smile and shift your weight just right, grinding down harder and faster, your pace still controlled but cruel in its precision.

his whole body locks up, a loud, guttural moan ripped from his throat as he spills into you. you’re own orgasm comes rushing over you, white-hot, back arching as you move erratically. you ride him through it, slower now, easing him down. his breath stutters, chest heaving, a slick sheen of sweat making his skin glow ever so slightly under the low motel light. 

you watch him, brushing damp hair back from his forehead, your fingers soft now. you lean down, kissing the corner of his mouth. “told you it was my turn”. 

he laughs softly, breathless and completely fucked-out. “jesus christ”. 

you grin, climbing off of him slowly and collapsing at his side, heart pounding so loud in your chest that you swear he can hear it. 

he reaches for you on instinct, arm curling around your waist, dragging you close. “you’re insane,” he mutters into your hair. “mm,” you hum, pressing a kiss to his collarbone.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you lie there for a while, both of you quiet, exhausted. the silence isn’t awkward, just full. warm and thick. 

dean’s breath is still settling, his chest rising slow beneath your cheek, as his thumb brushes gentle arcs into the curve of your spine. 

you shift a little, kissing the hollow of his throat and murmur, “you good?”

he exhales a laugh that doesn’t quite make it all the way out. “never been better, sweetheart.” 

your hand finds his under the sheets, fingers intertwining with his, his grip tightening over your digits. 

“can’t believe you’re here,” he says after a while, voice low and hoarse. 

“me neither,” you admit. you don’t say i thought i lost you. you don’t say you were gone a year and i didn’t know if you’d ever come back. you just press your forehead to his shoulder and breathe him in, a scent that is all dean. 

he turns his head to kiss your temple, soft and careful. “sorry, i…” he stops. starts again. “it wasn’t s’posed to be like that. leavin’ you.” 

“i know,” you say, and you mean it. even if your chest still cracks open every time you remember everything that had passed between you and dean. 

you shift so you’re facing him, your noses almost brushing, your legs tangled with his under the thin motel sheets. his eyes are tired, but softer now. greener. 

“you came back,” you whisper. 

he nods. swallows. “not all of me.” 

you nod too. because yeah, you know. you know now. he disappeared and now he’s back. and he’s different. but he’s here. 

your fingers trace along his jaw and the small smattering of freckles which dust his cheeks, like you’re reminding yourself of all of the things that hadn’t changed. 

“you’re still my dean,” you say.

he doesn’t hesitate. “always. always, sweetheart.” 

you kiss him again, slow and lingering, delicate. and when he finally pulls you into his chest, arms looped around you, one hand stroking up and down your back, you finally let yourself relax. finally let yourself go. 

you fall asleep like that, skin to skin, your breaths synched up, the past still sitting between you both. but it’s quiet now. almost forgiven. almost.

⊹ ࣪ ˖ ꒰ঌ ♡ ໒꒱ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖊𝖑'𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖑 hiiiii this was NOT proofread i just needed to finish it ! ꩜ i haven't written smut in aaaaaaages so pls b kind ! more parts incoming (when i have motivation) ⛧ hope you enjoyyy<3

© chapel of dread, est. 2025. as always, i pls ask that you do not steal, rewrite or repost (to any other site) any of my work without my permission !

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season 1 dean imy</3

JENSEN ACKLES as DEAN WINCHESTER SUPERNATURAL, PILOT

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im so hungry i could eat jensen ackles

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DEAN WINCHESTER

Supernatural | S2 EP22 : All Hell Breaks Loose - Part 2

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DEAN WINCHESTER in one random episode per day ‣ 327/327 1.14 NIGHTMARE

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reblog to have him saran wrapped on your blog

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too late for love ⋆₊˚⊹♡ moodboard

you’re bobby’s niece and a hunter who is adamant on working alone, and especially not with dean winchester. imagine your shock when he sends the boys on the same job.

forced to work together, you and dean find yourselves tangled in more than just the case. and when the past comes calling, you’ll have to face everything you’ve tried to bury — and maybe, just maybe, stop running from what’s always been inevitable.

© chapel of dread, est. 2025. i ask that you do not steal, rewrite or repost (to any other site) any of my work without my permission !