Something guided you here and I’m so glad it happenned!🫧
Who am I and what can you find here?
The who am I part:
name: Bec (from Rebeca)
age: 26
zodiac: virgo
anything else: english is not the first language, shifter, believes in multiverse theory, queen of sass and sarcasm, ride or die, overthinker, independent, loves animals too much, loves traveling, always singing, plays on guitar, hardly talks about feelings, anger issues, in love with Dean Winchester
I don’t believe in the ‘return good for evil’ and the ‘kill ‘em with kindness’ shit. If anyone do bad for me on purpose they better watch their back.🩵
The what can you find here part:
+18 content!, shifting content, lot of things about the Winchester brothers, anything Supernatural related, fanfics (because I have to share the good ones with other people), snipets from my mind, motivation talks
Was thinking of some… touch starved Dean with a female reader?
Smut but very intimate.. just cradling Dean in your arms while you take him. Always had this idea floating around in my head of being on top while holding his big head with my small arms. So my chest is pressed under his chin and he just burrows his nose in my shoulder..
I love your blog sm and couldn’t wait to give you my first ask💕💕
⋆｡ ˚ hold me like this
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean, aching for touch he rarely asks for, lets you cradle him close while you ride him slow.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 713 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ soft smut!!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, touch starvation, intimate sex, emotional vulnerability, soft dom reader, gentle penetration, slight size difference emphasis
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
you’re on top, thighs bracketing his hips, and the motel room feels smaller than usual. just the low hum of the heater and the sound of dean breathing against your skin. he’s so warm beneath you, broad and solid, yet right now he feels fragile in a way that makes your chest ache.
you cup the back of his head with both hands, your smaller arms wrapping around him like you can hold all of him together. his forehead presses to your sternum, nose buried deep in the curve where your neck meets your shoulder. every shaky exhale ghosts hot across your collarbone.
“that’s it,” you whisper, sinking down another inch. he stretches you perfectly, thick and hard and already twitching inside you. “i’ve got you, d.”
a low, broken sound vibrates against your chest. not quite a moan. something smaller. needier. his arms circle your waist, hands splaying wide across your back like he’s scared you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.
you roll your hips slow, grinding instead of bouncing. your breasts press soft and warm under his chin, skin on skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. he nuzzles closer, lips brushing the swell of one breast, then hiding again in the crook of your neck like he can’t decide whether he wants to taste you or disappear completely.
“been so long,” he mumbles against your skin. his voice cracks halfway through. “didn’t realize how bad i… fuck.”
you tighten your arms around his head, fingers threading through short hair, cradling him like something precious. you rock a little harder and he groans, the sound muffled against you. his hips lift to meet yours, desperate and uncoordinated, like his body is chasing contact more than release.
“i know,” you breathe. the words feel too honest, too raw. “i’ve got you. just feel me.”
you keep one hand on the back of his head, the other sliding down to grip his shoulder. every time you sink down fully, taking him to the hilt, his breath stutters.
he’s shaking. actually shaking. you can feel the fine tremors in his thighs, in the arms wrapped around you. his mouth opens against your shoulder, teeth grazing lightly, then soothing with his tongue. needing to taste, to feel, to consume the warmth he’s been starving for.
you tilt your head, pressing your cheek to his hair. “you’re safe here. with me. let it out, baby.”
a whimper escapes him then. real and quiet and so unlike dean it makes your heart clench. you ride him a little faster, still deep, still close. the wet sound of your bodies meeting is soft. sweat slick between your chests. his nose stays buried in your shoulder like it’s the only place he wants to be.
you squeeze around him on purpose and his whole body jerks.
“shit—sweetheart—” his voice is wrecked. “don’t stop. please don’t stop.”
“i won’t,” you promise, lips against his temple.
dean touches people like he’s waiting for them to break at the contact. but right now, he’s letting you hold him, letting you surround him, letting you fuck him slow while he hides his face in your body. your arms start to burn from holding his head so close, but you don’t loosen them. not even a little.
he comes first, hips stuttering up into you with a muffled groan that vibrates straight into your chest. you follow right after, clenching around him, forehead pressed to his hair as the pleasure rolls through you warm and heavy.
afterward, you don’t move. you stay wrapped around him, his softening cock still inside you, his face still tucked into your neck and shoulder. his breathing slowly evens out, but his arms stay locked around your waist.
you stroke his hair, gentle and slow. “you can have this whenever you need it,” you whisper. too honest. a little clumsy.
dean doesn’t answer with words. he just presses a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your shoulder, then hides his face again like he’s not ready for you to see whatever expression he’s making.
the ache in your arms matches the faint, sweet ache between your legs. you hold him tighter anyway, and for a little while longer, dean winchester lets himself be held like he matters more than anything else.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
✦summary: dean is strictly off limits, for so, so many reasons. It's a shame neither of you seem to care.✦
✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (20s - 40s), dbf!Dean, angst, overprotective dean, older dean, pining, dean being a stupid, lovable dork, feral smut (blowjobs, teasing, dean's dirty talk, brat taming, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, fingering, begging, face-fucking, Dean being a panty thief, finger sucking, jerking off, pussy slapping, lap sex, edging, cockwarming, creampie, big dick dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, light dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦
✦wc: 12.3k✦
✦author's note: request from @circletreeme ! dean dbf for the girlies <3✦
Neither of you lasted as long as you should have.
It was something that never should’ve happened at all. He should know better, and you shouldn’t have pushed to see if he did. But Dean told you it was never going to happen, and then ten minutes later had you pinned against the wall with his knee pushed between your legs.
“Dirty girl.” He mutters in your ear, littering kisses up and down your throat. “Gonna cum on my thigh, aren’t you. That fuckin’ easy?”
You whimper, and pull at his hair. There’s a pressure, building in your lower stomach and demanding and impossible to ignore. Your eyes flutter, and you press your cheek in the side of Dean’s head. His beard is tickling and scraping over sensitive skin, his lips hot and wet. You’re barely more than a puddle in his arms.
“Deeean-“ You whine out, and he chuckles, squeezing your ass tight.
“That’s right, baby. Call my name, tell the whole house who’s got you in their lap-“
A door slams downstairs, and you shove Dean away just as fast as he rips himself back.
You’re both panting and flushed. You can see his arousal through his jeans, and your fingers are shaking too much to get a proper grip on your unbuttoned blouse.
Your father calls your name, the stairs creaking, and you shove Dean again.
He gives you an incredulous look, mouthing what are you doing?
Closet. You mouth back, pushing him again. The man is built like a fucking tree, it’s like trying to move boulder underwater. Get- “Get in the fucking closet-“
He moves, right before the door opens.
Your father smiles at you, glancing around the room. “You doin’ alright, kiddo?”
“Yep. How was work?” You bounce on your toes, shooting tiny looks to the closet.
He has no reason to check anything. It all looks perfectly innocent. There’s no clothing scattered across the floor or stench of sex in the air. Dean hadn’t even taken his shoes off, and the sweater that he’d ripped from your body is allowed to be on the bed, because it’s your room.
And it’s not like you’ve been known to do this kind of thing.
Sleep with older men.
Sleep with anyone.
You’re pretty sure if your father had to gamble on it, he’d put down money that you were going to die alone. Which isn’t entirely unfair. You speak to men like they’re dogs—because they are—and the last time someone asked you on a date, you spent the whole time staring them with an unimpressed expression and your arms over your chest.
It’s not that you’re rude. You just refuse to lower yourself just to please someone who can’t even do their laundry without Mommy’s help. And most college boys don’t even know their food groups. There’s protein, and green stuff, and candy. That’s it. It makes you want to bash your head into a wall.
But that’s how Dean got you.
Stupid, handsome Dean and his big hands and don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of it. Dean and the way he picked you up like you weighed ten pounds not to show of how much he can bench, but because you’d been standing in his way teasing him, and he’d needed to move you.
He’d placed you onto the counter of the kitchen with such care, and a stern, amused look. You’d gaped at him, heat flooding your cheek and all the blood in your body confused about if it should be curling in your fists and swinging, or pooling between your legs to help you hump him like an animal in heat.
“Not so mouthy now, are you.” Dean had drawled, and that’s when you’d known.
You were a goner. He had you in the palm of his calloused hands.
It worked, because you had him wrapped around your finger.
But neither of you were supposed to be close enough to even touch.
Dean’s your father’s best friend. They met in some old man club for people who like saws and drills or whatever. Maybe it was just a workshop. Or he fixed your dad’s car, and the dumbass fell just in love with him as you were.
Dean’s great. Dean and I got coffee. Dean showed me this new Thunderbird, think I’m gonna buy it. You can drive it, when you get home, maybe we’ll put the deed in your name. I’ll ask Dean if he thinks that’s a good idea. Dean thinks it’s a great idea.
Most of your Senior year had been spent getting calls and texts from your dad about how perfect and amazing Dean was. If he knew that the man was in your closet fighting a boner right now, he might end up more jealous than angry.
It still doesn’t feel like an experiment you want the results of. Some things are better left to the imagination.
“Work was good.” Your father shrugs. “You eaten dinner?”
“Um- No.” You need to stop looking at the closet. It’s suspicious. “I was actually going to go out, and- Eat there.”
“Do that tomorrow.” He waves a hand. “Dean’s coming over tonight, we’re gonna fire up my new grill, see how she cooks.”
“I know, I just- I wanted like Chinese or something.”
“Then get Chinese and eat with us-“ Your father pauses, and you swallow. “How’d you know Dean was comin’ over?”
Shit. You can almost feel him glaring at you through the closet. You’re supposed to be the smart one, sweetheart.
It’s his fault. You can still feel where he’d been teasing your sides, and it’s making your brain all stupid and fuzzy.
You know because Dean showed up early and cornered you in the living room. Because you’d done the stupid dance where you both pretend you’re not going to cave. You’d asked why he was here. He said he didn’t need a reason. You said he did, it wasn’t his house. He’d teased that he was always welcome. You’d rolled your eyes, and asked if he was sure about that. He’d leaned over you and murmured that you sure as shit seemed happy to see him. You’d just glared, because if you spoke you would’ve started to drool. He’d muttered that, for the record, he’d been invited for the drill. But that he was really here because he needed to see you.
Then he’d shoved his hand under your shirt and kissed you stupid.
You can’t tell your dad that part.
“You told me.” You say lamely.
You can almost hear Dean’s groan.
“Oh. Huh.” Your dad shrugs it off. Why wouldn’t he. “Alright. You gonna stay?”
It’s a horrible idea. If you stay, you’re going to spend the whole time grumpy because you’d been so close, and now Dean was feet away and unable to touch you.
“Sure.”
Fuck.
Your dad takes the victory. In his eyes, you’re sure he thinks it’s a miracle that his daughter wants to hang out with him and his friends instead of going out and doing young people things. You think he forgets, sometimes, that you’ve never been all that good at young people things.
And you’re certainly not going to burst his bubble by reminding him of that. Or the fact that of course you want to hang out with his friend. Sex on Legs Winchester. Even if you didn’t have something halfway started with him, you’d stick around just to ogle the eye candy.
“Am I just a sack of meat to you, princess?” Dean mutters when you tell him as much.
You bite back your smile, and shrug. “Maybe. You gonna do something about it?”
He fixes you with an almost awestruck stare, before chuckling and shaking his head.
“You’re trying to get me killed.”
“No, I’m not-“
“Yeah, you are. I pop a boner now, your old man is gonna rip my head off.”
“So don’t pop a boner, dumbass-“
Your words fall off in a tiny squeak, as Dean grabs the back of your neck and pulls you into a deep, long kiss.
It’s far from the first time you kissed. That had been a night only a week after you’d moved back home—a long, torturous week of staring at massive biceps and imagine them wrapped around your neck, or beating yourself up in the sheets as you got off to the idea of Dean and his stupid, cocky smirk—when he’d been staying over so his house could get gassed for bugs or something. You’d smiled at him too sweetly. All his touches had lingered too long. You’d gone downstairs to get some water, and ended up on top of him on the couch.
You still haven’t slept together. Every time you get close, fucking something has to happen, and you stop.
But you’ve kissed so much you think your lips are molded to shape his.
You immediately turn to slack putty, in Dean’s arms. Kissing him back with frantic passion, leaning over his chest and moaning openly into his mouth. Your fingers find their way to his belt, then lower. Dean tips your head back further to deepen this kiss, and you paw at his bugle with a tiny whimper.
He hums, squeezing the back of your neck. “Behave.”
“Don’t want to.” You breathe out, and he chuckles.
“I know.” Dean pulls back, kissing one corner of your mouth, then the other. “You need some motivation, baby?”
You nod, fixing him with your best, doe-eyed stare. It’s the one that always makes him cave, even when he says he knows he shouldn’t.
But you both know you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t be doing any of this. There’s a long list of reason that starts with your father’s best friend and ends with massive age gap that could be followed to prevent all of this. But you both seem to get a little blind, when you look at each other. Suddenly you can’t read and Dean—a man who’s all self-control and smooth, cool collection—stumbles over his feet like a highschooler.
He says that’s how he knew this was worth it. That you do things to him that no one else ever has. You blush and giggle and press your face into the crook of his neck, and for a little while you both forget the whole world. Sometimes you whisper that he does things to you as well. You’ve never wanted to wrap around someone like this and never let go.
And that overrides all logic and reason. It doesn’t matter what kind of rules there are. You want to break all of them, just to be closer to him for a few moments longer.
“You play nice tonight.” Dean whispers in your ear, tracing lazily up and down your spine. “Then I’ll help you sneak out. Back to my place.”
“Your place?” You sound a lot more pathetic than you want to be. You really don’t know how to help it.
“Mhm. And you know what’s at my place that ain’t here?”
You shake your head, and Dean kisses the tip of your nose. It scrunches up, and his eyes shine with adoration. You’re never going to get sick of him looking at you like that. Like you’re the only thing in the world.
“Peace and quiet.” He mutters. “Just you, me, and nothing else.”
Your eyes widen, as you realize what he means. “Oh- Okay.”
“Okay?”
There’s a hint of worry in his voice. Like he needs to be sure you really mean it, even when you’re slack and folded into his arms, digging your nails into his biceps like you’re trying to leave a mark.
You nod frantically, and his shoulders relax.
“Okay.” He mutters, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. You smile at him, and his throat bobs. “Behave.”
“I always behave.” You tease, and Dean snorts.
“Yeah. Alright.”
“I do. I’m very well trained.”
He chuckles, kissing you light and soft. You push up on your toes, trying to chase a little more, and Dean lets you. He always lets you.
“Don’t think you’re the one on the leash, sweetheart.” He mutters against your lips, and you giggle.
“Dogs train their owners sometimes. With feeding habits and walk schedules.”
“Hm.” He leans back, a smile twitching on his lips. “Is this feedin’, or walkin’?”
And this is your favorite expression on his handsome face. The one where you can tell that he’s really trying to be annoyed with you, but can’t stop himself from enjoying your company. From looking at you like he wants to just lock the door and pin you to the bed until you’re giggling and beaming all the time. You’d be all for that plan, if your father wasn’t probably waiting downstairs, wondering why Dean’s running late-
Shit. Right. Your father.
“Actually.” You kiss over his beard, curling your fingers in the collar of his shirt. “I think it’s fetch.”
Dean snorts, and ducks down to kiss you again. You push him lightly back, and he stumbles like he’s been shot.
“Out the window.” You say sternly, pointing at the roof.
Dean groans, running a hand over his face. “C’mon, one more-“
“No.”
“But-“
“Behave.” You mock, and he scowls.
“Son of a bitch.” He grumbles under his breath. He’s making a face like a toddler who just got his favorite toy truck confiscated for bad behavior. It’s rather adorable. “Gonna be the death of me, woman. Can’t believe I’m so in love with a fuckin’ brat.”
“Aw, you love me?”
You say it like it doesn’t still make your heart skip to hear it. Dean sighs like he let slip some grand secret, instead of something that he’s told you countless times in dark corners and in booths of bars.
He looks at the window. He’s back to pouting again.
“It’s gonna hurt my knees.” He whines, and you laugh, closing the space between you once more.
“Tough shit, Winchester. Should’ve tried to keep it in your pants.”
“But you make it so hard-“
“I know.”
That earns you a glare, and you giggle again.
You’re both so very bad at this. Dean should already be downstairs. You shouldn’t be goading him into saying longer, but you can’t help it at all. This is your favorite kind of teasing. The one where you end up folded under him with his pretty lips wrapped around your nipples and thick fingers stuffing up your pussy and toying with your clit until you’re whining his name.
Dean’s looking at you like that’s exactly what he wants to do with you. You’re smiling at him like you’re begging for it, and neither of you ever back down from the challenge.
Then your father calls your name from downstairs. And it’s like a bucket of ice water is poured over both your heads.
“Dean’s runnin’ late!” He shouts. “You should go get your Chinese now!”
You sigh, and Dean grimaces. The urgency doesn’t stop him from grabbing your face between his hands, and kissing you one last time.
“Tonight.” He mumbles like an oath. “Just you and me.”
You hum. “Only if I behave, right?”
“Sure. Only if you behave.”
And he says it like that because you both know perfectly well that it doesn’t matter how you behave. You could sit on his lap or rub your foot on his crotch under the table, and he’s still going to open the door when you sneak over. If anything, the question is just how big a price do you want to pay tonight. How far are you willing to push him, how greatly do you want him to snap once you’re alone.
You think you want him to lose it. He’s always extra pretty when he looks like he’s about to cry from frustration, and he’s never hotter than when there’s that dangerous gleam in his eyes that reminds you he could toss you around like a sack of potatoes.
God, it sounds nice though. Being Dean’s sack of potatoes.
He sneaks out the window, and flips you off after you laugh at him for groaning the whole time. He has to sneak down the block to get his car, and you won’t be here when he arrives. You have to go get your Chinese.
But after that, all bets are off.
Dean is worse at this than you are. The sneaking around.
You get stupid and nervous when your dad is around and Dean is hiding. You told me wasn’t your best moment, but it also wasn’t that far from your worst. And you know your dad. You know that he’s not really going to question most things he tells you, because even your more obvious excuses aren’t that suspicious.
But Dean’s a fucking dumbass.
He’s your dumbass. Your old, grumpy idiot who’s some kind of genius with a wrench and a circuit board and an engine, but who stares at the crossword puzzles you do and mutters that all those letters look fake. He could find his way home if you dropped him in the middle of the woods—you call him your pigeon, and he doesn’t think that’s half as funny as you do—but he also thinks that Michaelangelo is the Ninja Turtle and needs your help writing emails. One time you asked him when he’d last gone to the doctor, and he said some time in ’07. You’d smacked him upside the head and dragged him by the nape of his neck.
Later that week, he’d been grumbling to your dad about how the doc was making him cut back on steak. His cholesterol had been through the roof. He’d protested and bitched, but you’d grabbed his jaw and snapped that if he died, you were going to leave him.
So now he’s down to only two burgers a week, and you’re very proud of him.
Which is what he’d told your dad.
Not the you part—he wasn’t that stupid—but the doctor part. And how he’d been bargained down to two burgers in exchange for other things.
Blowjobs. You might not have fucked yet, but you’d done most everything else, and you’d talked him down from a three burger a week deal with the promise of blowjobs.
Which he’d told your dad.
Because he’s an idiot.
“You’re datin’ someone?” Your dad had said in surprise, and Dean had frozen.
On the couch, you’d rolled your eyes. God, he was so lucky you loved him to death.
“I- I- Uh-“
“Why didn’t you tell me? You coulda brought her over, I wanna meet the lady who finally got you to settle.” Your dad had snorted, his voice dropping so that you probably weren’t supposed to hear it. “Hell, if she gives good enough head for you to drop burgers, I gotta meet her.”
You’d felt sick. When you’d glanced over your shoulder, Dean had looked sick.
His eyes had flitted to yours in panic. You’d given him a tight, prompting look, and his throat had bobbed.
“She, uh- She’s real busy-“
“I got time.”
“Right. Good.” Dean had looked trapped. This was the only time you saw him really stumble over his words. When it came to you.
It would be sweet, if he wasn’t a few wrong words from getting shot in the head.
“She, uh- She’s just- You know- Women-“
“Where’s she work.” Your dad had asked casually.
Dean had gone pallid. “The… Place.”
“Place?”
“Bookshop.”
“Oh.” Your father had called your name, and Dean had looked seconds from passing out. “You know any ladies at the bookshop Dean’s age?”
You’d hummed, pretending to examine your nails. “Um… Maybe Matilda.”
Matilda is the lovely old woman who you share all your shifts with. She has five cats, two grandchildren she loves more than her dolt of a son, and knows that you and Dean are dating because she caught you making out in the nonfiction section a month ago.
Dean had glared at you, and you’d just smiled back. The fuck was I supposed to say? You’d tell him later. There’s only four of us, and two are high schoolers.
He’d gotten out of the bookshop jam by saying that she worked at a different place. Your father had bought the lie, but never dropped it. He never drops any of Dean’s slip ups.
Because every time you’ve almost been caught, it’s been Dean’s fault. There was the time your bra got found in the Impala, and when Dean’s brother knew about you before you were formally introduced, and when you’d been on a date and your dad had walked into the bar. You’d shoved Dean under the table, and the fucking dumbass had decided to kiss your thighs the whole time he was down there. You’d kill him if you didn’t love him. But you also think he’d kill himself if he ever really pissed you off.
But now your dad thinks Dean’s sneaking around with some lady from out of town, and you go to bars by yourself when you said you were going out with friends. And he’s a nice, nosy man, so he hasn’t let go of either fact at all.
“How’s your girl, Winchester?” He asks Dean over dinner, and Dean grunts.
“Good. Pissin’ me off, but good.”
You stick your tongue out at him behind your dad’s back. He’s just grumpy about the couch thing.
Your dad had gone to check on the grill, and you’d put your feet in Dean’s lap. He’d grabbed your ankles and hissed for you to behave. You’d smiled at him and moved them, before immediately crawling over him. You’d had a hand resting right against his crotch, and another grabbing at his chest. You’d kissed his cheeks and neck while he just grabbed your waist for balance.
“’M so wet, De.” You’d whispered, sucking a kiss right under his jaw. “Need you so bad.”
He’d made a strangled, almost pained sound. His cock had twitched under your hand, and you’d pressed down harder.
Dean’s fingers had flexed on your waist. You’d dropped your weight onto his thigh, grinding down and moaning against his skin.
You think, if your dad hadn’t come back the next second, he would’ve flipped you over and ripped off your skirt. But you’d heard the door open, and pulled easily away. Dean hadn’t been able to stand up for five minutes. You’d giggled and run your fingers through this hair, before following your dad out on to the porch.
So he’s a little mad at you.
You hope he stays mad at you. He always kisses you like an animal, when he’s a little pissed. Then he presses your face between your breasts and mumbles about how it’s not fair that he can’t stay mad at you, and it’s a better feeling than any high in the world.
Your goal for the night might be driving him so up the wall that when he finally fucks you, he rearranges your guts in his name.
It’s not going to be that difficult to do.
“What’d she do to piss you off?” Your dad asks, and Dean makes a face.
“Nothin’. Just- She gets mouthy.” He’s still glaring at you. You pretend not to see it. “And she likes to push my fuckin’ buttons.”
“You’re fun to rile up, buddy.” Your dad shrugs, totally oblivious to you and Dean eye fucking across the room. “Just take a deep breath and tell her she’s making you mad.”
Dean snorts. “Trust me. I think she knows.”
You beam at him and flutter your lashes. His eyes narrow, his grip on the counter going white knuckled.
He is fun to rile up. You hope he never works on that.
“You know who I saw at the store today?” You dad asks you, and you hum, poking at your chow mein.
“Who?”
“Gordon.”
“Oh, shit.” You look up. “How’s he doing?”
“Alright. Think he’s livin’ at home too. Surprised you didn’t know.”
“Well, we don’t talk that much anymore-“
“He asked about you.” Your dad shrugs casually. Too casually.
You know where this is going.
“Gave me his new number, to pass onto you. Said he missed you, all four years-“
“Dad.” You sigh, giving him a flat look.
He raises his hands. “I’m not sayin’ anything-“
“Yes, you are.”
“Well- Nothin’ that we gotta read into, but you two were always so close-“
“Dad-“
“Who the fuck is Gordon.” Dean grunts, and you flush.
He looks pissed. And not you just flashed him and he’s got a boner at the table pissed.
Really pissed. Like he wants to bite someone’s head off, but hasn’t figured out who yet.
It shouldn’t be as hot as it is.
“He’s- He’s just my childhood friend-“
“Childhood best friend.” Your dad corrects, and you’re going to fucking kill him and then yourself. “They were little bandits together, we all thought they’d end up datin’, but I guess they both got sidetracked.”
“We didn’t get sidetracked.” You mutter, staring at your plate.
You can feel Dean’s gaze burning into you. It’s almost impossible to look him in the eyes.
“We just- It was never like that-“
“Didn’t he take you to prom?”
“As friends-“
“You didn’t come home ‘till the morning-“
Something cracks, and you and your dad both fall silent.
Dean’s broken his mug. With his hands. One hand.
Oh, God.
You’re worried that if you stand up, there’s going to be a slick stain on your chair.
“You alright, buddy?”
“Yeah. I’m good.” Dean stares at you, nostrils flaring. “You gonna call the boy?”
Boy. Not man, boy. And he says it so mockingly, it makes you feel buzzy and faint.
“No.” You try to sound normal, but you’re sure it comes out pathetic and dazed. “I- Um- We never-“ You glance nervously at your dad, and clear your throat. “Gordon actually ditched me for Anna, on prom night. That was- It was why we stopped talking.”
“Oh.” Your dad makes a sour face. “Well, I always knew he was gonna be bad news eventually. You deserve better, kiddo, and if I see him again I’ll give him a piece of my mind- I’m sure Dean will too.”
And you have to agree with that.
Dean looks like he’s about to go and smash Gordon’s head against the curb. Your dad keeps rambling about Gordon and kids not knowing what they want and how both he and Dean will make sure you never settle for less than you deserve. Dean keeps staring at you, and you’re sure that part is true as well.
Dean’s not going to let you settle for anything less than what you deserve at all. If he can help it, he’s never going to allow you to settle, period.
You really hope he knows, that it’s him and nothing else. Never anything else. Whatever confusing feelings you had eventually developed for Gordon had vanished when you were a teenager. You’d barely had a college boyfriend—more like a few loose options you’d kicked to the curb once you decided they’d lead to pallid and sickly futures—and no one in your life has ever made you care about a relationship the way Dean does.
And you really worry sometimes, that he doesn’t understand that. You try to remind him, but the age gap hangs over your heads like a sword of Damocles. He’s said before that there has to be better boys for you. Boys your age.
You don’t want a boy your age. You want a man.
You want Dean.
And from the look of him, you’re not sure he’d be able to stomach you with anyone else.
“I’m not going to call Gordon.”
Dean looks up from the sink. You’d followed him into the bathroom while your dad cleaned the grill, desperate to make sure he understood. You like him a little grumpy and mocking. It makes everything in your chest feel wrong, when he really seems upset.
“Alright.” Is all he mutters, grabbing a towel to dry his hands.
“Dean-“
“What?”
He gives you a challenging look. You swallow, and lean back against the door.
“I love you.”
The first time you’d said it had been all romantic and dumb in the rain. It had fumbled from your lips like a prayer, and he’d kissed you until your legs gave out. Even now, months later, it has the safe effect. Dean’s shoulders slump, and his eyes soften. Everything in him softens. Just for you.
“I love you too, princess-“
“No.” You whisper, pressing your lips in a tight line. “I really love you.”
Dean frowns. “Yeah, I know-“
“Dean.” You push off the door, your eyes locked onto his. “I love you.”
No one else, is what you tell him with your eyes. Just you. Always just you.
Dean blinks, his gaze raking over your body, then darting to the door. He rasps your name, because he knows you too well. He knows that glint in your eyes, he knows the sweet smile playing on your lips. He tells you all the time, that it almost gives him a heart attack. You close the distance in small, cautious steps. Dean clears his throat, looking almost desperate for you to take mercy.
You won’t. You need him to understand.
“Sweetheart, you can’t-“
“Yes I can.” You sink to your knees, and Dean grabs a fistful of your hair.
Your drag your hands over his thighs, and his swallows hard, a vein in his brow ticking as he tries to keep still.
“Come on.” He rasps. “This ain’t behaving.”
You shrug, slowly undoing his belt buckle. “Oops.”
Dean’s chest heaves, and a small groan rumbles in his chest as you kiss his crotch. You watch him under hooded lashes, pulling down his pants and taking his underwear with them.
He’s already hard. Thick in your hand and weeping from his slit, the angry red of his cock demanding your attention, even as he tries to talk you out of it.
“Baby, you- You don’t gotta-“
“But I want to.” You murmur, slowly pumping his cock with a light grip.
Dean grunts, bucking into your hand. His head is tossed back, his eyes squeezed shut, his breath coming out in pants. You stop stroking him, and he immediately looks back down.
“What’re you-“
“Can I?” You press your cheek into his thigh, letting your warm breath fan over his balls. “Please?”
You pout, just to be sure he knows. Dean never likes making you do this. He always whines on and on about how it should be about you, not him. He says he gets off just fine tasting you and making you cum on his fingers. You’re still trying to make him understand that just the thought of him fucking your face like a toy ruins your underwear.
You’ll be sure to show him after.
Dean stares down at you, gripping the bathroom sink and petting the top of your head. He lets out a ragged breath, closes his eyes, then drags them back open. You think he might be checking that you’re still there.
You’re about to suck his soul out of his cock. He’s not going to get rid of you that easy.
“You sure?” He mutters, and you nod eagerly.
“Please.”
A feral sound rumbles from his throat. His dick twitches, and he gives the tiniest nod.
“Is that-“
“Go for it.” A smile ghosts his lips. “Show me what you’ve got, baby.”
You give him a flat look. He knows damn well, what you’ve got. And you can see him smirking, opening his mouth to say something cocky and smug about you biting off more than you can chew.
You don’t give him the chance, before you’re wrapping your mouth around his head and swirling your tongue.
Dean groans, his blunt nails scraping against your head as his whole body tenses. You hum around him and repeat the motion, again, and then one more time for good measure.
“Jesus-“ He chokes out your name. “Warn a guy- I- Wasn’t fuckin’ ready-“
You smile, pushing further down. You suck lightly, taking his base into your hand and pumping it in time with your mouth. Dean makes a sinful, deep noise that comes straight from your dreams. He croaks out your name, bowing his head and tugging on your hair as his cock pulses in your mouth.
“Baby- Fuck-“
You take your free hand and grab his balls, slowly massaging them as your mouth picks up the pace. Dean’s looking down at you like you fell from Heaven, right onto your knees for him, and him alone.
“You’re a fuckin’ brat, you know that? Just- Lookin’ at me and- Shiiit-“
He’s losing composer. It’s what you live for. The way his eyes roll back and he starts to shallowly thrust between your lips, letting drool slip down your chin and pre-cum leak over your tongue.
“Mouth was made for me.” He grits out, his teeth bared and voice tight. “Pretty little slut, know you love this shit. You’re wet, aren’t you. Drippin’ all over the floor for me.”
You moan in agreement, and Dean slams his hips forward. His cock bruises the back of your throat and you have to relax your jaw to stop yourself from gagging. Dean tenses, his voice raw and strained.
“Fuck, sweetheart, I’m sorry-“
You’re not having any of that.
Dean cuts himself off with another guttural sound as you push yourself forward. Your nose brushes his abdomen, your jaw unhinged to take all of him, and it’s still not enough. You stick out your tongue, flicking the underside of his cock as you squeeze his balls.
“Son of a bitch- You-“
You suck, letting your throat squeeze around the head of him. He makes another, feral sound, and tugs at your hair.
“Baby, shit- You’re so fuckin’ warm, and- You gotta get off or-“
He almost whimpers as you pull back, sliding off his cock with a pop and stroking it as you leave an open-mouth kiss on the swollen head. Dean’s fingers flex, and you know he wants to shove you back down.
You give him a soft smile, kissing down his shaft, then over his balls. You suck there for a second, still jerking his cock in your free hand, and he finally snaps. Pulling you back by your hair and giving you a wrecked, hopeless look. He’s trying to use his listen to me voice, but he seems to know it’s a lost cause. You’ve got him exactly where you want him.
He says your name like a prayer, and you open your mouth. Stick out you tongue, fixing him with a challenging glare.
Dean swallows. “You sure- Fuck-“
You flick your tongue over his head, squeezing the base of his dick tight.
Dean shakes his head, looking up like he’s praying.
“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters, and you know you’ve won.
You keen as Dean’s grip on your hair tightens. He shoves you right down his cock, pushing against the back of your throat before yanking you back. You moan around him, your eyes watering from the overwhelming taste and force. You’re barely more than a cocksleeve for his pleasure, and that’s exactly what you wanted.
Dean barely able to think outside of where he’s fucking your mouth, making broken and worshipful sounds, calling your name with every thrust.
“Fuck, baby- Takin’ it so good, love you like this, choking on my cock. Look so pretty for me, wish I could take a picture- Fuuuckkkk-“
He tosses his head back, still watching his cock pump between your lips. He gets transfixed and babbles, coming apart above you as you just keep smiling and taking it.
“Pretty girl,” he grits out. “My pretty fuckin’ slut, sucking dick like a damn vacuum- Crying for me, baby girl, you need this cock that bad-“
You mewl in agreement, dizzy from the praise. You do need his cock that bad. If the thoughts weren’t being fucked from your head, you whimper that no one fucks your mouth like he does. No one makes you feel so holy and used all at the same time. You’re so wet you feel it every time you shift, so wet you’re worried he’s going to be able to smell it. But you love this. The taste and weight of him, and how no one gets it but you.
It’s almost pornographic, the way he’s taking your mouth. Your lips shine with spit and pre-cum, tears pour down your cheeks as his thrusts become jagged sharp, and sweat shines on Dean’s thighs as you keep working his balls. They’re getting tight and heavy in your hands. He’s about to loose it.
“Baby-“ He taps your cheek, words pushed out between moans. “Baby, I- I’m gonna-“
You sink your nails into his thigh. You’ve never failed to swallow before, and you’re not starting now.
Dean hisses out your name, but doesn’t stop. You moan around him, sucking as hard as you can to shove him over the edge.
He cums hard, shooting thick ropes of release down your throat. You unhinge your jaw, and manage to get most of it. But he always lets out so much, and a fair amount ends up smeared with your tears and dripping down his legs.
You pull slowly back, and start to lick up what you weren’t able to get on your first try. Dean hisses, sensitive from the orgasm, and strokes his hand through your hair. His gaze is fixed on where some had dripped down to your tits. You have a feeling that if you were really, truly in private, he’d shove his face into your chest and clean you up himself.
“You are-“ He lets out a broken laugh, as you smile up at him. “Something else.”
“You’ve told me.” You tease, and Dean rolls his eyes.
“Too proud of it.” He grumbles. “Like you want to be over my knee later.”
You shrug, eyes sparkling. Dean’s jaw ticks.
His thumb swipes over your cheek, where a little bit of the cum is still stained.
“Open.” He mutters, and you obey.
He presses his thumb between your swollen lips, and you take it with a happy hum. Dean groans, watching you suckle his release of his finger. You flutter your lashes at him. He pulls out, smearing spit over your cheek.
“I’m goin’ in an hour.” His voice is lower than you’ve ever heard it. It sends an excited, electric thrill between your legs. “You better follow, or I’m comin’ here and fucking you in your daddy’s house.”
You nod like a bobblehead, unable to even find the words. Dean laughs and pulls you to your feet, kissing you harshly. It’s messy and open, possessive in a way you’d never found hot before you had him.
Other boys being possessive had seemed like they thought of you as a nice little toy they threw a tantrum over having to share. With anyone, even your friends.
Dean being possessive makes you feel priceless. Treasured. He’s yours, and he doesn’t want you to forget it. You can do whatever the hell you want, just so long as you remember that he’s yours.
Your dad is calling for you again. Dean slips out of the bathroom first—he doesn’t have cum and drool to clean off his face—but not before kissing your cheek and slapping your ass.
He says you’re going to be the death of him, but he’s bouncing around like he’s ten years younger. You’re the one who needs to clutch the railing as she walks downstairs. He didn’t even fuck you and it’s hard to walk from the throb between your legs.
You’d been right. You’d completely destroyed your underwear, turning it to just a soaked scrap of lace.
And Dean might have you begging at his feet, but you don’t roll over that easy. You pulled off your panties before you left the bathroom. You keep them bundled in your fist while Dean talks to your dad for the last hour, sitting on the counter with your legs crossed. When it’s time for him to go, he wanders over to give a perfectly innocent goodnight.
His eyes are gleaming, as he drawls see you around, kid.
Kid.
He knows you hate it when he calls you kid. And suddenly, you don’t feel bad anymore.
“Night, grandpa.” You say lightly, and Dean laughs, but it’s rougher than before. You can see it in his eyes, the way he’s planning out every single way he’s going to make you pay for that.
Then you stick out your hand, and he blinks. There’s a confused, cautious shadow over his face as he takes your hand and shakes it. You cover it with your fist, and slip your panties into his grip.
Dean pulls back with a frown, looks down, and coughs so loud he staggers. You bite your cheek to stop yourself from laughing. Your father looks up from the sink with a worried face.
“You alright, Dean?”
“Yeah, uh- Yeah.” He stares at you, working his jaw. His words are pushed through his teeth, and you can see his cock, already straining through his jeans again.
His closes his fist around your panties, and shoves them into his pockets. Your dad asks him something else, but you don’t hear it. You’re fully fixed on Dean. On the dangerous promise in his eyes.
You’re in trouble.
Good.
Dean lives more than twenty minutes away, but you make the drive in fifteen.
You’re desperate, and past denying it. You’ve got the hottest man alive waiting for you and finally about to fuck you, anyone else would be breaking traffic laws as well.
It wasn’t hard to sneak past your father, especially because you failed to sneak past him. You got downstairs and found him watching TV. You’d thought he was in bed, and the blood had drained from your face.
“Dad, uh- You’re-“
“Just watchin’ Jeopardy.” He’d said, not looking away from the screen. “You going to Dean’s?”
You’d tripped over nothing, and choked on the air.
“I- I don’t- I’m not- What-“
“Don’t insult me, kiddo.” He twists, giving you a flat look. “I ain’t blind and stupid. He had a hard on the whole night.”
“Um-“ You fidget with your fingers, unsure if you should run or just drop dead. “That’s- Maybe he was texting his girlfriend-“
“He never texts his girlfriend. He just texts you.”
You open your mouth, then close it. You’re dead. Dean’s dead. Your dad is going to kill him and you’re never even going to get to have sex, and that’s such a huge bummer because you’re just going to sit at his grave forever, and turn into a tree like some old myth, and then your dad is going have no one to talk to sports about. Everyone is losing in this scenario. It’s awful.
“Was it his fault?” You say, because it’s all you can think of. “That you realized?”
Your dad snorts. “Oh, yeah. I had suspensions-“
“Suspicions-“
“I caught you on a date.” He says your name dryly. “You said you were there alone, but his car was in the lot. He said he was datin’ a girl who worked in a bookshop. You’d been wearing his shirt to bed.”
Your mouth falls open, your cheeks burning.
“Oops.”
“Yeah. Oops.” Your dad sighs, turning back to the TV. “Realized when he let me call you on his phone. Dumbass opened the message thread for me and everything.”
Oh. Oh no.
Again, there wasn’t much outside of sex that you and Dean hadn’t done. Which, tragically, included sexting.
A lot of sexting.
Photos of you in lingerie and dick pics and voice memos and a lot of videos, and you’re going to throw up-
“You- You didn’t-“
“Saw more of Dean than I ever wanted to.” Your dad mutters, making a face like he’s also going to be sick. “Was about to punch him for sending that shit to you, but there was a voice memo with it. Listened for about ten seconds, almost got sick, realized it was at least mutual.”
You cringe. You remember that voice memo and photo, just as well as you remember your dad calling you on Dean’s phone because his was dead. You’d thought he sounded weird. You wished you hadn’t been so right.
“I’m so sorry-“
“He treat you well?”
You blink. You almost don’t understand the question.
“Of- Of course he does.”
“Hm.” Your dad frowns at the TV. “He gonna marry you?”
“Dad-“
“I’m just sayin’.” He shrugs. “If he’s puttin’ us all through this, he better hope he doesn’t break your heart. You know I was in the military.”
You almost laugh. “He was in the military-“
“I was ranked higher.”
“Dean was a marine-“
“You think I couldn’t kick his ass?”
You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. “I think you don’t have to, because he won’t break my heart.”
For a second, you just stare at each other. Then your father huffs, and slumps back into the couch.
“Good.” He waves a hand. “Have fun.”
You nod, then go still.
Have fun.
That’s… Approval.
Your dad knows about you and Dean, and he—begrudgingly, but that’s the best you can hope for—approves.
So that should be the first thing you tell Dean when you get through the door. That you don’t have to keep hiding. You’re rehearsing breaking the news your whole drive over, mumbling the speech under your breath when you knock on the door.
But then Dean opens it, and suddenly there’s only one important thing in the world.
Greetings are forgotten, as Dean wraps an arm around your waist and drags you into his chest. You whimper as his mouth slams over yours, grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling him further down.
“Haven’t stopped thinkin’ about you since I left.” Dean groans, pulling your jacket off with scrambling hands. “Got in the car and wanted to turn around, sneak back through the window like a fuckin’ teenager- Jesus, you don’t know what you do to me-“
You surge up on your toes, throwing your arms around his shoulder and kissing him until you’re breathless and swaying.
“I- I know.” You whisper. “God, Dean, I know-“
He makes one of those deep, hungry, rumbling sounds, spinning you both around so he can kick the door close. You stumble closer, pressing him back against the wall as your pull his upper lip between your kiss. Dean grunts and crashed forward, grabbing your face between his hands and pressing back.
“Needy.” He mutters between open mouth kisses. “Needy fuckin’ girl, can’t even let me take a breath, can you?”
You tip you head back, your words breathy and high as Dean starts to kiss over your neck.
“You- You kissed me first.”
Dean hums, nipping at your throat. He’s dragging his hands down your sides, slipping one under your shirt to caress your spine while the other gropes at your ass.
“I did, didn’t I?”
“Mhm.” You mumble, lost in the heat of his mouth. He’s sucking on a sensitive pulse point, letting his tongue flick over the skin, and he knows what that does to you. “De- Dean-“
“Guess I’m the one who couldn’t wait.” He says, but it’s mostly to himself. “Been dreamin’ of this for so long, sweetheart. You here.” He kisses further down, pulling down your shirt to get access to the top of your chest. “’Bout to be in my bed.” He bunches up the fabric of your shirt, and only his arm around you is keeping you upright. “’Bout to be on my cock.”
He hisses the last words before rushing back up into a starved, sloppy kiss. He rips off your shirt in the same second, before smoothly unclipping your bra. You gasp as the cold air hits your nipples, nails scratching at Dean’s neck.
“Shit- Dean-“
“I’ve got you.” He scoops you into his arms, kissing your cheek.
“Do you-“ You swallow at his flat, amused look. “Sorry.”
His lips twitch, and he doesn’t break your gaze as he walks down the hall. “You know, you always get mouthy when you’re horny.”
You scowl. “I do not-“
“You do-“
“No, I-“
Dean cranes his neck, capturing your lips in a slow, lazy kiss. You respond in a second with a light tug of his hair, eliciting another pleased, low rumble from his chest.
He pulls back, and you chase him. Getting one more, quicker kiss that he melts into within a second.
“You do.” He rasps, nipping at your nose. “You turn into a real brat.”
You glare, ready to snap something that would only prove his point. But Dean grins, and suddenly you’re being dumped down onto his bed. You yelp at the sudden movement, wiggling and holding him tight enough to strange. Dean grunts, falling forward and barely managing to brace himself over you as you both crash down to the mattress.
“Jesus-“ He mutters your name, and you shove his shoulders.
“You surprised me-“
“You almost killed me-“
“Oh, you’re fine-“
“I’m old, that coulda broken my knees-“
“Shut up.”
You grab his face, pressing up for another stumbling, frantic series of kisses. You’ve kissed Dean pretty much everywhere—on his body and geographically—but this is always your favorite place. On his pretty mouth, under him in his bed. There’s nothing around you that isn’t Dean, and it’s intoxicating. The pine and spice scent of him, the heat of his body, the fact that he just lay here by himself sometimes. Thinking of you, the same way you think of him.
Dean wraps his arms around you, pulling you up off the mattress. You hook your leg over his waist, flipping you both over so you’re straddling his lap and kissing him everywhere you can reach. You grind down onto his sweats, and he moans shamelessly, his fingers digging into your hips.
“You- You’re not wearing your fucking panties-“
“I gave them to you.” You mumble, pressing your ass down against his thickness. The fabric scrapes against your bare pussy, offering perfect friction, and you start to hump him like you’re in heat.
Dean drags his hand up your spine, grabbing the back of your neck and pulling you up his chest. He lets you keep working yourself down on his bulge for a few seconds longer, moaning into your mouth as you tease him.
“Dirty, dirty girl.” He scolds, the mocking tone in his voice just spurring you on.
He knows you love it. That’s why he likes it.
“Walkin’ around in just a skirt.” He dips a hand under your skirt, palming at your bare ass cheeks. “Should’ve folded you over the couch to see it. Pretty fuckin’ pussy, bet it’s already nice and wet for me.”’e
He reaches further down, and you gasp as his fingers brush your cunt. He’s right. Of course he is. Dean might know your body better than you do.
“Shit- Dean-“
“Shhh.” He splits two fingers, rubbing them over the outer lips of your pussy before pinching them together.
You whine, trying to hump up into his hand, but he splays his palm on your lower back and presses you back down.
“Behave.” He grunts. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it? For me to fuck you how I want?”
He squeezes harder, his thumb grazing over your clit. Your whole body tremors, and you press your face into the crook of Dean’s neck.
“Ye- Yes.” You pant. “But- You’re not fucking me- You’re just- Oooh-“
He flicks his thumb this time, and it’s like a tiny electric shock. You don’t know how he always does this. It doesn’t matter if he’s got his hand between your legs or your pussy right on his face, he plays it like an instrument. It would make you scream if it didn’t feel so good.
“Well,” Dean muses, dragging his thumb in slow torturous circles as he starts to rub your pussy again. “I told you to behave earlier. And did you?”e
You shake your head, almost so overwhelmed from the attention on your core that you forget how to speak. “N- No.”
“That’s right. So I’m gonna fuck you,” he pulls his hand away for a second, landing a sharp slap on your ass before pushing it back. “When you remember how to be a good girl.”
You whimper, but don’t argue. This is what you’d asked for, with all the teasing.
You’d just thought he’d give it to you rough. That’s what behave usually meant. An invitation for you to test the line, if you wanted him to pin your on his mouth and make you cum under you were begging him to stop. Once it meant lying over his lap while he fingered and spanked you, and you’d cum so hard you saw stars.
But that’s not what this is.
You’re melted over Dean’s chest, and he’s being lazy and mean. He keeps playing with your pussy like it’s a cute little toy. Just brushing it and rubbing your clit with barely any pressure.
“Mo- More.” You plead. “I need more-“
You almost sob, as he pushes one finger just into your entrance before taking it away. You hug him so tight you think it must hurt, but he doesn’t even grunt.
“Look at that.” He coos in your ear, smearing a little bit of your arousal on your thigh. “You’re making a mess on me, baby. Just from a little bit of touchin’.”
“Was- Was not a little bit-“
“Wasn’t much.” Dean muses, landing a sharp slap on your swollen pussy. “But it never takes much to get my girl wet, does it.”
You shake your head, tears pricking at your eyes again. You’d beg if you had the words, but right now you’re just trying to hold on.
“Everything makes you so horny.” Dean drawls, going back to rubbing his big, warm hand over your pussy. “Remember when we got ice cream? Had to fuck you in my car, ‘cause you couldn’t even wait to get to the damn house.”
“You- You were- You were wearing a really nice shirt-“
“Sure, princess. It was the shirt.”
“It was-“
Dean slaps your pussy again, and your words fall into a whine.
“You ashamed of the truth, princess?” He teases, right in your ear. “How you really wanted me to stuff you up, fuck you and fill you like the cumslut that you are?”
You keen, and you can’t stop yourself from humping his hand again. This time, Dean lets you. He knows you need it.
“That’s right, baby girl. I know you like that.” He bites your ear, and you wiggle your ass right onto his fingers, trying to force one or two inside you. “I remember how I came on your thighs. You almost got me to put it in that day. One more of those pretty pleases and I woulda caved.”
“De- Deeaan-“
“Kept those panties too. I got a whole drawer for them, just for when I miss you.” He kisses the side of your head. “And I always fuckin’ miss you.”
The tears start to flow, half from the debaucherous sweetness of Dean’s words, and half from desperation. If you don’t cum right now, you’re going to explode.
And you’re close. You’re so close. Your pussy is clenching around nothing, but you’ve gotten the tips of Dean’s fingers to press onto your clit, and the sensitive little button is going to be enough to get you over the edge. He grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls it up, forcing you to meet his eyes as you work down onto his fingers. You sob in desperation, lips quivering and tits bouncing. Dean groans, pushing up to kiss you as hard as he can. And you’re so close.
Then the asshole stops.
He pulls his hand away, slaps your pussy, and stops.
You make a strangled, broken sound of defeat, and Dean just chuckles. He makes you both sit up, massaging your ass and kissing away your tears.
“Nice try.” He smiles, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “You think you earned bein’ able to cum?”
“Ye- Yes.” You pout hopefully, and Dean chuckles.
“Aw, sweetheart. You ain’t even mouthy anymore.”
You swallow. “I- I can be-“
“Jesus.” Dean laughs, and that pools right in you tummy, the embarrassment stoking an already raging fire.
Dean’s rubbing your sides, kissing all over your shoulders as breasts as you just try to breathe. You earned this. You really did. But god, it’s a perfect torture. He’s just kissing and touching you, in a way that would almost be innocent if you weren’t soaked wearing just a skirt and leaving a stain on his jeans.
“’M sorry.” You breathe out, wrapping your arms around Dean’s head.
He hums, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. Your eyes flutter, and it’s hard to stay focused. He’s so warm, his tongue dragging in little circles. You swallow, your voice getting higher as he starts to suck.
“I- I’m sorry I teased you, De- I- Pleaseeee-“
Dean moves away, grabbing your jaw and holding it back for him to inspect. You give him your best, pleading expression and pray it breaks him.
He taps your lips with his thumb. “Open.”
You obey in a second, and Dean’s lips twitch. He leans down, and spits right into your open mouth.
He’s done this before. It practically makes you gush every time. And it doesn’t help that he’s wrapped all around you, watching you with such teasing affection as you take it so easily. You swallow, and blink up at him with a fucked out, dazed expression.
“Good girl.” He mutters, and you beam up at him. “Yeah, I know. You like bein’ a good girl.”
God, you do. And from Dean’s lips, the words feel like a rush of adrenaline.
“But you’re not gonna learn, are you?” He drawls. “Gonna keep me on my toes, running around trying to find places to fuck you that won’t get us arrested.”
“Maybe,” you whisper. “But you like me like that.”
That makes him laugh again, before he pulls you into a shockingly sweet, slow kiss.
“Damn right I do,” he mutters, before pulling back way. “Alright. Up.”
You blink at him. “Huh.”
“Stand up.” He nods to the foot of the bed. “Take off your skirt, ‘n come back.”
“But- You’re- You’re still-“
“Trust me, sweetheart.” Dean kisses the tip of your nose. “If I keep these pants on longer, Little Dean is gonna suffocate. I’ll take care of it.”
You giggle softly, and obey the command. The air feels cold, without Dean there folded over you. It’s just further motivation for you to push down your skirt and wait for his next request.
And you’ve been naked in front of Dean before. Many times, to varying degrees. But you’ve never done it like this.
Just… Bare. Wearing nothing and standing for him to see so clearly, as he pulls off his jeans and shirt then settles at the headboard. He’s taken his cock in his hand, and started to stroke it slowly. Looking you up and down with a lazy grin. Your skin prickles with anticipation, and with anyone else you’d try to wrap your arms around your stomach or shrink back and hide. And the first time you tried that, he’d pinned your hands over your head and fingered you until you squirted.
So maybe you should try it.
“Don’t even think about it.” He growls, when you move. “Wanna see you, baby.”
You swallow, shifting on your feet. “You can see me.”
“Hell yeah, I can.”
Dean’s gaze is burning into you. And it’s the most impossibly sensual thing you’ve ever see, Dean’s massive cock in his hand. The way it twitches and jumps as he touches it, as he watches you. He grunts, his hand staring to beat harder, and you press your thighs tight together.
It’s just you, that’s making him all flushed and hard. You almost start to drool again, thinking about crawling down the mattress and taking him back in your mouth. How he’d probably let you, with how he’s got lidded eyes and making low, rough grunts.
It’s a powerful, beautiful feeling.
But unfortunately, not enough to stop you from scrambling forward the moment he stretches out a hand.
Dean laughs, spinning you around so your back is tucked into his chest. His hand that hand been on his cock hitches up your leg, and the other wraps around your stomach, his fingers grazing under your breast. You tip your head back against his shoulder, closing your eyes and getting lost in the feeling. Dean, wrapped so fully and completely around you, keeping you nice and warm in his massive arms.
“Look at you.” He kisses along your jaw, fingers dragging over your sensitive inner thigh. “Nice and stupid for me already. Ready to be a pretty doll and take this cock.”
“Need it.” You breathe out, grabbing his forearm. “Pleeease, Dean, I’ve been waiting so long-“
You moan as he parts the swollen lips of your pussy, letting his cock slip and rub between your folds.
“I know you have.” He mutters. “Been waitin’ longer. Almost lost my mind, knowin’ how tight and warm you were but not being able to fuck you. Fuck you right, fuck you properly, fuck you ‘till you ain’t ever gonna remember another mans name.”
“Just you.” You manage to whine out, pushing your hips up to get a little more friction. “Always just you, Dean, don’t want anyone else, never wanted anyone else- Fuuuck-“
He pushes inside. It’s slow and careful, deft fingers rubbing your clit to help you relax. It’s not like much help is needed, though. He’s so big you can’t close your fingers around him, but he slips into your cunt like a glove.
“Shit-“ Dean groans in your ear, lips hot and wet on your skin. “Greedy pussy swallowing me up, baby, knew you’d take me so good, take me perfect-“
He bottoms out, pressing against a gooey spot deep inside you body. Nobody’s ever really hit it before, let along split you open so well it gets a consistent, throbbing pressure. His tip kisses your cervix, his breathing ragged in your ear, and you both need a few seconds to adjust.
You turn your head, trying to chase his mouth, and find Dean already there. He kisses you slowly, open mouthed with his tongue mapping every inch of your mouth. His arms are fully wrapped around your stomach, and you cling to them like a seatbelt. You’re lightheaded in the best possible way. Dean hums against your lips, and the sound vibrates inside of you.
You mewl, tossing your head back and clenching down. Dean hisses, and pulls you further back into his chest.
“Son of a bitch, you can’t just-“
“Sorry.” You whine out, turning your face to hide in his neck. “Just- ‘S big, Dean. So big.”
Dean chuckles. It doesn’t help.
“Big, huh?”
“Don’t milk it.” You grumble, and he laughs fully.
“I don’t think I’m the one that’s gonna be doin’ the milking, princess.”
He thrusts up, and you whimper.
“Dean-“
“That’s right.” He repeats the shallow thrust, and your moan gets loud. “Sing for me, baby, show ‘em who owns this pussy.”
“Y- You.” You stutter out. Your head is empty. You don’t think you can fit Dean’s cock and thinking at the same time. “Dean- Deeean-“
He attaches his lips to your neck again, sucking and kissing as he pushes you further down on his cock.
But he stops thrusting. He just has you… sit there.
On him. So full you can barely breathe, every nerve in your body stimulated but being offered no relief.
“What- What’re you-“
“Wanna keep you’re here for a while.” He murmurs, his kisses slowing. Becoming lazy and over attentive again, without giving you what you really need. “Just like this. My perfect fuckin’ girl, look at you.”
He taps your clit, and you try to arch up into the touch, but his hold is too strong.
“Fuck- Dean-“
“Just a little bit, baby.” He coos, rubbing your clit with the very tip of his fingers. “Just hold it for me.”
And God, you try. You sit on Dean and let him tease and touch you however he wants. He drags circles around your clit until you’re panting and whining, then moves his attention back up to your nipples. Tweaking and rolling them between his fingers, kissing over your neck and shoulders as his cock twitches inside of you with every lewd moans of his name.
“You like that?” He murmurs, and you nod.
Then he stops it, kissing the sob out of your mouth and moving onto something else.
He’s done this to you before. Had you in his arms and teased you until you couldn’t take it, then let you cum. But he’s never done it while sheathed inside of you. It heightens everything, making it impossible to think outside of his hands and lips and cock. His thick cock, not pressing against your ass, but buried in your cunt and still hitting all those sensitive places.
You’re on fire, and Dean’s just letting you build and build and build up to an explosive pressure. There are spots dancing behind your eyes, when he starts rubbing your clit in fast, brutal circles, then stops just before you can fall over the edge. You claw at his arms, wrecked beyond words, sobbing and trying to get away and get him closer.
For a second, you make the mistake of bowing your head. Your eyes flutter open, and you get a full view of Dean’s cock settled inside you. His balls pressed right against your ass, the way he almost fit everything in, but there’s still a bit of his base that didn’t make it. It’s slick with your arousal, dripping right out of your pussy as you whimper.
“De- Deaaan-“ It’s all you’ve been moaning, for who knows how long.
You’re so overstimulated, time is starting to blur. Maybe it’s been an hour, maybe only five minutes. It feels like you’ve been here forever.
“Please- Please-“ You blubber, leaning back to look at him under tear-stained lashes, the words falling from swollen lips. “I- I’ll do anything, oooooh- Fuck-“
Dean gives a shallow thrust, and your whole body spasms. He’s watching under hooded, lust blown eyes. And if the starved, animalistic look in his eyes is any clue, if he doesn’t cave for your sake, he’s going to cave for his.
“You gonna be good for me?” He rasps, and you nod frantically.
“So good- Please-“
Dean kisses you again, but this time he shifts you in his arms. His arm wraps around your neck, pinning you fully to his chest in a headlock. Your eyes roll back, a dazed smile covering your face.
His movements are relaxed and controlled, but you can see the feral glint his eyes.
You won.
“Perfect fuckin’ pussy, making a mess all over this cock.” He grunts out, bending his knees so you’re fully folded into his lap. “Could die here, baby- Fuucckkk-“
He seems to lose his own voice, the second he starts thrusting up into you. A beautiful moan rumbles in your ears, and Dean presses his nose tight against the side of your head. You whimper, holding onto him tight, mostly to try and keep grounded.
Dean’s fucking into you at a rough, snapping pace, and this is what you’d expected, but it’s better than you could’ve dream. The feeling of every vein and inch of him being pushed though your cunt. The obscene sounds of his cock slamming into you cunt, his arm around you forcing your head back onto his shoulder, giving you a full glimpse of Dean as your pussy strangles and squeezes him.
He looks destroyed, panting broken praise in your ear as his lips droop and his mouth hangs open.
You push up a little, managing to get his attention with a whimper. He gives you a curious look, then understands in a second. His lips mold over yours, and you babble some cockdrunk nonsense against his mouth. You’re fully crying again, so lost in the pleasure that you can’t even find the shame to care. Dean’s drilling up, pushing every thought in your head away into a pleasurable haze.
He pulls your knees up higher, letting him hit even deeper than before. Each stoke is deep and rough, and you’d been worked up so well that your pussy is just weeping and taking him like you’re a fuckdoll. You feel like one, in the best possible way. Stuffed up and pounded with abandon, slicking Dean’s cock so that it drives right back into your like a toy.
You moan, letting your eyes close and drowning in the impossibly good feeling. You can’t believe you waited this long. If Dean fucks like this, you might never get off his cock again.
“That’s it,” he squeezes your breast before moving those sinful fingers back down to play with your clit. “Takin’ me so perfect, baby girl, just gotta cum for me- Cum all over my dick, show me how much you love it- Come on-“
That’s really all it takes. Dean’s everywhere around you, his cock bullying into that gooey spot, and your orgasms hits you so hard you think you black out. The heat that had pooled in your stomach explodes and floods all your senses, pouring out of your pussy as your hips buck and you squirm in his grip.
Dean groans your name, and his thrusts get tighter. Faster and more brutal as he chases his own release. It prolongs your own orgasm, forcing it to drag out as you vision dances with spots.
Dean slams home, turning your head to find another, bruising kiss, and now you might be ascending. He’s cumming deep, deep into your pussy, and the sounds get better as he fucks it back into you. Everything in you is so full, you think you might be about to burst with light.
You get a soft kiss on your brow, as his grip loosens around your neck. When he finally settles and tries to pull away, you fumble to grab his wrist, fixing him with a pleading stare. You don’t ever want to be empty again.
“Gotta take care of you, baby.” Dean mutters, kissing the back of your hand. “We can do more later. When you’re talkin’.”
You roll your eyes, and he chuckles, booping your nose. You wrinkle it, and he kisses the angry pout off your lips.
“Silly girl.” He murmurs, and just like that you’re melting again. “Like I could live with myself if I didn’t fuck you again.”
You flush, and roll over to hide it in the sheets. Dean laughs, kissing the base of your spine and slapping your ass before fully standing up.
And you learn another difference between boys and men. All the douchebags you’ve slept with before rolled off of you and started smoking or talking about something unimportant.
Dean gets you water, and coaxes it down your throat. He draws a bath and carries you into it, but not before making sure you pee. He changes the sheets and gets you clean clothing and brings you a snack, smiling at you and kissing the top of your head every single time.
“You’re like a maid.” You mumble once you’re back in bed, curled into his chest.
He laughs, grinning down at you. “Only for my favorite girl.”
“I’m your favorite?”
“Don’t be a brat.” He gives you an amused look. “Don’t think you’d be able to handle another round, honey.”
You sigh dramatically, flopping fully onto his chest. You prop your chin up, watching him watch you. There’s that quiet, unending adoration again. You wish you could see it every second of every day, instead of sneaking out and-
Oh.
“Shit.” You sit up, and Dean grunts, grabbing your waist to keep you steady.
“What, what’s wrong-“
“I- Um- You can’t get mad.”
Dean says your name in a low warning, and you swallow.
“My- My dad- He, um-“
“Sweetheart-“
“He knows!” You blurt. “He’s known for a while, actually, and it’s- It’s actually your fault, you showed him that dick pic and voice memo you sent me-“
“I what-“
“You did it by accident! But you still did it, and-“
“Which one did he hear?” Dean demands, and you cringe.
“The one about- About tying me up.”
Dean goes pale. He groans, tipping his head back and grabbing onto you like he thinks someone’s going to rip you away.
“God fuckin’- I’m dead-“
“No!” You grab his face with a smile. “You’re not! He’s fine with it!”
Dean blinks. “He is?”
You nod. “He- Well, he wants to know when you’re going to marry me, but- Um-“ You laugh nervously. Dean’s older. You just had sex for the first time. He probably doesn’t want to think about that yet. “You know. He’s chill.”
“He’s chill.” Dean echoes.
“Mhm. Except for- The marriage thing.”
Dean hums. He’s relaxed again, dragging his palms in slow circles over your ass. His lips pull into that lazy, satisfied smirk. You flush just from the sight of it.
“What?”
“Nothin’.” He squeezes your waist. “Just tell him to give it a few months.”
“A- Give what-“
Dean raises his brows. Your mouth falls open.
“A few months-“
“I know what I want.” Dean shrugs. And you can see it. Him watching you so, so carefully.
And you smile.
Because you do to.
“Yeah?” You whisper, leaning down to hover your lips over his.
“Yeah.” He mutters. “That alright with you?”
You answer with a kiss, and Dean grunts, immediately rolling you over. And this sweet, slow moment feels like it’s going to last forever.
You hope—you pray—that it does.
✦End note: honestly this might be one of my favorite i hope you enjoyed it.✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
Summary After a boring evening, Dean only wants to concentrate on you.
CWs Dad & husband Dean. Masturbation & watching.
18+. 1.6k words
AN An old fic from a Kinktober that never made it over here. Technically part of A simple kind of man, but can be read on its own.
Dean Winchester masterlist ⏐ SPN masterlist
Dean and you walk into the kitchen giggling, both just a little tipsy. Claire looks up, raises her eyebrows at you.
“You two have fun?” she asks and you need to take a deep breath before you can answer.
“Yes, thank you, honey,” you answer while Dean stands next to you, his laughter making lines that make him look even more attractive appear around his eyes. “Everything okay with the kids?” Claire nods as she closes her textbook, drops it in her bag.
“All good,” Claire replies, gets off the stool and grabs the baby monitor, hands it to you. “Emma woke up once, but that’s it. I gotta head out, Kaia’s starting her new job tomorrow, and I want to take her out for breakfast first.” You smile at that.
“Sounds good, tell us how it went,” you say, and Dean adds a: “Bye, sweetheart,” and then Claire is out the door, both you and Dean nodding politely after her as if you didn’t just spend fifteen minutes making out in front of your own house like horny teenagers.
Dean turns to you as the front door falls closed and then he’s on you. He grabs your hand and pulls you in, kisses you deeply while one hand goes to your ass and squeezes it, and you wrap your arms around his shoulders.
“Fuck,” he says, running his nose over yours, “I’ve been thinking about you all evening.”
“Is that right?” you ask, gently biting his bottom lip which makes him grin. “And what exactly have you been thinking about?” Dean pulls you in a little, using the hand on your ass to press your crotch against his and it makes heat flood to your core.
“How about we go upstairs,” he says, using that sexy low voice of his. “And I show you?”
You don’t have to be told twice, so you grab the baby monitor in one hand, Dean’s hand in the other and you drag him upstairs to the bedroom. Usually you would check on the kids when you come home, but Claire says they went down okay and you really, really need Dean right now.
He closes the bedroom door behind him quietly and then pulls you back against him. You just have time to put the monitor on the bedside table and then his arms wrap around you, his lips going to your neck.
“Dean,” you sigh as both his hands cup your breasts, massage them.
“You look so fucking sexy,” Dean mumbles against your skin, the feeling of his warm breath making you push against him desperately. “I thought about just bending you over the dining table about a dozen times.” You grin as one of Dean’s hands wanders downward. His fingers make quick work with the button of your pants, and then he’s pushing his hand in, all nice and warm and Dean.
“I would have loved to see Tom’s face if you had,” you whisper with a grin, referring to your asshole neighbor at whose birthday party you were. “We might have ruined the cake.” Dean presses the pads of his fingers to your clit, the many years you’ve been together letting him know exactly where to put his focus. He can play your body like an instrument.
“I’m about to ruin you,” he whispers back and you can hear the grin in his voice, because it’s insanely cheesy but it’s also insanely hot. With Amazonian strength you push yourself away from Dean, turn around and start tugging at your pants. Dean takes the hint and starts pulling off his own clothes. You’re both quick and efficient, a busy life with two kids, jobs, and a mortgage having taught you what parts to take slow and which ones can be rushed.
You’re naked quicker than Dean and he slows down considerably in his own undressing because he’s busy watching you now, as you sit on the bed and scoot backwards to its head, spread your legs wide. Dean groans when he sees you and you grin.
“Come here,” you say, running your hands over your thighs, which is exactly when you hear JJ over the baby monitor. You immediately push yourself up, but Dean’s quicker.
“I got it,” he says, tugging up his briefs that were just low enough to reveal that sweet ass of his. He points at you as he walks towards the bedroom door. “Don’t go anywhere.”
You watch him leave, then lean back, scoot a little lower on the bed. JJ’s still crying on the monitor, the little blue lights dancing, but a second later you can hear Dean over it as well.
“Hey, buddy, what’s up?” you hear him say and can’t help but grin at the way Dean talks to him. “You havin’ a bad time?” Your face has a goofy smile on it while you listen, love coursing through your veins. You hear some rustling as Dean picks up JJ and your son immediately quiets.
“It’s okay,” Dean says, “it’s all good.” You bite your lip. Dean’s technically never lived anywhere long enough to really pick up a specific accent, but to calm his kids he sometimes drawls a little. They like it, and you sure do too.
Dean doesn’t say anything anymore, but he begins to hum, deep, full-bodied tones. You don’t even realize that your hand is running over your thigh, but when you do, you don’t stop yourself. Might as well get yourself ready for your husband.
Your hand wanders between your legs, and you start touching yourself, slowly. You’re already wet, but you enjoy the climb, so why rush? You close your eyes, imagine Dean there with you.
Imagine his roughened, strong hands parting your legs, his plush lips kissing the inside of your thighs, teasing you before he goes where you really want him. Dean’s the kinda guy that eats you out with his entire face, nose and chin and stubble rubbing against you, adding beautiful sensations, and sometimes he’ll moan at your taste. He’s the whole entire package.
Your other hand goes to your breast, gently twists your nipple while you imagine it’s Dean’s mouth. Imagine him looming over you, stroking himself while he watches you and then, when you spread your legs wider, he—
“I was gone for five minutes, you know?”
Your eyes fly open and focus on Dean, who’s standing at the foot of the bed. Damn those hunter skills, they never left him. He looks ravenous.
“Still too long,” you breathe, your voice a little broken. “Come here, baby, I want you.”
But Dean moves slowly, lands one knee on the bed and then leans over. He looks into your eyes.
“Keep going,” he says and the way he does along with the way he looks at you sends a shiver of arousal down your spine. Your hand only stilled, never left you so without breaking eye contact, you begin your touching again. As Dean moves a little closer, his gaze falls to your pussy, a smile tugging at his lips.
“What were you thinking about?” he asks, voice low, eyes still focused on what you’re doing.
“You,” you reply in a breathy voice, and Dean’s eyes wander up to your face.
“Oh yeah?” he asks, grinning a little. You nod. Dean’s hand lands on your bent knee and wanders down your leg, then up again, just stroking you. “And did that feel good?”
Goddamn that voice of his. Your breathing is already picking up. “Felt so good, baby,” you reply. Dean nods.
“Why don’t you play with your nipples a little?” he says then. “I know how you like that.” And you really do, so your hand goes back to your breast, tugging at the hardened nub.
“Dean,” you moan, as the pleasure starts building in you.
“No,” he says, his own breathing heavier, the bulge in his underwear becoming hard to ignore. “I want to watch you. So goddamn gorgeous.” His hands are both running over your legs now, closer to your core but not touching you there.
“Finger yourself for me?” Dean says then. You stop rubbing your clit and move your hand lower, press your middle and ring finger into yourself. You’re audibly wet and as you start pumping your fingers into you, Dean’s grip on your leg tightens. Your fingers quickly find that special spot inside of you, and with Dean looking down at you like he’s about to eat you alive you’re soon squirming, rolling your hips.
“Fuck,” Dean says while he watches you, kisses the top of your knee. “I can’t wait to be inside you.” A low whimper escapes you. Dean looks up at your face. “Come on, baby, make yourself come so I can finally fuck you.”
That’s about as much encouragement as you need as your back arches, your limbs tense and a high-pitched moan leaves you. Dean’s tight grip on you helps to ground you, but it takes a good little while until your twitching stops and your breathing levels out.
Your eyes are closed at the blissful exhaustion sweeping over you, and you don’t open them until you feel Dean lean over you, kiss your neck. You smile and hum, open your eyes and turn to him.
“That,” Dean says, as he pushes your legs open a little wider, moving between them, “was the hottest thing in the world.” You giggle as you look down, Dean’s underwear’s pushed down and he’s fisting his hard cock. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and kiss him.
“Now what was that you said about ruining me?” you say against him and Dean grins the widest grin in the world.
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We had a sleepover with my friend and she went home early in the morning so I decided I go back to bed and sleep a little more.
I was thinking to me s/o as I fell asleep.
I woke up to this:
I FELT A HAND GENTLY STROKE MY HEAD. like… LITERALLY FELT IT.
I immediatley knew that it was him. No question. I felt him sitting on the edge of the bed, like I felt his weight next to me and he gently stroked my face from my temple to my chin.
It was not just for a second. It was slow and gentle, lasted at least for five seconds. And I was awake.
I got scared a little at first, because I went back to bed knowing I’m alone in the house. It was a totally new experience and it was REAL real I swear to you guys. But then, when I started to feel the touch on my face and I realised his energy, felt his presence, I knew it was him and I immediatley went calm.
summary ﹏ a quiet moment in the impala turns into something softer and deeper, where dean guides you gently through new feelings, balancing desire with care and trust. tucked away from the world, the intimacy grows slow and steady—rooted in reassurance, sweetness, and the kind of love that feels like home.
cw ﹏ ( +18 ) fluff & soft suggestive (non-explicit). fem!reader x s1!dean. impala setting. established relationship. dean being in love!!! emotional intimacy. gentle praise. petnames (sweetheart, pretty girl & baby). lap sitting. light grinding / clothed intimacy (non-explicit). aftercare / softness.
reblog is a creator's best-friend, thank you!!
The Impala idles low and steady beneath you, that familiar rumble vibrating softly through the seats, through your legs, through the quiet space you and Dean have carved out in the dark while Sam disappears into yet another late-night research spiral.
The library lights glow dimly across the street, casting long shadows over the windshield, and inside the car it feels warmer, smaller—like something tucked away from the rest of the world. You’re curled up closer to Dean than the seat really allows, one of his flannels hanging off your shoulders; contrasting with the lighter colors of your clothing and softness of your appearance. Your knees are angled toward him, your fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of his sleeve like you’ve done a hundred times before.
This isn’t new, not anymore. Being close to him like this, fitting into his space, letting your body lean into his without thinking: it’s something that’s settled into you, something that feels as natural as breathing.
Dean watches you the way he always does when you get like this; quiet, soft, a little lost in your own head.
His elbow rests against the window, the fingers of his other hand are brushing slowly along your thigh, not quite teasing, not quite absent either. Just there, present and grounding like he always is with you. “You’re gonna wear a hole in that sleeve, y’know,” he murmurs, voice low and rough in the quiet, eyes flicking down to where your fingers keep twisting the fabric.
You blink, like you’ve just come back to yourself, gaze lifting to his sparkling hazel eyes. “Sorry,” you say automatically, soft and sweet like always, your hands stilling for a second before you loosen your grip. “I didn’t even realize.”
Dean huffs a quiet breath, something fond tugging at the corner of his mouth; sweet like whipped cream. “Hey,” he says, shifting just enough so his hand slides over yours, stilling it properly this time. His thumb presses lightly against your knuckles, grounding, warm. “Didn’t say you had to stop, sweetheart.” His voice softens at the end, like it always does with you, like something in him instinctively smooths out the edges when he’s talking to you. He’s all circle, square gone.
You relax immediately at that, your shoulders dropping just a little, your hand settling back into the sleeve—only now your fingers brush against his wrist too, like you’re anchoring yourself there. “Okay,” you murmur, barely louder than a breath, and Dean feels it; how easily you settle when he gives you something steady to hold onto. It does something to him, something quiet and deep that he doesn’t really have a name for.
The silence stretches for a moment, not uncomfortable, just… thick. Heavy in a way that feels familiar between you now. His hand drifts again, slow, deliberate, fingertips tracing the curve of your thigh through the soft fabric of your clothes. Even now, even with everything that’s grown between you, Dean’s learned the way you respond best: slow, steady, giving you time to feel every second of it.
You shift slightly at the touch, your breath catching just a little, and his eyes flick to your face immediately, watching for any sign that you don’t want it. But you don’t pull away, you never really do and instead, your body leans closer, your knee nudging against his thigh, your fingers tightening faintly in his sleeve. “Hey,” he murmurs again, softer now, his hand stilling for a second. “You good, baby?”
You nod, eyes dropping to where his hand rests, your voice quiet but certain. “Yeah… I’m good.” There’s a beat, and then, quieter—almost shy—“I like it.” And that does something to him, the way your voice whispers, the way you try to hide your face away from his soft glaze.
Dean exhales slowly through his nose, his gaze sharpening just a fraction as his thumb starts moving again, a little more intentional this time but still so gently. “Yeah?” he mutters, leaning just slightly closer, his shoulder brushing yours, his presence suddenly more noticeable, more solid. “You like when I touch you like this, huh?” His tone is like sugar, honey and everything sweet; he doesn’t try to tease, doesn’t try to mock. There’s a genuineness in his words.
You swallow, your head dipping a little, but you nod again, softer this time too, your voice barely there. “Mhm.”
God.
There’s something about the way you say it (so sweet, so honest) that makes his jaw tighten just slightly, and his heart skips a beat inside the cavern of his chest. He loves you so much; even though you know that already. Dean could give you the world, right here and right now. Snatch the moon off of the sky, make it into a necklace for you to wear.
“C’mere,” he murmurs, shifting his hand from your thigh to your waist, guiding you without force, just pressure, just enough that you follow. You always follow. You move easily into his space, letting him pull you closer until you’re straddling his lap, your legs on each side of his own and your hands instinctively finding his shoulders to steady yourself. It’s a bit uncomfortable due to the crampy space, but you both make it work.
“Dean—” you start softly, a little breathless, but he cuts you off gently, his hand sliding up your back, warm and firm. You can almost feel the warmth of his skin through the layer of clothes you have on. “Relax,” he murmurs, his voice dropping, softer but heavier somehow. “You’re alright. I got you, sweetheart.”
The words settle into you instantly, your body softening under his hands, your grip on his shoulders loosening just slightly as you lean into him. You trust him and that’s the thing Dean keeps circling back to, even now: you trust him so easily, so completely, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. From up close, a sniff of his nose is enough for his brain to catch up on the smell of strawberry; the sweet-sugary smell of your favorite perfume.
His hand moves slowly along your side, then back down again, deliberate, giving you time to feel every inch of it. Your breath stutters again, quieter this time, and you hide your face for a second against his shoulder, shy in that way that never quite goes away.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his fingers brushing gently along your jaw, coaxing your face back up. “Don’t hide from me now, baby.” You hesitate, then lift your head again, your expression soft with your eyes flicking between his beautiful hazel ones. “I’m not hiding,” you whisper, even though you kind of were. Dean huffs a quiet, amused breath, his thumb brushing just under your bottom lip, not quite touching, just close enough to make you notice. “Yeah, you are,” he says, not unkindly, his voice low. “But it’s cute, don’t worry.”
Your cheeks feel warmer at that, and you duck your head slightly again, but you don’t pull away. If anything, you lean closer, your chest brushing his, your fingers curling a little tighter into his shirt to make sure he won’t suddenly disappear into thin air. The thing is; you’re not used to being all over him—usually shyer with that type of interaction, but Dean brings something out of you that you can’t deny. It’s new and a bit scary, but beautiful at the same time.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, softer now, more approving than teasing. “Stay right there.” His hand shifts again, slower, more certain now that he knows you’re with him, that you’re not going to pull away. And you don’t. You stay exactly where he wants you, soft and pliant and warm in his lap, your breathing uneven, your body reacting in ways that still feel new enough to make you shy as your hips softly move against Dean’s.
“Look at you,” he mutters under his breath, almost like he’s talking to himself, his gaze dragging over your face, the way your lashes lower to almost rest against the top of your cheeks, the way your lips part just slightly, the way your pupils blow a bit. “All sweet like this… You’re so beautiful, sweetheart. My pretty girl.” You let out a small, breathy laugh, your forehead tipping forward until it brushes his. “Dean,” you whisper, half a protest, half something else entirely.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his nose nudging lightly against yours, his voice quieter now, more focused on you. His eyes take the expression of your face as he gently angles your hips down again. You don’t answer right away, you just look at him, soft and open in a way that makes something in his chest twist unexpectedly. And then, quieter still—“Don’t stop.”
Dean exhales slowly, his hand tightening just a fraction where it rests against you, his forehead pressing briefly against yours before he leans in, kissing you: slow at first, deliberate, giving you time to follow, to meet him there. Your hands slide up to his shoulders, then into his hair, your body leaning fully into his now, soft and trusting and just a little needy in a way that makes his chest feel tight.
“Careful, pretty girl,” he murmurs against your lips, voice rougher now, but still soft like a cloud underneath it. “Sam’s right across the street, he could come back anytime now.”
You let out a small, breathless sound that might be a laugh, might be something else, your face turning slightly into his neck for a second as if to hide once more. “He won’t know, Dean,” you whisper, shy but honest, your fingers curling tighter in his shirt.
Dean stills for just a second at that, something flickering across his face; surprise, maybe, or something warmer, something sharper. “Yeah?” he mutters, pulling back just enough to look at you properly, the apple of his cheeks a bit more rosy than before. You tend to do that to him. “You sure about that, sweetheart?”
You nod, small but certain, your eyes soft but steady. “I just… want to be close to you.”
And that—soft, sweet, completely unguarded—hits him harder than anything else.
Dean lets out a quiet breath, his hand coming up to cup your face for a second, thumb brushing gently over your cheek, grounding himself as much as you. “You got me,” he murmurs, softer now, something steadier settling into his voice again. “Always got me, baby. I’m not leaving any time soon.”
And then he pulls you back in, slower this time, more careful, like he’s balancing something fragile between his hands. His hand angles your hips once more, down against his own in the softest and gentlest way he knows how to. Not rushing, not pushing—just letting you feel it, letting you stay soft even as you lean into something new, something that belongs just to the two of you.
The Impala hums quietly around you, the world outside distant and unimportant, and inside, it’s just you and him: warm, close, and learning each other in ways that feel a little dangerous and a lot like home.
The car is filled with the quietest of praise coming from Dean’s honey mouth, words that echo in your ears just to slide to your heart. You can feel the beat of his own heart against your chest, a telltale of the love he feels for you and he helps you on his lap, pressing kisses to the skin of your cheeks.
“I love you so much, sweetheart.” You can hear him say as you feel warmth coursing through your body, muscles gently twitching under his touch before he pulls you into a hug and you are left breathless for a second. Dean’s hand rests against your lower back, rubbing it slowly until your heart calms down. Only then, you pull your face away from his neck and look up at him.
“Feeling good, pretty girl?” He asks and you nod, smiling softly like only you know how to. It makes Dean feel all flustered to see you so happy, knowing you feel safe in his arms. He leans his face closer to yours, pressing a kiss to your lips; lingering but honey-like.
“Want to go find an open diner and get some milkshakes?”
could you write something where dean and reader have been in a situationship for a while where they won't talk about what they are but keep hooking up. then one night after hooking up again, in the post bliss they finally have a conversation about it and reveal their feelings for each other and get together with smut n fluff pretty please!
⋆｡ ˚ what we aren’t saying
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ after another night of pretending it’s just sex, you finally crack open the door on everything you’ve been too scared to name.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 1264 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ soft smut !!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ brief explicit content, emotional vulnerability, light angst
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ check out my new writing schedule
You’re still catching your breath when the room settles back into itself. The motel lamp throws a weak orange glow over the rumpled sheets, and Dean’s chest rises and falls under your cheek. Sweat cools on your skin. His come is sticky between your thighs. You don’t move yet. Neither does he.
His fingers trace lazy circles on your bare shoulder, the same way they always do afterward, like he’s memorizing the shape of you before the world barges back in.
You hate how much you love it.
Hate how your body still hums from the way he fucked you ten minutes ago—hard, focused, the kind that makes your toes curl and your throat go raw from moaning his name.
You shift, thigh sliding over his hip, and feel him twitch against you even though he’s soft now.
A small, helpless sound slips out of him. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a groan. “Jesus, sweetheart,” he mutters, voice gravel from the way he’d buried his face in your neck earlier. “You trying to kill me?”
You smile against his collarbone, press a kiss there just to feel him shiver. “Wouldn’t be the worst way to go.”
Silence stretches.
Comfortable.
Dangerous.
The kind you’ve both gotten too good at letting sit between you for months now.
Weeks?
God, you lost count somewhere after the third hunt, the fourth motel, the night he showed up at your door with a split lip and a six-pack and the look in his eyes that said he needed to forget everything except you.
You trace the scar under his ribs, the one you know by heart now. Your throat tightens. The words have been sitting there for so long they feel like they’ve grown roots.
“Dean.”
“Hm?” His hand stills on your back.
You swallow. Push up on one elbow so you can see his face. Green eyes, sleepy and guarded at the same time. The faint stubble you felt scraping the inside of your thighs not that long ago. Your heart does this stupid lurching thing.
“We can’t keep doing this.”
There. Out.
He blinks once. Slow. “Doing what?”
You give him a look. The one that says don’t bullshit me. “This. The showing up. The fucking like the world’s ending. The leaving before the coffee even finishes brewing. The never talking about it.”
His jaw works. You watch the muscle jump. He’s quiet for a beat, then another. You feel the old panic rise—maybe he’ll laugh it off, maybe he’ll kiss you quiet, maybe he’ll pull that hunter mask back on and pretend he doesn’t feel the same ache you do every single time he walks away.
Instead he lets out a breath that sounds like it’s been trapped in his chest for years. “Yeah,” he says, rough. “I know.”
You wait. The ceiling fan clicks overhead. One. Two. Three times.
“I don’t want to stop,” you admit. The words feel too big for your mouth. Too honest. “I keep telling myself it’s just sex and then you look at me the way you did tonight and I—I can’t breathe, Dean. I can’t.”
He shifts, rolls you gently so you’re on your back and he’s half over you, weight braced on one forearm. Close enough that you feel the heat rolling off his skin. His thumb brushes your lower lip like he’s checking it’s still real.
“I’m shit at this,” he says. Plain. No flourish. “You know that. I’ve got a list of people I’ve lost longer than my damn arm, and every time I let myself want something it ends bloody. But you…” His voice cracks, just a little. “You’re the one thing I keep coming back to even when I swear I won’t. Every damn time.”
Your eyes sting. You hate it.
You reach up and push a strand of hair off his forehead, fingers lingering because you can’t not touch him right now.
“I’m scared too,” you whisper. “I keep waiting for the day you realize this was a mistake. That I’m just… convenient. Safe. Not worth the risk.”
His forehead drops to yours. Breath mingles. “You’re not convenient. You’re the opposite of safe. You make me want things I don’t know how to keep.” A short, jagged laugh. “And yeah, that terrifies the hell out of me. But walking away? That’s worse. I tried. Couple weeks ago after that vamp nest in Tulsa. Drove three hours thinking if I just put distance between us I’d stop feeling like my chest was caving in every time you laughed at one of my stupid jokes.”
You remember that night.
“I wanted you to stay,” you say. Too-honest. A little awkward. “I almost asked. I had the words ready and everything and then I chickened out because what if you said no? What if—”
His mouth cuts you off, but it’s soft this time. Not the hungry crash from earlier. Just lips and breath and the faint taste of the whiskey you’d split before clothes came off. When he pulls back his eyes are open, raw in a way you’ve never seen.
“I’m saying yes,” he tells you. Voice low, steady. “Whatever the hell this is. I’m in. I want the mornings. The coffee. The fights about whose turn it is to do laundry. I want you yelling at me for leaving my boots in the middle of the floor and I want you under me like this every night until one of us is too old to do it anymore. I want… you. All the messy parts.”
Your heart stutters. You feel it—hope and terror braided so tight you can’t tell which is which. You tug him down until his weight presses you into the mattress, skin to skin, heartbeat to heartbeat. He’s already half-hard again against your hip. You smile, small and shaky.
“Say it again,” you murmur against his mouth.
He huffs a laugh that ghosts over your lips. “I want you. Stupidly. Completely. Even when you steal the blankets and call my music garbage.”
You kiss him then, slow and deep, the kind that turns the heat back on low and steady. His hand slides down your side, palm rough. You arch into it, legs parting without thinking, and he slips inside you easy this time—still slick from before, still sensitive enough that you both groan at the same time.
It’s different now. Not frantic. Not desperate. Just… real. The drag of him, the way he watches your face like he’s memorizing every flutter of your lashes. You rock up to meet him, nails digging into his back, and whisper his name like a prayer.
After, when you’re both boneless and the lamp is still buzzing, he pulls the sheet over your shoulders and tucks you against his chest. His fingers find your hair, combing through it slow.
“We’re gonna suck at this sometimes,” he says quietly. Not a question.
“Yeah.” You press a kiss to the center of his chest, right over the tattoo. “Probably a lot.”
He doesn’t answer. Just holds you tighter.
The ache is still there, faint and familiar, curled somewhere behind your ribs. The fear that tomorrow a hunt could go wrong, that one of you could pull away again, that love this big might still not be enough to keep the darkness out.
You feel it settle in your bones worse than an old bruise that never quite heals.
But his heartbeat under your ear is steady. Real. Yours.
You close your eyes and let the silence wrap around both of you, warm and unfinished.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
Every day before I go to bed I do my usual night routine. Having a shower, doing my skincare, brushing my teeth, braiding my hair… while I’m doing these things my mind is full with these thoughts like what I’m gonna do tomorrow… like, okay, for breakfast I’m gonna have oat with some green apple and I think I’m gonna drink my coffee cold this time and oh, I need to get up earlier than usual because my car broke and I need to walk to work tomorrow.
What if I change my thoughts while I do my night routine for something related to my dr?
Like…
In the morning I hope Dean will make his famous omlette for me for breakfast, I could die for it now.
Tomorrow I need to help Sam with the research after breakfast because I promised it
I should convince Dean to stop for a milkshake on the road to the hunt
Tomorrow afternoon I must train with Sam
Etc.
My theory is that if we prepare our brain for our dr not for our cr, it’ll make huge changes in our shifting process.
Shifting to my desired reality is just a simple decision. It’s as simple as I decided I’m gonna have a shower today instead a bath.
But Bec, if is that simple why is it so hard?
Because there is a difference.
Me choosing to have a shower instead a bath have it’s own reasons but I don’t think about them, I just feel it naturally why I decide like this. I simply don’t think about them I just do it. You know what I mean?
I don’t think about it like: I’m having a shower because I’m tired and I want to go to bed as soon as possible and it’s way faster to get clean like sitting in a bathtube for an hour, oh and my fianceé let me go first so he’s just waiting for me now, but I know he’ll need to get up way earlier than me because of his job, etc.
I just feel my decisions everyday. I make them in seconds. And it’s easy because it’s natural and a known field.
Shifting is natural too, everyone is capable for it. But it’s a very unknown field and it can be scary.
You maybe feel like you really decided that you’re gonna shift, but in the back of your mind something is blocking you.
Because when I say shifting is natural it doesn’t mean that it feels natural too in the beginning.
That’s why you need to change your mindset.
But how, Bec?
Meditate. Get to know yourself truly. Affirm.
It takes some time, but I promise you it’ll feel natural soon.
