Used to be it's three am and the moonlights testing me/ Massive fandom nerd / tries to be a writer / 21 / she/they/he? / Aussie / requests are always open / asks and comments are always loved!
So I accidentally deleted my previous masterlist, but I tried to find my fics that were scattered across the hellsite anyway haha. I hope you guys like them! <3
→ please don't use, download, or screenshot my gifs without permission or credit! these are specially made and took time to create, so please ask first!
You know what I miss the most about pre-1990s fantasy? Novels with titled chapters and tables of contents. I know you still get them now and again, but before the 90s it was common practice, and you wouldn't believe how much easier it is to discuss shit when you've got named episodes to go on.
YOU GO YOU FUNKY MIDSIZED (now) 37 YEAR OLD YOU FUCK THAT OLD MAN
THAT ONE YOU'VE BEEN IN A COMMITTED, MONOGAMOUS RELATIONSHIP FOR TEN FULL YEARS TBH LITERALLY LIVING THE DREAM YOU SAW THAT OLD MAN AND WENT IMMA FUCK THAT OLD MAN AND LOVE THAT OLD MAN HELL FUCKING YEAH
THAT RICH OLD MAN WHO HAPPENS TO BE ONE OF THE ONLY FUCKING DESIGNERS OUT THERE ACTIVELY DESIGNING AND RESHAPING HIS (BRAND'S) CLOTHING FOR LARGER SIZES INSTEAD OF JUST SCALING EVERYTHING UP AS A BLANKET INCREASE, MAKING HIS (BRAND'S) CLOTHES ACTUALLY FIT BIGGER WOMEN, AND MAKING THOSE CLOTHES STILL HAVE GOOD ENOUGH LASTING QUALITY TO JUSTIFY THE BRAND NAME PRICE JUMP INSTEAD OF JUST RESTING ON THE NAME ITSELF
#in the article it says that the sailboat sailors were concerned because they could not be towed quickly because of the kind of boat#so they asked Götheborg what type of ship they were and warned that they would not be able to go above a certain speed#and götheborg went ' we are also a sailboat. 50 meters length. no worries :) '#and the poor sailboat sailors were just like ' That's not possible. they have to be messing with us' and then the ship Rolled Up (via bunjywunjy)
I'm crying. Here's a photo of a sailor from the Götheborg watching over the little sailboat in tow:
From the story:
We repeatedly emphasized that we were aboard a small 8-meter sailboat, but the response was the same each time: "We are a 50-meter three-masted sailboat, and we offer our assistance in towing you to Paimpol." We were perplexed by the size difference between our two boats, as we feared being towed by a boat that was too large and at too fast a speed that could damage our boat.
The arrival of the Götheborg on the scene was rapid and surprising, as we did not expect to see a merchant ship from the East India Company of the XVIII century. This moment was very strange, and we wondered if we were dreaming. Where were we? What time period was it? The Götheborg approached very close to us to throw the line and pass a large rope. The mooring went well, and our destinies were linked for very long hours, during which we shared the same radio frequency to communicate with each other.
The crew of the Götheborg showed great professionalism and kindness towards us. They adapted their speed to the size of our boat and the weather conditions. We felt accompanied by very professional sailors. Every hour, the officer on duty of the Götheborg called us to ensure everything was going well.[...]
This adventure, very real, was an incredible experience for us. We were extremely lucky to cross paths with the Götheborg by chance and especially to meet such a caring crew.
Dear commander and crew of the Götheborg, your kindness, and generosity have shown that your ship is much more than just a boat. It embodies the noblest values of the sea, and we are honored to have had the chance to cross your path and benefit from your help.
"Our destinies were linked for very long hours" is just knocking me out.
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, light angst, shameless smut (oral both receiving, p in v sex), emotions smut, humor, horniness, light fluff, confessions
Summary/Warnings: You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself together.
But something always has to give.
Author's Note: My cat kept jumping on my lap while I was writing this. I’m gonna call it a blessing. Enjoy!
Word Count: 3.9k
You both always end up back here. Staring at each other in the doorway in silence, until you move aside and Dean walks in.
It’s been like this for years. Silent nods over diner tables and looks exchanged in the rear-view mirror, a knock on the door in the dead of night, and falling into bed without wasted words or time.
It’s safer than passing bodies in random towns, low words exchanged in bars, and a night with your phone face-up on the nightstand in case something goes wrong. You’re both clean, you trust each other with your lives, and you know him better than you know yourself.
But there are rules.
There have to be rules.
They keep your foul little heart in check, and they keep Dean in your bed.
One, it’s not exclusive. You’ve made no promises, and neither has he, so—if there’s a night where everything is a little too dark and the other isn’t there—you’re both free to do what you want. You never do—suffocating on the nightmares and moving all the pillows into a shape that could be Dean if you closed your eyes—but you could, and he likely does. And that’s fine. It’s not your place to say it isn’t.
Two, Dean comes to you. He’s allowed to ask, or give a reason, or just walk through your door around three in the morning with hollow eyes and a hopeful expression, but you don’t go to him. You raise your brows in a silent signal that the day for you was long, and you know the night will be longer, and you’d like him there. And then it’s up to him.
And he always does come. Which is another rule. You’re not allowed to overthink that.
Finally, it can only happen in motels. Dean doesn’t cross the threshold of you bedroom in the bunker, because that’s an invisible line you’re surrounded with barbed wire and electric currents, that—if crossed—will open a point of no return.
A point where he’ll leave his shirt on the floor and you’ll keep it in your dresser, wearing it when you miss him a little more than you should. A point where, for the next few nights, your sheets will smell like evergreen and spiced aftershave, and you won’t have the willpower to clean them.
You’ll pass your heart into his hands without him ever reaching for it, and he’ll leave you tangled on the mattress alone, your heart vanishing into the hall as he walks away.
But that knowledge of what would happen hadn’t been enough. Dean had knocked on your door, and you’d opened it. He’d looked at you—head hung slightly, hair clearly mussed and spiky from hours of attempted sleep, something heavy in his eyes that you know all to well—he’d never said a word, and you’d taken his hand and pulled him forward.
You should’ve held the line harder. You should’ve said no.
But you didn’t.
And now you can’t go back.
He’s kissing you in the same violently tender way he always does. Holding your face between big, calloused hands, pressing his tongue on your lower lip until you open for him with a moan, and he takes your permission to be everywhere. He tastes like whiskey and something minty, and he’s pulling you half off the ground as he deepens the kiss, wrapping an arm around your waist and tugging your hair until you lean back with a moan that he swallows.
You hike your leg up over his hips, and fuck, he’s hard. Pressed right into your core and twitching every time you bite at his lips, groaning down your throat when you scratch at his shoulders and start to grind against him, everything rushing into a white-hot blur of Dean. Walking you backwards to the bed but remaining on his feet, kissing a sloppy line over your jaw and muttering your name like a prayer when you squirm against him.
“Dean,” you tangle your fingers in his shirt, trying to pull him further down. Maybe you’ll just fall to the floor, straddle him, and bounce on his cock until your brain is numb. “Please-“
“I know,” he mutters your name, the kisses turning softer as they scatter over your face, finally landing back on your lips with a low hum. “I’ve got you.”
He’s got you. You nod, your head a little dazed and light, and let Dean take over because he’s got you. He’s big and warm and solid—squeezing your ass with one hand and half petting your head with the other—and he’s nipping at the skin of your throat, and he’s got you.
“Need you to be good for me, baby.” Dean grunts, pressing a kiss that’s a little too gentle—delicate and caring and filled with emotions neither of you are supposed to have—to your brow. “Just- need you. Please.”
It’s a pointless request. He has you. He’s never understood just how careful you have to be around him to not give him everything. And another rule is to never tell him.
But you’ve allowed yourself to show him. To prove in actions and longing stares he never sees that Dean’s got you. You get him coffee in the morning and buy him snacks on the road without him asking, you always have the right gun out for him on a hunt and figure out exactly what drink he’ll want before he tells you.
So you pry yourself from his hold and sink to your knees before him, holding his heated, darkened gaze as your fingers trace over his belt in another silent question.
Dean tangles his fingers into your hair, his attention pooling right in your gut as he swallows, his voice that impossible low octave that always makes you ache between your legs.
“You don’t have to, sweetheart, I’m here for you-“
“This is for me.” You whisper, palming him over his sweatpants. You can see the outline of his dick, tenting in the fabric, and you only just have enough dignity not to drool.
Because you trail your fingers over him, he grunts from above you—staring at you with hooded eyes and a clenched jaw—and when you pull down his sweats and boxers he’s beautiful. It’s an odd thing to say about a cock, but it’s Dean’s, and there are no other words that can describe how he’s long and thick, how he curves perfectly to fit into every part of you. How when you swipe your thumb over the red, weeping head of him, he twitches in your hand and tightens his grip on your hair with a grunt.
“Baby, you gotta-“
You don’t need to hear the order—or request, but it’s all the same—to take his dick in your mouth, hallowing your cheeks and moaning around him as he sits heavy and salty on your tongue.
You’ve done this a million times before. You’ll ever get tired of it. How it starts slows, bobbing your head over him at a gentle pace—squeeze the base of his cock in your hand when you suck, your nails digging into his thigh for support—as Dean tugs at your hair and bites down every groan, right up until he can’t. Because you always slow slightly, taking all of him in one movement until he’s bumping your throat and your hand is wandering to play with his balls, and that’s it. You moan around him, something snaps in Dean’s will, and everything shifts just how you want it.
“Fuck-“ He grunts your name, tugging your hair until your gaze is trapped on his, his cock still fully seated in your mouth. “You’re askin’ for trouble-“
You suck on him, swirling your tongue around him best and fluttering your lashes—your smile and eyes a picture of innocence that’s truly undercut by how you’re moaning around his dick—and there it is.
Dean’s eyes flash, and he tugs you almost fully off, his voice a growl as he takes you in.
“Look so fuckin’ pretty sucking my cock, sweetheart.” He mutters, and there’s always a low awe to his tone you’ve learned to ignore. “Need some more?”
You flick your tongue over where pre-cum has started leak near your teeth, and you win.
He starts to fuck your face with an abandon, and it’s always so good. Your nails digging into his thighs for support and his head thrown back as he lets go. Shoving you down his cock until your nose is bumping his abdomen and you’re grinding into the air, choking on his dick and basking in every low word of praise and affection that slips through Dean’s mouth.
You don’t think he knows he does that. That he hisses your name when he hits the back of your throat and you gag—running a small, comforting circle on his skin in a silent promise that you’re okay—and mutters good girl, and baby, and so perfect when he pulls you up and slams your down.
And he’s close. You know he’s close. His movements have become sloppy, and his praise is slurred, and you’re preparing to swallow his release when it comes—maybe letting a little dribble out your lips so he’d know he was there, because it always makes him grin when you do that—but Dean pulls you off with a pop, and you don’t get the chance.
“That’s enough.” He grunts, swiping his thumb over your lower lip, and when you look back up he’s wrecked. Chest heaving and face flushed, the glint in his eyes almost predatory.
You know that look. It’s a dangerous promise he always fulfills, that presses your thighs together and makes a little drool escape your lips as you look at him. He’s heavenly, and sinful, and—at least for the rest of tonight—all yours.
It’s pointless to try and move to your feet, but you start to rise anyway. Pushing yourself up on your knees for only a second before Dean is hooking his arms under your shoulders and yanking you upright, tossing you back on the bed with barely a grunt.
You barely get a chance to squeak before Dean’s prowling over you, pushing you down into the mattress with a searing kiss and drop of his hips. Trapping you between the bed and his body, his mouth devouring your every moan and one hand palming at your breast, and flicking a nipple, and fuck, his still-hard dick is pressed right against where you’re aching for him, and why are you still wearing clothes-
“Dean-“ You grind up into him, clawing at his broad shoulders and trying to wiggle enough for some relief. “Dean, I-“
He hums against your mouth, kissing a gentle line over your cheeks and brow. “What’s the magic word, pretty girl?”
“Please,” you whisper, pulling on his hair until he’s risen fully above you. Until he can see how you’re flushed and panting and needy, all for him. “Please, Dean.”
You see that look every time you reach this part of the dance. Eyes a little darker, but filled with kind of a black light that you never see anywhere else but in Dean’s eyes. Shining and illuminating every part of you under his attention, displaying a vulnerable and proud piece of Dean you know he doesn’t mean to show you—and that you don’t fully understand—but you’ll always tend to with care.
You trail your finger over his jaw, offer him a small smile, and you win again. Dean ducks his head to press his brow to yours, running a hand down your body—squeezing your waist and kneading at your hips for a long second before he’s grabbing your thigh and prying your legs apart—and mutters the words that always shatter you just a little.
“Anything when you ask me like that, baby.”
He doesn’t know what that does to you. How it’s the best and worst thing you ever hear, because he does mean in here—in the dark, in bed—but he doesn’t mean it anywhere else.
It’s always a kind mercy, how quickly he moves. Dean presses a delicate kiss on your lips before he starts to move down, sucking and nipping at your throat before marking you on your collarbone, always continuing to move down. His mouth over one nipple, licking and sucking and driving you out of your mind—two broad fingers aways pinching and tugging at the other—before he’s moving over the plane of your stomach, your hips and around to your inner thighs.
A single finger running over your slit, through your panties, and a mutter of so wet for me, sweetheart before he’s ripping the fabric away and you’re gone.
You’re never fully lucid for this part. It’s something about how Dean does this that makes your soul seep into the whole world, until you’re a little higher than any drug could take you and a little more needy than you’d ever been before Dean.
Because it’s really just Dean. It’s his tongue plunging in and out of your cunt and his nose bumping at your clit as he drives you right up to the edge and holds you there, his growls and groans that vibrate against your pussy and send shivers through your whole body. His hair that your tug and pull at—it always adds a fervor to his work, and you never miss the way his own hips jerk on the mattress when you scratching at him—and his scruff scratching at your skin in a perfectly torturous way, and his big, warm hands holding your thighs apart as you squirm and roll beneath him.
There’s the tight, warm coil in your gut, set to spring the moment Dean allows it.
You need it. He’s so good at this, and if you don’t cum now you might start crying.
“Dean-“ You lock your knees over his head, and you’d be worried about suffocating him if it didn’t spur him on. “Shit- I- I’m gonna-“
His mouth moves up to your clit, biting it lightly before he starts to suck, and just as you’re about to scream two fingers push deep into your cunt and crook inside of you.
The coil snaps, and you’d say you’re seeing stars but you’re really only watching Dean. Craning your neck to watch him as he carries you through your orgasm, his focus almost pious. It’s never until you’re shaking and whining his name that he rises up with your arousal shining on his chin and moves back up over you.
He pauses though. He always pauses. Runs one hand over his jaw as the other massages your thigh, gathering your release on his fingers before licking half of it off, then moving.
Holding himself over you as he presses those fingers between your lips, watching with gleaming eyes as you open for him, moaning and holding his gaze as you suck on his fingers.
“Good girl,” he mutters, and you make maybe the most pathetic sound you’ve ever heard as he moves his knee between your thighs. “Ready for the main event, baby?”
He pulls his hand away to hold your face, and you roll your eyes.
“That’s such a dumb thing to call it, Dean.”
He shrugs, and his grin is the charming, boyish one he gives you in the daylight. It’s a little painful.
“I don’t hear you complaining, sweetheart-“
“I’m complaining right now-“
“Maybe, you little brat.” He winks at you, pressing his knee further into your overly sensitive core, and it’s amazing you don’t burst into flames. “But you seem to like it.”
“No,” you whisper, your voice less commanding and powerful than you’d usually like. “I like it when you fuck me-“
You’re three for three, because Dean crashed back down to you, the kiss deep and bruising and all spit and teeth.
But the victory is short lived.
Because Dean mutters something along the lines of there’s that sass I love—you’re not sure, you hear the word love and a fuzzy and hazy feeling like being drunk washes over your brain—and starts to really, properly fuck you.
You know why he calls it the main event. Because it doesn’t matter that you gave him that blowjob, or he ate you out, or you got his control to break just a little further. He always wins it all because he fucks you, and you’re ruined just a little bit more every time.
He fills you up right. Fits into your cunt perfectly and always hits that impossibly deep spot, moving at the exact speed your body craves in the moment, kissing all the right places to pull a moan of his name from your mouth, saying the exact thing you need to be putty in his arms.
“Feel so good, baby. Always so fuckin’ tight, taking my cock so well-“
“Dean-“ You moan, burying your face in his neck as he rolls his hips, you squeeze around him, his cock jerks inside of you. “Fuck- You’re- You’re so big-“
“I know, pretty girl.” He hums, slowing the pace until it’s almost painful. “But you’re doin’ so good. Holding on and moaning all sweet, lettin’ me take good care of you-“
You whimper when he hits that deep spot again—slamming slightly harder than before and wrapping a hand carefully around your neck—and he chuckles.
“There you go,” he grunts your name, and you’re really, truly cockdrunk by this point, so you just squeak. “This pussy was made for me, shit- So-“ His thrusts stutter slightly as you wiggle from the praise. “Perfect, always perfect, all whiny and desperate for my dick, always moanin’ my name-“
You scratch at his back and his pace picks up, the mattress creaking beneath you.
“God, baby, no one else fucks you this good, do they?” He slams into you, his voice lowering to a growl. “Never this good for anyone else, never so fucking needy-“
You choke on a moan, shaking your head desperately. “Only you, fuck-“ You gasp as he slams back into you, tipping your chin back with his hand to kiss along your throat. “God, Dean- It’s just you, there’s nobody else-“
He freezes, and you’re a little too drunk on his everything to realize what you’ve just said.
“Just me?”
You blink at him, and realize he’s moved to hover barely an inch above you, his eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them and voice almost… nervous.
“There’s- you don’t fuck other people?”
If you had your mind in your own control, you’d shrug him off. But you can still feel Dean deep in your cunt, pressing right against that deep bundle of nerve only he knows how to hit every time, and all you can do is nod.
“Yeah.” You whisper, unable to break his gaze. “Just you.”
There’s a long second of silence as Dean scans over your face, and you think he’s trying to work out if you’re lying. You’re not.
You can see the exact second he believes you. His face splits into a heartbreakingly wide grin, and it’s all affection and joy, and you’re not really sure this isn’t a dream.
“Good.” He mutters, his lips ghosting over yours as he swivels his hips, drawing a high, long whine from your chest. “Cause it’s just you for me too.”
You frown, opening your mouth to demand elaboration, but then he starts to move again, and you forget every word but Dean.
This is brutal. Feral and animalistic and rough, but still so caring because when you make a high noise of need his hand moves to your clit and he starts to rub small, furious circles until you’re strangling his cock in your cunt and gasping his name in his ear.
“Dean-“
“That’s right,” Dean grunts your name, hauling you up into his lap and pinning you to his chest, never once breaking his jackhammer pace. “Say my name, sweetheart, fuckin’ scream it until everyone knows who’s wreckin’ you-“
It doesn’t matter that no one’s in earshot but poor Sam—who is already tragically aware of the you and Dean situation—because Dean’s voice is fully in the shit, baby, you’re so tight and I’m drunk on this pussy drawl, and he’s being possessive.
Therapists say that shouldn’t be hot.
Therapist have never had Dean Winchester slamming into their dripping pussy and calling them good girl, his muscles flexing around them as he holds them to his massive chest, his mouth sucking marks on the soft skin of their throat as he grips their neck.
You have that.
So you scream Dean’s name, thrown your head back, and let him carry you fully over the edge.
You hadn’t been seeing stars before. You’d really just been seeing Dean. Glowing below you as he cums with a roar of your name, his release coating your fluttering cunt and dripping down your inner thighs.
He kisses you when he comes down. Right between your eyes as he brushes hair from your face, pulling you off of him with measures movements and setting you gently back down on the bed.
And he stays.
Dean shuffles to grab a warm, damp towel from your bathroom and returns to the mattress, cleaning the mess between your legs as he’s always done before.
And then he crawls into bed at your side, pulling you over his chest and holding you at your hips, drawing firm and careful pattens only he can see on your skin.
He’s not supposed to stay after. That was another rule.
But he does.
And you think he’ll stay a little longer. Basking in a warm light you’d never allowed yourself to feel for too long, that he seems to be drunk on too.
Staying in each other. More than just a body. Longer than until the pain is gone. Until you’re breathing him in more than air, and his heart has fallen into a steady time with yours.
Until staying doesn’t feel like a line you’d crossed, but an invisible barrier you’d created dying a happy, easy death as everything is reduced to Dean once more. As his everything seems to become you.
“You know, I always get to cum twice,” you mumble, tracing your fingers over the constellation of scars on his chest. “Seems unfair.”
Dean chuckles, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I mean, I don’t think it’s something broken enough to be fixing-“
“What if we do the car thing you’re always trying to talk me into?”
Dean’s whole body tenses at your words—his cock jumping back into attention against your thigh—and his voice goes hoarse.
“You’re serious?” - You hum, nodding, and he shakes his head a little.
“You said you’d never do that- You told me you’d cut off Sammy’s dick-“
You lean back, raising your brows. “You remember the threat?”
“It was a real weird one, sweetheart-“
“It was effective.”
He lets out a dry laugh. “Guess so, yeah. But I still don’t-“
“It seemed- It was too much.” Your voice is barely a whisper, but you manage to keep it steady. You’ll have to keep it steady, if you’ve read this all wrong and you’re about to be shot down. “Too real. I loved you, and doing that would- That would be it.”
Dean’s eyes flash at your semi-accidental confession—you hadn’t meant to, but it had slipped out and you’d had no will or resolve to stop it—and his hand squeezes on your waist, his words impossibly careful.
“I- I didn’t-“ He swallows, taking your chin in one hand and using it ensure you hold his gaze. “You’re it. For me. Understand?”
“Yeah.” You whisper, offering him a small, soft smile. “I do.”
End Note: Even when he doesn’t make a physical appearance in the fic, Sam’s never safe.
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues
Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.
You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.
Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!
Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan
Word Count: 8.9k
You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.
You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.
It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.
And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-
Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.
And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.
So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.
But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy.
Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”
“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“
“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”
You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”
Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“
“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”
Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”
“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“
“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”
You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”
“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”
Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”
You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”
“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”
“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”
“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”
“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”
“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.”
“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”
“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”
“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”
“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”
“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”
“So we just need a bunch of whores?"
Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”
It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.
“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”
“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”
“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”
Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”
Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“
“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head.
“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.”
Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.
“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?”
“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”
“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”
Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“
“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”
Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.
But only a little easier.
Because you’re fucked.
Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work.
And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.
So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away.
And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this.
And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth.
You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.
You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.
It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-
“You here all by yourself?”
Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.
“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”
Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”
You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”
“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“
“Can I have some?”
You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“
Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder.
As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining.
Fuck.
“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“
“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“
“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.
“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“
“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.
Like a monster.
Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short.
You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you.
And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-
There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-
“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”
A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.
“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”
You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.
“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“
“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”
“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”
They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean.
And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.
“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“
“Dean, I’m fine-“
“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”
He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong.
All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.
“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.
“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”
“I could’ve just been-“
“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.
But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.
And Dean’s still looking at you.
“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“
“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”
You shake your head.
“Good. We need to talk.”
“Dean, I-“
“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”
He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.
“Because it was hunting me.”
“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“
“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”
“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“
“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“
“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“
“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“
“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“
“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“
“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“
“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“
There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”
“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“
Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“
“I am not stupid-“
“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”
It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”
“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.”
“But-“
“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“
Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“
“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“
“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“
“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”
You blink. “Wha-“
“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”
“I, um, I don’t-“
“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans.
“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“
“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”
“Yeah?”
“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”
“I already said-“
“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”
Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now.
“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“
“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”
“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”
“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”
You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”
“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”
Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle.
“You want me, babygirl?”
You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg.
“Need you to say it-“
“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”
A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”
You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.
“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“
“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“
“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“
You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“
You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.
“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”
You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.
Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.
“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“
“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“
You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-
“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”
His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”
You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.
Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.
“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.
You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.
He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.
“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”
His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.
“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“
“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”
Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-
“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“
He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him.
Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body.
“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“
“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“
You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you-
“I’m sorry-“
Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”
“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“
He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.”
You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.
“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”
“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”
He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“
“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”
He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“
“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”
It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.
“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“
“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“
Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”
“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“
“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”
You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“
“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.
“Dean, please-“
You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.
“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. “Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“
You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.
Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch.
Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-
“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“
He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“
“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“
He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“
“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“
“I’m-“
“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”
A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-
“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“
“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“
“Beg-“
Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“
“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-
Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace.
“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“
Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.
Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside.
As the man had been.
You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.
“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”
You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“
“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”
“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”
“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”
There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.
“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“
“Did I mean it?”
You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his.
“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay-
“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“
Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more.
“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”
“I, um-“
“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”
You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“
“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”
“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”
He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move.
“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”
He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“
You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.
Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin.
“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”
“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”
“Boyfriend?”
You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.
“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.”
Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.
And you and Dean have never had either of those things.
But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.
End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, friends to lovers, light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v, cockwarming), humor, love confessions
Summary/Warnings: After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him.
Almost as much as he might love you.
Author's Note: Request from an anon! I love thinking a fic will be 5k and then. it's not.
Word Count: 8.3k
“Why’d you lock him in the car?”
“Uh,” Sam scratches the back of his neck, letting out a long, slow breath. “I didn’t. He sorta locked himself in there.”
Your nose wrinkles, and you lean a little further down, trying to get a better look at Dean.
He’s sprawled out on the back bench, knocked out and drooling onto the seat.
He looks adorable.
His hair is mussed, his eyes keep fluttering slightly, and if you climbed over him he’d probably be just as strong and warm as when he yanks you into his chest, making sure you don’t stumble or trip during a hunt.
You can’t crawl over him while he’s asleep. You’re not sure if he’d want you to, or if you’d just get shoved off his body with a grunt and glower. Ruining everything, and bombing the careful fantasy you’ve built where maybe Dean flirts with you a little more than other girls, and maybe he gets so pissed at you because he cares, and there’s a small, thin chance that he likes catching you just as much as you like falling into him.
And you’re never going to tell him you do it on purpose. That it’s dumb, and reckless, and pathetic, but sometimes you’ll be a little less cautious, just so Dean will grab you. So his arms will wrap around your stomach, he’ll glare at you with enough venom to make your skin hot, and you can smile up at him like nothing’s wrong. It couldn’t be, as long as Dean was holding you.
But something is certainly wrong right now.
“And he let you drive?”
Sam shrugs awkwardly. “He’s sick.
You give him a flat look. “I’ve seen Dean drive when he was actively bleeding out.”
“From his stomach.”
“So?”
“It’s- He could still drive.” Sam’s voice is lame, as if he doesn’t even believe what he’s saying. “This was a fever. He’s not lucid.”
“Sam.” There’s panic rising in your chest, hot and tight and suffocating, but you force your voice to remain flat. “If he’s not lucid, we need to take him to a hospital-“
“No! I-“ Sam’s eyes widen, darting between you and Dean at a frantic pace. “It’s- He’s fine! It’s a magic fever.”
“A magic fever-“
“Witches. He hates them.”
“I know that-“
“He just needs to sleep it off,” Sam’s voice is suddenly firm and determined, and something is very wrong. “It’ll be easier if we don’t bother him.”
“But-“
“Can you got get some ice from town?”
You frown. “We have ice.”
“Right.” Sam glances back to Dean. “What don’t we have?”
“I don’t know, I don’t do audits while you guys are gone-“
“Do we have soda?”
“I don’t know-“
“Pie?”
You let out a long, slow breath, and Sam is very close to being punched in the face. “We have pie. We always have pie. Sam, what’s going on-“
“I just- I need to get Dean out of the car. And I-“ Sam swallows, giving you an apologetic look. “I’m not supposed to let you help.”
Your mouth falls open, something tearing up your chest that’s made of Dean doesn’t want your help, he knows how useless you really are and he can’t even imagine you carrying him to bed.
Sam must see the shatter of your heart, just a layer under your face, because he shakes his head, and his words are quick.
“No it’s- it’s not like that-“
“I’m fine.” You mumble, drawing yourself to stand tall, keeping your gaze firmly fixed away from Dean. “You don’t have to-“
“He might be contagious.”
You give him a dry look. “You’re still going to touch him, though.”
“I was in the car with him.” Sam mutters, not fully meeting your gaze. “I’m already exposed. And there are some, uh- Weird side effects. To the curse.”
“Weird? Weird like-“ You cut yourself off at Sam’s apologetic expression, letting out another heavy sigh. “You can’t tell me.”
“He just- You know Dean. It’s a weird curse, and doesn’t want you to have to deal with it-“
“I wouldn’t mind.” You mumble, frowning down at your hands, and you can feel Sam’s look of pity.
“I told him that, he… Didn’t seem to care.”
You glance up, and your voice has to remain neutral. You’re almost certain Sam knows—he must, he’s seen you trail after Dean like a shadow on every case, laugh at all his stupid jokes, run to him whenever he so much as stubs his toe, and glare at him every time he gets hit on and basks in it because you love him too much to hate him for it, and that makes your skin blister—but that doesn’t mean you have to admit it.
It doesn’t matter if you admit it.
Even if Dean flirts with you, it’s still just flirting. He flirts with everyone. And he’s never really shown that he’d want anything more with you. Maybe just skin on skin in the dark, but not his lips on your brow in the morning, and you head resting on his chest in the dead of night.
Not what you’d need. What you’ve needed, from the moment he appeared over you on the street, both of you drenched in the blood of a decapitated vamp, Dean offering you a hand that once you took, you never wanted to release.
But Sam knows that too. He was there when Dean asked you to stick with them, and you had an expression like the Sun had dropped at your feet and asked you to orbit around it forever. Sam’s noticed that you never even try to sleep around, and that whenever someone hits on you at a bar you never take it past smiles and words.
You think Sam believes you have more dignity than you actually do, though. That if Dean offered you just one night, you wouldn’t take it in a heartbeat. That you’d keep coming back like an addict, until Dean decided he was done giving you what you crave. Sam thinks you wouldn’t break yourself for Dean.
It’s sweet, that he thinks that highly of you.
That doesn’t make him right.
“Can you-“ You pause, trying to find the right thing to say, that will just give you a chance to help. “If there’s anything-“
“I’m gonna talk to him. He’s being- You know.”
Sam glances back to Dean, and you do know. Dean’s never been good at asking for help.
He’s still fully knocked out and snoring so loud you can hear it through the windows.
Still adorable.
And when he’s finally up, and feeling better, you’re going to shove his stupid, broad chest and yell at him that no magical side-effect could ever make you not want to help.
For now, you’re going to take one of the spare cars and drive in circles, until the ache in your chest hurts just a little less. And when Dean calls for you, you’ll be there.
You’ll always be there.
But he doesn’t call for you.
The day passes and turns into night, and the night turns into another day, and then suddenly it’s all blurring together and it’s been a week. And you haven’t spoken to Dean once.
You only know he’s in the bunker because you can see the light from under his door, and food is vanishing that Sam would never touch. When you wake up there’s enough coffee left over for you to have a cup, just like every morning, but usually Dean is leaning against the counter and waiting for you to join him. Now it’s just the mug out and the pot half-full. Same as how books keep going missing from the library before reappearing the next day, but Dean never once even wanders into the room. The Impala is gone for hours, and then you’ll check the garage again and it’s back. Dinner gets made, but you never see it. Dean doesn’t appear over your shoulder in the library and call you to dinner, you just wander into the kitchen and find it made.
“He’s avoiding me.”
Sam shakes his head, not looking up from his laptop. “No, he’s not.”
“I haven’t seen him once-“
“He’s still sick.”
“Sam-“
Sam says your name back, and when he looks up, there’s a heavy exhaustion in his gaze. “I’m working on it. He’ll be fine, the fever broke, but Dean- I can’t tell you.”
“Why.” Your voice is desperate, but the ache in your chest has only grown. You miss him. Even ignoring the in love with him thing, Dean’s your best friend. You miss talking to him while he cooks, and bothering him with the books you’ve read, and trying to see who can fit the most marshmallows in their mouth.
But he’s avoiding you. Even if Sam won’t say it, you know he is. You’ve tried to catch him. You get up an hour earlier, but he’s already gone. You try and stay up for a whole day just to see him—to make sure he’s okay, and that he didn’t die and Sam just hasn’t figured out how to tell you—but you pass out around 4am and wake up with a blanket over your body, and another three books gone. The next time the Impala is gone you sit in the garage all day, leave once to go to the bathroom, and come back to it returned and Dean nowhere in sight.
You don’t understand why.
“I-“ Sam exhales, shaking his head again. “I wish I could tell you. But that- You know I trust you. Dean trusts you. But explaining it- I’d be violating Dean’s trust. I’m sorry.”
He looks it. Sam’s expression is tired, and you can hear the strain in his voice, but it doesn’t make anything hurt less.
Dean’s avoiding you.
And you just want to see him. To know what’s wrong, so you can tell him you don’t care about the curse.
That evening, you try to camp the kitchen. Dinner never comes out that night, and around eight, Sam wanders in and asks if you can just order.
“No.” You mutter, sitting cross-legged on the counter, and Sam sighs.
“I’m hungry,” he says your name with a pleading tone. “I know you’re hungry too. And I’m going to order for myself, so just text me if you want anything and I’ll pick it up while I’m out-“
“I don’t want anything.”
Sam gives you a sympathetic look, and you want to curl into yourself and hide. It can’t be that obvious. Even if Sam knows, there’s no way he knows-
“If you’re waiting for him, he’s not going to come out.”
You scowl, shooting Sam a glare. “So he is avoiding me.”
Sam sighs your name. “I- Yeah. He is.”
“Why-“
“I can’t-“
“Tell me.” You finish for him, rubbing at your face as you continue, until it’s raw enough to hurt a little. “Yeah, I got it. Is he-“ You have to swallow on a lump in your throat. “Is he okay?”
“He will be.” Sam mutters. “I- I think I’ve almost got it.”
“Can I help?”
Sam shakes his head, and you swallow, leaning down until your back is flat on the table.
“Okay.”
“Do you, uh- Want anything?”
You want to help. To understand.
Dean.
You want Dean.
“No.”
There’s a silence for a second, and you’re convinced Sam is gone, right up until he mutters your name. His voice is impossibly soft.
It just makes this hurt more.
“He’s in his room. And he knows you’re in here. He’s not going to come out.” Sam sighs. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
You frown at the ceiling, trying to work out what that means, but by the time you sit up Sam is gone.
Dean’s in his room. And he’s not going to come out. And it does not take a few hours to pick up dinner, but Sam will be gone anyway, and-
Oh.
Okay.
You slide off the counter, keeping your steps soft as you walk down the hall, and stop in front of Dean’s room.
“Dean?” You knock, and he’s not a subtle as he thinks he is.
The noise from the TV turns off.
“Dean,” You knock again, still to no answer. “I know you’re in there.”
Nothing.
“Dean Winchester, if you don’t open the door, I’m going to break it in-“
“Don’t.”
His voice is barely a grunt. But it’s the first time you heard it in a fucking week, and a sob rises to your throat.
He’s alive. He can talk, and he’s been avoiding you, but he’s okay.
“Fuck, Dean, are you-“
“Don’t come in here.” His voice is rising slightly, and something starts to prickle over your skin.
It’s the same feeling you get on a hunt, when something is just a little off.
A warning.
“Dean-“
“Please.” There’s a desperation in his voice, and it just makes the prickle grow into a stinging itch. “Don’t.”
“Don’t-“ You swallow. “Don’t what?”
You can hear his deep breath through the door. “Come inside.”
“De-“
“Just- If you need something, go ask Sammy-“
“I don’t need anything, Dean.” I just need you. “I want to talk.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then, “We’re talking right now.”
“This doesn’t count, I want to see you-“
“No.”
“Dean-“
“I’m not dying,” Dean snaps your name. “You don’t need to help.”
There’s a harsh tone to his voice that you’ve rarely heard in your direction. The tone he uses on hunts and when he and Sam are fighting. His pissed tone.
He’s serious.
But it’s only making the itch feel like a burn. You need to see him. Just for one second, so you know he’s not lying, and he has to look you in the eyes and admit that he’s been avoiding you. He doesn’t get to be pissed when he’s been dodging you. That’s not how this fucking works.
You want to help, still.
But Dean does not get to be angry about that.
“I’m going to open the door.”
Dean hisses your name. “I’m tellin’ you, don’t-“
“I won’t if you give me a reason-“
“I don’t want you to see me.”
You freeze, your hand hovering up to push open the door, and your heart might have frozen and dropped into your stomach.
He didn’t want you. Doesn’t want you. Not just your help, but to see you at all. He doesn’t want you, and your heart is fracturing in strange places you didn’t know it could break—but you should have, only Dean has ever been able to touch them—and Dean doesn’t want you-
“Fuck, are you- Son of a bitch-“
There’s a shuffling and banging sound from the other side of the door, and the world is blurry. It might have something to do with the soreness in your throat and the choked sound you couldn’t stop from escaping.
“Don’t cry, sweetheart-“
“I’m not.” You take a step back from the door, your hand falling back to your side. “I- Sam’s out, if you need something, call him.”
“I know, it’s-“ He sounds closer than before. “It’s complicated, but I’m not pissed at you-“
“So why are you avoiding me.”
The silence is tight. Long. You can hear Dean’s heavy breathing through the door, and your fingers are straining to touch him, to make it better, but he doesn’t want you.
“I’m not crying, Dean.” Your voice has to be neutral. He already has your heart resting somewhere stronger than just the palm of his hand, he doesn’t get to have every other piece of you too. Not when he’d only toss it right back. “I know you got cursed, and I know you don’t want my help, but you don’t need to be- I would help. I’d always help. You’re my friend-“
There’s a dry, slightly muffled chuckle through the door. “Friend, huh.”
“Yeah, I am.” You raise your chin—he can’t see it, but it makes you feel better—and narrow your eyes at the door. “And I know you’re avoiding me, so don't try to deny it-“
“Can’t.”
You blink. “What?”
“Can’t deny it.” He grunts. “I’ve been avoiding you.”
“I- Oh.” The world is getting blurry again. He doesn’t get to have the rest of you. “Why?”
Dean groans, and you flinch as a heavy thud sounds from his room. “Fuck.”
“Dean-“
“Don’t ask me that.” He grunts, his voice right on the other side of the door. “Please.”
“I- Why?”
“Goddamnit, just stop asking me questions-“
“Dean, I need to know-“
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do-“
“Trust me,” he mutters your name. “You don’t.”
You scowl at the door.
He doesn’t get to do this. No matter what type of righteous shit he’s got in his head, no matter what this curse is, Dean doesn’t get to just say he’s avoiding you, then not say why. Doesn’t get to tell you what to do when he won’t look at you.
Doesn’t get to have all of you if he doesn’t really want it.
“Dean Winchester.” You move your hand back to the door, and you could swear you hear him stiffen. “You do not get to tell me what I need.”
He chuckles again, and you can hear it this time. The pain in the sound. “Then you’re just gonna have to trust me on this one-“
“I can’t trust you.” You cut him off with a snap. “Not when you won’t answer my questions. You can even lie, you just have to be convincing-“
“I- Fuck- I can’t!”
Dean’s voice has risen to a shout, and you pause. He sounds wounded. Like a distressed animal.
“I can’t goddamn lie.” He grunts, his voice lowered to something heavy. “The witch truth-roofied me, and I can’t say a lie.”
You frown. “Then why the fuck have you been avoiding me?”
“I- Shit,” he groans again. “There are some questions I don’t want you asking me. Safer for all of us.”
“Safer for you to ignore me-“
“I haven’t been ignoring you.”
“We haven’t spoken since you got back-“
“Cause I’ve been avoiding you-
“Which is better?”
He pauses, his voice falling to a mumble. “No.”
You let out a soft, insane sounding laugh. You’re going to strangle him, or hug him, or shove him off a cliff before diving after him. He’s not stupid, but he can be such a fucking idiot.
“What were you planning on doing, when the curse was broken?” You lean against the door, keeping your voice dry. “Just popping up and acting like nothing ever happened?”
“Uh-“ Dean coughs. “Yeah? Are you pissed at me?”
“Yes.”
“Oh-“
“But.” You hum, watching the door as if you might be able to see Dean through it. “I’ll be less pissed if you tell me why.”
You can feel his glare. “I told you why, truth curse-“
“That’s a stupid reason. I know everything about you.”
There’s the chuckle again. “No, you don’t.”
“Yeah, I do-“
“I told you to trust me-“
“And I told you I can’t.” You take a slow, stuttering breath. “Please, Dean, we’ll be fine if you just tell me the truth-“
“No.”
“Dean-“
“You don’t want to know the truth-“
“I don’t even know that you’re actually cursed with that!” Your voice is rising, but he’s such an idiot, and you love him, and most of what you can feel is hot. Worry or anger or stress or just want. You want to see him, to help him, to punch him in the face and trust him. But you can’t. “For all I know, you’re lying to me right now-“
Your words are cut off with a yelp as the door swings open, and you stumble a step forward, right into-
Dean.
He’s catching you. Keeping your upright by pressing you right to his chest, his hands framing your face and his eyes boring right into yours.
And he looks tired—bags under his eyes and his hair a little messy from lack of care—but he’s still Dean. Still the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen, strong and hot around you, a growl in his voice that you can feel vibrate through his chest as he speaks.
“Ask me something.”
You blink at him. “You said-“
“Not that. Anything else.”
“I-“ You swallow, unable to break his gaze. “Can you tell me something embarrassing?”
His jaw twitches, but you get a firm nod. “I used to hide hentai mags in Sam’s bag, so chicks wouldn’t see them and think they were mine. One time I ate a pie off a girl’s stomach, and I enjoyed the pie more than the sex. I tried one of Sam’s running smoothies and it wasn’t dogshit, but then I spent twenty hours of the toilet after. Body wasn’t ready for it, I guess. Uh- One time I got turned on by holding a book-“
“A book?” You frown at him. “What book?”
“Uh, Wicked.”
“Oh. I love that book.”
“I know.” He mutters, scanning over you carefully. “Do I look like I’m lying?”
“No,” you whisper, your hands shoot up to hold Dean’s against your face. “I- No.”
“Good. You trust me?”
“I- Dean, I still need you to tell me why.”
Dean’s jaw tightens, his nostrils flaring slightly.
You might be about to melt. You’ve never been this close to him, he’s never looked at you like this—as if he wouldn’t mind only looking at you for the rest of your life, or maybe he’d just like to eat you alive—and there’s a firmness to his voice that’s lighting a fire in your core.
“I told you not to ask me that.” He mutters, and you shake your head.
“I need to know, Dean, please.” You pull your lips between your teeth. “You didn’t even talk to me, and you told Sam not to tell me, and it really- It wasn’t-“ You swallow, your voice turning to almost a whine, and you can’t stop it. “That wasn’t fair, I thought you were mad at me and I just- I wanted to help-“
“I know you did, baby.” Dean sighs, and your lips part slightly.
Baby.
“I’d never be mad at you,” he runs his thumb over your cheekbone, and it’s becoming really hard to not give him all of you. “I- You’re just- I-“
He’s moving before you know what’s happening. Diving down and pulling you up at the same time, crashing his mouth against yours with almost a bloody desperation, and you did melt. You’re all heat as your fingers curl against his chest, and his lips mold perfectly against yours, and he’s kissing you like you’re going to disintegrate and he’s going to die and he’s kissing you-
It’s over as soon as it starts. Your head is spinning, and your lips are already swollen from the bruising force of his kiss, but Dean’s drawing back with an almost frantic expression, stumbling back and leaving your swaying into the middle of the room.
“I- Son of a bitch- I’m sorry-“
You blink at him, still a little dazed. “You’re sorry?”
Dean nods, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head. “Shit- I shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, I-“
“Why?” Your voice is soft, and he frowns at you.
“You- I didn’t-“
“Dean.” You force yourself to stand tall, wrapping your arms around your stomach. He can’t do this. Just kiss you like that then say it shouldn’t have happened. He fucking kissed you. “Please just tell me why. I- You can’t just ignore me then do that and not say- You have to tell me why-“ You won’t cry. “Please-“
“I love you.”
Time might not be moving. Dean’s just staring at you from across the room, and you can’t really feel your legs, and-
“What?” You whisper, and he shakes his head.
“I- I fucking love you.” He mutters, his gaze falling down to the floor. “And I know you deserve better, I do- But I always wanna tell you, and I would’ve, so I had to- I wasn’t tryin’ to piss you off, and I- Goddamnit, I never wanna make you cry, but you shouldn’t have to worry about turning me down-“
It’s your turn to move. You cross the room before Dean can keep saying stupid things, grab the collar of his shirt, and yank him back down into a kiss.
It’s even better than the first one. Dean falls into you in half a second, his arms flying out to hold you right to his chest, almost lifting you off the ground as he pushes his tongue between your lips, then groaning down your throat when you nip at it and wrap an arm around his neck. He tastes so good, and he fits better against you than you thought possible, and his hands are roaming all over you like he’s trying to check you’re real.
You’ve never felt more real. There’s a wildfire spreading through your body, building as broad fingers brush against the bare skin of your back, and Dean’s mouth is starting to wander, sucking your upper lip between his teeth before starting to kiss down your neck, and his hand squeezes against your ass-
You move back, shoving his chest with all the strength you have, and he stumbles away, blinking at you with a wide, lust-blown expression.
“Never,” you poke his chest, glaring up at his dumbstruck, handsome face. “Do that again. I have loved you since I met you, Dean, you fucking idiot, and if you ever pull something like that again, I will shoot you with the gun you gave me.”
Dean blinks at you, and his face splits into a wide grin. “You love me?”
“Of course I love you-“
“Awesome.” He takes a step forward, and you stop him with a palm on his chest.
“Not awesome, Dean, I’m still mad at you-“
Your words turn into an unconvincing sigh as Dean grabs your wrist and tugs you forward, pulling you back into a longer, deeper kiss.
It’s slow and soft, like you have all the time in the universe, and you feel as if you’re floating. Like everything is only light and warmth and the taste of Dean, lingering on your tongue when he hums against your lips, and pulls back with another wide, boyish grin.
“Here’s the deal, babygirl.” He tangles a hand in your hair, tipping your head back until your gaze is locked onto his. “You can kick my ass later, but right now I’d really like to give you a reason to stop being pissed at me. You want that?”
You pause, your fingers playing with the hair on the nape of his neck. “I still get to be mad later?”
Dean nods, leaning down to suck on the soft skin of your neck, and you can’t stop the moan that escapes your mouth.
“Dean-“
“Lemme show you how much I mean it,” he hums against your skin. “Can’t lie right now, sweetheart, and you’re the prettiest things I’ve ever goddamn seen. Fuckin’ hated avoiding you, missed you so much-“
“I- Missed you too-“
“I know you did, c’mon, lemme take care of you-“
“Okay.”
He pulls back, watching you carefully. “You sure?”
You nod eagerly, and his face splits back into a grin.
“Ready?”
“Yeah,” your voice is breathy, and Dean’s grin widens.
But he doesn’t get to get off that easy.
“What do you want to do to me, Winchester?” You give him a teasing smirk, and his hands tense on your waist. “If you’ve been thinking about it that much…”
You raise your brows in a silent suggestion, and Dean groans.
“That’s not playing fair,” he leans back down, and you dodge, moving to kiss along his jawline.
“Tell me what you want-“
“You’re starting something, sweetheart,” his words sound pushed through his teeth, and you giggle.
“And you’re dodging the question- Dean-“
You squeak as his hand tangles in your hair, and he yanks you back to meet his gaze.
He looks almost feral. Darkened eyes and full, swollen lips that are already parted with heavy breath. You’re pressed right against him, and his hand still on your waist is kneading your skin until you’re almost melted in the sheer heat and want, and-
He’s pressed right against your thigh. Hard. Big.
The ache between your legs is unbearable. You might come apart from nothing at all.
Or just from the sound of Dean’s voice, deep and rough and filled with hunger.
“I’ve wanted you since I saw you, baby,” he mutters, and when your hands shoot up to wrap around his neck and tug at his hair, a soft moan escapes his lips. “Son of a bitch, I want you all the fuckin’ time-“
“How?” You whisper, and his eyes flash.
“You really wanna know, sweet girl?” Dean starts to walk you backwards, towards his bed, and lets out a hiss when you yank on his hair again.
“I’m asking-“
“I’ve thought about everything,” his voice is almost a growl, and you squeak as he tosses you back onto the mattress. “Thought about eating you out until you screamed, or just touching you to see what kinda sounds you’d make,” Dean pulls his shirt of as you gape up at him, before crawls over you with a wide grin. “Had dreams about those freakin’ sounds, how you’d moan for me if I did this-“
One big hand slides under your shirt, palming at your breasts before rolling a nipple between two fingers, and you fall fully back with a gasp.
“Dean-“ You grab at his shoulders, squirming below him, and his grin grows, his hand wandering over to the other breast to repeat the movement. “Oh, god.”
“Nope.” Dean leans down, kissing you slow and deep, his hand starting to wander down your stomach, until he’s cupping you over your shorts. “Just me, sweetheart.”
You moan, shaking your head. “That’s so bad, De- Fuck-“
He smirks as his fingers slide under your shorts, and it falters for only a second as they find your bare pussy.
“You’re not wearing any underwear.” He grunts, and you flush, turning your face into the pillow.
“Laundry day,” you mumble, and Dean chuckles.
“Sure, baby-“
“It is,” you twist to glare at him, and his grin just grows.
“I believe you,” he leans down, brushing his mouth right over yours, and you squeak as one finger trails between your pussy lips. “But I also believe you’re always this wet for me. And sometimes,” his thumb presses right over your clit. “You’d go bare and hope I’d just pin you down and fuck you.”
You moan shamelessly, your eyes wide and trapped on Dean’s and his voice drops lower than you’ve ever heard it.
“I think you’ve touched yourself thinking of me, just like I touch myself thinking about you.”
There’s no chance to respond before his finger pushes inside of you, his thumb starting to rub slow circles around your pussy, and you’re flying. The only tether between the earth and pleasure, white-hot and perfect and teasing, is Dean’s voice, right in your ear.
“Dream about your pretty mouth on my cock, babygirl. Or your hands, or being buried in the sweet pussy until you’re a perfect mess for me.” He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of your mouth, and your nails dig into his back. “Kinda like this, actually.”
“De- Shit,” a second finger pushes in with the first, and he’s still moving them so slow. “Feels good, so good-“
“Yeah, it does,” Dean groans, and your eyes flutter open to see him rutting against the mattress, his own face almost a mirror of your own desperation as he watches his fingers pump in and out of your cunt. “Jesus, you’re so pretty-“
“Dean.” You grab his face between your hands, and his eyes snap onto yours. “More.”
He blinks at you for a second, but then gives you a tight nod.
His fingers crook inside of you, rubbing against that hot, spongey spot inside of you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. His thumb is gone from your clit, only giving it quick, frenzied flicks as you’re dragged right up to the edge, and he won’t look away from you-
Then he’s gone. You’re dangling right on the edge of release, but Dean yanks his fingers away with a taunting grin, and a high, pathetic sound escapes your throat.
You start to grumble an incoherent protest, but it dies in your throat at the sight above you.
He’s pushing your legs up to help you out of your shorts. He kisses against your calf before tossing everything into a corner of the room, and shoves your knees back apart. Then the two fingers push back into your for only a second, long enough to pull another moan from your throat, and Dean settles back between your legs with a grin.
Then he’s gone again. And one hand grabs your chin to keep your eyes trapped on his as he brings his fingers up to his mouth.
Dean cleans his fingers of your arousal, his gaze never leaving yours, and a sound that’s awfully like a moan rumbling through his chest.
“Taste better than I dreamed,” he mutters, and you shudder with pleasure as he goes back, dragging those same fingers back over your soaked core, dipping slightly into your cunt like he’s trying to gather as much as he can. “Shit, I would’ve let a witch get the jump on me years ago if I knew I’d finally get to have this.”
You blink at him, your voice so soft and needy you almost don’t recognize it. “Years?”
“Uh, yeah.” Dean nods, a slight blush seeming to creep over his cheeks, even as his thumb starts to drag slow circles around your clit. “Told you, sweetheart, you’ve been in since I saw you.”
“I- Why didn’t you-“
He shrugs. “Didn’t think you’d want it. Taste.”
You frown at him, opening your mouth to protest—your mind doesn’t seem to be able to wrap itself around not wanting Dean—but the sound falls into a moan as his fingers press on your lower lip. They’re soaked in your wetness, and asking for further permission, and under Dean’s almost adoring gaze, you don’t know how to do anything but grant it.
Dean groans as he pushes his fingers almost all the way down your throat, and you feel his still-clothed cock twitch against you when you start to suck.
“Jesus,” he mutters, pulling back with another one of those moans. “You’re so freakin’ perfect-“
“Dean,” you whine, scratching at his chest and bucking your hips up to try and grind over his bulge, but he just grunts, dropping his full weight down to pin you against the mattress.
“Not yet, sweetheart.”
You shake your head, wiggling below him, and his eyes flutter shut.
“God-“ He moans your name as you manage to get your legs free, wrapping them around his waist and rolling your hips against his still hidden cock. “Shit- Alright.”
Dean grabs you by your waist, and you yelp as he rolls you over without warning. Suddenly you’re straddling his bare chest as he pulls off his sweats, his gaze locked on yours the whole time. Then your shirt is being all but ripped off your body, and before you know what’s happening, Dean’s got one hand on your ass and the other back on your jaw, hold your eyes down to his.
He mutters your name, and your fingers curl against his bare chest. “I’ve got a condom in the side drawer-“
“I’m clean.” Your words are too quick, and his eyes flash. “And I- I’m on birth control. If- If you’re- If you too-“
He laughs, his thumb tracing over your lower lip, and the sound rolls through his chest, vibrating against your pussy and making your mouth fall open.
“Don’t hurt yourself, baby.” Dean’s hands drift to grab you by the waist, and he shifts below you, making sure he’s more leaning against the headboard than flat on his back. “Hold on.”
His grip tightens, and a stupid, high sound leaves you as he picks you up and pushes you down onto his cock.
He’s big. And thick. And you’re being filled up so good, already cockdrunk and a little out of your mind at the feel of him splitting your open and pressing on all the right spots, but he’s not moving. Dean’s just watching you with a wide, adoring gaze, grunting whenever you try to grind against him and hissing when you clench around him.
“I said,” he lands a light slap on your ass, his eyes narrowing on yours. “Not yet. Wanna feel you, baby. We’re gonna stay just like this until you’re begging for it.”
You gape at him, every word coming up as only a gasp or whimper as you try to move again, and he hits your ass again, and Dean raises his brows.
“Good?”
You nod, leaning down to press your brow to his. “Just doesn’t seem fair.”
He frowns. “Fair- If you don’t-“
“I like this.” You mumble, ghosting a kiss over his lips. “A lot. Love it.”
Dean grunts, dragging you down into a full, deep kiss that makes it almost impossible not to squirm against him.
“What’s not fair, then?” He hums against your lips, and now that he knows you’re good, he seems to be all back on teasing. “C’mon, baby, you can tell me-“
You shove his chest, and he laughs. He can’t keep doing that. It’s like a small vibrator against your clit, and he’s so handsome, and you don’t know how to not clench around him. But all that gets you is another slap of your ass, and you might be starting to drip down your thighs and onto Dean’s.
“Asshole-“
He grabs your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. “You love it.”
You do. “Never should’ve told you that,” you grumble, and he laughs again, and you might be on the brink of insanity.
“Too late. I know it now. Never gonna let you or this pretty pussy go neglected again, babygirl, so watch out.”
He pokes your side, grinning as you let out a squeaking giggle, but it quickly falls into a moan as his free hand moves up to play with your tits.
“Dean-“
“I know,” he hums, flicking your nipple before leaning up to press a kiss over the hurt. “But you’re doing so well for me, sweetheart. Being such a good girl.”
You moan against, and Dean smirks.
“You like that, don’t you. Like being my good girl-“
“Dean.” You hiss, trying to grind against him, and whimpering at the next slap on your ass. “Fuck, please-“
“That’s closer.” He hums, resuming his movements on your tits. “But you still have to tell me what’s not fair.”
“It’s-“ You take a shaking breath, trying to regather your thoughts. “It’s not important-“
“Anything you think is important.” He mutters, and you swallow at the intensity in his gaze. “Tell me, baby. Then I’ll give you whatever you want.”
Fuck.
He can’t lie.
And just from the expression on his face, you can almost feel how much he means it.
“It’s just, I-“ You take a slow breath, watching him carefully. “What about you?”
Dean frowns. “What about me.”
“You had, um- a lot of ideas.” You trace your fingers over his tattoo, trying to focus on your words instead of Dean’s cock, hard and pressed into you and making you almost burn with desire. “And I- I just don’t want it to only be about me-“
You’re cut off as Dean laughs again, your words falling into a high, gasping moan, and almost in a reward, Dean slams himself up to meet the rolls of your hips.
You still get a small spank for the movement.
Worth it.
Dean drawls your name, looking up at you like you’re the best thing he’s ever seen. “You think having you sit on my cock under you’re begging me to fuck you is about you?”
You flush, shaking your head weakly, and he chuckles again.
You moan, fluttering around him, but this time the slap on your ass comes with Dean pinching your nipple, and slamming up until he’s hitting your cervix.
“Trust me, baby,” he grunts, squeezing your ass and tugging you back down into a long, slow kiss. “This is all about me.”
“But-“
“We’re gonna do all of that shit later,” Dean pulls back, just enough to hold your gaze, and his arm wraps around your back, pinning you firmly down. “Trust me, babygirl, I mean it. I’m gonna give you everything.”
“Dean-“
“But right now, I want you to come on my cock, and I want you to say please.” Something strange flashes over his expression, and his voice drops impossibly lower. “Need to know you mean it, sweetheart.”
Oh.
You’re not under a truth curse. And Dean is adorable and handsome and strong below you, but he’s still Dean.
And you can see it in his eyes.
He’s still not sure you do mean it.
You have nothing to do but prove him wrong.
“Dean.” You whisper, forcing your hips not to roll as you lean down, holding his gaze. “Please. I want it. Want it so bad. I dream about you and touch myself thinking about you. I’d let you do whatever you want to me, cause I love you and I need you, Dean. I’m going to go insane if you don’t fuck me, please.”
“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters, his grip growing bruising on your hips. “Feel so good, baby, just need you to give me one more-“
“Please-“
Your voice turns into a long, heavy moan as Dean rolls your hips along his cock, and the whole world lights up with good.
“Good girl,” he mutters, and you throw your head back as he helps you repeat the movement, every single nerve in your body glowing with Dean. “Fuck yourself on my cock, sweetheart. Take what you need.”
There might be something teasing to his voice, but you can’t really hear it. You can’t really think of anything past the feeling of him inside you, or the low sounds that you keep pulling out of his chest as you grind down. You’re riding Dean’s cock like your life depends on it, gasping his name whenever your clit rubs against his groin or his hips jerk, making him bump that sensitive spot deep inside of you.
And he’s a vision below you. Moaning your name and kneading at your ass, watching you move above him like he’s looking at all the stars in the sky. His lips are parted with heavy breathes, and one hand is drifting slowly up to the nape of your neck, squeezing slightly with his eyes wide on yours, and you tip your head back without a question.
Dean groans, his hand moving to grab your throat, and you move faster. He’s not holding you that tight, but there’s a possessiveness to his touch that’s like fire up your spine, and you want him to leave a mark. Want everyone to know that he’s yours, and he’s touching you, and-
“Fuck-“ Dean grunts your name, his grip squeezing slightly, and you move faster. “Shit- Sweetheart, you’re-“
His head throws back with a groan as you clench around him, chasing your release desperately, and you want him to come with you. You need him to. You need him to fill you up, to feel the burn of him in a week, to be so fucking ruined by him you can’t even walk-
“Dean,” you gasp, and his grip tightens even more. Stars are starting to dance behind your eyes. “So close, feels so good-“
“I know,” he grunts, and you gasp as his hips rut up. “Hold it, babygirl.”
You shake your head, grinding faster. “Can’t- Need you-“
You whimper as Dean squeezes your throat, and his eyes flash. “C’mon, sweet girl, be good for me-“
“I- Dean-“
He grunts, and you’re not sure when the shift happened, but you’re not in charge anymore. Dean’s arm is wrapped around your waist, pinning you against his chest as he surges up, his hand moving to your jaw to hold it still. The kiss is deep and bruising and all spit and teeth, and he’s fucking you. Drilling up into your aching cunt without relent, kissing all over your face and down your neck, over the small marks his hand left. Moving back to your mouth as you start to shudder around him, scraping at his shoulders in a plea for release and moaning down your throat.
“Gonna cum,” he groans, his pace growing uneven. “Where-“
“In. Inside. Dean, just- Fuck-“
You almost scream as his thumb moves back to your clit, leaving a featherlight touch that’s somehow too much and not nearly enough.
“Dean-“
“Cum on my cock, baby.” He growls, pressing his thumb down so hard it lights a firework in your whole body, and you don’t know how to do anything but listen.
Your orgasm hits your like a wildfire, sweeping through your whole body until your toes are curling and you’re slumped in Dean’s arms, and he meets you with one last, beautiful moan of your name and a slam of his hips home. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he fucks you through his release, making yours rise and crest once more, and when it’s done, everything feels sort of bright and dizzying. A high, cockdrunk giggle escapes your throat, and Dean groans.
“Shit-“ He mutters your name, and you realize you’d squeezed around him. “Goddamnit, that was-“
“Yeah.” You whisper, curling further into his chest. “Thanks.”
He chuckles, but it falls into another moan as you flutter around him once more. “Alright, that’s enough of that.”
Dean’s breathing is ragged in your ear, and you keep your arms wrapped tight around him as he pulls out. You don’t manage to stop your soft moan, feeling impossibly empty and raw from the absence of him, but it’s alright.
He’s still here.
And now, he’s yours.
Dean presses a soft kiss to your brow, his words soft in your ear. “You want me to clean you up, baby?”
You shake your head, pressing your face into the crook of his neck. “Don’t wanna move.”
“We made a mess-“
“Later.”
He chuckles, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.”
You smile, and grab him a little tighter. “Are you still truth cursed?”
“Course I am. Wasn’t a sex curse, this is just a benefit-“
“Shut up.” You tug on his hair, and all you get is a laugh in return.
You lean back, just enough to meet his eyes, and he can’t have looked at you like this before. Like you’re his whole world, and he’d never want to ever be anywhere else but you.
You would’ve seen it.
You hope you would’ve.
“Did you mean it?” You whisper, and he frowns.
“Mean what?”
“That you’ve loved me since we met?”
Dean’s jaw twitches, and he lets out a slow sigh. “I’ve wanted you since we met. Didn’t love you until a few months after. But it didn’t take much.”
You raise your brows, and he rolls his eyes.
“You’re really taking advantage of how that I’m cursed, you know-“
“It was first sight for me.” You whisper, and his mouth snaps shut. “You saved me, then helped me stand up, and I felt like an idiot because I was in love with the stranger who just decapitated someone in front of me.”
Dean’s throat bobs. “You still feel like an idiot?”
“Yeah.” It’s only fair you’re honest, if he has to be. “But only because I spent years pretending, I didn’t love you, and didn’t get to have this.”
You lean down, pressing a soft kiss to Dean’s lip, and he lets out a soft sound that almost has you ready for round two.
“You punched me.” He mutters, and you lean back with a curious expression.
“Huh?”
“That’s when I fell in love with you.” He mutters, rubbing slow circles on the skin of your hips. “I was trying to teach you how to shoot, but you’d never held a gun so you were shit at it. And I already liked you, so I was, uh- Kinda being an asshole. Pushing you too hard. And I said somethin’ about you not being able to defend yourself, and you suckered me right in my fuckin’ jaw. Started shouting at me about how I was being a dick, but- Um-“ He’s blushing, giving you an almost sheepish expression. “Didn’t hear a word you said. Think I was making heart eyes or something. Remember thinking I’m either marrying you, or no one.”
You can’t stop your wide, almost idiotic smile, but it’s worth it. Dean mirrors it right back, and his eyes flutter as your run your hand carefully through his hair.
“I love you.” You whisper. “And I can punch you again, if you want.”
He chuckles, shaking his head, and leaning up to pull you down into a long, slow kiss. And you can feel it, in this one. How he really has been as hungry for this as you have. How—just as you don’t think you ever want to move from his lap, even if the rapture floods the world and the sky starts to fall—he never plans to let you go.
“That can be one of our later things,” he mutters, tracing his tongue over your lower lip. “Right now I just wanna sit with my girl.”
You beam, nipping at his tongue. “Who you love?”
“Yeah.” He snorts, squeezing your ribs and grinning as you jump, almost falling over him with a whine. “Who I love.”
End Note: The Dean Winchester mind cannot comprehend that he is lovable (I am going to force that knowledge down his throat).
If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3
