Perverted stepdad soldierboy/ben when ur moms outta town🥹
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
cw : stepcest / fauxcest , cheating , ben is really controlling , groping
a/n : you guys have been sending in such good asks, thank you so much!! you guys r so so so sweet
in my opinion this would totally be set before u even do anything with him.. he's probably very new to your life.. in this au im feeling like ben married / eloped ur mom because of money or politics or avoiding law or something. he doesn't really love her and felt like he struck gold when he saw u for the first time.
the first of his perverted + weird behavior would 100% be staring at ur boobs / ass & forcing u to call him daddy or dad... ur kind of blinded by how handsome he is that it's hard to fight back !! after a few weeks it'd move from him staring to him touching.
he'd "accidentally" hold ur hips when you walk by him in the hallway, and that'd move to soft touches on ur ass, to groping you. you're too shy to speak up, and you honestly don't want to. you want to see how far he'll go.
he'll walk into your room uninvited. he's done it while you're in the bathroom, too. on multiple occasions he's walked in while youre naked or changing, just to see your face get hot. he barely says sorry, just a smirk and a cocky 'oops' while his eyes linger.
when he knows your mom won't see bc shes at work or out of the house, he corners you and pulls back your bra strap or panties waistband to let it slap painfully against your skin. he buys you lingerie and tiny pieces of clothes to wear for him, even tells you how he wants you to style your hair or do your makeup for the day. it makes you feel like a doll.
whenever he buys you clothes, he forces u to show them off for him in a little fashion show 💗 makes u bend over in the lingerie, maybe pulls out one of his old cameras to take pics of u with
he calls u a pussy when u tear up after he presses a kiss to the back of your neck. u know in the back of your head that this is wrong. but you can't help but allow him to keep taking advantage of you.
what he does do when your mom's around is call you a "good girl" when you bring him a beer or a lighter.
mmmm thinking about getting stoned with ben and him being an absolute fucking perv the entire time.
little sundress on because it’s warm, body becoming one with the couch as smoke fills the room. mixing weed with beer was a bad idea; everything's already fuzzy round the edges.
innocent little strokes of your bare legs as your brain slowly drops into battery saving mode.
hand inching higher as your head lolls back against the couch cushions; too high to swat at him or snap an insult out like you usually would. shivering when his fingers graze the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
ending up with him pulling your tits out of your dress to mouth at the already hard peaks of your nipples as he shoves his hand into your underwear; finding you slick and warm and ready for him just from a few touches in your oversensitive, stoned state.
he ends up bending you over the end of the couch, dress hiked up around your waist as he fucks into you. all the while muttering about how you "could be the perfect little cocksleeve waiting at home for me, yeah? keep you high and soft for me all the time, you're much nicer like this doll. all pliant and amenable. come home and just fuckin’ use you like you want to be used, right darlin’?”
tw-swearing, meandean, angst, mentions of alcohol, violence, rough smut!
Here’s a drabble, i was bored. Enjoy💕
It was like any regular day, Dean out on a hunt and you were holed up in the bunker. Sitting in the library nursing a cup of coffee flipping through some old lore book. Your ragged old bunny sat near by, against some of the other dusty books on the table.
You and Dean had a complicated relationship, he was overprotective. A little too much. The amount of fights and screaming matches that have happened because you were sick and tired of him keeping you locked in the bunker. It was always some excuse “Sorry sweetheart, it’s’ not safe out there.” or “No way in hell are you coming hunting with me and Sam are you out of your god damn mind?!”
All of a sudden the bunker door flew open and closed with a loud THUNK
Dean walked in, drenched from head to toe from the rain. Cuts and bruises littered his face and body, where you could see. You shot up from your chair “What the hell happened?”
“Don’t start.” -it was cold, distant, angry
You knew better than to pry at him when he was like this. It would end in a screaming fight and he’d be nursing a glass of whiskey in a matter of minutes.
Instead of prying you grabbed the little bunny off the table (it’s been a comfort since forever) You left the library and made your way down the hall to your room. As soon as you slammed your door shut behind you Dean knew he messed up, but he could care less at the moment. He needed a shower and to clean up first before talking to you.
~
As you curled into yourself more and more with your bunny clutched tightly into your chest, there was a knock on your bedroom door.
“Sweetheart, Can I come in?”
The sound of his voice almost made you flinch, one second he could be cold and angry, the next quiet and calm. You never knew what version of Dean you’d get. So you stayed quiet and hoped he’d just go-
“I swear to god open the door before I break it down!”
It was always like this, so back and forth. Tears started streaming down your face, you wanted to open the door and confront him but something was keeping you glued to your bed-
instinct.
In a matter of seconds he had managed to kick the door in and storm over to your bed, you felt the mattress dip under his weight. Your back was faced to him, terrified to look over at him, because you could feel his green eyes boring into you.
“You seriously still have that thing?” The condescending tone, the way he said it like he was making fun of a child.
The bunny, the stuffed bunny that has been there forever, could tell more horror stories than anyone ever could. The one thing that has never hurt you or disappointed you.
It was like a switch being flipped in your brain, sitting up so fast it could make someone’s head spin
“Who are you to judge?!- You have your vices, you drink till the sun goes down and comes back up again!”
Dean was stunned, you’ve never raised your voice that badly before, or ever sounded so hurt. Once he had a moment to speak all that could come out was “Excuse me?”
Things shifted, something in the air felt darker, more heavy, so intense you could feel it and cut it in half with scissors.
In one swift motion he was on you, pinning your wrists to either side of your head, you wanted to scream, cry even.
“Do you think I want to be like this? Angry? Cold? Hurt that my own girlfriend can’t even greet me properly after a hunt went sideways?” His voice was low, practically a growl in your ear. “Now, are you gonna greet me nicely or are we gonna have do this the hard way?”
Chills ran down your spine. His breath so close to your face, the scent of whiskey and something so Dean. You didn’t know if the tingling feeling in the pit of your stomach was from being incredibly turned on or being completely terrified.
He flips you over onto your stomach, and stuffs your face into your pillows. You’re trying so hard not to start crying, but failing.
You flinch as he rips your jeans off, then panties, “stop..” a finger slips into your cunt “ah-stop dean, please” He ignores you, your body betraying what you really wanted. A second finger works into your pussy as you start to sob. “Don’t be a baby, you can take it.” he scolds you as your crying. “i can’t-“
~
Thrusting his cock into your now sopping hole, he lets out a deep groan. You yelp and try to push yourself away, held in place by the harsh grip on your arms. His fingers curl into your already bruised bicep. “ “owww! no- too much…” His hand moves to the back of your head, pushing your face deeper into the pillows. He admires the marks on your arms and body.
“Remember to wear long sleeves when Sam gets home.” You don’t respond, a muffled sob wafts out of the fabric. Followed by a shriek when he smacks your clit. “Did you hear me?” You gasp, feeling every inch of his cock pounding into you. “yes- please don’t hit me there” Another smack to your already aching, drooling pussy. “What did i tell you to do?”
“Wear long sleeves so Sam doesn’t see my bruises.”
He pulls at your hair, looking at your tear stained face. “Why is that so important?” You wince as he shoves his cock all the way inside you. “Cause sammy willl freak out if he finds out.” More tears roll down your cheeks as he has rough sex with your body. “And you don’t want that do you sweet girl?”
“no..”
“Good, keep doing as your told.-“
You cut him off with a pathetic painful whimper. Dean fucks you as hard as he can. He holds your arms behind your back and wrenches your legs open. Spread wide, you feel him push deeper with every thrust. Dean couldn’t hold back anymore, with a deep groan he fills you up, which causes your own orgasm to erupt. Your pussy convulsing around his veiny cock as tears slid down your face.
sorry thay was really long i got carried away, hope you enjoy❤️
( synopsis ) after a messy hunt, the adrenaline hasn’t worn off yet, and dean winchester knows exactly how to spend it—with her, in the impala, fogging up the windows until the whole car is drenched in sin. baby’s never seen this much action, and Dean? He’s not about to let her go until she’s ruined for anyone else. [y/n btw not the car, he’s not fucking the car. felt like I had to explain myself sorry]
( 𝐩airing ) dean winchester x afab!reader
( rated ⒙⁺ ) 2.9k words. mature themes. ꒰ car sex in the backseat ꒱ ꒰ unprotected p in v ꒱ ꒰ creampie ꒱ ꒰ squirting ꒱ ꒰ overstimulation ꒱ ꒰ d/s dynamics ꒱ ꒰ wrist holding ꒱ ꒰ spanking ꒱ ꒰ hair pulling ꒱ ꒰ dirty talk ꒱ ꒰ degrading mixed with praise ꒱ ꒰ risky sex ꒱ ꒰ slight body worship ꒱ ꒰ biting/marking ꒱ ꒰ power imbalance ꒱
⌗ 𝐧𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 — calm luh first kinktober fic , watch me get more unhinged as we go , EVERYONE WILL HATE MEEEE
It had been hours since the hunt, the adrenaline still thrumming faintly in Dean’s veins, though now it mingled with something else entirely. The night outside was velvet-dark, stars pricked into the sky like shattered glass, the kind of quiet rural stretch that felt cut off from the rest of the world. The Impala sat parked beneath a thicket of trees, her glossy black curves catching the faint spill of moonlight. Inside, the windows were fogged and streaked with condensation, the kind of haze that spoke of body heat and desperation, of too many breaths shared too close together.
Dean’s girl straddled him in the backseat, her knees digging into the leather as if claiming her throne. His prized possession, the car, had long since been violated in far more ways than one, but nothing compared to the sight of her perched on his lap, grinding down onto him like she was made for it. One of her hands was buried in his hair, tugging at the strands until his scalp tingled, while the other pressed to his chest, keeping him caged beneath her even though he’d never dream of escaping. Dean’s hands were locked around her hips, fingers biting into the curve of her waist, guiding her movements with rough insistence, dragging her down onto his cock until it felt like if she pulled away for even a second, he might actually break apart.
His head tipped back against the fogged glass, jaw clenched, eyes squeezed shut, a low groan rumbling up from somewhere deep in his chest when she leaned down to kiss along his jawline. Her mouth was hot, demanding, lips parting as she marked him with open-mouthed kisses that trailed down the strong column of his neck. He knew damn well those bruises would rise later, dark proof of her claim, and some part of him reveled in the thought of having to hide them from Sam in the morning. His breath stuttered when her tongue flicked against his pulse, dragging slow, lazy circles there, like she knew exactly how to set him on fire with the smallest touches.
“Fuck,” Dean rasped, his voice wrecked and low, breaking on the syllable as her hips rolled down and took him even deeper. His knuckles went white from how hard he gripped her, dragging her flush against him, unable to get her close enough. His mouth twisted into something between a smirk and a grimace, that familiar Winchester brand of humor slipping through even as his body burned up. “See Sam anywhere?” he managed to grunt, a breathless laugh catching in his throat, though the words came out more desperate than playful.
Her lips brushed the shell of his ear, her voice a whisper wrapped in smoke and heat, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine. “Can’t see shit,” she murmured, laughter soft and wicked, before it dissolved into a moan when she slammed down harder, burying him to the hilt. Her nails raked down his chest, slipping under his shirt to drag across the solid muscle, leaving trails of heat in their wake.
Dean groaned, turning his head just enough to capture her mouth with his, his kiss messy, all teeth and hunger, tasting her moan as it spilled into him. He held her tighter, grinding up into her with brutal precision, the Impala rocking faintly with the force of it. The leather squeaked under their movements, the scent of sweat and sex filling the enclosed space, clinging to every surface until it felt like the car itself was watching, bearing witness.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” he growled against her lips, voice husky, breaking with each thrust. “Gonna get us arrested if we keep this up.” But the smirk ghosting across his face betrayed him—he’d never stop, not with her riding him like this, not when every whimper she let slip made him harder.
Her head tipped back, hair sticking to her damp skin, chest heaving as she ground down on him. The sight burned into his brain—her flushed face, her lips parted, eyes half-lidded with pleasure—as if she were carved for him and him alone. Dean’s hand slid up her spine, tangling in her hair, jerking her back down for another kiss, swallowing her cry as he snapped his hips up with more force, the kind of rhythm that said he wasn’t letting her go until she was ruined on him completely.
The world outside could’ve ended, monsters could’ve been clawing at the windows, but in that moment, Dean Winchester only cared about the woman in his lap, the way her body clenched around him, the sound of her voice breaking every time he pushed her higher, harder, closer.
Dean’s hand slid between their sweat-slicked bodies like it had every damn right to be there, two fingers parting her folds until his thumb found her clit and pressed down hard, circling it in quick, merciless motions that had her gasping into his mouth. The sound made him groan, his tongue pushing deeper, swallowing every broken little whimper like he was starving for them, like her noises were oxygen he couldn’t live without. His cock pulsed inside her, thick and hot, twitching with every squeeze of her walls around him, and the sensation shot fire through his spine straight into his gut.
“Yeah… yeah, that’s it, baby,” Dean rasped against her lips, his voice shredded from need, dripping with grit and want, sweat rolling down his temple as he smirked at the sight of her unraveling. His thumb pressed harder, faster, relentless little circles that had her hips jerking wildly in his lap, while his other hand clamped bruisingly tight on her thigh, anchoring her, keeping her exactly where he wanted her—on his cock, taking every single inch. “Ride me. Fuckin’ ride me like you mean it.”
Her head tipped back, a strangled cry tearing from her throat as her body bowed, and Dean’s green eyes locked on her with something obscene, filthy reverence tangled with pure possession. The way her neck arched, mouth falling open, tits bouncing with every grind of her hips—Jesus Christ, she looked ruined, fucked stupid, and it was all him. That thought alone had him snarling low in his chest, thrusting up into her with brutal precision, making the Impala creak and groan around them like the car itself was shuddering from the force.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, shifting his angle just enough that every upward slam of his hips drove him deeper, hitting that spot inside her that made her clench so hard around him it was like her body refused to let him go. She gasped, a sharp, broken sound, and he gritted his teeth, jaw flexing as he pounded harder, burying himself so deep she’d feel him in her stomach for days. The slick sound of her drenched pussy sucking him in filled the car, mixing with the slap of skin on skin, every thrust obscene in its perfection.
Dean’s mouth found her throat again, teeth scraping before he bit down hard enough to make her squeal. He sucked bruises into her skin, filthy little badges of ownership, marks she’d wear until they faded, and the thought of Sam seeing them tomorrow almost made Dean laugh against her. His lips dragged up her neck, breath ragged and hot. “Goddamn, sweetheart… tight little pussy’s milkin’ my cock like it was made for me.” His words spilled out rough and unfiltered, his hips never faltering, his thumb still tormenting her clit with ruthless strokes. “Made to ride me, take me, squeeze me dry. Look at you—fuckin’ mess already.”
She whimpered, writhing in his grip, but he held her steady, his gaze fixed on her like she was the only thing in existence. His voice dropped lower, filthier, a wicked chuckle breaking through the growl in his throat. “Bet Sammy’s out there wonderin’ where the hell we are. If he only knew…” He buried his cock deeper with a sharp snap of his hips, dragging a cry out of her chest. “If he knew you’re back here in Baby, sittin’ pretty on my cock, lettin’ me stretch you open—fuck—taking every inch like a good girl.”
He licked up the sweat beading at her throat, pressing a hot, lingering kiss to her jaw as his thrusts turned even rougher, each one making her tits bounce, each one knocking another broken moan out of her. “You like that, huh?” he whispered, filthy and dark, his smirk brushing against her skin. “Like knowin’ you’re fuckin’ mine while my brother or anyone actually, is just a few feet away? Like sittin’ here gettin’ split open on my cock, where anyone could see if they just walked by?”
His thumb worked faster, grinding into her clit in tight, punishing circles, and his cock throbbed deep inside her, every nerve alight with the way her body clutched him, wet and hot and perfect. “C’mon, baby,” Dean groaned, voice gravel and sin, his forehead pressing to hers as he fucked up into her with brutal rhythm, each word broken by thrusts. “Give it to me. Wanna feel you come all over me, squeeze me ‘til I can’t breathe. Wanna feel this pussy choke my cock.”
Her trembling hand dropped to his wrist, nails digging in as if she could slow him down, desperate for a moment to catch her breath. Dean only smirked, green eyes dark and glinting in the dim light, sweat dripping down his temple. “No, c’mon, sweetheart,” he drawled, voice husky but dangerously soft, a mockery of tenderness that made her shiver. “You can take it. I know you can. You’re my girl, remember? Built to take everything I give you.”
Before she could protest, Dean’s big hands closed around her wrists, prying them from his arm with unyielding strength. He dragged them behind her back, pinning both in one fist with effortless control. She gasped, chest arching forward, and the sight had his cock twitching inside her. His other hand—his free hand, wicked and merciless—slid right back between them, fingers finding her clit again, rubbing tight, vicious little circles that had her body jerking despite herself. Held there, pinned and spread on his lap, she had no choice but to take it, no way to escape the rhythm of his thrusts or the torment of his touch.
“Too… too much,” she whispered, voice cracked and breaking, but her hips told the truth. They kept grinding down, chasing every flick of his fingers, chasing the drag of his cock slamming up into her, wet and obscene.
Dean let out a low laugh, his head tipping back before he snapped his hips up hard enough to make the Impala’s suspension groan. “Look at you,” he rasped, eyes dragging over her flushed face, the sweat beading on her chest, her tits bouncing with every snap of his hips. He bottomed out with brutal precision, grinding deep, making sure she felt every vein, every inch, making sure she’d never forget who she belonged to. The leather beneath them squeaked, the windows rattling with the force of it, the whole car alive with their sin.
“You’re sittin’ here tellin’ me you can’t take it,” he continued, voice filthy, laughter spilling dark and rough from his throat, “while you’re fuckin’ yourself down on my cock like you’re tryin’ to break it in half. Christ, sweetheart.” His thumb worked harder, pressing circles into her swollen clit that bordered on cruel. “So greedy for it. Always hungry. Always wantin’ more.”
Her eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed, a strangled moan tearing from her throat as her body shuddered. But Dean wasn’t having it. Not tonight. His fingers left her clit for the briefest second, only to spank it with a sharp smack that made her yelp, her eyes flying open in shock and heat.
“Uh-uh,” he groaned, voice gravel and command, his chest heaving as he glared up at her. His hips didn’t stop, if anything they grew harder, sharper, punishing in their rhythm. “Eyes on me, sweetheart. C’mon. Let me see you while I fuck you.”
He squeezed her wrists tighter behind her back, holding her completely helpless, while his thumb resumed its ruthless torture on her clit. His gaze burned into hers, unrelenting, drinking in every twitch of her lips, every tear threatening to fall, every ruined moan that spilled from her mouth. “That’s it,” he breathed, a smirk curving his lips even as his voice rasped with lust. “Look at me while you fall apart. Look me in the eye while this pretty little pussy milks me dry.”
The sound of skin on skin echoed in the car, slick and obscene, her cries blending with his ragged groans until it was nothing but heat and filth filling the air. Dean leaned up, capturing her lips in a kiss that was brutal, teeth clashing, tongue claiming her mouth like he was staking his territory. When he pulled back, he was panting against her, his breath hot and damp. “Gonna cum for me, sweetheart?” he whispered, taunting, his thumb grinding tighter, faster. “Gonna cum all over my cock, make a fuckin’ mess on Baby’s backseat?”
She gave a frantic little nod, teeth catching her bottom lip so hard it nearly bled. “Yeah,” she whispered, voice shredded, barely a sound, more a confession than an answer.
Dean adjusted his hips, angling himself just right, that practiced hunter’s precision, finding the spot inside her that made her whole body seize. He drove up into her with merciless thrusts, cock battering her sweet spot, and her response was immediate—a strangled cry torn from her chest, hands clawing uselessly at the iron grip he had on her wrists behind her back. Her thighs shook violently, trembling as she gasped, body breaking under the pressure he was building in her.
And then—she snapped.
A sharp, helpless scream ripped out of her throat as she gushed around him, squirting hard, soaking his cock, his jeans, the leather beneath them. The hot spray hit him with every grind of her hips, drenching them both. Dean’s eyes widened, jaw dropping as the sound he let out was half moan, half disbelieving laugh. “Oh—fuck. Okay, shit—holy fuck,” he groaned, his head thunking back against the window as he let out ragged, breathless chuckles between moans. “Sweetheart, fuckin’—look at you. Didn’t think you had that in you. Goddamn.”
Her pussy clamped down on him in the aftershocks, pulsing tight, wringing him so hard he could barely breathe. He gritted his teeth, cursed low and filthy, and then lost it. With a strangled grunt, Dean slammed her down one last time, holding her flush against him as he spilled, fucking his cum up into her in sharp, jerking thrusts. The heat of it filled her, thick and endless, spilling back out almost as fast as he pushed it in. He rode the wave through clenched teeth, his whole body shaking with the force of it.
“Fuuuuck,” Dean groaned, voice breaking on the word as his hips finally slowed, collapsing back against the seat like his bones had given out. She went limp against him, her body spent, her head falling to his shoulder as her breathing came in ragged gasps.
Silence tried to creep in, but it wasn’t silence at all—just the aftermath. The windows fogged beyond recognition. Their heavy breathing filled the car, loud and uneven. Outside, crickets sang and some far-off highway hummed faintly. Inside Baby, it was heat and sweat and the raw smell of sex, clinging to the leather, soaked into the seams.
Dean tilted his head down, brushing his lips against her hairline as he used his free hand to sweep the damp strands from her flushed face. His voice came out softer than it had any right to be after what he’d just done to her. “You okay, sweetheart?”
She nodded against his chest, too wrecked to form words, looking seconds from passing out—but not the bad kind. The fucked-wrecked kind. Dean smirked, chest swelling with a mix of pride and something tender he wouldn’t dare name. He pressed a slow kiss to her forehead, letting her melt into him, even as his cock still sat buried inside her, twitching, leaking, her pussy fluttering around him with lazy aftershocks that kept dragging groans out of his throat.
Minutes bled by, their bodies locked together in the sticky haze of it, until—
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Dean stiffened instantly, muscles coiling like a sprung trap. His hand darted for his flannel crumpled on the floor, grabbing it to drape over her bare back, covering her as best he could while she groaned in sleepy protest. He cursed under his breath, rolling the window down an inch.
Sam came into view, plastic gas station bag in hand, his brows furrowed as he rummaged inside. “I think I got the wrong salts. I’m not entirely sure, I kinda just grabbed the first thing I saw, so I came to ask if—” He stopped mid-sentence. His eyes finally flicked up, taking in Dean, shirtless and sweat-soaked, flushed to the ears, and the very obvious situation in the fogged-up car.
Dean cleared his throat, coughed awkwardly, trying to keep a straight face. “Uh… yeah, you might wanna give us a minute.”
Her muffled voice spoke up against Dean’s sweaty chest, lazy and unapologetic. “Five.”
Dean’s lips twitched into a cocky smirk. He leaned down to press a kiss against her temple before calling out, “Make that ten.” He didn’t even wait for Sam’s reply, just rolled the window back up.
On the other side of the glass, Sam stood frozen in horror, muttering under his breath as he turned away. “I have to sit back there…” His shoulders hunched in disgust. “…God, I have to sit back there.”
"Fuuuck look at her-" the short one laughs, slapping the tall one on the chest, "-She's fuckin' shaking."
"Will you cool it?"
"C'mon man, it's fun watchin' them twitch!"
Your arms are bound behind your back, elbows pressed together with a painful throb, pushing your chest out.
You look up towards the two masked figures, "P-please- I don't have any money- I don't have-"
"You gotta admit it's pretty adorable-" the short one, again.
"Please- just let me go- I'm begging you."
The tall one leans down, crouching in front of you, "And why should we do that?"
"I haven't seen your faces- I don't know who you are- you can just let me go-"
He chuckles, insidious, and reaches down to the bottom of his mask. He tugs it up in one swift move, letting his sweat soaked mop of hair tumble loose over his face. Eyes fixed on you, grin spread over his face. "Well, now you've seen me- guess we can't let you go-"
You shake your head, stuttering out nothing.
"C'mon man, I thought we were keeping the masks on this time-" the short one huffs, pulling his own off with a sigh. His face, tighter, eyes just as dark, both just staring down at you.
"Please- I won't tell a soul-"
"'Course you won't-" he leans forward, joining his friend crouched in front of you, "-Y'not gonna get the chance. You'll be dead by dawn."
"No- no- please- I'll do anything-"
"Atta girl!" He smiles, looks towards the taller man, "Surely that's a record."
He takes no notice, "Anything?"
You nod, your eyes starting to fill with tears, spilling out over your cheeks before you can stop them.
He leans forward, brushing his thumb gently against your cheek, causing you flinch at the feeling. "What do y'recon, Dean? Think we should let her try?"
Dean grins, "I've got a few ideas, how about you, Sammy?"
"I think she'll taste good- the scared ones always do."
"Fuck sake- you always do this- you've got a girl willing to do anything and you wanna eat her cunt?"
"How does that sound, huh, little thing?" His thumb trails down your cheek, brushes over your lips, "You want me to stick my tongue inside you 'til you forget you're gonna die?"
"Please- I-"
"Promise you that's a lot nicer than whatever Deanie here is planning-"
"No, no-" Dean sighs, crosses his arms as he looks between you, "Maybe I'm starting to get it- I think it'd be cute to break her a bit- make her think she's enjoying it-"
"So you do get it-" Sammy looks at him, "Y'always wanna go all rough and painful so quick!"
"Go on then, let's see-" He huffs, "But if she's not cumming in the next five minutes I'm doing it my way."
summary: when a gunshot wound lands you in the hospital, dean determines it was too close of a call
c/w: mentions of gunshot wound, blood, hospitals, canon typical violence, vulnerable dean, hurt/comfort, takes place mid season five-ish
w/c: 1.1k
a/n: just a lil dean concept i cannot get out of my head!! did one like this for sammy a while back and i think this is kind of the dean version for that one lol
.𖥔 ݁ ˖𓂃.☘︎ ݁˖ requests are open (as always), likes, comments, & reblogs are much appreciated !
You only noticed that you'd been shot when you saw the look on Dean's face.
That manic, devastating look in his eyes when he'd seen the blood blooming across your torso. He blinks hard three, then four times— almost as if he didn't believe what he was seeing.
You follow his gaze, confused. The adrenaline had kept you going for so long without even realizing you'd been wounded at all.
Then, the memory hits you like a freight train.
Three demons, one with a gun— or was it two? A shot went off. No one hit the ground so you figured the demon had missed. How wrong you were.
Your knees buckle beneath you, and Dean does his best to catch you as you fall. The two of you end up a tangled mess of limbs and panic and pain as the adrenaline wears off.
He lays you down gently over his lap, hand coming to support the back of your head. Black spots dance across your vision and you're vaguely aware of Dean yelling something akin to help me, Sam and goddamnit, don't you die on me.
The smell of sulfur, gunpowder, and iron fills the air as his hand comes to press on your wound with the hem of his own shirt.
You try to speak, but no words come out. He swipes the hair and sweat from your forehead and you can't help but wonder if the blood that coats his hand is yours.
The world fades to black before you can ponder the thought any further.
You don't recognize where you are at first.
Before the panic sets in, you try to ground yourself. The moment you feel the paper gown against your skin and the scratchy blanket above you, you know you're in a hospital.
Too bright lights, a monitor beeping loudly near your bedside, and the feeling of a warm, calloused weight in your hand.
You glance to your left, and you’re met with the sight of Dean. Half-slouched in the shitty hospital recliner, hand in yours, asleep, alive.
A sigh of relief leaves your lips.
He looks peaceful like this— like he wasn’t a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders.
You almost decided you didn’t want to wake him. Almost.
“Hey,” you start, voice raspy and barely there, squeezing your intertwined hands as best as you can manage, “Dean.”
He stirs, eyes flying open immediately. It was a change from the old Dean, who you had to poke and prod for at least ten minutes to get any sort of reaction.
You knew he hadn’t slept the same since coming back from Hell. You couldn’t really blame him.
His tired eyes scan over your figure, and he’s on you almost immediately. Head cradled toward his chest, kisses planted to your temple like he didn’t believe you were really there. He smells like whiskey and leather and home.
Dean murmurs phrases like oh, thank god and you’re alright, sweetheart— the cadence of which you knew all too well.
“Miss me, huh?” You whisper, voice returning slowly but surely.
“Like hell.” He says, voice thick.
Dean pulls back, and it’s then when you finally see his face— still remnants of that distressed, broken man you’d seen prior, but dialed to a 6 instead of an 11.
That night— how long ago was it? How long were you out?
Almost as if to answer your silent question, Dean mumbles, “It’s been a week.”
“I’ve been in here for a week?” You echo.
Dean nods, eyes trailing to your intertwined hands. “It was pretty bad.” He grimaces, shaking his head.
Your thoughts drift back to that night.
Sulfur. Blood. Gunpowder. Blood. Sweat. Blood.
It comes back in short flashes— like pieces of a puzzle you weren’t sure you wanted to put together.
Dean’s eyes. Panicked. Terrified. Regretful.
He squeezes your hand, pulling you back to reality.
“Thought you weren’t gonna make it.” Dean adds, eyes meeting yours.
“You thought that?”
“Not for a second.” He says, then clarifies, “Dumbass doctors.”
You hum, free hand trailing down your torso to your bandaged hip. It hurt, but not nearly as bad as before.
“Doin’ alright?” He asks, voice gruff.
"Yeah," you say, fingers running over the rough surface of the medical tape keeping your bandage attached, "just... kinda sore."
A silence falls between the two of you. Your hand lingers on your bandage, and Dean’s hand is still clasped firmly in yours. His gaze is still fixed on it intently— like he’s trying to ground himself.
“What about you?” You murmur after a beat.
“What about me?”
“You know,” you say, shifting towards him, “that night. Were you hurt?”
He stares at you, eyebrows furrowed, like you’d just asked him to solve a math problem. His mouth opens, closes, then opens again. He looks like he’s at a genuine loss for words— that was uncommon for Dean.
“You’re sittin’ there with a damn hole in your side, asking me how I’m doin’?”
“So what if I am?”
“You’re worrying about me. You should be worried about getting better.”
“Who says I’m not?” You ask, a small smile gracing your lips. “I’m a great multitasker.”
“Can you take this seriously please?”
“Dean.”
He cocks his head to the side, lips pursed in an expression that tells you he’s trying not to break down.
In return, you rest your free hand on his arm. “I’m okay. Seriously.”
“Yeah, this time. What about next time? What if next time, you aren’t so lucky?”
He’s getting worked up in the way he does when Sam tries to sacrifice himself again, or when the diner waitress brings out the wrong kind of pie.
You furrow your eyebrows. “You can’t worry about the future, Dean—“
“It’s not just a thing I can ignore.”
His words don't surprise you— not in the slightest. All three of you— Dean, Sam, yourself (and hell, even Bobby and Cas)— were conditioned to always be on your toes. If it wasn't monsters, it was demons. If it wasn't demons, it was angels. If it wasn't angels, it was a third threat that was somehow even bigger than the last.
It was hard not to worry about the future. The three of you just couldn't seem to catch a break.
You take in a breath, using your free hand to maneuver yourself closer to him. It's not a painless process, but to be closer to Dean, it was worth it.
"Honey," you say, moving your hand to cup his cheek, "listen to me. I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm not going anywhere."
He leans into your touch immediately. His eyes brim with tears, and for a moment, the facade drops— he looks like a scared kid.
"You understand?" You continue, your thumb reaching across to brush a tear from his cheek.
He nods, squeezing your hand tighter. "Yes ma'am."
