#dean winchester x reader
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zepskies · 3 days ago
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HEADCANON: Man Flu
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Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader || Beau Arlen x Reader || Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader || Boaz Priestly x Reader
HC: When Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen, Soldier Boy (Ben), and Boaz Priestly get sick, how would they act when you (try to) take care of them?
AN: After reading I Got You by @bettystonewell (Dean x Reader) and The Best Kind of Medicine by @lamentationsofalonelypotato (Soldier Boy x Reader), I realized that I've never actually written a sick-fic before. Here it is in headcanon form, since you guys seem to like these! lol 💜
Also adding Priestly to this lineup for the first time because some of you have been requesting more of him recently. 😉
Tags/Warnings: Established relationship, hurt/comfort, sick-fic, some needy affection-starved men who don't want to admit they're needy, lots of fluff.~
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Dean Winchester
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He's not sick. Because he doesn't get sick.
Dean claims he has the constitution of a horse, but you still take the beer out of his hand before he can take a sip at 10:00 a.m.
He's too busy interrupting himself, namely by coughing half a lung, wheezing, blinking teary eyes -- the whole phlegmy nine yards.
Sam shakes his head, casting you a look that frankly says, Good luck.
He knows his brother is stubborn as hell, and one of the things Dean dislikes most is being fussed over for "no reason." Being seen as weak. Not being able to just shrug his shoulders and shake it off.
To be fair, Dean tries. Except this time it's accompanied by a body shiver and a reluctant sniffle. His pallid face is drawn, and his usually strong and solid frame looks unsteady as he leans a hand on the War Room table.
"Okay, come on, Rambo. Let's get you back into bed," you say, guiding your boyfriend back to the room you share with him.
"I'm find," he insists, even as he begrudgingly accepts the gentle pressure of your hand on his back and shoulder, pushing him down to the bed.
"Sure you are, baby," you say with a smirk. "You're in the primb of libe."
Dean shoots you a narrowed look. Damn you for forcing him to binge-watch all those episodes of Friends late at night when you both can't sleep.
Right now he's Monica, trying to convince you he's in tip-top shape, while you're Chandler, just trying to get him to use tissues instead of his flannel sleeve to wipe his runny nose.
After taking his boots off, you get him to change out of his jeans and back into his sweatpants. Then you manage to get him to lay down under the covers with the promise of coming back with medicine and soup.
"I don't want soup, damn it," he grumbles. You just roll your eyes and rub his arm.
"Just rest. I'll be back with the Vicks."
As you might expect, Dean is not an easy patient.
He refuses to drink tea, but he does down the pills you bring for him, with a measured toss of his head that still makes his head swim. He groans.
He swallows a couple of cautious spoonfuls of the soup, pausing when he realizes that its warmth actually feels good down his sore and scratchy throat. It tastes pretty good too, especially with the warm, buttered slices of bread on the side.
"You made this?" he asks.
"Mhmm," you nod, smiling. If nothing else, good food will pacify this man. "Chicken and wild rice, made especially for you."
"Hmm. S' good," he nods in reply. He manages to finish the bowl.
He has to admit, if just to himself, that he does feel like shit.
He won't admit that the way you're rubbing his back, the gentle pressure of your nails between his shoulders and down his spine relaxes him, makes him feel better.
He knows that you care about him. That you love him. But this is one of those moments where it hits him, just how much.
It's a little overwhelming. A heavy swell of pressure fills his chest, so he tries not to let himself think about it for very long.
(He fails.)
After he's done eating, you take the plates away and help him back into bed. You linger there, slipping your fingers through his soft brown hair and pressing a kiss to his clammy forehead.
"I really need you to rest, okay," you say quietly. "If you need anything, just text me or Sam. Don't get out of bed."
Dean grasps your hand before you can move away from him. Since you're probably going to wash your hands anyway, he lays a kiss on the back of your hand.
"Thanks, sweetheart."
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Beau Arlen
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Sheriff Beau Arlen is the type to run himself into the ground because he's so damn into his work.
He wants to do well in his station of responsibility, and he feels like he has to make up for his performance during the summer madness of Buck Barnes and Avery...and everything in between.
You just have to make Beau realize that he needs to slow down, before he well and truly burns himself out.
You put your foot down one morning.
He tries to get out of bed but has to pause, his head swimming. He takes a couple of steadying breaths while sitting on the edge of the bed.
You notice with a frown. "Hey, you okay?"
"Fine. Just fine," he answers a little too breathlessly. He raises a hand to his head. His throat is sticky and coarse. He wrinkles his nose when he also feels a sneeze coming on.
"Just need a...a...mugh-ah-ha-hugh."
His coughing sneeze makes you grimace. You didn't even know someone could sneeze and cough at the same time.
"Aw, babe. You're sick," you say as you move over to him, resting a hand on his back. He shakes his head and groans.
"Nah, can't be sick. Gotta lot of work to do today," he says. His voice is like gravel blended with broken glass. It would actually be sexy, if for the distinctly un-sexy way he tries to clear the great wad of phlegm from his throat.
He tries to rock himself onto his feet, but there he sways on the landing. You hurry out of bed to grab his arm and steady him.
"Oh no, you don't. Back into bed," you say.
"Aw, sweetheart. I'll be fine--"
"No. Lay down. You're not going in today," you say more firmly, all while you tuck the man back into bed with the blankets covering him.
"All right, all right. No need to be so pushy," he can't help but tease.
It earns a small smirk on your face. It seems like his man flu hasn't yet deprived him of his sense of humor.
"I thought you liked that though," you reply. You sit on the edge of the bed and rub his chest. He groans in defeat.
"Can't believe this," he grumbles. "Today of all days--"
"There's always going to be another case. This is your body telling you that you need to slow down," you tell him. "So how about this. I'm gonna call in one of my sick days, and we'll bunker in together."
You stroke his bearded cheek. He quirks a smile, grabbing your hand and squeezing warmly.
"How long until I'm allowed out, warden?" he asks.
"Until you can stand without keeling over," you dryly reply. A smile tugs at your lips. "Remind me to stop by CVS to grab you a Life Alert."
"All right, har har haugh--" His sarcasm ends on a very real, wheezing cough. Your amused smile drops. You relent from your teasing and stroke his chest once more.
"Okay, just rest. Let me get you some actual medicine and I'll be right back."
He stops you by grabbing your wrist. "Hey, uh...can I have some chicken noodle soup later?"
"Of course, baby. I'll swing by the store now and get some stuff for you."
"And some saltines?"
"Saltine crackers on the side. Got it."
You're about to head to the bathroom to brush your teeth before you start getting ready to go to the store, but once again, Beau's needy hand stops you.
"Before you go, some tea with honey and lemon would be good. Just something for my throat," he croaks.
You smile and nod. "Yeah, for sure. That'll be better for you than coffee."
"Oh, and can you gimme that quilt over there?" he asks, pointing to your favorite knitted blanket at the edge of the bed. You graciously lay it over his form and drop a kiss onto his forehead.
"And some cough drops. Thank you, darlin'," Beau adds.
Your lips begin to press together, but you nod and continue getting dressed.
You can already tell this man is going to settle into you taking care of him just fine.
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Soldier Boy (Ben)
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Neither of you thought it was possible, considering his super genes that allowed him to eat and booze and drug harder than Andre the Giant and Keith Richards put together.
But one day, your over six-foot super soldier goes down hard. The warning signs came the night before, when you could hardly sleep with the way he was snoring like a grizzly bear.
In the morning, he wakes bleary-eyed with a runny nose and a coughing fit hard enough to shake the bed.
"Fuck," he groans, dragging a hand over his face before he turns onto his back. "This's gotta be some kind of bullshit hangover."
You move over to him in bed and feel the intense warmth of his clammy forehead. Your brows draw together in concern.
"No, I think you're sick."
"Not possible," he grumbles. "I haven't been sick since..."
Well, since he was a kid, probably. He won't admit it, but he's surprised he still has that memory lodged in the back of his mind.
It comes to the forefront now: your hand on his cheek unknowingly mimics his mother's gentle touch, her soft, kind voice.
"Aw, my sweet boy. Let's get you feeling better."
He can almost recall the floral scent of her perfume, echoes of it in the shampoo you use.
Ben claims he's fine, that he doesn't need your help or want the medicine and tea you bring for him. (He tries the tea, grimaces, and spits it out when you're not looking.)
He's a sourpatch grumbly patient who only begrudgingly stays put in bed when you ask him to. He doesn't mind lying around and watching movies all day, not to mention episode after episode of Below Deck. It reminds him that he wants to get back into boating.
"Hey, sweetheart," he calls to you from the bedroom, his voice croaking all the while. "I'm getting you a yacht for Valentine's Day. You want it all white, or throw in a bit of gold? Actually, check out this one with the navy trim."
You roll your eyes to yourself when you step back into the room. You're carrying a tray with a large bowl of soup and a fifth of whiskey. He claims the latter will help soothe his throat, and you don't have the heart to argue with him when he's clearly feeling so shitty.
"You mean you're getting you a yacht," you reply wryly. "We live in the city. Where the hell would we put a boat?"
"In a yacht club, where it belongs," Ben retorts. He hooks an arm around your waist and peruses what you've brought him on the tray. He doesn't look all that interested.
"Look, I know you're not exactly a soupy kinda guy, but this'll make you feel better," you say.
"Why can't you put some fucking steak in it or something?" he grouses. He tries and fails to hide another wet cough.
"Why can't you just eat what I lovingly made, just for you," you snipped back.
He rolls his eyes at your attitude, but he pipes down. In that silence, he's conceding that you have a point. There was a time were all he had to do was glance in someone's direction, and there'd be some fucking moron to fulfill his every whim.
Now, you're probably the only one in the world that would actually do what you're doing...
Cooking for him, putting your heart into it, for the simple reason that you do care.
Ben takes the bowl of soup from your hands. Raising a brow, you offer him the spoon as well.
He eats without further complaint.
You smile and reward him with a sweet kiss on his forehead, brushing his hair back as you do so.
"See? That's not so hard, huh?" you can't help but needle him. "It's okay, baby. I'll take care of you."
He eyes you dryly, but he won't admit that there's a different kind of warmth coiling in his chest.
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Boaz Priestly
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"Uuuughhh, babe," he groans. "I feel like death on toast."
You're standing beside the bed with a smile playing on your lips. You brush back his for once un-gelled hair back from his face. It's weird to see it all limp and lifeless, slightly damp with sweat.
"Unironically, I should make you some toast," you reply. "What kind of medicine do we have?"
Priestly unearths his head from under his pillow to look up at you with miserable red-rimmed eyes and a sniffling, stuffy nose. "Can we count the tequila in the mini bar?"
"Maybe later," you laugh. "How are we on groceries?"
Priestly struggles to think. He takes your hand and rubs it back and forth across his chest. Maybe your sweet, loving touch has the power to clear away his congestion without him needing Vicks. Too minty.
"We have that pastrami I brought back from the shop," he says.
"That's six days old already," you shake your head.
"Aw, that's still good," he argues. "But uh, other than that, I think I have half a cheeseburger left from last night."
Last night's date at TGI Friday's, he means.
You heave a sigh. "Okay, clearly I'm going to the store. You just stay in bed and rest. Drink your tea."
He grimaces like a child. "I don't like tea."
"I know you don't like tea, but you need to drink it. It's good for your throat and your immune system."
He groans and flops back over onto his stomach. You bite your lip against a smile. He's such a whiny baby when he's sick.
Talk about Man Flu.
"Come on, be a good boy for me," you say, smacking him lightly on the ass. "Soon enough you'll feel better."
A smile creeps across his face where it's pressed against his pillow.
"Know what would really make me feel better?" he hedges. He tries to guide you down to him by tugging on your hand, but you resist him.
"Oh, no. You're not gonna get your germs all over me," you say.
"Hey, what happened to in sickness and in health?" he croaks. Even while under the weather, he's still plenty strong enough to grapple with you. He manages to yank you down. Laughing, you stumble into a seat on the edge of the bed.
"Huh, I don't remember exchanging any vows. You see a ring on this finger?" you tease, flashing your bare hand in his face to try and distract him and weasle out of his grip. "I can jump this ship anytime I want."
Priestly pouts. His arm hooks tighter around your waist. "Huh, guess you got me there..."
He turns his head and coughs roughly into his arm. Your amusement fades into concern and sympathy. You lay a hand over his chest while he struggles.
Once again, he clasps his free hand over yours. He glances up a bit hesitantly into your eyes.
"Well, maybe it's time there should be something on this finger," he murmurs.
You blink your eyes wider. Your head tilts, wondering if you just heard him right. Is this delirium fever talking, or is he serious?
"O-Oh yeah?" you ask.
Priestly tries to gauge your reaction. Seeing your face break out into a cute, shy smile raises the corners of his lips. Hope blooms in his chest, right beneath your hand.
"Yeah," he says, trying to clear his cracking throat. "I mean, if you're okay with that. If it's not too soon--"
You slip your fingers over his plush, chapped lips, and your smile brightens.
"When you're feeling better, you can ask me that question properly."
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AN: 😆 I hope you liked the first ever addition of Priestly!! It was so fun to try and write him again (it's been a while lol). Feel free to imagine this vignette in the same storyverse as The Miracle Man and Code Red.
But I also hope you enjoyed the "Big 3," as I call them, even though Russell is starting to give Beau a run for his money on one of those slots. 😂 Let me know which guy you had the most fun reading on this one! 💜
And if you want even more fluff before Valentine's Day, check out my friend @waynes-multiverse who just posted her set of V-Day headcanons with Dean, Soldier Boy, Beau, and Russell: Headcanon: Valentine's Day 💕
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Dean, Beau, Soldier Boy + Priestly Tag List
@kazsrm67 @foxyjwls007 @luci-in-trenchcoats
@mostlymarvelgirl @thebiggerbear @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester
@deans-spinster-witch @sanscas @mxltifxnd0m @hobby27 @kaleldobrev @spnwoman
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@lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @spnfamily-j2 @deansbbyx @chernayawidow
@mimaria420 @stoneyggirl2 @fics-pics-andotherthings-i-like @waywardxwords @twinkleinadiamondsky
@my-stories-vault @kayleighwinchester @rizlowwritessortof @cookiechipdough @mrsjenniferwinchester
@fromcaintodean @k-slla @jackles010378 @deanbrainrotwritings @alwaystiredandconfused
@mrlonelycat @deans-daydream @leigh70 @aylacavebear @kmc1989
@siampie @rubyvhs @winchestergirl2
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wendichester · 3 days ago
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𐙚𓏲⋆ ִֶָ ๋𓂃 strictly professional,
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summary. you're dean smith's new secretary and boy--it's hard to keep your thoughts from wandering.
pairing. dean smith x secretary!reader
wordcount. 1073
notes. slight smutty ; mdni!
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The first time you meet Dean Smith, he barely looks at you.
You walk into his sleek, minimalistic office, resume in hand, and he simply gestures for you to sit, eyes still locked on his computer screen. He types something, clicks his mouse, exhales through his nose. Then finally, he looks at you.
And damn.
His green eyes—sharp, assessing—sweep over you as he leans back in his chair. His suit is tailored to perfection, crisp and expensive-looking, dark blue that makes his sun-kissed skin pop. His tie is a deep burgundy, knotted neatly at his throat, and when he tilts his head, his jaw flexes in a way that should not be sexy.
But it is.
"You're the new hire," he states, voice smooth, cool. A businessman’s voice.
You nod, clear your throat, stating your name. "Yes, sir. Your new secretary."
Something flickers across his expression, something unreadable, and then it's gone.
"Welcome to Sandover Bridge & Iron," he says, and just like that, you're in.
Two weeks in, and you should not be fantasizing about your boss.
But it’s hard when he looks the way he does, sleeves rolled up to reveal strong forearms, tie loosened at the end of a long day, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose as he reviews contracts.
And it’s harder when you catch him watching you sometimes, gaze lingering when he thinks you won’t notice.
And it’s damn near impossible when he calls you into his office after hours, voice low and smooth through the intercom.
“Need you in here for a moment.”
You step in, closing the door behind you. The office is dimly lit, the glow from his desk lamp casting sharp lines over his face. He’s loosened his tie completely now, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.
"Late night, sir?" you tease lightly.
He exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah. Paperwork never ends." Then his gaze lifts to yours, intent. "You’ve been doing good work."
You blink, caught off guard. He usually isn't one for compliments. "Oh—thank you."
"I mean it," he says, sitting back, studying you. "You’re sharp. Fast. Pick up on things quick." A small smirk tugs at his lips. "Can’t help but notice you watching me like you’re trying to figure me out."
Your stomach flips. Heat creeps up your neck. "I—um, well, I like to be observant."
Dean hums, standing up. He takes slow, deliberate steps around his desk, stopping just a foot away.
"That so?" he murmurs. "And what have you observed?"
Your breath catches. You shouldn’t do this. Shouldn’t let this happen. But he’s so close, warmth rolling off of him, cologne wrapping around you.
"I…" You swallow. "I’ve noticed that you work too much. That you don’t let yourself relax."
His smirk grows, lazy, knowing. "And you think you can help with that?"
The room feels smaller, air heavier. Your pulse pounds in your throat.
You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, his hands are on you—gripping your waist, pulling you flush against him. His mouth crashes against yours, hot and wanting.
You gasp, fingers tangling in his hair as he lifts you onto his desk, knocking over a pen holder. His hands slide up your thighs, pushing up your skirt, fingers teasing at the tops of your stockings.
"Tell me to stop," he pants against your lips. "Tell me this is a bad idea."
You don’t. You can’t.
Instead, you tug at his tie, pulling him back in.
"I don’t want to stop," you whisper.
And that’s all he needs.
Dean groans into your mouth, his hands tightening on your waist like he’s anchoring himself, like if he lets go, he’ll come to his senses. But he doesn’t want to. You feel it in the way his fingers grip you, in the way his breath stutters when you rock your hips forward, seeking more.
He’s all heat and strength between your legs, suit still sharp but unraveling fast—tie loose, shirt wrinkling under your touch, belt clinking as he pushes against you.
“This is insane,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your jaw, over the sensitive skin of your neck.
You tilt your head, giving him more. “Then stop.”
He growls, low and rough. “You know I can’t.”
His hands slide up, pushing your blouse up with them. His fingers brush the lace of your bra, teasing, and you shiver, gasping as his mouth follows, warm lips dragging lower, tongue flicking over your collarbone.
You don’t know when you start unbuttoning his shirt, but soon, your hands are splayed over his chest, feeling hard muscle, the heat of his skin. He hisses when your nails scrape lightly down his stomach, hips jerking forward, pressing his growing arousal against you.
“Fuck,” he grits, forehead dropping to yours. His breath is ragged, fingers flexing against your hips. “You’re making me lose my mind.”
Your lips curl into a smile. “Good.”
Dean lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head, before crashing his mouth against yours again, hands trailing down, tugging your skirt higher, fingers ghosting over your thighs, teasing at your soaked panties.
The knock on the office door nearly makes you jump off the desk.
Dean jerks back, eyes wide, breathing hard.
“Mr. Smith?” A voice—some poor, oblivious intern—echoes through the door. “You still in there?”
Dean curses under his breath, running a hand through his hair before calling out, voice forcibly even. “Yeah. What is it?”
“There’s a last-minute revision on the quarterlies. I can slide them under the door if you want.”
Dean exhales sharply, leveling you with a look that’s both frustrated and amused. You press your lips together, trying not to laugh.
“Yeah, do that,” he says, stepping back, straightening his tie, though it doesn’t do much to hide the way his shirt is still unbuttoned, his belt unfastened.
A few seconds later, the rustle of papers sliding under the door is followed by retreating footsteps.
Silence.
Then, you burst out laughing.
Dean sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face, but there’s a smirk playing at his lips. “This is what I get for breaking my own damn rules.”
You hop off the desk, adjusting your clothes, still grinning. “And yet, you’re not saying you regret it.”
His eyes darken, fingers catching your wrist as you pass. He pulls you back, tilting his head.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and promising. “We’re nowhere near done.”
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want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32
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waynes-multiverse · 20 hours ago
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I wanted to come over here and check out your work because I had a feeling we have a similar sense of humour, and I was right I loved this!
Hahaha I had the exact same thought once I read the first few sentence of Snickerdoodles 😂🫶 (And I already have What Happened Last Night? on my tbr because it sounds like something right up my alley lol)
And can we ever get enough of the idiots in love trope? Nope! 🩵
It’s so rare to see more of the nitty gritty in fic, isn’t it? Y/N is usually perfectly shaven and ready for anything? But she’s letting her tits out
I always love to sprinkle in a bit of realism and humor. Also good to hear for the younger generation, I think. Last time I told my husband my legs were not shaven, he tilted his head and said, "They look shaven." Case closed. They don't care 😂 But reader here definitely needed some boy-free time and selfcare lol
No judging - have you seen him? 👇😂
I know!!!! I have such a weird thing for Seth Rogen 🤣🤣
I’m sorry, irrelevant to this, but I’m on Ross’ side as much as he’s the worst friend. They were on a break.
I agree! He did not cheat! But I do think Rachel has a point in not taking him back lol. Like, yes, it's not cheating, but you still slept with some floozy hours after breaking up with the woman you claim to love. Ooof, and the jealousy. Can't forget that barbershop quartette 😂
Gosh. I just love the quips and inner monologues you have in there, but also sprinklings of little details like “her fingertips tapping a nervous melody on his skin.” And then I scroll further and we get gold like “His dick is an escaped zoo animal and clearly on the prowl tonight.” - haha - don’t sexually harass Y/N Dean! - And don’t get me started on the smut ❤️ woman - the details - holy shit!
Aww, yay! So happy you enjoyed this! This one's definitely one of my favs as well 🥰
And oh God, yes, Jackles truly gives us one new obsession after the other lol. I haven't written for Dean in a while because there's so much explore now 😅 But I miss writing his inner monologues. His such a fun character to write for 🩵
Love On The Brain
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Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader
Summary: Dean and Y/N – hunting partners, bunker roommates & idiots in love. Sam is fed up with their constant “will they/won’t they” bullshit and decides to move things along with his own plan until these two fated lovers’ paths finally cross one night – naked.
Warnings: +18, smut (mentions of masturbation f & m, oral f, fingering, p in v), crack of the adorkable kind, nudity, mutual pining, friends to lovers, fluff
Word Count: 6.1k
A/N: Happy V-Day, babes! 💖 The V stands for… Welp, you know me well enough by now to know where I’m going with this 😝 This is a lot of moronic crack mixed with some sweet smut and fluff. We all know how much I love the “idiots in love” trope, and I fully dove into this one. So, grab your glass of favorite liquor & let’s settle in, shall we? ❤️😘 Written for a request by @imagine-all-the-fandoms after making some adjustments. Found Rihanna’s Love on the Brain fitting for this one, so that’s what we went with as a general mood. Hope you enjoy, m’ladies! 🖤
Feedback is highly appreciated! Get me drunk on it and fill my writer’s juice 🤓🥃
Main Masterlist | Dean Winchster Masterlist
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Freedom! Thank fucking God…
Y/N exhales a blissful sigh as she saunters to the Dean Cave with a bag of still-hot microwave popcorn in her arms. The Winchester brothers have decided on a little overnight road trip to the next, bigger town over to see a movie – and for some brotherly bonding or whatever – which means Y/N can finally enjoy some goddamn alone time in the bunker. Not that she doesn’t love Sam and Dean to bits and pieces, especially the latter one. They are like family to her, the only one she’s ever truly known, but even family can grow exhausting sometimes.
Keep reading
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ultravi0lence14 · 2 days ago
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ABANDONED GARDENS
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COLLEGE!DEAN WINCHESTER X GOODGIRL!READER
WARNINGS: drug use, crude language, angst
SUMMARY: as the good girl on campus, no one would expect to see you wandering around the area’s where the stoners hung out, but not dean winchester, he knew you too well.
WORD COUNT: 1.5k
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autumn air whirled around the uc berkeley campus, blowing your hair in 40 different directions. finishing your last class of the day should’ve elicited a happy feeling in your stomach, but knowing that your boyfriend mark was waiting for you at your apartment sent a shiver down your spine.
mark was a product of what your parents wanted, what everyone viewed you as; the good girl, straight A student who was going to uc berkeley to become a doctor. your family was wealthy, way too wealthy for even yourself to imagine, and they kept you on a tight leash when it came to how you were portrayed in the public.
they set you and mark up, sent a generous donation to berkeley so you could get into their medical program. nothing you ever did in life was at your accord, and you hated every second of it.
an escape was all you needed sometimes. just a small one though, one that allowed you to feel the liberation of freedom before the reality of your life came crashing down on you. the spot behind the abandoned flower garden was perfect for that. it was pretty far away from the main campus, and it had a beautiful willow tree that you enjoyed to sit and read under.
so that’s where you went. you didn’t tell mark you wouldn’t be showing up until a little while later then expected, and you didn’t really plan on it. he’d end up blowing your phone up, begging you to come keep him company.
which usually resulted in you lying on your back, pretending that the fingers he put inside of you gave pleasure other than boredom.
when you sat yourself beneath the weeping willow beside the abandoned garden, you felt your tense shoulders fall, the turmoil in your stomach settle, and all the stress and worries lift off your shoulders.
the feeling might not be permanent, but it was a good feeling for a little while.
with a book perched in your hand, you smoothed down the material of your black skirt and shifted the creme coloured sweater on your shoulders. as comfortable as you could get, the words on the page engulfed your senses as you found yourself taking a deep breath; letting all the nerves and stress leave your body.
you’d been too engrossed in your book, to lost in the story it provided, that you didn’t notice the group of three wander behind the abandoned garden.
they weren’t quiet, yet somehow your keen concentration and lack of care when it came to that group garnered you unaware to the three boys sharing a joint a couple of feet away from you. it wasn’t until one of their voices called out that you snapped your head up and noticed who was intruding into your safe space.
“well, well, well. if it isn’t the virgin mary herself.”
immediately, your head snapped up at the voice, mouth opening like a fish out of water when you made direct eye contact with dean winchester.
you knew him — obviously, for his name always floated around campus; and not for the right reasons.
as cliche as it sounded, he truly was the bad boy on campus. always with a cigarette between his lips, you never understood how dean even got into a school like uc berkeley. apparently he was apart of the business program, yet you couldn’t see him being apart of anything that didn’t contain weed, smokes, or aggressive violence.
he was always picking fights with someone. always found outside brawling with the poor sap who decided that a fight against dean was a good idea.
you loathed the man. he was everything you wished you had; freedom. you didn’t subscribe to his life choices, yet you wished you grew up with parents who gave you a semblance of individualism.
clad in dark washed jeans in a tight fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dean winchester looked everything that came out of a girls dreams. while at the same time holding a tongue that came out of one’s nightmares.
“oh, fuck off winchester. why don’t you go find a jail cell to rot in?” you spat. just because you had a good reputation didn’t mean you couldn’t stick up for yourself. a backbone was important to have, and it was one thing you learned not from your parents but the real world. they wanted you to sit back and look pretty, you thought that was a wad of shit.
smirking at you, dean ignores the snickers from his two friends and quirks his eyebrow up at you. “who knew immaculate mary had a tongue on her? must be when that dope of a boyfriend isn’t around. trailing after you like a fly to shit.”
“did you just compare me to shit?” you sneered, watching in disgust as he pulled a drag from the cigarette dangling from his lips.
“if the shoe fits, sweetheart.” his words were condescending, and the urge you had to smack that smug look off of his face was getting stronger and stronger.
shaking your head, you don’t even register the scoff that leaves your lips before you are grabbing your book and backpack and walking away from the walking migraine. he was always hassling and jeering at you when he had the chance, and it always contained something about your status, your relationship with ‘mark the asshole’, or how your legs were so tightly clamped shut not even a the strongest of men could pull them open.
you didn’t care that you were a virgin, and you didn’t seem to understand why dean cared either. in all honesty, you had no idea how he even knew, but in the end, his words and blatant insults just got annoying rather than hurtful.
having sex or not was your business, and it would be a cold day in hell before you allowed dean winchester to get under your skin about the notion.
“hey, wait up princess, i wanna keep talking to you.” scampering away from his three smoking buddies who you vaguely remembered as max and stephen, dean continued following after you like a dog to his owner. “does that posh asshole of yours know you’re hanging around the burnout area? or is he too busy with his head in between camille silvers’ thighs to realize.”
it was no secret that your ‘perfect’ boyfriend mark had a wandering eye, and it was no surprise to you when rumours started spreading that he was shacking up with his childhood best friend camille.
usually in these situations, the person being cheated on would be devastated, immediately breaking up with their significant other and weeping over how they broke their heart.
in your case, you really didn’t give a fuck.
if it was anyone other than mark, there is a high chance you would be upset and fly off the handle. but again, it was mark, and he was the furthest thing from your endgame in life.
the front your parents wanted you to show everyone was far from who you actually were, and mark sadly had to be apart of that front. as much as you wanted to rip his nuts off and shove them down his throat.
halting in your steps, you turned around and crossed your arms over your chest, giving dean your weariest glare imaginable. “i don’t believe that is any of your business dean. it doesn’t involve weed or screwing over random girls, remember?”
throwing his head back in laughter, dean’s face leaned closer to yours, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting from the stick in his left hand. “aww. is the princess mad that i haven’t given her a chance?” his words were followed by his pointer finger twirling around a strand of your hair, and you had the urge to upchuck all over both of your shoes.
“i’d rather shit in my hands and clap than sleep with you.” the words came out of your teeth gritted, and when your hair was coiled tight around dean’s finger, you saw him smirk as his eyes stayed put on the silky strand of hair around his finger.
letting the tendril loosen from his finger, dean used his free hand to push the strand behind your ear before speaking to you with an even bigger grin on his face. “well, when your mind inevitably changes, you know where to find me.” his hand waved aimlessly around you, and with the move followed a cloud of cigarette smoke around the two of you like a grey haze.
you knew he was insinuating the abandoned garden, but you didn’t really care. this area always had a special place in your heart, and it didn’t matter how many potheads and junkies came to ruin that. when it was just you, it was peaceful, and you enjoyed that semblance of calm.
“don’t worry,” you spoke through a sickly sweet smile. “it won’t.” with that you turned around, hair whipping with you as you strutted away from dean winchester.
shaking his head, dean walked back over to max and stephen, both men looking at him with matching smirks on their faces. “what was that about?” max voiced around a joint, head tilting in the direction you just walked off in.
“yeah,” stephen chimed in, confusion etched on his face. “by the looks of it, you seemed like you wanted to mount her right here and now.”
“that girl man,” dean huffed, taking in a long drag of his cigarette. “she drives me fucking crazy.”
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TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @sunsbaby @beausling @deanswidow @deanangel @gibson-g1rl @haunteres @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @florchids @adrienneleclerc @dulcescorderitas @slyregg
NAT BABBLES: i’m picturing dean looking like jensen in dark angel for this series🙏🙏
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dulcescorderitas · 3 days ago
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05
parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader (+ sam)
synopsis: cooking
the kitchen was already a disaster. flour dusted the countertops like a crime scene outline, and a bottle of olive oil had tipped over, creating a slick, shimmering puddle on the wooden surface. the smell of garlic and onions filled the air, mingling with the sharp tang of burnt something—probably whatever dean had been in charge of.
"i told you, babe, this is why takeout exists," dean grumbled, flicking a piece of raw chicken at you. it hit your arm with a cold, wet slap.
"jesus, dean!" you yelped, shoving him in the chest. he barely budged, just grinning like an idiot, dimples and all.
"you two are impossible," sam muttered, rolling his eyes as he expertly diced an onion. his knife skills were alarmingly precise, which only made dean more suspicious.
"yeah, okay, gordon ramsey, we get it, you know how to cut shit. but can you do this?" dean attempted to twirl a knife between his fingers, only for it to slip and clatter onto the floor. you sighed. sam sighed louder.
"real smooth," you muttered, picking up the knife before dean could impale himself. "if we actually wanna eat tonight, maybe we should focus."
"focus is for nerds," dean declared, leaning over to steal a sip from your beer. you smacked his hand away.
"you have your own, dumbass."
"yeah, but yours always tastes better. kinda like how you always steal my fries."
sam ignored the both of you, setting the chopped onions into a sizzling pan. the butter hissed, and for a moment, it actually smelled promising. that moment passed quickly.
dean, having been left in charge of seasoning the chicken, had apparently gone feral with the spice rack. the second the pieces hit the heat, an acrid, eye-watering cloud of burnt paprika and chili powder filled the room.
"oh, hell no," you coughed, waving a hand in front of your face. "dean, what did you put in there?"
"i dunno, some of that red shit," he answered, barely concerned, peering into the pan as if offended that his creation wasn’t behaving properly. "it looked right."
"you just threw in spices like you were summoning a demon, didn’t you?" sam accused.
"hey, if i was summoning anything, it’d be a pizza delivery guy, ‘cause this ain’t workin’." dean grabbed the pan handle, but immediately hissed and dropped it back onto the stove. "son of a—who the hell made this pan lava-proof?"
"it's called heat, dumbass," you snorted, but the joke was cut short when the smoke alarm started blaring.
"aw, come on!" dean groaned, grabbing a towel to fan the smoke away. "we got this under control!"
"do we?" sam asked dryly, as you rushed to open a window. the sound was piercing, and it was only a matter of time before someone (probably a very annoyed neighbor) complained.
"alright, screw this," you said, tossing the ruined pan into the sink with a dramatic clatter. "i'm calling it—pizza and beer."
"now we're talkin’," dean grinned, already reaching for his phone. "see, this is why i married you. you get me."
"yeah, yeah, just order before i change my mind and make you eat the chicken."
sam just shook his head, stepping around the mess as if it personally offended him. "i swear, cooking with you two is like watching a disaster movie in slow motion."
"yeah, but we make it look good, right?" dean winked at you, still smug despite the failure.
"you know what else looks good?" dean leaned in, voice dropping into a husky murmur. "you, bent over this counter, covered in flour, with me showing you how to properly handle raw meat."
"oh my god," sam groaned, throwing down the spatula. "can we go ten minutes without you turning everything into a porno?"
"hey, i'm just saying, cooking’s a very sensual activity. lotta kneading, lotta poundin—"
"i will stab you," you deadpanned, brandishing a fork. "not in the fun way."
sam rubbed his temples like he was reconsidering every life choice that led him here. "i don't get paid enough for this."
"you don't get paid at all," dean shot back. "you just hang around, all tall and judgy, pretending you don’t enjoy our company."
"it's not pretending if it's true," sam muttered.
"see, babe?" dean turned back to you, grinning. "this is why you gotta appreciate me more. i'm the fun brother."
"you're something, alright," you muttered, shaking your head.
finally, after much more unnecessary bickering, the pizza arrived. beers were popped open, and the three of you collapsed onto the couch, the kitchen a war zone of spices, flour, and regret.
"y'know," dean said around a mouthful of pizza, "we should do this again sometime."
"we absolutely should not," sam and you answered in perfect unison.
and that, of course, just made dean laugh harder.
taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume
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deansbeer · 1 day ago
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ೇ WORTH EVERY PENNY. ☆
adult content | minors do NOT interact.
📖 LIBRARY !
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PAIRING. dean winchester x f!reader.
SYNOPSIS. he ruined your other sheer lace bra last time while cleaning baby, so you bought a new one. when he sees you in it, though, all he can think about is sliding his cock between your tits—you don't stop him.
WARNINGS. smut | s1 dean | titfucking | use of oil | praising | dirty talk | dean's obsessed with ur tits (as he should) | strong language.
KARI TALKS. the link below is what inspired me to write this filthiness. listen !!! do not come for me !!! or i'll shoot u w my glock <3 because 🖕🏻 n e ways … i love smookums SO bad !!! he's such a lil slut <3 + this is lowkeyyy ass … but in bree's words! fuck it we ball.
🔗 P LINK.
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dean owes you a bra. or at least, he owed you a bra.
but instead of whining about it—because let's be honest, you didn't actually care—you just went out and bought a new one. a better one.
it wasn't like you couldn't afford it.
your dad was loaded, ran a huge company known around the world, and you were his only daughter. money was never an issue. but when he made you choose between your inheritance or dean, the choice was easy.
you cut him off without a second thought.
and yeah, maybe that pissed off dean at first—because he had his whole pride thing going on—but you didn't give a shit. you were happy. you had him.
and right now? well, right now, you had his full attention.
"jesus, sweetheart. that's new."
you're lying on your back, your arms bent at the elbows, biceps pushing your tits together, giving him a perfect view of the new sheer lace bra wrapped around you.
it's delicate, expensive, barely even there.
dean's staring. openly. shamelessly. his green eyes dark, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he's already imagining all the ways he wants to ruin you.
and honestly? you love it.
"figured i deserved a new one," you say, tilting your head, acting all innocent. "since you completely soaked my last one."
he smirks, kneeling beside you on the bed, his hands already reaching for you. "not my fault you looked so cute all wet and pissed off."
"you drenched me, winchester."
"and you loved every second of it."
you roll your eyes, but you don't stop him when his fingers slide along the lace, tracing the curve of your tits, palming them through the fabric.
he exhales hard, cock already hard in his boxers, straining against the fabric.
"baby," he mutters. "this thing's barely even doin' its job."
you grin. "good."
he groans, squeezing a little rougher, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin material.
"you know," he starts, voice dropping, "i've always wanted to try somethin'."
you raise an eyebrow. "yeah?"
dean nods, his smirk turning downright filthy.
"lemme fuck these pretty tits."
you don't even hesitate. "whatever you want, baby."
dean looks too good, sitting back on his knees, muscles flexing, his cock heavy and hard in his hand.
he groans at your response, muttering a low, "fuck, you're perfect," before reaching over to grab something from the nightstand.
you hear the pop of a bottle cap, and then suddenly, his hands are lathering something warm and slick over your skin—oil, maybe?
whatever it is, it makes his touch glide like silk, his fingers sliding over your tits, spreading the shine, making them glisten under the dim motel light.
you hum, arching into his hands. "this your thing now, winchester? oiling me up?"
he chuckles, but his voice is strained. "nah, just wanna make sure i can slide in nice and easy, sweetheart."
you bite your lip, heat pooling between your thighs.
he positions himself, straddling your waist, his cock nestled right between your tits, the tip red and leaking, aching for friction.
"press 'em together for me, baby," he murmurs.
you obey, pushing your oiled-up tits around his cock, squeezing just right.
dean chokes out a groan, his head tipping back, hands gripping your ribs as he thrusts for the first time.
"yeah," he breathes. "just like that, sweetheart."
dean is a mess.
he starts slow, watching himself slide through the tight, slippery space, his cock disappearing and reappearing between your tits.
his breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the headboard behind you as he picks up the pace.
"jesus—fuck—"
his words send a shiver down your spine, and honestly? you're just as turned on as he is.
the sheer lace bra does nothing to hide the mess—his cock gliding between your slicked-up skin, the fabric barely covering your hard nipples, everything shiny with oil and precum.
dean loves it.
his eyes are blown out, fixated on the way your tits bounce with every thrust, his groans getting louder, rougher, more desperate.
"so fuckin' good—"
you giggle breathlessly, looking up at him. "you're really into this, huh?"
his eyes snap to yours, his hand is on your chin, tilting your face up.
"you have no idea," he rasps, before spitting right onto your tits.
you moan, clenching around nothing, the slick mess making everything even filthier.
"fuck, fuck—baby girl," he groans, thrusting harder now, his abs flexing, his hips snapping sharp and fast.
you love seeing him like this—wild, desperate, completely wrecked over you.
then—he loses it.
"shit—gonna cum—"
dean pulls back at the last second, his cock twitching, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he finishes all over your tits and that expensive, see-through lace bra.
he groans, long and deep, his head dropping forward, his body shuddering as he coats your skin in thick, warm ropes of cum.
you watch him, breathless, your thighs clenched, your own body aching for more.
"damn, baby," he mutters after a second, blinking down at you, his chest rising and falling.
you glance down at yourself, sticky and shiny, your new bra absolutely ruined.
"well," you hum, amused. "guess i'll be needing another one."
dean snorts, flopping onto the bed beside you, still catching his breath.
"yeah?" he smirks, glancing over. "that means i get to ruin another one, right?"
you roll your eyes, turning to straddle him instead.
"only if you make it up to me first."
he grins, grabbing your hips, pulling you down against his already half-hard cock.
"pretty girl," he murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "y'know, i can do that."
꒰୨୧꒱ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @lacydollette @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @stereotypicalbarbie @unfortunate-brat
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lun4-lun4t1c · 3 days ago
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HELP I LOVE THIS SO FUCKING MUCH😭
More Dean x younger!reader who he really cannot stand.
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doeinlace · 3 days ago
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how would each of the jackles characters celebrate valentines day with reader?
here are my interpretations on how each of the jackles characters + jackles himself would celebrate valentines day with reader! thank you sososososoooo much for this ask!! literally got this two days ago and have been working on it since!
dean winchester omggg, he’d totally act like he doesn’t care about valentine’s day, all gruff like “it’s just a Hallmark holiday, sweetheart”—but the second you so much as pout? he’s melting. he’d surprise you with something small but so him, like a mixtape of songs that make him think of you, all classic rock and slow, deep-cut love songs. and then he’d take you for a drive, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh, murmuring some soft “you know I love you, right?” when he thinks you’re not paying attention. ughhh :(
soldier boy no bc he’d act like valentine’s day is beneath him, all cocky smirks and “you don’t need a special day when you’ve got me, baby”—but then he’d overdo it. expensive dinner, red roses, some insane gift like diamond earrings because he can. and he’d still try to play it cool but you’d catch him staring at you across the table, jaw tight, because the candlelight is making you look like a dream, and he’s just gone. later, when he pulls you into his lap, all “yeah, you’re mine, alright”—it’s over.
beau arlen he’d be so soft about it, like all “darlin’, you didn’t think I’d forget, did ya?” and of course, he didn’t. he’d plan the sweetest date—somewhere private, away from town, just you, him, and a bottle of wine under the stars. he’d bring you flowers, probably ones he picked himself, tie them with a little ribbon just because he knows you love it. and the way he’d look at you? like you hung the damn moon. later, when he’s got you all wrapped up in his arms, murmuring sweet nothings against your hair, you just know you’re done for.
jensen ackles no bc he’d be so effortless about it—like he’d just know exactly what you want without you even saying it. he’d book some cozy little getaway, all warm candlelight and silk sheets, but make it seem like it was totally casual. “just figured we could use some time away, baby.” pls. and then he’d spend the whole night spoiling you, watching you with that soft, lazy grin like he can’t believe you’re real. and the way he’d pull you into him, fingers trailing slow down your back? yeah, you’re not leaving that bed anytime soon.
taglist
@jasvtsc @angelackless @soldiersgirl @soangelbaby @figthoughts @cowboysandcigarettes @dulcescorderitas @clairereadin comment to be added
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wchswift · 3 days ago
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ଓ VALENTINE'S DAY WITH DEAN
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pairing: dean winchester x reader
summary: dean pretends not to care about the holiday, but every year he makes sure to celebrate it with you.
word count: 700
note: this blurb was requested by @bettystonewell for headcanon from dean in valentine's day! I didn't like this one very much but I really hope you enjoy it <3 this is part of my 125 followers celebration! Join the celebration too!
── english isn't my first language :)
mdni 𖤐 18+
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"Valentine’s Day is a scam, sweetheart."
Dean had grumbled those exact words this morning—coffee in one hand, mouth full of pancake—looking wholly unimpressed by the pink and red decorations plastered around the diner where you’d stopped for breakfast.
"Hallmark holiday. Just a bunch of overpriced flowers and bad chocolate. What's the point? I show you that I love you every day; I don't need a special day for that," he snorted, continuing his speech. "Valentine's Day is only beneficial for singles because it's a great day to hit on women at the bar."
You’d rolled your eyes, laughing, because honestly? You knew better. You knew Dean Winchester—knew that he could act all tough and indifferent, but at the end of the day, he was all heart when it came to you. He literally did this every year, and by the end of the day, he always pulled off the most romantic or cute gesture to show that he still cared and was still there for you.
Which is how you found yourself here, sitting in a booth at your favorite diner, a basket of greasy fries between you, REO Speedwagon playing on the jukebox.
You narrow your eyes at the man across from you. “You sure you don’t do Valentine’s Day?”
Dean shrugs, all casual-like, grabbing a fry and popping it into his mouth. “What? Can’t we just enjoy a nice dinner together? Just you and me? You know how much I love a greasy meal,” he says with an exaggerated wink that tells you he's full of it.
You just nod but can't help but notice the small, wrapped package he's trying—and failing—to hide beneath his jacket on the seat.
You scoff, crossing your arms. “Uh-huh. So, you just happened to take me to my favorite diner, with my favorite fries, let me pick all the songs, and—” With a pointed finger, you direct his attention to the little pink-wrapped gift. “—get me a gift?”
“It’s not a gift!” he protests, a hint of fluster breaking through his cool demeanor. “It’s just… something I’ve wanted to give you for a while, and it was in..." He stumbles over his words. "In my pocket,” he finishes, his voice low.
Biting your lip, you pull the little package toward you and carefully unwrap it, the delicate paper crinkling slightly under your fingers. Inside is a mixtape—classic Dean Winchester. And when you turn it over, your heart does a little stupid flip at the handwritten label.
I Love You Mix Tape
For My Lucky Charm.
It's so simple yet so meaningful.
You glance up at him, your chest tightening. “Dean… you big softie,” you tease, a playful smile tugging at your lips.
He lets out a snorted laugh, looking almost embarrassed, bringing his beer to his lips in a futile attempt to hide his reaction. “It's not anything grand,” he admits, his voice a bit sheepish. “I just thought I’d give you something you’d appreciate. I know it’s not much��definitely not a big, romantic gesture.”
The earnestness in his tone makes your heart swell a little more, softening the edges of the moment.
Setting the tape down, you slide out of your seat, and before he can react, you slip into the booth next to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek.
“Shut up. It's perfect, Dean. Really. I love this—all of it.”
Dean huffs, but you can feel the way he relaxes under your touch, his arm immediately draping over your shoulders. “Damn it, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your temple. “You’re gonna make me start actually likin’ this stupid holiday.”
You tilt your head up, brushing your lips against his. “Oh, you love it. You’re just too stubborn to admit it.”
His fingers tighten on your waist, and the playful glint in his eyes turns darker, more intent. “Maybe. But you know what part of the holiday I do like?”
You swallow as his lips graze your jaw, his voice dipping lower. “What’s that?”
Dean grins against your skin. “The part where I take you back to the motel and spend the whole damn night reminding you how much you mean to me.”
And suddenly, Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem like such a scam after all.
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𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!
taglist: @lyarr24 @chevroletdean @cowboysandcigarettes @nochedie (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)
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wendichester · 2 days ago
Note
I would like to request a story/one-shot of Dean. Please, my idea is to have the reader come back from trying to have a normal life after 2 years but being saved by Dean from the reader's abusive ex-boyfriend, who was possessed by a demon. The reader calls him from a motel after being attacked and almost killed. The reader would be the same age as Dean. I love angst, fluff, smut, action. I can't wait to read it.
ִֶָ་༘࿐ back to you,
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summary. you left hunting behind for a normal life, but normal almost killed you. and when you call dean for help, he comes without hesitation.
pairing. dean winchester x reader
wordcount. 739
warnings. abuse, violence, blood, angsty and slightly smutty ; mdni!
notes. hope i managed to do your idea justice! thank you for the request hun 🩷
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You don’t know why you dial his number.
Maybe it’s instinct—something buried deep, something you thought you let go of years ago.
Or maybe it’s because you know, without a doubt, that if you call, he’ll come.
The motel room is dimly lit, the air thick with copper and fear. Your hands shake as you press the ice pack to your ribs, wincing at the deep bruising beneath your shirt. The bedspread is stained with your blood—your ex’s blood, too, but it’s black, inky, curling in places it shouldn’t.
You knew something was wrong when he changed. When the apologies stopped coming, when the anger started twisting into something unnatural, something cruel. But you kept telling yourself this was what you wanted—a normal life. Stability. Something different than hunting.
Now, you’re paying the price.
The phone rings once. Twice.
Then—"Y/N?"
You almost sob at the sound of his voice. "Dean."
His tone sharpens immediately. "Where are you?"
You swallow hard. "Pinewood Motel, off Highway 6. Room 14."
"Are you hurt?"
"Yeah," you whisper, voice shaking. "I—he—" Your throat closes, bile rising at the memory of hands wrapped around your neck, snarled threats spilling from a mouth that wasn’t his.
Dean doesn’t need you to say it. "Stay put. I’m coming."
Then the line goes dead.
You barely register the roar of the Impala pulling in. By the time the knock comes—loud, insistent—you’re already up, crossing the room.
When you open the door, Dean is standing there, eyes wild, breath heavy like he broke every speed limit to get to you. He takes one look at you—swollen lip, bruised cheek, the dark stains on your shirt—and his jaw clenches, something lethal flashing in his eyes.
"Son of a bitch," he breathes, stepping inside.
You don’t realize you’re shaking until he reaches for you, fingers brushing over your arms, your shoulders, his touch careful, reverent. "Did he—?"
"He’s dead," you say quietly. "It wasn’t just him, Dean. He was possessed."
Dean’s grip tightens. His eyes flicker over you again, checking, cataloging. "You sure it’s over?"
You nod, but your voice wavers. "I think so."
Dean exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before pulling you into his chest. It’s automatic—the way you fit against him, the way his arms wrap around you like he can hold you together.
"Jesus, sweetheart," he mutters. "What the hell were you thinking?"
You let out a choked laugh. "That I could have a normal life."
He pulls back just enough to look at you, fingers tilting your chin up. "And how’d that work out?"
"Really fucking bad."
His lips press together, something softer, sadder settling in his gaze. "You should’ve never left."
The weight of those words settle deep in your chest, guilt threading through your ribs. "I thought I wanted to."
Dean’s thumb brushes over your cheek, barely ghosting over the bruise there. His voice lowers, rough, but there’s something unbearably tender beneath it. "And now?"
You look up at him, at the concern carved into his face, the way his hands still tremble slightly where they hold you.
"I don’t want normal," you whisper. "I want you."
Something breaks in him at that. He breathes out your name like a prayer before his mouth crashes into yours.
It’s desperate, consuming. His fingers tangle in your hair, his other hand slipping under your shirt, tracing over bruises like he can erase them. Your hands pull at his jacket, needing him closer, needing him to ground you.
When he backs you against the bed, you go easily, gasping as he lowers you down. His lips never leave yours, not as his hands work your clothes off, not as he presses kisses down your neck, over your shoulder, mapping every place that hurts with his mouth.
"Mine," he murmurs against your skin, voice hoarse, possessive. "No one gets to touch you like this. No one but me."
And you don’t want anyone else.
The night is slow, filled with whispered apologies, soft moans, the warmth of him sinking deep into your bones. He doesn’t let go of you—not once. Even after, when the adrenaline fades and exhaustion crashes over you, he holds you tight, fingers laced with yours, his lips pressed to your temple.
"You’re coming back with me," he murmurs. "Not gonna let you go again. Nothing bad's ever gonna happen to you again."
You sigh, sinking into him, into home.
"Not going anywhere."
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zepskies · 2 days ago
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Wow, what an interesting twist on the “sex pollen/sex curse” trope! Love what a “good man” Dean is in this. 🥹 I could really feel his desperation to save her, especially when she wouldn't let him help her at first, and again when he’s praying that it worked! 😭
Also, holding off on Dean's confession until the ultimate moment was a great way to build that suspense. 👌🏽
And of course, Sam helping them figure things out from the sidelines lolll.
I really enjoyed this! ❤️‍🔥
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What You Do
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Main Masterlist
Read on A03!
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n
Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.
But the asshole is still going to try.
Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!
Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple
Word Count: 7.6k
Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person. 
He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person. 
He’s not. 
Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-
You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.
But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual. 
You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.
He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.
“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“
“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”
Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck. 
You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.
When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.
There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer. 
But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there. 
His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.
Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.
It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.
But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.
Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed. 
And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.
And you’d be left in pain and want again.
He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it. 
“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“
You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-
“Shit, are you-“
“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”
“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”
You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.
He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning. 
And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.
But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking- 
“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“
You’d passed out. 
When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone. 
The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.
You’d never moved faster in your life.
You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“
“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“
“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“
“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”
You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“
“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.
“When I’m what?”
 “I don’t wanna say it.”
“Sam-“
“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.
He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-
“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”
He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.” 
“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”
“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“
“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned. 
“Are you-“
You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“
“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”
 You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“
“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.
Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.
And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better. 
Until Dean made it better. 
So you were fucked. 
“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“
You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.
Tell him.
You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through. 
Please.
And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.
He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.
Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years. 
What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love. 
And he still won’t stop being a good person.
He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.
“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”
You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”
“Don’t wanna-“
“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“
Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“
“No.”
“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“
Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that. 
“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress. 
You can’t look him in the eyes. 
You can’t really do anything at all.
“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.” 
Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.
“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.
“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.” 
“Bored?”
You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”
“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”
“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“
“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”
“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“
“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“
“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”
Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”
“No.”
“Your room?”
“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“
“My room?”
You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.
“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“
“Shut up.” 
“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“
“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”
You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.
You fall out of your seat with a moan.
Dean catches you. 
“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“
“Dean, no-“
“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“
You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-
“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”
Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“
“It won’t work-“
“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“
“That’s not what Sam said.”
There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-
“What are you talking about.”
“He said I needed an intimate connection.”
“Yeah, sex-“
“No-“
“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“
“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”
The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-
Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”
“Dean-“
“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”
You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”
You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“
“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”
“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“
You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“
Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“
“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“
“And mean it? I always mean it-“
“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.
You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.
But you’d said it. 
And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be. 
But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.
You pass out again.
It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body. 
There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.
Oh.
Oh, no. 
“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.
“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“
“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”
“Dean-“
“You want me.” 
“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.
“You love me?”
“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.
His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.
“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.
“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“ 
Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him. 
This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-
There are worse deaths that this.
“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”
“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“ 
He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-
You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.
“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body.  “Trust me. I’ve got you.”
He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you. 
And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse. 
But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.
He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.
He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.
“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“
“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“
You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.
“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”
For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut. 
But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-
You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.
You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-
“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”
You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-
There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun. 
Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.
He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.
“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.
You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.
“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”
Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.
Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.
It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you. 
You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-
You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair. 
He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes. 
“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”
You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean. 
You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs. 
But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.
You need him. Now.
When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.
“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“
You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat. 
You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.
“Baby, you don’t have to-“
“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-
“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“
“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”
“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”
You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head. 
“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“
You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.
It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean. 
“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“
He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-
“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“
“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“
This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.
“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“
“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.
But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock. 
You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.
He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.
“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“
He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”
“Dean-“
“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”
“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“
The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss. 
His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge. 
“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“
You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.
“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“
You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“
“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“
“Dean-“
“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“
You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.
“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”
The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.
He loves you. 
He needs you.
And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.
Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying. 
You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.
“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“
He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.
“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”
You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”
“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“
“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“
“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”
“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”
Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”
“And did you mean it?”
A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”
You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“
“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“
“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“
“Neither had you-“
“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”
“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”
“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”
Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“
“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“
“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.
“Sam is not little.”
“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“
“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”
“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin. 
You could get used to this. 
You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.
“Dean?”
He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.
“How long have you… loved me?”
“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”
“How long is-“
“Long enough that I don’t remember.”
“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.
“How about you?”
“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before. 
And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.
You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.
“Are we- Is this it?”
“This-“
“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”
“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”
“More than anything.”
“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.
“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“
It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.
“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”
Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known. 
A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.
“You and me, baby?”
“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”
“Awesome.”
End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??
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starzify · 12 hours ago
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patch you up — dean winchester
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pairing dean winchester x fem!reader
warnings smut | foreplay | unprotected p in v (do not try at home 😱😱)
SPN MASTERLIST
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The last vampire went down after a brutal tag-team effort, Dean landing the decapitating blow with a grunt of satisfaction. He turned to you, ready with some cocky remark, but froze when he saw the gash along your shoulder, blood seeping through your torn sleeve.
“We need to get out. Now.” His voice was sharp, harsher than he meant.
“There’s still more,” you argued, glancing around the dark room.
“I don’t care.” He grabbed your wrist, checking for injuries before pulling you toward the door. “We’ll handle it later. Move.”
He’d offered you his jacket, but you’d declined. This was not how he’d dreamed it. You sat in the passenger seat of his baby, your dress torn and bloodied, your face sour, refusing to look at him. He heard you take a deep breath and braced himself for your snide comment.
“What were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.” You didn’t even sound mad, you stated it like a fact.
He couldn’t help but do a double take as he processed your words. “Me? We had a plan, and that wasn’t it. What were you thinking, going off alone with them?”
“I had to think on my feet, and it was going perfectly until you barged in and fucked it all up. God I am so sick of you.”
“Perfect my ass! Putting yourself in dange-”
“I was fine, you put me in danger.” He opened his mouth to interject but you continued, going full rant. “They saw you sniffing around the club, and when you broke in, they saw you on the CCTV. It wasn’t exactly hard to put two plus two together. You always do this, you underestimate me. I am not some damsel in distress, I can handle myself.”
The air was thick with bitter tension as he drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. He didn’t like you going off alone like that, but maybe you had a point. Hunting wasn’t exactly the safest of jobs, and you’d made it this far without him. He should have apologised or tried to smooth things over, but instead, he asked, “Well, princess, will you at least let me patch you up?”
You watched with furrowed brows as he cocked his thumb to point at his room. He’d expected you to ignore him and head for your own room, but you agreed with a nod and crossed your arms as you followed him inside.
He didn’t try getting you to sit in his lap. You sat yourself on the end of the bed as he located his makeshift first-aid pack.
“Should I put the TV on?” He asks, knowing it’ll likely be a long, quiet process if not. 
You glare, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s reminded of the look you’d given him across the dancefloor earlier and everything else he’s associated with it. Eventually, you answer. “Whatever.”
He sighs, switches on the TV, and begins patching you up in silence. He tries to be gentle, but the alcohol makes you hiss and groan as he cleans you up. Every moan evokes an indecent image that makes his skin burn with inappropriate arousal. He wonders if you sound the same in bed.
When the worst of the damage is patched up, he starts cleaning up the excess blood, checking for any he might have missed. Blood from the cut across your chest has gathered and congealed in your cleavage. He hooks a finger on the low neckline of your dress and looks to your face for approval. You’re unbothered, eyes fixated on the TV screen with such distaste he wonders if inanimate objects can take offence.
He tugs at the dress, not enough to expose anything but enough to get your attention. You glance down at his hand, then to his face, and shrug before diverting your attention back to the TV. Taking that as permission, he pulls your dress down, almost certainly too far. He takes an involuntary moment to soak in the image, blood and bandages included, you were a vision in your lacy black bra.
Your deliberate coughing brought him back to the present, and he made quick work of cleaning your chest, avoiding your gaze as he worked. When he was done, you pulled your dress back up without delay. You made no move to get up, and he made no effort to move you. Instead, you continued to sit in awkward silence. Both of you too stubborn to speak first.
When you finally broke the silence, you didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, worried. “The rest of the nest is gonna be on our trail.”
“I know.” He conferred, trying to match your energy. “But it’s almost sunrise, we have time to rest and regroup before tomorrow night.”
“And will I be allowed to fight them, or would you like to cover me in bubble wrap?” Your voice still lacked malice, just sarcasm.
Without taking the time to think through his words, Dean replied. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t blame me when you get yourself killed, or worse turned.”
“There you go again.” You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, exasperated. “All your mouth does is talk dumb shit.”
“My mouth does plenty, thank you very much.”
“Like what?” You ask, tone defiant as you watch him through your lashes. The words were wrong, but the intense gaze matched his fantasy. He half expected you to reach out and pull him in for a kiss. When you don’t, he does it for you. You taste like salt and booze, but your lips are so soft, they melt right into his.
When you pull away, he braces himself for you to yell, or punch, or leave, but instead, your eyes rake over his face. He notices the heat in his cheeks when you comment, “Are you blushing, Winchester? Because of me?”
“No, it’s hot in here.” He replies curtly, still not wanting to give you the upper hand. 
“Funny.” You aren’t laughing as you look around the room. “I’m pretty cold.”
“You lost a lot of blood. That’s one of the symptoms.”
“Isn’t delirium also a symptom. If it’s that bad, are you taking advantage of me?” You raise brows at him, challenging him.
In return, he shoots you with the most puppy-dog concerned face he can muster. “Are you? Delirious? Should we stop?”
“No, get back over here and kiss me.” Now you reach for him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your lips lock again. Mid kiss, you straddle him, holding him still with your arm around his neck as you begin to grind against his clothed erection.
He paws at the skirt of your dress until you get the hint and pull it over your head. He only gets a second to enjoy the view before you return the gesture, lifting his shirt up until he finishes the job for you. By the time he’s done, you’ve removed your bra as well. He greets the unobstructed sight of your breasts by planting himself between them, lavishing them with his mouth, sucking and nibbling at your nipples as you roll your hips against him.
Offering you reprieve, he pulls back to watch you as he dips his hand into your panties, happy to be greeted by the slick between your folds. Not bothering to tease, he plunges a finger straight in, enjoying the way your heat immediately clenches around him. He pumps the solo digit a few times before adding a second and a third, and you take each one perfectly. The sounds you make are just how he’d dreamed it, but also somehow better.
The best sound is the squeal you make as he quickly retracts his fingers and switches your position, laying you flat on your back as he straddles your thighs. You take it in your stride, however, and plant your hands on his shoulder before slipping them down his chest to hook into the waistband of his jeans. You work together to undo his belt and jeans. Dean shimmies them down just low enough to expose his dick. You must like what you see because he notices the way you lick your lips at the sight. He makes a mental note to see about putting your mouth to good use at a later time.
Your whole body seems to shiver when he runs the tip of his hardened cock between your slit, deliberately circling your clit.
“You like that?” He coos.
You respond by pushing him off you. He concedes, rolling onto his back and letting you mount him once again. “Shut up.”
He laughs but otherwise does as he’s told, barely able to keep his composure as he takes in the sight of you. You grip his cock, pumping a few times before you start lining him up with your entrance, and he prays you don’t mock his blushing again.
You don’t say anything, but you lock eyes with him as you slide his cock between your lips and sink down onto him. Fuck, you feel so fucking good, better than he could have imagined. Your walls are tight and wet around him, and he can’t help but grip onto your hips, not to force you down, but to make sure you don’t retreat.
When you reach the base, you seize all movement, presumably allowing yourself to adjust, but he can’t help rocking his hip beneath you. You both groan in sync at the feeling.
“Impatient.” You scold, but your voice is soft and dreamy.
“Can’t help it.” He returns, thrusting up again and enjoying the way your eyes roll back in response. “You feel too good, you take it so well.”
You glare at him, challenging him as you reposition your feet, readying to start, and he bites his lip in anticipation.
With no further warning, you start riding him, setting a fast, reckless pace, and releases your hips to fists at the sheets, trying to distract himself from the fact he’s already about to blow his load.
“I think I’m gonna-”
He’s cut off by the immediate narrowing of your eyes. “Don’t you dare, not until I’ve cum first. You owe me.”
“Fuck. Yes ma’am.”  He groans through gritted teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock.
It’s agonising, watching you sway above him, taking what you want from his body. He watches with bated breath as you start to play with your clit, pleasuring yourself. His whole-body jerks, trying to hold back when he feels your walls squeeze around him.  You lol your head back, moaning to the ceiling when you finally hit your climax.
Your body slows as you try to catch your breath, but it’s Dean's turn. He sits up, lifting you by your ass just enough to ease the process of him rutting up into your leaking cunt.
“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum deep inside you.” He chants.
You nod, blasé and tell him; “Do it.”
As if on demand, he shoots his load, spilling inside you with a loud, animalistic groan.
Your weight falls on him, your head resting against his shoulder. He feels his own energy slowly draining as well, but that doesn’t stop him from placing absentminded kisses on the back of your neck as he carefully falls back against the bed, taking you with him. Of everything that had happened that night, cuddling was the most surprising to him.
After a few minutes he speaks up, shifting to guide you back up. His soft cock slips out, and he feels his own cum drip back onto him. “We should get cleaned up.”
“Yeah.” You nod, taking his queue, standing from bed, and heading for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “And we should really start working on a plan nightfall.”
“Maybe we should get some rest first. Regroup when we're not both exhausted.”
“Are you kidding.” Your head pokes out of the bathroom door. “They could be on our trail right now… What?”
“Nothin’.” He shrugs. All the tension you’d just released together was already building back up. “You just don’t ever fucking change.”
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tags: @ultravi0lence14 @beausling @bluemerakis @chevroletdean @dulcescorderitas @deansbeer @figthoughts @florchids @haunteres @h8aaz @j2archives @rafespreciosa @sunsbaby @soldiersgirl @sunsettsam @titsout4jackles @turnerrst @whisperingdaze
cassie chats: i was gonna make this a lil drabble but my freaky ass got carried away 💔💔
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godmadeaterribleerror · 3 days ago
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Where Do You End Pt. 2
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Main Masterlist
Read on A03! - Pt. 1 - Pt. 3
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, angst, body swap, mentions of smut, humor, horniness, very weird
Summary/Warnings: You put the plan into motion, and Sam realizes you're not Dean a little too late.
Author's Note: Supernatural characters are incapable of the just making the emotionally smart choice on the first try, but they're doing their best.
Word Count: 4.5k
Dean had half shoved the phone into your hand. His hand. Your hand was the one who shoved it into Dean’s hand, and Dean’s hand was the one that was dialing Sam while your hand drummed on the table, and your own eyes watched you with a searing intensity that only Dean was capable of. 
You’re not sure what suddenly made him take this seriously, but you don’t really care. You just need this to be over. 
Because the last twelve hours have been the longest of your life.
It started with your eyes wandering where they shouldn’t. Dean would shift in his chair, your body would shift with him, and when your boobs would bounce it was suddenly impossible to stop staring at them. Dean would walk away from you—to the parking lot, or through a door, or over to the bar—and your hips would do a little swaying thing that made Dean’s body tense. 
Your body tense. Dean’s body that was right now your body—and only about twenty percent in your control—tense. 
And he’d bend over, and your ass would stick in the air, and it was like your eyes were magnetically drawn to it.
You have a nice ass. You’ve never really seen it before, but it’s a nice ass. And nice tits, and an overall face that was better than you’d ever really given yourself credit for. You’re pretty. You have good features, a nice voice, and a great body.
This experience would be an overall ego booster, if you haven’t spent the whole time trying not to lose your mind.
Because then Dean wiggled his ass—your ass—and your jeans felt tight. Almost painful. And there was a weird throbbing feeling between your legs that was deep in your core, but it was heavier than you were used to-
You’d glanced down at your lap with a frown, worried you’d done something to fuck up Dean’s body, and almost fallen out of your chair.
You never wanted to experience an erection again. They were uncomfortable and sudden and annoyingly obvious. They made it hard to focus when you were trying to talk to Dean about the situation, and distracting when you were trying to do research. 
It didn’t help how they were purely out of your control. How easily they appeared, and how impossibly they went. 
And Dean was not fucking helping. He’d squirm when you touched him, and you’d get a boner. He’d use your voice to whine or mumble or just say anything at all, and you’d get a boner. At one point he kicked you and you got a boner.
You don’t know how he functions like this. You’d been a little worried that he doesn’t. That you’re getting turned on by your own shockingly attractive body for some fucked up Freudian reason, and Dean’s got nothing to do with this.
Then you’d dragged him out of the diner, and it had killed that doubt with fire and smoke. You’d never drag your own body like that. You hated it when Dean did that to you—the close proximity and overall Dean-ness of the action always made you weak and soft, molding into him when you were supposed to be pounding on his chest and calling him an asshole—and you hadn’t even really been considering it as an option to stop him going to the bathroom, but Dean’s muscles had flexed against your will, his body had stood taller without your permission, and suddenly you’d been grabbing your own arm and manhandled Dean out of the diner.
He’d been sulking the whole ride back. It was the same way you usually sulked after he did that to you, with a pout and arms folded over your chest.
His boobs—your boobs—were pushed up. You could see cleavage when you glanced to the side, and your cock twitched in your jeans to shove between those pretty fucking tits-
What the fuck was wrong with you.
It was like your body—Dean’s body—had a mind of its own. Behaving as Dean would behave, had none of this shit ever happened. Opening doors and placing that broad hand on your lower back, towering over you closer than he had any right to be and pressing you into corners until he was only just not touching you.
You really wish you’d pushed harder to make him stop doing that. If only for the sake of you now, crowding your own space and getting hard whenever Dean would squirm away from you. But you hadn’t, because when it was you in your own body, you loved it.
It was a cruel, masochistic drug you’d hooked yourself on, where Dean didn’t want you like that but he was still giving you this. You were only his friend in his mind, but he still liked you as a body. He didn’t feel anything for you the same way you felt things for him, but there was still an animalistic attraction that made him hover and smirk and tease you.
It gave you something to hang onto. It gave you something to hate about him, because you really did love everything else. 
You really loved Dean. You really loved his dumb jokes, and his shit-eating grin, and how loud and annoying and adorable he could be. You loved how he loved his car, how he cared about Sam with everything he had, how he was maybe to biggest, hottest geek you’d ever met. 
You really simply loved Dean.
And he didn’t love you, and you’d forced yourself to live with that because you had to. He was still your best friend. You hate him, and you’re furious with him for telling you no and then acting like nothing had changed when he’d ripped your heart out of your chest, carved his name on it, and returned it without any desire to care for how he’d mauled you in a beautiful and irreversible way, but he’s your best friend. And you love him.
And this needed to be fixed now, because you can’t keep living in such firm and solid proof that Dean’s body wants you, but there’s something revolting enough to his brain that he never ever cross that line you’ve had to restrain yourself from all day.
The first step is to call Sam, and execute the secrets plan so you can have some help that isn’t just a grumpy Dean. The second step is to hiss at Dean that he needs to leave the room before Sam picks up, because the whole point is that this a you and Sam secret, and Dean isn’t allowed to hear it.
“You can’t just cut me out of this, sweetheart,” he hisses back, narrowing your eyes. It’s cute. You’re going to fucking die. “I’ll be damned if I let you and Sammy whisper about me while I just stand in the freakin’ hall-“
“Not everything is about you, Dean.” You sneer. “And if you want this to work, wait outside.”
“But-“
“Outside.” Your voice raises slightly as you point to the door, and there’s an authoritative, commanding tone to it that makes Dean’s eyes—your eyes—widen. “Now.”
Dean scowls and shuffles outside, his low grumble about this being bullshit muffled as the door closes behind him.
You glare after him—not loving how annoyed his body is that you just let Dean walk away without picking him up and kissing his hair—and Sam picks up seconds later.
“Listen, Dean, I know you’re freaking out, but you can’t keep calling me.” Sam sounds exasperated, and you frown into the air as he continues. “This is supposed to be my week off with Eileen, and it’s hard to relax when you keep fucking calling me.”
“I-“ You shake your head slightly, glancing back to the door. “What?”
“You’ve called me seven times, Dude. Listen, it’s not going to go bad, she doesn’t hate you, and all you need to do is talk about your feelings like an adult and everything will be fine.”
“I don’t-“
“Yeah, I know.” You can hear Sam’s eye roll through the phone. “There’s nothing to talk about, she doesn’t know what she’d be getting into, you’d rather be miserable and all that shit. Look, Dean, at this point all I can tell you is to get your head out of your ass, and stop calling me.”
“Sam.” Your voice is slow, cautious, and wired with things you don’t fully understand. “What are you talking about.”
He says your name like it’s obvious, and you think the world stops spinning. “I know you didn’t wanna solo hunt with her, but-“
“Why didn’t he- Why didn’t I want to solo hunt with her?” Your voice is more frantic than Dean’s usually is. You don’t really care. “What’s wrong with her?”
“Nothing’s wrong with her, Dean, you’re just still in love with her, and kind of being a fucking dick about it.”
Sam keeps talking. Something about how Dean’s always worried about hunting with you, how he’s always worried he’s going to slip up and put you in danger, how he’s afraid you’ll catch on to his real feelings, how he believes it’s easier when Sam is there to run interference and prevent too much of Dean’s hand from being shown.
It’s all just noise, though. Because there’s no way Dean loves you. He’d said he didn’t. He’d said you were his friend and nothing more, he’d shot you down, he’d apologized and told you the feeling would fade, because it was just a crush, and it would pass.
You’d spent months forcing yourself to be okay with that. You couldn’t make him love you. It would kill you to contort and reshape yourself into someone he would want, and if you did go down that path there was a chance you’d come out the other side someone he hated. 
You’d lost sleep reminding yourself that Dean loving you was not something you were owed. That you were lucky he cared about you enough to be your friend, and to let you down gently. He could’ve been cruel, and listed every reason you were vile and repulsive and had no right to be his. He could’ve told you to pack your bags and leave the bunker. 
And you’d tried to move on, because you owed him that much. You’d failed, but you tried.
He’d always stopped you. At countless bars he’d stepped between you and whoever you were flirting with, telling you Sam was drunk and they had to go now, or you all had an early drive in the morning and had to go now, or you just had to go now.
Sam had never really looked that drunk. 
Dean had always guided you out of the bar with a possessive hand on your lower back.
He’d rejected you, and he’d never let you get over him. 
As if he-
“Sam.” Your tone is harsh and cold. You don’t care. “How long has- Have I been in love with m-“ You correct yourself again with your own name, your voice dropping another octave, and there’s a long pause over the speaker.
“Forever, dude. You told me that like, day one you were whipped. I mean- You know that. Are you-“
“I’m fine.” You snap. You’re barely breathing. “Sam, I need you to feed the cat.”
For a second, you think the call dropped and that the plan hadn’t worked. The plan needed to work. You needed to get back into your own body so you could fucking kill Dean-
“Dean, we don’t have a cat. You’re allergic-“
“Sparky. In storage room nine. He needs food.”
“Spar- I don’t- What- Did-“ Sam snaps your name, and your heart jumps into your throat. “Did she tell you something? Did you get her drunk again? Because you know she’ll kill you when she gets sober, she hates it when you do that-“
You know exactly what Sam’s trying to accuse you—accuse Dean—of. You get loose-lipped when you drink. You tell secrets and lose your filter, and you always feel horrible in the morning because they’re rarely your secrets and the lack of filter is really embarrassing.
Dean’s told you it’s adorable. That he likes drunk you, because she’s honest and takes somehow less shit than sober you. That she’s you in the rawest form, and its’s awesome.
You can’t believe you ever bought that he didn’t have any feelings for you at all.
“There’s wet food in the pantry, behind all the cabbage and carrots. Should be enough for Sparky until I get home.” You push on, narrowing your eyes at the air. “Scoop the litter box too. I think I forget.”
“You- You’ve never been in the pantry. That’s why we-“ Sam cuts himself off, and you can hear the gears spinning in his brain over the phone. 
Then he says your name, and there’s an element of horror in his voice that feels pretty appropriate. 
“Thank fuck.” You mutter, and take your chances to try and just say it. “Code Vermilion, Sam.”
“Code- That’s a zombie situation, are there-“
“Shit- sorry.” You chew on your tongue, trying to recall the emergency system you’d fucking designed. “Code Puce.”
“You fucking body swapped?!” There is it. Thank God. “Why didn’t you just, you know, say that-“
“I couldn’t!” You were shouting, but Sam was also shouting, so it was only fair. “I called you all day on my phone, and the moment I tried to, the call dropped! I tried to email or text you and it never sent, I tried to fucking snail mail you and the letter burst into flames! Dean short-circuited a fax machine-“
Sam groans. “Shit, you’re gonna kill me. I mean Dean, Dean’s gonna kill me. I was never supposed to tell,” Sam says your name, then cuts himself off with another groan. “Fuck, I mean you, I wasn’t supposed to tell you- God damn it-“
“Sam.” Your voice has become clipped. Short. You don’t need a reminder of the previous conversation, and this just really needs to be over. “If I email you all the details, can you start looking for fixes?”
“Yeah, sure, just-“ He pauses, his voice dropping sightly. “You think emails gonna work now?”
“We’re talking about it and the call’s not dropping.” You shrug, even though he can’t see it. “Text me any solutions you have. I’ll keep you updated on my end, and when Dean gets home, make him sleep on the floor of your room and don’t let him go to the bathroom alone. Okay?”
“Oh- Wait-“ Sam says your name, and you can hear the confusion in his voice. “What do you mean when Dean gets home-“
“I mean when Dean gets home. Bye, Sam.” 
You hang up, and spend a long minute just staring at the wall.
Dean’s in love with you. Sam says Dean’s in fucking love with you, and you believe him, and you-
You can’t stay here. 
This needs to be fixed, but you cannot stay here. 
You open the door to the hall. And there he is. There you are, and your body—Dean’s body, the one that’s allegedly in love with you—is leaning forward to be closer to you. To Dean.
Fuck.
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
Dean frowns at you, pulling your lips down into a pouty frown. It makes your dick—Dean’s dick—twitch in his pants. 
“Tell you what?”
You brace your whole body, standing a little taller. “That you love me.”
“That I-“ Dean’s eyes narrow, and you’ve never been on the receiving end on your own glare. It’s more violent than you’d imagined, and his dick is twitching again. “What the hell did Sammy say to you-“
“Don’t blame Sam.” You snap. “Answer me.”
“You didn’t ask a freakin’ question, sweetheart-“
“Yes. I did.” You lean down a little, holding Dean’s gaze. “Were you ever going to tell me you’re in love with me.”
Dean stares at you, and you think he’s going to deny it. That he’ll grunt that you’ve had this conversation before, and he doesn’t love you. That he doesn’t know what the hell you’re talking about, and whatever Sam said was a joke. Just a prank, and you need to focus on fixing this body swap instead of your feelings.
What he does is worse. 
He shakes his head, refuses to meet your eyes, and pushes his words through his teeth.
“You were never supposed to know.” He mutters. “It was for your own good-“
“Shut the fuck up, Dean!” Your voice is a roar, and you make yourself flinch, but Dean doesn’t.
He’s in your body. 
You never flinch when Dean shouts, because you know he’d never actually hurt you-
You’re going to start fucking crying. You probably already would have, if it didn’t feel like an effort in Dean’s body.
“You- You broke my heart.” You glare at him, your voice half between a hiss and a whisper. “You told me you’d never seen me that way, and you apologized. You said you didn’t want me. You told me the feeling would pass, and then you fucking stopped it-“ Your voice raises, and you stand a little taller. You can be shattered and furious. You can be a fucking storm of glass to break and carve into Dean the same way he did to you, because how could he do this to you. “You fucking stopped me from moving on! You cockblocked me, and you got angry whenever I’d go out without you, and you kept touching me and acting like everything was fine-“
Dean says your name slowly, and you can hear the regret in his voice, but you don’t care. This hurts, this hurts so much worse than before because you’d felt insane, you’d driven yourself mad with love for Dean and he’d just tightened the straitjacket and acted like you’d find a cure for this when he’d been actively keeping it from you-
“Why the fuck would you do this?! Do you hate me? Am I really that horrible that you can’t stand the idea of being in love with me-“
“It’s not you.” Dean snaps your name, shaking his head. “It’s- I was keeping you fucking safe-“
“Fuck off-“
“No!” His voice—your voice—is trying to mimic your own shout, and it’s not really working in his favor. “You- you don’t fucking get it, sweetheart, if I let us do that, let us be that, you’d have a target on your back, every son of a bitch in hell and heaven would use you and hurt you, just to get to me-“
“I’m not stupid! I know what the risks are just associating with Winchesters, and I don’t care.” You rub your face, and everything hurts. You feel like you’re choking on the air, and you can’t be here. “I didn’t care, Dean, I just wanted you.”
“You would’ve cared.” His voice—your voice—is bitter. Hollow. Resolved. “When you were being tortured and murdered, you would’ve cared. And I would’ve had to live with it. With the fact that I lost you-“
“You wouldn’t have lost me, Dean.” You fish the keys to the Impala out of your pocket, and toss them to him with his phone. “You never would’ve lost me, if you’d actually fucking tried.”
It would be kinder to let him get in a word, or a protest, or even a sort of apology. But everything hurts, and you really can’t fucking stay here or you’ll rip off your skin—Dean’s skin—and beat in your own skull with your hands. 
Your real skull—holding Dean’s mind—with how raw and furious this pain is, or Dean’s real skull with self-inflicted pain.
And that’s why you’re past kindness. You’ve been shot and choked and stabbed and sliced to pieces, but this is the worst pain you’ve ever know. He was never supposed to hurt you. You’d always trusted that this huge lunk of a body would never hurt you.
But you hadn’t counted on Dean, and how he’d been willing to risk your of peace of mind for his misguided, self-sacrificing martyr bullshit.
You’d always tried to tell him that you didn’t want him to sacrifice for you. That him staying with you meant more than him leaving you alive, but alone.
And he’d never listened.
So now you’re walking away.
Dean will be fine. He’ll get your body safely back to the bunker, tell Sam everything that happened, and figure out how to justify this to himself.
Sam will make sure nothing happens to your body until this gets fixed. And you’ll take care of Dean’s body by yourself, far away from Kansas, hiding in a shitty little harbor town until you work this out.
Alone.
Just like Dean had wanted.
For a long week, time drags to a crawl. You hole in a motel room with a laptop, coffee and vodka—you don’t really care which on you’re drinking when your go for a glass, just as long as it’s one of them—about half of a gas station’s junk food supply, and the local library’s entire collection of books of cult, myth, and lore.
The motel is dusty and warm, and the nights are horrible and cold, but this is what you needed. You stop running into doorways and hitting your head on things, and you figure out how to sleep comfortably in his body. You learn how to go to the bathroom and barely touch or think about what you’re doing, how to not get weirded out when the same face you see in your dreams is the same one that greets you in the mirror.
And you miss him. A lot.
But your fury is stronger than the ache for him to return to your side. And there’s a slightly fucked up comfort to being trapped in his body. You can watch the hands you’ve had graphic and detailed dreams about sort through papers, and you can bite your lips and understand what that sensation would do to Dean’s body.
You never cross that line. Dean’s cock will call itself to attention at random time, and you’ll just ignore it, no matter how demanding it feels. 
You’re getting really good at ignoring things.
Calls. Texts. Voicemail after voicemail from Sam and Dean. You listen to one or two, just to check—they’re fine, just angry you’ve vanished and demanding to know where you are—and delete all the rest. Sam gives up after a few days, when you respond to his email about Eurasian body swapping lore with a list of your own working theories. 
You think he’s just happy to know you’re alive.
This doesn’t seem to be the case for Dean. 
He doesn’t stop trying to get you to pick up the phone. His voicemails get longer and longer, and his texts come more and more frequently, and the only thing that save him from being blocked is that you still love him.
You’d meant what you said. Dean would never lose you, not really. You’re just certain that if you talk to him or see him he’ll try to explain himself, and you don’t want an explanation. You just fucking want him, and as long as he’s going to keep pretending that’s something he can’t give you, he doesn’t get to have you at all. 
So you keep the door locked, keep your phone on silent, and just fucking work until you fix this. 
And when you do, you don’t bother with a warning. You find the exact curse, work out the ritual for reversal, and do it. 
The world blur, your head spins and Dean’s body seizes like it’s been struck by lightning, and that’s it.
You’re in the bunker library, lying on the floor as Sam hovers over you, and it’s over.
“Dean, what the-“ Sam jostles you slightly, and a little vomit shoots up your throat. After effects. “Dean-“
“Not Dean.” You mumble your own name, shoving Sam’s hands away from your face and pushing yourself upright. “I fixed it.”
“You-“ Sam shakes his head, scanning over you with a frown. “You fixed it?”
“Obviously.” You rub your temple, your head pounding and everything far too bright. “Dean’ll be in Sekiu, Washington.”
“Why-“
“Because that’s where I was-“
“I know that.” Sam snaps, giving you a glare. “Why are you telling me. You’re the one going to get him.”
You roll your eyes. “No, I’m-“
“You are.” Sam’s making a stern bitch-face. He’s about to get punched. “Because either you act like an adult and go talk to Dean, or he stays in Washington until you grow up.”
“Until I-“ You give Sam a look of pure disbelief. “He’s the one who lied to me! Why do I have to grow up-“
“Because it’s Dean. You know he wasn’t trying to hurt you-“
“But he did.” You rub your arms for comfort, and God, it’s nice to be back in your own body. You know where to pinch your own skin to keep your head right, and you can cross your legs without any discomfort, shielding your face from Sam by bowing your head and letting your hair take care of the rest. “He was just going to let me think he didn’t love me, that he didn’t care-“
“You know he cared.” Sam says, his voice still firm, but a little more gentle. “He does care. He spent the whole week trying to figure out how to fix this, and when I told him to stop calling you he told me to shove it, because he needed to work this out. He’s just-“ Sam sighs. “He’s Dean.”
“I know.” You chew on your lips, frowning at the floor. “But it’s- It wasn’t fair, Sam. It was mean. It- I don’t feel loved. I just feel like he didn’t love me- didn’t want me enough to do something about it.”
“Okay.” Sam shrugs. “Tell him that. Or just kick his ass, because he deserves it, or make out with him. I don’t care, as long you go pick up Dean, and I get my week off.”
You give him a flat look. “You just want your secret spa time-“
“Yeah, I do. Get out.”
“But-“
“You get to drive the Impala again. The keys are in your pocket.”
Your hand flies to your jeans, and they are. And Sam’s right, you do have to work this out somehow. If you leave the bunker, you’ll be abandoning the secret cat to Sam, and it’ll die within the week.
So you’re either kill Dean or-
You don’t let yourself think of the alternative. You’ve trained yourself not to. 
But it doesn’t stop the spark of hope in your chest when you start Baby’s engine, take a long breath, and head out to go get Dean.
End Note: Sam I hope you have a wonderful secret spa day, you've earned it my king.
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New fanfic author to watch out for- 🥵🔥
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| STRESS RELIEF - DEAN W.
NOTES . . . I have to be up in around 2 hours to work a full day at the barn and I'm too anxious to sleep so I wrote some smut 🙃 strawberry girl is still in the works but this is just a quick thing to pass time
WORD COUNT . . . 845 exactly.
SUMMARY . . . After a stressful day of driving for hours on end hunting down a monster, you and Dean indulge in some much needed stress-relief. (y'all fuck).
WARNINGS . . . literally just smut so MDNI!! f!reader, unprotected sex (don't do this irl), cowgirl, soft sex, petnames, a little bit of cockwarming, basically no plot, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything, written in regular text under the cut cause I'm blind as hell, NOT proofread
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The bedsprings of the motel room's mattress creaked in rhythm with your movements, groaning underneath the shared weight of you and Dean. Your breaths came in soft pants, eyes shut in bliss as you fucked yourself on his cock, the tip nudging that spongy spot inside of you that your fingers never managed to reach. You both had been going at it for a while, a creamy ring forming on the base of his cock — a mess created from your shared orgasms. Dean's eyes were glued to your breasts, watching the supple flesh as you bounced on him. Your thighs were aching, shaking slightly from the effort it took to keep yourself upright. You were already tired to begin with, the stress of the long day wearing you down, but that wouldn't stop you.
Dean seemed to notice your silent struggle, the way you weren't riding him as smoothly as you were just moments ago. Your hips stuttered, nails digging into his chest where your hands once lay flat for support. A choked, desperate little whine escaped you, and he took that as his cue to step in — despite how pretty you looked, skin sweaty and features twisted in a mix of exhaustion and pleasure.
“Shh, I got you, baby,” Dean spoke, voice breathless, as his hands clasped your hips. When he squeezed the soft flesh, the coldness of his ring was a contrast against your heated skin. His gripped tightened, his brows furrowing as his lips parted in concentration. He lifted you up, and down, slamming you back onto his cock. You cried out in pleasure, stars bursting behind your eyelids as he let out a low moan of his own. “Y'need me to help, huh, sweet girl?”
“Yes, please, De-”
Dean interrupted your breathy plee, planting his feet flat on the mattress. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers leaving indents in the fatty flesh, and using it as leverage to lift you up and down. His hips buck wildly for a moment, but it only takes a few seconds to work into a rhythm that has you both moaning in pleasure, hips thrusting up in time with his movements dragging you down. You collapsed against his chest, moaning in his ear as you clenched around him, walls fluttering in response to the new deep, quick pace.
“Mmh, there we go,” Dean cooed, his own eyes falling shut, lashes kissing against his freckled cheeks. The cheap metal headboard thumped against the wall, sounding off in tandem with your little whines and gasps. Dean's hands eventually left your hips, arms wrapping around you to hold you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as it rests against his chest.
The fire in the pits of your lower stomach grew, walls fluttering and clamping around his cock like a vice. “Fuck, baby-” He hissed, brows furrowing again. He knew you were close, and he was determined to get you there before he broke. “C'mon, baby,” Dean grunted, the hand he once had on your back sliding across your ribs and to your front. His middle and ring finger find your swollen clit, calloused fingertips rubbing the sensitive bud in circles.
The shrill moan you let out makes his heart skip a bit, his cock throbbing inside of you. He cursed again. “You're gonna be the death of my, baby.” His voice is whiny, and his thrusts stutter, faltering as he works hard to get you to the edge.
“De- Dean! Holy fuck, ‘m gonna…”
“You gonna cum, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? C'mon, baby, do it. Let go.”
And with that, you did. His cock nudging your g-spot, his fingers on your clit, warm breath against your ear and the creaks of the bed down to the wet squelch of your pussy made your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You scream out in pleasure, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Dean's hips come to a stop as he spills himself inside of you, the seed from his earlier climax slowly seeping out of you and down his cock, to his balls.
It was quiet, heavy breaths mingling together as you both basked in the aftermath of pleasure. If Dean wasn't so tired, he might've been a bit worried about just how loud you were. A noise complaint was worth it. He panted, arms wrapping around you tightly as he softened inside of you. One of his hands stroked your head, shaky lips pressing a kiss against your temple.
“You with me?”
“Mhm.”
“Good,” He whispered, carefully lifting you off of him to lay you down on the bed. Dean was quick to press a kiss to your forehead when you winced as his cock slid out of you, sticky white seed spilling out of your spent hole. “Did so good for me, baby,” His voice is soft as he speaks again, pulling you close to his chest. Dean knows he needs to get you cleaned up, but a short moment of peace was well-deserved.
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impala-dreamer · 19 hours ago
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Like Heaven
A Supernatural Story
~Y/N’s request might throw him off for a second, but he’s never going to deny her, not when it feels so good in her arms…~
Dean Winchester x F!Curvy Reader
1,302 Words
Warnings: NSFW, Spanking, Dean POV, Sex
For @jacklesversebingo “What, you afraid you might break me?” | Originally published to Patreon Dec 2024
Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist  ~  Patreon  ~ Published Works
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I’ve been to Heaven.
I have shared a beer with God.
But I have never seen anything as holy, as awe-inspiring, as fucking beautiful as when she’s riding me.
She’s usually shy, but fuck, when she gets going, when she really lets herself relax, she’s incredibly sexy. She lets her full weight drop down on me, and it’s some kinda magic because I lose my mind feeling all of her softness. The curves on this woman would drive a person to tears and they have gotten me more than once, I ain’t gonna lie. Her skin is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, and when she’s this close, I can’t take my hands off her.
Her lips are like goddamned magnets for mine; her mouth is like a drug. I physically can’t stop touching her, kissing her, tasting her. I would spend all night between those thick, juicy thighs just lapping at her sweet pussy if she’d let me. I would drown happily in her cum. Not even joking.
The noises she makes while I’m down there are so fucking hot, half the time I’m just rutting into the bed for some relief. She gets me going so fast, gets me so hard just with those fucking whimpers and moans and fuck- when she says my name in that high pitched, breathless kinda way, I am fucking done for.
Part of me wants to flip her over and go back to town on that beautiful cunt, but she is working some kinda spell on me right now. I feel like my brain is broken. I can't stop staring at her tits as she bounces on my cock. Up and down, it’s fucking mesmerizing. And her ass- so plump, slapping my thighs with each downward push. I can’t help but grab a handful, dig my nails into her cheeks.
Oh, she likes that. Got her biting her bottom lip. Fuck, I love that. Don’t hold back, baby…
“Dean…”
Fuck. I can’t take much more. She’s squeezing my cock like that’s the only thing she was born to do and I am not fucking complaining. Jesus. She’s so wet I can hear it. So fucking warm the rest of me feels cold.
“Fuck, Dean!”
God, she’s rolling her hips, grinding down. Fuck. If reincarnation is real, I wanna come back as her dildo so I can feel this every night. I could spend eternity like that… shoved deep into her cunt, being used to make her cum. Sounds fucking perfect.
She slams down and tightens on me and my cock is throbbing so hard it’s making every other muscle contract. I dig my nails into her ass again and she lets out a sharp moan.
“Yes! Fuck!”
Her jaw drops, her head falls back and I squeeze her ass again. A shiver runs through her, shaking her fully and I’m losing my mind. I wanna see her eyes roll back, wanna hear her scream.
“Please…”
I almost don’t hear it, her whisper’s so soft.
“What’s that baby? What do you need?”
She shakes her head like she can’t think, and sweetheart, that makes two of us.
I slide my hands from her ass to her hips and hold tight. I love how my fingers dent into her softness, making dimples of flesh. So fucking hot.
“Tell me what you want,” I say, holding her tight and taking over for a second. I jerk my hips up into her and I swear it looks like she’s about to fall apart. “Tell me.”
She takes a breath and looks down at me. Her eyes are heavy and hazy, her lips parted. If I could reach, I would suck on those pretty lips, hold her close until we’re breathing for each other.
She seems nervous but I buck up again and she moans it out, letting go of her worry.
“Spank me…”
Time freezes for a second as I wrap my head around her request. Sure, I’ve spanked a few chicks in my day, but she’s never asked before. I didn’t think she’d be into it.
Her palms hit my chest as she falls forward. “Please…”
Now, I am nothing if not a people pleaser, so I give her a little wink before slapping her left cheek.
She tenses up on impact and fuck if it doesn’t make her pussy even tighter.
“Harder…”
I kinda hover over her ass debating how hard I should go. Gotta remember, I can knock a demon right out of a guy with a good right hook, so I need to be careful.
She sucks in a breath and I spank her again. I can feel the sting on my palm so I know she’s feelin’ it too.
A shudder goes through her straight into me and I bite my lip so I don’t say something corny or sexist. But fuck if there’s not some porn level filth runnin’ through my head.
“Harder,” she says again, curling her fingers into my chest. It feels good but her nails are so long I’m afraid she might scratch off my tat.
I hit her again and she smiles a bit, but still wants more.
“Come on, Dean! Hit me!”
Two taps this time and she groans.
“What, you afraid you might break me?”
Now she’s got my blood boilin’ all over again and I let her have it. My hand cracks over her ass and I’m sure for a second I’ve gone too far but she melts like butter on a biscuit.
“Fuck… yes…”
Her entire body tingles and her pussy swallows me down. Fuck, she’s so tight I’m not gonna last much longer.
“Again. Please!”
I can’t see it, but I’m sure I’m leaving a handprint on her backside. I slap the same spot and she falls down, her tits crushing against my chest.
“Yes…”
She’s licking at my lips and I crack her plump ass again.
“Fuck, Dean!”
I spank her again and she muffles a scream in my chest.
She’s bouncing on me even faster now, getting wetter with each crack. I swear to God my vision’s going blurry and my heart is beating so fast I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack but what a way to go.
Suddenly, she’s up again and I’m stuck there, somewhere between death and an orgasm. She leans back, puts her hands on my thighs and stretches herself out over me. She’s using me like a goddamned fuck toy and I am loving every minute of it.
She bites her lip and I slide my hand over her soft belly, turn my fingers down and tap on her clit.
She shakes like she’s being electrocuted so I do it again.
“God, Dean!”
Now, I’m far from being the Almighty, but I’ll take it in the bedroom setting.
“Yeah? You like that?” I ask, rubbing at her little nub and watching as her thighs start trembling.
She nods, so far away from being able to speak anymore.
“You gonna cum on my dick?”
As soon as I say it, it’s like I pressed a button and she does. She fucking cums hard on my cock. Her insides are pushing and tugging on me like some kinda damned finger trap and I can’t hold on any longer.
She’s still pulsing and I sit up and grab her, bury my face in her tits. She’s barely holding on but I got her, keeping her right there as I jerk up into her a few final times until I’m fucking broken. Cumming. Done.
I can’t let her go. Not just yet.
She’s wrapped her arms around me, got her fingers running along my scalp. I can hear her heart beating, feel her breath slowing down.
It’s fucking heaven here with her and I never wanna leave.
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figthoughts · 8 hours ago
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jealousy games — dean winchester ⋆˚࿔
summary: after a nasty argument, dean decides to get back at you by flirting with another woman. you take it upon yourself to return the energy.
warnings: smut (with a plot!), oral (f. receiving), jealous/angry dean, angst?, manhandling, est. relationship (dom!bf!dean x gf!reader) 18+
⋆ .𖥔˚
dean’s hand slid higher and higher up the woman’s thigh as you watched from across the bar, your lips threatening to curl into a scowl at the sight. his eyes were on you, and that stupid, proud smirk on his face had you seething as you watched the excited blonde bounce around in the seat next to your boyfriend, giggling at every word that left his lips.
you huffed angrily to yourself and turned to face the bar again, having had enough of his little display. fine. if he wants to play that game, then you’ll play too. no big deal.
you swallowed the last of your drink and slammed it back down onto the bar, eyeing the place for someone suitable. your eyes landed on two men, who were both staring intently at you from their barstools a few seats up. the men were decently handsome and looked like they could take a punch if it came to it, so you flashed them a sweet smile.
the men grinned and turned to each other for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words before standing up and making their way over to you.
“hey, pretty thing. i’m dan… and this is mike,” the taller man greeted and gestured to his friend before leaning on the bar next to you. “you drinking alone?”
you tilted your head up at them and forced out a smile, “mhm, just blowing off some steam.”
the pair nodded and checked you out, eyeing you up and down with matching grins on their faces. “so what’s your name? can we buy you a drink?” mike asked.
you gave them your name and bit your lower lip, watching the men smile in response to your flirting. “actually, i kinda want to dance,” you said, smirking at them.
“oh, yeah? dance? we can dance,” mike nodded slowly, holding his hand out for you.
you chuckled softly, shooting a glance back at dean, before grabbing the man’s hand. “great, let’s go then.”
dean’s mind had completely abandoned the gorgeous blonde sat in front of him. his eyes were glued on you, and they had been since he saw the two men first make their way over to you. dean’s jaw tensed as he watched you lead the guys onto the dance floor, his grip on his beer bottle tightening, turning his knuckles bone white.
“hey, uh— are you okay?” the blonde woman asked, her brows furrowing in confusion as she noticed the scowl form on dean’s face.
“i’m fine,” he responded curtly, his eyes not leaving your figure as he spoke.
he watched the two men circle around you as you danced, like predators stalking their prey. dean could feel the rage beginning to flood his veins. he didn’t like this. not one bit.
as you moved in rhythm with the two men, you could feel dean’s eyes boring into you from across the bar. you could sense the anger in his gaze, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself in satisfaction; you were winning. you were beating him at his own damn juvenile game.
you moved closer to the two men and began grinding along with them to the music, feeling their hands travel over your body, demanding and brash. you shut your eyes and smiled, letting them guide you and your movements.
dean watched on from the table he was sat at, slowly sipping his beer with a sour expression plaguing his face as the blonde tried—and failed—to make conversation again.
but dean’s attention was still on you. he could barely watch as the men let their hands wander all over the places of your body that he knew so well, so intimately. the taller man leaned down and whispered something in your ear, making you throw your head back and laugh. dean’s jaw tensed again. he nearly crushed the beer bottle in his bare hand as he saw you pull the man back down and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his.
then dean caught your eyes as you spun around to face him with a big smug smirk plastered on your face.
that was it.
dean abruptly excused himself from the woman and stood up, heading directly for you on the dance floor with heavy footfalls. you watched him, continuing to smirk as you rested your head on dan’s shoulder.
“we’re going. now.” dean snapped quietly, but firmly enough for you—and the two men—to hear over the hum of the music as he grabbed your upper arm.
“hey, man—” mike moved in front of you and dan, blocking dean from pulling you away.
“yeah,” dean laughed lowly, “i’m not talking to you, buddy.” dean let go of your arm and pulled his back, throwing his weight into a punch, landing a nasty blow on mike’s jaw.
mike stumbled off to the side, his hands immediately grabbing his jaw as he let out a deep pained groan.
“hey!” dan yelled and pushed you behind him. he stepped forward, up to dean, “what’s your fuckin’ problem, man?”
dean laughed again, darkly and unimpressed, but slightly amused by the man’s attempt to defend his friend’s honour. dean found your eyes, ignoring dan entirely, and spoke directly to you, his tone leaving no room for argument.
“i said we’re going. now.”
you laughed and shook your head, “no, i don’t think so. go back to that pretty little blonde.”
you grabbed dan’s shoulder and pulled him back to you, dismissing dean from saying anything further. dan hesitantly wrapped his arms back around you as he watched dean seethe from the corner of his eye.
“baby. now.” dean snapped, his face tightening in anger. “the ‘pretty little blonde’ was nothing. you’re doing too much now, and you know it.”
“do you know this guy?” dan asked you as he glanced between dean, mike—who was still rubbing his tender jaw with a scowl on his face—and you.
you shrugged, “not really. just some guy.”
dean scoffed and ripped dan off of you. dan grunted with widened eyes, clearly not anticipating dean’s strength. he stumbled backwards into mike, who let out another groan.
“some guy, my ass,” dean huffed and got in your face. “we’re leaving. now. let’s go.”
you rolled your eyes, despite his serious tone and expression. you glanced at the two guys with an apologetic look, “sorry, fellas. it was nice to meet you both. sorry ‘bout the…” you gestured towards your jaw.
dean pulled you towards the exit through the sparse crowd of drunken patrons, huffing angrily as you smiled back at the two men, whose faces were contorted in confusion and disbelief at the whole situation.
dean managed to pull you outside into the cool air of the parking lot and shoved you towards the impala. “you think that shit is fucking funny?” he snapped.
you flinched slightly at the roughness of his voice but continued smirking anyways, responding with defiance laced thick in your tone, “yeah, a little bit to be honest.”
“s’not fucking funny. get the fuck in.” dean growled angrily, swinging open the passenger door for you.
you did as you were told, sliding into the passenger seat and rolling your eyes as he slammed the door. dean walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
“how could you let them touch you like that? no one touches you like that but me. got it?” he started the car and turned to you expectantly, waiting for your answer as the engine rumbled in the quiet of the parking lot.
“oh, but it’s fine for you to touch that woman the way you did in there, huh?” you shot back, clicking in your seatbelt.
dean’s face hardened as he began reversing the impala, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white. “she was nothing,” he replied with a dangerously low tone.
“oh, yeah? you basically fingerfucking her at that table was nothing?” you snapped in a huff and crossed your arms.
dean pulled onto the main road and scoffed to himself. “yeah, it was nothing,” he said bluntly, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead.
“i know what you were trying to do, dean.”
“yeah? obviously it worked,” he chuckled back mockingly, taking a moment to glance at your sullen face.
you scoffed and tightened your crossed arms, “fuck you, dean! you’re so immature, you know that? we have one little fight and you just go off and find the biggest bimbo to flirt with just to piss me off!”
“amanda isn’t a bimbo,” dean replied flatly, his tone mocking again, “she’s pre-med, actually.”
“i don’t give a fuck!” you yelled.
“yeah, you don’t give a fuck. that’s why you were practically fucking bert and ernie on the dance floor!” he snapped back in a huff, turning onto a side street.
you felt the anger begin to boil the blood in your veins as he kept speaking, acting like this whole situation wasn’t his fault, which only riled you up further. “well, maybe if you fucking treated me right, i wouldn’t have to go and find assholes to dance around with!”
“treat you ri— are you joking?!” dean scoffed in disbelief and shot you a look. “treat you right? you’re the centre of my goddamn world. i’d die without you. and you wanna cry about me not treating you right. i treat you right,” he growled lowly without taking his eyes off the road, his tone deep and venomous, your words clearly striking a nerve.
you let out a huff and looked out the window. “yeah, right whenever you want something,” you muttered angrily.
dean slammed a hand down on the steering wheel as the motel came into view further down the road, making you flinch slightly at the sudden noise.
“i do treat you right. i’m doing the best i can, damn it!” he turned to you, his expression a strange combination of anger and hurt swirling around on his tense face.
you rolled your eyes, which only seemed to visibly piss dean off more. “the best you can?” you began to raise your voice, “if the ‘best you can’ is flirting with another woman in front of me, then i don’t want your ‘best’, you fucking ass!”
dean shook his head, turning the impala into the motel parking lot. it fell silent as dean pulled the keys out from the ignition. his eyes dropped to his hands in his lap.
dean took in a sharp breath, “get inside.”
you turned your head to him, looking at his tensed jaw and the way his chest moved from heaving out rough breaths. you opened your mouth to begin speaking.
but you were interrupted by dean, “now.”
his voice was low and unsettling. it was disarming, having dean speak to you in a way that you’d rarely ever seen, let alone been on the receiving end of. okay, so maybe you pushed him a little too far with your antics. you knew about dean’s jealousy issues when it came to the people he loved, but to see it play out in real time had your heart racing.
“okay.”
was all you said, before hopping out of the car and walking to the motel room. dean followed quickly behind you and shut the door. he looked at you, his eyes now darkened and his mouth pressed into a firm sneer.
“i don’t wanna talk. i want you to take your clothes off and get on the bed,” dean said, his tone still disarmingly low and calm.
you swallowed softly and nodded—you couldn’t disagree. hell, you didn’t even know if you wanted to. your fingers found the hem of your shirt and you pulled it over your head whilst kicking off your shoes. dean watched as you silently undressed yourself, and he began pulling his clothes off too, still watching your every move like a damn hawk.
dean followed you onto the bed and grabbed your jaw with his rough hands, yanking you towards him. he met your lips with fervour, forcing your mouth open and shoving his tongue against yours, completely and utterly claiming you, reminding you that you’re his. and his only.
his grip on your jaw was tight, and it stayed that way as his other hand travelled down your body, ending up between your thighs. his fingers flicked over your clit, making your hips jerk in surprise as a gasp fell from your mouth.
“no, keep fucking still,” dean muttered against your lips before diving back in, tangling his tongue with yours again.
you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. dean’s fingers began rubbing your core, forcing a wave of heat to fall over your body and pool in your stomach. he worked his hand between your thighs until he could feel your cunt drool and your folds puff up under his fingers.
he was rough and unforgiving with his hand, rubbing your heat quickly, like he was trying to channel his anger from the car and turn it into pleasure. you whined and whimpered into his mouth, and your legs began to shake from holding yourself up.
dean could feel you beginning to lose composure as you twitched against his hand. he didn’t let you break the kiss or pull away from his touch; his tongue kept dominating your mouth, lapping up your sweet taste mixed with the lingering flavour of alcohol on your tongue.
you hit your climax and moaned slurred mumbles into his mouth as a wave of pleasure crashed over you. he hummed as he felt your wet cunt quiver against his fingers.
dean pulled back from your lips and panted down at you, his free hand still holding your face, keeping you looking up at him. his face was still tense, and his pupils were completely blown out by desire. you could feel the anger and need radiating off him in thick heavy waves.
“you really think i treat you like shit, huh?” he huffed out, pulling his wet hand away from your cunt and roughly shoving you back onto the bed.
you fell back onto the pillows and looked up at him with wide eyes. “dean, i—” you started.
“no,” he interrupted, “that was a rhetorical question. i’d die for you, you know that? a-and you go and say that i’m a bad boyfriend. that i treat you like shit. that i’m not good enough.”
your eyes stayed wide as you took in his anger and the venom—that was barely just disguising the hurt—in his voice. dean shook his head at your silence; he knew his words were cutting deep, but he wanted you to understand how much they’d hurt him.
dean forced your thighs apart, letting his gaze fall upon your puffed up cunt, which was practically begging to be split open and used.
“yeah, a bad boyfriend,” he quipped to himself, shaking his head at how quickly he’d gotten you worked up like usual and how you still don’t even realise how good he is for you, especially like this.
you frowned up at him, watching the anger pull tight at his features. “dean, please. i didn’t mean—”
dean met your eyes again and sneered, “no, i don’t wanna hear it. you don’t say a thing to me, alright? you keep that mouth shut.”
he was dead serious. his chest rose and fell as he kept his hardy gaze on you, his eyes boring into yours.
you scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the tension between the two of you. “dean, c’mon—”
he shook his head and delivered a quick smack to your cunt, the hit stinging your sensitive bud, forcing a whimper to escape from your mouth as your hips bucked.
“i said not a goddamn peep,” he repeated. his eyes continued to bore into yours, waiting for you to comply with his words—or not. he was ready to smack you again if he needed to, and you could tell.
so you nodded, not really knowing what else to do with this new side of dean you’d accidentally unlocked. it was unnerving, but exciting at the same time—the way he breathed through his gritted teeth and tensed his jaw, and how his darkened eyes travelled over your form beneath him, almost shrinking you down with his unwavering gaze.
dean swallowed and nodded back at you, “good. i’m not listening to another word of your bullshit. i’m not a bad boyfriend. i fucking love you.”
as soon as his words left his lips, his mouth had found its way between your thighs, attaching itself to your slick cunt. you mewled at his warm tongue lapping at you, and you watched as he worked at your core with fervour once again, practically smushing his face into your wet heat. he worked at you like he had something to prove, like your words held a truth in which dean didn’t want to admit and therefore had to disprove, not only to you but to himself.
he held your thighs apart with his hands, letting the fat of them surround his head, muffling the mewls and moans he was pulling from you.
you watched his eyes flicker up to meet yours for a second. he still looked angry, and it was almost like he was telling you off with his gaze. lay there and take it. let me show you how fucking good i am for you.
dean soon shut his eyes, falling into the pleasure of lapping up your sweet taste on his tongue, desperately pulling your core closer to his face like a man who’d just struck gold between your thighs. he moaned against you, at your taste and the way your hips began to buck up into his face, pleading for more. he held you down against the mattress with his strong grip, his mouth chasing your heat every time you tried to buck back up.
he’d managed to pull two orgasms straight from your core, his tongue licking up your sweet nectar every time you let go against his stubbly jaw. it was like he wasn’t even doing this for you anymore, but instead now doing it for himself, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he never wanted to let you go, like he was in some sort of trance.
“d-dean…. please,” you whimpered out, trying to buck your hips against his face and shove his head away from you, your fingers pushing against his sandy locks. “please, baby. can’t take— take anymore.”
his eyes darted up to your glazed over ones staring right back at him. he took in the way your face was all flushed and your chest heaved like you’d just finished a marathon. pride surged in his chest; a bad boyfriend? yeah, right.
he nipped at your clit, earning a cry from you, and finally pulled away, sitting up on his knees. the lower half of his face glistened with your slick arousal coating his stubble and lips.
you panted out weak whimpers as you looked at each other. it fell silent, and an uneasy tension filled the air around you both. you stared at him cautiously, your eyes flickering between his. you didn’t know what to say.
dean licked his lips and sighed, a heavy tense breath that added to the thick air surrounding you both. “right…” he cleared his throat and shuffled closer to you. he grabbed ahold of his furiously red cock and swiped some precum from his tip, lubricating his shaft as he gently began pumping himself. a gasp fell from his lips, and he looked down at you, watching the way your eyes nervously met his as you awaited his next move, unsure of where his temper sat.
his warm calloused hand grabbed your leg, hoisting it up against his abdomen, your thigh pressing against his soft tummy. you grunted as he tugged you up and watched as he swiped his tip along your slit, earning a breathless moan from you.
“you want this?” he asked, teasing your folds with his member, tapping your bud with his tip.
you bit your lower lip and nodded.
“words. i want you to tell me you want it. that you want me,” he said firmly.
“i want you. ‘course i want you,” you murmured, your eyes flickering between his in earnest.
dean scoffed. your brows pinched together slightly at the sound, and a small strum of hurt moved through you.
“yeah…” was all dean said before he plunged himself into your wet cunt quickly, bottoming out inside you with a rough breath.
a pained moan flew past your lips, and you felt your pussy flutter around him, trying to accommodate the large new intrusion inside you.
dean’s hand gripped roughly at your leg, still holding it up against his torso, keeping you spread open for him. he leaned forward a little and kept his eyes on your face as he pulled his hips back, before slowly thrusting into you again. he watched as your flustered expression morphed into a look of pleasure—despite the lingering twinge of nervousness in your eyes that betrayed your true feelings.
he held you up against him tight, almost painfully so, as he built a rhythm, pumping in and out of you as loud squelching sounds bounced around the room. your already overstimulated cunt wept around his dick, sucking him in like he belonged there, like you couldn’t bear to feel him go.
rough grunts fell from dean’s lips, and his face scrunched up, his hazy green eyes locked on where you two connected. you couldn’t help your own sweet sounds from escaping as he pounded into you quickly.
dean pulled you up against him more, his free hand now grabbing at your lower hip, keeping you up at the perfect angle. his fingertips pressed into the fat of your thigh and his dick pistoned into you, hitting all those gooey spots that had you clutching at the sheets and whimpering at every thrust. his tip pounded against your cervix; it was rough, and you were sure you were going to be bruised in the morning, but the look on dean’s face and the way he throbbed inside your walls made it hard to care.
“d-e-ean!” you cried out, tears forming in your eyes from his harsh strokes. you felt that dizzying warm feeling in your stomach start to grow as you watched the absolute beast of a man above you rut into you like an animal.
dean’s droopy darkened eyes flickered down to yours, and you swore, just for a second, you saw a flicker of that usual dean softness slip through the angry exterior. he kept hissing and grunting with every thrust, not taking his eyes off yours, falling back into that pussydrunk trance.
“take it. just fucking take it. i fucking love you…. and you love me,” he managed to grunt out, his voice winded from plowing into you like a fucking rabid animal.
“i do! ‘course i do! please!” you whined, feeling your body begin to turn to jelly in his grip.
your weak pleas fell on deaf ears. dean didn’t let up his rough thrusts; he continued to piston his swollen angry dick into your sweet cunt. sweat beads formed on his forehead, and his heavy breaths began to turn into deep guttural groans, the sound only soaking you more.
“you fucking love me,” he moaned out, “but you tell me— tell me i don’t treat you right.”
you whimpered, not only at the feeling of your release quickly approaching, but also at dean’s words. he looked so pained as he rutted into you, his features pulled tight in a way you could tell didn’t come from just pleasure alone. the impact of your words in the car had stung him more than you could’ve anticipated, and his face showed that.
“i didn’t— i didn’t mean it! dean, please!” you moaned out hoarsely, feeling guilt begin to stab at your chest.
“i treat you right!” he snapped, adjusting his harsh grip on your thigh, pulling you closer to him—if that was even possible, and you had no doubts your hip and thigh would be speckled with pink bruises tomorrow.
“i know you do!” you cried out at the new angle.
“say it!”
“i— you— mmm,” you sputtered out, barely able to comprehend anything beyond the warm feeling bursting through your core.
“say. it.”
dean’s voice was low and downright scary. you’d never once had dean be so demanding and sinister towards you, or been fucked so roughly by him either. it made your heart race and your body shiver.
“you treat me right, d-dean!” you moaned, letting the hot tears in your eyes finally fall.
“that’s right, i do, baby. i love you. that’s why we’re so good together, yeah?” he replied breathlessly, now with an air of desperation dancing around in his words.
you nodded pathetically at his words, your scrunched up face mirroring dean’s as you both veered on the edge together. dean turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your ankle and then leaned his head against it as he looked down at your pitiful self. you could feel the sweat from his hairline on your skin and the sparks erupting from the minuscule contact he was finally allowing you to have.
“so close, sweetheart, aren’t you? squeezing me like crazy. just let go. i’ve got you,” he huffed out, his voice a touch softer than before, but still gruff and winded.
his softened tone forced the band in your stomach to finally snap, sending a shockwave of pleasure flooding your body. your pussy fluttered around dean’s cock, clamping down on his throbbing member, triggering his own release. he spilt his pearly white load into your gummy walls, finally slowing down his harsh unrelenting thrusts into a mess of weak movements.
“fuck— fuck, sweetheart,” he moaned gutturally and finally came to a still inside you, “fucking love you.”
dean pressed another hot kiss to your ankle before carefully dropping your leg back down onto the mattress and collapsing on top of you, letting your sweaty bodies finally press against each other. your chest surged with a warm feeling at his weight on top of you, finally feeling his body against yours. he buried his head into your neck, his heavy breaths tickling your skin as you panted together, coming down from the overexertion.
“i love you too,” you mumbled weakly, barely coherent as you shook beneath him. you wrapped your arms around his torso—there was no way you were letting him go, not when it felt so right to finally have him against you like this.
“i know you do, baby. i’m so sorry for today… m’so sorry,” dean murmured weakly into your neck and began pressing gentle kisses just below your ear, his soft earnest words tugging at your heartstrings.
“it’s okay,” you managed to get out, letting your head loll back with your eyes closed. one of your hands found its way to the hair at dean’s nape, and you gently threaded your fingers through it. “i’m sorry too. let’s— let’s not even worry about it, okay? let’s just be here… like this.”
“mmm,” dean hummed against your skin, “can do…”
you hummed in return and laid beneath him, trying to calm down from the high you’d both just reached. your racing heart began to slow down into a steady rhythm, and dean’s breathing against your neck began to settle.
after a short beat of silence, dean spoke up in a soft but playful tone, “hey, sweetheart? i just have to say it. i’m not sorry for punching that asshole in the face.”
you couldn’t help but laugh at his words and the cheeky grin you could feel against your neck. he was back. your dean was back. all the previous anger and tension from before had been stripped away completely, and dean’s raspy laughter filled the air with yours.
“yeah, ‘course you’re not, macho man,” you teased quietly, your voice saccharine and soft as you played with his hair.
dean lifted his head to look down at you, his green eyes flickering between yours. he looked almost boyish in his expression; no more creased brows, no more curled lips, or narrowed eyes. just dean. your dean.
“i’d do anything to protect you… to keep you, you know that? i’d punch any asshole in the face for you.”
“well, you know technically it wasn’t for me, it was—”
you grunted as dean’s lips met yours, shutting you up with a gentle kiss, much softer than the rough demanding ones from earlier. you felt him smile into it, and you knew all the animosity had been set aside and forgotten, which in turn, made your own lips curve into a smile.
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fig yaps: posting this on valentine’s day feels wrong omg anyways i literally wrote the first two thirds of this in like… november i wanna say???? shit lives in my drafts too long LOL i loved writing angry/angsty dean tho like he just wants to be loved PLS my sweet little lovebug he’s so hot BYE
feedback and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! thank yaaa <3
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