#Dean drabble

[deansbeer]

hi hi sweetpea! i have a new request, 'cause i'm obsessed with your writing. how about knight!dean x princess!reader? i have been obsessed with that trope lately. and i would love if you used demon!dean, since he's a knight (somewhat, right?) <3

i never got around to writing this (it’s been sitting in my inbox since april) bc i had to do some research on medieval/fantasy themes and i still don’t think i did it right 😭 i even tried to write it as if someone were narrating it (??) so yeah <3

dean wasn’t always a demon. once, he was the kingdom’s most loyal knight, your father’s right hand, the man who taught you how to hold a sword when you were twelve and your governess wasn’t looking. but that was before the war, before he made a deal to save sam’s life, before his green eyes turned black and his soul was claimed by hell.

your father should have executed him when he returned, something dark and dangerous coursing through his veins. but dean had dropped to one knee in the throne room, placed his sword at the king’s feet, and swore his loyalty hadn’t changed. just his nature.

you’d watched from behind a pillar as your father deliberated. watched as dean’s jaw clenched, waiting for judgment, his new demonic strength barely contained beneath his armor. “i’m still me, your majesty,” he’d said roughly. “still loyal to the crown. to the kingdom.” his eyes had found yours somehow, even hidden as you were.

“to what matters.” your father had eventually agreed, though not without conditions — dean would serve, but from a distance. he’d handle the kingdom’s dirty work, the threats that required a monster to fight monsters. he wouldn’t be allowed near you.

that lasted exactly three weeks. you’d snuck out to the stables one night, restless and seeking your favorite horse for a midnight ride, only to find dean there. he was tending to his own mount, movements careful and controlled. “princess,” he’d said without turning around, and you froze in your tracks.

“bit late for a ride, isn’t it?” when he finally faced you, his eyes were their familiar green, but you could see the darkness lurking beneath. “your father finds out you’re here with me, he’ll have my head. demon or not.” but he was already moving to saddle your horse, hands steady and sure just like they’d always been. some things, apparently, didn’t change.

being around dean now is an exercise in controlled tension. he maintains perfect distance in public — the appropriate three steps behind when escorting you, eyes forward, voice formal. but you catch the way his jaw tightens when visiting nobles get too familiar, the way his hand drifts to his sword when someone’s tone with you is less than respectful.

“careful,” he’d muttered to one particularly pushy duke, and though his voice was calm, you’d seen the brief flash of black in his eyes. the duke had stammered apologies and kept his distance for the rest of his visit. your father pretends not to notice these moments, but you know he’d grateful. better a loyal demon than a treacherous human.

in private, when you manage to steal moments together, dean is different. still protective, still respectful, but there’d a rawness now that wasn’t there before. “you know what the worst part is?” he’d told you once, sitting in the abandoned tower that had become your secret meeting spot. “i can feel everything. every emotion is... amplified. the anger, the hunger, the...” he’d cut himself off, looking away.

“especially around you.” you’d reached for his hand, and he’d let you take it, his skin running warmer than any human’s should. “sometimes i think this curse just made me more myself. stripped away all the delusion i was using to mask how i truly felt.” his thumb had brushed over your knuckles, gentle despite the strength you knew he possessed. “made it harder to pretend i don’t—” but footsteps on the stairs had interrupted, and he’d been gone before the door even opened, leaving only the lingering scent of sulfur and leather.

the court whispers, of course. about the demon knight who shadows the princess, about the unnatural devotion in his eyes. they don’t understand that dean winchester’s loyalty isn’t forced by his demonic nature — if anything, his new instincts should make him rebellious, hungry for power. instead, he channels that darkness into protecting you, turning his curse into a weapon for the crown.

“let ‘em talk,” dean had said when you’d mentioned the rumors. “they fear me, good. means they’ll think twice before moving against you or your father.” he’d paused, something vulnerable flickering across his face. “besides, they’re not wrong. i am devoted to you. demon, human, or anything in between — that doesn’t change.”

the first real test comes when a neighboring kingdom sends assassins. you wake to the sound of fighting, dean’s roar echoing through your chambers as he tears through would-be killers. by the time your guards arrive, it’s over. dean stands among the bodies, blood on his armor, eyes pure black. “princess,” he says, voice rough and inhuman, “are you hurt?” you shake your head, unable to look away from the carnage. this is what your father meant — dean’s protection comes with a price, painted in blood across your royal floors. “don’t look at me like that,” he says, and suddenly he sounds exhausted. “like i’m a monster. i’ve always been capable of this. now i’m just... better at it."

you find him later in the castle’s chapel, of all places. he’s not praying — demons can’t, at least that’s what he'd told you once, churches make his skin crawl. but he sits in the back pew, staring at nothing. “holy ground hurts,” he says when you sit beside him. “burns, actually. constant reminder of what i am.” you want to ask why he’s here then, but you already know. punishment. he once said it was a better way to confess his sins.

dean’s still trying to be good, even with hell running through his veins. “those men tonight,” he continues, “i didn’t just kill them. i enjoyed it. enjoyed protecting you, but also... enjoyed the violence.” his hands clench and unclench. “that’s the real curse. not the strength or the immortality. it’s that i like what i’ve become, and i hate myself for it.”

the breaking point comes during the harvest festival. a visiting prince gets too bold, too drunk, too aggressive with his advances. you handle it with royal grace until he corners you on a balcony, and then dean is there. not violent, not yet, but the promise of it radiates from every line of his body. “the lady said no,” dean says simply. the prince makes the mistake of pulling rank, of reminding dean that he’s just a cursed knight, a pet monster on the king’s leash.

dean smiles, and it’s all teeth. “you’re right. i am a monster. which means i’ve got nothing to lose if i throw you off this balcony.” the prince pales, flees, and dean turns to you with eyes flickering between green and black. “this is why your father wanted me to stay away. because i’d burn this whole kingdom down to keep you safe, and i wouldn’t lose a minute of sleep over it.”

things change after the harvest festival. your father summons both of you, and you expect exile for dean, or worse. instead, the king looks tired. “i’ve been foolish,” he says. “trying to separate you two, pretending that distance would change what’s obvious to anyone with eyes.” he turns to dean. “you’ve proven your loyalty a dozen times over. demon or not, you’re still the man i trusted with my daughter’s sword lessons.”

then to you: “and you, my dear, have been sneaking out to meet him anyway. the stable boys sure do love to gossip.” you flush, but your father waves it off. “i’m lifting the restrictions. if a demon’s devotion is what keeps my daughter safe in these dark times, so be it.”

the new arrangement takes adjustment. dean is officially assigned as your personal guard, no more pretense. the court adapts, as courts do, especially when dean’s presence means no one dares plot against you.

“doesn’t feel real,” dean admits one evening, standing on your balcony — the same one from the festival, now with very different memories. “keep waiting for someone to remember what i am, to take this away.” you step closer, close enough to feel the unnatural heat that radiates from him. “you’re dean winchester,” you tell him firmly. “knight of the realm, protector of the crown, world’s most stubborn man who literally went to hell and back. the demon part is just a little… seasoning.”

he laughs, a real one that makes his eyes crinkle. “seasoning? i corrupt everything i touch, princess.” you take his hand deliberately, lacing your fingers through his. “you’ve been touching me for months. still feel pretty uncorrupted.” his grip tightens carefully, like he’s holding something precious.

the truth is, you make an effective pair. dean’s demonic abilities make him the perfect protector, while your influence keeps him grounded, human enough. he teaches you to fight with the brutality of a demon but the strategy of a knight. you teach him that darkness doesn’t mean evil, that choice matters more than nature. “you know what i think?” you tell him one night, after he’s saved you from yet another threat. “i think you were always this protective, this devoted. the demon just took off the filter.” he considers this, absently playing with a strand of your hair.

“maybe. or maybe you just make me want to be better than what i am.” you lean into him, feeling safe despite — or perhaps because of — the monster at your side. “you already are,” you whisper, and for once, dean winchester doesn’t argue. he just holds you closer, this demon knight who would tear apart heaven and hell for his princess, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[sunsbaby]

ּ𓍯𓂃 dean winchester x fem!reader | MDNI

your fingers dig into dean's face, squishing his cheeks together. your hips grind against his roughly. pussy dripping onto his cock every time you push yourself off of it.

"please, princess– i..i wanna cum." dean whined his hands grasping onto your hips, yet he held little power over you.

this is all because he thought it was a good idea to blatantly flirt with a stupid blonde bimbo in front of you—typical dean trying to rile you up. but what he didn't take into account was things might not go as planned.

"shut up and take it, be a good boy and maybe i'll let you cum." your breath fawned into his face as you practically growled, hips slowing just to tease him.

small whimpers left his swollen lips, deans eyes were hooded over with lust. you'd reduced him to a fucked-out-whore. as soon as your pretty pussy took in his aching cock he knew he was done for. this feeling was different than any other time he sunk into your tight walls. he swore he almost came if it wasn't for the stern look in your eye.

"please 'm beggin' babydoll, let me fill you up.." he cooed, his thumb brushing against your hip. "i promise it'll feel nice, all warm with my kids." he coaxed, softly moving your hand from his no longer pressed together cheeks.

you tried to be strong, but his words took over—the sliver of power grasping over you tight. you sped up, incoherent moans and words flow into the air, which was thick with sex, your finger nails rake on his chest. red marks left in your wake as you slammed yourself onto his thick cock.

"mmm, dean! oh, baby, right there!" you practically screamed as his tip hit that sweet spot, making your orgasm come crashing down.

"there's my pretty baby.." he murmured as he came, his seed spilling inside you, coating your walls.

his cock created a bulge in your stomach as you panted on top of him—chest heaving and drool drippling down your chin. he thought you looked beautiful, it's a good look on you. he'd make you mad a thousand times over if it meant the night'll end like this..

sunny yaps! ITS BEEN A BIT SINCE I POSTED I THINK!! IM SORRY IVE BEEN BUSYY BUTTT I LOVE U ALL SMM

special tags! @bluemerakis @littlesoulshine @h8aaz @figthoughts @starzify

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

A Shirtless Winchester

Pairing: Dean x reader

________

“Uh.” You stopped halfway into your bedroom, towel tucked under your arm around your bare body, messy damp hair down your back. You blinked, meeting a cheeky smile in return. 

Dean Winchester was on your bed, laying back, reading the romance book from your nightstand.

A very shirtless Dean Winchester.

“W-What are you doing in here? On my bed?”

“Waiting for you. For a book with such a cute cover they sure do some depraved things in this,” he hummed. You looked around and back into the hall, shaking your head. “You want to make out?”

“What?!”

“Do you want to make out?”

You stared at him, Dean putting the book down and walking over to you, tucking a finger under your chin so you looked into his eyes.

“Well?”

You inhaled and dropped your towel, Dean not breaking eye contact.

“Did that answer your question?” you said.

“It did. Posed another one though.”

“I bet it did,” you said, pushing on his chest, walking him back until he lay back on the bed. “I’m gonna close that door and by the time I turn around, those pants better be gone.”

“Or what?” he smirked as you already turned back towards the doorframe.

“You’ll see, Winchester. You’ll see.”

______

[rizlowwritessortof]

The Truth

I didn't get this drabble done in time for @artyandink 's Jensen-a-thon, but here it is, anyway 🙂

Just a little soft, tipsy Dean and a moment of truth

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 760

Warnings: None (although soft!Dean is a warning in itself)

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

You sink into fragrant, steaming water, a blissful smile on your lips. You slide down to rest your head against the back of the tub, breathing deep of the vanilla and lavender scent, appreciating with every cell of your body the relaxing quiet and the privacy.

The guys are at the bar, celebrating the successful end of another hunt. You had opted for a few hours to yourself, and after Dean finally gave up trying to convince you to change your mind, they had headed out, leaving you to enjoy a little private time. You love them, you really do – Sam is like the brother you never had, and Dean… Well, Dean is basically the bane of your existence, the temptation you won’t give into, the best friend that you won’t allow yourself to have benefits with. And sometimes you just need a break from the constant magnetic pull that exists between the two of you.

You soak to your heart’s content, finally exiting the bathroom and donning a pair of sleep shorts and an old ZZ Top t-shirt so old that you can barely read the printing on it anymore. You are all smooth, soft and completely relaxed, and you settle down into the comfy old sofa, bowl of popcorn in hand, smiling happily. You settle in with a little wiggle, turning the TV on and scrolling through until you find an old mystery movie.

You’re just getting into the plot when the door opens and your solitude ends. You can tell when they walk in that they’ve had plenty to drink, and you watch with amusement as Sam shoots you a crooked smile and heads for the shower and Dean attempts to remove his boots.

He almost falls over a couple of times, then finally plops down on the nearest bed, finally managing to get both boots off. He stands back upright, swaying just a little before he makes a beeline for the popcorn on the coffee table next to your feet. He tosses a few fluffy kernels into his mouth and plops down on the couch beside you. “Whatcha watchin’?”

“Just an old movie. Mystery thriller or something.”

“Black and white – classic.” He stares at the TV with you for a couple of minutes, then suddenly goes horizontal, head in your lap as if he belongs there.

You stare down at him with an amused smile. “Comfy?” He’s always a little extra affectionate when he drinks, but he’s never done this before.

“Mmmm, yeah.” He shuffles around a bit until he’s good and comfortable. “Hey, who’s that?” he asks, pointing at the TV.

“The actress? Barbara Stanwyck.”

“She’s pretty sexy.”

You grin. “Dean, you’d think a baked potato was sexy right now. You’re drunk.”

“Mmmmmm, that sounds good. But hey – I have fucking great taste, even when I’m drunk. Which I am not.” He’s quiet for a moment, then says quietly, “I think you’re sexy. And beautiful.” You let out a soft, derisive snort, and he turns to his back and looks up at you. “Why don’t you ever believe me when I say nice things to you?”

You hesitate for a second, then answer, a teasing tone in your voice. “Another thing you do when you’re drunk is lie to women.” His eyes are heavy-lidded and solemn as he blinks slowly, and your smile fades as he reaches for your hand, gathering it to his chest and holding it close.

“I don’t lie to you.”

The atmosphere has shifted, emotions you refuse to identify swelling in your chest at his words and the look in his eyes, but before you can begin to think of a response, Dean turns back to his side and settles in again, his scruff softer than you would expect against your skin. “You smell good.” He rubs his cheek against your thigh. “And you’re soft.” He lets out a contented little sigh, hugging your forearm snug against his chest.

In a matter of minutes he is breathing slow and steady, obviously asleep, and you stare down at him, the movie forgotten. Sam comes out of the bathroom just then, looking at the two of you on the sofa with a crooked smile.

“Need me to help move him?” he asks, and you smile back, ducking your head a little to hide your blush.

“No, he’s okay.”

“All right – just wake me up if you change your mind,” he says, crawling into one of the beds and shutting off the lamp, leaving the room dark except for the glow of the television.

Tags for my lovelies: 

 @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog 

   @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel  

  @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5  

  @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog   

        @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain  

  @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie 

   @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic  

  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma   

 @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1   

 @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed  

  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies  @ladysparkles78  

@alwaystiredandconfused   @just-another-busyfangirl

[adriellej]

Destiel Headcannon - Migraines

Warnings: Nothing really, just Dean and Cas trying to be mindful of reader. 

Pairings: Destiel x Reader

Word count: 400+

A/N: I hope this is okay, I haven’t actually done Headcanons before, so that’s a first for me! I hope it’s what you wanted <3 I’m sorry to hear that you suffer from migraines. It sure isn’t fun to have to deal with. And so sorry it took so long to get to!

Request: Hey! can you do some Destiel x reader headcanons for a reader who struggles with migraines 24/7? I've been struggling with them for 3 years now. If this isn't your thing, I completely understand! @lokischickadee

When did they first realize you suffered from migraines?

Dean noticed one time when you were researching on a current hunt and you were rubbing your temples and eyes more than usual. He’d ask about it and you’d brush it off at first. He’d let it go until the pain would cause you to whimper and shy away from light and sounds.

Castiel noticed it before Dean, because he’d spent so much time observing humans, and he had truly spent many hours watching you. He wouldn’t understand much about it at first, he’d just notice you acting differently on the bad days of your migraines. He’d caught you taking some meds against it and asked about it. You’d been too tired to pretend it was nothing, so you had told him. You’d asked him not to tell Dean, and Cas always keeps his promises.

How do they feel about it?

Dean tries his best to comfort you, not only for you but also for himself. It hurts him when you’re in pain. He’d wish he could take it all away from you, he’d gladly take the pain instead of you. 

Castiel finds it hard to handle. He’d tried to heal you several times without any success. It would be frustrating for him, he’d feel less of himself because he couldn’t fix it for you. It was causing him to worry a lot more about you, and notice the slightest changes in your behavior. 

What do they do to try and make you feel better? 

Oh but these two working together to try and help you out, that was always a sight to be seen. They’d try and google their way through it at first, trying absolutely everything that Google said could potentially help ease the pain. They’d ask Sam to read up on it and help them come up with ideas. 

They’d make sure you didn’t skip meals, even though you said you weren’t hungry. They’d try to keep the lights off in the bunker, sometimes for them to stumble over things because they couldn’t see a damn thing. They would put cold towels on your forehead hoping the temperature change would help, and alongside that, they would also make you herbal tea to drink. 

Dean and Cas weren’t normally quiet when in company with each other and you, but on the bad days they’d be almost completely silent, only whispering to one another and you. They’d get angry at Sam for being too loud. 

But most of all, they would cuddle you day in and day out to help you sleep.

Tags (old tags, if you don't want to be tagged anymore, just let me know): @deans-cherry-pie1 @phoenixia67 @shadowpriestess6 @faith-in-dean @mysupernaturalfics @mrswhozeewhatsis @blacktithe7 @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @liger26 @poemwriter98 @lycangirl44 @aprofoundbondwithdean @harley7509  @chaos-and-the-calm67​  @leatherandwinchesters @that1awkwardfangirl @loveitsallineed   @1dstudyblr​   @irishdoll80​   ​ @blushingsamgirl @sis-tafics  @supernatural67brokenwings​  @ledledledledled​ @ilostmyshoereads @talesoftheimpala

[cleighwrites]

The Trouble with Love Is

SPN Fanfic

Characters - Dean Winchester, FC

Summary - Dean wallows in a bar after reuniting with a former flame

Word Count - 100

A/N - This was written for @justagirlinafandomworld's flash fiction challenge # 5. My song prompt was The Trouble With Love Is by Kelly Clarkson. This is my first time participating, I hope I succeeded! 

Warnings - angst, drinking as a coping mechanism

Dive bars at Christmastime we're the worst place to be with a freshly broken heart. Not that Dean had a broken heart; it was wounded at best, obliterated at worst.

Meeting her again after so long had given him the worst thing someone could have: hope. Hope led to all sorts of nasty things. The Kelly Clarkson song that was blasting through the dingy speakers reminded him: love would make you believe the lie, it was stronger than pride, and didn't care how fast you fell.

The trouble with love is... you've got no say at all.

So, he drank.

[deansbestfriend]

LATE NIGHT PIE & MIXED SIGNALS. 𐙚 Dean Winchester x Reader.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

A/N: I’ve returned with a Dean Drabble! Who’s shocked?! No one!

Warnings: Little angst, Implied Smut. fluff!Dean. Comfort!Dean. Dean being Dean.

Summary: You return from a hunt slightly injured where you and Dean’s post hunt ritual goes a little differently than expected—but it’s never really that different.

You come back with blood on your shirt and dried mud on your jeans. Your shoulder aches, and you can still smell the sulfur in your hair. But it’s over. The hunt is done, the witch is dead, and you didn’t die. Again.

Dean was already settled in and back in the kitchen. He always seemed to bounce back faster than you did after hunts. Two slices of pie on the table. Same kind as last time. He didn’t say anything when you sat down. This had become a ‘after the hunt’ ritual for the two of you—meanwhile Sam usually was eager to get to sleep.

He slides the plate towards your direction without even looking up. He was smooth, you liked that.

“Cherry this time.” He says. “Thought you might like a change.”

You nod, fork the crust, and try not to think about the way he’s watching you—like you might fall apart if he looks away.

“How’s your shoulder?” He asks, but the way he says it—low, gruff, like it costs him something—you know he means how are you.

“It’s fine.” You lie, because it’s easier than admitting you wanted you wanted to see him more than you wanted to sleep.

He gives you a look, the kind he usually reserves for Sam when he’s about to do something dumb. Then he moves around the table, unexpectedly. Crouching beside your chair, gently touching the tear in your jacket.

“Still bleeding.” He murmured.

“I’ve had worse.” You whisper, it came out smaller than you meant for it to.

Dean looks up. He’s too close, too warm, too much for you right now.

Your memory relapses to a more intimate time. The two of you tangled between his sheets for hours. Whether it was celebrating a high or mourning a low.

But right now you couldn’t care about the feeling of his tongue circling around your most sensitive parts. Or the way his hands aimlessly explored every curve of the familiar territory that was your body.

Right now, all you wanted was to hear him say he wanted you. Not in a sensually way, although the release would be nice. In a way that would embrace your heart in envelopes of warmth. You knew he wouldn’t though.

“You always say that.” He stands up, disappearing only for a moment before returning back with a first aid kit. He moved as if he had been preparing for this moment his whole life.

You sit still while he patches you up. His hands are careful, slower than necessary.

“Y'know,” he says, breaking the silence, “for two people who keep ending up here like this... we’re real bad at talking.”

You laugh, just a little. “Here? Is that what this is?”

He doesn’t answer you right away. Instead Dean fixates on finishing wrapping your arm, then returns back to his chair. Returning to his pie.

“I think about you,” he says suddenly, without looking up. Refusing to look you in the eye. “When I’m out there. More than I should. Every damn time.” He spoke in spite of himself.

“Dean—”

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he interrupts quickly. “Normal isn’t an option anymore, for either of us. But... I keep ending up back here. With you.”

Your chest tightens, “Because it’s easy? Or because you want to?”

He finally looks at you. Really looks at you, and for the first time that you can remember you feel seen.

“Because you feel like the only part of my life that isn’t completely messed up.”

And there it is. Almost.

You nod, like you understood. More out of habit than comprehension. You wished he would come out and say it, straight and simple. “I love you” or “I need you” or even “I want you to stay.” Things you wished he said—but never did.

Dean Winchester doesn’t talk in declarations. Mostly gestures. Pie slices, stitches. The way he watches you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he blinks.

You push your pie across the table to him. You spoiled your own appetite with your thoughts. “You need it more than I do.”

Dean gives a soft smile. “Nah. I’ve got what I need.”

And for a second—just a second—you believe him.

[sunsbaby]

this was the perfect time to admire the interior of your car. dean's hand was smushing your head into the leather seats. white and red filled your vision.

"that's it..take it like the good girl you are f'me–" dean groaned from behind you, his hips slamming against your ass.

the sound of skin slapping against each other, and the smell of sex linger in the air. the scent mixed in with your cinnamon air freshener created a surprisingly pleasant aroma. your fingers grasp fail to grasp onto something. you were sure your backseat was messed up—both with sweat and your arousal.

"dean, oh my god, don't stop!" you managed to form and spew out even though your brain had been reduced to mush just by his cock entering your tight heat.

his tip brushed against the spongy stop inside you, every vein and slight pulse dragging against your upper walls bringing you closer to the edge. his hand tightened it's grip on your hair, forcing your face more into the drool coated leather.

"yea, yea–cum on my cock you dirty girl.." dean murmured as his hips stuttered, slamming his full length into you. his seed filling you up to the brim, mixing in with yours as you came right after. mewls and moans left your saliva coated lips as you came down from your high.

"you're cleaning my car, dean." you said as your mind cleared up and thoughts clearly ran through your head.

"yea, okay missy." dean said, pressing a kiss to your nape as he slipped out, the mixture of cum dripping out of your pretty pussy and onto the backseat, leaving its mark.

just as dean left his—inside you.

sunny yaps! A SILLY SMUTTY THOUGHT IN MY SILLY HEAD!! I LOVE YOU ALLLLL!

special tags! @bluemerakis @figthoughts @dulcescorderitas @h8aaz @deansbeer @starzify + anyone who wants to be tagged!

𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ® 𓂃 do not repost or copy my works without permission!!

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Bounty

Pairing: Bounty Hunter!Dean x reader

________

“Wait,” you said as the man who’d called himself Dean dragged you over to his car. “I’m innocent!”

“Innocent people don’t run, sweetheart,” he said. “You gonna be good in the backseat or what?”

“I was framed.”

“I’m sure you were,” he said, opening the door. He pushed you inside and quickly he was behind the wheel.

“I was framed!” You kicked the back of his seat and he turned around with a glare. 

“Because innocent people run. Right,” he said.

“I didn’t kill my boss. I was framed. He was an ass. Everyone hated him. I just fought with him yesterday out in the middle of the office so yeah, someone is framing me for it.”

“Not my job. You’re a wanted suspect and bringing you in is all I’m obligated to do.”

“I didn’t do it.”

“You got an alibi?” 

“I...I was alone last night. But I didn’t do it.”

“So no alibi. I’m gonna take you to the station now.”

“Please! Listen to me. I...I was...Mark! I bet it was Mark. He hated our boss, like hated him. Please, just give me a chance.”

“Nope,” he said. 

“Argh!” you shouted, kicking his seat again. “This is what I get for not going to fucking happy hour.”

He froze and looked you up and down.

“I talk. You answer and maybe we can avoid you going downtown. Understand?”

“You believe me?”

“No but never hurts to check facts.”

Two Hours Later

“I so so so owe you,” you said, Dean cutting you loose. “Whatever you want it’s yours.”

“Well I did miss out on the reward money,” he said. “But I’ll take a date instead. If you aren’t a murderer.”

“Well I think Mark has that all taken care of,” you said. “But a date?”

“Yeah. You’re sassy and throw a mean right hook and I like you. So a date tonight?”

“Alright. I’ll even buy since you really helped me out there.”

“Dutch?”

“I can go Dutch,” you said. “Mario’s at eight.”

“Mario’s at eight,” he said.

“This date goes well, maybe you’ll be the one in handcuffs this time.”

_______

[rizlowwritessortof]

Take a Shot

Written for @artyandink 's Jensen-a-thon event!

Let's face it, his henley looks good on both of you...

Pairing: Dean x F. Reader

Word Count: 935

Warnings: Nothing but a little good old-fashioned sexual tension, no smut, but Dean being Dean is a warning in itself 🔥🔥🔥 (Dividers by the absolutely lovely Daisy @firefly-graphics )

The tile floor is cool on your bare feet as you walk down the hall, your mind focused on the banana pudding left in the fridge from earlier tonight. If you can’t fall asleep, you might as well eat, right?

It’s kind of nice in the bunker when everyone else is in bed, only the dim light from the night lights that are always on in all the common rooms, the quiet hum of some mysterious machinery in the background, whatever it is that keeps the power on in this place. You shiver a little, the air cool on your legs. Why bother with pants when nobody else is around, anyway?

You’re halfway through the library on your way to the kitchen when Dean’s voice makes you nearly jump out of your skin, your heart pounding hard as you whirl around to face him. He’s standing across the room, a crystal tumbler of amber liquid in hand, his eyes shadowed in the half-dark. “Is that my shirt?”

“Damn it, Dean, you scared the living shit out of me!” you scold, your hand on your chest, trying to keep your heart from pounding its way free. “Why are you up? I thought you went to bed a couple of hours ago!”

An amused smile curves his lips. “Backatcha, sweetheart.”

“Well – I – I couldn’t go to sleep. So I wanted a snack.”

“Yeah, well, same here, and I wanted a drink. Mystery solved.” It’s slowly dawning on you that you’re half-dressed, and you feel the blush move up your neck, your cheeks warming as he stares you down. “You never answered me. Is that my shirt?”

You’re wearing a cream-colored henley that you may or may not have stolen – borrowed – when you were doing laundry last weekend. It’s so soft, and so big (because it’s his) and comfy, and yes, if you were being honest, you like wearing it because it belongs to him. It’s been against his skin. And you would deny that even under threat of torture.

“Yes, okay, I borrowed your shirt. And just for your information, I wouldn’t have come out here like this if I knew you were lurking around.”

“I’m not lurking. And just for your information, I don’t mind you coming out here like that.” In fact, he’s thoroughly enjoying the way his shirt looks on you. It’s soft, and it’s clinging just right to show every detail of the curves beneath – not to mention your perky nipples. No, he doesn’t really mind at all.

You can see his eyes sparkle even in the poor lighting, and you hope he can’t see your blush from where he’s standing. “Well, stop staring.” You turn your back and flounce from the room, heading to the kitchen and hoping with everything in you that the henley is covering your ass. You brush your hand back there, relieved that it is – barely – and walk resolutely to the fridge. Seriously, what the hell is he doing up, anyway?

You take the container and toss the lid into the sink, grabbing a spoon from the nearby drawer, and lean against the counter, taking a spoonful of the creamy treat and closing your eyes as it hits your tongue. So good. Totally worth a little embarrassment.

“So, you gonna share, or what?” You jump, startled again glaring up at him as he approaches.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean, could you wear a bell or something?” A thoroughly devilish grin flashes for a second, but he manages to rein it in quickly. You scoop another spoonful of the pudding, but he takes your hand in his and steers it up towards his mouth. You watch as he takes it in, those sinful lips closing around it and his eyes blinking slowly as he savors it with a soft hum. You feel your legs wobble a little, and things are clenching that should not be clenching just from watching someone eat banana pudding.

“That’s good.” He lets go of your hand, and after a couple of seconds you actually remember to take it back. You force your eyes down, but now the view is his shoulders and chest underneath another henley from his collection, this one a midnight blue, and he’s wearing sweats and his feet are bare. And you are hopelessly screwed. “Thought you were hungry,” he teases as you stand there with the empty spoon in the air, trying to remember how to breathe.

“I am – I was,” you stammer.

“Then why aren’t you eating?” He laughs softly at your defiant frown.

“Because you’re distracting me.”

“You started it.” You stare up at him, your eyes wide.

“Since when do you get distracted by me? You barely even notice me.”

“Shows how much you know.” You still stare at him skeptically, and he gnaws a bit at that plush lower lip before he continues. “Every night I walk by your door and I picture in my head what you might be wearing to bed. Some nights… well, let’s just say I really wanna open that door.”

You set the container of pudding and the spoon on the counter beside you, never taking your eyes off him. “Then why haven’t you?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m afraid you’ll tell me to get lost.”

You’re starting to smile now. “You know what they say, you miss 100% of the shots you don’t take.”

Dean steps up close, his hand moving to stroke over your shoulder and down, curling his fingers around your arm as he leans in, his voice rumbling in your ear. “Oh, sweetheart – I don’t miss.”

Tags for my lovelies: 

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  @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma   

 @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1   

 @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed  

  @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82 

 @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs  

 @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67   @zepskies

[deansbestfriend]

midnight, eventually? 𐙚 dean winchester

dean winchester x gn!reader

tags and warnings: early season fluid (or pre season 1 if you squint) alcohol consumption, dean's touch starved is showing, kissing (no smut), dean needing to feel normal for once. fluff! little angst. (I hate you john winchester)

summary: it's new years eve and Dean decides to accompany you to a party he wasn't invited too.

The elevator felt slower than it had ever been.

So much for new beginnings? You thought. You were dressed like you actually cared about the countdown, the dramatic ball drop, the shouting, the false hope that eventually sinks into crushing realization about mid June. But you played along, outfit clinging to the brash optimism you tried on for the night.

The elevator, your worst enemy, lurches at floor three and in he steps. Tall, tired, wearing a worn leather jacket like it's armor. His eyes find you instantly. Green, verdant.

Sharpened by something weathered and weary. And you? You blink at him like he's a mirage in the middle of the desert. "Bringing in the new year with whiskey? Not even a tequila soda?" You joked before your brain could stop you.

He huffs a laugh, "I don't do clear liquor before midnight."

"Two hours to go." You smile, and he mimics a toast. The liquid in the glass bottle he held sloshed. The silence that follows isn't awkward, it's charged with something. Like an old amplifier, waiting to catch sound. You're on your way to the twelfth floor, your friends probably four shots in of any alcohol they could find at the party while waiting for you.

"You've been condemned to the infamous new year's eve party too?" You nonchalantly ask as the elevator drags.

"Depends."

"On?" You reply. "You any good at small talk?" He lifts an eyebrow.

"Terrible."

He grins. "Sounds perfect. Dean."

"Y/N." She smile for the first time tonight.

You arrive together. The apartment was packed. Glitter-slick strangers, noise like broken glass, music rising to the ceiling. Champagne rivers and shuffling feet are interrupted by a girl in sequins. Her screams signal she's spotted you, an old friend, the condemner.

Dean lingers near the entrance, like the wolf at the edge of a territory that wasn't his own. You pull him in, refusing to go down alone.

He sticks close, not in a creepy way, more like gravity. You introduce him as a "friend from out of town" and he plays along. Instantly charming your friends with dry wit and boyish charm. He was a natural socializing.

Flirtatious banter with anyone who crossed his path, sending them swooning in their ongoing travels.

"Champagne," he said after a rough swallow. "Tastes like batteries and bad decisions."

You laughed.

"You're not from here," You said.

"Give it away that easily, huh?"

"It's the leather jacket." you teased.

The night carried on, the music slowed from the high pitched synched or club remixed pop music. It was something older, slower, dustier, a song made from nostalgia and smelled of cigarettes. He seemed to find comfort in it.

"Dance with me."

He blinked in disbelief. "What?"

"Come on!"

"Sweetheart," He said, lips tugging up, "I don't really-"

"Then let me lead."

That shut him up. You stepped closer. He hesitated, then gave in. Maybe just to see what you'd do. His hand found your waist, other taking yours with surprising care.

You fit together awkwardly at first, a little stiff, a little uncertain but you moved anyway.

And then, somewhere between the first step and the second breath, it clicked.

His fingers were calloused, but his grip was gentle. He smelled of leather warmed by the sun, after shave with a sharp edge and a whisper of caramel.

He looked at you like he didn't understand what was happening, but he didn't hate it.

You leaned in slightly. His arm tightened just enough to catch you.

"See," you murmured. "Not so bad."

He exhaled a laugh close to you, "yeah, yeah."

The song stretched on, and for him, it was a golden pocket of time where the world didn't need to be fixed, no one had to be saved.

You laid your head lightly against his shoulder, and he didn't pull away. He melted into you.

No words, just the sway of two people pretending for a night, that this could be something simple.

When the song ended, he didn't move right away. Neither did you. But then someone bumped into you, a girl laughing too loud, a guy with glitter riddled in his beard. The moment broke, reality leaking back in.

Dean cleared his throat, stepping back. You missed his shoulder immediately, and he missed your arms.

By 11:32pm you felt a hand at the small of your clothed back. A light touch, not possessive, just there, lingering. "You want out of here?" He asked low, against your ear.

You nodded.

The party faded behind you. He had found a solution, the roof, that neither of you should've had access too. But you didn't ask questions. The city stretched below, indifferent and alive.

He pulled a flask from his jacket, he had long abandoning the whisky bottle you met him with.

You took a sip. More whiskey.

"You always crash parties alone?" You ask, hiding your distaste in his choice of alcohol.

"I usually crash worse things."

"Like what?"

He gave you a look. Shrugging. "Let's just say, I've seen my fair share of bad nights."

He was silent, in thought. The city lights speaking for the two of you.

"You ever feel like you're living someone else's life?" He dryly spoke after another swig.

"All the time," you said.

He nodded, as if you'd just confirmed something for him.

The December winds picked up like if they were on cue, and he didn't hesitate to offer you his jacket once he noticed it had bothered you. "It's not a proposal. Just take it."

You did.

"Five minutes." He said, checking the time.

You laughed, "You keeping time now?"

"I got a thing for clocks."

You leaned against the railing, back towards the city, eyes center stage. "What happens when it hits midnight?"

He looked at you. For real. It was a heavy look. "Nothing," he said. "Unless you want it to."

You didn't mean to lean in. But you did.

And he didn't mean to meet you halfway. But he did.

The kiss was unscripted. No fireworks, no roar of the party, just a long pull of something aching. You tasted whiskey, a hint of danger, and every missed chance you didn't take before.

Then the countdown roared from below.

Ten..nine...

"You sure?" He pulled back, but not far.

You nodded.

Three...two..

He kissed you again. This time both hands at the small of your back. Your hands found themselves loosely behind his neck.

You craned upwards he met you at the small distance. The kiss began as if the two of you were unsure, but developed into something comforting. You melted at the warmth you sparked in him.

The two of you stood there together, your second chance of perfection a success. Colors blasted overhead, the city beneath seemed to cheer you on.

Dean however, worked as if it was silent. He led the kiss, your lips crashing into each other. He pulled you into his body as if he was afraid to let you go.

He seemed to find comfort in your arms even if it was brief, and you were strangers. He needed this.

But, he tore himself from you, his eyes fluttering open and once they had you could tell he yearned for more of you. But he resisted.

You stayed out there a bit longer after the party below had simmered to a hush.

Dean looked out at the skyline, closer to you than before. "I should get going."

You wanted to ask him to stay, but you didn't.

He didn't want to leave you, but he did.

The elevator carried you both back down to the first floor, you rode with him despite knowing you'd be going back up. There was a comforting silence, your fingers interlocked.

But once the doors of the elevator dragged open, he reluctantly released you from him. At first you didn't think he would turn around once he went forward.

Yet, as the view of his shoulders became bordered by the silver doors of the elevator, suddenly they parted once more. He gave you a smile, full of charm and something else.

He handed you a scrap of paper, a phone number. "If you ever find yourself on the road," he said. "Look for a '67 impala, black, no plates. I'll pull over."

And then he was gone.

[sleepyangelkami]

AN ANGEL d.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 4.5K

DEAN WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - You're nervous to lose your virginity, Dean shows you everything that you've been missing out on.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!dean, sub!reader, nervous/shy!reader, unprotected sex, creampie, p!v, teasing, loss of virginity, fingering, hickeys (r.recieving), size kink, praise kink, dean is experienced, reader is inexperienced, (1) thigh slap, big dick!dean, boob fondling, boob sucking, reader is smaller than dean, illusions to past masturbation, reader blushes, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

dean liked having you sat in his lap.

this wasn't the first time, your legs stretched around his waist while your hands scrunched idly at the black shirt he'd been wearing, your lips against his own. making out with you had to be possibly the best thing he'd ever done. it was like getting sent to heaven and back, between each breath he damned the gods that disallowed him to press his lips against yours for forever.

but you were new to all this.

he had to be gentle.

dean was the first real relationship you'd ever had. and if he was being honest, you were sort of the first real relationship he'd ever had too.

he used to hop from girl to girl, bed to bed and not think twice about it. you were the absolute opposite. you were the type of girl that didn't speak unless spoken to, you kept your head down and got through everything without so much as letting your imagination wander with what it would feel like to be with a man.

then you met him.

his hands were pinching at the fat of your thighs, he found it hard to keep his hands to himself when you were like this. between kisses, he could hear the shakiness in your breaths, it drove him unbelievably mad.

you felt almost sorry for dean, knowing it'd taken this long to get comfortable enough to even make out with the man. you knew his history and how he wouldn't go longer than a week without someone in his bed. now he'd went more than three months with you like this, aching for more.

and it wasn't like you didn't want more, believe me, you'd been aching just as horribly.

you were just... scared?

deans hands moved harshly against your skin, right hand coming down to gently slap your thigh before gripping it once again. the feeling prompted a low whimper to leave your lips.

dean almost groaned. he could get used to hearing noises like those.

when the man pulled away from your lips, heavy breaths still leaving his own, you swore you could have whimpered again just from the loss of contact.

he looked down at you, eyes all blown wide, lips slick and swollen, it was a sight he hoped was never erased from his memory. he wanted to remember this forever. "y'so needy." he had that cocky grin on his lips, cocking his head to the side as he viewed you as a whole, all his, right in his lap for the taking.

you felt your cheeks get hot at the sentence, eyes immediately darting anywhere other than his face. "don' be mean." was the mumble you let out, eyes adverting and voice lowering. you weren't able to talk to him, not when he got like this, all 'bigger' than you, it made you feel small, it made you feel wet.

"'m not, 'm not." he spoke with a low chuckle, one of his hands raising to meet your face, you felt the padding of his thumb wipe across your hot cheeks, he could tell you were nervous. then again, you were always so nervous. "i think it's cute."

again, your face got increasingly hotter but dean didn't leave you any room for words, dipping his head so his lips could meet your neck.

there was something so surreal about being like this, your hands gripping at his shirt, top lip clamped down on your bottom as he kissed against the skin of your neck.

again, this wasn't the first time he'd done something like this. makeouts and hickey-leaving was getting more and more natural in your relationship, common, even.

he'd come home from his hunts with sam and all he'd want was you either below or on top of him, his lips against anything they could reach.

you felt his lips part, sucking against your neck as one hand ran up your back, the other cupping the back of your hair. once he sucked, his tongue would smooth over the skin, pleasure to ease the pain. and he'd go again, gradually moving to different places on your neck. marking you.

your own lips were strewn shut, you were hoping and praying on every star that you didn't let a noise slip from you. you were too nervous, too embarrassed but the whole point of this was to feel good, wasn't it? so why did you feel so embarrassed to show him how good it felt?

your eyes fluttered shut, the feeling suddenly overwhelming.

you didn't register the move of your hips until his lips left your neck and his hands clamped down on your waist, low grunt leaving his mouth.

you stared at him with those big eyes and he swore he was gone. "y'can't do that, sweetheart." despite his words, his tone was gentle. "can't start something if you don't want to finish it."

he knew how inexperienced you were, he thought you wanted to hold off on losing your virginity which is why he'd never made such a move but by the way you were looking at him now, he swore you wanted nothing more than for him to take you.

and he'd gladly do so upon your command.

"i do..." you uttered. ".. want to." the words made your insides twinge, made your nose scrunch and your lips purse.

you were too nervous, shaking like a leaf on top of him. even so, with so much anxiety bottled into a human, dean made no movements of caution.

you sort of liked that dean wasn't as awkward or nervous as you were. dean was confident, that much was for sure. but being so confident also gave him this openness, seeping comfort into your veins as his large, warm hands trailed up and down your thighs.

"yeah?" his voice was breathy and his smile had left his features. he didn't need to be so teasing now, he knew you would simply burst of shyness. and he didn't want you in a position of uncertainty. "what d'you want?"

he wasn't trying to tease you, though he knew his fingers that began to dance against your skin were doing nothing to calm your nerves.

he just needed to hear you say it.

you planted your face into his chest with an incoherent mumble, cheeks alight as flames.

dean could have laughed at you but he didn't want you thinking you'd done something wrong. on the contrary, he found it downright adorable how shy you'd been getting. but you couldn't help it, this was such an unfamiliar feeling bubbling in your stomach.

"can't hear you, sweetheart." his head came down to sit atop yours, his voice a gentle whisper. "i need you to tell me what you want, okay?" his free hand tipped your chin upwards to look at him, those pretty green eyes held so much sincerity. "use your words f'me, baby."

words felt stuck in your throat, you couldn't seem to get them out. but dean didn't want to let this get away from him, he steadied your chin between his fingers.

"i want..." your voice was all breathy, all needy. it had dean reeling. "i want you to touch me."

and as the words passed your lips, you swear all the air was knocked from your lungs. listening to yourself talk had made your head feel fuzzy. before dean, you couldn't have even imagined such words leaving your lips.

dean was struggling to compose himself but nonetheless, he did. his lips quirked into this proud yet sly smirk as his fingers ran up and down your thighs. "where, angel? here?" he practically mocked, fingers against your knee.

at this point, dean had never seen an angel, he didn't believe in them. but he was sure that if angels did exist, you had to be one of them.

you could have corrected him verbally, told him to stop teasing or even scolded him for mocking you while you were all worked up like this. but instead, you chose to grasp his bigger hand in your own and trail it towards your core.

as your hand cupped his own, he could feel them shake, he almost cooed at you but he didn't want to make you more nervous than you already were.

but when his hand finally reached your clothed core, he couldn't help but let out a groan.

it didn't take longer than a second for dean to have you flipped over with your back against the mattress of the bed. a noise left your lips as he towered over you, that infamous smirk etched to his lips.

but a type of seriousness washed over him. "are you sure you want this?"

you knew he wasn't asking you to tease you or make you wait, he was being sincere and you couldn't have been more sincere back by bucking your hips with a low whine of the word, "yes." quickly followed by a "please."

"so needy." he mumbled back, lips moving to your neck while his fingers fumbled at the cotton material of your baby blue sleep shorts. he hooked his fingers around the waistband and tore it off skilfully.

he supposed his experience was paying off.

you didn't have any time to counter what he'd said, too focused on the feeling building in your stomach. much of it was worry, anxiety even but the majority of it was this foreign, amazing feeling.

"fuck." his ring clad fingers circled against your panties. you were suddenly hyper aware of how worked up you'd gotten while making out with him, a blush creeping in on your face as you turned away from him.

dean all but tutted, dragging your face back.

"don't get shy on me now, sweetheart. This wet for me, the least you can do is look at me." he had that empowering stare that told you he was in charge here, it had you shrinking further into the mattress.

but dean wasn't demanding, sure he was dominating but he didn't make you uncomfortable. truthfully, you'd been rather scared of getting this far with anybody but you were sure that if there was anybody you wanted it to be with, it was him.

his hands toyed at waistbands of your panties. "this okay?" his eyes were glued to your face, trying to watch every way your face contorted, making sure you were okay.

believe it or not, there was a lot one could tell from just looking at someone.

you nodded your head briskly, darkened and bitten lips parted slightly, covered in the slick left behind from your tongue. your cheeks had turned a darkened colour too, blush spreading across your face.

there was something so surreal about looking at you like this, knowing nobody else ever had. he pulled the panties down your legs, watching you steadily with his own lips parting open. his eyes moved from yours to trail down your body, landing on your sopping core. he couldn't help but breathe in a breath.

"you're so pretty, angel." he moved his hand upwards again, closed fingers gently toying with your clit, which earned a soft gasp from you. his lips quirked as he brought his hand away, using the other to slip off his ring. he took your wrist, holding it up gently. "take care of this for me, yeah?" you nodded as he slipped the ring onto your thumb, seeing as your other fingers wouldn't fit it. "good girl." he mumbled, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

he was suddenly hyper aware of the fact that you were a virgin.

now, dean wasn't necessarily put off by the fact that you were a virgin. dean couldn't have cared less what you were. but he needed to make sure he was gentle, more so than any other time.

because he was the first, the one you'd remember forever.

though, he intended to be your very last, too.

his fingers trailed across your pretty tank top, down to your hips and finally edging between your legs. he peppered kisses against your face and down across your jaw, finally landing on your neck, fingers pushing your legs apart with ease.

as shy as you were, you didn't hide from him, you allowed him to part your legs, his hand was against your inner thigh, softly soothing up and down against your skin.

but he had to make sure, before he touched you. "sure this is okay? not having second thoughts?"

of course dean wanted to but he only wanted to if you wanted to. but you nodded anyway, swallowing though your mouth was dry anyway. "'m just nervous." you admitted softly.

it was no secret to dean that you were a nervous creature already. he knew this was all new to you but he didn't want you to feel shy around him. "you don't need to be." he pressed a kiss against the supple of your cheek, hand moving further as you let out a shaky breath. "not with me." as the whisper left his mouth, his hand came up to touch your hot core.

the noise that left your mouth should have embarrassed you but right now, you couldn't think of anything other than the feeling of his hand right where you needed him.

he collected your wetness onto his fingers, spreading it up and down your folds, two fingers parting from the rest as he gently eased them into your hole.

heavy breaths suddenly left you, chest rising and falling while dean's face was practically hidden in your neck, peppering kisses, sucking and licking against the soft skin while his fingers settled inside of you.

he gave you hardly any time to adjust to the feeling, pulling them out and then thrusting them right back into you. "you're so warm, sweetheart." he mumbled in slight awe. suddenly, the image took over his mind, the image of him inside of you. he couldn't seem to wipe it away.

he knew that giving yourself to him even just like this was a lot for you, he didn't want to push you any further than he already had tonight.

however, the image still tainted his memory.

as the speed of his fingers increased, so did the volume of your noises.

a sticky, wet sound bounced from wall to wall, causing your cheeks to warm incredibly further. you flushed, your own hand coming up to cover your mouth, suddenly aware of how loud you'd been.

a coo left his lips, free hand coming to drag your wrist away from your mouth. "wanna hear every noise you can make, angel."

and his words alone made you whimper.

the palm of his hand bounced against your clit with every thrust of his hand, emitting these noises from you that you'd never been able to draw from yourself.

"y'sound so pretty, you know that, baby?" you made a noise to show you were listening, though all it told dean was that you felt good. "look so pretty too. so beautiful. all mine."

dean couldn't keep his hands to himself.

his free hand dragged against your skin, pushing at it as if trying to get closer to you in any way possible.

against his fingers formed a creamy ring. he looked down at his digits sliding in and out of you, wetness surrounding you both, keeping you together by a wet string.

he let his thoughts wander.

as evil as it was, he simply couldn't think of anything else, he imagined it was his dick sliding in and out of your hot, wet hole, the noises you'd make would be so much louder, you'd be so much fuller.

then he was suddenly aware of your experience once again.

you were tight, incredibly tight which only made him scissor his fingers. if you were going to take his dick, he needed to stretch you out first.

"dean!" you spluttered out as he scissored his fingers inside of you. "c-cant."

your hips bucked backwards, as if you were trying to tell yourself to stop, but it felt too good to stop.

and dean knew your body well, more than you knew it apparently for he only tutted, holding your wrist in his free hand. "you can take it baby, there you go." and he must have known what was happening because your insides were turning to mush.

you'd orgasmed by yourself before but this? this was true bliss.

he held your waist down to the mattress as your body squirmed, head falling back into the pillows as his name fell on your lips, moans and whines blissfully leaving your slick lips.

"good girl." he mumbled, pressing kisses anywhere his lips could reach. "you're so good, there you go. atta girl."

his words of praise fell on your lips, only making you squirm impossibly more. but nonetheless, he kept up his pace, fingers moving to help you ride out your high.

dean swore he'd never seen something so beautiful.

he watched in awe, staring at the way your face scrunched up, pretty lips parted and your eyes screwed closed, though he could only imagine you were seeing stars behind your lids, not that he was being cocky or anything.

the sight was pure bliss, angelic, even.

he swore he'd been to heaven and back, just watching your face contort.

and he'd watch it forever, if he could.

he was suddenly aware of how tight his jeans felt.

"i need to fuck you." he was mumbling with a slight neediness in his tone, kissing up and down your throat, his hand only coming to a halt when your own practically pushed it away, the overstimulation becoming too much. "can i?" a beat passed. "please?"

his face rose to meet yours and you stared at him, all blissed out. you swore that his fingers were the most skilled, pleasurable feeling you'd ever felt, much better than to how it felt when you'd done it by yourself. your lips were glossed over, heavy pants leaving your chest. huge eyes and flushed cheeks.

almost a whine of the phrase, "uh-huh." passed your lips.

and it was enough for him.

his lips crashed into your own, kissing you ever so softly, though there was passion hidden somewhere between your heavy breaths.

needy hands pawed at the end of his black shirt, his own hands reached down to cup yours, helping you tear it off of his body. his amulet dangled downwards, just below your face and he was suddenly very aware of the fact that your top was still on. he supposed he'd been too focused on making you feel good to realise.

his hands reached the end of your own top, helping you push it over your head.

no words left his lips but they parted, tongue passing over the bottom one as he stared.

your pink bra was so pretty on you he almost had to think to decide whether or not he wanted to keep it on. but he decided with the latter, hands unhooking your bra skillfully, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.

he hardly got to see your boobs, for his hands cupped them as soon as they were let out of the bra. he cursed out a grunt under his breath, one hand leaving your breast so his mouth could replace it.

against the mattress, your back arched, stomach against his own while you bit back the pretty whimpers which he yearned to hear. his mouth worked against you, rolling his tongue back and forth, practically flicking your nipple in his mouth making you unable to contain the sounds you so desperately tried to keep back.

"d―dean!" you spluttered, eyes fluttering shut. his own eyes looked up at you, watching your face contort once again.

he had to have you.

as his face left your chest, a string of spit connected your boobs to his lips.

he wiped it away, though nothing could wipe away that smut smirk he held. nonetheless, he helped himself to shimmying out of his jeans, taking his boxers off with it.

it wasn't until he took everything off that reality set in. you stared, eyes blown wide, he was, well... big. and it was sort of hard not to get nervous, even with the fact that his fingers had just been stuffed inside of you, you weren't so sure it was going to fit.

"you okay?" he leaned down, towering over you. he realised your eyes hadn't moved from his dick, pulling your chin up with his two fingers. "are you sure you want this?"

you nodded your head, thoughts a mere muddle of clouds. "i just... 'm nervous." you admitted, feeling your stomach fill with this fuzzy feeling that you only got when you talked to dean.

"you don't have to be nervous, sweetheart, not with me, okay?" the palm of his hand rested on your face. "do you want this?"

"yes." you answered without a beat.

"promise?" you could have melted right then and there. dean winchester was of many things but above all, he was gentle.

"promise." you mumbled, finding yourself relaxing just at the mere sound of his voice. his hand trailed up to find your own, fingers interlocking yours. his free hand moved down to his dick, pressing it in his hand.

you watched with curiosity yet also nervousness. you'd never seen this done in real life, so the shyness was creeping in as you watched him move his hand up and down his shaft, dragging it towards your wet hole. instantly, a sound left your lips, blush instantly creeping in as your eyes snapped up to him. he only smiled gently at you, finding your shyness rather adorable.

the head of his dick slowly pushed inside of you and that alone had you feeling awfully stretched. he wasn't just long, he was thick too meaning he stretched you out completely. "okay?" you nodded at the sound of his question, the feeling of his lips on your cheek moments after. "'s gonna hurt a little, alright?"

you nodded your head, eyes shutting closed as you braced yourself.

you weren't an idiot either, you knew first times were supposed to hurt but luckily for you, you had dean right there, holding one of your hands tight in his own, soft whispers and kisses against your skin.

what more could you really ask for.

he slowly eased himself inside of you, worried he was hurting you. then again, there wasn't really any other way to get inside without hurting you. he watched as your face contorted, a gentle whimper leaving your lips but he knew it wasn't one of pleasure, more of pain, actually.

he mumbled gentle apologies and left a trail of them in kisses from your neck to your cheeks.

finally, he was in completely and he couldn't help the string of curses that he mumbled under his breath.

dean stayed as still as he could. worry set in, he didn't want to hurt you, not when you'd been so nervous in the first place. he'd been with many girls but you were a tight fit around him, swallowing his dick whole. he couldn't help but almost coo at the way your hole clenched around him.

he felt your hips shift, and he knew you were ready. "can i―fuck, sweetheart, can i move?"

again, you nodded with a subtle whine that told him in other words, yes, he absolutely could move. and that was exactly what he did.

he slowly pulled his dick out from inside you then suddenly slammed his hips back in, his dick hitting the spot deep inside your walls. instantly, he was met with a mewl.

"shit." he uttered, wanting to draw as many sounds like that out of you as he could. his two hands now rested on yours tightening his grip as he placed them over your head so he could gain better access. "oh, fuck, sweetheart, you're so fucking pretty."

it seemed as though dean had the mouth similar to a sailor when put in a position like this.

but he couldn't help it, you were staring at him with those doe eyes, pretty noises falling from you. his hips moved with ease, slamming in and out of you, it didn't take him long to pick up the pace either.

your legs lifted to surround his waist, moans leaving the two of you as his hips slammed inside of you.

"shit, you're so good for me." he was a mumbling mess, he meant every word of what he said, though he wasn't too sure what was leaving his lips as of now. "oh, my sweet girl, thaaat's it."

he tipped his head forward, connecting his forehead to your own. your whimpers and whines were swallowed by a kiss, gentle yet so full of neediness, it was exactly what you wanted.

"feels..." you mumbled once your lips had parted, though you were sort of dazed, not all the way there. "feels so good."

"good girl, 's it, take it all." you felt his hand suddenly trail down, fingers soft against your clit while his dick still hot between your gummy walls. "'s okay, you're okay."

you shook your head, swallowing thickly as your hips bucked. "'s―'s too much!" you panted out, moans leaving you as if you couldn't keep them inside.

"you can take it, baby, know you can." but he could tell by the way your face twisted again, you were close.

and so was he.

"you gonna let go f'me? huh?"

at this point, your eyes had fluttered shut and you lips were parted as you nodded, brows strewn together. "gonna... 'm gonna cum, dean."

"that's my girl." he answered, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "cum all over my dick f'me, sweetheart."

you supposed you were more obedient than you thought.

dean watched as you squirmed and moaned, eyes screwed shut as you finally let go around him. he could feel your gummy walls squeezing him tighter, a ring of slick had formed at the base of his dick. the mere sight, his dick still stuffed inside your cunt and you, cumming all over him.

well, it was enough to have any man weak.

which was why he'd finished so quickly, too.

after all, he'd been holding on since you were sat on his lap.

and that one feeling, cumming in your wet, hot walls and watching you with that pretty, stricken and worn out face as you came on him too... he swore he had really been to heaven and back.

when you both rode out your highs, he laid himself on the bed next to you, watching as you reached your hand up, playing with his silver ring that sat on your thumb.

he swore he was staring at an angel.

main masterlist/dean's masterlist

[rizlowwritessortof]

Let's Go For a Drive

This is just a little comforting Dean drabble I scribbled - a little gift for @thatonewriter15 - you are the sweetest!

You wake up that morning on the wrong side of the world. Everything feels off - you feel out of sync, disconnected and alone.

You’re quiet all day, barely responding when Sam or Dean ask you a question, and you try all day to keep yourself busy somewhere away from their concerned glances. But eventually you end up in the library, on your laptop. It’s not unusual for the three of you to be silently doing your own things in the evening, but usually you feel comfortable, content. Tonight you’re neither, and it’s obvious to these men who know you so well.

You can feel Dean’s eyes on you from the other end of the table, and you stare resolutely at your own screen, avoiding eye contact. A few minutes pass, but then you hear him push his chair back and quietly walk up behind you, one hand on your shoulder and the other braced on the edge of the table as he bends to speak softly next to your ear.

“Let’s go for a drive.”

You hesitate for a second, then lean back into him a little and nod. He straightens, moving so you can get up. Sam has quietly watched the whole exchange, and he smiles at you, his eyes soft, as you let Dean usher you toward the stairs.

The two of you walk out into the cool night air. Baby sits there shining in the sparse light of a pale moon, for the moment peeking through a break in the clouds. He opens the driver’s side door and gives you a hand in, letting you slide over to make room for him.

He doesn’t speak. Dean knows that sometimes words aren’t able to describe how you feel, or why you feel it. He understands the need to have someone just be with you as you go through the pain, or grief, or sadness; to hold you, silent and strong. He understands because he’s built like that, too.

He turns the key, Baby’s engine comes to life with a low rumble, and it washes over you like a soothing balm. He reaches over to push a cassette into the player, and Bob Seger’s Turn the Page fills the air with a soulful serenade, melancholy and soft in the background as he shifts into drive. Before he pulls onto the road, he lifts his arm, and you tuck yourself up close to his side. He bends to press his lips to your temple before he tightens his arm around you and pulls out onto the road, Baby’s headlights cutting a path through the dark.

You lay your head on his shoulder, your arm draped over his waist, slipping your hand beneath his shirt to lay your palm against his warm skin. Baby rolls along, miles disappearing beneath her wheels, Dean’s chest rumbling occasionally next to your ear as he hums along with the music. Every once in a while, he hugs you a little closer, his cheek against your hair, and comfort slowly seeps into your soul.

You are lulled into a half-sleepy haze, unaware of how long you’ve been riding, how many miles you have gone. Finally Dean clears his throat, smiling affectionately as you stir and yawn. “Gonna have to stop up here and get some gas,” he says softly. “You want anything?”

You lean your head back to look up at him, finally able to manage a smile. “No, I’m okay.”

He looks into your eyes for a moment, as if to verify your statement, and then bends to kiss your lips gently. “I’ll be right back.”

You listen to the sounds of him filling the tank, sounds you’ve heard a hundred times before. It’s familiar and real and good, and you smile to yourself. This was exactly what you needed, and he knew it. He always knows.

When he climbs back inside, he’s got a large bag of jerky, and you giggle a little. He just can’t go into a place like this and leave without it. He makes a little face at you, and then pulls you into his arms for a lingering, sweet kiss that leaves you tingling a little all over. “So, ready to head home?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’m ready.” You reach to put a hand to his face, your eyes shining into his. “Thank you.”

He kisses you again, his forehead resting against yours. “Any time, sweetheart.”

Tags for my lovelies:  @saenalife    @deanscarlett    @jensensgotyoudean    @jinkieswouldyoulookatthis    @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog    @geeklibrarian    @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid      @mrswhozeewhatsis    @littlegreenplasticsoldier    @sleep-silent-angel    @darcia22    @winchesterprincessbride    @ellen-reincarnated1967    @eyes-of-a-disney-princess      @deanslittleangel2y5    @melanie451        @spectaculacular-sammy     @bookchic20    @jodyri    @selma-jean-blog           @savingapplepie-eatingthings    @kittenofdoomage    @masked-maiden42    @lean-mean-deanwinchester    @ericuhlorain    @undecided-garden    @ceeceewinchester    @typicalweirdbookworm          @callmesweetheartifyoumeanit    @youtoldalie    @tanithlowisabamf-blog    @deandoesthingstome    @jxackles    @nerdwholikesword    @soivebuiltupaworldofmagic    @kreweofimp  @gabavaldman    @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog    @darkx143    @disassociativedogma    @ioanashalala    @jencharlan    @deansthirstblog     @dorky-and-i-know-it    @mischief-maker1    @winchestersandwordprocessors    @percussiongirl2017    @bringmesomepie56   @akshi8278    @torn-and-frayed    @sandlee44   @wingedcatninja  @evansrogerskitten   @emoryhemsworth  @peaceinourtime82  @dean-winchester-is-a-warrior  @sarcasmqueen74   @maliburenee     @mrsjenniferwinchester   @yeehawbitchs   @emily-winchester  @hobby27    spnbaby-67

[strawlessandbraless]

Dean, an inch from Castiel’s face while adjusting the knot of his tie, explaining to Cas with such raw honesty that humans lie when they most want something

[pieandflannel]

hey girlie, could you do a dean x reader where he finds out she's a squirter? thanks xxx

౨ৎ ₊˚⊹ like a faucet

pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

summary: dean uses a new fingering technique that makes you squirt for the first time.

cw: 18+ smut.ᐟ fingering.ᐟ squirting.ᐟ

word count: 445

julia yaps: thank you for trusting me with your request! hope you like it! <3

────────── 💦 ──────────

dean was always good when it came to pleasuring you, like hella good. but tonight? he was something else. it’s as if he was using a new technique or something, which he was.

he couldn’t help himself but read that article about female pleasure you had accidentally left open on the laptop. after all it was like you were asking for him to read it.

his fingers worked in perfect rhythm, drawing out constant moans from your pretty parted lips. you just couldn’t control your volume. your fists grasping the fabric of the bedsheets for dear life as your hips bucked against his hand.

“you like that sweetheart?” he coaxed, his voice low and full of cocky satisfaction, noticing the results of this new pussy play technique he desperately wanted to try out.

his fingers stretching your hole open, slow but deliberate strokes, teasing that sweet spot deep inside you, over and over and over again.

his thumb circling your clit with enough pressure to have your hips grind against his hand, desperate whines and erotic moans bouncing off his bedroom walls as you lay on his bed with your legs wide open, his fingers playing with your pretty little pussy. sam and cas definitely hearing you from across the bunker.

“s-so good” you manage to cry out, your mind turning to mush from the intense pleasure. “d-dean~”

you were close, so so close. but the intensity kept building and building, forming into something almost too much to handle. a sharp gasp tore from your lips as the tension snapped, a cry leaving your lips as pleasure crashed over you, not like a tidal wave, but a goddamn tsunami.

something wet gushing from between your legs, soaking dean’s hand, the sheets, everything. dean just made you squirt, hard.

your body shook, the overwhelming feeling flushing over you, your eyes widened as you’ve never experienced this before, you didn’t even know you were able to do that.

your cheeks burned with embarrassment as you hide your face in your hands, but dean just grins, looking downright smug as he stared at the mess you’ve made.

“well, damn” he chuckled cockily, dragging his soaked fingers over your skin, deliberately spreading the wetness all over your swollen clit and lips.

“didn’t know you could do that sweetheart, but I sure as hell ain’t complaining.” his smirk prideful, his ego fed knowing he just made you squirt like a faucet.

“sorry about your bed..” you spoke after finally catching your breath. dean shakes his head with a smile.

“don’t apologise darling, we’ll just sleep in your room tonight, i’ll clean this up tomorrow” he reassures you with a forehead kiss.

thank you so much for reading! feedback and reblogs are always deeply appreciated <3

tags: @jensino @emeraldcrs @soldiersgirl @jensenacklesballsack @missus-ackles @littlesoulshine @deanswifeyy @slut4jackles @h8aaz @figisonline @figthoughts @angelicjackles @losers-clvb @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis

𑁥౿ check out my masterlist for other works!

♡ see this post to be added to the taglist!

© pieandflannel – do not plagiarise or repost any of my work!

© reserved for photo/gif owners!

[southernimpala]

backseat

sam winchester x fem!reader (ft. dean :)

summary ↬ you're in the backseat of the impala 'asleep', but really, you're just eavesdropping on sam & dean

notice ↬ pure fluff (i promise the angst is coming ya'll (and the smut ;)), dean is a shit as always but not really he's actually a good brother in this one, who else wants to fall asleep in the back of the impala like pleeaaaseee, no use of y/n, lowercase intended !

wordcount ↬ 1.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ read part two ↬ frontseat

the rough leather backseat of the impala itches at your legs as they lay curled atop it, your head leaning on the window, foggy and freezing against your cheek as the chilly temperature of north dakota bleeds through. you try to catch up on some much needed shut-eye on the way to the motel. 

 which, unsurprisingly, is very hard to do when sam and dean winchester are in the front seat, fighting over the stereo.

“if i hear one more led zeppelin song, dean—” 

“woah, woah.” you peek your eyes open slightly to see dean’s finger pointed at sam, his face scrunched in a scowl, “there is no room for zep slander in this vehicle, sammy.” 

sam laughs sarcastically, shaking his head, his growing, soft wisps swaying in front of the headrest, “fine, then, i suggest you play something produced past 95’.” 

dean clicks his tongue in distaste and turns to look past the steering wheel again, “kids don’t know good music.” suddenly, just as you close your eyes, dean calls your name, looking at you through the rearview mirror, “what do you think we should play?” 

 “silence,” you grumble, trying to shield your vision from the bright street lamps as they flash orange light rhythmically past your closed eyelids. 

“alright, ac/dc it is then,” he says, sliding in a new tape—the one you recognize instantly from memory, marked with ‘ac/deanc’ scrawled in messy handwriting on a strip of tape slapped across the front.

as angus young’s guitar starts to echo from the stereo, you slowly melt back into the seat, adjusting until you’ve found a comfortable spot. 

you begin to drift off again, fading in and out of consciousness as the tapes change ever so often: metallica, black sabbath, and, when led zeppelin starts to play again, you can just envision sam’s beautiful eyes rolling.

eventually, you rouse awake to the low hum of some billy idol track, the volume way lower now that the car clock signals 3:31am. 

you can hear the crinkle of a bag of chips sam is snacking on, dean’s fingers tapping to the beat of the music, and the rumble of baby underneath you. 

you’re about to force yourself into more sleep, moving to cover your forearms with your hands to keep them warm, when sam’s soft voice lulls in the silence. 

“do you think she’s cold?” he mumbles quietly, and you see, from your low hooded eyes, his head moves just slightly behind the headrest to examine your figure.

he’s right to question it. the temperature is becoming more frigid as the night blooms darker, and you’re sure the goosebumps on your arms are visible if he looks hard enough. 

“it’s warm in the car,” dean responds, turning onto a backroad. the car is swallowed in darkness as the streetlamps fade into haunting trees stretching into miles of forest surrounding you. 

sam’s tongue pokes his cheek in thought, and without prompt, he’s shrugging the brown carhartt off his body, turning in his seat—you’ve told him to start wearing a seatbelt—and delicately draping the warm material across your shivering shoulders. 

a blanket of musk, campfire smoke, and something only described as sam winchester envelops you.

you shut your eyes quickly so he won't suspect you’re awake, but that means trying your damnedest to bite back the smile fighting its way onto your lips at the gesture. you snuggle deeper into the jacket to hide the bottom of your face while pretending to be asleep. 

peeking through your eyelashes, you see sam not bothering to hide his own smile at the sight of you nestled under his jacket. your heart picks up.  

he re-rights himself in his seat, clearing his throat as he focuses on the road ahead again. 

“real smooth, there, romeo.” dean smirks, giving him a knowing nod.  

“shut up,” sam shakes his head, picking nervously at a loose thread in his jeans, “she looked cold.” 

“oh, did she tell you that, huh?” dean teases again, shoving his shoulder playfully. 

sam moves away from his brother’s provoking hand, “eyes on the road, jerk.” 

“bitch,” dean scoffs, but you know the grin is there: real and genuine, “just tell her you love her so i can stop watching these mixed signals.” 

your stomach twists. 

“dean, i don’t—” sam trips over his words, bringing a hand down his blushing face, “i just gave her a jacket in under 30-degree weather—”

“—and patched her up for over an hour after that werewolf got its claws in her, and walked her back to the room when she drank too much, and freaked out when that guy tried picking her up at that bar in minna—” 

“that’s called being a gentleman,” sam narrows his eyes, growing more defensive, “and we both freaked out, so don’t try to—” 

“i freaked out because the guy looked like a creep, you freaked out because somebody—anybody’s—hands were on her,” dean moves to take a sip of his melted slurpee from dinner, “there’s a difference, sammy.” 

the things dean mentions start flooding back into your memory, the gestures at the time seeming so innocent, no possible way for there to be any underlying connotation if you hadn’t thought about it hard enough.

until now, when you’re thinking about it hard enough. 

the way sam’s hands shook just slightly as they expertly stitched the gash on your leg, and how his eyes held something else under the concentrated look; a glimmer of worry, fear, even, at the idea that you were hurt. 

then, how those hands, no longer shaky, gripped your waist tight to keep you on your feet as you stumbled back to the motel room from the bar one night. you were trashed, the hunt a particularly hard one, yet, he didn’t let you fall. tucked you in and everything. 

you had no idea about the last one, of the gross drifter trying to get lucky with you. no clue that it’d bothered him—both of them—but, especially sam in that way. not until now. 

and suddenly, they all make sense. 

“whatever, dean,” sam says, his words lower than a whisper, like a child who's just been scolded, “it’s never been that way with us.” 

“it can be,” dean argues, “‘think i don’t notice the way she acts toward you, too?” 

 sam laughs mirthlessly, like a light breath escaping past his lips, “drop it, already.” 

“i’m being serious!” dean’s voice picks up just slightly, eliciting a “shhh!” from sam as he nods his head toward your ‘sleeping’ figure. 

he quiets, “i’m being serious, you’re both idiots.” 

well, he isn’t wrong about that. 

maybe you had been looking at sam a certain way. with a twinkle in your eye you can’t control. a giddiness you only show when he’s around. the laugh that bursts through your chest at his jokes.

the gentle hand you placed on his, shaky and tactful, as it took care of you that night. 

and the expression that met yours when you did so. 

you see it flash the back of your eyelids as they flutter against the moon’s glow through the window. you melt further into the smell of him at the memory, wishing it was his arms around you instead. that he wasn’t so far away in the front seat. 

“she’s good for you,” dean adds in the moment of silence, “and damn, is she beautiful.” 

sam lets the corner of his lips curl into a gentle smile, the thought of you filling his head, of every moment where maybe he didn’t think hard enough either, “yeah,” he whispers softly, “yeah, she is, isn’t she?”

he looks back to you, lets himself take in the image of you underneath something of his keeping you warm, safe. 

something in him bursts. 

fuck, he loves you. 

and, you think you love him, too.

dean’s music fades as you nod off for the last time till you make it to the motel. the impala shifts into park, and the engine growl is sharply cut. you groan as you’re awoken, stretching out your limbs as you yawn loudly. 

sam opens the door on your side, peeking his head under the hood, “good morning, sleepyhead.” 

you yawn a response, rubbing the sleep out of your eyes. instantly, once your vision un-blurs, your chest clenches at the conversation overheard a mere few hours before. you can’t help the deer in headlights stare as you look up at sam’s gentle features, smiling softly at you. 

and he has no idea what you heard.

he sticks his large hand out for you to take as you step out on wobbly legs. you refuse to let go of his jacket as it stays hanging on your shoulders. 

yeah, you think, i love him.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ sam winchester masterlist !