i don't always post/tag ficrecs that i read. but i've made a blog page that'll work like a letterboxd almost for my fics. everything that i read will be on there, and it's updated as i go. i advise you to read the tags/warnings on each one before you read. there's a lot of variety and i read most things, which means dead dove might be included. that said, that won't be the majority. i hope you find something you like, and please send the authors kudos or comments to appreciate their work!
Sam’s cast comes off in Youngstown, Ohio. Dean offers to buzz it off with a chainsaw and Sam rolls his eyes. They go to an Urgent Care instead. Dean sends Sam inside with a fake insurance card that says Scott Smalls and idles in the lot for a while, watching the sliding glass doors. It’s cold and he doesn’t want to be here. There’s nowhere else to be. He wants to be sitting in there with Sam making fun of him for getting his arm fucked up by some co-eds ghost. He wants—
A motel. Two beds because—two beds. He orders pizza, extra mushrooms and sausage, and walks to the liquor store next door, and the clerk is one of those guys who looks at Dean’s mouth before he meets Dean’s eyes. Dean adds a bag of chips from the impulse rack to his pile and smiles with lots of teeth.
He has a drink. He refills his flask. He sits on the bed with his bags on it and looks at the other bed, and then he gets out his shotgun and cleans it, trying to focus: there’s the barrel in his hands and the smooth sweep of the brush, and the oil that needs applying here, and there. The heavy action of the trigger. He points the barrel at the purple carpet between his boots and pulls the trigger, feeling it, and makes the pew gun sound to the empty room. He lets the barrel sink down to the floor and lets his head sink, too, his shoulders tight and his spine feeling like it’s slotted wrong into his back, somehow, like from the base of his skull all the way down to his tailbone it’s an inch off. How long since he slept well? He can’t remember. That haunted hotel—
The pizza arrives. He tips the kid a ten and asks for extra parmesan. First slice hot enough that he burns the roof of his mouth like always. He eats it fast, anyway, and then sits back in the weird vinyl bucket chair at the table, tipping his head back. He’s tired. Tired, tired. The ceiling has a stain like a coffee spill, a pale brown lake spread on the popcorn, and he looks at it. Imagines a lake of coffee to swim in. Imagines adding creamer, sweet’n’low. How it’d swirl through the seaweed. Caffeinated fish. Fuck, he’s tired. He’s tonguing the blister forming behind his front teeth when his phone beeps. Out in two minutes. Dean presses his tonguetip up into the tender spot where it aches, sits there and looks at the phone screen for a while, and then goes to get his brother.
my heart goes out to s1 dean winchester. my guy was in love with his kid brother, abruptly shoved back into close quarters with said brother after years apart, said kid brother is arguably peak pretty, said kid brother is incredibly needy and vulnerable in his grief/burgeoning psychic powers, and dean doesn’t have a single healthy psychological mechanism in his brain anywhere. rip to a legend 💔
Twelve, with Hydra!
The west coast was once home to a number of FEV-mutated deathclaws, but most were hunted down, starved, or were simply unviable. There exist a very rare and particularly resilient few that have lived for over a hundred years.
Dean x original female character - Explicit, 1.8k. (AO3)
The woman at the bar looks to be in her late-40s, soft skin marked with age and experience, and Dean can't take his eyes off of her. It's been a long time since he hit on a woman his age or older, they tend to either be too shy or too hard to get. And it's not like Dean sways away from a challenge, but younger girls are easier. Has that kind of pornstar fuck energy he needs when he just wants a quickie before he skips town.
This time, he doesn't mind if it takes time, though. They're not leaving town for a couple of days still, holed up here to help Bobby out with a case. If Dean sleeps in (or doesn't sleep at all) the next morning, it doesn't matter.
So he slides up on a stool, puts on his best smile and turns to her.
"Anyone ever told you you look stunning in blue?"
The woman only startles a little bit, seemingly lost in thought as he invaded her space. She smiles, big and bright.
"Some. You're the first one today, though."
"Dean." He offers his hand. With tilt of her head, she does the same, palm down.
"Sophia."
"Nice to meet you, Sophia," he smiles, taking the offered hand to kiss the top of it. "You here alone?"
"Not anymore, I hope."
It's as open of an invitation as any, Dean thinks, and pulls his stool closer.
It only takes him forty minutes to charm her into bed. Thirty to secretly grope under the bar desk. Twenty to whisper dirty secrets in her ear. Ten to make her blush.
It feels like he's the one in control through the whole thing, and he is. What he doesn't know, is that at the end of the night, that will have changed.
She brings him home to her place, only a few blocks down the road. It's a small apartment, but it smells nice and looks lived-in. He kicks off his shoes and shrugs off his jacket, and when he finally follows her into the living space, she's already stepping out of her panties.
Dean's mouth waters and the grin on his face is just on the right side of predatory. She sheds her own jacket and then slips the dress off her shoulders, revealing her naked body.
"Perfect, aren't you?" Dean says, voice low and appreciative as he steps closer to touch the softness of her belly, the tips of his fingers sliding into curly, dark hairs. A hand on his wrist stops him from reaching the final destination, but she smiles once more, looking confident and aroused.
"Undress and lay on the bed."
She gestures to her bedroom, and Dean only raises his eyebrows in surprise before he complies with the order, stepping out of clothes as he goes. When he drops down on the bed and sits up against the headboard, his cock is already fattening up in his lap, and he tugs at it lazily as he waits for her to join him.
Sophia enters the room after a few minutes, and crawls onto the bed moments later. Dean moves to get closer and she presses her hand to his chest.
"Lay down," she repeats, sounding more determined this time. "Flat."
"Okay," he chuckles, doing as he's told because, really, he doesn't mind being bossed around a little.
"I haven't done this in a long time," she says, and her hand rests on his thigh, fingertips rubbing the sensitive skin on the inside of it. "Spread your legs, baby."
There's a moment's hesitation, a quick-flash of a frown on Dean's face. "What are we doin', exactly?"
"Do you trust me?"
It's a silly question, because Dean doesn't trust anybody, let alone some lady he met 45 minutes ago at a random bar. So when he just looks at her for a moment before nodding and doing as he's told, he figures maybe they're both a bit surprised.
"Good boy," she praises, and she sounds a bit taken aback by her own arousal, and it makes Dean's breath quicken too. There's a flush creeping up his neck and to his cheeks at the praise.
Her fingers slip up to his balls, feather light touch before she puts them in her hand, cradling, squeezing, massaging. His cock quirks up again and does a little twitch, and she laughs softly.
"Someone wants attention," she murmurs, and as she continues to massage Dean's balls, she licks up the length of his cock, letting out a soft moan as she does.
Usually the girls Dean hooks up with is so desperate for dick they jump his bones once they're in a private space — sometimes they'll even do it in public if it gets bad enough — but he has never experienced someone wanting to pleasure him first. He's had some blowjobs, but they've mostly been to get him prepared. This feels... Different.
Sophia spreads her legs wide and Dean can only visualize the way her pussy clenches around nothing, hungry for something to fill her up, and it drives him mad that he can't see it. He reaches out with his hand, touches her thigh, and she pulls off his dick enough to look up at him.
"Did I tell you you could touch me?"
Dean drops his hand and shakes his head. It's not said with anger or offensiveness. It's a hidden command, and he knows how to follow those.
"You getting hungry for it? I can tell. Felt you swelling on my tongue," she tells him, and her hips sway as if she wants to tease. "I want it too. Gonna have me dripping by the end of this."
"Fuck."
"Yeah, there we go baby. So pretty."
She seems pleased to have him make noise, and Dean doesn't mind being vocal. When she finally takes the tip of him into her mouth, he drops his head and groans, fingers fisting into the sheets.
What follows is a phenomenal blow job, wet and loud and messy. She sucks him to full hardness, drools him wet and gags on each deep stroke. She doesn't care that her eyes water, or that her nails dig into the skin of his thigh. If Dean didn't know any better, he'd argue that Sophia entered a trance once she took him in.
"Jesus, you're gonna make me come."
She pulls off with the most obscene pop, his cock bouncing, and for a moment she just stares at it.
"No. You can hold it."
She spits suddenly, wetting her palm, and wraps it around his cock. It's not necessary, the way his cock has been leaking pre-come and is covered in spit and drool from before, but it's about the idea of it, he figures.
Her hand sets a quick pace, the snick-snick sound of it loud in the quiet room. Dean's eyes shoot up at her, wide and dark, and now he's getting lost in it, too far gone to even think.
"Fuck... Fuck, oh Christ."
"Such a beautiful cock on you, can't fucking believe it," she moans, and the hand doesn't stop, it won't fucking stop, goes the same pace, from root to tip, and Dean wants to trash around and buck his hips, but something tells him she wants him still. So he shakes. He shakes, and he would sob if he was a bit more drunk.
"Please. Sophia, let me—"
"No," she insists, and now her fingers tighten around the head, doesn't even work the full shaft. She edges the head of him, spits at it and quickens the pace, and Dean's eyes roll back.
He's gonna come. He's gonna shoot so fucking much he might pass out—
The hand is gone.
He can't help it, his hips chase and lift off the bed, and there it is — he sobs — because this is unfair.
"Dean, you can do it. Can't you? For me?" He shakes his head. He can't.
His eyes is squeezed closed, because he can't handle looking at her in that moment. There's a shift on the bed, a rattle of a drawer, and when he finally blinks his eyes open, Sophia rips open a condom.
His poor, sensitive dick leaps in his lap.
"Don't come," she says, and it nearly sounds like a plea, as she rolls the condom onto him, slow and deliberate. Dean whines so loud he has to bite his lip not to feel embarrassed.
She finally throws a leg over his lap, yet she keeps her hips up as she instead leans down to press her mouth to Dean's nipple.
"I'm sad I won't feel it, but we gotta be safe," Sophia sighs, and Dean feels her hand move between them before she wraps her hand around him. Her hips lower a bit and the hand guides him to her cunt, slaps it against her slit before she rides the length with her folds.
Dean's hips shake again by the force of resisting the orgasm, his balls tight and cock solid against her.
The first press of his head inside is torture. She's so warm and tight around him, and she makes a loud keening noise, like she's the one being edged.
She slides down, slow. Pulls up again before she's halfway and pulls off entirely. "Not only is it a pretty cock, it's thick too."
Again she guides him to her hole, and this time she sinks down until she's fully seated.
"Fuck," she groans, and she dig her fingers into his chest as she sets a slow pace, nice roll of her hips as she moves up and down the length, circular motions every third pull and push.
"Touch me," she moans, and Dean's hands are on her hips immediately. They move across her belly, her tits, thumb digging into her hip bone before he moves lower, finding her clitoris. He rubs against it almost roughly, and she gasps, tightening around him, and he regrets it immediately, his hands flying to her thighs to squeeze and hold.
"You've been such a good boy," she praises, and suddenly she sets a near-brutal pace, riding him hard as she squeezes and pulls him in.
"You can come now."
Dean barely gets to make an effort, hips stuttering into action as he grips her tight and pulls her down as he shoves up. It only takes two or three thrusts before his orgasm is torn out of him. He can't tell which one of them cries out the loudest, but when he comes to, she's shaking on top of him, full-body convulsions as she suddenly collapses and crushes their bodies together.
The sweaty tangled mess of their bodies rise and fall in time with their breaths as they come down together, and Dean thinks he might be in Heaven.
