#luci-in-trenchcoats 2k follower challange

[eyes-of-a-disney-princess]

It’s About Damn Time

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean and Reader are working a vampire case. When Dean decides to go in alone, things go a little differently than planned.

Word Count: 5204

Warnings: Swearing. Because I’m a fucking lady. Vampire gore and killing. Being tied up. Smut. Again, lady. Fingering. P in V sex. 

A/N: This is for @luci-in-trenchcoats 2k Follower Challange. My prompt was “Wanna try that again like you mean it?”, which is bolded in the fic. Beta’d by the ever lovely @wheresthekillswitch. Thanks for helping me make what I had even better! Feedback is always welcomed and appreciated.

Tags at the bottom. If you want added/removed, let me know!

“Dammit, Dean, answer your phone.” You’re starting to get worried now.

This is the fourth time you’ve called him, and when his voice comes over the line telling you to leave a message, it’s the fourth time you’ve had to swallow down the fear so it doesn’t come through in your voice. “You were supposed to just watch him, Winchester. If you’ve gotten yourself into trouble again, so help me God, you’re going to pay.”

You end the call, tapping your phone against your palm as you try to think. You suck a breath in through your nose, hold it for 5 seconds, then release it. You need to clear your head, figure out your next step. He’s got the Impala, of course, so if you plan on finding the him you’re going to have to borrow a car for a bit. You grab your leather jacket off the chair back, swinging it over your shoulders, shoving your hands through the sleeves as you grab your room key and head for the door. You check your phone one more time before sliding it into your pocket, shutting the door behind you as you scan the parking lot of the motel, eyes squinted to the bright mid-day sun.

There aren’t many cars parked in the poorly paved lot, and the ones that are there aren’t ones you want to trouble yourself with. You jog over to the diner across the street, eyes hopping from one car to the next until you spot a nondescript compact sitting in the back row. Yahtzee.

It’s old enough you shouldn’t have to worry about a security system but still looks like it should get you where you’re going without worrying that it’s going to break down. You walk to the car with purpose, looking for all the world like you own it. You slow as you near, hand automatically reaching out to try the handle. It always amazes you how many people just leave their vehicles unlocked in these small towns. You curl your fingers under the handle and give a tug, and sure enough, the door opens right up. With a smirk, you slide in to hotwire it and get your ass moving.

****

You pull up behind the Impala and throw your newly acquired wheels in park. You feel a little better having found the car but you can see that Dean’s not sitting in her watching the abandoned house down the street like he said he was going to be. You spit out a few choice words as you get out of the car, already planning the verbal lashing you’re going to give Dean. You walk over to Baby, pulling your lock picking kit from your pocket. You’d left your machete in the trunk since you and Dean were going to figure out a plan of attack and go in together after he completed his tail on the vamp errand boy. You swear some more as you set to work, you feel the lock release and the trunk pops open. You grab your machete and go to close the trunk, then think better of it. If Dean’s not answering his phone, he’s either in heated battle or he’s not able to answer for other reasons, which means an extra weapon may not be a bad idea. You snag another machete, attaching the sheath to your belt and tying the bottom strap snug around your thigh. You pick your own weapon back up and ease the trunk closed.

You glance around the deserted street, checking for any other signs of life, then head off towards the house at a quick clip. You reach the rundown two-story, your eyes taking in the boarded up front door, the windows all covered with planks pulled from what looks like old pallets. According to your digging, there were only supposed to be 5 or 6 vampires in the nest and you hope your research was accurate, for Dean’s sake. You don’t doubt he could clear the place on his own, especially during the day, but sometimes shit happens and good hunters lose their upper hand.

The only thing keeping you from panicking to the point of throwing up is the fact that Dean is the best goddamn hunter you know, aside from Sam and yourself. And yes, you’d absolutely worry this much if it was Sam that had gone incommunicado during a hunt. Your crush on Dean does not make you worry more. It doesn’t. It can’t. Not right now. Because that’s one of those shit things that could make you lose your own upper hand.

You walk around the house, steps light, eyes tracking over every inch of everything, ears tuned for the sounds of a hunter in distress. You reach the back of the house, the porch all rotted wood and missing boards, which explains where they got the material to barricade the front door, and when you glance up, you see the back door received the same treatment. How the hell did Dean get in the house? You creep around to the other side of the house and see a rickety old metal staircase leading up to the second story. You back up until you see that that door is, in fact, not boarded up like the others. Just your fucking luck.

You heave a sigh as you walk towards the staircase with dread in your belly; you hate heights, with a fucking passion. You wrap your hand around the steel rail as your start your way up, knowing full well it’ll do nothing other than give you a false sense of security, and just not caring. You pull your hand back with a hiss when you slide it up the rail with your ascent and feel metal embed itself in your palm. Fantastic, looks like you’ll be needing yet another tetanus booster. You yank your hand back, blood pooling in your palm around the gash. You squint your eyes as you inspect the rail; your fresh blood is painted on a sharp chunk of rail that’s sticking out and trickling down with gravity. Beneath your blood you see the metallic glint of blood that’s just recently dried. Well, shit. If Dean did the same thing you just did, that means he walked into a vamp nest smelling like freshly prepared dinner.

You yank your bandana out of your jacket pocket, stored there just for this purpose because it happens way too fucking often in this line of work. You wrap it around your hand a couple times, using your teeth to pull the knot on the back of your hand tight. You say a quick prayer of thanks to whoever may be listening that it was your left hand that you harpooned on rusty metal and not your machete-yielding-vamp-killing hand. But now you too get to walk into this smelling like someone’s favorite meal. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.

You continue to climb the stairs, biting your bottom lip so as to not squeal in horror when the whole thing dips and sways with your weight. You have to work to even your breathing, rolling your shoulders to work out the tensed muscles as you go. You decide to not hesitate at the landing too long, you don’t want to risk the whole damn thing giving out under your feet. As your hurt hand awkwardly turns the doorknob, you tighten your good hand around your machete, readying yourself to come in swinging. The door is surprisingly heavy, good solid wood, and you have to put your shoulder to it and push. You cringe as it opens on rusty hinges, the loud noise seeming to reverberate in the small room it enters into.

You don’t even bother closing the door behind you, no need to repeat the welcoming alert to whoever didn’t hear it the first time. You sneak through the small room, tiptoeing to the door to peek around the corner down the hallway. There’s a decapitated body lying on the floor, a puddle of tacky looking blood under the neck telling you it’s been there for at least two hours, which means Dean did very little watching and a whole lot of being a gung-ho jackass who can’t wait like previously discussed and agreed upon.

You head towards the stairs, fighting back the laugh in your throat when you see another decapitated body lying halfway down them with the severed head staked on the bottom spindle. Dean and his damn dramatics. Probably had some lame ass joke he was dying to have someone else around to laugh at, too. As you descend the stairs, back to the wall, you can see as you get closer to the the head that it is, or rather was, the errand boy the vampires were using to attract their victims. You wish you’d been there to see it, maybe even throw in a few hits yourself before the final blow. That dick helped this vamp nest kill more innocent people than ever should’ve happened. At least that’s one less thing to worry about.

You make your way from room to room, finding a couple more bodies scattered throughout the darkened first floor. You count 5 bodies, including the errand-douche-boy. Which means there should only be a couple vamps left. Hopefully. And you hope beyond all hope that they haven’t made a snack out of the admittedly delicious looking older Winchester. You stop for a second, listening for any creaks or groans in the old house to guide you where to go next. There’s got to be a basement, right? Which are typically a lot darker than the upper levels, so you think it’s a safe bet that there’d be a vamp or two hidden down there.

You search out doors, opening them slowly, gently, cringing when they too squeak on their hinges. Freakin’ old houses and their rusty ass doors. It never fucking fails. You’re seriously contemplating the need to start carrying some WD-40 with you. You open up a door to the fourth closet you’ve found and turn away, throwing your hands up in frustration. Who knew there’d be so many damn closets in this place? You decide to search out the kitchen, peeking through doorways while you make your way down the hall. You find the kitchen in the back corner of the house; sink torn out, cupboards falling off the walls, an old table littered with beer bottles and blood bags, a real feng shui feel.

You spot another door on the far wall. It’s a 50/50 shot on whether it’s another closet or stairs to the basement so you stride over and ease it open. Shit, yeah! You finally found the stairs. You’d do a celebratory dance but you can hear the rumble of voices echoing up the stairwell. You can’t make out what they’re saying, it’s just the ebb and flow of a conversation bouncing off the walls but one has defiance laced through the low timbre and you sigh a breath of relief. Dean. You’d know the depth and tone of that voice anywhere.

You inch down the stairs, one tread at a time, alert to any changes or lulls in the voices. As you near the bottom, you’re able to clearly hear Dean talking to whoever is down there with him. You’re not sure how long he’s been in the basement or what the situation is that he’s dealing with but he sounds fed up with it all.

“You guys gonna stall all damn day or just man the fuck up and drain me?” Shit. That doesn’t sound promising. You edge closer to the wall that ends at the last stair. “Come on, I hear I’m delicious”

“Sorry, Deano, you’re not my type. Besides, I already told ya, we’re waiting for that hot-ass hunter friend of your’s. Got a real good time planned for her.” You hear a male voice answer. Vamp Target #1 acquired.

You peer around the wall just in time to see the vamp closest to Dean, Vamp Target #2, giggle to that, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as she leans closer to Dean. Dean’s at the far wall, hands above his head, wrists tied and rope looped up over a pipe. He looks mildly inconvenienced by this whole thing but he’s alive, so you don’t waste precious time checking him out. Not the time. Your eyes land on Vamp Target #1, the guy that’s standing closer to the stairs, back turned to you as he converses with his remaining partner in crime and his hostage. You judge the number of steps you’re going to need to get to him and tuck yourself back behind the wall.

Dean’s voice is cocky and sounds warmer somehow, “I hate to ruin your plans but that hot-ass hunter friend of mine is going to be making your heads spin for different, not so fun reasons.”

“You say that,” Vamp Target #2 says, “But I bet you I have her begging me to change her in an hour flat.”

You don’t waste your chance, taking advantage of them being distracted by Dean. You step out from behind the wall, striding up behind Vamp Target #1. He hears you just as you reach him but it’s too late, your machete is already slicing through his neck with a sickening squelch before he can even turn his head. The momentum of your swing sends his body tipping to the left, landing with a dull thud. Vamp Target #2 stands there, stunned, as his head goes rolling across the dirt packed basement floor.

“Ain’t gonna happen, bitch. Who knows where that mouth has been?” You taunt her as she turns to face you. You smirk at her, twirling your blade in your hand, planting your feet and preparing for her to attack.

She rushes you, no finesse whatsoever. Guess emotions fuck with everyone that way. You sidestep to the right as she closes in on you, arm up and machete cutting through the air as you spin. You feel your motion slow as she practically walks right into your blade, the sharp edge parting her head from her body, blood spurting from the severed veins. You finish your spin, facing Dean once again as her body topples to the floor.

You smirk at Dean. “How the hell did you let these two asshats get the jump on ya, Winnie?”

“Shut it, Shorty.” Dean throws back at you. “‘Bout damn time you showed up, I was starting to worry you’d left me for dead.”

“Wouldn’t have had to worry about me saving your ass if you’d stuck to the plan.” You cock your head, pointing at him with your machete.

Damn. He sure looks fucking fantastic tied up like that. He’s tall enough that even tied up he’s able to stand with his feet flat on the ground. Your eyes travel up his adorably sexy bowed legs and settle on his muscular thighs. Those damn thighs. They always make you think of how perfectly capable they’d be holding you up during a session of sweaty wall sex. And now with all of his damn layers up and out of the way, you’re able to get a nice view of his hips. They’re surprisingly narrow, not as narrow as Sam’s, but given how big and burly Dean is, it’s just fucking perfect. You notice a little sliver of belly showing above the waistband of his jeans and can’t help but lick your lips as you imagine running your tongue over his skin. And his shoulders, Jesus, they look ridiculously broad with the way his arms are stretched straight up over his head.

Your eyes make it up to his face and you’re startled to see that he’s patiently watching you look your fill, a smug smile on his face. Dean pulls you out of your reverie, his voice low and teasing. “Well, sure, but then I don’t get to watch my hot-ass hunter friend kick ass.”

You feel your cheeks heat as you pull your eyes away from him. You look around the room, searching for a chair, a bucket, something you can stand on to reach the rope and cut him loose. But the room’s bare, save for the man standing before you. You look back to Dean, your head tilting in thought as an idea comes to mind. You size Dean up again, playing through the mechanics of it. He’s a lot taller than you but, with a resigned lift of a shoulder and a fluttering in your belly that you desperately ignore, you decide there’s really no other option.

“This might get a little awkward,” You warn Dean as you toss your machete to the side and walk up to him, “So I’ll apologize for that now.”

Dean stares down at you, eyebrows drawn “Why? What are ya gonna…”

He doesn’t get to finish his question before you place your hands on his chest and hop up, legs wrapping around his waist. Dean’s breath rushes out, quick and low like he was punched in the gut, as he widens his stance a bit to steady himself. You find yourself staring into the greenest of eyes, wanting to know the reason behind that noise. You do your best to ignore the fact that his face is so close to yours, and closer yet when you have to reach around him, pulling your knife out of the sheath in your boot.

“Try not to enjoy this too much, Winnie.” You work your way up his body, inch by gloriously muscled inch, until your stretched out against him, arms up and now within easy hacking distance of the rope. Which is great. The fact that your breasts are now pressed firmly against is face is the awkward part. Awkward but enticing. Which makes it more awkward because you should not be enjoying this.

“Jesus Christ, woman,” Dean’s muffled voice comes from between your cleavage, “you just saved my ass, could you maybe not smother me to death with your tits?”

You huff as you continue sawing at the rope, “Wanna try that again like you mean it?”

Dean turns his head the slightest bit and nips at the side of your left breast, the sting lessened by the padding of your bra. Though that certainly doesn’t lessen the arousal that instantly threads through you.

“Shit! Seriously, Dean? I’m tryin’ta save your ass here, man.” You say breathlessly, hoping he credits it to the fact that you’re furiously trying to cut him free. The vamps may all be headless corpses littering the floor but there’s still danger here for you. And goddamn if you aren’t going to hurry the hell up so you can unwrap yourself and get away from his constant flirting and teasing.

“‘Spose I should be sorry for that,” Dean’s warm breath is fluttering against your thin tank top, soaking through the fabric and heating up your skin. “But can’t say as I am.”

Your hands slow at his words, fingers tightening around your knife so hard it hurts. But your movement stills completely as he…ohhhhh shit, he’s fucking nuzzling my boob! Sure his face has no where else to go but he sure as hell doesn’t need to be rubbing his cheek against your breasts like a goddamn cat. You pull in a stuttering breath, hoping to God he can’t feel how your heartbeat’s ramped up.

“Dean, dude, you can buy me a beer as thanks later but uh, you’re kinda distracting me, which, ya know, is prolly not great seein’ as how I’m holding a knife and shit.”

“Come on, sweetheart. I could’ve died. Hell, I lost all this blood. You make it through somethin’ like that, you just wanna enjoy the, uh, not so little things in life.” Dean’s not nuzzling now so much as just using his chin to try and pull the neck of your tank top down further, exposing more of your breasts to him.

“Wait. Blood?” You panic now. You didn’t notice any blood on him when you came in. At least you don’t think. Maybe none that wasn’t obviously from hacking heads off. Shit. You may have been slightly distracted by the sight of Dean all tied up but you would’ve noticed if he was bleeding. You ease yourself back down his torso, legs once again resting around his waist. You run your hand over his neck, searching for any blood, any bite marks. “Why didn’t you tell me you were bitten?”

Dean stares at you, his green eyes a fascinating shade darker than normal, a smile tugging at the corner of his sinful lips. “Well, maybe ‘lost’ is the wrong term. More like it just…relocated.”

“Relocated? What the fuck does that even mean?” You snap at him.

Then Dean shimmies his hips and you feel yourself start to slide down his waist a bit. You tighten your legs around him to stop yourself from sliding further and that’s when ‘relocated’ becomes clearly defined…and that definition is rock hard and now pressed against your core.

“For fuck’s sake, Dean,” You gasp. “Can you stop thinking with your dick for one goddamn minute?”

You need to finish cutting that rope. Now. So you can get the fuck out of here. You crawl yourself back up Dean’s body, not even caring that that puts your breasts right back in his face.

Dean doesn’t seem to care either as he nuzzles right back in. “You started it, Sweetheart.”

“Right, ‘cause I’m the dumbass that got caught and tied up.” You growl at him as you start hacking at the rope again.

You’ve almost got it now. You saw harder, your breasts jiggling with the intensity of your motions. You feel, more than hear, Dean groan against you but you don’t stop. You’re so close to the finish that you can almost taste the victory. This whole rescue mission has been a goddamn embarrassment so why worry about adding to it?

The blade of your knife clinks against the pipe as it cuts through the last bit of rope. Dean’s hands fall, coming to rest on your ass as you lower yourself back down his waist, holding you against him before you can jump down. You drop your knife, your own hands clinging to his shoulders as his fingers flex into you. You keep your eyes down, focused on your fingers digging into his jacket. Here comes that added embarrassment you should’ve been worrying about.

“You have no idea what you to do me, do you?” Dean asks. The quiet surprise in his voice draws your eyes to his. “How crazy you make me?”

Your breath hitches in your throat at the way Dean’s looking at you. His eyes are flicking over your face, like this is the first time he’s ever really looked at you and he’s trying to memorize everything. When Dean’s eyes drop to your lips, you decide to throw caution to the wind, go for broke, say fuck it all, and take a chance on what you really want. You tighten your legs around his waist and raise yourself up to brush your lips over his.

You don’t even have the span of a heartbeat to worry that you ruined everything before Dean’s pressing back, sighing against your lips like he’s finally found everything he’s ever searched for. Which is unbelievably accurate. Because never have you felt more at home than you do now, wrapped around him with your lips on his.

Dean brings a hand up to cup your face, fingers caught in your hair as he tips your head back to deepen the kiss. You open for him before he even makes a move to ask, needing so badly to finally have the taste of him on your tongue. He licks over your bottom lip, tongue sliding like the sweetest poison into your mouth, tangling with yours in a surge of passion. You wind your arms around his neck, pulling yourself closer, wanting to feel his heartbeat inside your own chest.

Turning, Dean takes the few steps to the wall, pinning you to the cold brick with his body. His hips pulse into you, the hard length of him pressing the seam of your jeans against your clit. With a gasp, you drop your head back, rocking yourself back against him, chasing the friction. Dean takes the offering of your bared throat, his lips laying wet, open mouthed kisses down your neck. He nips and sucks, following where your moans and sighs take him. Finding the spots that drive you wild and using them to push you to the edge. You cry out when he latches onto the sensitive skin right below your ear and sucks, marking you as you come against him, still fully clothed.

You slowly come back down to Dean running his hands up under your shirt, fingers tickling along your ribs, breath feathering over your throat as he whispers praise to you. Hearing his husky voice telling you how beautiful you are, how perfect you feel, how amazing it is to finally feel you against him has need racing through your blood again.

Fisting a hand in his hair, you yank his head up, dropping your lips back to his as he groans. You feast on one another, tongues dancing, as urgent hands start tearing at clothing. Both of your jackets hit the ground almost simultaneously but your plaid shirt and tank top get hung up when you lean back to balance yourself on the wall as you rip his shirts over his head. Dean sets you on your feet, pulling your own shirts up and off and tossing them somewhere behind him.

Dean leans down, trailing his tongue over the swell of your breast as he reaches around and flicks your bra clasp open. He uses his chin to push the cup down and latches his mouth onto your nipple. You gasp as he swirls his tongue over the hardening bud, the warmth of his mouth a stark contrast to the cold the other nipple is greeted to when he pulls your bra down your arms.

Your stomach flutters, full of butterflies and horniness, when Dean’s fingers deftly undo the button of your jeans. When he pulls the zipper down, you swear you’ve never heard anything more erotic in your life. But then his warm hand grazes across your naked mound and he whines from deep in his chest and you realize that that is the most erotic thing you’ve ever heard.

Dean hits his knees, yanking your jeans down your hips, using sheer willpower and force to tear them over your boots. He stands back up so quickly you almost get whiplash from following the movement.

“Sweetheart, I promise you I will spend hours eating you out later, but right now I need to be inside you.”

Fuck. Who are you to complain about that? On either front? “God, yes.”

You fumble with his belt, fingers slow and clumsy with desire as Dean digs in his back pocket to pull out his wallet. You manage to get the button on his jeans undone as your peripheral vision is distracted with the thigh trembling sight of Dean thumbing a condom free of the leather. He closes his wallet and drops it to the side, the silver of the packet flashing in the dim light bringing you back around to the task at hand. You open the fly of his jeans and snake your hands under the elastic of his boxer briefs to work them down and over his hips.

Dean puts the corner of the condom packet between his teeth and uses both hands to help get his jeans and underwear down his thighs. You gasp when his cock bounces free of the elastic and smacks against his lower belly. Sweet Jesus. It’s beautiful. Which is a weird thing to say about a dick, because, well, they’re weird looking. But Dean…He’s big. Not just long but thick. And veiny. You reach out, running a fingertip up along the vein, swiping over the tip and the pre-come gathered there. Dean groans at the light contact, then growls when you bring your finger up to you mouth, licking it clean while watching him.

You wind one arm around his neck, the other hand gently tugging the condom from between his teeth as you pull his mouth back down to yours. Dean gets his hands under your thighs and lifts you with such easy strength that it sends a flood of arousal through your system. You wrap your legs around his waist, grinding your aching pussy against his cock. You can feel Dean’s grunt rumble through him as he presses you back against the wall. You hardly even notice the cold brick rough at your back as Dean devours your mouth.

Dean glides the fingertips of one hand over your wet folds and you whimper against his lips. Your try to buck your hips into his light touch but he has you pinned so you can’t move, so you have no choice but to take what he gives you. He teases you; sliding with more pressure at your dripping entrance, running up to feather over your clit. Back and forth. Firm then soft. Press and slide up, feather soft then back down. You try to relax into the rhythm he’s set, try to focus on the pleasure it’s slowly building, try to breathe your way through the madness. Then he switches it up and you want to throw your head back and scream.

“Dean.” You whine. “For the love of fuck, please.”

You cry out when he thrusts a finger into you, immediately begging for more. He doesn’t tease you this time, just gives you what you ask for. Two fingers, thrusting smoothly, slowly. In and out. Out and in. Dean starts scissoring his fingers, working you open. Quickly pushing you back to the edge. And you want to come. God help you, you want it more than you’ve ever wanted anything. But you want to come with him deep inside you. You need him deep inside you.

Dean watches you, humor mixing with the lust in his eyes as you try to focus. As you carefully rip open the condom packet. As you throw your head back with a moan when he crooks his fingers and rubs that sweet spot inside you. As you try to fuck yourself on his fingers and you tilt your hips up just enough to grind your clit against his cock.

“Come for me, Sweetheart. Just one more. Then I promise I’ll fuck you.” Dean urges, rubbing against your g-spot with more pressure.

You have no other option but then to give him what he’s asking for. Your body couldn’t deny him if it tried. So with a strangled moan, you come, coating his fingers and the base of his cock with your juices. Dean works you through your orgasm, slowing his fingers, easing his hips back so he’s not pressing you so firmly into the wall.

Dean waits. Watching your eyelids flutter, watching your breathing work to even out. Watching your hips continue to roll, searching out more pleasure, searching for him. He takes the condom from your fingers and rolls it on.

You heave out a breath, opening your eyes to smile lazily at Dean. Dean smiles back, affection and heat, as he brushes the hair back from your face. You part your lips when he leans in to kiss you, eager to have the taste of him on your tongue once more. Dean kisses you as he tilts his hips, pressing his cockhead against your entrance and you moan into his mouth as he eases into you. He goes slow, letting you adjust to the stretch.

By the time he’s buried to the hilt, he’s resting his forehead against yours, eyes squeezed shut against the unbearable pleasure of having you wrapped around him in every way that matters. You can feel him tremble as he uses all of his self control to just be still, to give you time.

“You feel so fucking perfect, Y/N.” Dean manages to say between gritted teeth.

You press a soft kiss to his lips, whispering, “So do you, Dean, but don’t forget you promised me.”

Dean’s eyes pop open at that. When he sees you smiling at him, he doesn’t hold back anymore. He adjusts his grip, sliding his arms under your legs so your knees are resting in the crooks of his arms. He places his hands flat against the wall behind you, opening your thighs wide. He pulls out until just the tip of his cock is resting in your welcoming heat before driving his hips back into you. He sets a steady pace, slow but forceful. Pulling out and slamming back in. The sound of skin slapping against skin almost drowning out the deliciously dirty noises he’s making as he fucks you hard into the wall.

You gasp with each hard thrust in, the air rushing from your lungs from the sheer force. Dean adjusts his hold again, tilting his hips so that the head of his cock is rubbing against your g-spot and his pelvis meets yours with each drive home.

“Oh, God.” You whimper, “Just like that, baby.”

Dean takes you at your word and doesn’t falter from what he’s doing. How he manages to keep such a steady fucking pace…No time to laugh at that now…is beyond you but you’re not going to question the man while he’s so expertly building you back up.

You hang on to him, nails digging into the muscles of his back, desperate to keep your head above water as the storm of passion tries dragging you under again. But the primal urge of your body, the need to just let go, rules you and you have no choice but to give in. You come, his name a prayer shouted to the Heavens. Dean groans and shudders when he feels you clench around him. His hips stutter, rhythm breaking. He thrusts hard, frantic…three…four more times before he, too, gives in and follows you into the depths of pure pleasure, moaning your name into your neck in answering adoration.

You cling to each other as you try to catch your breaths, as you wait for your heartbeats to return to some semblance of normal. Dean presses sweet, featherlight kisses against your throat, lips warm against the tacky surface of your cooling skin. He trails them up your neck, over your jaw, until he reaches your mouth. He kisses you, all school-boy-crush and first-time-hunger, as if he didn’t just fuck you silly.

“Jesus, Dean.” You sigh against his lips, reluctant to pull away from the soft press and pull, the sweet brush and glide. “That was…”

Dean just chuckles as you trail off with a sigh, “You ain’t kiddin’, Sweetheart.”

You just smile, content and pleased as fucking punch that you finally found your courage to grab hold of what you wanted, that you finally got Dean Winchester in your arms. And that you finally found out just how capable those thighs of his are when it comes to wall sex.

“Hey, Dean. About that other promise you made me…”

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[theas-bedtime-stories]

Drunken Mistakes

Summary: Dean gets mad at reader one night when he has had too much to drink

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 6,044 (this one ran away from me a little)

Warnings: mentions of cheating, physical fight, implication of smut? or soft smut (idk what to call it)

A/N: Okay so this is my entry for ‘Michelle’s 2K follower challange’. Congrats @luci-in-trenchcoats​ on 2k and I hope you like this. Quote I got “Your problem is that nobody hates you more than you do”. I hope you guys like this, first time writing in this ‘x reader’ style so feedback would be much loved

It had been an exhausting hunt, the djinn you and the boys had been hunting down had managed to get a hold of Dean. He had refused to tell you what his dream had been off, saying it was ‘nothing special’ and that he didn’t really remember it. You knew he had lied though; on your drive back to the bar opposite your motel the boys had started talking about the hunt as soon as they thought you had fallen asleep on the back seat of Baby. You had heard snippets of their conversation through hushed whispers, they spoke of how Dean had been living in a white picket fence neighbourhood, with the two of you caring for your first child, Bobby, whilst Sammy was living across the road with Jess. It sounded like a beautiful world, where the family business was ‘shaving people, styling things’; best of all there were nothing going bump in the night which meant that Mary was still alive and had moved to Texas with John.

Sammy had made the decision to drop you off at the motel without waking you so that you could sleep whilst the boys went to the bar. It was then that you chose to announce your mental presence, yawning, unnecessarily loudly, as you over stretched your arms and sat up; there was no way you were missing out on the celebratory beer, besides, this was your hometown and you would be damned if you didn’t make the most of the night here…

The gentle roar of the impala faded out as Dean pulled into the only free space around. As you get out of the car you lean against the door for a second, taking in the environment. Directly in front of you is an old bar in which you spent many of your weekends with your closest friends. The wooden door still had a splintered hole which was just to the right of the doors centre; an accessory which was a result of Rob eagerly showing off his dad’s new shotgun before he accidentally fired it – almost killing the owner’s cat. The fluorescent lettering was flickering, what should have spelt “The Drunken Angel” now read “Th D unk   An el”, not quite the same thing but it made you and the boys laugh. There was silver tape haphazardly strewn where a window should have been, allowing the smell of pie and beer to float out into the surrounding air, teasing those who stood outside; tempting them to come in. The inharmonious racket that was breaking out from within the four walls told of the boisterous individuals inside. From the corner of your eye you can see that Sam and Dean have overly-enthusiastic smiles plastered across their faces, the excitement poorly restrained. Pushing yourself off of Dean’s pride and joy you begin to make your way into the all-too-familiar stench of alcohol with the boys hot on your tail.

It isn’t long before Dean has drunk enough shots for the entirety of the Dallas Cowboys team. Calling to the bartender to put on some tunes, he begins dancing before the music has even started, swinging his arms back and forth before him as he shimmies his chest whilst simultaneously rocking his hips from side to side. Looking over to you then Sammy for encouragement with a proud grin, once he realises that you and Sam are laughing at him rather than with him he pretends to throw a fishing line at you, reeling it in in hope you will do the oh so cheesy fish move. It is at that exact moment that the music starts up, as though Rick the bartender felt sorry for you. Gasping at the realisation that it is one of your favourite songs, Dean grabs your wrist and pulls you against him on the dance floor. Leaning on you to help hold him upright he places your hands around his neck before gently resting the flat of his palm on your lower back. Slowly you sway together, not quite in time to the music but you are more focused on the warmth radiating from Dean. You can feel his hands begin to slowly slide down your body, the rest of him follows as he loses all coordination and control of his limbs. Straightening your arms into a rigid position below each armpit you look to Sam for support, Sam only laughs before finally giving in and offering up his assistance.

“Why don’t I look after Dean in the booth over there” he says, gesturing with his head to the nearest, vacant, booth. “Go relax, have fun!”

Raising an eyebrow in response, you watch on, bemused as Sam heaves his lump of a brother into the seat; or at least tries to. You reach out to help but Sam just grunts an “I’ve got this!” before attempting to bat your hand away with his left hand. An action which causes Dean to fall a little closer to the ground, Sam catching him just before he could actually make contact. Shrugging your shoulders you look around the room, there wasn’t really much to see or do, you don’t recognise many of the men in the establishment and those that you do recognise you aim to avoid at all costs. Therefore you decide the best thing to do is to just dance in the middle of the area on your own; your natural rhythm kicks in as your hips glide in a figure of eight to the velvety tones of Jason Manns’ vocal chords smoothly drifting over the notes. You allow the words of ‘Sittin on the Dock of the Bay’ to take over, your fingertips running over the tops of your thighs and your hips, losing yourself to the music you don’t notice how the eyes of every man in the bar are on you, everyone’s except Sammy’s who’s back is turned to you as he attempts to force his brother to drink something other than beer. His mission fails miserably as Dean’s green eyes are glued to you with a look of pure adoration, as the song begins to draw to a close you saunter over to your hammered boyfriend and his slightly less hammered brother. Just as you are about to kiss the smirk off of his face you hear the ceasing of footsteps behind you followed by a “Y/N?” and you can feel Dean’s shoulders tense under your fingers at the newcomer.

Turning to face the voice’s owner, ready to pounce, you are stunned into silence at the vision before you. A full grown man, which was a mere shadow of his former self, loomed above you. His sweet brown eyes were accentuated by crow’s feet, he had stubble around full lips, his dimple below the mole on his left cheek gave him an even deeper beauty, the beaming face was framed by wisps of thick black hair which looked like he had a taken a page right out of Sam’s book. A soft hint of an Australian drawl could be heard as he once again addressed you “I knew it was you! I would recognise that dancing anywhere!” You throw your arms around his neck with enough force to cause him to rock back on his heels.

“My god how long has it been?”

“Feels like a lifetime! But in reality about 9 years”

“Gosh I have missed you Mattie” You turn to Dean to introduce him, you spot the look of utter confusion making up his physiognomy. You decide he is far too gone for you to even attempt to fill him in on your history with Mattie.

“Sammy you mind babysitting this one?” You ask as you jab your thumb in Dean’s general direction

“Nah, couldn’t think of anything better” Mocking disgust at his sarcasm you turn to Mattie who is doubled over; one arm behind his back and the other folded across his stomach

“May I have this dance malady?” He says, extending his hand for you to take.

“Why of course kind sire” And with that he lifts you into the air, placing you down in the middle of the floor. The two of you begin to jive as ‘Baby Like to Rock It” by The Tractors draws to an end, giggling at your poor timing the two of you fall into an embrace as “When a Man Loves a Woman” begins to play. His chin lightly rests on the top of your head as you lean into his lean body, the last time the two of you danced like this was ten years ago at your 18th birthday party. It had been about eleven in the evening, the majority of your friends were passed out on the couch or silently dancing together to this very track, you had felt just as safe in his arms then as you did in this moment. It was the thought of this safety that led you to act without thinking of the consequences; it was then that you kissed your best friend on the cheek.

You hear a loud thump followed by a “Fuck. DEAN!” The next thing you know Mattie is throwing you to the floor, landing besides a dishevelled Sammy, and Dean has got his hands around Matt’s throat. You can tell that Dean has sobered up entirely, as steady on his feet as he is on a hunt, he has got Mattie’s feet desperately trying to find solid ground whilst his fingers scratch at Dean’s hands. Never before have you frozen in the midst of a fight but this was different. This time, the man that you love isn’t attacking a monster or a killer, he is attacking your best friend and you had never seen such pure desire for destruction of something that posed no threat. In all honesty it scared you a little, and it would have turned you on were it not Mattie who was at the receiving end of Dean’s incredible strength.

Matt’s hands were no longer fighting as enthusiastically as they had been, you could see he was turning a very pale, very unhealthy, colour. Luckily Dean saw this too, so decided to relieve the pressure a little, slamming his target against the floor of the bar, kneeling over Matt’s weak body. Turning to look to Sam for assistance you could see he was already standing, assessing the best way to stop Dean, he decided just to go for it and wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist, pulling with all his strength. Though Sammy was taller, Dean was the more stubborn, elbowing his younger brother in the face before continuing to pummel his fists into Matt’s torso; using the same patterning he had taught you. You watched on in desperation, barely aware of your own voice screaming stop, as Dean’s right hook crashed into the base of Mattie’s ribs, barely a second went by before he repeated this but on the other side. Dean repeated this, left right left right, until he grew bored, or felt that is was no longer inflicting enough pain, you breathed a sigh of relief as Dean sat up, breathing heavily with his fists hanging limp at his side, with his eyes now vacant there was a calmness to him which gave you hope that he was finally finished. Cautiously you rose to your feet, taking those few short steps over to him, tentatively you reached out, touching Dean’s shoulder lightly. Slowly he lifted his head, looking you in the eye, instead of finding comfort in your presence like he usually did, he saw something that sent him overboard; his expression twisting into one of unadulterated rage as he battered his cracked and bloodied fist into Mattie’s face.

Sensing that Dean would not be stopping anytime soon, Sam once again attempted to prize his brother of off your best friend. This time he was successful; putting an end to this sanguinary event. Dragging Dean out of the bar and into the backseat of the impala whilst Dean flailed about, fighting to break free, but Sam had a stronger grip than before. You could see the mental and physical concentration that the task was requiring, as Sam’s brows were deeply furrowed and his lips were curled up into a snare. You knew you should go give Sammy a hand but there was no way you were abandoning Mattie when he was in this state. Gently elevating Matt’s head, you tuck your knees under him so that he won’t choke on any blood in his throat and really for your own comfort as much as his. You gently run your fingers through his hair, whispering “sorry” over again in between promises of “it will be okay” and reassurance that you won’t leave his side no matter what.

You’re on your hundredth repetition of an “I’m right here baby, you are going to be okay” when Sam came running back in asking if there was anything he could do to help. You knew he was only trying to help but you couldn’t have Dean anywhere near you right now, sobbing you beg him to “just get him out of here”, thinking you meant Matt, he goes to scoop him into his arms but you point in the general vicinity of the car. “Him! Get that Demon away from me!” you scream, your strength collapsing as you whisper go. With that Sam nods, understanding that it is not him you are angry with and the shouting is directed towards Dean but he is too far away so Sam is happy to step in as the punching bag. You don’t even see him leave as you hang your head in defeat, tears streaming down your face, hair tickling the already forming patches of blue and purple on Matt’s cheeks. Somewhere behind you, you can hear Rick on the phone to 911, giving them the address of the bar to pass onto the paramedics. Yes an ambulance is on its way, no it won’t be long, just hold on they are only 20 minutes away, no there is no ambulances in closer proximity, try not to move him any further, don’t let him go to sleep. Just as Rick confirms that he saw the attacker you shoot him a look, one he recognises immediately as meaning to keep that piece of information between you, therefore all he tells them is that the man responsible was a white man in jeans and a black shirt and that he is sorry he couldn’t give a more helpful description. You mouth a silent thank you, receiving a nod in response as he finishes answering the respondent’s questions.

All you can do now is wait, praying to Castiel in hope that he will heal Mattie, or keep you company at least.

You had waited at the bar until the ambulance came, insisting that you rode with him to the hospital. Holding his hand the entire way, whilst his was limp and unresponsive in your own. Sam had called you begging for you to come home, insisting that Matt would pull through and that you were no good to him or yourself whilst you were exhausted and angry. It was more for Sam’s sake than your own that you had decided to hitchhike your way home, not that you told him that was what you were doing, it was for the benefit of your best friend that you swallowed your anger as you stood outside the bunker.

As you made your way down the stairs you could see an exhausted Sam, presumably passed out, with his head in the crook of his arms laid out on the table. A mop of brown hair was the main identifiable aspect of the slumped figure before you, logically it would seem as though Sam had waited up for you, for the entire three hour drive from Nebraska, and that wasn’t including the time it took to find people who were willing to take you small sections of the journey. What you couldn’t see though was a sign of the other Winchester. Deciding not to think too much about it, about him, you decide to wake Sam so that he can move into his real bed and relax a little.

Reaching out to lightly tap him on the shoulder, you haven’t even crossed half the distance before Sam has his wrist gripped tight around your wrist. His fingernails cutting into your thin skin, a predatory growl rises in his throat it was the sort of sound that you thought would come from a lion if poked with a stick one too many times. You couldn’t quite tell but none the less you were certain that his eyes were still closed beneath the now, demonically, dishevelled locks; despite this it was as though you could feel the fire in his eyes directed towards you. Convinced that even a twitch of the toes might send him into attack, you held your breath, as you watched the heavy pattern which his chest appeared to follow whilst small bursts of air were sharply exhaled through his flared nostrils with every fall of his chest. You could feel the blood starting to rise to the top of your skin as Sam’s grip tightened, cracking your bones slightly. Despite this you remain calm, observing that his sporadic breathing had slowed a fraction, interpreting this as a chance to act your quietly whisper his name, one this doesn’t seem to worsen his state you try again but this time with the term of endearment both you and Dean use specifically, the only people who are allowed to; “Sammy?” you purr. It appears as though he recognises your voice, or the name, as his grip loosens slightly. Still afraid to move you remain in your exact positioning as you start to talk him out of his attack; “Sammy? Baby? It’s Y/N, I’m right here…” trailing off you notice his shoulders are no longer so dramatically hunched over. “It’s going to be okay, I won’t let anything happen to you.” His breathing has returned to almost normal, deeming it safe enough you slip your hand out of his grasp, re-positioning it above his head. Tenderly you begin to stroke his hair, humming promises of safety. “Shhh, don’t worry, Little Winchester is home and she’s going to make you coffee and pancakes”, as he rests his head against your stomach you continue to sooth him with hushed tones, the same way you had comforted Mattie almost a day ago.

Regaining his composure he pulled away, running his hand down your arm in gratitude, knowing that right now you could really do with someone taking care of you instead of the other way around. Smiling sadly, he informs you that he had given Dean a time out. “I locked him in his room, he is probably sulking, probably still a little drunk, I’m not too sure of the situation if I am honest…” he started explaining, but realising you really just needed a distraction he switches up the atmosphere, returning to his bubbly self instead of the serious quiet of a concerned brother. “I know exactly what you need!” Without warning he tucks when arm under the back of your and places the other against your shoulder blades, scooping you into his arms he carries you into the kitchen. Plopping you down on the counter-top he points a finger at you as he tells you to ‘stay’. Doing as you are told, you sit still, the only things moving were your legs which were swinging back and forth against the counter and your head which was following Sam around the kitchen as he flitted from one cupboard to another. Next to you a mound of ingredients was beginning to form; two glass bottles of the best Maple Syrup around, three lots of 250 ml tubs of ice cream in chocolate, honeycomb and vanilla accompanied by two silver serving spoons, a selection of chocolate bars and a bottle of red wine to top it off. Cocking an eyebrow in Sam’s direction he just shrugs “you mentioned pancakes”.

This was certainly not pancakes. This was diabetes and heaven combined.

You hadn’t expected wine mixed with ice cream to taste so sweet, the two of you were sat at the table, shovelling scoops of ice cream out of the tubs and into your mouths, before swallowing you would drop broken up bits of chocolate into the others open mouth and squirt a dollop of maple syrup on top. It was the moments like this that you loved, you and Sam had always had a good relationship, way before you and dean had. As you were placing another spoonful of honeycomb on your tongue, you noticed a mischievous gleam in the eyes of your partner in crime, running the spoon along your tongue to get the remainder of the ice cream of, you studied him. As soon as you placed the spoon back in the pot Sam had his arms around your waist and was pulling you onto his lap, he allowed you to reach for your spoon and bring the food slightly nearer before he gave you a massive bear hug; it the kind that made you melt into his body, seeking the comfort and safety that his giant form provided. You sat like that in silence for a moment, with his chin resting on your shoulder and his hair tickling your nose, you were content to just remain this way but he had other ideas. You felt the muscles in his arms tense as his arms around your waist tightened their grip to hold you in place. “Y/N…” He sounded cautious, as though he didn’t know how to proceed, you could feel his jaw shift as he chewed the inside of his cheek, searching for the right words.

Just as you thought he had decided not to say anything more, his posture changed as his back straightened, allowing him to reach his full height and tower above you. Damn this was serious. With a clearing of the throat he continued. “You really should go talk to him”

“I know, but I just can’t right now.”

He responded whilst rubbing his thumb in small circles on your waist. “I know you’re mad and upset. What he did was unacceptable…”

“Damn right it was!” You interrupted.

“BUT, if you guys don’t talk about it, it will eat you alive.” You pulled away slightly to get a better look at his face. His eyes locked onto yours, nothing but pure concern for you was in them, you got the feeling he wasn’t doing this for his brother bu1t instead for you.

Ducking your head, you whisper out a confession. Your stomach tying into knots as you finally allowed the truth to be revealed. “I’m scared Sammy.”

“I know Y/N. I know. But it will get better I promise.”

“Of him…”

To that Sam had no response, speechless with shock, he looked you over with his mouth agape. Cupping your head in his hands he pulls you against his chest, kissing the top of your hair, rubbing his free hand along your arm. Grateful that he didn’t push it any further you decide that, if you are unable to trust your best friend, with the things that were worrying you, than how the hell were you going to survive this lifestyle. Sure there was Dean but that was different. He never stood back, he was never able to just listen. You knew that this was a safe space, that Sam would never push you to tell him more or start an argument or get over-protective. He just let you do whatever you needed to too get by.

“I know Dean and I fall out a lot, over the little things, but that’s never like this. It’s over in a handful of minutes. It’s usually all words or the silent treatment. But this, this is different.” Stroking your hair to let you know he was still listening, you took it as encouragement to carry on. “He almost killed someone Sam!” “I just, I am scared he will hurt me…”

Holding you closer to his chest Sam finally said something in response, “He would never dream of hurting you Y/N. I don’t think he physically could even if he tried.”

“The only other time that I have seen him so violent was when he had the mark, and even then he was able to focus it on the bad guys.”

Pressing his lips into a firm line, you can practically hear the gears churning away in Sam’s head; an audible ding sounding as they settle into place. “He won’t hurt you, I promise he won’t. If you go talk to him I will be right outside waiting to come a distressed damsel. You can use our code word if anything goes wrong. How does that sound?”

“Logical.” You laugh before adding to your response. “I think you’re right. I should go talk to him…”

Sam nodded encouragingly as you paused with one hand wrapped around the door knob, the other ready to turn the key to unlock the door. With a deep breath you opened the door. You were greeted by sight of a very angry, very tense, 6 foot 1 monster who was pacing in the corner of the room. Clearing your throat, you take a step forward, pausing as the man turned around, catching sight of you. You could see his fists forming a ball as his eyes searched yours for a moment. Within a split second he was slamming the door, too pissed off with you to see Sam stood to the left of the doorframe, his voice was hoarse as though it had been unused for the past handful of days. Though gruff there was no weakness behind the deep rumble which you had fallen in love with. “How the hell could you do this to me Y/N!?” As soon as you opened your mouth to respond, he waved dismissively, deciding he wasn’t done just yet, his voice was at full volume in a mixture of desperation and anger. “How could you have the audacity to come in here as though you did nothing wrong?”

Refusing to give in to the bait, you force yourself to remain calm. “Dean. What did I do?”

“You know” he growled, rocking on to the balls of his feet before taking a step back, his index finger jabs in your direction as he scoffs; repeating himself.

“I don’t. If I did I wouldn’t have asked”

“You cheated” He laughs, throwing his hands up in mock-disbelief “Right in front of me!”

He stares at you, waiting for an excuse, but it takes you a moment to process the accusation. “I did no such thing Dean… and you know it”

Once again Dean resorted to elevating his voice in order to get his point across, a flush of red was creeping up his neck, tinging the base of his earlobes. “You’re a lying whore who cares about no one but themselves” he spat, stalking around the bed to get closer to you. His words hurt and he knew it so you weren’t going to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break.

“Dean you -”

“I what Y/N? Don’t try and twist this like you always do” he snarled.

It was below you, you knew that, but you had had enough of this bullshit and you just wanted to skip the shouting, skip the cutting words and hateful looks, you just wanted to fast forward to the inevitable makeup. Rising, well sinking, to his level you began to shout back “THE HELL ARE YOU ON ABOUT DEAN?! He is my friend!”

“Friends isn’t exactly the right word…” he scoffed “I know you feel trapped here. And I know you hate me! All you had to do was tell me, you didn’t have to go make out with some stranger at a bar!” His breath was audibly laboured, laced with emotion, no longer pure anger, instead you could feel his heart breaking as he retreated to his core emotion of self-hatred.

Scared of him returning to the bad place you know he always does in these situations you try to calm yourself, breathing deeply to balance out his shallow puffs. Your voice was still shaky as you reached out to him, your fingers stopping short of his jaw as he flinched away from your touch. Letting your arm fall, heavy, against your side before muttering his name. He continued to shout over you, no longer forming coherent sentences, instead just trying to express his pain. Repeating his name, once, twice, on the third time he stops for a split second, looking at you intensely before continuing his rant. Clearly you were getting nowhere and the only way to get through to him is to play him at his own game.

Raising your voice to match the ferocity of his, you let loose “I HAVE KNOWN MATTIE SINCE HIGH SCHOOL DEAN! ALL HE HAS EVER BEEN TO ME IS MY BEST FRIEND! AND YOU ALMOST KILLED HIM. So tell me that I have no right to be here, no right to be angry, because lord knows I have more right than you do.

“You hate me! I know you do. But you didn’t need to be so cruel Y/N”

You may not have used the code word that Sam had assigned you, but somehow he knew that things were the opposite of okay, you caught a flash of brown hair out the corner of your eye as Sam popped his head round the door frame. “Gu-” he hasn’t even finished the first word of his sentence before you and Dean shout “not now Sammy!” in unison. The comforting smile that had revealed the younger Winchester’s dimple quickly fell away, a deep sadness taking its place in his viridescent eyes. Defeated he turns away, his head bowed as he walks back to what you presume to be the library.

Ignorantly you look at Dean for guidance, searching his face for some sign of whether or not you should leave Sam to have some space or not. Unsurprisingly, there is no help being offered, instead, Dean is rubbing his jawline, sighing he gestures with his right hand towards the now empty hallway. “Now look what you’ve done Y/N”. His hand falls back against his side, in response you just stare at him, mouth agape as your head shakes in disbelief. Granted you weren’t innocent, but you weren’t holey responsible either.

Spinning on your heel you follow in Sam’s footsteps, determined to go apologise for your behaviour, stopping in the entrance with one hand on the door frame, you hang your head before looking over your shoulder towards the man you loved. “Your problem is that nobody hates you more than you do. It’s that self-hatred that prevents you from letting anyone love you”. With that you carry on down the hall, past the dungeon in the direction of the library. No longer full of anger your brain is now running over what happened with Sam and what happened to Mattie. You are in the middle of making a mental note to drive back to the hospital after you have checked on Sammy when you feel a strong grip on your wrist.

Holding your breath you hope to Chuck that it is just Cas, finally making an appearance, the man behind the interruption spins you round to face him, doing so with such force that you almost slam into his chest. Looking up, expecting to find the comfort of bright blue eyes and furrowed brows, your heart drops into your stomach as you are met instead with intoxicating Green eyes. “My brother was right Y/N. We need to talk this through”. Disgusted but exhausted all you can muster in response is “What is there to talk about Dean? I’m tired of fighting and I just want to go look after my friends.” With that you pull your wrist free, storming off to your room, Sam could wait – you were no good to him like this. You text him an apology instead, accompanied by the promise of a real one when you have calmed down.

Your phone vibrates with a response a second after you have jumped onto the bed. “It’s okay, I understand it was just bad timing. I hope you are okay x” Smiling to yourself at the selflessness of his words, you barely notice Dean now standing in the doorway, looking at you with a combination of adoration and pain. Catching sight of his bowed legs you adjust to increase your sense of power; Straightened back, arms crossed, chin tilted towards the sky. Refusing to speak your gaze holds his, unless an apology was going to be the next that thing out of those plumps lips, you weren’t interested in hearing it. It was the sight of his tongue rolling over his bottom lip which cracked your façade, not enough to be noticeable but you could certainly feel yourself growing angry, not only at your boyfriend but also at yourself. The next thing you know you are stood between the door and the bed, you could hear your voice telling Dean to leave, could feel your lips moving without your instruction. In response Dean slams the door, his brows furrowed as he continues to stare you down. “You’re meant to be on the other side of the door” you snap in frustration.

“You just can’t help yourself can you Y/N?” Striding towards you with some surely dark intention, “Can’t keep your eyes of other men.” You felt your back come into contact with something hard, running the palms of your hands against the object, the heaving of your chest became less rapid, deeper almost, as you realised you were pressed up against the wall. “You look at them with that same hungry gaze you used to look at me with.”

Unwilling to lose this battle of will, you elect to stare him down with your chest heaving in anticipation as the adrenaline pumps through your veins. Beneath furrowed brows were green eyes, dark with anger, or perhaps it was lust. Your eyes wander to his lips just as his tongue darted out, flicking over his bottom lip. Neither of you wanted to be the one to break the silence but Dean finally gave in to his anger snapping at you; “You know what Y/N?”

“WHAT?”

“I can’t fucking stand you” and with that his calloused hands were grabbing your face as his lips carelessly crashed against yours. You could feel the hunger emanating off him as your fingers instinctively wove their way into his hair, pressing your lips against him even harder than they already were. You roll your hips against his thigh which was between your legs, the blatancy of your craving for contact drew a moan from his throat. With that Dean was pulling his hands away, you groaned at his sudden absence, he repositioned them on your hips before parting your lips with is tongue. His hands made quick work of your jeans, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull your shirt over your head, dipping his head to kiss along your jaw and collarbone as he stripped you of your bra.

Running your fingers down from the back of his head you tug his flannel shirt of his shoulders; the lean muscles of his back were soft beneath your touch as you dug your nails into his exposed torso. Growing impatient he works on his own belt, throwing it to the side haphazardly, Dean never once breaks contact with you. Once he was fully exposed, his body still pressed against yours, you felt his hands running down the back of your thighs. Hearing his unspoken words you jump, wrapping your legs around his waist as he supports your lower back. It isn’t long before he is throwing you on your bed, growling as he leans over you with his hips slotted between your legs.

Perhaps arguing wasn’t the worst thing the two of you could do.

A/N: Thank you to @the-petite-lion​ and @rosey-persephone for keeping me encouraged and helping me workout what the hell I was doing with this <3