nightxcreature

[nightxcreature]

whats yourfavorite song to dance to?

No Diggity-Blackstreet and Georgia Peaches-Lynyrd Skynyrd

Weird combo, I know. I can’t help it. 🤣

[nightxcreature]

what song do you think is Sam Winchester's guilty pleasure?

Hasn’t it canonically been proven to be Celine Dion? 🤣 Either way, My Heart Will Go On is 1000% in his playlist. I do, however, think our boy would be really into Creed. Maybe One Last Breath?

[nightxcreature]

Where are my pants? 😮‍💨😭

Hold Me (More Like That)

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, fluff, pre-established relationship, lotta smut (oral m! receiving, p in v sex)

Summary/Warnings: Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

Author's Note: Sorta request from an anon! I wanna be thrown around so bad you guys don't even know.

Word Count: 3.3k

“I bet I could beat you in a fight.”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

“I could.” You push up on Dean’s chest, glaring at him in the shifting light of the TV. “You don’t believe in me.”

A small smile plays on Dean’s lips, but he doesn’t look away from the movie. “Never said that. I’m pretty damn sure I agreed with you-“

“Yeah, but you said sure.” You drop your tone to mimic his, and that gets his attention. “That’s how you say sure when you don’t really agree, Dean, I know you-“

“Alright.” Dean catches your finger as you poke his chest. “I don’t think you could beat me in a fight, baby. You win.”

You whack his chest, and his grin only grows. 

“That what you wanted to hear?”

“You know it’s not-“

“Then you want me to keep lyin’?”

You roll your eyes at him. “No, I want you to admit I’d beat you.”

“Okay.” Dean shrugs, kissing your knuckles before turning back to the TV. “You’d beat me. You’d kick my ass, Sammy would have to drive me to the hospital, and- Oof-“

You’d climbed on top of him, straddling his waist and bracing your hands on his shoulders. Dean raises his brows with a half amused, half befuddled expression, and his hands fly to your hips in half a second.

He could push you off—easily, too—but he won’t. 

You really want him to. 

“I bet I could beat you.” You lean down until your noses are almost bumping. “In a fight.”

“Yeah, I heard you the first time,” Dean hums your name, his thumb absentmindedly rubbing small circles on the bare skin under your shirt. “What’re you doing?”

You shrug. “Trying to make you take me seriously.”

“I always take you seriously-“

“No. You don’t think I could beat you.”

For a man you know looks for any reason to jump your bones—you’ve seen him walk you back against a wall because the wind blew up your skirt, and he needs to check you’re okay—Dean is impressively confused about what’s happening. He just keeps looking at you in confusion, holding you firm enough by your hips you know he’s not going to take your bait and toss you around. You’re going to have to step it up. 

You love him. He’s adorable and sweet and trying really hard to be a good boyfriend, to the point that you feel sort of bad about what’s about to happen, but you’ll get over it. Call it vengeance for when he tried to prove he could change a tire faster than you could, and it was just an excuse to fuck you on the hood of the car. 

“C’mon.” You drag his hands off your hips, pinning them to the couch, and he doesn’t fight you at all. “I can win, Dean.”

“Yeah, you could-“

“Stop agreeing with me-“

He snorts, putting on a weak, mock show of trying to push out of your grip, but mostly just flexing his arms and making the heat in your core spark. “Look, sweetheart, you’re stronger-“

“I didn’t say I was stronger,” you grind down onto him, disguising it as a just a shift of your body, and Dean’s jaw twitches slightly. “I said I could beat you.”

You grind again, and he lets out a long, slow breath. 

Progress.

“You want the truth, baby?” He gives you a pointed look, still not struggling against you, and you nod. 

“I could-“

“No, you couldn’t.” Dean shrugs, and to sort of obviously prove his point, pushes just one hand out of your hold to wrap around your waist. “Not ‘cause I don’t think you’re strong, or smart, or sexy as fuck when you kick ass. But I would beat you. I’ve beaten Sam, and he’s a fuckin’ Sasquatch. It’s my freakin’ job-“

“It’s my job, too-“

“It’s your job when we’re real short on hands.” Dean eyes narrow, and that was the right button. He doesn’t like the maybe you should hunt more conversation. “And we’re not.”

You raise your brows. “So I couldn’t beat you because I don’t hunt?”

“Yes- No-“ He sighs, hauling you a little further up his chest. “You just couldn’t beat me, baby, I promise-“

“Prove it.”

Dean frowns at you. “What?”

“If you think I can’t beat you.” You grab his arm around you—he lets you move it again, but that’s fine, you don’t actually care about winning—and pin it back down. “Then prove it.”

“I’m not gonna fight you, sweetheart-“

You shrug. “Then I win. And if I can beat Dean Winchester in a fight, maybe I should hunt more-“

That does it. Your words turn into a yelp as Dean flips you over like it’s nothing, pinning your hands over your head and pressing his hips down to keep you pinned to the couch. You have to take a quick breath to stop from caving right away, but you can see his muscles rippling through his shirt and his eyes shamelessly scanning your form below him, and he’s half-hard already and pressed right into your thigh-

“I don’t know what goin’ on with you.” His voice is a half growl, and the sound almost vibrates through your body. “But I can beat you, babygirl. And you fuckin’ hate hunting-“

“Maybe I just miss you when you’re gone,” you challenge, hooking your leg around him and flipping him back over with a grunt. “You always leave me, De, and I get lonely-“

He snorts, standing up with you almost thrown over his should. “I call you every day, smartass, and I never hear you complaining when you cum from just me talkin’ to you.”

“Not the- fuck-“ You’re trying to squirm away as he walks through the halls of the bunker—the movie long forgotten—but it’s not working in your favor. “It’s not the same-“

“Then you can come on a few hunts and stay in the hotel.”

He needs to stop being so rational and sweet. “No, I want to hunt-“

“No, you don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I want, Dean-“

You squeak as he drops you onto the mattress, standing over you with a glower. 

“You don’t want to hunt,” he grunts your name, grabbing your face between his hands with an adoring, vaguely annoyed expression. “You hate it, you always get mad about blood on your clothing- Hell, you get pissed about blood on my clothing-“

“I’m over it.” You lie quickly, and throw all your weight into pulling Dean down. He lands on the mattress with a grunt, and you crawl back on top of him with a grin. “I can beat you, Dean. You haven’t proven I can’t.”

He shakes his head. “I told you I’m not fighting you, sweetheart-“

“Cause you’ll lose.”

“I-“ His eyes narrow on yours, right as you wiggle slightly, and you know that expression.

You won.

“If I beat you, you drop the hunting thing.”

You nod quickly, and don’t even get the chance to say deal before Dean’s moving. He flips your back over with practiced ease, and he probably could’ve won right there, but you’re determined to put on a mock show. So when his hand go to pin both of yours, you worm then against his chest and shove right into his gut. It catches him off guard, just enough for you to roll away and scramble up onto his back, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Dean grunts, and rises up on his knees before dropping onto his side, just enough to knock the wind slightly out of your chest, and pry you off his neck. You try to roll away, but he’s—somehow—faster, and catches you by the waist, hauling you right up into his lap and pinning your arms behind your back with one hand, the other grabbing your jaw to keep your gaze trapped on his. 

And you’ve lost. It was only a few seconds of fighting, but you lost dramatically. 

In Dean’s eyes, at least, you lost.

But you feel a little high, right now. Dean’s big and warm and all around you, touching you everywhere with his chest pressed right against your breasts and his legs wrapped around you to keep you pinned to him. There’s a building, almost mind-numbing ache for him between your thighs, and you can feel his muscles every time he shifts, and he barely out of breath but you’re a giggling, needy mess his arms, and-

You can see the exact moment it hits him. He blinks at you for a second, his grip tightening on your jaw just enough to pull out a tiny, soft moan, and his cock twitches against your leg.

“You’re fucking-“ He cuts himself off with a groan and shake of his head. “Son of a bitch, sweetheart, if you wanted to be fucked, you coulda told me.”

You shake your head, still beaming at him like an idiot. “Better when you mean it. I- I wanna feel you, Dean, please-“

“Please, what?” He hums, squeezing your jaw again, right as he thrusts up against your clothed cunt. “Please fuck you? Toss you around? Or should I make you wait, for giving me a damn heart attack about hunting?”

You flush, and shake your head. “I’m sorry, I just- You weren’t getting it and I- I wanted-“

“I know what you wanted.” Dean shrugs, grinning down at you. “You wanted me to touch you, didn’t you.”

You nod desperately, and he’s so close. His lips brushing over yours, his grip on you tight and perfect and god-

“You wanna touch me, babygirl?” His question is a low, teasing hum, his hips jerking up again to make sure you can feel how hard he is, and a high, needy moan escapes your lips. 

“Dean, please-“

He shakes his head, kissing the corner of your mouth. “Answer the question, sweetheart-“

“Yes- I do, I need it-“

“Yeah, you do.” He mutters, his hand on your jaw dragging down to rest lightly on your throat. “Lie down.”

You scramble back the second Dean lets go of you, settling into the pillows and giving him your prettiest, most hopeful doe-eyed look. He just chuckles, peeling his shirt and jeans at a painfully slow speed, and gives you a pointed expression. He doesn’t have to say it aloud to know what he’s asking. You know him well enough.

“Not those,” he grunts when you go for your panties, the rest of your clothing now discarded onto the floor. “Wanna rip them off you.”

You sigh, pouting up at him, and it hard not to get dizzy from his attention—standing at the edge of the bed, all strength and softness, stroking his cock to the sight of you below him—but you manage. “You always rip them off of me, Dean, I’m going to run out of underwear-“

“Good.” He mutters, starting to prowl over you with an almost feral grin, and you roll your eyes.

“Dean-“

“Don’t worry, baby.” He hums, and your protests about the panties die in your throat as he stops right over you, pressing his thick cock right on your lower lip. “I’ll buy you new ones.”

You hum, blinking hopefully up at him as you open your mouth, and he nods. Dean’s hand tangles in your hair as he slides into your mouth, and you moan shamelessly around him, making his hips jerk and his dick press right against the back of your throat. 

“Fuck,” Dean groans your name, and you suck on him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock as he pulls slightly out. “You’re gonna choke, you can’t- Shit-“

It’s too easy to whine and run your tongue up his shaft, and he ruts into your mouth with a groan. 

“God- You’re-“ He glares down at you, and you return it with an innocent expression. “You’re gonna kill me, sweetheart.”

You just blink at him sweetly, grabbing his thighs, and trying to guide him deeper into your mouth, and his brows raise, his voice suddenly a slight rasp.

“More, baby?” 

You hum, already grinding into the sheets from the feeling of him heavy in your mouth and the intensity of his gaze, and Dean groans. 

“You gotta stop me if it’s too much-“ You swallow around him, and his words turn into a loud moan that goes straight between your legs.

The leash Dean’s been keeping on his movements snaps, and your eyes roll back in your head with pleasure as he starts to fuck your mouth. You can feel his gaze as the lewd sounds of his balls slapping your chin and his cock sliding in and out of your lips fills the room. Your nails are digging into his thighs, and your breathing is heavy through your nose, but it feels so good.

There’s all the power of him over you, making you lightheaded and your pussy start to clench around nothing every time he groans your name. You can taste the salt of his precum on your tongue whenever you manage to flick it over the head of him, and when you whimper around him, he always pulls all the way out before slamming back it and groaning your name. 

He’s getting close. You can feel it in the growing sloppiness of his thrusts and the tightness of his grip on your hair. So you double your effort and start to suck him off best you can, but all you can really remember how to do is wiggle and moan-

Dean pulls aways with groan, and your eyes flutter open to see him looking down at you with borderline wonder, his arm braced on the headboard above you and his chest heaving.

“You’re too good at that.” He mutters, moving his hand from your hair to wipe a little bit of drool over your cheek. “Almost came in your mouth, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth again, sticking your tongue out, and he groans, leaning back with a shake of his head. 

“Need to fuck you,” he grunts, shifting so your caged below his arms, his brow pressed against yours. “I’m gonna make you cum ‘till you can’t walk, baby. That sound good?”

“Yeah,” you whisper, spreading your legs as wide as you can. “Good. Touch me, Dean, I- I need you-“

“I know you do.” Rough, warm fingers dance on your panties, teasing on your inner thigh for a second before ripping them away, and running over your pussy. “So fucking wet for me, babygirl, need it that bad?”

You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Yes, please-“

Dean cuts you off with a long, sloppy kiss, and you gasp his name into his mouth, grinding onto the palm of his hand in chance of any relief.

“You wanna try and wrestle again?” He hums, rubbing his hand right over your clit. “Or you gonna let me take care of my girl.”

“Take care.” Your voice is barely a breath, but you might fly out of your mind if he doesn’t really, properly fuck you. “Dean, your cock, I need it-“

His hand moves away, but you don’t get a moment to complain before Dean’s shoving himself into you with one rough movement, and your back is arching off the bed.

“That’s right, baby.” His voice is a teasing coo, but you don’t really care. He’s earned it, and it feels so good, being filled up and split open with him all over you and kissing up your neck- “You’re so fuckin’ tight, son of a bitch-“

“Dean.” You gasp, and his mouth crashes back over yours, kissing you into the pillows until you’re limp in his arms, only fluttering desperately around his cock. “Move-“

He groans into your mouth, and your breath hitches in your throat as he slams into you. You wrap your arms around him tight enough to strangle him, just he doesn’t even flinch, just moaning your name and repeating the movement once more. Pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in, then starts to fuck you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. 

Sometimes, Dean likes to sit up and watch you come apart below him, or flip you over and fuck you into the mattress. But he knows what you need right now is to just keep feeling him, everywhere, and he’s perfect so that’s exactly what he gives you. Almost holding you off the mattress like it’s nothing, fucking into your pussy with a feverish pace, until your head is falling back with pleasure as he hits that deep, painfully needy spot deep inside you. 

His lips attach to your throat, biting and sucking small marks that make your mouth fall open in a silent scream, and your start to grind onto him. Trying to get your clit to rub on his abdomen, because you’re so fucking close-

Dean grabs your ankles, shifting your around below him without ever breaking pace, and only once you’re securely hanging off his body does his arm wrap around your waist and-

You spasm as his fingers find your clit and start to rub tight, firm circles, and you cum with a scream of his name. He just groans, fucking into you harder as you spasm around his cock, and you’re not coming down. Dean pushes your back down onto the mattress, slams his lips back over yours and angling your hips further up, and you stare up at him as he just keeps fucking you. Your orgasm crests into another one, and there’s a strange, new heat building in your core that’s hot and tight, and-

Dean slams hip hips at the right angle to almost bruise your g-spot, right as his fingers on your clit pinch, and your body goes loose as the coil snaps. Something wet is gushing out of you and running between your legs, and Dean’s jaw is clenched as he drops his brow to yours, his eyes fluttering as he tenses over you.

“Dean.” You whisper, running your fingers through his hair. “Please. On me.”

He stares at you for barely a second before giving a tight nod, and sitting up on his knees. He pulls out with his hand braced on your hip, and it’s a beautiful sight. Dean beating his cock into his hand at the sight of you wrecked and fucked out, thick white cum shooting over your stomach and cunt as he cums with a moan of your name. 

He collapses over you with a grunt, and you hum happily, your fingers shooting into his hair. 

“That what you wanted, baby?” He hums into your ear, and you nod.

“Perfect. Thank you, my love.” 

He grunts as your kiss the side of his head, shifting down to bury his face between your breasts. 

“Love you too.” He grumbles, wrapping his around your body, and you beam up at the ceiling. “Even when you play dumb tricks.”

“I think you liked that trick.”

He shrugs. “Maybe. But next time, just freakin’ ask me to fuck you stupid.”

You hum. “Dean?”

He grunts, and you tug on his hair, forcing his gaze up to yours. 

“Can you fuck me stupid.”

His lips twitch and he grabs your hand, turning it to press a kiss to your palm. “Jesus, sweetheart-“

“Please?” You flutter your lashes at him, and he sighs. 

“Gimme ten. In the shower?”

You give him an amused look. “You just wanna cum on me again.”

“Yep.” He grins up at you. “You love it.”

“I do.” You mumble. “But you like it when I play dumb tricks.”

He rolls his eyes, but hauls your upright, standing with you cradled in his arms and a kiss to the side of your head. “Yeah, sweetheart. But I think I just like you.”

End Note: It's probably good for my productiveness that Dean isn't real. I'd never get anything done again.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

How do you always make me feel EVERYTHING??? 😩

And In Health

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, tooth-rotting fluff, domestic, sick fic, pre-established relationship

Summary/Warnings: Making Dean rest when he's sick is a Herculean task. You are more than up for the challenge.

Author's Note: Request from @kamari-nooo! My domestic fluff binge continues.

Word Count: 2.8k

Dean’s sick.

You know he’s sick. Sam knows he’s sick. The cashier at the gas station down the road knows it too, because—while trying to buy snacks—Dean had been half slumped over your body like he was drunk, before letting out the loudest sneeze you’ve ever heard. And the teenagers that hang out in town know it—they’d watched his blurred-eyed, feverish dumbass almost run into a wall, saved only by Sam yanking him back at the last second—and the woman at the grocery store, who gave him an evil-eye when he coughed all over the cheese knows it.

You’d offered her an apologetic grimace and grabbed Dean’s elbow to move it over his face, and he’d grumbled before shuffling in uneven steps to the meat section.

Everyone parking lot knew it too, watching Dean take a million years to pull out his keys, before sneezing so loud you felt the earth shake.

At this point, the only person who doesn’t know Dean’s sick is Dean. When you pointed out that you could feel the heat radiating off his body, he’d just chuckled and winked.

“You say that every night, sweetheart.”

You’d given him a flat look. “You know that’s not what I meant-“

“Don’t care.” He’d mumbled, wrapping his arms around you and dropping his face into your hair. “You smell like cherries.”

“Dean,” you’d sighed, leaning back enough to press your hand to his brow. “You’re burning up-“

“I’m fine. Actually, ‘m hungry. You want lunch?”

“I want you to lie down-“

“Nah. C’mon.” He’d grabbed your hand, and dragged you into the kitchen.

And usually this was adorable. Watching Dean move around like he was on a mission, making you food and listening to you talk with occasional, horrible jokes that always made you giggle. 

But right now he was red in the face, and all his steps were a little uncoordinated, and he kept sniffing up a runny nose every three seconds. 

You’d excused yourself to go find Sam, and spent the whole walk to the library praying he somehow didn’t end up falling onto the stove. And when you drop across from Sam, he doesn’t even look up from his laptop before he’s talking.

“I know he’s sick. But you’re not going to get him to take a break.”

You scowl. “Sam, he needs it, at this rate he’s lucky I’m not knocking him out and bringing him to the hospital-“

“We don’t have insurance.”

“We can forge it-“

“And it won’t work. He’ll just get mad at both of us.” Sam finally meets your gaze, a look of resignation is eyes. “I don’t like it either, but you know Dean. And neither of us ever really got sick, before we defeated Chuck. This is new for him.”

You sigh, slumping into your seat. “He’s going to get himself hurt, Sam-“

“And we’ll pick him up.”

“Or we can stop him from hurting himself-“

“You guys are really freakin’ loud.” Dean grumbles from above you, pressing a kiss to the top of your brow. “You’re so cute when you’re worried.”

You tip your head back with a frown. “I’m serious, Dean, you’re sick-“

“And I’m serious, I’m fine.” He says your name carefully, holding your gaze. “It’s just allergies, and I’ve never felt better. I’ve got my girl, good burgers, and pie. Livin’ the dream, sweetheart.”

“But-“

“Nope. C’mon,” he starts to pull you to your feet, and his gaze is still a little clouded, but he’s got the boyish, wide grin, and you can’t help but move with him. “Stop worrying about me, I’m good. No knocking me out to get to the hospital.”

You flush. “I’m sorry- I just-“

“I know. But I’m fine. Really,” he says your name, spreading his arms wide. “I feel awesome.”

He doesn’t look awesome. He’d lost his balance for a second, and even his voice is a little hoarse. But Sam was right. You’re not winning this argument right now. So you sigh and let him throw his arm around your shoulder. “Can I have a bite of your pie, please?”

Dean nods, pressing a sloppy kiss to the side of your head. “You can have whatever you want, babygirl.”

Sam snorts, looking back to his laptop. “You know Dean, if I said I was going to knock you out, you’d kick my ass, not give me pie-“

“You’re not cute, bitch.” Dean snaps, and you press your face into his side to hide your giggle.

He’s sweating. And even hotter than before.

But you have to let it go, for now. He’s Dean. He’s not going to slow down for anything. 

And you’re worried, when you see the high pile of tissues in the trash can. When Dean starts to stare hazily into the air, his eyes drooping and movements far slower than usual. But you also need to keep him where you can see him. Where, if he does collapse, you can run to his side and bite down your told you so for when he’s better.

But Dean might be trying to collapse. He won’t fucking slow down.

“Three people got turned into goo in Bloomington, Indiana.” He says, and you and Sam exchange a tight look.

“Dean-“

“I’m thinking some kinda of swamp monster. We’ve never hunted a swamp monster before-“

“That’s because swamp monsters aren’t real, dude.” Sam shakes his head. “And there are other hunters we can call and ask to take care of it, if someone isn’t already on it-“

“But we’d do it the quickest.” Dean sits a little taller—although there’s still a noticeable slump—and narrows his eyes at Sam. “Another hunter might take a fuckin’ week. We’ll gank it in a day.”

“Or we could stay home,” you mumble. “And watch TV.”

“We’ll watch TV at the motel.” He shrugs, moving to his feet.

You can see the sweat stains. And he really is walking like all the gravity of the earth is living in his feet, as he moves to kiss the top of your head. 

“Told you, I’m fine. We’ll hit the road in the morning.”

You hum, letting him tip your head back for another kiss—you might get sick as well, but at least then he’ll stay home to take care of you, and you can kick his ass for getting you sick after—and Dean grins against your lips.

“You gonna shower with me, baby?”

“Gimme five.” You pull away with a small smile. “Pie.”

“That’s my girl.” You get another kiss, and Sam gets a short nod. “Night, Sammy.”

“Night.” Sam grunts, frowning at his plate, and the moment Dean’s out of earshot, you give him a firm glare.

“Sam-“

“I know. I’ll go with Eileen before you guys are awake, and we’ll try to get it before he catches up.”

You let out a slow breath. “Thank you. I’ll try to talk him out of it.”

“Good luck with that.” 

Sam’s voice is dripping with flat sarcasm, and you shrug, shooting him a grin.

“I think I can do it. I’m cute.”

Sam rolls his eyes, and you laugh. It’ll be fine. You don’t have a solid plan, but this is better than no plan. You can slow Dean down, and then find him another goo monster to hunt when he’s not actively hacking his lungs out and sweating so much you’d think he lives in the sun. But if he does convince you to go on the case, you’ll have to drive. Just coming out of the shower, he’s swaying and blinking at you like he’s not quite sure he’s awake. 

“Dean-“

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty.” He mumbles, taking an almost lurching step forward to grab your face between his hands. “Look like a fairy. Or, uh- magic immortal lady.”

You sigh, reaching up to run your hand through his still wet hair. “Goddess.”

“Yeah. That.” He leans down, until your noses are bumping and you can see the fevered daze in his eyes. “So smart, too-“

“I’m not that smart, baby. You’re just sick-“

“No, ‘m not. I feel awesome.”

“I’ve heard.” You give him a soft smile, carefully pulling his hands away from your face. “Let’s go to bed.”

He frowns, but lets you tug him forward. “You gonna be in bed with me?”

“I always am.”

Dean grunts, collapsing on the mattress and reaching up to pull you down with him. “C’mon- Wanna do things to you-“

“After I get changed.”

“I can help you with that, sweetheart-“

“Nope.” You lean over him, kissing his brow, and his eyes flutter slightly. “Patience, dude.”

He glares at you, and you have to bite down a laugh. He looks like a huge, grumpy child who just got told they couldn’t have dessert. “Hate it when you call me dude. ‘m not just your dude, I’m-“ “My massive man-baby?”

He rolls his eyes, but even that looks like it takes him effort. “Think you’re so smart, babygirl-“

“I am smart.” You smile down at him, combing your fingers back through his hair. “You tell me all the time.”

“Cause you are smart.” Dean grumbles. “So fuckin’ sexy, when you talk about words.”

“Thanks, dude.” His eyes narrow, and you swallow your giggle.

“How about this, De.” You lean down, keeping your gaze on his. “You wait for me to shower, and I’ll call you whatever you want while you do things to me.”

His eyes light up. “Can we do the thing?”

“Of course, my love.” You pull away, and the only reason you’re agreeing to it is because you know he’s too tired to wait up. Your shower is only five minutes, but when you return to the bed, Dean’s already knocked out, snoring with his face in your pillow and the blankets bunched in his arms.

You smile, and nudge him carefully to his own side of the mattress as you settle down. And you’re not sure when you fall asleep—later than usual, too much time spent staring at Dean’s too-pale face in the dark—but when you wake up, Dean’s not in bed.

The bathroom door is hanging open. And you can hear the retching sounds, slightly stifled as Dean tries to hide them.

You love him. 

He can be such a fucking idiot.

You kneel down next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder and letting out a long, slow sigh. “We can’t hunt tomorrow, baby.”

He grumbles, taking an unsteady breath that rips slightly at your head. “I’ll be alright, must’ve just eaten something-“

“We ate all the same things. You’re sick-“

“I’m not sick-“

“Dean.” You keep your voice firm, propping your chin on his shoulder with a sad smile. “You are. It’s okay that you are, even you need rest-“

“I don’t-“

“You do. Please. Let me take care of you.”

He frowns at you. “You don’t have to-“

“Yes, I do.”

“’S not that big a deal-“

“It is to me.”

He lets out a long, heavy exhale. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you.”

You shake your head, and he slumps over the toilet with another groan.

“Fine. You get one day.”

You beam, pressing a soft kiss to the stubble over his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.” He grunts. “‘M fine-“

You reach up, flushing the puke filled toilet, and he scowls.

“Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” You rise slowly to your feet, one hand still in his hair. “Let’s go to bed, my love.”

Dean grumbles something you can’t make out—but sounds crude—under his breath, and you giggle, guiding him back into the bedroom. He trails behind you, holding your hand with a tight, clammy, death-like grip, but before you can stop and get him into bed, he’s falling forward. Landing on top of you and pinning you below him with a grunt.

You squirm onto your back and give him a weak push, but his arms are already folded tight around you, and his face is pressed right into your breasts. 

A snore rips through the air before you can even say his name, and you smile into the dark. You don’t have the heart to move him now, and if this is what gets him to rest, it’s a bullet you have no reason to dodge.

You fall asleep fairly fast, only a few minutes later. And when your alarm goes off, Dean’s still knocked out above you, no sign of waking any time soon. 

It’s painful to wiggling out from below him, but you need to grab your phone and get him medicine. Sam’s gone—a text from a few hours ago saying he’ll text if he really needs back up—but you’re not too worried about the case anymore. 

Dean’s not going anywhere.

You shuffle back into your room with a bottle of Dayquil and some saltines, and Dean’s eyes flutter open with a groan as you sit on the mattress. 

He mutters your name, shifting to rest his head on your lap. “Where’d you go?”

“Medicine and food.” You set the crackers on the bedside table, and Dean grunts.

“Not hungry.”

You let out a soft laugh. “And you said you weren’t sick-“

“Yeah, yeah, I know. You gonna stay with me?”

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Dean nods, and you can’t stop your almost pathetic smile.

“Okay. But you need to take your medicine.”

He shakes his head, trying to roll away, and his exhaustion is working to your advantage. He’s still big and heavy—all but dead weight—but right now, you’re stronger. You can drag him back and pull him upright, until he’s slumped against your body, but not going to choke on the liquid you’re trying to push through his lips.

He groans, turning his head into your shoulder, blocking your access to his mouth. “This shit tastes like ass, ‘m not drinkin’ it-“

“Do you want to go hunt the goo monster?”

He shakes his head. “I wanna watch TV with my girl.”

You blink, and it really shouldn’t shock you how fast he flipped. The struggle was always going to be getting Dean down. Not keeping him there. That’s always the struggle. He’ll grumble about a case he doesn’t want, but throw everything he’s got into it once he’s there. He told you he didn’t do relationships for three years straight, but the moment he caved and kissed you in the rain like all those movies he claims he hates, he’s never once tried to stray from your side. He’s a beautiful, adorable, brilliant dumbass who does everything all or nothing. 

And that, it seems, includes being taken care of.

“We can watch TV if you take your medicine.”

He pouts, but turns his head and opens his mouth. 

You don’t bother to stop your soft laugh at his sour expression when he swallows, and he groans, wrapping his arms tight around your waist.

“TV.”

“Yes, sir.” You lean around to grab the remote from his bedside table, and he groans.

“That’s playin’ dirty, sweetheart-“

“I know. Nothing you can do about it right now, Winchester.”

“Y’know, I always had a nurse fantasy.”

“And we can explore that,” you kiss the top of his head, humming against his sweaty brow. “After you’re better.”

He grunts, holding you a little tighter, and when you turn on the TV he rolls you around until you’re between his legs, and he’s draped fully around you.

Most of the day is slow. Easy. Dean’s fever isn’t breaking, but it’s not building either. You manage to convince him to let you got long enough to make him soup and get him water, and keeping it in moderation manages to stop anymore vomit. The next dose of Dayquil goes down easier—with bribery of another kiss, and the promise that you’ll let him fuck you stupid when he’s better—and when Sam texts you asking if Dean’s gotten you on the road, you send him a photo of Dean sprawled back over you, snoring and drooling like a dog.

And it’s beautiful, to see him so relaxed. To watch him sleep so peacefully against you, and know he trusts you enough to let you do this for him. And he said one day, but this is probably going to last at least two more, given the way he pushed it. 

You don’t really mind. Just like, if he passes it on to you, no part of you can bring yourself to be angry about it. It means he was holding you tight. It’s another excuse to keep resting, sitting in each other’s comfort and watching TV until the afternoon turns into evening, and the evening turns into night.

There’s no need for either of you to move, in the morning.

You have each other. 

And that’s all you really need.

End Note: Can't believe I'd never done a sick fic before. I am always sick. I love fluff. I've opened floodgates maybe.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

Me fr.

Yes

[nightxcreature]

I LOVE THAT FOR ME 😭❤️

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits 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 and—completely ruined—underwear. 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).

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

NO THANK YOU I LOVE YOU 😭❤️

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits 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 and—completely ruined—underwear. 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).

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

Just two idiots in love. 🥰

Been Keeping It Down

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits 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 and—completely ruined—underwear. 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).

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

Castiel Big Bang

A new bang is coming to town in August. If you are a fan of and love Castiel as much as me, this is the Bang for you. This is not a Destiel only bang (but I am a Destiel girlie and Destiel is more than welcome and encouraged, but not mandatory), it is a Castiel focused bang. Most any and most ships involving Castiel will be allowed (please read the rules for exceptions to this rule) and it is open to participants ages 14 and up. A copy of the rules and schedule are attached so mark your calendars:)

Rules and Schedule

[nightxcreature]

My Girl (Beau Arlen)

Summary: Just a short one shot about our favorite Sheriff telling his girl that he loves her. I haven't written anything about Beau before now, so I hope you enjoy this fluffy little piece.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x Unnamed Female (No use of Y/N)

Warnings: None, just 634 words of fluff.

A/N: The format may be a bit funky on this one, I was having a hard time getting it to load here.

The first time he’d said it wasn’t on purpose; it just fell out of his mouth like he’d said it a million times. They’d only been dating a few months, but Beau had quickly come to realize that she wasn’t a morning person. At all. So, when he’d made it mandatory that everyone working at Helena’s sheriff’s office be at work bright and early one Saturday morning for a training brief, it was safe to say that she was pissed. Rolling in right on time, hair a mess, pouty lips and tired eyes. Absolutely beautiful. He’d sent her his best charming smile and laughed loudly at the scowl he’d received in return before sauntering over and kissing her lips softly, “Aren’t you just a sight for sore eyes?” He’d murmured, green eyes shining as he’d smiled down at her. She’d lifted her gaze to meet his with a blank stare, her pouty lips on full display as she grumbled, “I hate it here. I’m thinking about quitting.” He laughed again and placed an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. Kissing the top of her head, he shook his own, “Pretty sure you won’t find another boss that’ll show his appreciation quite like I do.” He’d muttered before releasing her and walking back toward Pop to start the brief with a clap of his hands. Several hours later, he glanced around the room in search of her to no avail. Leaning over he grabbed his phone from the desk and dialed her number…straight to voicemail. Weird. Jenny happened to be walking by, and he didn’t miss the snicker she let out at his confused expression, “Lose your lady?” She’d asked as she nudged his hip and glanced down at the empty coffee mug on his desk, “I can give you two guesses as to where she snuck off to.” He shook his head again but followed her gaze with his own. Looking back up, Jenny smiled, “You know she won’t last without it.” A deep sigh left his lips, but the amused smile that crossed them caused Jenny to chuckle. He held out his hand as she pulled her phone out and passed it to him, “Don’t give her too much hell, she’s grabbing something for me, too.” He rolled his eyes and laughed softly as he dialed the number again. Unsurprisingly, she answered Jenny’s call quickly causing him to scoff as she muttered, “Did he catch me? I’m almost back. “ “Yeah, I’d say you’ve been caught.” Beau whispered back, grinning widely when he’s met with silence on the other end, “You at least grab something for me, too?” “No.” She snapped too quickly. He could hear the lie in her words, “I don’t like you.” He’d laughed loudly, running his free hand through his hair, “Oh yeah? That’s not what you said last night.” “Shut up.” Came her grumbled reply and he could almost see the flush rising to her cheeks. Then, “Of course I got you something. ‘M not cruel. Way nicer than you.” He snorted, but nodded slowly, “Yeah, that’s why I love you.” It slipped out so easily he almost didn’t catch himself. Quick, fluid, right. There was another beat of silence on the other end that gave him time to realize what had just come out of his mouth and anxiety crashed into him like a tidal wave, “I didn’t mean…I’m sorry, Darlin’, that came out all…” “I know. I love you, too.” She replied casually, effectively cutting him off. He could hear the smile in her voice when she murmured, “See you in a minute.” She’d hung up then and a few minutes passed until she was sneaking back into the room, an iced coffee in one hand and his heart in the other.

______________________________________________________________

A/N: No tag list for this one because I don't have one for Beau at the moment lmao If you'd like to be added just let me know!

[nightxcreature]

🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

(x)

Check out the @jacklesversebingo blog to find your next favorite story.

Below is a list of our lovely group for Round Two of the bingo.

Show these fantastic authors and creators some love by commenting and reblogging their work. Be sure to check out their blogs, too, for additional fanworks.

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone \ @artyandink \ @ashewintercpu \ @chevroletdean \ @coffee-obsessed-writer

@copperboom82 \ @deadlydivergentgirl \ @deanbrainrotwritings \ @deaneverafterstories \ @deans-queen

@dean-winchester-is-a-warrior \ @enigmalynne \ @foxyjwls007 \ @holylulusworld \ @impala-dreamer

@impalaimagining \ @jensengirl83 \ @justagirlinafandomworld \ @kazsrm67 \ @kickingitwithkirk

@k-slla \ @minefield-of-a-ninja \ @nescaveckwriter \ @nightxcreature \ @phoenixwritesfanfiction

@pink-sparkly-witch \ @riteofpassage77 \ @rizlowwritessortof \ @rubyvhs \ @shy-taylorsversion

@spnbabe67 \ @ssadesto \ @supernotnatural2005 \ @torn-and-frayed \ @wayward-dreamer

@winchester19-67 \ @winchester-girl67 \ @zepskies

[nightxcreature]

[at Walburga's funeral] Regulus: To Mother. She was... Sirius: ...related to us.

[nightxcreature]

🎶Two bad bitches at the same damn time…at the same damn time…🎶

Make it Clear

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (oral f! receiving, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping.

But he might never want you to leave.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one was very fun. All time favorite hobby, giving men emotions.

Word Count: 5.4k

The room is dark.

You never let Dean turn on the overheads, there are no windows in the bunker, and you angle yourself to stay away from the hallway light—leaking under the door—so it’s as dark as you can possibly make it. 

It’s still not enough.

Your eyes aren’t your friend, and they adjust. You can still hear your skin slapping against Dean’s as he guides you up and down his cock, and his groans of your name whenever you squeeze around him or scratch at his chest. You can feel him, everywhere, and it’s the best, cruelest thing in the world. 

He’s deep inside of you, pressed right on that spot no one else can ever it, and you can feel it lighting up in every nerve of your body. He keeps trying to grab your hand, and you don’t know what that’s supposed to help with, but you can’t let him. But there’s not winning, because the only way to avoid it is planting your palms flat on his chest and feeling the firm muscle shift and flex whenever he ruts up into you. He’s got a hand secured on your hip to keep you above him and the other playing with your tits. Flicking at your nipple and palming at them more for himself than you, but it still feels good. Then his hand will shift down to flick at your clit, and you’ll arch your back with a high gasp, and it’s too much and never enough. 

It really doesn’t matter if Dean is doing this for you, or for himself. You’ll give him whatever he wants. 

But it’s not dark enough. 

So you keep your eyes squeezed shut, and try not to think about who’s below you. It’s an impossible task, when nobody else is a good as he is. Nobody fits into you like Dean, no one else has that deep, gravelly voice and says your name like it’s a baseline in their favorite song, no one else knows that if they grab you by your neck and press their thumb into your mouth, right as they slam up into you, you’ll make that stupid, high, breathy sound and your pussy will flutter around them. 

And Dean always laughs to himself after, and the sound rumbles in his chest and vibrates against your clit, and then you let out the loud moan of his name that means you lost. 

You know it’s Dean below you. It’s always going to be Dean below you, until he kicks you out to the curb. And even then, you’ll just sit in the gutter and hope he comes back.

You love him. You’d never want anyone else but him. 

But Dean doesn’t do love. 

And you knew that, the first time he kissed you after a bad hunt, right after yelling at you for ten straight minutes about trying to get yourself killed. You knew it when cornered you in the hallway with a hungry expression, licking his lips and muttering that he didn’t mean to yell, but he needed to be able to touch you. You’ve known it, every time you’ve fallen back into bed with him—only more and more as the months pass, until it’s more of a routine than an itch being scratched—and he’s pulled you apart, and you’ve failed to find a room that’s dark enough. 

Because this is the part that you always try so hard to avoid, and never can. Dean moans your name and tries to pull you down into a kiss, and you can’t stop him—you don’t hate yourself that much, or enough—but you still can’t look at him. And then you can taste the cherry and whiskey from dinner on his lips, and feel him a little more than everywhere, and he mutters your name again.  

You push up. You always sit right back up, even when Dean tries to trap you against his chest. 

But you also fail again. 

Your eyes open. 

And he’s art. Looking up at you will the sex-addled expression you only see half shrouded in shadows, where his eyes are hooded and he’s licking his lips. And he looks like he was carved from marble rather than just made, and his chest is heaving as he fucks up into you at a brutal pace, and when your mouth falls open in a silent scream he pushes up and kisses you again.

You manage to close your eyes.

The damage is already done.

You love him. You love his face, and how he never stops you from digging your nails into his chest until it’s littered with small marks, and how when he cums in you he moans your name in the only way you’ve ever wanted to hear it. You love how he always stays in you for another moment after, and buries his face in your breasts like he can’t bear to move—even though he always does, and you know he just likes boobs—before kissing your neck and going to clean you up. 

The cleaning you up is the worst part. You have to wait for him, because whenever you try to leave after that he just picks you up and tosses you back onto the bed. And your heart won’t be able to take that, right now. The way he’ll just wrap his arms around your stomach and carry you to the mattress, pinning you down and grumbling that you’re like a stray cat sometimes, just taking his food and running away before he can take care of you. 

And you always tell him he doesn’t even like cats, and he just laughs, shrugs, and pushes your legs apart to clean the mess between them. 

Today, you don’t try to run. It’s already too much to have him watching you so carefully as he works, and leaving soft kisses on your knees and thighs. You have just stare at the ceiling and take it, trying to fight down the soft sob rising in your throat. 

This isn’t fair. You love him, and he’s just doing this to you like it’s not breaking and remaking you every single fucking moment, and you want to hit him then climb right into his chest forever. 

And you know Dean cares about you. He’s your friend, and that’s probably why you’re allowed to stay in his bed after. Why he always brings you water and food to get your energy back. Friends is still a part of the arrangement. Even with benefits.

But it’s been too much, today. So before Dean can even grab the box of your favorite snack he keeps in his mini fridge—just for you, which is even crueler—you’re running. Grabbing your clothing and scrambling into it, then slipping out the door before he can stop you. 

It’s fucking cowardly. 

But you need a shower so you stop feeling his phantom warmth on your body. To wash away the smell of him all over your hair, and give you a safe place to cry on the floor until it feels a little better. And if you’d told Dean you needed a shower, he’d just try to shower together. 

It’s so mean. How he does sweet things like that and expects you not to fall for him, to keep the line between sex and friendship so firm. 

You can’t even tell him he’s being mean. He doesn’t know you love him. He has no way to know.

You still need to curl up in the corner of the shower and cry, though. Where the soft sobs that shake your body are drowned in the water, and the tears are washed away the same second they fall. Then you can pick yourself up, drag yourself back together where Dean had unraveled you, and just keep moving. 

It’s not good form, to ignore him. You have to smile at Dean when he walks into the kitchen the next morning, and not start crying when all you get is an odd frown in return. You just drop your gaze back to your cereal, and bite your lip to keep it from wobbling. And when you go to town with Sam you can feel him staring at your back as you leave, and when you’re putting away the groceries and talking to Sam about something stupid, Dean won’t stop walking in and out of the room without saying a single word.

He’s still your friend. You smile at him every time, but wait for him to speak first, and he never does. He just frowns and grumbles something at Sam, then fucking walks away. 

He’s ignoring you.

Maybe he’s done with you. Maybe he called it, last night, and now he’s trying to figure out how to tell you. And that fractures at your heart all day, right until you’re curled up in the library, trying to think about anything but Dean, and failing just as drastically as you always do. 

Or maybe Dean’s just Dean. Grumpy and bad at talking about anything. 

Because he doesn’t seem done with you when he leans over your chair and starts to kiss along your neck. 

You shouldn’t let him. Not when he’s barely said a word to you all day. 

But you love him. And he hasn’t been angry or rude. He might have just had a bad day. 

So you angle your head a little to the side to grant him further access, and let out a long sigh. 

He bites and sucks a deep mark against your skin. 

You’re going to fall apart again, and he’s barely even touched you.

“Dean,” you mumble, trying to keep your attention on your book. “Sam’s in the other room.”

He grunts, big hands brushing your hair to the side. “So? He’s seen me do a hell of a lot worse than kiss a pretty girl.”

“But- It’s-“ Your breath hitches as he nips at your throat, and you shake your head weakly. “Dean- I can’t.”

He freezes. “Can’t what.”

“Have sex.” You mumble, turning another page, having not read a single word on the first one. “I- I’m busy.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart, we can just sit.”

“But- I- I’m busy-“

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” He sighs, right in your ear, and it sends a shiver up your spine. Then he says your name, and you have to just keep fucking looking at your book.

He repeats it. You just hum. You can’t-

“Look at me.” He grunts, and you swallow. 

All the words on the page look more like scratching marks. All you can really see is Dean in your periphery, moving to kneel before you and taking your face between his hands. 

You still can’t look. Even as he tilts your head up, you keep your eyes fixed down.

You don’t know what he’s trying to do, when he grunts your name again. 

You know it’s mean.

“Son of a bitch,” He mutters, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, and you almost start crying again. “Fucking- Just look at me-“

You shake your head weakly. “I- I’m busy-“

“Too damn busy to look at me?”

There’s no good answer to that. And Dean know is, because he lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. 

“C’mon, baby, I- I know you’re pissed at me, but-“

That gets your gaze to snap up to his. And he looks devastated. Like you’ve been kicking him on the ground, with a deep frown and furrowed brow and open expression of strain over his handsome features. 

You really don’t know what’s happening. At all.

“What?”

Dean clears his throat, and suddenly you can hear how hoarse his voice is. “You’ve been ignoring me all day-“

“You’ve been ignoring me-“

“I’ve been giving you space.” He grunts. “And don’t try and tell me something isn’t wrong. You fuckin’ bolted last night, so I know something’s wrong.”

Fuck. “I- I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. And I know I fucked something up, and I’m gonna fix it-“

“You can’t fix it, Dean.”

His brows raise. “So there is something.”

Fuck. “You- Uh-“

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters, tracing his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. “I’ll fix it, baby. Promise.”

“I-“ You let out a long, slow sigh. Too late to go back now. “Dean, I told you, you can’t.”

“Not if you don’t tell me.” He grumbles, holding your gaze. “Did I forget something? Say something? Was- Uh- Was it bad last time-“

“It’s never bad.” You say quickly, and his frown twitches. “And you- this isn’t your fault-“

“It sure goddamn feels like it’s my fault.” He snaps. “And you just need tell me what to do. I’ll do it. Swear I will, I’ll do anything, just tell me how to fix it.”

You need to look away from him. He’s on his knees and begging you, and it hurts. He’s pressing on a raw, open wound in your heart and he doesn’t even know it, and you’re confused and trapped in him, and he doesn’t know. He can’t know. He’s never known. And you have to look away but you can’t. You’ve never been able to. To look away, or walk away, or stop loving him.

And Dean looks like he’s in pain, and that should make you mad, but it just breaks your heart even more.

“Dean.” You hold his hands against your face, giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s not your fault. I promise.”

His eyes narrow. “Alright, then tells me whose fault it is, and I’ll kick their ass-“

“It’s my fault.” You whisper, your voice already cracking. “I- I know you don’t do relationships, Dean, and I’m not trying to like, give you an ultimatum or something, but I can’t- I can’t keep-“

You take a shaking breath, and Dean mutters your name, but you just squeeze your eyes shut and keep pushing.

“I- I love you, and this,” you gesture between your bodies. “It’s hurting me, Dean. It really hurts. And that’s not your fault. But it still hurts. That’s it.”

He’s not saying anything. And you’re still not looking at him, so you can’t work out if he’s pissed, or annoyed, or indifferent. 

Pissed you can take. At least you can try and let him fully break your heart, so you’re cured of him. Annoyed you can handle too. You’reannoyed with yourself too. 

But indifferent might break you. The idea that Dean simply doesn’t give a shit that you love him, and he’s willing to keep fucking you as long as you don’t expect more- 

That will slam you into the dirt, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to drag yourself back up. 

He says your name, and you can’t read that tone. “Open your eyes.”

You shake your head. He’s still touching you. Rough, warms hands so gentle on your face. Maybe he knows he’s about to shatter your heart, so he’s trying to be careful with the rest of you.

“Baby, I need you to look at me.” 

Baby. 

That’s not fair.

Your eyes drag open, and Dean’s frowning at you. But it’s not his angry frown, where he looks like he’s gunning to rip something in half. It’s not his bored frown either. 

It’s just that hurt look. Like a kicked dog, wet from the rain and whimpering to be let inside. 

You were wrong about the indifference. 

This hurts more. 

“You love me?” He whispers, and it’s hard to talk through the lump in your throat. 

“I- I’m-“

He mutters your name, firm and demanding, and you nod. 

“Yeah. I do. I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenches. “You- You’re fucking sorry?”

You blink. “I-“

“And you think I don’t love you?” His voice is raising. Not to a shout, but still something angry. “You- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re-“

“Dean-“

“Of course I fucking love you!” He snaps, and you might be floating out of your body. “I- Goddamnit, I’ve been- I thought you just- Fuck-“

“Dean.” You try to make your voice sound firm, but it just comes out a plea. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I know you don’t, babygirl.” He mutters, shaking his head, and you bite on your lower lip until you taste blood. “Shit, I’ve been such a dumbass-“

You frown. “No you haven’t-“

“Yeah, I have. I didn’t know this wasn’t a-“ He swallows, scanning over you with a broken expression, his voice almost a rasp. “I thought we were dating.”

You might be drowning. Or dead. Maybe Sam crashed the car on the way back from town, and this is just hell or heaven or limbo. The world is blurry, but you can see Dean clearly. There’s a ringing in your ears, but you still heard him.

You think you heard him. You’re really not sure.

“What?”

“You’ve been it for me,” Dean says your name, and your grips tightens on his hands. “For a goddamn year, you’ve been everything. And I- I thought I told you. We- we go to bar together, and we sleep in the same bed on hunts, and I- Son of a bitch, we’ve gone on dates-“

“No, we haven’t-“

“We go to the movies all the goddamn time-“

“As friends.” You protest, and Dean snorts.

“Friends don’t give each other hand jobs in the theater, sweetheart.”

You flush, but still shake your head. “But you- You never told me-“

“Yeah, I did.”

“Dean-“

“I said I had to have you.” He mutters. “That I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t need you.”

Your eyes widen. “I- I thought you meant my body.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I figured that out myself.”

“It’s- You’ve just always said you don’t do relationships-“

“I didn’t. Before you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, scanning over you carefully, his voice still a rasp. “Do you- do you want that?”

You frown. “Want-“

“Me.”

You can’t stop your mouth from falling open. “Of course I fucking want you, dumbass, I just said I loved you.”

Something flashes over Dean’s face, and he nods slowly. “Good. That’s- Good. C’mon.”

He starts to tug you to your feet, and you just stare at him. “Dean, what-“

“Move, sweetheart, I’m trying to fuck you properly-“

“You always fuck me properly-“

“Apparently not, if you thought I didn’t love you-“

Your heart does a little stutter stop. “You really love me?”

“Course I fuckin’ love you. More than anything. But you didn’t know, so I gotta fix that- Son of a bitch.”

He’s staring at you, and you blink up at him in open confusion. “What?”

“That’s why you always make me turn off the lights.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “And why you’re always on top, and you never hold my hand, and- Fuck, baby, I thought you were just shy-“

“Dean, I-“

“No.” His hand moves to cover your mouth, his eyes narrowed on yours. “We’re doin’ this right, this time. I’m gonna fuck you with the lights on, and you’re gonna look at me and take everything I give you. Blink twice if you’ve got it.”

You’re only staring at him, something dying then rebooting in your brain. He loves you. Dean loves you. And he’s looking at you as if you’re all he’s ever wanted, and you need him, and you can’t remember how to do anything but look at him-

“I need you to blink, sweetheart.” He mutters. “I’m not doing anything until you’re good with it.”

That’s the reset. You need him, now, and you can move again.

You pull his hand down slowly, holding his gaze as you speak. “I’m good with it. Please.”

His throat bobs, and you get a tight nod in return. “Good. Hold on.”

“Hold- Dean!”

At the very least, Dean moved your book out of your lap before he tossed you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He’s walking before you even get a chance to wiggle, and the moment you try, a sharp slap lands on your ass. 

You squeak, twisting and pushing on his back to glare at him, and you don’t have to see his face to know he’s wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Dean Winchester, I’m gonna kick your ass-“

“You’re cute when you threaten me.” He turns to nip at the exposed skin of your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. “C’mon, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You frown, but still slump into his hold. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I- I dunno-“

“You better not be talking about what we’re about to do.” He hums, and you go almost boneless as one of his hands trails right between your thighs, rubbing your pussy over your shorts. 

“Dean-“

“Trust me, baby.” He shoulders open the door to his room, and lowering you down to sit on the edge of the mattress and settling between your legs. “This is about me.”

You swallow, nod, and Dean’s smirk splits into a full, wide grin. He holds your face so carefully, as he pulls you into a kiss. Trailing his tongue over your lips and nipping at the corner of your mouth, chuckling as your arms wrap around his neck and you must be dreaming. You’ve had this dream. The one where you bite his lower lip right back and he growls, deepening the kiss until melted against him and clinging to his as tight as you can, pulled entirely apart from only a kiss. The dream where you’re still Dean’s to do whatever he wants with, but all he wants is you. 

It hits you fully, when he helps you out of your shorts without ever fully breaking the kiss, presses his hand against your clothed pussy, and groans into your mouth. 

All Dean wants is you.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters your name, rubbing his palm in a slow circle. “You ever get this wet for anyone else, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling on his neck. “N- No, Dean-“

“I know,” he coos, almost teasing, and you start to grind into him. “You need it bad, don’t you-“

“Yes-“ You gasp as the heel of his palm starts to rub over your clit. “Feels so good-“

“Yeah, it does.” He mutters, and you buck into his touch. “Jesus, baby, someone would think I’ve been neglecting you-“

“Dean-“

“Sorta have, I guess. Need to fix that.” His fingers drift up, playing with the band of your panties. “You like these?”

“No-“

“I’ll buy you new ones anyway.” 

You hear the rip of the fabric, but a weak protest barely leaves your throat before Dean’s diving down, and everything narrows to heaven. It’s always heaven, when Dean licks a firm stripe your pussy and sucks your clit between his lips, giving it just enough attention drive you insane before he moves away. Dragging down and tasting every bit of your pleasure, groaning against you when your thighs squeeze his head, the sound vibrating through your body and making you fall flat back on the bed.

Your hands fly into his hair, as he pushes his tongue into your entrance and lets his nose rub on your clit. His stubble is tickling at your inner thighs, and he keeps moaning into you, and whenever you gasp his name, it only seems to spur him on. 

“Shit- I-“ You take a sharp breath when his teeth scrape against you, and his hands squeeze your ass, angling you a little higher. “Dean-“

He groans, and when you angle your head up, he’s fucking rutting against the edge of the bed. 

He’s getting off on it. On eating you out like he’s been starved of you.

And you’re seconds from toppling over the edge when he pulls away, and a high whine leaves your throat.

“Taste so good,” He mutters, kissing right over your clit and sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. “Son of a bitch, baby, the sounds you make-“

His thumb presses on your clit, a loud moan pushes itself out of your throat, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Dean,” you mumble, tugging at his hair. “I was so close-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, dragging your hand away before kissing over your knuckles as well. “But want you to cum on my cock. You think you can do that?”

You nod frantically, and Dean grins.

“Good girl.”

He rises up, shedding his clothing like it’s coated with toxins, and crawls over you with an almost feral grin. You can see how hard he is, thick and long and all yours, and your legs spread wide to let him settle between them.

This is usually the part where you make him flip you over, and you fix your gaze anywhere but his face. But tonight, it’s all Dean. And he’s keeping you right below him, twinging his fingers in yours and squeezing your hand with a wide grin. 

You don’t know how you ever lived without this. Without your eyes wide on Dean’s as he pushes into you, watching his nostrils flare, and mouth fall open in pleasure. You’re never going to be able to not have it, now. But that was always the fear. 

Now you get to have Dean bottom out, lean down to give you a heavy, hot kiss as he lets you adjust, and fall apart from only the adoration in his gaze. 

“Ready?” He mutters, his voice a deep, gravely sound that makes you clench around him, and he groans. “Goddamnit, sweetheart-“

“Sorry,” you whisper, and he laughs.

“No, you’re not.”

You’re really not.

Because Dean starts to fuck you. 

He’s everywhere. Drilling into you until your right back on the edge, his lips attacking every bit of bare skin he can find. One hand stays in yours as the other angles you up to drive himself impossibly deeper, until he’s hitting a deep and needy spot that makes stars cloud your vision. Every time you roll to meet him, he moans your name and captures your lips back against his, and your arms wrap around his neck to keep him a close as possible. So his body is molding into yours, and there’s no clear line between you, and every time you plead for more he just swallows it with a kiss, and throws it right back to you. 

The hand on your hip moves without warning, pressing right over your clit, and you fly apart. Warmth washing over you like a wave as your scream, and Dean just eats that sound too. 

He’s not stopping. His cock slams right back against that spot, and you’re thrown even higher up. But Dean just keeps catching you—fucking you into oblivion and rubbing your clit until you’re a messy, whining frenzy—and when you sense him reaching the edge, you hook your legs around his waist to try and keep him.

You know you have him.

But you don’t want to miss a single thing. 

Dean slams home with another moan and pinch of your clit, and you cling to him as tight as you can. You’re a boneless, heated mess of want, but you’re Dean’s. And he’s still rutting into you as your last orgasm shivers up your spine, and he collapses over you with a grunt. 

“Can I-“ Dean clears his throat, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “I’ll clean you up later, promise, but I kinda wanna-“

“Stay?” You whisper, your voice a little hoarse from the everything, and Dean chuckles. 

“Yeah. That.”

“Okay.”

He pushes up on his palms, remaining sheathed inside of you as he gives you a pointed look. “That easy, huh?”

You flush, your fingers curling on his neck. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he rolls his hips, already semi-hard again, and your lips part in a sharp gasp. “For months. Thought you just didn’t like, y’know-“ He nods down between your bodies. “This.”

“Cuddling?”

“Yeah. And if I knew all I had to do was ask-“ He frowns to himself. “Would you have said yes?”

“To you?” Your voice is still soft, and Dean only gives you a small nod in return. “Yeah.”

“Even though you thought we weren’t together?”

You sigh. “I still loved you, Dean.”

He nods slowly. “And now?”

“Wha-“

“You love me now, right.”

You giggle, tugging him down into a long, slow kiss before humming against his lips. “Now, I’m never letting you go.”

“Good.” He mumbles, twitching inside of you and making your hips jerk. “Not gonna go anywhere. I’ll latch onto you like, uh- What’s something that sticks-“

“Velcro?”

“Sure.” He kisses and sucks a path down your neck, finally stopping to bury his face in your breasts, his words muffled against your skin. “Long as I get to hold you, babygirl, ‘m good.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and it’s impossibly good to be able to touch him like this. Like he’s yours, and if you so much as try to blow away in the wind, Dean with launch up and catch you. If you start to drift, he’ll tug you right back. And you can see now, all the moments he’s been doing that before—kiss you with too many teeth to not want to leave a mark, holding you to his chest like you’re a lifeline—and it breaks your heart, but it’s already mending. You’ll make it up to him.

And he must be reading your mind, because he props his chin up with a deep furrow in his brow, grunting your name like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Dean.” You mimic back to him, and his lips twitch.

“You’re getting sassy, sweetheart.” He nips at your skin, and you squeal, whacking his shoulder. “I like it.”

You swallow, holding his gaze. “Nobody says sassy-“

“I said it-“

“Because you have the heart of a ninety-year-old, my love.” You boop his nose with a soft smile—now that you’re allowed to do this, you don’t think a gun to your head would stop you—and his eyes widen into a look of what might be awe.

“Marry me.” He whispers, and you blink.

“Dean, we’ve been dating for an hour-“

“Been four months for me. And I meant it, you’re everything for me, I- I gotta-“ He’s pushing up to hang back over you, framing your face with one hand and almost a frantic look in his eyes. “I love you, babygirl, and if I know I’m not gonna be good at telling you that, but you need to know-“

“I know.” You smile up at him, wiggling slightly around his cock, and he grunts. Given the surprise over his face, he might have forgotten he was in there. “I do, Dean. I only didn’t because I was- I dunno- I just didn’t. But I know now. So let’s give it at least another four months before that.”

“Four months.” He mutters, nodding. “What day is it.”

“Uh- I’m not-“ Your eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know shit, sweetheart.” Dean rolls you over without warning, pinning you to his chest above him and looking up at you like you’re the final answer to every question in the universe. “We’re gonna go on some real dates, and I’ll sleep in your bed and make out with you in front of everyone-“

“You already try to do that-“

“Yeah, but I’m gonna do it more. Everyone will know that you’re my girl.” He kisses to corner of your mouth, and you giggle again. 

You sound sort of like an idiot. You’re certainly smiling like one. 

You really don’t care.

“I’m gonna make you fall in love with me so hard.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“I am in love with you-“

“Then more. You’re gonna love me more.”

You shake your head, giving him a soft smile. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

His eyes flash again, and get a deep, heavy kiss before he speaks again. It’s all exploration and time, because Dean knows you, but he seems to want more, and you have all time in the world. 

And he tucks the hair behind your ears when he pulls away, his touch so soft, and his smirk dangerous as he thrusts up into you, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Never cared about possible, sweetheart.” He drawls. “You’re mine, and I’m never gonna give you a reason to leave.”

End Note: Thinking about Dean going to the movies like "this date is going great!" and she's just straight sweating.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

I want this. I need this. 😩

Make it Clear

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends with benefits to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (oral f! receiving, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions

Summary/Warnings: Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping.

But he might never want you to leave.

Author's Note: Request from an anon! This one was very fun. All time favorite hobby, giving men emotions.

Word Count: 5.4k

The room is dark.

You never let Dean turn on the overheads, there are no windows in the bunker, and you angle yourself to stay away from the hallway light—leaking under the door—so it’s as dark as you can possibly make it. 

It’s still not enough.

Your eyes aren’t your friend, and they adjust. You can still hear your skin slapping against Dean’s as he guides you up and down his cock, and his groans of your name whenever you squeeze around him or scratch at his chest. You can feel him, everywhere, and it’s the best, cruelest thing in the world. 

He’s deep inside of you, pressed right on that spot no one else can ever it, and you can feel it lighting up in every nerve of your body. He keeps trying to grab your hand, and you don’t know what that’s supposed to help with, but you can’t let him. But there’s not winning, because the only way to avoid it is planting your palms flat on his chest and feeling the firm muscle shift and flex whenever he ruts up into you. He’s got a hand secured on your hip to keep you above him and the other playing with your tits. Flicking at your nipple and palming at them more for himself than you, but it still feels good. Then his hand will shift down to flick at your clit, and you’ll arch your back with a high gasp, and it’s too much and never enough. 

It really doesn’t matter if Dean is doing this for you, or for himself. You’ll give him whatever he wants. 

But it’s not dark enough. 

So you keep your eyes squeezed shut, and try not to think about who’s below you. It’s an impossible task, when nobody else is a good as he is. Nobody fits into you like Dean, no one else has that deep, gravelly voice and says your name like it’s a baseline in their favorite song, no one else knows that if they grab you by your neck and press their thumb into your mouth, right as they slam up into you, you’ll make that stupid, high, breathy sound and your pussy will flutter around them. 

And Dean always laughs to himself after, and the sound rumbles in his chest and vibrates against your clit, and then you let out the loud moan of his name that means you lost. 

You know it’s Dean below you. It’s always going to be Dean below you, until he kicks you out to the curb. And even then, you’ll just sit in the gutter and hope he comes back.

You love him. You’d never want anyone else but him. 

But Dean doesn’t do love. 

And you knew that, the first time he kissed you after a bad hunt, right after yelling at you for ten straight minutes about trying to get yourself killed. You knew it when cornered you in the hallway with a hungry expression, licking his lips and muttering that he didn’t mean to yell, but he needed to be able to touch you. You’ve known it, every time you’ve fallen back into bed with him—only more and more as the months pass, until it’s more of a routine than an itch being scratched—and he’s pulled you apart, and you’ve failed to find a room that’s dark enough. 

Because this is the part that you always try so hard to avoid, and never can. Dean moans your name and tries to pull you down into a kiss, and you can’t stop him—you don’t hate yourself that much, or enough—but you still can’t look at him. And then you can taste the cherry and whiskey from dinner on his lips, and feel him a little more than everywhere, and he mutters your name again.  

You push up. You always sit right back up, even when Dean tries to trap you against his chest. 

But you also fail again. 

Your eyes open. 

And he’s art. Looking up at you will the sex-addled expression you only see half shrouded in shadows, where his eyes are hooded and he’s licking his lips. And he looks like he was carved from marble rather than just made, and his chest is heaving as he fucks up into you at a brutal pace, and when your mouth falls open in a silent scream he pushes up and kisses you again.

You manage to close your eyes.

The damage is already done.

You love him. You love his face, and how he never stops you from digging your nails into his chest until it’s littered with small marks, and how when he cums in you he moans your name in the only way you’ve ever wanted to hear it. You love how he always stays in you for another moment after, and buries his face in your breasts like he can’t bear to move—even though he always does, and you know he just likes boobs—before kissing your neck and going to clean you up. 

The cleaning you up is the worst part. You have to wait for him, because whenever you try to leave after that he just picks you up and tosses you back onto the bed. And your heart won’t be able to take that, right now. The way he’ll just wrap his arms around your stomach and carry you to the mattress, pinning you down and grumbling that you’re like a stray cat sometimes, just taking his food and running away before he can take care of you. 

And you always tell him he doesn’t even like cats, and he just laughs, shrugs, and pushes your legs apart to clean the mess between them. 

Today, you don’t try to run. It’s already too much to have him watching you so carefully as he works, and leaving soft kisses on your knees and thighs. You have just stare at the ceiling and take it, trying to fight down the soft sob rising in your throat. 

This isn’t fair. You love him, and he’s just doing this to you like it’s not breaking and remaking you every single fucking moment, and you want to hit him then climb right into his chest forever. 

And you know Dean cares about you. He’s your friend, and that’s probably why you’re allowed to stay in his bed after. Why he always brings you water and food to get your energy back. Friends is still a part of the arrangement. Even with benefits.

But it’s been too much, today. So before Dean can even grab the box of your favorite snack he keeps in his mini fridge—just for you, which is even crueler—you’re running. Grabbing your clothing and scrambling into it, then slipping out the door before he can stop you. 

It’s fucking cowardly. 

But you need a shower so you stop feeling his phantom warmth on your body. To wash away the smell of him all over your hair, and give you a safe place to cry on the floor until it feels a little better. And if you’d told Dean you needed a shower, he’d just try to shower together. 

It’s so mean. How he does sweet things like that and expects you not to fall for him, to keep the line between sex and friendship so firm. 

You can’t even tell him he’s being mean. He doesn’t know you love him. He has no way to know.

You still need to curl up in the corner of the shower and cry, though. Where the soft sobs that shake your body are drowned in the water, and the tears are washed away the same second they fall. Then you can pick yourself up, drag yourself back together where Dean had unraveled you, and just keep moving. 

It’s not good form, to ignore him. You have to smile at Dean when he walks into the kitchen the next morning, and not start crying when all you get is an odd frown in return. You just drop your gaze back to your cereal, and bite your lip to keep it from wobbling. And when you go to town with Sam you can feel him staring at your back as you leave, and when you’re putting away the groceries and talking to Sam about something stupid, Dean won’t stop walking in and out of the room without saying a single word.

He’s still your friend. You smile at him every time, but wait for him to speak first, and he never does. He just frowns and grumbles something at Sam, then fucking walks away. 

He’s ignoring you.

Maybe he’s done with you. Maybe he called it, last night, and now he’s trying to figure out how to tell you. And that fractures at your heart all day, right until you’re curled up in the library, trying to think about anything but Dean, and failing just as drastically as you always do. 

Or maybe Dean’s just Dean. Grumpy and bad at talking about anything. 

Because he doesn’t seem done with you when he leans over your chair and starts to kiss along your neck. 

You shouldn’t let him. Not when he’s barely said a word to you all day. 

But you love him. And he hasn’t been angry or rude. He might have just had a bad day. 

So you angle your head a little to the side to grant him further access, and let out a long sigh. 

He bites and sucks a deep mark against your skin. 

You’re going to fall apart again, and he’s barely even touched you.

“Dean,” you mumble, trying to keep your attention on your book. “Sam’s in the other room.”

He grunts, big hands brushing your hair to the side. “So? He’s seen me do a hell of a lot worse than kiss a pretty girl.”

“But- It’s-“ Your breath hitches as he nips at your throat, and you shake your head weakly. “Dean- I can’t.”

He freezes. “Can’t what.”

“Have sex.” You mumble, turning another page, having not read a single word on the first one. “I- I’m busy.”

“That’s fine, sweetheart, we can just sit.”

“But- I- I’m busy-“

“Yeah, I heard you the first time.” He sighs, right in your ear, and it sends a shiver up your spine. Then he says your name, and you have to just keep fucking looking at your book.

He repeats it. You just hum. You can’t-

“Look at me.” He grunts, and you swallow. 

All the words on the page look more like scratching marks. All you can really see is Dean in your periphery, moving to kneel before you and taking your face between his hands. 

You still can’t look. Even as he tilts your head up, you keep your eyes fixed down.

You don’t know what he’s trying to do, when he grunts your name again. 

You know it’s mean.

“Son of a bitch,” He mutters, his thumb brushing over your lower lip, and you almost start crying again. “Fucking- Just look at me-“

You shake your head weakly. “I- I’m busy-“

“Too damn busy to look at me?”

There’s no good answer to that. And Dean know is, because he lets out a long, slow breath, and shakes his head. 

“C’mon, baby, I- I know you’re pissed at me, but-“

That gets your gaze to snap up to his. And he looks devastated. Like you’ve been kicking him on the ground, with a deep frown and furrowed brow and open expression of strain over his handsome features. 

You really don’t know what’s happening. At all.

“What?”

Dean clears his throat, and suddenly you can hear how hoarse his voice is. “You’ve been ignoring me all day-“

“You’ve been ignoring me-“

“I’ve been giving you space.” He grunts. “And don’t try and tell me something isn’t wrong. You fuckin’ bolted last night, so I know something’s wrong.”

Fuck. “I- I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are. And I know I fucked something up, and I’m gonna fix it-“

“You can’t fix it, Dean.”

His brows raise. “So there is something.”

Fuck. “You- Uh-“

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters, tracing his thumb slowly over your cheekbone. “I’ll fix it, baby. Promise.”

“I-“ You let out a long, slow sigh. Too late to go back now. “Dean, I told you, you can’t.”

“Not if you don’t tell me.” He grumbles, holding your gaze. “Did I forget something? Say something? Was- Uh- Was it bad last time-“

“It’s never bad.” You say quickly, and his frown twitches. “And you- this isn’t your fault-“

“It sure goddamn feels like it’s my fault.” He snaps. “And you just need tell me what to do. I’ll do it. Swear I will, I’ll do anything, just tell me how to fix it.”

You need to look away from him. He’s on his knees and begging you, and it hurts. He’s pressing on a raw, open wound in your heart and he doesn’t even know it, and you’re confused and trapped in him, and he doesn’t know. He can’t know. He’s never known. And you have to look away but you can’t. You’ve never been able to. To look away, or walk away, or stop loving him.

And Dean looks like he’s in pain, and that should make you mad, but it just breaks your heart even more.

“Dean.” You hold his hands against your face, giving him a small, sad smile. “It’s not your fault. I promise.”

His eyes narrow. “Alright, then tells me whose fault it is, and I’ll kick their ass-“

“It’s my fault.” You whisper, your voice already cracking. “I- I know you don’t do relationships, Dean, and I’m not trying to like, give you an ultimatum or something, but I can’t- I can’t keep-“

You take a shaking breath, and Dean mutters your name, but you just squeeze your eyes shut and keep pushing.

“I- I love you, and this,” you gesture between your bodies. “It’s hurting me, Dean. It really hurts. And that’s not your fault. But it still hurts. That’s it.”

He’s not saying anything. And you’re still not looking at him, so you can’t work out if he’s pissed, or annoyed, or indifferent. 

Pissed you can take. At least you can try and let him fully break your heart, so you’re cured of him. Annoyed you can handle too. You’reannoyed with yourself too. 

But indifferent might break you. The idea that Dean simply doesn’t give a shit that you love him, and he’s willing to keep fucking you as long as you don’t expect more- 

That will slam you into the dirt, and you’re not sure you’ll be able to drag yourself back up. 

He says your name, and you can’t read that tone. “Open your eyes.”

You shake your head. He’s still touching you. Rough, warms hands so gentle on your face. Maybe he knows he’s about to shatter your heart, so he’s trying to be careful with the rest of you.

“Baby, I need you to look at me.” 

Baby. 

That’s not fair.

Your eyes drag open, and Dean’s frowning at you. But it’s not his angry frown, where he looks like he’s gunning to rip something in half. It’s not his bored frown either. 

It’s just that hurt look. Like a kicked dog, wet from the rain and whimpering to be let inside. 

You were wrong about the indifference. 

This hurts more. 

“You love me?” He whispers, and it’s hard to talk through the lump in your throat. 

“I- I’m-“

He mutters your name, firm and demanding, and you nod. 

“Yeah. I do. I’m sorry.”

His jaw clenches. “You- You’re fucking sorry?”

You blink. “I-“

“And you think I don’t love you?” His voice is raising. Not to a shout, but still something angry. “You- Son of a bitch, sweetheart, you’re-“

“Dean-“

“Of course I fucking love you!” He snaps, and you might be floating out of your body. “I- Goddamnit, I’ve been- I thought you just- Fuck-“

“Dean.” You try to make your voice sound firm, but it just comes out a plea. “I don’t understand what you’re talking about.”

“I know you don’t, babygirl.” He mutters, shaking his head, and you bite on your lower lip until you taste blood. “Shit, I’ve been such a dumbass-“

You frown. “No you haven’t-“

“Yeah, I have. I didn’t know this wasn’t a-“ He swallows, scanning over you with a broken expression, his voice almost a rasp. “I thought we were dating.”

You might be drowning. Or dead. Maybe Sam crashed the car on the way back from town, and this is just hell or heaven or limbo. The world is blurry, but you can see Dean clearly. There’s a ringing in your ears, but you still heard him.

You think you heard him. You’re really not sure.

“What?”

“You’ve been it for me,” Dean says your name, and your grips tightens on his hands. “For a goddamn year, you’ve been everything. And I- I thought I told you. We- we go to bar together, and we sleep in the same bed on hunts, and I- Son of a bitch, we’ve gone on dates-“

“No, we haven’t-“

“We go to the movies all the goddamn time-“

“As friends.” You protest, and Dean snorts.

“Friends don’t give each other hand jobs in the theater, sweetheart.”

You flush, but still shake your head. “But you- You never told me-“

“Yeah, I did.”

“Dean-“

“I said I had to have you.” He mutters. “That I couldn’t keep pretending I didn’t need you.”

Your eyes widen. “I- I thought you meant my body.”

He sighs. “Yeah, I figured that out myself.”

“It’s- You’ve just always said you don’t do relationships-“

“I didn’t. Before you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He pauses, scanning over you carefully, his voice still a rasp. “Do you- do you want that?”

You frown. “Want-“

“Me.”

You can’t stop your mouth from falling open. “Of course I fucking want you, dumbass, I just said I loved you.”

Something flashes over Dean’s face, and he nods slowly. “Good. That’s- Good. C’mon.”

He starts to tug you to your feet, and you just stare at him. “Dean, what-“

“Move, sweetheart, I’m trying to fuck you properly-“

“You always fuck me properly-“

“Apparently not, if you thought I didn’t love you-“

Your heart does a little stutter stop. “You really love me?”

“Course I fuckin’ love you. More than anything. But you didn’t know, so I gotta fix that- Son of a bitch.”

He’s staring at you, and you blink up at him in open confusion. “What?”

“That’s why you always make me turn off the lights.” He mutters, mostly to himself. “And why you’re always on top, and you never hold my hand, and- Fuck, baby, I thought you were just shy-“

“Dean, I-“

“No.” His hand moves to cover your mouth, his eyes narrowed on yours. “We’re doin’ this right, this time. I’m gonna fuck you with the lights on, and you’re gonna look at me and take everything I give you. Blink twice if you’ve got it.”

You’re only staring at him, something dying then rebooting in your brain. He loves you. Dean loves you. And he’s looking at you as if you’re all he’s ever wanted, and you need him, and you can’t remember how to do anything but look at him-

“I need you to blink, sweetheart.” He mutters. “I’m not doing anything until you’re good with it.”

That’s the reset. You need him, now, and you can move again.

You pull his hand down slowly, holding his gaze as you speak. “I’m good with it. Please.”

His throat bobs, and you get a tight nod in return. “Good. Hold on.”

“Hold- Dean!”

At the very least, Dean moved your book out of your lap before he tossed you over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes. He’s walking before you even get a chance to wiggle, and the moment you try, a sharp slap lands on your ass. 

You squeak, twisting and pushing on his back to glare at him, and you don’t have to see his face to know he’s wearing a shit-eating grin.

“Dean Winchester, I’m gonna kick your ass-“

“You’re cute when you threaten me.” He turns to nip at the exposed skin of your thigh, and a moan escapes your throat. “C’mon, baby. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

You frown, but still slump into his hold. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“I- I dunno-“

“You better not be talking about what we’re about to do.” He hums, and you go almost boneless as one of his hands trails right between your thighs, rubbing your pussy over your shorts. 

“Dean-“

“Trust me, baby.” He shoulders open the door to his room, and lowering you down to sit on the edge of the mattress and settling between your legs. “This is about me.”

You swallow, nod, and Dean’s smirk splits into a full, wide grin. He holds your face so carefully, as he pulls you into a kiss. Trailing his tongue over your lips and nipping at the corner of your mouth, chuckling as your arms wrap around his neck and you must be dreaming. You’ve had this dream. The one where you bite his lower lip right back and he growls, deepening the kiss until melted against him and clinging to his as tight as you can, pulled entirely apart from only a kiss. The dream where you’re still Dean’s to do whatever he wants with, but all he wants is you. 

It hits you fully, when he helps you out of your shorts without ever fully breaking the kiss, presses his hand against your clothed pussy, and groans into your mouth. 

All Dean wants is you.

“So fucking wet,” he mutters your name, rubbing his palm in a slow circle. “You ever get this wet for anyone else, sweetheart?”

You shake your head, your fingers curling on his neck. “N- No, Dean-“

“I know,” he coos, almost teasing, and you start to grind into him. “You need it bad, don’t you-“

“Yes-“ You gasp as the heel of his palm starts to rub over your clit. “Feels so good-“

“Yeah, it does.” He mutters, and you buck into his touch. “Jesus, baby, someone would think I’ve been neglecting you-“

“Dean-“

“Sorta have, I guess. Need to fix that.” His fingers drift up, playing with the band of your panties. “You like these?”

“No-“

“I’ll buy you new ones anyway.” 

You hear the rip of the fabric, but a weak protest barely leaves your throat before Dean’s diving down, and everything narrows to heaven. It’s always heaven, when Dean licks a firm stripe your pussy and sucks your clit between his lips, giving it just enough attention drive you insane before he moves away. Dragging down and tasting every bit of your pleasure, groaning against you when your thighs squeeze his head, the sound vibrating through your body and making you fall flat back on the bed.

Your hands fly into his hair, as he pushes his tongue into your entrance and lets his nose rub on your clit. His stubble is tickling at your inner thighs, and he keeps moaning into you, and whenever you gasp his name, it only seems to spur him on. 

“Shit- I-“ You take a sharp breath when his teeth scrape against you, and his hands squeeze your ass, angling you a little higher. “Dean-“

He groans, and when you angle your head up, he’s fucking rutting against the edge of the bed. 

He’s getting off on it. On eating you out like he’s been starved of you.

And you’re seconds from toppling over the edge when he pulls away, and a high whine leaves your throat.

“Taste so good,” He mutters, kissing right over your clit and sending a shiver of pleasure through your body. “Son of a bitch, baby, the sounds you make-“

His thumb presses on your clit, a loud moan pushes itself out of your throat, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, just like that.”

“Dean,” you mumble, tugging at his hair. “I was so close-“

“I know, sweetheart.” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, dragging your hand away before kissing over your knuckles as well. “But want you to cum on my cock. You think you can do that?”

You nod frantically, and Dean grins.

“Good girl.”

He rises up, shedding his clothing like it’s coated with toxins, and crawls over you with an almost feral grin. You can see how hard he is, thick and long and all yours, and your legs spread wide to let him settle between them.

This is usually the part where you make him flip you over, and you fix your gaze anywhere but his face. But tonight, it’s all Dean. And he’s keeping you right below him, twinging his fingers in yours and squeezing your hand with a wide grin. 

You don’t know how you ever lived without this. Without your eyes wide on Dean’s as he pushes into you, watching his nostrils flare, and mouth fall open in pleasure. You’re never going to be able to not have it, now. But that was always the fear. 

Now you get to have Dean bottom out, lean down to give you a heavy, hot kiss as he lets you adjust, and fall apart from only the adoration in his gaze. 

“Ready?” He mutters, his voice a deep, gravely sound that makes you clench around him, and he groans. “Goddamnit, sweetheart-“

“Sorry,” you whisper, and he laughs.

“No, you’re not.”

You’re really not.

Because Dean starts to fuck you. 

He’s everywhere. Drilling into you until your right back on the edge, his lips attacking every bit of bare skin he can find. One hand stays in yours as the other angles you up to drive himself impossibly deeper, until he’s hitting a deep and needy spot that makes stars cloud your vision. Every time you roll to meet him, he moans your name and captures your lips back against his, and your arms wrap around his neck to keep him a close as possible. So his body is molding into yours, and there’s no clear line between you, and every time you plead for more he just swallows it with a kiss, and throws it right back to you. 

The hand on your hip moves without warning, pressing right over your clit, and you fly apart. Warmth washing over you like a wave as your scream, and Dean just eats that sound too. 

He’s not stopping. His cock slams right back against that spot, and you’re thrown even higher up. But Dean just keeps catching you—fucking you into oblivion and rubbing your clit until you’re a messy, whining frenzy—and when you sense him reaching the edge, you hook your legs around his waist to try and keep him.

You know you have him.

But you don’t want to miss a single thing. 

Dean slams home with another moan and pinch of your clit, and you cling to him as tight as you can. You’re a boneless, heated mess of want, but you’re Dean’s. And he’s still rutting into you as your last orgasm shivers up your spine, and he collapses over you with a grunt. 

“Can I-“ Dean clears his throat, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. “I’ll clean you up later, promise, but I kinda wanna-“

“Stay?” You whisper, your voice a little hoarse from the everything, and Dean chuckles. 

“Yeah. That.”

“Okay.”

He pushes up on his palms, remaining sheathed inside of you as he gives you a pointed look. “That easy, huh?”

You flush, your fingers curling on his neck. “I- I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I’ve been wanting to do this,” he rolls his hips, already semi-hard again, and your lips part in a sharp gasp. “For months. Thought you just didn’t like, y’know-“ He nods down between your bodies. “This.”

“Cuddling?”

“Yeah. And if I knew all I had to do was ask-“ He frowns to himself. “Would you have said yes?”

“To you?” Your voice is still soft, and Dean only gives you a small nod in return. “Yeah.”

“Even though you thought we weren’t together?”

You sigh. “I still loved you, Dean.”

He nods slowly. “And now?”

“Wha-“

“You love me now, right.”

You giggle, tugging him down into a long, slow kiss before humming against his lips. “Now, I’m never letting you go.”

“Good.” He mumbles, twitching inside of you and making your hips jerk. “Not gonna go anywhere. I’ll latch onto you like, uh- What’s something that sticks-“

“Velcro?”

“Sure.” He kisses and sucks a path down your neck, finally stopping to bury his face in your breasts, his words muffled against your skin. “Long as I get to hold you, babygirl, ‘m good.”

You tangle your fingers in his hair, and it’s impossibly good to be able to touch him like this. Like he’s yours, and if you so much as try to blow away in the wind, Dean with launch up and catch you. If you start to drift, he’ll tug you right back. And you can see now, all the moments he’s been doing that before—kiss you with too many teeth to not want to leave a mark, holding you to his chest like you’re a lifeline—and it breaks your heart, but it’s already mending. You’ll make it up to him.

And he must be reading your mind, because he props his chin up with a deep furrow in his brow, grunting your name like it’s the most important thing in the world.

“Dean.” You mimic back to him, and his lips twitch.

“You’re getting sassy, sweetheart.” He nips at your skin, and you squeal, whacking his shoulder. “I like it.”

You swallow, holding his gaze. “Nobody says sassy-“

“I said it-“

“Because you have the heart of a ninety-year-old, my love.” You boop his nose with a soft smile—now that you’re allowed to do this, you don’t think a gun to your head would stop you—and his eyes widen into a look of what might be awe.

“Marry me.” He whispers, and you blink.

“Dean, we’ve been dating for an hour-“

“Been four months for me. And I meant it, you’re everything for me, I- I gotta-“ He’s pushing up to hang back over you, framing your face with one hand and almost a frantic look in his eyes. “I love you, babygirl, and if I know I’m not gonna be good at telling you that, but you need to know-“

“I know.” You smile up at him, wiggling slightly around his cock, and he grunts. Given the surprise over his face, he might have forgotten he was in there. “I do, Dean. I only didn’t because I was- I dunno- I just didn’t. But I know now. So let’s give it at least another four months before that.”

“Four months.” He mutters, nodding. “What day is it.”

“Uh- I’m not-“ Your eyes narrow. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

“I don’t know shit, sweetheart.” Dean rolls you over without warning, pinning you to his chest above him and looking up at you like you’re the final answer to every question in the universe. “We’re gonna go on some real dates, and I’ll sleep in your bed and make out with you in front of everyone-“

“You already try to do that-“

“Yeah, but I’m gonna do it more. Everyone will know that you’re my girl.” He kisses to corner of your mouth, and you giggle again. 

You sound sort of like an idiot. You’re certainly smiling like one. 

You really don’t care.

“I’m gonna make you fall in love with me so hard.” He mutters, and you sigh.

“I am in love with you-“

“Then more. You’re gonna love me more.”

You shake your head, giving him a soft smile. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

His eyes flash again, and get a deep, heavy kiss before he speaks again. It’s all exploration and time, because Dean knows you, but he seems to want more, and you have all time in the world. 

And he tucks the hair behind your ears when he pulls away, his touch so soft, and his smirk dangerous as he thrusts up into you, and your breath hitches in your throat.

“Never cared about possible, sweetheart.” He drawls. “You’re mine, and I’m never gonna give you a reason to leave.”

End Note: Thinking about Dean going to the movies like "this date is going great!" and she's just straight sweating.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature @sthefferrete @lyarr24

@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey

@and-i-wish @jsudsgf @fullbelieverheart @wowzabowza69 @bonbonnie88

@pillowjj @barnes70stark @kamisobsessed @happyfxckinghorrors @deans-yn

@jofinka

[nightxcreature]

Mine too! 🫶🏼

Favorite Part.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Unnamed Female (could be read as xReader)

Summary: Just basking in the love she has for peaceful Dean. Fluffy.

Warnings: Slight Smut, one curse, MDNI 18+ ONLY

A/N: I missed you! Sorry I’m ass at putting things out regularly. Hopefully I’ll be medicated for my ADHD again soon and can get on a schedule! 🥳

The sex was always great. Always. Dean was experienced in knowing the female anatomy better than most gynecologists, so of course it was. But the sex wasn’t the best part, wasn’t her favorite part.

The feeling of Dean between her thighs, pulling her over the brink again and again and again until she was thoroughly fucked out and satisfied from head to toe would always make her heart race, but that wasn’t her favorite part.

Watching him come undone, eyes scrunched up, jaw slack, and her name falling from his lips like a prayer as his hips moved sloppily against hers, would forever be her favorite view…but not even that was her favorite part.

But This. His chest rising and falling against hers as he rested his head in the crook of her neck murmuring sweet words into her skin, this was her favorite part. The feeling of his bare skin against hers, not in a fury of emotion and passion, but in peace. In rest. In contentment. Being able to turn her head and kiss his shoulder lightly, tracing her tongue along the map of freckles scattered there while he slept comfortably beside her as if there weren’t another threat waiting in the dark for them, that was her favorite part. Running her hands through his hair and knowing that even for a moment, a single second, that this unsung hero was safe and secure in her arms, in her bed. That was her favorite part.

Even if she would only get it in small doses in those rare times when he felt like being vulnerable and open, she would appreciate it every time. She’d soak it up and fight to stay awake to enjoy him like this until her eyes burned and sleep finally pulled her under in the early hours of the morning with her hand still tangled in his hair and his breath fanning across her throat. She would hold these moments tightly, basking in the warmth of the memories for days or weeks or months until he needed to let her love him softly again. He deserved to be loved softly. And getting to be the one to do that…That was her favorite part.

————————————————————————————

A/N: Hi! I dropped off the face of the earth again. Sorry. But I remembered my idea from last night and decided to pen to paper and get this out today! If you’ve stuck around during this wacky time in my life, I’m thankful for that. I’m trying my best to do better at this. 🫶🏼

Taglist:

@lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @k-slla @enigmalynne @envysarchive

@daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk @aylacavebear

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

@xinsonyax @deansjacketblr-blog @jollyhunter @carliebear23

[nightxcreature]

Favorite Part.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Unnamed Female (could be read as xReader)

Summary: Just basking in the love she has for peaceful Dean. Fluffy.

Warnings: Slight Smut, one curse, MDNI 18+ ONLY

A/N: I missed you! Sorry I’m ass at putting things out regularly. Hopefully I’ll be medicated for my ADHD again soon and can get on a schedule! 🥳

The sex was always great. Always. Dean was experienced in knowing the female anatomy better than most gynecologists, so of course it was. But the sex wasn’t the best part, wasn’t her favorite part.

The feeling of Dean between her thighs, pulling her over the brink again and again and again until she was thoroughly fucked out and satisfied from head to toe would always make her heart race, but that wasn’t her favorite part.

Watching him come undone, eyes scrunched up, jaw slack, and her name falling from his lips like a prayer as his hips moved sloppily against hers, would forever be her favorite view…but not even that was her favorite part.

But This. His chest rising and falling against hers as he rested his head in the crook of her neck murmuring sweet words into her skin, this was her favorite part. The feeling of his bare skin against hers, not in a fury of emotion and passion, but in peace. In rest. In contentment. Being able to turn her head and kiss his shoulder lightly, tracing her tongue along the map of freckles scattered there while he slept comfortably beside her as if there weren’t another threat waiting in the dark for them, that was her favorite part. Running her hands through his hair and knowing that even for a moment, a single second, that this unsung hero was safe and secure in her arms, in her bed. That was her favorite part.

Even if she would only get it in small doses in those rare times when he felt like being vulnerable and open, she would appreciate it every time. She’d soak it up and fight to stay awake to enjoy him like this until her eyes burned and sleep finally pulled her under in the early hours of the morning with her hand still tangled in his hair and his breath fanning across her throat. She would hold these moments tightly, basking in the warmth of the memories for days or weeks or months until he needed to let her love him softly again. He deserved to be loved softly. And getting to be the one to do that…That was her favorite part.

————————————————————————————

A/N: Hi! I dropped off the face of the earth again. Sorry. But I remembered my idea from last night and decided to pen to paper and get this out today! If you’ve stuck around during this wacky time in my life, I’m thankful for that. I’m trying my best to do better at this. 🫶🏼

Taglist:

@lmhf1 @whimsyfinny @k-slla @enigmalynne @envysarchive

@daisydark @foxyjwls007 @roseblue373 @manicjk @aylacavebear

@suckitands33 @oceean @mxtansy @justwhisperingfantasies @mgchaser

@xinsonyax @deansjacketblr-blog @jollyhunter @carliebear23

[nightxcreature]

I had the sickest little Drabble idea while I was going to sleep last night and now I don’t REMEMBER IT. 😤