themaninflannel

[themaninflannel]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

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

Taglist

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@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

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

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

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn

[themaninflannel]

Falling Into Me

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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

Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[themaninflannel]

I was searching for some pretty Hanukkah gifs to schedule a post tomorrow wishing my Jewish followers Happy Hanukkah and I found a fit/shape/body building site that posted this

And I thought to myself, I simply must show my Jewish followers fit Menorah Man

[themaninflannel]

Nine rings were made for men. Seven for the dwarves, three for the elves, and one for the big guy himself. One, three, seven, nine. There is but a set of five missing to complete the sequence of odd numbers. I propose that this missing set of rings of power was gifted to a mysterious someone by their true love, along with a partridge in a pear tree (among other things). In this essay I will-

[themaninflannel]

dean winchester is a loverboy.

naturally, he goes around opening doors for you and pulling out chairs, offering to pay for every meal and buying you flowers whenever he can.

but he’s also a loverboy in bed.

dean takes his time with his pretty baby, kissing over every inch of your body, worshipping you like you’re the most precious thing on the planet— cause in his eyes, you are.

his plump pink lips brush past all your little scars and freckles, as if he’s learning your body for the first time again, treating you with such a deep tenderness that makes your heart race and your mind all fuzzy.

he’s so delicate with you, taking the time to leave little pink marks across your skin. he’s definitely leaving hickeys in the shape of a heart on your hip or inner thigh, something just for you and him to see— a visual reminder of how deeply he cares for you whenever you look at it.

he’s just a loverboy like that.

his soft reverent murmurs against your skin give you butterflies, “so pretty, baby. taste so sweet, just f’me” his words are spoken quietly as he embellishes your body with his pretty little marks.

and he’s taking his time to really please you, pulling orgasm after orgasm straight from your core with just his fingers and mouth. you can forget about touching him for the time being, not until he’s decided he’s pleased you enough— if you’re not swollen, pink and panting, he’s not finished yet.

and when he’s finally got you boneless and spent, after making you finish for the umpteenth time, he’s holding you against his chest; his fingers massaging your scalp while he mumbles soft praises against your temple, adorning your flushed face with innocent little kisses.

“did so well for me, sweetheart. i’m yours forever, baby. and you’re mine.”

[themaninflannel]

WICKED MIND ─ Dean Winchester

When he wakes up in the middle of the night, Dean can't resist masturbating while thinking about you.

+18! (Minors DNI), smut, male masturbation, wicked and dirty thoughts, kinky (it's just smut, sorry)

Word Count: 1187

A/N: English is not my first language. divider credit

Dean grumbled in frustration and opened his eyes again, unable to sleep well. He felt like a child who was struggling to fall asleep. It was an unbelievable agony to be so exhausted and yet be unable to sleep. Since he was busy with practically everything every day and coping with every bizarre one, he was positive that his body screamed for some rest.

It was about three in the morning when he looked at the clock. God. His eyes burned. Throughout his thirty-five years of life, Dean had never experienced insomnia, but now he did.

When an idea struck his head, he scowled. Years had passed since he'd jerked off to quickly fall asleep. Dean was unable to stop thinking about how terrific it felt. Why not? He had read and understood his body to help his eyes get the rest they required, and he didn't have drugs to use at the moment. Moreover, he hadn't gotten off for fun in quite some time. These days, Dean's sexual life is actually active, and he hasn't needed to help himself lately. 

Plain and simple, things had changed. It would be just to get some sleep. Nothing more. To tell himself that he didn't like helping himself would be a lie. It was always enjoyable.

After inhaling deeply, Dean moved the blanket away from his body and slightly lowered his boxers to reveal his partially hard cock. He assumed that he might not be able to sleep because of his cock. It didn't matter though. Now he would take care of this. 

Dean spat in his palm, then wrapped his cock with his rough fingers. His head turned to his cock, and his abs tightened. He licked his lips and started pumping himself, eager to get it done very quickly. His thoughts were instantly filled with pictures of you as he stroked his cock. 'Fuck' he thought to himself. Now, that was unexpected.

Realizing it would be tougher than he had anticipated, he spit into his hand a little more before tightening his fingers around his cock. He had a cock that was hard enough to keep him awake, but it was clearly stubborn. Come. On. Dean's thumb stroked his already hard cock's purple head as he bit his lips fiercely. He was now about completely erect. Almost.

He was taking heavy breaths, nearly grunting, as his mind started to play games on him. Dean couldn't stop picturing your ass and physique. It was difficult to not notice or forget the picture of you playing 8-ball pool yesterday. You looked lovely there.

It was enough to make his cock completely hard. Just think about how you bent before you took your shot and how the stick waited between your fingers. 

When Dean could no longer resist his demons, he gave up and allowed his thoughts to take control, concentrating on the pictures that were racing through his head. At that point, it didn't matter how awesome his hookups were. There was something unique about the way your ass appeared as you bent your body. Perhaps it was because the two of you were simply buddies. It was Fobbiden's thrill that made him feel like this. After all, the forbidden always tasted delicious. 

Dean considered lifting your dress up and putting your underwear aside. What color would you be wearing? Most likely green or pink. After all, you were fond of pastel colors. Pink would be preferable. 

As he visualized your pussy, his fingers tightened around his aching cock harsher. Dean had no doubt that you would take him well. However, he would make sure you sucked him well before giving you a hard fuck on the table. God. It would look great with your little mouth around his cock. He heaved his balls after groaning as his thumb continued to touch his cock's head and lingered around the thick veins. Dean grunted while he drifted off into his own thoughts. Whether that was the appropriate thing to do or not didn't matter to him. 

He needed that.

You would get moist there from the way he would fuck your mouth and throat. He would spill against your face and throat since he knew you would also like finishing him off and tasting him. He would push your head to his cock and put his hands behind your hair to make you give him all of your attention. He knew that you could take him all. You would moan around the head, suck the salty cum, and swirl your tongue around it. Fuck. Dean imagined fucking your face with both hands behind your head. As he pictured how he would handle your lovely mouth, he was firmly biting his lips.

The obscene sounds his hand made while he beat his cock were driving him insane. He knew he could hear the similar sounds once he started to fuck you raw and his heavy balls hit your pussy from behind.

He was average there—not very long. However, he was sufficiently thick, which was something of which he was proud. His cock was fat and heavy. Dean imagined your walls constricting around him. 

He slowed his hand to extend the process and enjoy a little extra fun just as he was getting close. He swiftly grabbed his phone and opened one of your photos. He knew he shouldn't be doing this, but fuck it. No one would know, and there was no way of going back. As soon as he was asleep, he would forget about it. 

When Dean saw one of your 8-ball pool pictures, he let out an uncontrollable groan. "Fuck," he said. When you played it, you looked beautiful. He looked at your ass and concentrated on the way you bowed. Grasping the back of your neck on the table, he would swiftly and aggressively fuck you while placing his hands around your hips and pounding hard into your tiny pussy. 

Dean spat his palm again, and his motions became more intense and faster. He was staring at your photo as he groaned; he was thrusting into his hands rough. He whispered, “Good girl,” unable to stop talking this time. 

"I'll fuck you so good, fuck your tiny pussy against that table so fucking good... Fuck. Take me." 

He should be ashamed for acting in such a way. But he was absorbed in the right now. Dean knew he was about to finish because his cock was throbbing now. “Let me fill you; let me come inside you, baby.”

As he continued to stare at your photo, Dean's cock began to throb, and he felt the hot ropes against his bare chest and hands. In order to make sure there was nothing left in his hefty balls, he continued to stroke himself while groaning. Then, enjoying the experience, he set his phone aside and stoked himself a bit more. When he was done, shame was starting to rise, but he made an effort to dismiss it. Dean stared over his chest, panting fiercely. His entire body was covered with his hot white ropes.

He was a mess.

AN: SOrry. Let me know what you think loll

Permanent Taglist: @deaniemyboo @crooked-haven @ladykitana90 @kamisobsessed @artemys-ackles @thecutestaaakawaii @supfan67 @suckitands33

Click here and let me know if you wanted to be tagged permanently: TAGLIST!

[themaninflannel]

The Weight of Words

Summary: When you reveal a deeply personal truth, Dean's unwavering support proves that no burden is too heavy for him to share. Trigger Warnings: self-harm, mental health struggles, intense emotional conversations, and protective behavior. Requested: Yes, by anon --

Dean hadn’t expected the day to take this kind of turn. One moment, you were sitting side by side on the worn couch in the bunker’s library, sharing stories about your teenage years. Then, you let it slip—a quiet confession you hadn’t intended to share.

“I used to self-harm,” you said, the words barely above a whisper, as though saying them too loudly might bring the memories back to life.

For a moment, Dean froze. The magazine he’d been flipping through slid from his hands and landed on the coffee table with a soft thud. He turned to you, his brows knitting together in that familiar way, his face a mixture of confusion, hurt, and worry.

“Wait… what?” His voice was cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right—or maybe he didn’t want to believe that he had.

You took a deep breath, your gaze fixed firmly on your hands in your lap. “It was a long time ago. Before I met you. I was going through some… stuff, and that’s how I dealt with it.”

Dean was quiet for a beat too long, and it made you glance up at him nervously. His jaw was tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. It was the kind of look you’d seen on him before—when he was barely holding himself together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked finally, his voice low but tinged with an urgency that made your chest tighten.

You shrugged, unable to meet his gaze. “Because it’s not something I like to talk about. And I’m fine now, Dean. Really. It’s in the past.”

His scoff surprised you, a sharp exhale of disbelief. “Fine now? Come on, Y/N, you don’t just… just drop something like that and then tell me you’re fine now.”

“I am fine,” you insisted, your voice firmer this time. “I don’t do it anymore. I haven’t in years.”

“But you did,” he shot back, his voice rising slightly before he caught himself and softened his tone. “You did, and I didn’t know. You went through that alone, and I… I didn’t—dammit.” He stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair as he began to pace.

You watched him, unsure if you should say something or just let him process. This was why you hadn’t wanted to tell him—because you knew he’d take it harder than you did. Dean had a way of carrying other people’s pain like it was his own, even when you didn’t ask him to.

“I didn’t want to burden anyone,” you said quietly, breaking the silence.

Dean stopped pacing and turned to you, his expression somewhere between disbelief and anger—not at you, but at the situation. “Y/N, you could never be a burden. Do you hear me? Not to me, not to Sam, not to anyone who gives a damn about you.”

His words hit you harder than you expected, and you felt the sting of tears threatening to fall. You blinked quickly, shaking your head. “It didn’t feel that way back then. I didn’t think anyone would understand.”

Dean’s face softened, and he came back to sit beside you, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. For a long moment, he didn’t say anything, and you could feel the weight of his emotions hanging in the air. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter but no less intense.

“I’ve been through some dark stuff too,” he admitted, his eyes fixed on a spot on the floor. “Hell, there were times I didn’t think I’d make it out. And yeah, I’ve got my ways of coping—most of ’em aren’t healthy, I’ll admit. But I had people. I had Sam. I had Bobby. You didn’t have anyone, did you?”

You shook your head, a lump forming in your throat. “Not really. I didn’t let anyone in.”

He looked at you then, his green eyes filled with a sadness that made your chest ache. “Well, you’ve got me now. And you’ve got Sam, and Cas, and everyone else in this crazy life we’ve built. You don’t ever have to go through that crap alone again. You hear me?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I hear you.”

But Dean wasn’t done. He reached out and gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I’m serious, Y/N. You don’t ever let yourself get to that place again without coming to me first. I don’t care what time it is, what’s going on—you come to me, okay? Promise me.”

You hesitated for a moment, the intensity in his eyes almost overwhelming. But you could see how much this meant to him, how much he cared. “I promise.”

“Good.” He gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go. “Now, do me a favor and don’t keep stuff like this from me anymore. I can’t help if I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay,” you said, managing a small smile. “I’ll try.”

He smirked, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You better do more than try. You think I don’t notice when something’s off with you? I notice, Y/N. I just don’t always know how to ask.”

For the rest of the day, Dean didn’t leave you alone for long. He insisted on making dinner—though his idea of “making dinner” was ordering takeout—and suggested a movie marathon to take your mind off things.

As you sat together on the couch, wrapped in a blanket and watching one of his favorite cheesy action flicks, you felt the tension in your chest start to ease. Every so often, you’d catch him glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he were checking to make sure you were still there, still okay.

It wasn’t just the words he’d said earlier that comforted you—it was everything he did afterward. The way he made you laugh with his over-the-top commentary on the movie. The way he reached for your hand absentmindedly, as if to remind you he was there. The way he didn’t push you to talk about anything you weren’t ready to share but made it clear he was there if you needed him.

By the time the credits rolled, you felt lighter than you had in a long time. You leaned your head against his shoulder, and he didn’t move away—just shifted slightly so you’d be more comfortable.

“Thanks, Dean,” you said softly.

“For what?” he asked, his tone casual but his expression anything but.

“For being you.”

He smirked, nudging you lightly with his shoulder. “Damn right.”

But as you drifted off to sleep beside him, you knew he’d take those words to heart—and that he’d do whatever it took to keep you safe, both from the world and from yourself. Tag List: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @jc-winchester @whump-loverz @pizzagirlxnsfwx @king-of-milf-lovers

[themaninflannel]

WINCHESTER'S PICKUP, INJURIES AND CLUMSY KISSES

~1k words

>you get hurt while hunting with your uncle, John Winchester and his son. Dean can't help but help.

pairing:teen! dean winchester x teen! reader

warnings/notes: basically a really tooth rotting fluff, first love and first kiss trope, vague descriptions of reader's past (like death of their family), few but subtle descriptions of injuries, john winchester mentioned (and i mean he's a real trigger so that's important), gn reader, no usage of y/n

REPOSTS WILL BE APPRECIATED

Minnesota. A werewolf hunt. Ordinary case-- boring, in a way. Just had to catch the bastard and shoot it through the heart with silver.

It seemed normal even to you, even though you weren't even an adult yet. Had to grow up early, huh? God, you hated that phrase. It sounded like you were feeling sorry for yourself. And self-pity is weak, very weak! At least that's what your uncle, the hunter who raised you since your family died in a vampire attack taught you.

And besides, you and your uncle weren't alone on this case, but with "family friends" - the Winchesters. Were they considered family friends if every time John needed help hunting and Dean was busy, your youngest son, Sam, was left at your and your uncle's house? Hell if I know! But at least you got a good memory of that family. And the older son's face, his cocky grin, his brilliant green eyes, his perfect nose and distinct freckles...it was all getting to your throat.

But damn it, it had to be some old, abandoned house. Protruding nails, scattered things, wood that left splinters in fingers - it would be dangerous here, even in daylight, without the risk of having your heart eaten...and when there was that risk, every step was tense.

Especially when the "hunted object" - you tried not to think of them as people, or else it became too hard to hunt - had run right into your path. The rumble of falling things, the pop of missed shots. This werewolf was physically strong and dexterous, so it was hard.

Like when he threw you into the wall and some protruding, crooked, rusty nail pierced your shoulder. It's okay, we've been through worse injuries, you'd think. Until Dean ran up to you, completely ignoring his father's scolding.

"Hey, are you okay? Ooh..." He seemed to swear, but it was quiet, a whisper he didn't want his father to hear. Dean sharply threw your arm, whose shoulder wasn't injured, over his neck and lifted you up, not listening to any of your complaints about not needing help.

"Dad's gonna kill you- sshhiit..." You hissed as he pressed his shirt, previously hanging over his black T-shirt, against your shoulder, treating the wound. The fabric was soaked with whiskey.

Hearing your sounds of pain, Dean lifts his emerald eyes from your wound to your face. His gaze is piteous, concerned, and his thick lashes glisten in the moonlight.

He was too handsome. Objectively, of course.

"Like the first time I'm going to get a punch from him... All right?" He squeezes your healthy shoulder in the palm of his hand, then puts his hand on the collar of your t-shirt, and...stops. "I... Can you slip your arm out of your sleeve?"

All his arrogance evaporated, there wasn't a particle of it in the air. And it was cute.

"You want me to take my clothes off? Pervert," you laugh, but your face immediately frowns as you raise your arm. Dean doesn't waste a second and starts helping you.

And God, the touch of his somehow warm fingers - there was a cool breeze outside, by the way - send shivers down your spine, making you dizzy. But you don't think about it. At least you're trying.

A low whimper escaped your lips as he tightened a piece of cloth, torn from your shirt and soaked in alcohol, on your wound. Maybe it wasn't unusual, but it still hurt.

"You're gonna stay here, you hear me? There's no way in hell you're going to go fight that big guy again right now. I won't let you," Dean said, glancing outside his dad's pickup window. His dad and your uncle were still in the house with a werewolf, apparently. You two could have been alone...for a little while. But of course that didn't excite you at all. You and Dean were just friends, right? Hunting bros. Nothing more.

And the fact that your gaze fell to his lips, then to his cheeks, covered with freckles, sharp cheekbones, ash-black long lashes, brilliant green eyes.... It meant nothing. At all.

"Whatever you say, sir," you quipped, rubbing the wound under the piece of cloth with your hand. Dean just gently pulled your hand away, "Don't make it worse for yourself, buddy." And oh, his tone is so gravelly. You're absolutely done.

But he won't let go of your hand. And you don't want to pull away.

His green eyes came up to your face, and he suddenly just froze, as if he couldn't look away. Dean stared at you as if you were the most brilliant and expensive gem, as if you were a living angel he hadn't believed in for a long time.... Like something unearthly. It would be foolish not to admit that you looked at him the same way.

Dean squeezed your hand lightly, and slowly - yes, very unusual for Dean Winchester to do something slowly - moved closer, but in a friendly way for now. In the same second, however, he remembered who he was, and his hand went up to your neck - still tentatively, of course... "Listen, buddy-..."

"Dean, please..."

And that did it. Dean's one word was enough for him to press his lips lightly against yours. He wasn't pushy, he wasn't rough, he didn't even let himself try to deepen the kiss. His lips only phantomly touched yours, guiding you, somehow even mentoring you, gently (still unusual for Dean Winchester himself!). His lips were matte, a little dry, but damn it, you liked it better than the sweetest meals of your life.

He pulls back, takes a deep breath and leans into you again. You're so cooked.

Dean can't help but marvel at your ineptitude at kissing- God, he could have sworn it made it the best kiss of his life. His lips move hotter, feistier, more needy, but still tentative, dipping down a little to leave a few quick nibbles on your chin and on your jaw--

Until you start hearing John and your uncle's voices outside. Oh, God, not now!

"Sorry, baby, sorry-" the nickname slides off his tongue so tenderly, lovingly, as he quickly pulls moves away from you.

Because after today, the chance of Winchester allowing you to see Dean earlier than after few months was close to zero.

a/n: i needed to think about little dean that haven't experienced hell already (on s4 currently yaaay). young jensen on header only because i can't think of teen dean looking as original cast actor for this role. and because i love young jensen. like really much. think im starting to get a lil' bit too much obsessed with dean

[themaninflannel]

Since I’ve Been Loving You

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: SMUTTTTT

Words: 2101

Imagine:

A/N: Y’all need to go listen to the song. Holy jesus is this song sexy. 

This was my first smut I’ve written down. Granted I’ve written smut many a times in my head, but never had reason to write it out until now.

Hopefully enjoy! ;)

—-

“Night, Sam.” The two of you wave as Sam disappears into his room down the hall. You and Dean wait until his door clicks shut before opening your own, Dean’s hand ghosts along your waist as you turn the key and push the door open. 

You’re barely three steps into the room when his arm snakes around your waist and twirls you around, pushing you backwards until your back hits the door with a soft thud. 

“Eager, Winchester?” You smile up at him. He stares down at you, his eyes bright with excitement as his tongue brushes along his lips as he takes you in, his head tilting to the side as he enjoys his view.

“Always eager for you, baby.” He breathes before he crashes his lips down to yours.

His hands land on your hips as your fingers scrap through his hair.

You’re hardly into the kiss when Dean’s fingers grip your top and carefully pull it over your head, breaking your kiss only as the fabric passes by your mouths, but as the garment hits the floor, you wrap your arms around Dean’s shoulders and hoist yourself up. His hands grip your ass as he holds you tight, pulling you even closer against him as he pulls you away from the door, putting all of your weight in his hands. 

His wet lips leave yours tingling and alive as they ghost over your chin, taking home against your neck. You instantly buck against him as his rough stubble brushes along the sensitive skin, goosebumps erupting all down your body. You bring your empty lips into your teeth as your back arches and a moan escapes as he sucks up and down, hopefully leaving a mark.  

Your moan elicits a breathy laugh from Dean and he pulls away to look up at you. His lips are parted and in the darkness you can see they’re already red.

Good.

Your hands cup under his ears, and ever so slowly, you pull him closer to you, letting your warm breath fan over that freckled nose of his you love so much, teasing him as you bring your lips to his, but don’t touch them, just hold them, and pull back slightly when he tries to close the gap.

“Not so fast, Winchester,” you chastise in a whisper. His lips turn upwards as he smirks at you.

You’re his little tease, and he loves it.

He begins to walk backwards, carefully as he cradles you close. He turns as he reaches the bed, ever so gently laying you down, letting his hands run down the length of your body once you’re safely out of his arms.

You expect him to lay over you, and you anticipate his weight on top of you. It’s comforting and loving, and you never want him anywhere else. 

But he turns around and goes to the dresser where your speaker sits. 

He doesn’t say anything as he pulls his phone out of his pocket and scrolls down some sort of list.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and watch him in the light of his iPhone. 

He finds whatever he was looking for, and plugs his phone into the speaker and turns it on.

A strong bass with a light guitar softly plays through, and Dean turns back to you with a shrug and a boyish smile. He’s embarrassed a bit, but you can tell whatever he put on he really likes.

The beat is smooth, but slow, and you picture exactly what this song is going to do for you.

You raise your finger and beckon him over. 

His eyes drop a bit, filled less of excitement and more anticipation. 

He pulls his shirt over his head and you tilt your head as you watch his muscles flex as he shakes his shirt to the ground. 

Your eyes fall to his anti-possession tattoo, but only remain a short moment before you look up at him.

And all he needs is that look to fill the space between the two of you.

His body weight is suddenly on top of yours, causing you to release a sigh as his warm skin presses against yours.

His lips return to your neck as you crawl the two of you further up the bed until his feet are no longer hanging off.

His hands go behind your back, and with skill, he releases the clasp, pulling your bra off as quickly as he can and barely letting the cool air hit your nipples before his mouth devours one.

His tongue twirls around it, his lips sucking so hard you back arches. His teeth scrap along your skin, and a shuttered whine escapes your lips. 

Your nails scrap along his back and he groans into your skin, causing you to squirm under him as the space between your thighs begins to throb. It’s so close to getting the thing it so desperately desires, and its impatient. 

“Pants.” You direct.

Dean pulls away from you and his fingers go to his belt buckle. He quickly pulls at the latch until it’s open and pulls his pants off in a haste Dean only ever has during these times. 

You reach up and slap his arm.

“I meant mine.” You tease.

His eyes go wide and his mouth forms that little “o.”

“Right.” 

He leans down over you and pulls the button of your jeans free. His fingers caress along the skin above your waistband, leaving a hot trail as he circles back and forth before his finger dip under your waistband, hooking onto your panties, and with one practice swoop, your jeans are flying across the room, leaving you completely naked.

Kneeling above you, Dean’s eyes travel you up and down, and you watch as he looks at you like he hasn’t seen you a thousand times before, like your body doesn’t know every inch of him, and he doesn’t know every single nerve that makes you squirm and writhe. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” He shakes his head, like he doesn’t fully believe what he’s seeing.

You bring your lip in between your teeth and smile up at him. 

That’s his cue.

He dips down, he’s hands surrounding your face as his eyes meet yours, and his nose brushes yours. 

He doesn’t say anything, just ducks his head until his lips meet your favorite place between your neck and shoulder.

His tongue begins its trail, working it’s way across your skin, through your cleavage and around your naval, your skin prickling as he nibbles and sucks every spot until his lips meet your entrance. 

He hands grab onto your hips, his fingers gripping into your skin at he places a kiss on the inside of your left thigh. You buck with anticipation as his breath fans across your right thigh. You can feel the warmth of his skin on your before his lips even touch down, and you bite back a moan as his skin meets yours. His fingers hold onto your thighs as he draws his nose further up your leg, his breath fanning over your warmth. 

He places a kiss right above your folds, and your eyes close as your hips thrust into the mattress.

“Dean,” you gasp, desperate for him to end this teasing. 

“Tell me what you want baby.” 

“You,” you beg, your knees closing around Dean as you grow despite for friction. 

His hands trace up your body, his lips brushing along your skin as he goes, leaving you dazed and breathless.

Your eyes are still closed, but you can feel him above you. You feel as his arms brush along your sides as he lowers himself down, bringing his lips to yours.

“Whatever you want, baby,” he breaths against you, his voice low and husky. 

You open your eyes and find yourself staring directing into Dean’s beautiful green eyes. You would never tell him that. He would roll his eyes and say you can’t call a man beautiful, but he was, from the freckles on his cheeks to the insides of his soul. 

You loved him, and no matter how undeserving he thought he was of your love, it would never change your mind.

You watch as he pushes himself off the bed, reaching over to the night stand and taking out a condom. 

He turns away as he drops his boxers and rolls the rubber over himself, and before you can even blink, he’s back, settled between your thighs, and you can feel him against you, ready.

You shift your hips, brushing yourself against him, eliciting a hiss. 

He doesn’t say anything as he aligns him, and you feel his tip at your base before he buries himself in you. 

Your entire body arches as your fingers dig into the sheets around you, your moan of satisfaction from finally being filled being drowned out as he rasps out your name. 

His hips begin moving against you, moving along to the slow and powerful beat of Led Zeppelin. 

As the two of you move together, Dean’s hands find yours, and he wraps your hands together as he drags them above your head. 

“God, Dean,” you cry as he pushes himself even further inside you, hitting your sweet spot with each thrust, letting him fill you again and again, until all the empty places are gone. 

As the music picks up, Dean’s hands leave yours and he clutches the sheets by your head. You arms wrap around him, your nails digging into his back as he begins to pound harder, though still in pace with the slow beat, rocking you into the mattress with a breathless groan on every thrust. 

His hands travel down to your waist, and before your rhythm meets his, he spins you, his back hitting the mattress and you’re suddenly on top. 

But you don’t let that stop your pace. 

Your hands rest on his stomach as you move back and forth, grinding yourself into him as his hips arch under you. 

His hands grab onto the outside of your thighs as you ride him, your head rolling back, your eyes closed, as you enjoy every part of him, feeling yourself begin to tighten around him.

Your breaths become more ragged, shockwaves of pleasure rippling through you as you build to that beautiful moment.

“I’m so close,” you pant, each hit throwing you further and further into a bliss you’ve only ever experienced with him.

“Let go, baby.” Dean gasps.

And with his words, a white hot fire explodes inside you and you cry out.

“Oh, god. Oh, god! Dean!” 

Over and over and over again as you ride out your clenching wave, dissolving into absolute pleasure, vaguely aware as Dean grunts as he finishes with you. 

“Jesus christ.” Your voice shakes as you slowly come down from your orgasmic high.

“God, I love you.” He mutters through his ragged breath. 

Dean’s voice snaps you out of your wanton daze.

You look down at him, and his eyes go wide as he realizes what he just said.

Your eyebrows raise up and you lick your dry lips.

“You…you do?” You bite down on the inside of your cheek, trying to contain your smile.

Dean’s eyes look to the side, like he’s trying to figure out if he should own up to what he said or pass it off as just another sexual mumbling that can’t be helped in moments like these.

His eyes close for a moment, and when they open again, he’s staring directly at you.

“How could I not?” Is all he gives you. And for Dean Winchester, that’s a lot. 

Your teeth release your cheek and you can’t contain your smile as you lean down over him, your hand stretching out to meet his.

Your fingers wrap together as Dean’s other arm snakes around your shoulders, his fingers tickling your neck.

He pulls you down to him, his head lifting up to meet you as you brush your lips together, using your teeth to pull in his bottom lip, deepening the kiss as he pulls you flush against him.

His hand leaves your shoulders, and gently take hold of your waist, lowering you down to his side without breaking the two of you apart.

You settle into his side, your head resting on his shoulder as you release a satisfied sighed.

“Took you long enough,” you breath into his chest, and your head bounces as he vibrates with a chuckle.

He ducks his head and places his lips to your forehead, letting them linger until your eyes close.

[themaninflannel]

Stay

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: SMUT

Word Count: 3,783

Imagine: The reader confronts Dean about his feelings for her, and when he refuses to admit how he feels, the reader gives him an ultimatum. 

Gif:

A/N: Taking a little break from Night Falls to bring you some juicy smut, Enjoy.

You kept replaying it over and over, trying to figure out what went wrong.

You took your sixth shot, slamming the glass down before Dean and throwing your hands up in victory. 

“That’s four!” You yell, your voice echoing off the bookshelves.

You look across the table, the oldest Winchester pouting as he drops his glass in a clattering defeat.

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off and you roll your eyes.

“Sounds to me like someone’s a sore Losechester if you ask me.”

“Losechester? Really?” His voice is deep and rough, and if you didn’t know him, you’d think he was angry.

“Well,” you lean back in your chair. “You definitely aren’t a Winchester, that’s for damn sure.” You snicker.

Dean just rolls his eyes at you, but you can see the slight smirk on his lips.

You push yourself out of your chair and stumble around the table, lowering yourself onto his armrest, not really thinking about what you’re doing, but not liking the huge space between you.

His dopey green eyes look up at you, a rare moment with your usual height difference. 

His hand finds you knee in a touch that would have been innocent enough had there not been enough tension between the two of you to ignite a room on fire.

You were so sick of the back and forth these past months. All the looks, the touches, every little thing he did to you, without ever doing anything. And with whiskey flowing through your veins, you can’t stand it a moment longer.

Keep reading

[themaninflannel]

thinking about dean letting his submissive side show for the first time with his gf! 18+

warnings: smut, sub!dean x softdom!reader (pure sweetness i promise)

*ੈ✩‧₊˚

you’ve been dating for a few months and yeah... the sex is great. mind-blowing even.

but one day something just snaps inside of dean after you come back from a hunt, his adrenaline racing as he pulls you into the motel room, after telling sam to “take a walk, man.”

he lays you down on the bed gently, his eyes locked on yours. you notice a softness in them that you’re not used to, not the usual smirk and playful glint that normally dance around in his eyes when he gets you into bed.

you sit up on your elbows and he crawls up to you, resting his head on your chest.

“love you,” he’d murmur out, or something else that’d catch you by surprise. he’d look up at you with his big, soft green eyes and you’d melt cause he’s just so pretty.

so you’d say it, “i love you too, my pretty boy,” as you start playing with his hair.

and that would do it.

he’d smile so sheepishly and something inside of you would snap too; the urge to be gentle, to be soft, to take charge of this beautiful, green eyed man and show him how much you care for him.

“cm’ere, my sweet boy,” you’d murmur.

and he would. he’d listen and let his lips find yours desperately and needily, his hands cupping your cheeks and jaw as he moves above you. you’d probably feel him begin to grind against your thigh at this point, clearly wanting more but not wanting to force anything.

you’d smile against his lips and pull back, “want me to touch you, baby?”

“mhmm...” dean would nod and tilt his head at you, feeling a sense of comfort at your gentleness. he would let out a soft moan at the feeling of your hand moving into his jeans and stroking him softly.

“does that feel good?” you’d ask, toying with his sensitive tip a little, earning a soft whimper from dean as he nods.

dean would push down his jeans and boxers, leaving himself fully bare in front of you on the bed. you’d smile, still stroking his pink cock as his lips part, letting out a whimpery breath.

god, it was kinda hot to see your boyfriend go from a crazy killing machine on the hunt, to a soft whimpering mess in front of you now.

you’d pull your hand away and unbutton your own jeans, pushing them down with dean’s help. as you get settled back on the bed after removing both your shirts, you’d see the green eyed hunter slowly pumping himself.

so you’d shake your head and say, “don’t. let me do it.”

dean would drop his hand, his eyes flickering up to yours as your hand moves back to his throbbing cock. his gaze would fall over you, taking in your soft skin and the way you relax on the bed in front of him.

“s’okay, you can touch me, dean,” you’d chuckle softly.

he’d move his hand down your side, caressing you in a loving way that you only seemed to get after sex with him. his breathing is heavy as you pump him, his hands palming your breasts before moving down in between your thighs.

he’d smile with his glassy eyes and stroke your pussy, letting his fingers get covered in your slick, before settling on your clit. you’d moan through a grin and dean’d breathe out, “you’re so beautiful. can’t believe you’re mine.”

that would earn a genuine smile from you, “all yours. and you’re mine, right? all mine?” you’d ask, trying to hold back the teasing tone in your voice at your boyfriend’s unusual softness.

dean would blush and nod, “yeah, i’m all yours. every part of me, mind, heart, soul.”

“yeah, you are. this pretty pink cock too?” you’d grin and raise your brows, stroking him more intentionally now as his fingers slip through your folds.

he’d nod again, “yeah, ‘specially my cock, baby. all yours.” he flashes a small grin, a hint of his usual smugness appearing momentarily, before his face contorts with pleasure.

“damn right. only mine.”

dean would keep letting out whimpers and soft little groans as you pump him, his tip leaking precum. you collect it on your thumb and bring it to your lips, a whine leaving dean’s mouth as he watches you taste him.

you’d smirk, “lay on the bed, dean.”

he’d lay down, no hesitation, no arguments. his big green eyes’d stare up at you as you’d hover over his cock.

you would see it twitching in anticipation as you move your head down towards it. you grab it and give him a soft kitten lick on his tip. dean would groan, “fuck… more, please.”

feeling him literally throb in your hand, you’d play nice and take his tip into your mouth, your tongue swirling on the underside of his sensitive cock.

this’d cause him to whine and throw his head back. you’d chuckle softly around him, the vibration causing him to groan and buck his hips. you take him deeper into your mouth, still being gentle with him.

you’d trace along a vein on the underside of his length, another loud groan erupting from his lips. with a grin around his cock, you’d start bobbing your head up and down.

dean would look at you in such awe. such adoration. his girl. his beautiful, sweet girl, being gentle with him just like he needs.

he wouldn’t be able to help the pathetic noises that leave his lips, “mmph… fuck, baby… feels so good,” he’d mumble out.

your eyes would be locked on his, watching the way he looks at you. he looks so soft and needy. so desperate… just for you.

you’d feel him start to tense, his cock twitching in your hand and mouth. and you knew he was close. so you’d pull him out, a whine coming from dean in protest, already missing the wet warmth of your mouth.

“hey, no. don’t you wanna be inside me, pretty boy?” you tilt your head with a small grin, your eyes locking onto his pleading ones.

“y-yes… please, i need to be inside you… feel you around me, baby. please?” he’d look at you with his eyes glazed over, his hardened cock bright pink and covered in your saliva.

“atta boy,” you’d coo as you move forward to straddle him.

dean would bite his lip and groan as you pump his length a few more times before settling over it, his tip poking at your entrance, “say please,” you would look down at him, seeing the needy expression on his face.

“p-please!” he’d frown up at you, shifting his hips, looking for some relief.

you’d smile at him, “say it again. let me know how bad you want this, baby.” you’d watch his jaw drop slightly as his eyes flicker between your face and your pussy hovering over his erection.

“please, baby, please! i need you so bad. please!” the desperation clear in his voice.

so you’d sink down onto his cock, letting it stretch you out as you let out a soft groan. dean, on the other hand, letting out a loud whimper, dropping his head back onto the pillows as his hands move to your thighs, trying to ground himself.

“feels so good,” he’d mutter breathily, squeezing your thighs as his member throbs inside you.

“yeah, does,” you’d stay still on him for a few moments, “you fill me so well, dean.”

he’d let out a strangled breath at your words. you could tell he needed you to move, so you would. you start grinding slowly on his cock, moving a hand to his cheek. his eyes flicker to yours as you gently caress his cheekbone.

“you’re being so good, dean. so good.”

he’d look at you, his face contorted in pleasure, but his eyes still soft and full of need. you’d never seen your boyfriend like this before, looking like he’s about to burst from desperation and pleasure.

dean’s hands would move to your hips, trying to guide you over his cock quicker.

“hey, no! hands off. let me do this,” you’d say firmly, holding eye contact with him. he’d pout and reluctantly drop his hands from your hips, finding the bedsheets and gripping them instead.

you’d speed up on his cock a little, feeling him throb against your walls, “good boy.”

dean would let out a whimper as you grind on his cock. you’d see the tension in dean’s face. he’d be trying to hold on, wanting the feeling of your warmth wrapped around his length to last as long as possible, but struggling to keep himself under control.

dean’s cock would brush against your gspot, making you tighten around him with every movement. your hand would find it’s way to your clit, rubbing expertly and driving you closer to your orgasm.

“f-feels so good, baby. you feel like h-heaven,” dean would groan out breathily, feeling you clench around him.

you’d let out a moan and start bouncing on him, desperate for him to hit your gspot harder. dean would moan loudly and squeeze his eyes shut, trying his best to hold off his release.

“fuck, gonna- gonna cum if you keep- mmm, god…. keep doing that,” dean would mumble.

“don’t cum until i do, okay? be a good boy,” you’d breathe out as you bounce on his thick pink member and rub your clit, “i’m close… just a little longer.”

dean would whine and grip the bedsheets until his knuckles turn white. his head would drop back into the pillow and he’d shake his head, trying to not cum into your cunt.

you’d watch him in immense pleasure and feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you neared your orgasm. you loved seeing him like this, desperately trying to hold on for you, his face contorting like crazy as you ride him.

you’d keep bouncing, feeling him hit all the right spots, your moans getting louder as you reach the edge. your pussy would clench and you’d look down at him, “dean, i’m gonna-”

his eyes would snap open and find yours, “please… please cum. let me- ughhh… let me cum!” he’d beg.

you’d feel yourself cumming on his cock, “fuck! oh, god…. i’m cumming, dean….” you’d whine and moan, throwing your head back as you keep bouncing and tightening around his length.

he’d immediately shoot his thick warm ropes of cum into your cunt, loud whines and groans leaving his lips as he twitches inside you.

“fuck! fuck…. feels so good…” he’d mumble breathily.

your jaw would drop as you look down at him, feeling him fill you up.

you’d keep bouncing on him, letting his cock shove his cum further into you and letting it drip everywhere.

dean’s eyes would drop down to where you two connect and he’d let out a breath at the sight.

as your high begins to end, you’d slow your movements to a still. you’d both be panting and looking at each other, dean’s eyes filled with satisfaction and neediness.

you’d smile and lean forward, earning a small hiss from dean at the stimulation on his sensitive cock. you’d cup his cheek again, “there we go, baby. you feel good?”

dean would nod and blink slowly, enjoying your gentle hand on his cheek, “yeah… yeah, so good. so fuckin’ good,” he’d pant out.

you’d smile and settle down onto his chest, letting his softening cock rest in you as you lay your head down. you’d lay in silence for a few moments, both of you catching your breath.

“thank you,” he’d murmur and kiss your forehead, “i needed that.”

“i know,” you’d say breathily, tracing shapes onto his chest.

A/N: hope this was cute! idk i love soft n sweet dean. <3

feedback is appreciated and requests are always open!

[themaninflannel]

Sweet Affairs

summary: after a hunt gone awry, dean is pissed that the reader had put her life on the line - however, through concealed feelings and misguided judgement the reader refuses to see why dean is so worked up. An argument ensues between the pair that reveal hidden emotions and lead to them indulging in what they both had been craving for so long.

warnings: very heavy smut (⚠️), all the shenanigans

pairing: dean winchester x f!reader

____________________________________________

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” his voice was taunt, gritted through clenched teeth as the door to the cheap motel slammed shut behind him.

Your jaw ticked, vein popping from under your skin as you swallowed down the obscenities you were tempted to spew at him. The tense silence on the car ride back had paid no help in trying to douse the frustration and insults whirling through your mind, rather having provided you the opportunity to stare daggers into the side of his head.

Your quietness seemed to push Dean even further, a disgruntled huff passing his lips as his fingers curled around your forearm; whirling you towards him. You whined in protest, attempting to tug yourself from his grip however his hold just tightened.

“Dont. Dont you dare try to pull away.” his tone left no room for argument and so you reluctantly stopped resisting. “Do you even understand what you did today?”

Your eyes narrowed, mirroring his, as you swallowed harshly. You could feel the anger in his hold, his fingertips dug in so hard there’s no doubt bruises would be left behind, yet it only served to fuel your own rage.

“Im not a baby, Dean. Of course i know what I did — i had a choice to make and I did what I thought was right.” venom leaked from your tongue, speaking to him in a manner that portrayed him as a petulant child.

A growl emitted low within his chest, his restraint clear on the verge of snapping. You watched as his head pivoted to the side, tongue darting out to wet his lips. It was barely a few seconds of peace before a scoff was drawn from his throat followed by the chastising echo of a laugh.

“Bullshit. You’re exactly what a fucking baby is — you got no goddamn brains throwing yourself into danger like that. You nearly got yourself killed, what about that screamed right to you?” he was provoking you, trying to get you to admit you were wrong but you were too stubborn for your own good.

Your eyes scanned over his face as you sucked your bottom lip between your teeth, biting so hard a metallic tang bled against your mouth. You noticed his gaze drop before he subconsciously moved, running his thumb along the outline of your bottom lip; pulling it from between your teeth.

You jerked your head backwards, away from his touch. “You’re acting like you wouldn’t do the same —“

“Its different” his words cut through yours. You glared at him again yet he seemed to pay no attention, his focus solely drawn to the blood that stained the cracks of your lips “you’re different”

This caused you to reel back, your arm yanking from his grip. Your chest heaved as disbelief coursed through your veins; eyes drawn almost into slits. Dean cursed as his fist clenched, dropping down to his side.

“Are you kidding me? How am I different, Dean? I had every right to do what I did and so what if I put my life at risk — the goddamn vampires are dead, thats all that should matter” your voice was raising with every word that left, your emotions coming to a boil.

You were about ready to turn and leave when Dean closed the distance between the two of you, his chest pressed so closely against yours you could feel the beat of his heart as it hammered against his ribcage. His fingers moulded to your chin, twisting so you had no choice but to look at him. His hold was so tight your cheeks squished inwards, your lips pouting involuntarily.

“You dont get it do you?” his tone was so grating you were left stunned, chests fitting together as you both struggled to cool down “I cant lose you — and when you do stupid shit like this, it scares me.”

Silence seemed to filter through the air as you registered his words, brain churning to try and decipher exactly what he was implying. His gaze jumped around your face, from your eyes to your lips, to your cheeks as his fingers flexed.

His hold loosened, hand sliding to the back of your neck as he now cradled you. His thumb swiped idly across your flesh, soothing down the impressions his nails had left behind. His lips drew into a thin line, an indication he was battling whatever was running through his mind, before his eyes snapped back to yours; a newfound sense of determination clear.

“I care about you, okay?” he paused, letting the words hang in the air “more than id ever bothered to admit to myself — to admit to you. You’re different because i dont know how the hell I would ever be able to live with myself if something happened to you.”

“Dean, I —” the words got caught in your throat, a tight coil forming within your stomach. Your tone was no longer harsh rather it was weak, like all the air had been sucked from your lungs.

“Just listen… please” his eyes were half glossed over, his eyebrows drawn together in a desperate act of pleading. He didn’t wait for you to respond before he spoke again.

“Ive tried so hard to push down my feelings but you make it so goddamn difficult when every time you walk into the room, I feel like being sick because I’ve never seen someone so beautiful. I thought… I thought you’d cursed me, bewitched me cause’ there was no way I was finally falling in love with you, but then I realized that maybe — maybe you’re just that perfect.” his eyes closed momentarily, a sharp inhale whistling in the space between us. “I hate you for it, sometimes - having made me fall in love with you because when you do the things you did today, I panic. I would do anything to protect you but at times like this I feel so useless, helpless that I cant just take you away from every bad thing in this universe… m’ sorry for getting angry but can you blame me? I dont want to lose the only pure thing I was given the honor of loving in this godawful life”

Your lips were parted as you took in every word that left his tongue. You stood, frozen, your hands itching to reach out, touch him, show him how much his words meant to you. There seemed to be a buzzing in the air that vibrated against your skin, causing goosebumps to awake on your skin.

“You’re not joking are you?” the sentence sounded dumb the moment it entered into the space however your brain was running overdrive and it was impossible to control what slipped out.

Deans head fell back, a dry laugh tugging at his throat before he drew back, gazing at you with such disbelief. “Are you seriously asking me that?”

“No” you shook your head, your own smile gracing your face before you leaned forward; connecting your lips to his.

The kiss was soft at first, your lips only slightly pressed against his as you tested the waters yet, almost clinically Dean deepened the contact. His hands moved across the flushed flesh of your neck, trailing over the blades of your shoulders, down the hollows of your back before coming to rest on the plush fat of your hips.

His fingers tightened possessively, drawing you impossibly closer as a groan jutted against your mouth. Your own hands splayed against his chest, creasing the fabric of his shirt.

You pulled back momentarily, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before it popped, glazing your bottom lip and chin. Deans gaze darkened as he eyed the scene, barely giving you time to register what was happening before his lips were attached to the skin of your chin. He kisses up the length of your face till he reached your lips again, letting his tongue run over your bottom lip; seeking entrance.

You hummed against him, parting your lips as his tongue directly began to map out the entirety of your mouth. Your hands threaded into the hair at the nape his neck, causing a sudden moan to escape Dean. The corner of your mouth tugged up before his teeth were biting down on your swollen lips, your own moan following suit.

One of your hands delve down between the two of you, landing on the prominent bulge tenting his jeans. He hissed, his hips rutting forward; chasing the way you palmed him through the, what he now considered, inconvenient fabric of his pants.

Your movements never ceased, working in tandem with the way his lips fought against yours. Suddenly his fingers caught your wrist, pulling back your hand as he whined against your mouth.

“Ah — fuck… you gotta’ stop that, sweetheart, or i ain’t gonna last” his breath was hot against you “plus if my cock’s gotta be milked, its gonna be inside you”

Your body shuddered as his words reached your ears, your thighs clenching instinctively to try to release the pressure that was building up. Dean didn’t fail to notice your action, a cocky smirk gracing his features as he patted the underside of your thigh.

The fat of your ass jiggled as you jumped up, wrapping your legs around his waist as your arms linked behind his shoulders. His hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, holding you against him as his erection subsequently rubbed against your core from outside your shorts.

His lips met yours again in another feverish kiss as he began to lead you both over to the edge of the bed. With a soft thud your back hit the sheets, the mattress creaking under the newfound weight. His body caged atop yours, his forearms resting either side of your head as his hips slotted between your legs.

He rolled his hips forward, the rough material of your shorts snagging against your underwear; eliciting a moan from your lips. “shit, dean — need you so bad”

Your words caused him to hum against you yet something seemed to snap inside him as he picked up his pace. His fingers grasped the edge of your shirt, tugging it over your head before moving to the buttons of your shorts; those being torn from your body like it was a reflex.

Once he had you stripped down, he pulled back to admire you — sprawled out on the bed, hair tossed about, chest heaving. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed, like he was a man starved.

“Fucking hell” he muttered under his breath before diving to the column of your neck. His lips worked overtime, sucking harshly at your already reddening skin before his tongue would soothe over his art; licking a stripe up the column of your throat.

Your head fell backwards against the pillows, allowing him more access to assault your flesh. You were already a moaning mess and he hadn’t even touched you.

His fingers skimmed up the sides of your stomach, lifting your back off the bed as he fished the bra from your chest. His lips memorized their way down your neck, leaving marks along your collarbone before he paused just above your breasts. His eyes filtered up to yours through his lashes, silently asking you for permission.

“Please — please” you begged autonomously. At your signal, he wasted no time. His hands cupped around your breasts, kneading them as his mouth sucked and devoured your hardened peaks simultaneously. His teeth grazed along your skin, your back arching off the mattress as your legs tightened around his waist.

“So beautiful” he whispered as he continued to abuse your breasts. With a harsh pop, he pulled away from your chest, pushing up to capture your lips with his. “Cant wait to taste that pretty pussy of yours, baby”

You mewled against his lips, your underwear no doubt soaked through to the point of it being transparent.

“You gonna let me taste you, sweetheart? Please, let me taste you”

You clearly came undone right then. Your nails dug into the sheets beside you as you breathlessly pleaded for him to touch you. He gave a satisfactory hum before his fingers breached the edge of your panties, toying with the lace against your plush hip.

“Pretty little thing” he purred as he moved to spread your legs, settling himself on his knees at the end of the bed.

He trailed a line of wet kisses to the inside of your thighs, his hands placed with such a forceful grip to keep your legs pried open for him. You watched him with bated breath, your lip sucked between your teeth again.

His nose skimmed along your skin as he made his way up torturously slow. His nose nudged against your clothed core as his mouth came to a pause at the edge of your underwear. His tongue darted out, leaving a sloppy trail of saliva over the lace as it soaked through to your searing flesh underneath.

His teeth grabbed the top of your panties, sliding them down your legs until you were bare in front of him. An animalistic growl tore from his chest as his eyes locked into your core; glistening in a sweetness he was dying to savour.

He tightened his hold on your thighs before roughly yanking you towards him, causing you to yelp in surprise. He huffed out a laugh, the air blowing out on your bare cunt. You shuddered, your legs closing instinctively - wrong move.

Deans fingers flexed as he forced open your thighs again, his eyes staring up at you with a fiery desire. “Do that again. I fucking dare you” he scolded, the vein in his neck popping in frustration.

You could only whine out a pathetic ‘sorry’ which seemed good enough for Dean as seconds later his tongue was pressed between your folds.

“Goddamn, baby — you gonna get me pussy drunk with how sweet you taste” an incessant spew of moans fall past your lips as he drinks you in, slurping at your cunt like its the best thing he’s ever eaten.

He hooks your leg over his shoulder, giving him better access to delve his tongue deeper, ravaging every part of you he can reach. Your heel digs into the crease of his back, a pitiful attempt at grounding yourself before you spill against his mouth.

Dean hums against you, the vibrations nearly snapping the coil that has built within your stomach. He feels your legs shake, one hand coming up to rub encouraging circles.

He pulls his mouth away; his nose, lips and chin glistening with your slick and the sight almost sends you over the edge. Instantaneously his fingers replace his absence, toying with your cunt as his thumb moves to tease at your clit.

A slew of curses are thrown into the air as you messily grab at his hand on your thigh, intertwining your fingers with his. His efforts are relentless, pumping in and out of you as you drip down his digits and create a pool on the sheets underneath.

It’s once he curls his fingers inside you that the rubber-band finally snaps and your whole body spasms around him. His fingers work you through it, swirling around your folds as he coats his hand in your release.

“God — you’re too fucking good to me, feeding me when I’ve been so hungry for you” he brings his fingers up to his mouth, sucking them clean as he groans in fulfillment. He licks his lips, swiping your wetness from off his chin as if he was savoring every last drop of you.

You watch him with half-lidded eyes, your lips parted as small puffs of air tear from your lungs. The sight of him licking himself clean of you has your core throbbing again, a new wave of slick coating your walls.

You push yourself onto your elbows, your hand reaching out to grasp his jaw as you bring him up to your mouth; tongues clashing together in a battle of dominance. His hips rut into the mattress, his erection boarding painful from the lack of attention.

His fingers thread into your hair, wrapping around sweat-slicked strands as he continues to wreck your lips.

“You taste that, my pretty girl? Taste how fucking good you are” he groans into your mouth, making sure to run his tongue over every inch of your gums “Need more… need to stuff your pussy full of my cock — need to fill you up”

A whine pours from your throat yet not a second is wasted as your digits tug at the hem of his shirt. In one fluid movement, the fabric is stripped from his body; his muscle’s flexing as he settles back down between you.

Your cunt tightens around air as your gaze rakes over his body, every crease and hollow is reflected under the dim lighting of the room. Involuntarily your hips rock forward, brushing against his stomach.

“Ah — shit” he curses, his eyes dropping to your trail of slick that now coats his abs. His patience is worn thin, the need to feel your gummy walls clench around him becomes too much.

Theres a brief clinking of metal and the ruffling of jeans as he relives his body of clothing. His cock springs up, slapping against his stomach as his swollen tip glistens in pre-cum.

Like a greedy child, your thumb moves to swipe over his slit before sucking it clean off your finger. A pleased hum vibrated against your throat, his cum coating your tongue like a film.

Deans cock twitched against his abdomen, pulsating red and angry as it sought to be buried deep within your heat.

His hand wraps around his length, a shuddered intake jerking his chest. He shifts his hips, bending your knees and drawing you in closer. He slaps his shaft against your cunt before sliding it through your folds, coating his member in a layer of your wetness.

You hiss, your nails digging crescent moons into your palms. His eyes float up to meet yours as he positions himself at your entrance.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” his tone is soft, genuine.

“Ive never wanted anything more than you” your words serve as reassurance; a pathetic moan escaping Deans throat as he finally sinks into you.

His pace is slow, allowing you time to adjust as your pussy sucks him in. As his balls slap against your heat, he pauses above you — the stretch of him inside you both tender yet addicting.

His fingers skim your cheek, his face lowering to pepper kisses against your skin; your temple, your nose, your eyelids before meeting your lips.

“Doin’ such a good job f’me sweetheart, taking me so well” he praises as his hips slowly rock back and forth, setting a steady rhythm.

Your walls tighten around him, a string of incoherent mumbles spewing into the humid air of your bodies. The life outside is quiet, a stark contrast to the pornographic sloshing of his cock as it squelches in your juices.

Deans eyes fall to where he rocks in and out of you, his cock disappearing between your folds before emerging lathered in your wetness.

“Thats it baby, keeping suckin’ me in — fuck, you feel so good” his pace is becoming dreadfully slow, your body craves to feel every inch of him as he utterly destroys you

“Need you to go faster, Dean” you mewl, fingers curling around his bicep as if you could pull him to go harder.

Immediately his hips snapped forward, sheathing himself fully inside you before pumping in and out at a brutal rate. The fat of your ass rippled relentlessly, your breasts bouncing in sync as he continued to batter your cunt.

Your head lolled back, back subconsciously arching off the bed to take him deeper, feel every vein as it brushes your cervix. His hands shoot to your waist, holding down your body to angle himself just right as he reaches that spongy flesh.

You cry out, everything seemingly becoming too much as his tip kisses and teases that knot forming in your belly.

Dean only growls as your walls flutter around him, arms flexing as he tries to fight back his own simmering release.

“Could stay buried within’ your sweet little pussy all day” his hips stutter briefly “S’ like you were made for me — you’re the only thing i did right”

His name leaves your lips in a breathless chant; a warning. You can feel the knot tightening in your stomach — his length antagonizing you, testing how long you would be able to last.

You try to claw at the mattress, attempting to break away as the sensation overwhelms you but he holds you close. His body comes to encase yours, forearms resting beside your head as his lips dip to the shell of your ear.

“You’re so fucking perfect, too innocent for this world” his teeth nip at your earlobe, hot breath tickling the skin of your neck.

His words were ironic given your current state; cheeks glossed with tears of pleasure, lips swole and bitten, his cock pumping in and out of your tight hole as the only sounds filling the room were that of your lewd moans and his balls spanking against the flesh of your ass.

“Ive got you, pretty girl” at his signal the heat in your belly boiled over, body spasming under him as your ears rang and vision turned bleary.

Through your haze you barely made out the approval of his words, his voice strained and low; “Look at you, creamin’ around my cock”

He worked you through your high, pace keeping steady before he suddenly pulled out; thick ropes of cum painting your puffy cunt. Your walls clenched at the empty feeling, already missing having him make you feel so full.

His fingers glided through your folds, pinching your clit and eliciting a sensitive whine from you. He lathered up a mixture of both his and your release before stuffing his fingers inside you, making sure nothing went to waste.

His fingers pulled out with a squelch before he brought them up your lips, nudging at your mouth. You enclosed around his digits, tongue swirling over the tops of his fingers as you drank down the last of both your releases.

He placed a gentle kiss atop your temple before capturing your mouth with his.

“You did so well, love — you okay?” his eyebrows knitted together as he examined your worn out state. You could barely muster a nod in response, your legs still shaking and chest still heaving from the aftermath.

Dean patted the outside of your thigh before he was off the bed and disappearing into the bathroom. He returned only moments later, a damp towel in hand as he clambered back over to you.

He delicately spread your legs, pressing the towel along the inside of your thighs and over your core as he worked to clean the sticky mess of your body. Your teeth ground together as he drew along your tender flesh.

“Sorry, pretty lady, but i gotta get you cleaned up” he murmured, tossing the soiled towel to the side as he finished.

He helped lift your hips from off the sheets, gliding your bare form underneath the warmth as he slid in next to you. His arm wound its away around your waist, drawing you in as your head perched against his chest; the steading beat of his heart pounding into your ear.

He left a kiss to the top of your hairline, his lips resting on your slightly sweaty and flushed skin. Your fingers skimmed along his chest, tracing along the lines of the tattoo inked into his body.

A comfortable silence blanketed the two of you before your quiet voice broke the air: “I know i didn’t say it before but I love you too, Dean —”

“You dont gotta say anything, sweetheart… havin’ you here’s enough for me” he cut you off, hold tightening around your waist.

“But i want to” your chin perched upon his shoulder, eyes peering up at him through thick lashes. “I dont want you to think you’re alone in this, Dean because i feel the exact same way… I always have, I was just scared of ruining whatever we had”

He scoffed, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Baby, if i ever rejected you, id damn sure have lost my mind”

____________________________________________

a/n: idk what i just wrote

[themaninflannel]

Knee Deep In The Passenger Seat

Kinktober Day 1: Road Head (D.W)

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Oral (M. Receiving), slight mentions of blood, face fucking, hair gripping?, perilous situation?

Summary: What does one do when they have a free afternoon? Tori and Dean go driving. What happens when ones love language is acts of (sexual) service.

Word Count: 1510

It was rare to have a day like this. Tori couldn't remember the last time she and Dean had an afternoon that wasn't preoccupied with lore research, various repairs to the Bunker or assisting other hunters on cases ranging from basic salt and burns to exterminating whole nests of vamps. The stars had finally aligned and for the first time in a while, Tori and Dean found their afternoon wide open for leisure. So when Dean showed up at her doorway with Baby’s keys dangling from his fingers, Tori couldn't get up from her desk fast enough.

Tori had lost track of how long she and Dean had been cruising the open backroads. The only break in miles and miles of gold fields was the occasional cars. She'd fallen asleep sprawled across the front seat around the 2 hour mark, head lolled back against the windowsill, lower legs draped across Dean's thighs. 

That was where she woke some amount of time later, the leather of the seat creaking as she stretched awake. Tori felt Dean's warm hand squeeze her calf, running his calloused palms up and down her shins. She shot him a sleepy grin reaching her arms up and out the window in a languid movement.

It was an unusually chilly early fall day, so the crisp wind whipped through the car, teasing goosebumps across Tori's bare arms. Her legs were kept warm enough via her jeans and the residual heat from Dean's legs and hands, but she'd opted to wear a cutoff tank in lieu of Dean's suggestion for a sweater. Sure she was a little on the cold side, but her pride wouldn't let her accept the jacket he'd offered her on multiple occasions. 

Tori blinked sleepily at her lover, admiring the way the golden glow of the midafternoon sun clung to every topographic feature of his face, how it crested over the bridge of his nose, stippling across his 5 o’clock shadow. The wind had swept his brown locks in a way that Tori knew would feel positively divine were she to reach up and run her fingers through it like she so desperately wanted to. 

“Sleep well, my love?” God, even his voice was sexy.

Tori hummed a noncommittal answer, not bothering to hide the way her eyes dragged over Dean’s form, even when he looked over at her.

“What?” Dean laughed, eyes flashing between Tori and the road before him. 

“Nothin’” Tori grinned cheekily, ignoring the loss of warmth as she pulled her legs from Dean’s lap and under herself instead to sit cross-legged next to him. “I can't admire my sexy ass boyfriend?”

Dean laughed sheepishly and Tori watched the telltale rosy hue stain his cheekbones. “I didn’t say that.”

Tori carded her fingers through his hair, letting her nails gently scratch his scalp, the strands extra fluffy from his shower that morning. Dean’s hum of contentedness reached her ears and Tori felt the rush of satisfaction at pleasing her lover. Speaking of which… Tori glanced sidelong out the windshield seeing nothing but open road, a devious idea flooding her brain. With a smirk, Tori leaned forward, pressing an open mouthed kiss to Dean's neck, her hand in his hair continuing its movements.  

Tori felt Dean go stiff and liquid all at once, hearing the creak of the leather as his grip on the steering wheel tightened. “Tor,” Dean began, her name half warning half moan. “Whatcha doin babe.”

Tori didn’t deign to reply, simply smiling against his neck as she kissed the spot beneath his ear, her lips trailing south. Her teeth nipped at his pulsepoint, sucking a dark mark against his tan skin. Somewhere along the way Dean had tipped his head to the side, providing her better access. Tori let her free hand that had been resting on Dean’s chest wander down, feeling the soft skin that laid taut over the muscles of his torso until she arrived at the button of his jeans. That was when Dean’s hand shot to hers, encompassing her wrist and hindering any further movement. 

“Tori.” Dean scolded her half convincingly, his voice breathy, chest rising and falling shallowly. 

“Do you trust me?” Tori whispered into his ear, lips caressing the shell as she shook off his grasp. “‘Cause I trust you.”

Dean didn’t make any further moves to stop her as Tori expertly undid the button of his jeans, sliding her hand between the fabric and his feverish skin. Dean’s gasp as Tori’s hand wrapped around his length shot heat directly to her core. He was already half hard beneath her grasp as she ran her hand up and down his length before pulling him free from his boxers. Tori spared a glance upward as she shimmied herself backwards, bracing one knee on the footwell, the other stretched out under her as she lay on her stomach. His eyes were laser focused on the road, his hands locked in death grips on the wheel. His bottom lip was raw from the abuse of his teeth gnawing on it, likewise his cheeks were flushed pink. 

Tori felt the car swerve sharply as her tongue made contact with the swollen red tip of Dean’s cock. She knew it was mean to torture him, kitten licking at the top of his dick, the tang of precum soaking into her tongue. Dean made a desperate sound at the back of his throat as Tori’s hand lazily pumped up and down his shaft as her tongue worked the head of his cock, dipping into the slit at the apex and tracing every contour. His hand shot to the back of her head, fisting in her hair as without warning Tori let his cock slide along her tongue and into her mouth. 

Expletives spewed from her lover's mouth in the form of a guttural moan as her mouth engulfed his cock, feeling the fat head of it nudge the back of her throat. Dean’s grip in her hair loosened, rubbing the back of her head in small circles, a silent apology for his accidental roughness. Tori languidly bobbed her head up and down on his length, utilizing her hand slick with her spit for whatever her mouth couldn’t quite take in. Tori could feel her own arousal soak into her underwear, her clit throbbing almost in time to the grunts and groans slipping past Dean’s lips. Tori gagged slightly as Dean's hips snapped up slightly, chasing her mouth wrapped around him. She blinked back tears, her free hand digging into his thigh to steady herself. She half wondered if she could cum just like this, with her lover's cock shoved down her throat, his big hand tangled in her hair guiding her head up and down; it wouldn’t be the first time she’d gotten off pleasing Dean.

Dean’s hips thrusted up to meet her as she willed her throat to relax, gradually taking almost all of him past her lips. Tori couldn’t help but moan as Dean gave a particularly harsh tug on her hair, sending vibrations down his shaft that had him uttering a low moan. Every so often the car would snap back to center, shifting Tori ever so slightly. Just as Tori felt her jaw start to become sore, the steady rhythm of Dean’s thrusts into her mouth stuttered, his rhythm becoming sloppy, his hand more forceful on the back of her head. Tori let him fuck her face, feeling tears slip down her cheeks as she resisted the urge to gag against his cock bumping against the back of her throat.

Dean’s hips stuttered violently as he came with a ragged moan down her throat. Tori tried to swallow all his spend but some frothed out the side of her mouth as she pulled off of him. She went to wipe the residual cum off her face but before she could Dean’s hand still tangled in her hair guided her back up, slamming her lips to his own. Tori barely registered Dean driving the Impala off to the side of the road, slamming Baby into park before hauling her into his lap. His tongue assaulted her mouth, tasting himself on her tongue. His hands massaged her hips through her jeans, kissing her harshly like he had wanted to since she started on his neck. 

He pulled back only on the lack of oxygen, both of them breathing heavily. Dean reached up caressing Tori’s cheek as he gazed at her, a soft look etched across his face. Tori’s eyes scanned his face, her own hand coming up to cup his jaw, thumb dragging across his lower lip where he’d dug his teeth in hard enough to draw blood. “What?”

“Nothin’,” Dean smiled at her tipping his head into her hand, his grip on her waist holding her to him. “I can’t admire my sexy ass girlfriend.”

Tori giggled at his words mimicking hers, leaning in to kiss the wound on his lip. “I love you.” She murmured into his mouth. Dean’s answering kiss was all she needed.

[themaninflannel]

thinking about dean letting his submissive side show for the first time with his gf! 18+

warnings: smut, sub!dean x softdom!reader (pure sweetness i promise)

+

you’ve been dating for a few months and yeah... the sex is great. mind-blowing even.

but one day something just snaps inside of dean after you come back from a hunt, his adrenaline racing as he pulls you into the motel room after telling sam to “take a walk, man.”

he lays you down on the bed gently, his eyes locked on yours. you notice a softness in them that you’re not used to, not the usual smirk and playful glint that normally dances around in his eyes when he gets you into bed.

you sit up on your elbows and he crawls up to you, resting his head on your chest.

“love you,” he’d murmur out, or something else that’d catch you by surprise. he’d look up at you with his big, soft green eyes and you’d melt cause he’s just so pretty.

so you’d say it, “i love you too, my pretty boy,” playing with his hair.

and that would do it.

he’d smile so sheepishly and something inside of you would snap too; the urge to be gentle, to be soft, to take charge of this beautiful, green eyed man and show him how much you care for him.

“cm’ere, my sweet boy,” you’d murmur.

and he would. he’d listen and let his lips find yours desperately and needily, his hands cupping your cheeks and jaw as he moves above you. you’d probably feel him begin to grind against your thigh at this point, clearly wanting more but not wanting to force anything.

you’d smile against his lips and pull back, “want me to touch you, baby?”

“mhmm...” dean would nod and tilt his head at you, feeling a sense of comfort at your gentleness. he would let out a soft moan at the feeling of your hand moving into his jeans and stroking him softly.

“does that feel good?” you’d ask, toying with his sensitive tip a little, earning a soft whimper from dean as he nods.

dean would push down his jeans and boxers, leaving himself fully bare in front of you on the bed. you’d smile, still stroking his pink cock as his lips part, letting out a whimpery breath.

god, it was kinda hot to see your boyfriend go from a crazy killing machine on the hunt, to a soft whimpering mess in front of you now.

you’d pull your hand away and unbutton your own jeans, pushing them down with dean’s help. as you get settled back on the bed after removing both your shirts, you’d see the green eyed hunter slowly pumping himself.

so you’d shake your head and say, “don’t. let me do it.”

dean would drop his hand, his eyes flickering up to yours as your hand moves back to his throbbing cock. his gaze would fall over you, taking in your soft skin and the way you relax on the bed in front of him.

“s’okay, you can touch me, dean,” you’d chuckle softly.

he’d move his hand down your side, caressing you in a loving way that you only seemed to get after sex with him. his breathing is heavy as you pump him, his hands palming your breasts before moving down in between your thighs.

he’d smile with his glassy eyes and stroke your pussy, letting his fingers get covered in your slick, before settling on your clit. you’d moan through a grin and dean’d breathe out, “you’re so beautiful. can’t believe you’re mine.”

that would earn a genuine smile from you, “all yours. and you’re mine, right? all mine?” you’d ask, trying to hold back the teasing tone in your voice at your boyfriend’s unusual softness.

dean would blush and nod, “yeah, i’m all yours. every part of me, mind, heart, soul.”

“yeah, you are. this pretty pink cock too?” you’d grin and raise your brows, stroking him more intentionally now as his fingers slip through your folds.

he’d nod again, “yeah, ‘specially my cock, baby. all yours.” he flashes a small grin, a hint of his usual smugness appearing momentarily, before his face contorts with pleasure.

“damn right. only mine.”

dean would keep letting out whimpers and soft little groans as you pump him, his tip leaking precum. you collect it on your thumb and bring it to your lips, a whine leaving dean’s mouth as he watches you taste him.

you’d smirk, “lay on the bed, dean.”

he’d lay down, no hesitation, no arguments. his big green eyes’d stare up at you as you’d hover over his cock.

you would see it twitching in anticipation as you move your head down towards it. you grab it and give him a soft kitten lick on his tip. dean would groan, “fuck… more, please.”

feeling him literally throb in your hand, you’d play nice and take his tip into your mouth, your tongue swirling on the underside of his sensitive cock.

this’d cause him to whine and throw his head back. you’d chuckle softly around him, the vibration causing him to groan and buck his hips. you take him deeper into your mouth, still being gentle with him.

you’d trace along a vein on the underside of his length, another loud groan erupting from his lips. with a grin around his cock, you’d start bobbing your head up and down.

dean would look at you in such awe. such adoration. his girl. his beautiful, sweet girl, being gentle with him just like he needs.

he wouldn’t be able to help the pathetic noises that leave his lips, “mmph… fuck, baby… feels so good,” he’d mumble out.

your eyes would be locked on his, watching the way he looks at you. he looks so soft and needy. so desperate… just for you.

you’d feel him start to tense, his cock twitching in your hand and mouth. and you knew he was close. so you’d pull him out, a whine coming from dean in protest, already missing the wet warmth of your mouth.

“hey, no. don’t you wanna be inside me, pretty boy?” you tilt your head with a small grin, your eyes locking onto his pleading ones.

“y-yes… please, i need to be inside you… feel you around me, baby. please?” he’d look at you with his eyes glazed over, his hardened cock bright pink and covered in your saliva.

“atta boy,” you’d coo as you move forward to straddle him.

dean would bite his lip and groan as you pump his length a few more times before settling over it, his tip poking at your entrance, “say please,” you would look down at him, seeing the needy expression on his face.

“p-please!” he’d frown up at you, shifting his hips, looking for some relief.

you’d smile at him, “say it again. let me know how bad you want this, baby.” you’d watch his jaw drop slightly as his eyes flicker between your face and your pussy hovering over his erection.

“please, baby, please! i need you so bad. please!” the desperation clear in his voice.

so you’d sink down onto his cock, letting it stretch you out as you let out a soft groan. dean, on the other hand, letting out a loud whimper, dropping his head back onto the pillows as his hands move to your thighs, trying to ground himself.

“feels so good,” he’d mutter breathily, squeezing your thighs as his member throbs inside you.

“yeah, does,” you’d stay still on him for a few moments, “you fill me so well, dean.”

he’d let out a strangled breath at your words. you could tell he needed you to move, so you would. you start grinding slowly on his cock, moving a hand to his cheek. his eyes flicker to yours as you gently caress his cheekbone.

“you’re being so good, dean. so good.”

he’d look at you, his face contorted in pleasure, but his eyes still soft and full of need. you’d never seen your boyfriend like this before, looking like he’s about to burst from desperation and pleasure.

dean’s hands would move to your hips, trying to guide you over his cock quicker.

“hey, no! hands off. let me do this,” you’d say firmly, holding eye contact with him. he’d pout and reluctantly drop his hands from your hips, finding the bedsheets and gripping them instead.

you’d speed up on his cock a little, feeling him throb against your walls, “good boy.”

dean would let out a whimper as you grind on his cock. you’d see the tension in dean’s face. he’d be trying to hold on, wanting the feeling of your warmth wrapped around his length to last as long as possible, but struggling to keep himself under control.

dean’s cock would brush against your gspot, making you tighten around him with every movement. your hand would find it’s way to your clit, rubbing expertly and driving you closer to your orgasm.

“f-feels so good, baby. you feel like h-heaven,” dean would groan out breathily, feeling you clench around him.

you’d let out a moan and start bouncing on him, desperate for him to hit your gspot harder. dean would moan loudly and squeeze his eyes shut, trying his best to hold off his release.

“fuck, gonna- gonna cum if you keep- mmm, god…. keep doing that,” dean would mumble.

“don’t cum until i do, okay? be a good boy,” you’d breathe out as you bounce on his thick pink member and rub your clit, “i’m close… just a little longer.”

dean would whine and grip the bedsheets until his knuckles turn white. his head would drop back into the pillow and he’d shake his head, trying to not cum into your cunt.

you’d watch him in immense pleasure and feel the knot in your stomach tighten as you neared your orgasm. you loved seeing him like this, desperately trying to hold on for you, his face contorting like crazy as you ride him.

you’d keep bouncing, feeling him hit all the right spots, your moans getting louder as you reach the edge. your pussy would clench and you’d look down at him, “dean, i’m gonna-”

his eyes would snap open and find yours, “please… please cum. let me- ughhh… let me cum!” he’d beg.

you’d feel yourself cumming on his cock, “fuck! oh, god…. i’m cumming, dean….” you’d whine and moan, throwing your head back as you keep bouncing and tightening around his length.

he’d immediately shoot his thick warm ropes of cum into your cunt, loud whines and groans leaving his lips as he twitches inside you.

“fuck! fuck…. feels so good…” he’d mumble breathily.

your jaw would drop as you look down at him, feeling him fill you up.

you’d keep bouncing on him, letting his cock shove his cum further into you and letting it drip everywhere.

dean’s eyes would drop down to where you two connect and he’d let out a breath at the sight.

as your high begins to end, you’d slow your movements to a still. you’d both be panting and looking at each other, dean’s eyes filled with satisfaction and neediness.

you’d smile and lean forward, earning a small hiss from dean at the stimulation on his sensitive cock. you’d cup his cheek again, “there we go, baby. you feel good?”

dean would nod and blink slowly, enjoying your gentle hand on his cheek, “yeah… yeah, so good. so fuckin’ good,” he’d pant out.

you’d smile and settle down onto his chest, letting his softening cock rest in you as you lay your head down. you’d lay in silence for a few moments, both of you catching your breath.

“thank you,” he’d murmur and kiss your forehead, “i needed that.”

“i know,” you’d say breathily, tracing shapes onto his chest.

A/N: hope this was cute! idk i love soft n sweet dean. <3

feedback is appreciated and requests are always open!

[themaninflannel]

friends?

content/warnings: gn!reader, fluff, hurt/comfort, confession, cursing

word count: 1.7k

masterlist

you were somewhere in reno, nevada trying to track down a poltergeist. you knew that dean and sam were nearby, but you had no clue how close they were. the motel you were currently staying at was on the nicer side, to be honest. the motel room had been decently cleaned, the television had some actually good channels, and the sheets were soft.

you had ordered takeout and were watching some shitty game show, the room only lit by the lamp on the nightstand in between the two queen sized beds.

right as you were about to take another bite, you heard a knock at your motel room door. well, the knock was more of a thud than anything.

you looked through the foggy peephole, only to see the top of someone’s head and a tuft of brown hair.

without unhooking the chain, you opened the door. only to be surprised to find dean winchester slumped in the doorway. “dean?”

to put it lightly, he looked like shit. there was a bit of matted blood on his hairline and he was holding his shoulder. not to mention the sweat that lingered on his body everywhere you could see it.

“i got shot.”

“what?”

there was a pause before he responded. “yeah, yeah. can i come in?”

���oh, of course. yeah. absolutely.” you removed the chain and opened the door enough so that he could come in. when he was inside, you poked your head out and looked around. you saw the impala parked very crooked in the spot next to your car.

you turned to see dean awkwardly standing in the middle of the room. you walked behind him and pulled out the chair from the desk, urging him to sit down wordlessly.

“i’m just going to wash up for a second,” you stated, walking to the bathroom. dean responded silently with a thumbs up. for whatever reason, you caught yourself in a haze. why was he here? was he actually okay? was sam okay? the warm water from the faucet somewhat lulled you out of your head. you patted your hands dry and walked back out to dean.

you gently tugged his jacket and flannel off, and pulled the arm of his short sleeved shirt up. he hissed in what you assumed to be pain. rubbing his back, you stood. “i have a first aid kit around here somewhere.”

“please, just make it quick. i’m bleeding out over here.” reaching into one of the cabinet drawers, you pulled out the first aid kit. after some years hunting, your first aid kit became more of a small hospital in a box.

you walked over to dean and kneeled to be eye-level with his shoulder. you grabbed his hand and had him hold up the bloodied sleeve of his shirt.

as you were tugging the bullet out of dean’s arm with long tweezers, you heard him repeatedly grunt in pain. “sorry,” you looked up at him. his face showed a screwed-up expression, his eyebrows drawn together.

all he responded with was a tightly knit, closed mouth smile that was very clearly strained. “dean, what did this to you?”

dean looked away at you and at the wall; he began to fiddle with the edge of his shirt sleeve. “you should see the other guy”

you snorted sarcastically.

“no, really. is sam okay?” you took out the disinfectant and prepped his arm.

dean inhaled shallowly. “it was just a mix up with some vampires. i knew that you were nearby, and sam sucks at stitches, so-“ he blurted, before you cut him off.

“…so, you’re keeping tabs on me?” you raised an eyebrow playfully while you readied the needle and thread. “i’m going in with the stitches now.”

“fuck,” he muttered. “thank you for the warning. jesus.” he paused, eyes flickering between yours and the floor. “it’s-uh, hard not to.”

you raised your eyebrows. “what do you mean?” what did he mean? yeah, you guys were friendly, but surely he wasn’t suspecting you of anything. you pretended not to hear the tone in his voice that indicated he meant something more than he was saying.

dean gulped. “i- we just like to know that you’re safe. that’s all.”

“okay you little creeper, i see how it is.” as you spoke, you finished up the stitches with a patch to cover them from any irritation. “i’m assuming you don’t need anywhere to stay tonight?”

he answered your question with another question; you began cleaning the wound on his forehead. “maybe i can just stay with you tonight? i’m sure sam wouldn’t mind,” he all but whispered the last part.

you stood after finally finishing patching him up. this view you weren’t used to, seeing him from above. you were even less used to seeing dean be so vulnerable. he had this look in his eyes, a sort of pleading. maybe he had picked that up from sam. “if you really want to, then you totally can.” you shrugged. “i was just finishing dinner, then i was going to clock out for the night.”

dean held up his hands. “by all means, finish your dinner.”

“eh, i’m not really that hungry anymore,” you joked. “i haven’t gotten in either bed yet. you can pick whatever one.” you closed the takeout box and placed in on the tv stand, the tv still playing the shitty gameshow. you had all but forgotten about it.

dean held a perplexing look on his face, he almost seemed distant. “i’ll take the window bed. you good if i sleep in my boxers?”

walking to the bathroom once more, you shrugged. “yeah, sure. i’m going to brush my teeth- just settle in before i’m done.”

by the time you emerged from the bathroom, dean had, in fact, settled in. he had pulled he sheets and duvet up to his chin, only his head being exposed. what a cute visual, you thought.

“i texted sam. i told him i was staying with you.” he barely even moved as he spoke.

you smiled at him lopsidedly, drawing the sheets back and sitting down. “that’s good,” you paused slightly, “can i turn the lamp off?” dean nodded. you turned out the light and pulled the sheets over yourself.

normally, dean’s snores would have filled the room rather quickly. however, you didn’t notice this as you started to drift off to sleep.

a couple of moments passed before dean decided to say something.

“hey,” dean whispered, “are you awake?” the silence that followed made dean think that maybe you were.

you grunted, but answered with words when he didn’t respond. “yeah. why?” the warm sheets held you in an embrace; one that you would surely disappear into if dean didn’t follow up quickly.

dean mumbled a response, “thank you for letting me stay with you.” the soft genuine nature of his tone made you think twice. what was he getting at?

“yeah sure, that’s what friends are for.” you hoped the smile could be heard in your tone, but anything could be said with how drowsy you were. that was the end of that, you assumed. dean just wanted to be extra sweet tonight, you guessed. weird.

dean all but blurred, “so, we’re friends?” so, maybe dean wasn’t being sappy, maybe something was up.

“what?” you asked confusedly.

his voice lowered in volume slightly. “we’re friends, that’s what you said,” dean remarked. that thing in his voice was there again.

your eyes shot open. “uh, yeah?” he didn’t answer. “dean?” this time, you sat up and looked at him. “dean?” the sheets fell around your torso; you looked to your side you could see that dean was wide awake. “you good?”

dean’s next statement shocked you to your core. “just this once, can you lie to me? please.” the words were seemingly aggressive, but paired with his tone of voice, it just felt to be desperate.

why would he want you to lie? “what? why would i lie to you?” you puzzled out loud, pulling the sheets closer to you again.

“maybe, tonight, we can just be more. just for tonight,” dean murmured. for the first time since he spoke up, he looked into your eyes.

his green eyes swirled with a mix of apprehension and excitement. his brow knitted together again.

oh.

that’s what he had been getting at; that’s what he had been getting at all night, and you were sure that he had been dropping hints far longer than just tonight.

but, you couldn’t stand to be a one-time-thing, even if it just was pg-13 and not anything sexual. you liked dean, a lot. you wouldn’t be able to brush this off. you would forever want him to be close to you; dean wouldn’t be a drug you could quit easily, or at all.

you gulped. “well,” here goes nothing, “maybe tonight isn’t enough for me.” you kept yourself turned toward him, but lowered your gaze.

“what?” this time, he only spoke out of anticipation. the kind of pure excitement and joy that a child has when they get a toy they’ve been asking for for ages.

“maybe i need every night,” you continued. you mustered up the courage to look him directly in the eye.

“that works for me,” he responded almost instantly.

a more calm silence settled over the motel room. you two would need talk this out later.

you laid back down, whispering, “you wanna come over here?”

dean sat up. “yeah.” swiftly, he picked up his feet and left his bed, padding over to your bed and pulling back the sheets little by little. you opened them fully and he climbed in.

it started with the pair of you laying down next to each other about a foot away from the other. until, dean reached out his hand under the covers to search for yours.

when he found it, he grasped your hand like it was his lifeline. then, he pulled your arm; meeting his eyeline, he flicked his head over in and effort to get you to inch closer to him.

you understood, and moved ever so slightly closer to him. dean reached his other arm over and tugged your head to lay upon his chest.

dean was warm, his heat filling you. his heartbeat resounded in your ears, drowning out the buzz of the crappy ac. everything about him was comforting to you; like he and you were meant to be.

“how about you stay with me and sam for a while?” dean whispered into your hair.

you closed your eyes again. “i’d like that,” you murmured.

you’d definitely have to address this later. but, for now, this was good. this was really good.

[themaninflannel]

Comfort in the Dark

Summary: Dean Winchester seeks solace in your embrace during a vulnerable night.

The room is dark, with only the soft glow of the moon filtering through the curtains, casting faint shadows on the walls. You’re half asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness, when you feel the mattress dip slightly beside you. It’s subtle, almost unnoticeable, but then you hear the sound of soft, measured breathing, followed by the warm presence of someone close. 

You blink your eyes open, and there he is—Dean Winchester, sliding under the covers with you. His movements are hesitant, almost uncertain, as if he’s not entirely sure of what he’s doing. This is new, uncharted territory for both of you.

“Dean?” you murmur, your voice thick with sleep and surprise. He doesn’t answer immediately, just settles beside you, closer than he’s ever been. His arm snakes around your waist, pulling you against his chest. The weight of his body, the solid warmth of him, is comforting in a way that’s both familiar and strange at the same time.

“Sorry,” he finally mutters, his voice a rough whisper in the stillness. “I just… I couldn’t sleep.”

You can feel the tension in his body, the way his muscles are coiled tight as if he’s waiting for you to push him away, to tell him to leave. But you don’t. Instead, you reach up and gently run your fingers through his hair, soothing and calming. It’s a small gesture, but it seems to be exactly what he needs.

Dean exhales, a long, shaky breath that you didn’t realize he was holding. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and you can feel the faint tremble in his shoulders. It’s then that you realize just how much he’s been holding in, all the stress and fear he never lets anyone see. The weight of the world on his shoulders is too much for him tonight, and he’s turned to you for comfort, something he’s never done before.

“I’m here,” you whisper back, your hand moving in slow, calming strokes through his hair and across his back. “You’re not alone.”

He doesn’t say anything more, just holds you tighter, as if you’re the only thing keeping him grounded. You can feel his breath against your skin, warm and steady now, and you know he’s starting to relax. Slowly, his tension melts away, and you feel him begin to drift off, his grip on you loosening slightly but never fully letting go.

You close your eyes again, your heart beating a little faster, a little steadier, knowing that for tonight, you’re the one thing keeping Dean Winchester from falling apart. And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough to help you both find a little peace in the darkness.

Tag List:

@roseblue373 @jc-winchester @hobby27 @mishreem

[themaninflannel]

Y/N: Whenever Dean is about to use the shower after me, I turn the temperature to scalding.

Sam: Why-why would you do that?

Y/N: To make him think I am capable of withstanding that pain. I take normal showers, but I want Dean to be a little scared of me.

Sam: (sighs) You’re both idiots.

Charlie: (in awe) That’s genius.