i 🫶 older men

em - she/her - 21 i pretty much just reblog nasty fics!! <3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

delicate

✦Read on aO3! - Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦

✦summary: you ask dean to sleep with you, he turns you down, and you believe him. you tell him you don't care, and he believes you. eventually, one of you is going to have to tell the truth, won't they. ✦

✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, implied age gap (20s - 40s), virgin!reader, angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love, as is my way, shameless smut (loss of virginity, praise kink, dry humping, teasing, dean's dirty talk, spanking, fingering, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, pussy slapping, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, big dick dean, mean dean, dumbification), love confessions, fluff✦

✦wc: 8.6k✦

✦author's note: i love writing idiots in love it's my favorite kind of idiot it's for love✦

“Have sex with me.”

Dean spits his coffee out. You sigh, bracing your hands on your hips, and wait for him to collect himself. You’re patient. He’s scrambling and slamming a fist on his chest, and you pass him a napkin with a sweet smile. You don’t think it’s going to win you a spot in his bed, but it might help.

“Better?” You ask, when he no longer sputtering and choking. He grunts, holding a hand up for a few more seconds. You roll your eyes—it wasn’t that crazy a thing to say—but bounce on your toes and wait.

Dean clears his throat, ears red, and looks up at you like you’ve grown a second head.

“What?”

“Have sex with me-“

“Yeah, I- I heard you the first time, that’s not-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “It’s eight in the fuckin’ morning-“

“It’s eight fifteen.”

That earns you a flat look, and you smile innocently.

“That’s fifteen extra minutes, it matters-“

“Not for this. And- I ain’t even showered yet-“

Your nose wrinkles. “Why haven’t you showered?”

“I shower after coffee,” Dean mutters, turning his mug in his hands. “If I don’t, Sammy’s stinkin’ up the kitchen from his run.”

“Oh- Okay.” You clasp your hands behind your back, peering at his tight jaw, his mussed, soft-looking hair. “Is that… A yes?”

Dean’s eyes widen on yours. You’re worried he’s going to choke on the air this time. “Yes?”

“Are you going to have sex with me,” you clarify, and his mouth falls open.

“I- I’m- You’re-“ His throat bobs, and he starts to look around the room with a worried squint. “Are you fuckin’ with me?”

You frown. “Why would I be fucking with you?”

“’Cause, sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He lets out a sharp breath. “Is it Sam? Did he put you up to this? ‘Cause I told him- That kinda prank, it’s off the table-“

“What kind of prank?” You’re a little lost, and there’s shame starting to burn up your neck.

A prank. He thinks it’s a prank.

It’s not. You’re so serious it’s almost embarrassing. You wouldn’t have asked him if you weren’t. You’d almost talked yourself out of it, after spending too much time convincing yourself into it. Nights of tossing and turning in bed, an insatiable and aching heat between your legs and the sheets bunched around you in a mockery of a body. Weeks of watching the boys slip out of bars with women that seemed to fall into them like magnets while you spun around, alone on a barstool without any prospects.

Months, of watching Dean with a flush he never saw. An adoration written all over your face he didn’t seem capable of noticing. You’d tried to stomp it out. Your stupid, useless little crush. Dean was older. Seasoned and desirable in the way that made you wonder if he was even real sometimes. Out of your reach, tantalizing, and impossible to just forget about. 

You’d neglect your feelings in the hope they’d die, but he’d water them until they were in full bloom and overtaking your heart and mouth and head. He’d buy the snacks you like and let you chose the movie. He’d open doors and let his hand linger on your lower back, he’d smile at you in the dim light of the Impala and make you feel like the only person in the world, he’d call you when he was away on a separate hunt every single night, just to update you. He’d play wrestle you for the remote, and somehow never manage to wonder why he always won when he’d see you take down men closer to Sam’s size with barely a grunt of effort.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” he’d whisper in your ear, when he had you pinned on the floor beneath him, and you’d have to swallow down your moan.

He’d get up, turn on the TV, and leave you on the couch while he went to the bathroom. You’d sit with your knees to your chest and your breathing uneven, unable to focus on anything but the ghost of his body over yours. The heat of him, the way his arms had caged you in, his knee pressed far too close to your neglected core.

If Dean knew how you dreamed about him—how those moments followed you into bed, every single night—you’re so sure he’d never look at you again. He doesn’t see you like that, you’re sure. You’re the kid they took in, the annoying girl who’s got too much mouth on her and not enough experience, in every possible way.

You’ve never done sex. You sort of just missed the window, where it’s supposed to happen, and then it became too big a deal, then you met Dean and you were lost. What was the point of being with anyone else, when you had his shoulder bumping yours in the hallway. When you were so hopelessly in love with him, you think your heart might beat out of your chest like a cartoon every time you see him.

So you made a choice, a few weeks ago. A choice it took a lot of courage to work yourself up to following through on

You just need to have sex. With someone. Anyone. Preferably Dean. It just needs to be done and over with—one time, where he doesn’t know he’s taking your virginity, where he’s peacefully oblivious of your worship of his very existence—and then you can try to move on. Once you’ve had sex, it won’t be this big monster you shy away from anymore. It’ll just be another thing.

So you’re asking Dean. Outside of your alternate motivations, it’s a sound strategic call. You know about his prowess. He’s bragged to you about all his five-star reviews. And maybe that always made you gag over a toilet bowl after, but if it did, that’s none of his fucking business.

Maybe you’re not up to par with his usual partners, but you can do your makeup, or he can turn off the lights, or whatever else makes it easier for him. Anything that makes him touch you. You won’t even cry about it in front of him.

But he thinks it’s a prank. Why would he think it’s a prank.

“You know,” he says, watching you wearily. “Sammy gives you a tenner, you come and ask me for sex, everyone gets a good laugh at Dean. Good joke. Classy.”

You wrap your arms around your stomach, shrinking slightly into yourself. “It’s not a joke,” you mumble. “I- I was serious.”

“You were serious?”

He says it like it’s insane. You shrug, fixing your gaze on the floor. A joke. He thinks fucking you would be a joke.

“Sweetheart-“

“You don’t have to,” you take a step back, trying to sound casual. Like your heart isn’t being torn to ribbons.

You really hadn’t expected him to leap at the opportunity, but this is so close to cruel it hurts. Tears are threatening your eyes, and a lump is forming in your throat. Pathetic, a voice spits in your head. Why the fuck would he ever want to fuck you.

“Wait, just- Hold on-“

You look up, faster than you want to admit. Dean staring at you with pale face and slack jaw, throat working like he’s swallowing his own words every second. You wait, because you’re a fucking useless idiot. Bouncing nervously on your feet—they’re smarter than the rest of you, they want to run—and trying not to melt under his gaze.

“You’re actually askin’ me to fuck you?” He rasps, and you nod.

It’s the tiniest motion of your head. Dean shifts in his seat, staring at you with wide, dark eyes.

“Why?”

“Why?” You frown, saying the first, easiest, least embarrassing reason that pops into your head. “Because- You- You’re good at it?”

“I’m good at it,” Dean repeats. “You wanna fuck me ‘cause you think I’d be good at it?”

You wish he’d stop saying fuck like that. With a harsh ending and low drawl. “I don’t think,” you offer. “You’re the one who said you would be.”

Dean’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t look amused. “I could be lying, sweetheart.”

“I don’t think you are.”

He stares at you. His eyes flick up to the ceiling—maybe he still thinks he’s on a prank show—and he lets out a sharp, slow breath from his nose.

Then he shakes his head, and you feel the echo of your heart as it howls in pain.

“No,” he mutters. “I ain’t- Doin’ that. Not just ‘cause you- No.”

You blink at him, the world blurring a little. You stumble back, and Dean says your name, moving to his feet. You shake your head, moving back another step. Your eyes are stinging with tears, but that’s not his problem. He’s allowed to reject you. You’re also allowed to cry about it.

“Sweetheart-“

“It’s fine.” Your voice is too high. Too wobbly. “It’s- That’s okay.”

“No, just- Fuck-“ He rubs his jaw. “Listen to me, alright-“

“You don’t have to explain,” you shrug weakly. “It’s okay.”

Dean gives you a disbelieving look, but you move further back before he can try to make you feel better about the rejection. It’s not going to help.

“I’ll just-“ You look over your shoulder. To the door, just one more step back.

Dean says your name again. When you look back, he’s reaching to you, trying to beckon you back into the kitchen. You smile, tight and watery.

“Thank you for your consideration.” You say, because you’re a fucking idiot. Dean certainly looks at you like you’re one.

You flee the kitchen. He calls your name again, but this time you don’t look back.

Rejection is fine. You’re fine. You’re so fine, you lock yourself in your room for the rest of the day and eat so much ice cream your stomach hurts. Because it’s fun. It’s fun to cry over something you never even had.

At least you anticipated this. You have a very solid plan B.

If Dean won’t sleep with you, you’re going to find someone who will. You’re going to get it over with. This week.

You’re learning something about yourself.

You are not good at flirting.

The first thing you try is the bars. Sam and Dean slide into a booth, and you go to get the drinks. A guy makes eyes at you, and you smile sweetly in return. When you bring the drinks back, you set the beers down in front of the boys and turn back on your heels to give the bar-guy a shot.

Dean says your name, and you freeze. You always do that for him. It’s a habit you don’t think you’re able to break.

“Where’re you going?” He frowns at you, one arm slung around the back of the seat. Around where you’d usually sit.

“Bar,” you say lamely, and the lines on his face deepen.

“Why, you forget something?”

“No.”

“Then what-“

Dean cuts himself off, his gaze flicking over your shoulder. To the bar. To the man, waiting for you with a smirk, because you promised you’d be back.

Dean grunts your name, low and rough, and if he asked you to stay, you don’t think you’d be able to tell him no.

Things have been strange, since the kitchen. Neither of you have brought it up, and Dean hasn’t stopped treating you the way he always has, but there’s something charged beneath it. A live wire that frays and crackles, every time your fingers brush or your eyes meet. You’ve caught him staring at you with an open mouth a few times. Last week he tried to talk to you, alone in the Impala while Sam got snacks from a gas station. You announced that you had to shit, and scrambled out of the car.

You don’t want to talk about it, and Dean has no right to make you. He’s not the one who got his heart broken. He’s not the one who sort of wants to cry, whenever your eyes meet.

He certainly has no right to glare at you, when he puts together what you’re doing. He said he wasn’t going to sleep with you, and you’re a grown woman. You can, if you so please, have casual sex with a stranger. It is your right.

“You can’t be for real, sweetheart-“

“Dean.” Sam stares at his own beer, looking like he wants to vanish into the floor, and Dean scowls.

“C’mon, Sammy- Tell her she’s being crazy-“

“Crazy?” You snap, and Dean leans back in surprise. “You fuck around all the time, how is it crazy that I’d do the same thing?”

“It’s not- You just- You don’t-“ He swallows. “You don’t do this-“

“I do now.”

“Sweetheart, just- Sit down-“

You flip him off, and march back to the bar before he can ask with a little more conviction. You just need to break out of his orbit. To force yourself to realize that there are plenty of other men, and not having Dean isn’t the end of the universe.

Unfortunately, you sort of just keep proving the opposite.

“What’s a pretty little thing doin’ in a place like this?” The first guy at the bar asks, and you fumble.

You have no idea. You giggle nervously and spin in your chair, speaking words you can’t really hear. He seems into it—no matter how pathetic you must be coming off—until his fingers brush your arm, and you flinch back because his skin is cold. It sends a shiver up your spine that’s not the hot rush of Dean’s touch, but the sliver of a snake.

You go home alone that night, and you don’t look Dean in the eyes. He tries to talk to you, before you retreat to your room. You ignore him, because that’s the only way this is going to work. 

But you try again and again and again, and you never get anywhere. They always touch you, and it all falls apart. You look at them too long, and you can’t manage to squeeze them into a Dean shaped hole in your heart, and there’s no way forward. You try dating apps. That goes worse. Every dick pic you get sent just makes you wonder if sex is even something you want. They’re all worm-shaped and ugly. At least dildos come in nice colors. Maybe you should just buy a dildo.

No. You’ll just pretend it’s Dean all the time, and that’s the opposite of what you’re supposed to be doing here.

So you keep trying. And you keep failing. And Dean’s been looking at you weird—brow pinched and jaw set, every single night—and you’re getting desperate and fuck it.

“Sam.”

Sam hums, not looking up from his book. You clear your throat, leaning further over the table.

“Sam.”

“I’m listening, what’s-“

“Have sex with me.”

Sam, to his credit, doesn’t choke. He just goes very, very still, and looks up at you with an expression close to horror. He says your name slowly, and you shake your head, holding up a single hand.

“Just- Listen-“

“No?” Sam gapes at you. “I’m not- I’m not going to listen to that- Jesus Christ-“

“Come on, we could turn off the lights, and- I wouldn’t make it weird-“

“It’s already weird-“

“You’d be doing me a favor-“

“I’d be making a death wish!” Sam’s voice drops to a hiss. “Dean would fucking kill me.”

 You roll your eyes. “Then don’t tell him, dumbass.”

“No, I- I’m not doing that.” Sam shakes his head, like he’s trying to jolt the image free. “To you. Or him.”

“To him?” You narrow your eyes. “I- What the fuck would this do to Dean?”

Sam gives you a puppy-eyed, hopeless look. “I… Can’t say.”

“Sam Winchester-“

“Why are you asking me?” Sam whines. “I’m not- You’re not even into me-“

“Exactly, there would be no strings attached-“

“That’s not healthy-“

“Fuck off, like you don’t have casual sex-“

“I mean, I do, but I’m not-“ Sam cuts himself off, sighing dramatically. “Just- Why would you even want to have sex with me?”

You flush, but shrug. It’s just Sam. It’s easier to tell him than Dean. “I want to get it over with.”

“Get it over with?” Sam echoes. “It- You mean sex?”

You nod, and Sam blinks.

“Are you a virgin?”

“Maybe.”

“You- You’re-“

“Don’t be an asshole-“

“No, I’m not- I mean- It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. It actually-“ Sam frowns at the air. “It makes sense, I guess.”

That makes you scowl. “It makes sense?”

Sam shrugs, giving you an apologetic smile, and you can’t even think of an argument. You sigh, your shoulders slumping, and Sam clears his throat.

“You know I’m not going to sleep with you, right?”

“Yeah.” You sigh, and he nods slowly.

“Does Dean-“

“No.” You point a stern finger at him, and Sam raises his hands in surrender.

“I think you should-“

“Sam. I’ll cut your balls off.”

“I- Okay.”

You give him one last glare, and go to leave. But before you can go, the question scratches up your throat. You turn around, hands tucked behind your back, and speak softly. “Would you?”

Sam blinks. “What?”

“If you didn’t- Know me,” you mumble. “If we weren’t like- Friends. And you just met me, and I asked you- Would you?”

Sam snorts, and you scowl.

“I’m serious-“

“Yeah, I know you are.” Sam’s lips twitch. “It’s just- Yeah. I would. Of course I would.”

You stand a little taller. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean- You know you’re attractive, right? If you just didn’t, like, annoy me. I’d be in.”

“I do not annoy you-“

“You’re annoying me right now.”

You laugh despite yourself. Sam smiles, his voice dropping to something gentler.

“Anyone would be lucky to have you,” he says your name slowly. “I just- Don’t want to be lucky.”

You huff in amusement—if Sam isn’t lying, aversion to luck is a family trait—but dip your head. “Thanks. I think.”

“You’re welcome. And-“ Sam pauses, looking you up and down with a strange expression. “I’m sure the whole- Thing will work out for you. There are… People. I think you’re going to figure it out.”

“You need to sleep with her.”

Dean needed to stop drinking coffee when people walked into the kitchen. This was the second shirt he’d ruined in as many months, and it was because everyone kept saying crazy fucking shit.

“Sammy, what the fuck-“

Sam said your name, and Dean’s hands fisted on the table.

Again. Son of a bitch, he was about to go through this again. The first time had been bad enough. You’d looked at him with glossy, hopeful eyes, practically begged for him to fuck you, and Dean had wondered if he’d died in his sleep last night and been dragged back to hell. Forced to experience some new kind of torture Crowley was developing, where everything he’d ever wanted was just a stretch away from his fingertips, and he wasn’t allowed to take it.

He had to be the noble one here. The wise, old asshole who didn’t take advantage of you. Taking you up on that offer would be one of the worst things he’d ever done. It would be selfish, and cruel, and a worse fate than anything else. To get what he wanted, for one night, then never fucking have it again. To get hooked—because he would, he fucking knew he’d never be able to kiss and touch you once then go back to just living—and turn into an addict willing to do anything to get another hit.

Dean would’ve turned into a bigger creep than he already was. Instead of stares and long, shameful showers with his cock in his hand and your name on his lips, he’d stuff your panties in his pocket and press them to his nose while he fucked himself raw. He’d get possessive, he’d snarl at anyone else who got to close, he’d fall to his knees and beg you to stay if you ever decided you had enough of him.

And he knew that last thing was going to happen eventually. You had a whole life ahead of you, and he was stuck here. In this dim bunker with blood on his hands and under his feet and staining his past and future all at once. He swam in a river of it. In front of him, behind him, washing over him all the time, there was just fucking blood. You deserved better than that. Better than Dean. You deserved the fucking world.

So he’d told you no, and you’d looked at him like a wet fucking kitten he’d kicked into the rain, but it had been for your own good. You’d get over it. Dean was the one who had to watch you flirt with douchebags at the bar. Who couldn’t get in another bed anymore, because he kept getting kicked out for moaning your name.

He was the one who was rooted here forever. You’d find something softer. Something good.  He’d accepted that, with a lot of beer pushing it down. You’d find something better, and that was what he wanted.

Sammy knew all that. Dean had gotten drunk once and confessed his stupid, undying feelings, then sworn Sam to secrecy in the morning. He’d kept his word, only shooting Dean sad looks whenever you went off to flirt and smirking whenever Dean called you on a hunt.

But now he was asking Dean to sleep with you. Like he’d lost his damn mind.

“No,” he grunted, and Sam rolled his eyes.

“Look, Dean, I get that you’re being cool and righteous and whatever-“

“I’m not fuckin’ her, Sammy- I shouldn’t.” He shot Sam a glare. “You know why I shouldn’t.“

“Yeah, well, I think your why is pretty stupid.” Sam said flatly. “You’ve never even asked her if she’d be- You know. Open to it-“

“I know she’d be open to it,” Dean scowled at his coffee. “But that’s- I ain’t doing it, Sammy. Never.” Not like that.

Sam was silent for a moment. When Dean looked up, he was staring at him with wide eyes. “She asked you first, didn’t she.”

Dean frowned. “What’d you mean, asked me first-“

“To take her virginity.”

He hadn’t taken a sip of coffee again. This time, he managed to choke on nothing at all. “To- What?”

Sam leaned back slightly. “Did she not ask you to sleep with her?”

“No, she did, I just didn’t fuckin’- She’s a virgin?”

“I guess,” Sam shrugged. “You know that’s not a big deal, right?”

Dean grunted. His head was spinning. Of course it wasn’t a big deal, he didn’t care. He’d wanted you before, he wanted you now, that wasn’t the fucking issue.

But you’d asked him.

You’d asked him to fuck you. You’d wanted him to- Do it. Take it. Pop it, whatever. You’d chosen Dean, to be the guy, and he’d told you no, and then you’d started flirting around with other people, and you could’ve ended up with someone dangerous, someone who took advantage of you, who thought your inexperience was hot for all the wrong reasons and hurt you and-

Dean paused. He looked at Sam. Sam blinked, and Dean’s eyes narrowed.

“How the fuck do you know that.”

Sam swallowed, taking a small step back. “Uh…”

“Sam-“

“She might’ve… Asked me.”

“She what-“

“I said no!” Sam said quickly. “I told her I wouldn’t. But- You know.” Sam cleared his throat. “If you’d said yes to her the first time…”

Sam gave him a pointed look. He was asking to get punched in the fucking face.

“No.”

“Dean, just-“

“No. I’m not takin’ advantage of her, Sammy, I’m not-“

 “It’s not taking advantage of her if she wants it!”

“She doesn’t want it-“

Sam snorted. “Oh, fuck off.”

Dean blinked, leaning back in his chair. Sam turned a little red, wincing at himself, but didn’t back down.

“Wow, Sammy. Big claws, huh.”

Sam sighed, running a hand over his face. “Dean… Just- Think about her, okay?”

Dean almost laughed. “All I fuckin’ do is think about her-“

“Then think a little harder.” Sam said flatly. “Before both of you get actually hurt.”

Dean didn’t have an answer to that. Sam didn’t seem to be asking for one. He turned and walked out of the room, leaving Dean alone. With only his coffee mug and thoughts for company. A dangerous thing to do. Dean could talk himself into and out of almost anything, if the logic police weren’t there to stop him.

He was going to do something really fucking stupid and selfish, and it was all Sam’s fault.

“Come in!” You call to the knock on your door, glancing up from your laptop as the door creaks open.

Dean shuffles into your room with his head bowed. Your face heats, and you slam the laptop closed. He doesn’t need to see you scrolling through hookup websites and think any lower of you. You’re already losing sleep over the worry you’ve fractured something between you beyond repair.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he swallows.

“Uh- Hey.”

“Hi.” What the fuck is wrong with you.

Dean’s lips twitch. “Hey.”

You start to pull the sheets between your fingers, trying not to ogle him too obviously. He’s wearing sweats and a t-shirt, and it’s sexier than all the profile pics you’ve spent hours staring at. His hair is a mess, and there are bags under his eyes, and you don’t think you’ve ever wanted to climb over him more.

“You, uh-“ He glances at your computer. “You busy?”

“No- No.” Never for him. You shove your computer onto your bedstand, moving to sit on your knees. “What’s up?”

Dean’s throat bobs. He runs a hand through his hair, huffing something close to a laugh, and shakes his head. “Jesus.”

“What-“

“Nothin’.” He clears his throat, giving you a strange look. “Did you ask Sam to sleep with you?”

Your mouth falls open. You almost trip sitting down. “I- I didn’t-“

“You didn’t?”

“No, I mean- I- He wasn’t supposed to tell you,” you whine, avoiding Dean’s stare. “I didn’t- Fuck-“

“Hey- It’s- Woah-“

Dean crosses the room in a few strides, grabbing your wrists with firm, warm hands. You’d started to pick at your nails with the anxiety. You hadn’t even realized it.

“Don’t hurt yourself, sweetheart,” he mutters, his thumb dragging a circle on your wrist.

You nod, your voice only a breath. “Okay.”

He’s so close. You can count all his crow’s feet, map his stubble, trace his lips with just your eyes. He’s still frowning at your wrist, so you allow yourself to stare.

Then he looks up. And you freeze in panic, but don’t manage to look away.

Dean’s tongue flicks over his lips. Your breath catches. Neither of you move, and you let yourself have it. For a single second, you imagine that Dean is here, in your room, on your bed, and that means something. You get lost in the warmth of his proximity, the calloused but soft feeling of his touch.

“Sammy told me something else,” Dean mutters, scanning over your slack, flushed features.

“Yeah?” You whisper, and he nods tightly.

“Yeah. Said you’re, uh-“ He clears his throat. “Said you’ve never- You know.” He cringes. “Been fucked.”

Your mouth falls open. You think you’d like to die now. “Dean-“

“Is that why you asked me?” His grip tightens on your wrist. Not allowing you to pull away. “’Cause you just wanted someone to take it?”

You drop your gaze to his crotch. There’s a soft bulge there. You’d drool over it, if you didn’t think you were going to explode any second now. 

Dean says your name, and you shake your head.

“Don’t,” you mumble. “Don’t just- Feel bad for me- You said no, that’s- It’s fine-“

“What if it’s not.”

Your eyes shoot up. You’d think he was joking, if he didn’t look so fucking serious. His jaw is set. His eyes are blown out and fixed on yours. Your mouth hangs stupidly open, and Dean smiles softly.

“Huh?” You manage to choke out, and he almost chuckles.

“What if I wanted to. Help you.”

“But-“ You blink. “You don’t.”

Dean shakes his head. “Wrong, sweetheart. I do-“

“You said you didn’t-“

“I lied.”

You stare at him. He doesn’t back down.

“Would it mean something?” He muttered, reaching up to trace the curve of your cheek. “If I did it?”

You nod weakly, leaning into his touch. It sends violent, hot shivers through your whole body. Almost like a fever. You don’t want the cure. “Would it matter to you?” You ask, and Dean’s eyes flash. His fingers curl on your cheek. He leans an inch forward, then another inch. Your lips brush, the lightest possible touch, and you let out a soft, uncertain whine.

Dean pushes forward, his lips fully crashing into yours, his kiss demanding but certain. He presses over you, pulling you a little further up on your knees. You grab the collar of his shirt for balance, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to kiss him back with as much fervor as he’s offering you.

“De- Dean-“ You gasp against his lips. “Dean-“

He groans, his arm sliding around your back so he can pull you tight to his chest. You melt into his arms, and his kisses turn messy. Open mouthed and rough, his tongue dragging over your teeth as his fingers dig into your hips. You run out of air fast, but don’t try and pull away. You don’t want this to ever end, and you’re afraid that if you dare to break the moment, it will never be repaired.

High gasps start to escape your throat, though, and Dean pulls away. He cups your face between his hands, frowning slightly, and presses his brow against yours. You struggle for air, almost pressing forward to try and kiss him again, but he holds you in place.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” he mutters, rough and thick. It’s the same voice he uses on you during hunts. When he’s giving an order you didn’t ask for.

Usually, you protest or ignore him. Right now you’re putty in his hands. He could tell you to follow him to hell, and you would. You’d do anything, just for him to never let go.

You inhale unevenly, and Dean rubs your upper back. His hand slipped under your shirt, and his palm is broad and warm. It—annoyingly—helps a lot.

“There you go,” he murmurs, watching you under hooded eyes. “That’s a good girl.”

You whine again. “Dean-“

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.”

He doesn’t fucking look sorry. His lips are twitching, and there’s a smug glint in his eyes that’s almost dangerously intoxicating.

“Better?” He asks, and you nod, slumping closer to his chest. He doesn’t push you away.

This might be real.

“Are you sure, ‘bout this?” Dean rasps, and you almost giggle.

“Yes.”

“I’m old, sweetheart-“

“I like it.”

Dean blinks, and you stutter, so sure you should shut up but not really sure how.

“I- I mean- I like you, so- I don’t care if you’re old- I like you old- I like you-“

Dean smirks, holding your face so firmly against his  you can’t shy away.

“You- Can you- I mean- If it’s just- Just sex- You can forget I said- I think you being old is hot-“

He finally takes mercy, and shuts you up with a long, rough kiss. You hum, pushing further up on your knees, and climb slowly into Dean’s lap. He sucks on your lower lip, angling your head back as your core settles against his bulge, then pulls back with a low sigh.

“Not just sex,” he mutters, dragging his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “Not with you, baby.”

You nod, smiling wider than you probably should. “Cool.”

Dean grins back. “Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“Cool ‘cause you like me,” he teases, shoving your hips down, right over his crotch. “Of ‘cause I’m old.”

You face burns. All you can do is stare and him and whimper, “You’re spritely.”

Dean huffs, in disbelieving amusement. “Spritely? You think I’m-“

“Youthful,” you babble quickly. “You’ve got a lot of…” You flush as he stares at you, sort of wishing he’d just kiss you and shut you up. “Youth.”

Dean’s mouth curves up. “Youth, huh.”

You nod, and he chuckles, pressing the lightest kiss over your lips.

“Hurts when I bend over now, honey, don’t think that’s very youthful of me.”

“So don’t bend over,” you mumble, and Dean snorts.

“Demanding, aren’t we?”

You shrug, trying not to turn into a puddle and miserably failing. Dean kisses your cheek, then under your eye, tracing his mouth down so he breath tickles your ear.

“Mouthy and demanding,” he rubs your hips, dragging your hips back and forth across his crotch. “Don’t worry. I’m gonna fix that.”

You whimper, and Dean’s grin grows.

“You like that, huh.”

“Dean-“

“Ah,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, moving away before you can chase his lips. “You wanted my help. This is how I’m gonna help, baby. Takin’ real good care of you,” he thrusts his hips up, and you whine as the hard outline of his cock hits your clothed pussy. “Just like this.”

 You nod, pressing your face into the crook of Dean’s neck. You don’t think you’ve ever been this turned on. It’s different, with Dean’s hands wandering your sides and his voice right in your ear. Your heart pounds and everywhere gets slick with sweat and arousal, just his dirty talk reducing you to a heap of confused nerves. Dean’s lips drag over your jaw, and you curl further around him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he nips at your throat.

“Just gotta do what I tell you, alright?” He mutters, squeezing a handful of your ass. “Can you do that, baby? Do it for me?"

You nod quickly, and Dean chuckles against your skin.

“Eager,” he drawls, pushing his fingers slowly under the hem of your shorts. “Eager and soft.”

He squeezes your ass again, his fingers brushing against the edge of your pussy. You grind backwards, trying to push him to where you need him so very desperately. He lets you, teasing his fingers over the lips of your pussy, and you whine in his ear.

“Sit still,” he grunts, and you have to bite your lower lip, but you force your hips to come to a stop.

It earns you a sharp slap of your ass, and a kiss on the side of your head. Worth it.

“That’s right,” he mutters, letting those thick fingers dance back over your cunt.  “Good work, baby girl. You fuckin’ love the attention, don’t you. Eager to please me, eager to make me proud.”

You swallow, hugging him so tight you’re a little worried you’ll choke him. Dean doesn’t even flinch. He dips two fingers into the wetness of your heat and groans right in your ear, spreading the arousal everywhere between your thighs.

“If you’re gonna hide that pretty face,” he grunts in your ear. “At least fuckin’ kiss me.”

Nervously, you wander your lips over the strong curve of his shoulders, the arch of his neck. Dean moans in your ear, his cock jumping in his jeans. His fingers keep wandering near and around your pussy, and you get a little bolder. Kissing up his jaw, over his cheek, the top of his lip. You’re panting, trying to focus on your job as Dean keeps pulling and teasing you with his touch.

“Shit,” he moans your name, tracing around your flutter entrance. “That’s it, baby, just like that-“

 Dean grabs your jaw with his free hand, like he can’t fucking help himself, and slams his lips against yours. You squeak in surprise, but kiss him back, grinding down onto his hand. His fingers dip inside of you for a moment, and you moan. Dean grunts and shoves those fingers inside of you.

Your mouth falls open, your eyes widening at the thick, pleasurable stretch. He feels so good, so fucking right, you’re worried his cock might kill you.

“Look at you,” Dean coos, smirking at your slack face. “Just my fuckin’ fingers, baby. Keep breathin’, or this is all we’re doing tonight.”

You take a deep breath, sharp and sudden, and Dean smirks in approval.

“Good girl,” he pushes his fingers a little deeper, scissoring them and bumping against a spot that makes your whole body jerk.

“Dean-“

“Shh,” he kisses you, crooking his fingers to rub against that hidden button, and you mewl against his lips. “You feel that, baby?”

“Mmm- Mhm.” You press your cheek against his, eyes fluttering as Dean keeps pushing and tickling deep inside you. “Feels good.”

“I know it does, sweet girl,” he wraps his hand back around your neck, guiding your brow to press back against his. “It’s that special little spot, gonna make everything feel good.”

His words are sweet and mocking all at once, and it sends a new gush of arousal between your legs. You watch him with wide, clouded eyes, and Dean’s smile softens for a single second. He kisses you, more gentle than before, and pulls his fingers slowly out of your cunt.

“Lie down,” he whispers before you can protest, and you swallow, but obey.

Dean hums in approval, rubbing a massive hand on your thigh.

“Everything off,” he says, and you go still.

“Everything?”

“Mhm,” he raises his brows at your flushed expression. “That gonna be a problem?”

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach. You don’t want to disappoint him, but he’s going to see you. Really, fully see you. God, you really don’t want him to see you and change his mind, and-

“Hey,”  Dean takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “You want my help?”

“Yes, please,” you breathe, and that’s all it takes. 

Dean rips off his shirt first—makin’ it even, he says—then makes quick work of his jeans. You don’t get more than a second to marvel him—flushed, tanned chest and thick everything, and heavy cock that does not look like a worm—before he’s touching you. He shimmies your shorts down, then peels your shirt over your head, leaving you in only your underwear. For a moment he just admires you, palming his cock with a tiny grin, and you roll onto your stomach.

Dean laughs, tapping your ass with a single finger. “Gettin’ shy, baby?”

“Shut up-“

“Ah.” He drags that finger down your clothed pussy. “Who tells who what to do?”

Your face burns, and you press your face further into the pillows. Dean chuckles, and you feel the bed shift as he crawls over your body. You can feel the heat coming off of him, feel the drag of his cock somewhere near your ass as he whispers in your ear.

“You were doin’ so well,” he drawls, unhooking your bra with a single hand. “Don’t get shy on me now.”

It doesn’t help. You keep grinding, trying to get some friction with the sheets. Dean’s hand comes down on your pussy with one, sharp smack, and you squeal, pushing back against his hand.

“Needy fuckin’ baby,” he mocks. “Can’t even help it, can you. Still tryin’ to be good for me.”

He hooks two fingers around your panties, pulling them tight so they push against your clit. You push back against his hand, and he smirks against your ear.

“You want a little more?”

You nod, and he snaps the fabric down, sending a tiny shock through your body.

“Say please-“

“Please,” you gasp, moving your arms up to hide your face. “Please, Dean- More- Oooh-“

Dean’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing in slow, tight circles. Your words fall off, and he fists a hand in your hair, tugging your head back to allow him to kiss you again.

He’s not cruel, with how he touches you. He’s generous, but controlled. Every stroke of your clit is deliberate, making your head spin and your mouth fall further open. That seems to be exactly how he wants you, though, because he pushes his tongue further down your throat and flicks his thumb back and forth, working you up into a writhing frenzy.

When his fingers finally push back inside of you, Dean almost seems unwilling to pull back and stop kissing you. You’re bent back and pliant under him, whimpering happily as he feeds his fore and middle finger into your hole.

“Greedy little pussy,” he rasps against your lips. “Know you’re gonna strangle my cock, baby, son of a bitch-"

He groans, like he’s the one being fingered into oblivion. He’s set a harsh pace with his wrist, snapping his fingers in and out of your cunt without relent. His thumb moved away from your clit, replaced by the heel of his palm, rubbing in tight, unrelenting circles on your swollen clit.

Every single time, he hits that spot inside of you, and your head is starting to get light. All the electricity and heat in your body is pushing down into your core, building like a bomb and threatening to explode. You almost sob, with how overwhelming the sensation is. Dean notices, kissing you a little softer.

“Poor girl,” he mutters. “Already like this and I’m not even properly fuckin’ you.”

“Your- Your hands,” you push out the word between sharp breaths. “They’re big.”

Dean grunts, his cock jumping near your ass. “Yeah, sweetheart? You like how fuckin’ big my hands are?”

“Mh- Mhm.”

You try to kiss him again. He pulls back, moving his hand impossibly faster against your cunt.

“Words,” he grunts. “You’re not stupid enough to not speak, not yet.”

“Like it,” you breathe out. “Love- Love it, Dean, oh- Oh my god-“

You moan again, and Dean grunts. His hips are starting to jerk near your ass, making him rut against you as his fingers work.

“Your close,” he mutters, pressing his fingers fully inside and crooking them against that gooey spot. “Cum for me, pretty girl. Now.”

His voice must have some kind of supernatural power over you, because that pressure in your lower tummy bursts, and your orgasm rips through you link a hurricane. Your thighs clench, trapping Dean’s hand between your legs, and he groans, rubbing his fingers harsher and harsher against your g-spot. You’re shaking and rolling beneath him, and he has to grab the back of your neck and pin it down to keep you still.

Dean works you through your orgasm, whispering low praise in your ear as you float back down to earth. Your pussy feels empty, when his fingers finally pull away. Your eyes are slightly crossed, and your smile is dazed and a little stupid.

You don’t even squeak, when Dean grabs your thigh and flips you over. You keen, back arching and body twitching, but you’re mostly just staring stupidly and happily up at him. Dean swallows, his chest rising and falling fast, and leans down to press a soft kiss to your lips. You hum, eyes fluttering shut, and cup the back of his neck to hold him against you.

He drags his fingers lazily through the mess between your thighs, sending pleasurable little shivers up your spine. He drags your panties fully off your body, holding them up to his nose and taking a deep, long whiff before tossing them off to the side. He gathers your arousal on his fingers and slowly pulls away, rising over you with parted lips and gleaming, almost wholly black eyes.

Dean sucks your juices off his fingers, lapping them up with his tongue and a lazy, knowing smirk. Your breath catches. You almost push up to try and grab him, but you’re still foggy and boneless from the orgasm, and he shoves you back down with a broad hand splayed over your tummy.

“Dean-“

You cut yourself off under his stern gaze, swallowing nervously.

“Please?” You try again, and he chuckles.

“You’re cute.”

“I- I am not-“

“Yeah, you are. Cute when you cum for me,” he dips his fingers back into you, smirking lazily. “Cute when I touch you. Cute when you beg.”

“Deeeean-“

“Deeean,” he mocks, squeezing your upper thigh. “Listen to you. Fuckin’ adorable.”

You flush, a new wave of arousal hitting you like a rising tide, and you don’t even understand how you could possibly be ready that fast. Dean watches you pussy tremble and flutter, letting out a slow, rough breath.

“Son of a bitch,” he shakes his head, his hand moving to rub against his cock. “You got no idea what you do to me, baby, no fuckin’ idea.”

You swallow, watching him move against himself, almost enchanted. He really is prettier than is fair, in every possible way. His cock is thick and long, flushed at the head and leaking pre-cum against his thumb. Your tongue flicks over your lips, as you try to mentally measure the girth and length of him. You’ve taken toys before, when you got really curious. He’s bigger.

“You wanna touch, sweetheart?” He prompts, and you nod, your tongue flicking over your lips.

Dean pushes his hips forward, slowly taking your hand and guiding it against his shaft. He’s warm. Warm and hard. You dance your fingers down the length of him and he grunts, a vein ticking in his neck.

“Easy…” He rasps, and you nod nervously.

You find his balls, give them a light squeeze, and Dean catches your wrist.

“That’s enough.” He mutters, twining your fingers together. “Jesus, woman, gonna blow it before I even get inside of you.”

Your eyes widen. You’d almost forgotten about that part.

“That’s not going to fit inside of me.”

Dean chuckles. “Yeah, it will.”

“No, I mean like- It can’t-“

“It can.”

“Dean, I’m serious-“

He shuts you up with a quick rough kiss, and you go embarrassingly limp. His cock rubs between the folds of your pussy, bumping and pressing against your clit, and your breath hitches. Oh, God.

“Just do what I tell ya,” he mutters. “We’re gonna make it fit.”

You do. It is very easy to do what Dean tells you, when he follows through on all his promises. When he gives you such low and certain orders, and you find yourself molding perfectly around his cock.

Because it does fit. Somehow, Dean spreads your legs and kisses your pussy once—as if he can’t help himself—before crawling over you and slowly pushing the head of his cock inside of you. It’s tight at first. He grunts, pressing his brow to you shoulder, and rubs tight circle around your clit with his thumb.

“Open up for me, baby,” he rasps. “C’mon.”

You go limp with every inch he feeds you. The stretch is glorious, pulling you apart with every drag over your fluttering walls, every low grunt of your name from Dean’s lips. His determination to tease you seems to dissolve, by the time he’s fully seated inside of you, his balls pressed against your ass. He pants in your ear, hot and heavy, and cradles your body in his arms like it’s fragile.

“Slow,” he mutters, and it sounds like he’s talking to himself more than you. “Gonna go slow.”

You keen, at the first, lazy thrust of his hips. A lewd, wet sound fills the air, and the head of Dean’s cock pushes right up against that already abused spot inside of you, making stars dance behind your eyes. Every roll of Dean’s hips makes your whole body spark. He kisses all over your face, his own voice thick and wrecked as you clench around him.  

“Takin’ me so well, baby,” he rasps. “Feels good, doesn’t it. Feels so fuckin’ good, bein’ filled up with cock like you deserve-“

His words fall into a moan, his hips snapping forward, and the air gets knocked from your lungs. A sound you’ve never heard escapes you, and Dean chuckles, kissing your open mouth as he repeats the motion.

“Yeah, you like that.” He pulls almost fully out, then slams back forward. “Say it, baby girl, say you like it-“

“I like it,” you gasp out, sounding drunk to your own ears. “Love it, Dean- Fuck- Fuuuck-“

Dean captures your mouth in another kiss, and sets a brutal, drilling pace. You’re split open with every thrust, your every nerve on fire as he fucks you like a machine. He never gets too fast, just hard. Over and over and over again, until you’re gasping for air and clawing at his shoulders. That pressure turns molten and demanding, threatening to burst. Dean’s fingers dig into your hips. He moans in your ear, his own words staring to slur.

“Tight,” he moans. “So fuckin’ tight- I- I can’t- Shit-“

Dean’s hands fumble, dragging over your thighs and as he gropes for your pussy. Two fumbling fingers find it, rubbing tight circles, and you cry out, clenching down on his cock.

“Let go, sweetheart, need you to let for ‘f me- Fuck-“

Your orgasm hits you even harder than before, and your vision goes white. Your pussy flutters and clenches, something hot gushing out as your body trembles with overwhelming pleasure. It’s a strange sensation, but not bad. Not even close. You think you scream with pleasure, but Dean slams his mouth over yours and muffles the sound.

His hips stutter and jerk. You whine his name and he grunts, slamming forward and burying himself at the hilt as his cum spurts deep inside you, mixing with your own release.

You’re almost gone to the world. Dean lies over you, kissing you as you float back down, murmuring praise you can barely hear.

“Gonna clean you up,” he grunts, and you whine when his weight disappears.

“Deeean.” You grab at the air and catch his bicep. “Stay.”

You pout at him, eyes watery and hopeful. He just chuckles, kissing your knuckles before drawing back up, and promising to return.

He better. You really don’t want to let go of him now.

Dean brings a wet, warm towel, and cleans between your thighs. You didn’t realize how sore you were until he touches you with such light hands, but it’s a good kind of sore. When you moan, it’s not even really in pain.

He brings you water. A snack and a fresh shirt, that he bundles you in like a penguin. You somehow end up curled against his chest, half asleep and smiling against his bare, warm chest.

“I like you,” Dean says suddenly, and you beam. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so bubbly in your life.

“I like you too-“

“No,” his jaw works, the words low and tight. “I like like you- Like- Fuck-“

He runs a hand over his face, shaking his head. It’s almost adorable.

“You- You’re just- That really wasn’t nothin’ for me, sweetheart, not even close-“

You take his trick. You push up on his chest, press your lips together, and kiss him until he shuts the fuck up. He kisses you back immediately, cupping your face between shaking hands. You smile against his lips, pulling back just enough to whisper, “I like you too.”

Dean’s eyes snap open, his voice hoarse. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you flush. “A- A lot.”

Dean grins. He smiles wider than you knew he could, and slams a shorter rougher kiss against your lips before pulling back again. Like he can’t stand not to look at you for too long.

“Can I take you out?” He says, and you nod.

“Can we have more sex,” you whisper, and he laughs, pressing another kiss against your lips.

“Any time you want, baby.” He says. “You’re mine now.”

✦End note: drooling for him ✦

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[junieperlily]

can fratboy luke fics come back to us

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

retweet

[honeyroots]

boyfriend's dad ꒲ DEAN WINCHESTER .ᐟ

꒰ NSFW 18+ ꒱ — based on this.

dean winchester has rough, calloused hands from hunts— the repeated motion of loading his favorite shotgun and pulling the trigger is permanently embedded in his skin. dark brown stubble peppers his chin shaping his jawline in a way that’s nearly artistic. crows feet highlight his eyes, the wrinkles gathering at the corner signifying his age. each time your boyfriend’s dad winks at you, your mouth waters as his fine lines crease around his eyes. those calloused hands run up and down your spine as he moves past you, bodies bumping and colliding into one another in a way that might seem innocent, but the two of you know it’s not. your boyfriend is oblivious to the way you ogle his father. your boyfriend just doesn’t understand his dad hydrates your core in ways that he could never. your boyfriend never questions your late night trips with his father… why would he? you follow dean out the door, delicately walking behind him as he paves the way to the impala. when you’re finally in the parking lot of the grocery store, miles away from your boyfriend, dean doesn’t need to tell you to get in the backseat. you know the drill— you know how this works as if it was second nature. and by the time he slides the tip of his cock up and down your slit, your cunt weeping to be filled by dean, you have already forgotten your boyfriend. “gonna sneak into my bed tonight, aren’t ya? can tell by the way your cunt is squeezing me you’re gonna need another round,” dean will whisper as he pounds into you. maybe he’s no better than john.

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

this is too good i could cry

[pr4ktical]

some kind of monster

kinktober, day 5

vamp!sam winchester x afab!reader x vamp!dean winchester

warnings: nsfw!! dubcon!! facefucking, dp, tied up, blood play(?), hunter/prey

synopsis: being a hunter had its perks, but when it comes to running into old partners that became vampires, isn't very lucky. hunting you down, you run for your life trying to escape them. they end up catching you, and you see that their fangs slowly become more elongated than usual..

author notes: happy halloween! that's a wrap on kinktober! thank you all SOOO much for the support and likes recently, it pushes me to actually want to write because people enjoy them! so, with that being said i have a bunch of fics planned for the future! i have NOOO tolerance for wincest, there is none of that in this.

The forest is alive with sound—every branch crackling, leaves crunching, your breath slicing through the cold night air. Every inhale burns, your lungs raw, throat tasting like rust and rain. You’ve been running for what feels like forever, legs heavy, heart pounding, but you don’t dare stop. Mud splatters your jeans, your face, your hands. There’s blood too—warm once, now sticky and half-dried on you. You don’t know if it’s yours or someone else's. You don’t want to know.

Then you hear it. Footsteps behind you. Quick, confident, too close. And a laugh—low, dark, and familiar. Dean’s laugh. You used to trust that sound, used to smile to it. Now it sends chills up your spine. There’s something wrong in it, something feral. As if the devil learned to smile.

You tried to save them, God, you tried. The Latin spells, blood wards, salt circles—everything you could remember, everything you could find. You tore through the lore until your eyes burned, until your fingers split open turning brittle pages.

Another snap of twigs, and an echo of a breath that isn’t yours. You stumble forward, chest splitting open with every gasp. Something makes you stop. Maybe it’s instinct. Maybe it’s the silence that follows, heavy and wrong. The forest feels as if it’s holding it’s breath.

You turn, eyes scanning the trees. The shadows move just enough to make your stomach drop. Every direction looks the same—black, endless, closing in. You take one hesitant step back, boots sinking into the wet ground. That’s when you hear it.

Footsteps. From your right. Then another, from your left.

They’re circling you.

Your pulse stutters. You whip around, trying to track the sound, knife raised, cross tight in your grip. The air feels colder now, thicker, and for a moment, you swear you can feel eyes on you—waiting. Watching.

Then, Dean’s voice slices through the dark, lazy and cruel. “C'mon, sweetheart,” he calls, his tone dripping amusement. “You’re makin’ us work for it.”

You spin again. The forest goes dead silent once again. No wind, no insects, and no heartbeats—except yours. Loud, human, terrified.

Then he steps out of the dark. Dean Winchester, but not the one you knew. His skin is too pale, veins shadowed blue beneath it. His eyes are still green—but the warmth is gone, replaced by hunger. Moonlight glints off the blood smeared around his mouth, streaked across his chin and down his neck like war paint. Some of it’s old, dried in dark patches. The rest is fresh—wet enough to glisten when he moves. His grin flashes fangs that catch the light like tiny blades, the red on his teeth shining dark in the glow. “Still cute when you’re scared,” he teases, voice sweet poison.

“Stay the hell away from me.” Your voice shakes, knife trembling in your grasp.

A rustle to your left. You whip your head toward it—Sam.

He steps out from between the trees, tall and silent, his expression unreadable. But the sight of him still knocks the air right out of your lungs. You used to see kindness, warmth, life in those eyes. Now they’re all hollow. Cold.

And you see the blood staining his face too. It’s worse on him. It stains his mouth and jaw, smeared up across his cheeks like he’d tried to wipe it away and gave up halfway. A dark trail runs down his throat, soaking into the collar of his shirt.

“Dean,” Sam states, tone flat. “Stop playing. End it.”

Dean glances over to Sam. “Always so cold, Sammy. Where’s your sense of fun anymore?”

Your heart hammered loud enough for both of them to hear it. Dean tilts his head, listening. “Hear that, Sammy?” He grins wider, pressing a finger to his ear in mock delight. “That little heartbeat says ‘run.’”

For a second, his grin falters. Just enough for you to catch a flicker of something else—something that isn’t hunger. But before you can name it, he takes a slow step forward, boots sinking into the damp earth with a soft squelch.

You lift the cross, hand shaking. “I said stay back.”

Dean chuckles, low and dangerous. “You really think that’s gonna stop me?”

The world tips sideways before you can take a breath. A blur of movement, the smell of blood and and wet earth— and Sam’s cologne, faint and familiar. You were suddenly on the ground; the knife torn from your grip. The air rushes from your lungs. Mud pressed cold against your cheek as weight pins you down.

Sam straddles you with eerie precision, one hand locking around your wrist, the other pressing down on your shoulder. His face doesn’t change, his eyes are empty glass. “Stop fighting,” he says.

You thrash anyway, every muscle screaming. Your free hand clutching the cross so tightly it digs into your palm, the edges biting into skin.

You twist beneath Sam’s weight, swinging the cross up towards him, desperate to make contact. It grazes the side of his neck, and the reaction is instant. His skin sizzles beneath it, the smell of scorched flesh filling the night wind.

Sam jerks back with a painful hiss. The movement loosens his grip just enough for you to wrench one wrist free, your breath coming in ragged gasps. But before you can strike again, Dean’s boot slams down, kicking it from your grasp. The cross flies from your grasp, landing somewhere in the trees with a dull thud.

“Nice try,” Dean drawled. He crouched beside you, his shadow spilling over your face. You looked up at him—the veins along his throat pulsed, dark and thicker now. His fangs were extended fully, gleaming white in the moonlight. It wasn’t just thirst; you heard something about this before when reading up on vampire lore. The elongating of his fangs were a sign of dark, primal arousal. The sight of you, terrified and at their mercy, had aroused him in the most visceral way possible.

Dean’s smile curves wider when he sees the realization flicker across your face. He can practically see the thought forming, the way your fear tangles with disbelief. His laugh is low, humorless, crawling beneath your skin. “I can see that pretty little brain of yours working,” he says softly, his tone almost affectionate in it’s cruelty. He drags his thumb along your jaw, slow enough to make you flinch.

His eyes flicked down at your chest, smashed against the muddy ground. He could practically smell the adrenaline pumping through your veins, hear your heart hammering against your rib cage like a trapped animal desperate to escape. “Realize what you’ve done to me, right?” He asks, making your skin crawl.

You let out a scream, loud and blood-curdling, hoping that someone, anyone, might hear your distress. But, Dean silenced you swiftly. He clamped a hand over your mouth, muffling any further sounds. His cold, dead fingers dug into your warm cheek. “Ah, ah, ah, none of that.” he chided, voice dripping with mocking disapproval. “No more of that now, sweetheart.”

With a sudden, sharp tug, Dean tore a strip of fabric from your shirt. The night air hit your skin like ice, and before you could speak, he shoved the torn cloth between your teeth, twisting it tight around your head. He moved down now, you could feel the rough, calloused skin of his hands winding the remaining fabric around, binding your hands together. He gave the knot a sharp tug, ensuring it was secure, before releasing your hands once again. Dean ran a hand down your arms, tracing he curve of your shoulder blades through the ripped shirt. “Can’t have you trying to fight us off anymore, can we?”

Sam backed up after Dean tied you up, his gaze raking over your helpless form, lingering on the way your hips and ass were upturned, legs kicking feebly. A dark hunger gleamed in his eyes as he drank in the sight, his tongue darting out to wet his blood-soaked lips. He could see the fear in your expression, the way your breath came in short, panicked bursts. It sent a thrill of anticipation through him, his cock twitching in the confines of his jeans.

Dean, never one to miss an opportunity, reached out and delivered a sharp smack to your ass. The sound of the impact rang out in the night air, followed by your muffled yelp of pain and surprise. “She’s got a nice ass, doesn’t she?” Dean commented, a grin spreading along his face as he glanced at his brother.

Sam’s jaw clenched, a muscle jumping in his cheek. He said nothing, but the intensity in his gaze only grew, his eyes boring into your exposed flesh like a predator eyeing its prey. Dean took his silence as confirmation, making him laugh. You felt the heat of Dean’s body move to press against your backside as he leaned over you, his breath cold against your neck. “You’re in for a real treat, sweetheart,” he cooed, sliding a hand down to grip your hip. He gripped it hard enough to leave a bruise, before sliding them further and further down.

His fingers met your waistband, and with a sharp tug, he yanked them down to your thighs. The denim scraped roughly against your skin. You tried to squirm away, but his grip on you held you in place. He roughly pulled your jeans the rest of the way off, along with your panties. He groaned at the sight, licking his fangs. He plucked the fabric from the inside of your jeans; making your eyes widen as he held up your thong. The crotch part of them were visibly damp, showing the two men how your body betrayed you.

Dean slowly brought your panties to his nose, inhaling deeply. His eyes fluttered shut as he savored your scent, a low growl rumbling in his chest. “Fuuuuuckkk, she smells good,” he mumbled, before holding the thong out to Sam, offering him them. Sam glanced at the garment, then back at your tightly pressed together thighs. He plucked the thong from Dean’s fingers, bringing it to his nose as well. He inhaled just like Dean did, his pupils dilating as your arousal filled his senses. He groaned, before taking another smell. Dean laughed at him, dark and low. He crouched back down, hand sliding down your ass again. He groped your ass, landing a few light smacks to it as well.

A single tear rolled down your cheek as the humiliation of your exposure sank in. You were utterly vulnerable. But, despite the shame and fear coursing through you, you could feel a traitorous heat building even more between your legs. Sam noticed your tear-streaked face and the ways your thighs clenched together, as if trying to hide shameful excitement. He tucked the thong carefully in the pocket of his jacket, a wicked glint in his eye. Dean watched as Sam joined him, both men now crouching on either side of your helpless form.

They exchanged a look, silent communication passing between them. “You gonna go first, or me?” Dean asked. Sam’s eyes flicked to your face, taking in your fearful expression and flushed cheeks. He could smell your arousal, see the way your hips twitched. “After you,” he said coldly.

Dean’s hand slid down to your inner thigh, squeezing the soft flesh. He started to force your legs apart, wider and wider. You tried to resist, to keep yourself covered to the best of your ability, but they were stronger. Sam gripped your other knee, fingers digging into your skin as he pulled your leg out to the side, spreading you open completely.

“Please, Sam— Dean—” You whimpered. You tried to beg, tried to plead, but your voice was muffled by the gag. He simply tightened his grip, holding you in place as Dean leaned in closer. “Just relax, sweetheart.” He purred, caressing your jaw. “We’re gonna make you feel so fucking good.” He moved from your ear, to in between your legs. You felt the first brush of his tongue against your folds. A jolt of electricity shot through you at the contact, back arching.

His tongue started digging deeper into you, flicking in and out of your hole. You could feel the sharp points of Dean’s fangs pressing against your flesh, making your head spin. “Fuck, she tastes even better than she smells,” Dean sighed, the vibrations of his voice sending waves of pleasure through your core. He sealed his lips around your clit and sucked hard, his tongue flicking over the sensitive bud.

Meanwhile, Sam watched his brother work, eyes dark with lust as he stared at your leaking cunt. His hand slid up your side, calloused fingers brushing against the side of your breast, through the torn fabric of your shirt. He palmed the soft mound, squeezing and kneading the flesh. His thumb found your nipple, pinching and pulling at it too. Sam’s other hand drifted on his own body, hooking his fingers in the waistband of his jeans, popping the button open. The zipper followed, and he was shoving his jeans and boxers down in no time. His cock was freed; springing up, long and girthy. The swollen head already glistened with precum.

Dean stood up, quickly shedding his jeans and boxers as well. His cock was thick, a bit shorter than Sam’s, but still so much wider. Dean stroked himself a few times, spreading spit and his precum down the length. “Get ready, sweetheart,” Dean stated flatly, a cruel smirk on his face as he notched the swollen head of his cock at your entrance. “I’m gonna ruin this little pussy.”

He gripped your hips hard, pulling you up so that you rested on your hands and knees. With no further warning, he thrusted forward, burying his cock into your dripping hole. A guttural groan tore from his throat at the feeling of your walls stretching around him, gripping his invading length. “Fuck! So goddamn tight,” he whimpered. Dean gripped your hips hard, bottoming out before he started to move. He pulled out just until the tip remained inside you, before slamming back in. He stretched you out deliciously, you never felt so full. He set a hard and fast pace, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the night air as he took you from behind, his heavy balls slapping against your clit with each powerful thrust.

Sam shifted to kneel in front of you, gripping your chin and tilting your head up at him. He tugged the gag down, letting it fall around your neck. His cock bobbed inches from your face, the scent of him filling your nose. “Open your mouth,” he demanded, smacking his cock against your cheek. You flinched at the feeling, your cheek becoming slightly red. He did it again, on the other cheek, before rubbing the leaking tip all over your face, smearing your skin with his precum. Sam gripped your hair, yanking your head back further and trying to force your mouth open. “I said open, bitch.” he growled. “You’re gonna fucking choke on my cock while he fucks you.”

As if on cue, Dean slammed back into you, particularly harder this time. The intrusion made you gasp, your mouth falling open. Sam took the opportunity to thrust forward, burying his cock down your throat in one push. “Take it all, slut.” Sam snarled, holding your head still as he started to fuck your face. “This is what you were made for, isn’t it? Being used like a fuck toy?” Dean teased, smacking your ass hard.

Each thrust from Dean made your body jolt forward, tits bouncing with each slam of his hips. The lewd sounds of you choking on Sam’s cock, mixed in with the sound of skin on skin was almost overwhelming. Drool leaked from the corners of your stretched lips, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from the assault. They both used you like a piece of meat, like a toy they got gifted to play with.

They matched each other’s pace, slamming into you with equal need. Your pussy squelched obscenely as Dean stirred up your organs. He smacked your ass hard, the stinging pain mixing with the intense pleasure. Suddenly, after a while, Sam pulled out of your mouth with a wet pop, his cock slapping against your spit-slick face. Dean followed suit, pulling out of your pussy, and meeting Sam’s eyes and nodding with a smile. You whined at the sudden emptiness, your throat hoarse from the abuse it just had experienced.

Sam laid back on the grass next to you, stroking his cock as he watched Dean step away from you. He grabbed you and positioned you on top of him, legs on the sides of his hips. He sliced away the cloth that bound your wrists together, knowing you wouldn’t run away anymore. He gripped your thighs, lining himself up with your dripping, stretched out hole. The head of his long cock nudges against your folds, making you shiver.

"C'mon, sit it on it.” Sam growls, voice rough. “I’m not doing all the work, slut.”

With a deep breath, you sink down, feeling Sam’s shaft filling you to the brim. You gasp, falling over slightly and digging your nails into his chest as your walls started to stretch again. Sam groans, his fingers gripping your plush thighs as his tip kisses your cervix. He started to roll his hips, thrusting up into you.

Sam angled his hips, grinding into your g-spot with each thrust, making your pussy clamp down on him. Dean moved, kneeling behind you, and spitting into his hand. He spread his digits, pressing two fingers against your puckered asshole, rubbing in slow circles. He pushed his fingers past the tight ring of muscle, sinking them deep into you. He pumped them in and out, scissoring and twisting, preparing you for his cock. Meanwhile, Sam’s thrusts grew harder, more demanding.

Dean pulled his fingers out of you abruptly. He gripped your ass cheeks hard, spreading them wide as he placed his cock against your virgin asshole. Without warning, he thrust forward. A groan tore from his throat as your hole clenched around him. They set punishing paces, pistoning in and out of your holes. When Sam would pull out, Dean would push in, and vice versa. The sensation of being so utterly filled, of having your most intimate places being claimed by the two of them, sent jolts of intense, shameful pleasure coursing through your body. Your nerves were alight, your body shook.

Dean’s lips found your neck as he pounded you, his teeth sinking into the tender flesh. A sharp cry escaped you, quickly muffled by his hand being placed over your mouth. Sharp, intense, pain flowed through you as he pierced your skin, hot blood welling up to meet his hungry mouth. Dean groaned around the mouthful of your neck, his tongue lapping at the crimson liquid as it flowed, savoring the coppery taste of your blood. The sensation of his mouth on your neck, drinking from you, only seemed to inflame his lust. He gripped you harder, slamming into you with renewed vigor, grunting and growling as he used you.

Sam also reached up and grabbed one of your wrists, and yanking it towards his mouth. Before you could try to do anything, he sunk his own fangs into the delicate skin, piercing the veins. The dual sensations of them feeding on you, combined with the relentless pounding into you, pushed you to the brink of a shameful climax. Your body trembled and shuddered, tears of pained ecstasy streaking your face as they used you.

They could feel your pulse racing, your blood trickling down your body from the wounds, fueling their own dark desires. The taste of you, the feeling of your holes squeezing their cocks, drove them wild with primal urge to conquer, to possess, to ruin. Dean’s hand slid around to your front, gripping your throat, squeezing, as he drank deeper, fucking you harder, faster, driven mad with lust and the taste of your blood. Sam’s hand tightened around your wrist, fingers digging into your skin, as he drank to his fill.

Dean’s hips stutter, his grip on your throat tightening even more are he felt his own climax building. With a hiss, he buried his fangs deeper as his cock throbbed and pulsed in you. Hot, thick ropes of cum erupted from his dick, painting your insides white as he emptied his balls deep in your guts.

Sam snarled, sucking harder into your wrist, drawing more of your sweet blood into his mouth. You could see the blood smearing all over his mouth, his pupils pulsed with his cock. He slammed into your cunt, his own cock pulsing and twitching as he pumped your womb full of his cum.

Your body convulsed still, back arching as you felt their releases seep into you. It pushed a second orgasm through you. Your pussy shamefully clamped down on Sam’s cock again, milking him for every last drop as your asshole squeezed Dean’s cock aswell. Wave after wave of overwhelming pleasure crashed over you, your mind going hazy and dark as you were filled by the brothers. The last thing you heard their voices, distant and muffled, as your vision swam and faded to black.

“..take her with us. Can’t let a prime piece of ass like this go to waste."

Then, nothing. Darkness claimed you, their voices fading as you slipped into unconsciousness, their thick seed leaking out of your used holes. The last sensation you felt was the feeling of strong arms scooping you up, carrying you off into the night.

...

cred to @/cafekitsune for dividers! :33

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

i loved this a little too much, guys.

[freemonts]

oops .ᐟ summoned a demon.ᐟ

☆ 18+ demon dean + vlogger!reader a/n: i, in fact, did not lock in this semester and continued being horny.

you set up your camera on the tripod, double-checking the angle so it'll catch your face and the ridiculous chalk circle on the floor. the book in front of you looks like something straight out of a horror movie. summoning and binding: a practical guide. you laugh, talking to the lens.

"alright guys, todays video is gonna be insane," you say, waving the book. "i found this in the library and it’s supposed to summon demons or whatever. obviously fake, obviously… let's see."

you flip to the page marked with a sticky note and clear your throat, trying to sound dramatic. the latin feels clumsy on your tongue. the words taste strange, heavy. you smirk at the camera, rolling your eyes. "yeah, real spooky, right?"

but then the air tightens. the shadows bend. the flame of the nearest candle flares high enough to lick the ceiling. your laugh dies in your throat. a low, amused voice cuts through the hum of the room.

"well, sweetheart… wasn’t expecting a personal invite tonight."

you whip around, heart hammering. a man steps out of the dark, broad-shouldered, lips curled in a wicked grin. his eyes gleam gold for a flash before settling on a green so sharp it makes your breath catch.

he glances at the camera, then back at you. "and you're recording this? kinky."

the red light winks in the corner, recording every shaky breath you take, and that wicked grin of his only sharpens. "well, aren’t you cute," he drawls, strolling toward it. "setting up your own little audience. didn’t even ask if i minded being filmed."

before you can stammer out a word, he crouches, big hands gripping the tripod. the metal creaks as he tilts the camera, angling it down toward the chalk circle like he’s directing his own show. then he mutters something under his breath, thumb tapping the button— pausing the recording with a decisive beep.

"nah," he chuckles, straightening back up, eyes glittering as they rake over you. "you don't get to be the one calling the shots, sweetheart. this is my performance now."

and then he’s on you. his mouth crashes against yours, rough and greedy, tasting like smoke and sin. his hand fists in your hair, tilting your head back so he can take what he wants, his teeth catching your lower lip hard enough to sting.

"mmm," he murmurs against your mouth, cocky and smug. "you taste way too sweet for someone dumb enough to summon me."

his mouth leaves yours for just a second, only enough to let you breathe. his hand is still in your hair, thumb stroking your jaw almost tenderly— mocking, like he’s savoring how rattled you look.

"so tell me, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice low and sinful, "you really want this? you called me, but i need to hear it. you want me to put you down right here in your little pentagram?"

your pulse stutters, but you nod without thinking. "y-yes." he laughs, soft and wicked, brushing his lips against yours again. "yes, huh? cute. say it again. louder."

"yes."

his grin spreads, cocky and sharp, his breath hot against your ear. "fuck, that's good. music to my ears. you're practically begging, and all i had to do was show up."

he presses you back until your spine hits the chalk lines, the rough circle smudging under your body. the candles flicker with the shift of air, shadows jumping across the walls, and he cages you in with his body like you belong there.

"don't worry, sweetheart," he rasps, dragging his teeth over your throat, "i'll give you everything you asked for."

his grin only widens as his hands skate down your sides, slow and deliberate. he tugs at your shirt, pulling it up over your head before you can think, tossing it carelessly outside the circle. "that's it," he purrs. "strip for me. i wanna see what kind of girl summons a demon 'cause she’s too lonely to get laid."

heat floods your face, but you obey— fumbling with your jeans, shoving them down clumsily under his stare. the book lies forgotten, candles flickering, and all you can think about is the way his eyes devour every inch of skin you reveal. when you’re bare, he presses you back down, the chalk lines biting into your shoulders. then he grabs your legs, rough but sure, and hikes your knees over his shoulders. the position has you spread wide, completely open to him.

he smirks up at you, tongue darting over his lower lip. "fuck, look at you. all ready for me, like you've been waiting your whole life for this."

and then he dives in. his mouth is hot and demanding, tongue flicking and sucking until your gasp breaks into a helpless moan. but he isn’t satisfied with just that. his hand shoots out, grabs the camera from where it was paused, and shoves it into your grip. he clicks the button— recording flashes back to life— then angles your wrist so the lens is pointing straight down at the mess he's making of you.

his mouth works you over mercilessly, tongue flicking and curling, lips sealing around your clit just enough to make your whole body jerk. your hands shake as you try to keep the camera steady, the red light glaring at you like it knows every filthy detail being recorded.

he drags his tongue in one long, slow stripe, deliberately lazy, then pauses to press a kiss right where you’re throbbing most. "your not cumming until you beg for it. loud enough for me. loud enough for the camera."

your thighs tremble on his shoulders, the need building so sharp it hurts. "please," you whimper.

he bites down lightly, making you gasp, then lifts his head. "not good enough. c'mon, sweetheart. you summoned me— you wanted this. so ask for it. beg like you mean it."

the desperation chokes you, heat flooding your cheeks as you stammer, "please let me cum, dean— fuck, i need it, i’ll do anything—"

his laugh is dark and smug, vibrating through you as he ducks back down. "there it is. that's what i wanted to hear." then his mouth seals back on you, harder, faster, relentless— like he's cashing in on every filthy word you just gave him.

you barely have time to catch your breath when he pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he just finished a meal. his grin is wicked, eyes dark with hunger. his hands shove your thighs apart, his jeans already undone, cock heavy and hard against your slick entrance. no hesitation— he just pushes in, the stretch sharp and overwhelming, stealing the air from your lungs.

"fuck," he groans, head dropping to your shoulder. "tight little pussy like this, you're really gonna let a demon fuck this sweet little pussy, huh?"

the camera wobbles in your hand as he drives into you, hips slamming against yours, every thrust deep and merciless. the chalk circle beneath you smears with sweat and skin, candles flickering wildly. he doesn't stop at fucking you— his mouth is all over you too. his teeth scrape down your neck, biting until the skin blooms red, then lower, sucking bruises into the soft flesh of your chest.

his thrusts grow sharper, more impatient, and then he grabs your wrists, yanking the camera from your trembling hand to place it back on the floor at the perfect angle. the red light blinks, catching every second.

"on your hands and knees," he orders, voice low and dangerous. when you hesitate for half a second, he just laughs and manhandles you into position himself— flipping you over, dragging your knees against the chalk until you’re face-down, ass up in the middle of the pentagram.

your palms press into the smeared symbols, your breath ragged. before you can even settle, he’s behind you, one big hand pressing between your shoulder blades to keep you down, the other guiding his cock right back into you. he slams forward in one brutal stroke, groaning like he owns you. the sound of skin on skin fills the room, your body jolting with every thrust. his grip is unyielding— pinning you down, hips pounding yours until you can barely think straight.

he's still slamming into you when he suddenly slows, pulling out with a low groan. his hand slides up the back of your neck, into your hair, twisting until he’s got a firm fistful. "c'mere," he groans , yanking you upright. your back arches against his chest, your knees still on the chalk. you're dizzy from the shift, from the roughness, from how big he feels pressed against you.

he spins you around until you’re kneeling, eyes level with his cock, slick with you. his grin is pure sin. "open up."

your lips part automatically, and he guides himself to your mouth. the taste of him and you hits your tongue as he slides in, slow at first, then deeper. at the same time, his other hand slips between your thighs, fingers finding your soaked entrance. he pushes two inside without warning, curling them just right while he uses your hair to control the pace of your mouth on him.

"that's it," he rasps, watching you through heavy lids. "god, you're a mess. sucking me off while i finger you.. this is what you wanted when you lit those candles, huh?"

he thrusts shallowly into your mouth, fingers working you faster, deliberately hitting that spot until your thighs tremble. "look at you," he groans, voice rough and cocky. "such a good little summoner. gonna cum all over my fingers while you choke on my cock?"

his fingers work you harder, faster, relentless little curls that make your whole body start to shake. his cock slides against your tongue, the weight and taste of him filling your mouth. your eyes water, a whimper caught in your throat, and he groans at the sight. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing rough circles as his fingers keep hitting deep. the pressure snaps all at once— you moan around him, body jerking as you fall apart on his hand.

he watches you a beat longer, grin lazy and satisfied. then he leans down, thumb dragging through his own mess on your skin, and smears it across your lower lip like a signature.

before you can catch your breath, the air shifts again— candles blow out all at once, shadows folding inward. he’s just.. gone. the red light on your camera blinks steadily. still recording.

☆ TAGS : @clarkslittledoll, @nicetomeachum @castielsonlyangel @honeyyxxbee @bowxs, @bruisedfig, @deansbbyx, @angelicjackles, @pieandflannel, @sturnspup, @hueswithblues

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

this is insane(ly good, i love it)

[rafesbabydollsblog]

rafe seeing reader asleep in his bed & having the sudden urge to breed her

◇Gonna put baby in you

Pairing: Boyfriend!Rafe Cameron x Girlfriend!Reader

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, praise, soft/dom dynamic, sleepiness, unprotected sex, talk of pregnancy, overstimulation, loving but obsessive Rafe.

The movie had been playing softly in the background when you drifted off, your head sinking into the pillows on Rafe’s bed, your body curled up under one of his hoodies. The night had stretched long and cozy, full of snacks and stupid little jokes, but somewhere in between his arm brushing over your waist and the lull of his voice, you’d slipped under.

By the time Rafe padded back into the room, hair still damp from his shower, you were out cold. Sprawled, one knee bent, your shirt twisted just enough to show a sliver of skin at your stomach. Your breathing steady, lips parted, lashes brushing the tops of your cheeks.

God, you looked unfair like that.

Rafe froze in the doorway, jaw tight, every thought slamming into him at once. The softness of you, the vulnerability, the fact that you were here in his bed—his girl. The ache hit low and hard. He could already feel himself getting half-hard just from looking at you.

He stepped closer. The mattress dipped under his knee as he leaned in, one hand sliding under your back to ease you flat against the bed. You murmured in your sleep, head shifting, and he hushed softly.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your temple before finding your mouth.

You stirred, eyes fluttering, a small smile tugging your lips when you realized it was him. You kissed him back, slow and sweet, warmth unfurling in your chest even as he deepened it, tongue sliding against yours.

“Rafe,” you mumbled against his mouth, voice still heavy with sleep.

He pulled back just enough to murmur into the kiss, “I wanna put a baby in you.”

You blinked, heat rushing through you instantly at the blunt words. His hands were already tugging your panties down your thighs, kissing down your body over the fabric of your shirt, lips trailing over your chest, your stomach. Every press of his mouth was greedy, possessive, like he was worshiping and claiming you at the same time.

You giggled, the sound breaking through the haze. “Rafe—”

“Shhh,” he hushed, his hand sliding between your legs, spreading you open for him. “Just let me. My girl looks so perfect like this.”

Your fingers found the bulge in his jeans, teasing him through the denim. He groaned, hips jerking, before you were unbuttoning and tugging the zipper down. His cock was already flushed and heavy in your hand, and you gave him a few slow pumps, watching his eyes flutter shut, his jaw slackening.

“Fuck, baby—don’t tease,” he gritted out, wrapping a hand around your wrist to slow you down. “Need to be inside you.”

And then he was between your legs, pushing them apart with his palms, settling heavy over you. He guided his tip against your entrance, teasing, dragging against your folds until you whined, your hips lifting to meet him.

“Rafe, please.”

That was all it took.

He sank in slow but deep, inch by inch until he bottomed out. Both of you groaned, the stretch dizzying, your hands clinging to his shoulders. His forehead pressed to yours, his lips brushing yours as he started to move.

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” he murmured, grabbing your hand and sliding it down between your thighs. “C’mon—wanna feel you cum while I fuck a baby into you.”

Your fingers found your clit, circling, while he rocked into you with steady, unrelenting thrusts. The filth poured from his lips, low and husky between kisses.

“Gonna fill you up… every drop. You’ll be mine, everyone will know. My pretty girl walking around with my baby inside her.”

You moaned into his mouth, the image hitting hard, your body clenching around him. He groaned at the squeeze, his hips snapping faster, his thumb pressing over your hand to help you rub tighter circles.

“That’s it—yeah, fuck, just like that,” he praised, kissing you hard, messy. “Cum for me. Cum so I can fill you, baby.”

Your body shattered first, back arching, thighs shaking as your orgasm rushed through you. He fucked you through it, groaning as you clenched around him, his rhythm breaking as he chased his own release.

“Fuck, I’m gonna—” His words broke off into a guttural moan as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself deep. His hips jerked, cock twitching as he spilled inside you, hot and heavy, like he promised.

You gasped, still trembling, feeling the warmth fill you, his chest heaving against yours. His hand cradled your jaw, tilting your head so he could kiss you again, slow this time, softer.

When he finally pulled back, he stayed buried inside you, not letting a drop escape. His hand smoothed over your stomach, palm flat and protective.

“My pretty girl,” he whispered again, brushing a kiss over your damp lashes. “One day, I swear. One day I’m putting a baby in you.”

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

i'm foaming at the mouth

[nchye]

High Tide

MINORS DNI! dividers by @cafekitsune

pairing: dadsbestfriend!dean winchester x fem!reader synopsis: You are a good girl, always have been, always will be. Your dad's best friend says so himself, even now, with your toes digging into the wet sand and his hips pressed tight to yours. The waves crash against your calves, the bonfire crackles twenty yards away, and he’s got one hand gripping your hip, the other low between your thighs, telling you what a good girl you are for taking him so well where anyone could see if they looked over.

disclaimer: english is not my first language! warnings: smut below the cut, porn without plot, implied age gap, forbidden relationship, unprotected p in v, this is unsanitary folks, don't do it, semi-public intercourse, second person, no use of Y/N, no explicit physical description (maybe you have longer/can-wrap-dean's-hand-around-it hair). word count: 704

chye's corner: i had this in the drafts for a while and just thought it fit perfectly for @ambiguous-avery's summer snapshot challenge. so here it is, my second entry! if you know me, it had to be smut! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:

Your toes curl into the cold, wet sand, calves splashed with each rush of the tide. Dean’s cock is already buried deep inside you, his chest pressed to your back, one big hand wrapped tight around your hair to keep you bent over just enough for him to hit exactly where he wants.

He’s not gentle. He’s never gentle with you. Not here. Not when you’re standing on the edge of the surf while your dad’s bonfire crackles just far enough away to keep you hidden. “Fuck, baby girl…” His voice is low and rough in your ear, every word punching out with the roll of his hips. “Your old man’s twenty yards away and here you are, lettin’ his best friend fuck you stupid.”

The wave crashes forward, cold water surging up to kiss your thighs. Dean slams into you at the same time, his hips flush to your ass, cock hitting so deep you gasp loud enough that the ocean has to cover it, “Yeah,” he groans, grinding hard before pulling back with the retreat of the tide. “That’s it. We fuck with the waves, you hear me? In on the swell, out on the pull. I want you to feel the ocean fuckin’ you with me.”

The next wave comes and he’s there with it, driving in, filling you to the hilt, the wet slap of skin on skin blending with the hiss of water. His free hand is gripping your hip so hard you know there’ll be bruises. The other is tangled in your hair, forcing your head back so his mouth can find your ear.

“Can’t believe your dad trusts me with you,” he mutters, filthy and hot against your skin. “If he knew what I do to his little girl, what I’m doin’ to her right now, he’d drown me in this fuckin’ ocean.”

The tide pulls back, and Dean drags his cock out slow, letting you feel the thick stretch of him, your walls clinging desperately. “But you wouldn’t let him, would you?” Another wave hits, another slam of his hips, hard enough your feet shift in the sand. “Nah, you like this too much. You love sneakin’ off and takin’ my cock like it’s yours, good fucking girl.”

Spray mists over your calves; salt air tangles your hair. Your clit throbs every time the cold water rushes in and Dean’s thrusts hit just right. He feels it, the way you squeeze him harder when the tide surges, and laughs darkly. “Dirty little thing. Gettin’ off on the ocean and your daddy’s best friend fuckin’ you at the same time.” His thumb slides down to rub your clit, circling fast, keeping time with the push and pull of the waves.

You’re panting now, thighs trembling, toes digging into shifting sand to keep your balance. Dean just yanks you back onto him harder, the wet slap louder now, obscene even under the sound of the water. “Come on, baby,” he urges, voice dropping to a growl. “I want you to cream on me while your dad’s laughin’ his ass off up there. I want you thinkin’ about me every time you hear the fuckin’ ocean.”

Another wave, another deep slam, and you break, your cry caught in your throat, body locking up as you come hard around him. The rope of muscles in his forearm tightens as he holds you through it, his hips still pumping. “Fuck” His voice is ragged now. “That’s it. Goddamn, you feel so good when you’re milkin’ me like that.” A few more thrusts and he’s spilling inside you, heat filling you in thick pulses that drip down your thighs to be stolen away by the tide.

Dean stays buried in you for a long moment, breathing hard against your ear, before he finally pulls back and tugs your dress down into place. His palm drags over your ass once, possessive, then he smirks. “Better get back, sweetheart,” he says, voice still wrecked. “Wouldn’t want your dad wonderin’ why you’re all wet.”

You start toward the firelight, sand sticking to your calves, heart still pounding. You can feel him watching you the whole way. The ocean’s rhythm is still in your body, but so is he.

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

this is the best dbf dean i've ever read holy fuck

[gummygrayson]

0:29

⋮ dean winchester x reader(non supernatural world), oral (male rec.), enemies(not exactly), slightly mean! dean

you hated men like dean winchester. the men that used their pretty faces to get what they wanted—it was distasteful, slutty even. and you hated how dean in specific could really rile you up. get your blood running so hot you swear your skin could melt off the bone.

he was a cocky little shit, always had been. see the issue with dean was he knew he was hot, he knew what that stupid dimpled smile would do to a woman. knew the right angle to subtly tilt his head so he could get a look at your tits without causing attention. knew how to bat his stupidly long lashes (you once interrogated him about whether he used serum or not; he said no but you didn’t believe) at the bar to get free drinks from the blonde working.

he was the master of sleaze, born for nothing but trouble and pissing you off.

so why were you on your knees in front of him? on some dirty bathroom bar floor nonetheless, man of the hour grinning down at you like he won something. and maybe he did. he had the bratty, prissy girl who swore up and down—sideways even that she despised him gagging around his cock like something from a porno.

“what was that? can’t hear you over the sound of you choking on my cock sweet thing.” dean godes, two fingers tapping the bulge against your cheek with a snort. god you looked so good when you actually shut up, when those pretty lips weren’t hurling insults his way.

dean raises a brow when you choke a bit, those gorgeous eyes glaring up at him but he thinks its funny you don’t stop sucking. trying your absolute best to not tap out despite how raw your throat was and how little air you were really getting because his cock was so fat.

“knew that mouth was good for something,” dean mutters, lightly flicking your forehead “made just for cock sucking huh?”

the flick hurts more than the words, the drinks you chugged earlier doing circles round your bloodstream and helping ease the blow of his mean words. a soft, lazy hum vibrating up his cock as you nodded.

“jesus..” groaning dean’s hips lurched forward, snapping in a steady manner as he began fucking your hot mouth. the wet sounds making his head fall back, vulgar words tumbling as he used your mouth. your eyes watering, jaw aching from how wide you had it open. spit dribbling down your chin and down the cleavage of your dress.

it was disgusting really. yet your panties were undeniably soaked and a small part (probably the tipsy part) of you liked the way his cock fit down your throat. liked the slight airiness that went to your head when he buried to the hilt for a second and held you there. nose buried in the neatly trimmed pubes and throat constricting so, so tight.

“can’t—nn fucking tell me you hate me now baby,” dean mutters, his movements more and more sloppy as he nears his orgasm. balls heavy and drawn tight “cause i won’t believe it. can’t with how perfect you look right now.”

it only takes a few more uncoordinated thrusts before he’s stopping, a deep throaty moan breaking from his mouth as he finally cums down your throat. spit bubbles mixed with his load foaming from your mouth as you choke, damp lashes fluttering while you try your best to swallow.

his slick cock slips from your mouth with an obscene wet sound, your chest burning as you gasp for air now that your airways are free. his hands tug you to your feet after a few moments, thumb swiping your swollen lips gently before pushing past them. your brain kicking into auto pilot immediately so you suckle gently, a chuckle leaving the man.

“let me to take you home sweet thing? promise it’ll be worth your while..” the man muses softly, shallowly moving his thumb in and out of your mouth.

you should say no. wrap this whole situation up to a alcohol induced mistake. but instead you tilt your head and nod, pussy clenching round nothing at the mere thought of what was to come. literally.

“good girl, s’what i like to hear baby.” dean utters with a shit eating grin, putting a wet kiss on your lips before he pulls away. tucking himself back into his jeans and helping you straighten yourself out.

you tell yourself it will be just a one time thing and you’ll be back to hating dean in no time. that little lie enough to ease your mind. little did you know dean didn’t exactly plan to let you go so easy. not when he’d finally have the girl he wanted in his bed like he’d wanted for so damn long.

౨ৎ what even lmao

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

i'm fucking losing my mind over this

[beecomingnothing]

bee!

random thought, not sure if anyone's ever requested this. and i think you're the perfect person to write it

reader is homelander's girl (guess it's kinda boyfriends!dad x reader type thing). meets soldier boy and he gives her a proper fuck cus homelander really is a fucking disappointment.

cw: smut.ᐟ praise kink.ᐟ daddy kink [lowkey].ᐟ boyfriend’s!dad trope.ᐟ fingering.ᐟ tit sucking.ᐟ sex [p in v].ᐟ possessive!ben.ᐟ cocky!ben.ᐟ homelanders a shit boyfriend.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby, angel, sweet girl, pretty girl, good girl] .ᐟ 18+

۫ ꣑ৎ bee yaps: sorry not sorry but this sparked tewwww many ideas in my brain lmaooo, hope you like it-`♡´-

you weren’t really dating homelander... not in the way people believed it to be true.

it was all a publicity thing— perfectly crafted and curated by vought’s media teams, reinforced by every headline and interview. every tightly-edited clip of the two of you smiling, holding hands, standing just a little too close. you were america’s sweetheart and he was america’s superhero.

but off-camera? there wasn’t a whole lot to the 'relationship'.

you weren’t sure what john, yes you called him john behind closed doors, even liked about you. maybe it was how soft your voice was on tv, or how perfectly your waist fit under his palm when he had you paraded around his press events. or maybe it was just convenience. either way, it wasn’t about love.

and it sure as hell wasn’t about pleasure.

homelander always kissed you like he thought he was doing you a favour. touched you like you were awkward, clinical. he'd always be checking his reflection to see how he looked. and yes, you faked your fair share of moans. but still, he never ever noticed, cause he never truly cared.

you’d only met soldier boy, homelander's dad, a few times before. it was always in brief flashes— when homelander was too distracted giving speeches or showing off that gummy smile for cameras.

soldier boy, or should you call him ben, usually kept quiet during any of those moments, just sipping a potent drink and watching you with a lazy kind of smirk that made your cheeks hot.

ben ever said much to you. but every time, you felt his eyes on you when you walked by and every time he spoke your name, it sound like a dirty secret.

you were in the penthouse again tonight. homelander had insisted on gathering everyone together— called it a “family thing.” and ben being his usual self showed up late, of course.

twenty minutes later, the signature weed and leather wafted through the front door. dark jeans and a snug black henley that clung to broad shoulders and barely tamed something wild underneath. you'd never seen him in anything but the damn supe suit, and he still managed to steal the whole room.

and what started off as a 'calm' evening, quickly turned 360°, hell it always did.

you sat on the edge of the couch next to homelander while the two bickered, pretending not to notice the way ben looked at you every time your boyfriend raised his voice. you didn’t even flinch when homelander got heated— waving his arms, jaw tight, spewing something about “respect” and “legacy” like a petulant little boy desperate for his father’s approval.

ben didn’t give him that, he never did. he just leaned back with a bored look and said, “guess even test tubes can throw tantrums.”

you snorted a laugh before you could stop yourself, and homelander didn’t like that.

but before he could say anything, his comm buzzed. something about a 'fucking emergency'. some nonsense about a PR disaster.

“stay here,” he told you, brushing your cheek too hard with his thumb. “i’ll be back in twenty.”

he didn’t even look at ben as he flew out the window. in the blink of an eye, you were alone with the worlds actual greatest superhero.

ben whistled low, rolling a joint tightly between his fingers. “that fuckin' guy’s got the personality of a wet sponge.”

you bit your lip, fingers fidgeting in your lap. “he’s uh— he's complicated.”

ben looked over, studying your face. “nah,” he said with a smirk. “the cry baby, always been a fuckin’ disappointment.”

he continued when you didn't know what to say, was this some sort of test? your image to the public was important for homelander's career to be talking down about him to his own father.

“and what about you, pretty girl?” he murmured, licking the rolling paper closed, his gaze intense on you “you really let that whiny lab rat order you around? let him touch you, let him fuck you?”

you swallowed hard, thighs pressing together beneath the hem of your dress, why did he care?

“that’s none of your business,” you say, though it comes out softer than you intended.

“so that’s a yes,” he chuckled, lighting the joint, the flare of orange at the tip casting a flicker over his face. “figured, the boy’s got no rhythm— probably pats himself on the back if he gets you wet, huh?”

your lips parted, stunned into silence.

he blew out a curl of smoke. “he ever go down on you?”

“jesus christ,” you muttered, squirming in your seat, cheeks hot.

“ah c’mon,” ben drawled, his voice velvety now, thick with smoke. “just curious, ‘cause a sweet thing like you— should be shakin’ by the time he’s done.”

you were quiet, hands gripping your knees now, trying not to let your thighs shift. trying not to let him see that his words, your 'boyfriends' dad's words, had been doing to you.

but ben was patient like always, calm and calculated.

“he even know how to make you cum?” he asked, lower now, like it was meant for you alone. “you a moaner? a screamer? nah i bet you get all shy ‘til someone makes you beg for it.”

"soldier b—" you start off, breath caught in your throat. but ben didn't stop there, he could see just how much it was making you squirm and he liked that.

he leaned back a little, smoke curling around him like a halo, arms stretched out over the couch. “what a fuckin’ waste,” he muttered, eyeing the shape of your thick thighs under your dress. “all that sweet body, just sittin’ around for someone who doesn’t know how to use it.”

his words clung to you, thick and sticky. it was too much, too intimate, too accurate. because no one had ever asked you those things before. not like they actually cared about the answer.

ben spread his legs, wide and lazy, taking another long drag from his joint before patting his thigh with a gentle “c’mere, sweetheart.”

you didn’t move at first. not until his eyes dipped lower, dragging over your body like he already owned it.

ben was everything homelander wasn’t. he didn’t hover or beg for praise. ben didn’t need to prove himself— he already was the best. all that strength, heat, that casual masculinity that made your heart throb and your pussy ache.

and you stood up before you knew what you were doing.

he watched you the whole way over. those sharp eyes never leaving your face, not even when you nervously smoothed down the hem of your dress and eased onto his lap. he was warm and solid beneath you, thighs tough like granite. one strong arm looped loosely around your waist, holding you like you belonged there.

“now that’s better,” he murmured. reaching up, he brushed a knuckle over your cheek before tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. the gesture was surprisingly gentle. but all you could do was blink at him like a deer in headlights.

“y’look real pretty up close,” he murmured. “such shame that prick don’t know what to do with you.”

your lips parted, eyes darting away. “i—”

“nah, c’mon, angel,” ben said softly, tilting your chin up with two fingers. “you can tell me.”

you hesitated, heart pounding and ben looked at you like he already knew what you were thinking. like he’d been waiting ages for you to say it.

“ben— i don’t like him,” you whispered. his thumb stroked your jaw, encouraging you to continue. "he fuck— doesn’t make me feel good, not really. not in bed, not out in public, not anywheres.”

ben hummed, pleased. “so my boys never made you cum, huh?”

you shook your head, cheeks burning with embarrasement.

he clicked his tongue. “’course he didn’t.” his other hand slid down, possessive, gripping the curve of your ass over the fabric of your dress.

“poor baby,” he muttered. “been walkin’ around with this tight pussy unloved.”

you swallowed thickly, cunt pulsing between your thighs.

“s’why you came over here, huh?” he drawled. “knew daddy would make it all better.”

he leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “you don’t need to fake nothin’ with me, angel. i know you get wet just lookin’ at me.”

his hand slid lower, down to your thigh now, thick fingers slipping just under the hem of your dress.“you feel it, don’t you—” he murmured, pads of his fingers brushing against your clothed cunt “what it’s like bein’ wanted by a real man?”

you whimper, nodding because it was true. it was so true.

“then c’mon,” ben said, standing with you carried bridal style in his arms, adjusting you like you weighed nothing.

“gonna show you how a pretty thing like you’s supposed to be treated.” ben strode through the empty penthouse, and your heart flipped when you realized where he was headed.

homelander’s bedroom.

“what are you—”

“shh,” ben hummed, pushing open the door with one hand. “he ever fucked you in here?”

you shook your head.

he grinned satisfied, with a grunt “good.”

you’d never even slept in this room. it wasn’t made for you— just john. the walls were lined with plaques and medals and framed photos of his own face, like a shrine to himself.

he tossed you down onto the bed like a prize, towering over you with a look that made your stomach drop and your thighs clench.

“lay back for me, sweetheart,” ben rasped, already tugging the hem of your dress up your thighs. “gonna see why he’s been wastin’ all this.”

you trembled as he settled between your legs, big hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, coaxing them open with a soft little tsk. “don’t hide from me, sweetheart. wanna see all of you.”

ben leaned in slow, kissing you intimately— like he wasn’t about to fuck you stupid in your boyfriend’s own bed.

his mouth tasted like weed and whiskey, and still somehow sweeter than anything you’d ever known. one hand cupped your cheek while the other slipped between your thighs, fingers pressing gently into your soaked panties.

“shit,” he muttered, pupils blown. “fuckin’ drenched, baby. all this f'me?”

you nodded shakily, breath catching when he rubbed you gently through the lace.

“he ever touch you here?” ben continued, voice right at your ear as his fingers dragged over your folds. “ever take his time w'you?”

you shook your head with a quiet “no— never.”

“poor pussy’s been starving.” he growled, dragging your panties down your thighs.

he kissed down your chest, pulling your dress down to bare your tits. his eyes glued to the soft bounce of them as he brought one nipple into his mouth. licking and sucking like he was desperate, stubble scraping your skin red, making you whimper.

ben smirked, satisfied with the cute sounds he was pulling out of you. slipping two fingers into your slick cunt. your back arched off the bed with a soft cry, walls clenching around him as he pumped his fingers deep and slow, curling them upwards.

“y'feel that?” he whispered, thumb rubbing circles over your clit. “that right there? that’s how it’s supposed to feel, angel.”

you could barely speak, moaning like a mess as he leaned in close again, nose brushing yours. “you ever cum from just someones fingers before?” he murmured, watching your eyes roll back.

“n-no,” you gasped, thighs shaking.

he chuckled, dark and satisfied. “well, ‘m gonna change that.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

when he finally pulled his fingers out and lined his cock up to your puffy soaked cunt, he took his time. let you feel the stretch of it, slow and deep, inch by inch.

“there you go,” he crooned, kissing the corner of your mouth, studying every little twitch of your face. "takin’ it so good, fuckin’ made for me.”

his hips rocked into yours, thick cock sliding in and out with wet plop that filled homelanders room. the corse hairs at the base of his cock creating hot friction against your clit.

and every thrust dragged a moan from your lips— real ones, honest ones. the kind he knew john never got to hear.

“you like that, baby?” he panted, thrusts hitting deep, but making sure you were enjoying it just as much as he was. “that feel good?”

but then your fingers curled against his thick shoulder, tension flickering through your voice.

“what if— what if he comes back?” you whispered, breath hitching as your body clung to his with every stroke.

“let him,” he growled, grabbing your thigh and pushing it higher up his waist. “let that fuckin' freak walk in and see what it’s supposed to look like.”

you whimper, cunt fluttering around him.

“see his girl takin’ real cock for the first time in her fuckin’ life.” he picked up the pace, thrusts growing harder, deeper, almost meaner.

“you think john would know what to do with this pretty pussy? nah,” he spat. “he don’t even deserve to look at you.” he dropped his forehead to yours, gaze molten with heat. “but me?” he said possessively. “i earned this.”

his cock drove in deep— so deep— and he smirked when your breath caught in your throat. “i earned the right to fuck you stupid right in his bed.”

ben reached between your bodies, fingers rubbing your clit in tight practiced circles. “say it, sweetheart,” he murmured “say who’s makin’ you feel good.”

you could barely breathe, couldn’t think past the slick sound of him fucking you open like he was made for it. his fingers were relentless on your clit, timed perfectly with the snap of his hips.

“b-ben—fuck” you whine, clenching around him so tight, he groaned through his teeth.

“that’s it, pretty girl,” he murmured, sweat glistening down his neck. “knew you’d give me somethin’ sweet, 'n i knew you’d take it like a good fuckin’ girl.”

your back arched, jaw slacking in a silent cry as the orgasm hit— hard. your body trembled underneath the weight of him, thighs locking up, cunt pulsing around his cock like you never wanted him to leave. and ben watched every second of it, smug and obsessed, his cock twitching inside you.

but he didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down— supe powers. he chased his own release with that same controlled force, like he had a point to prove.

“mine now,” he muttered, kissing the corner of your mouth. “every fuckin’ inch of you.”

tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @titsout4jackles @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @littlejackles @claymoresofinfamy23 @beforeroachfalls @capkatie @kamisobsessed

if you'd like to be added to or removed from the taglist pls comment or private message me ༝༚༝༚

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

fucking fuck yeah

[beecomingnothing]

cw: smut-ish.ᐟ angst.ᐟ comfort.ᐟ dbf!ben x reader p2.ᐟ au non-supe ben.ᐟ age gap [reader is in her 20s].ᐟ reader lives at home.ᐟ making out.ᐟ dry humping.ᐟ manipulation.ᐟ gaslighting.ᐟ praise.ᐟ corruption kink.ᐟ pervy!ben.ᐟ pet names [sweetheart, baby, baby girl].ᐟ 18+

#notes: if you didn't read part one it's here

wc: 2700

you're so soft in ben's lap, he can barely stand it. the mental tug to keep his hands to himself, while your mouths parted a little, breathing slow and damp through the denim of his jeans. 

he decided he knew what was best. ben carried you out to his truck like you weighed nothing. arms under your thighs, your cheek smooshed to his chest, the scent of his cologne already starting to soak into your skin. just like he used to do when you were a kid, and he had you for a fun day at the park.

you stir just once, a little flutter of your lashes and a breathy hum against his chest, but he just shushes you softly— presses a kiss to your forehead, the same he's done a hundred times.

“s’okay, baby girl. i got you, i got you.”

he opens the passenger door and settles you inside so gently. because you’ll crack if he lets go too fast. buckles the seatbelt over your waist with one hand, the other still curled protectively behind your neck. smoothing your hair back, brushing his thumb down your jaw. he can’t help it. you look so helpless like this.

and deep down, ben knows exactly what he’s doing.

he knows your dad’s at work for the rest of the evening. knows you’ve got no one else to check in. knows this little heartbreak— this third one in a row— left you too soft to resist him. it’s wasn't about being opportunistic, he told himself. it’s about making sure you’re okay. it’s about love, always has been.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

you wake to the soft creak of a ceiling fan and the golden spill of evening light across your skin, filtered through the blinds in thin amber stripes. the sheets underneath you smell like cedar and detergent, like a man’s bed, and for a second your chest tightens, not in fear, just confusion.

you blink slow, turn your face into the pillow. everything feels heavier. your eyes sting a little from the crying, throat dry. there’s a second pillow behind your back like someone propped it there just to keep you comfortable.

“hey,” comes a familiar voice from the doorway. “you’re up.”

you turn your head and ben’s standing there holding a little tray in one hand— two slices of buttered toast and a mug of tea. “thought you might be hungry,” he says. “figured you didn’t eat all day.”

you sit up slow, still drowsy, fingers curling into the blanket. you’re not even sure when you got here. last thing you remember is falling asleep in his lap, the way he kept stroking your back, whispering things into your hair like it was all gonna be okay.

“how’d i get here?” you ask quietly.

ben smiles, the kind that shows off the fine lines by the edges of his eyes. crouching down beside the bed. “you were upset, baby. couldn’t leave you all alone like that.” his hand comes up to tuck your hair behind your ear, then rests warm against your cheek. “you looked so peaceful, didn’t wanna wake you.”

you should feel a little uneasy, but you don’t. not with him looking at you like that. like you’re breakable, precious. his thumb strokes beneath your eye, careful where the skin’s still tender and puffy from earlier.

“was worried about you, y’know,” he murmurs. “you’ve got a big heart, and too many boys don’t know how to treat that right.”

you nod, a little sniffle catching in your throat. he notices. wipes it with the pad of his thumb, then leans in and presses a kiss right between your brows.

“but you don’t gotta think about any of that right now,” he whispered against your forehead. “you’re with me.”

and god, ben meant every word of it. he’d burn down the whole damn town if it meant keeping you in this bed, wrapped in his sheets, smelling like him. the way he keeps thumbing over your ankle while you sip from the mug.

he knows he caused all your pain, but he also knows he’s the only one who’ll take it away.

“alright,” he mutters, clapping his hands once like it’ll jolt the heaviness off you. “that’s enough of this pity party.” you blink up at him in confusion.

“c’mon, i got an idea,” he says. “unless you’d rather me drive you home and cry into your pillow all night.”

you scowl, half-hearted. “don’t be a dick.”

“i’m not,” he says, almost smiling. “i’m tryin’ to rescue you, sweetheart. let me.”

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

the kitchen light hums overhead while ben digs through his pantry, pretending to mutter to himself. “no offence, kid, but your snack game hasn't changed in ten years.”

you’re slumped in the doorway, arms crossed over your chest, feeling hollowed out after the day you had. the breakup, the ache behind your eyes that hasn’t fully gone away.

ben straightens with a box of popcorn in one hand and candy in the other. “c’mon,” he says, lifting a brow. “you used to make me sit through princess diaries on repeat with a bowl of dry cheerios and one of those juice packs. we're doing the deluxe treatment tonight, sweetheart.”

and that gets the faintest smile out of you.

the lights stay dim as he sets up the living room— lamp in the corner, an old action movie queued up, two mismatched mugs of hot cocoa steaming on the coffee table. there’s popcorn, candy, even a cozy throw blanket folded on the couch. it’s kind of ridiculous how fast he did it. but after all, he’d been planning to comfort you all day.

ben takes the far side of the couch— not next to you, but close enough. you settle beside him without a word, clutching the mug between your palms. the heat seeps into your fingers, and the sound of the movie fills the silence.

you make it half way through the movie but still, your mind wanders. why did it keep happening to you?  all three breakups. boys who lie to you, cut things off unexpectedly, or better yet just ghost you all together.

ben notices your daze and pats the cushion beside him— the space right next to his thigh “hey, come here.”

something about the way he says it makes you shift over, tucking yourself into the blanket he opens for you. ben pulls it up around your shoulders, wraps an arm over the back of the couch. his hand never directly touches you, but you feel his warmth anyway.

“you know you’re one of the best girls i’ve ever met?” he says softly, a passing thought. “kindest, smartest. got more heart than any of those little boys ever deserved.”

you exhale, quietly, trying to process what he's saying.

"and it's not your fault they couldn’t handle that,” he adds. “they don’t know what they’re looking at when they’ve got you.”

your chest tightens because ben always knows what to say, and always knows how to make you feel better. he hums, low in his throat. his thumb finds your ankle again beneath the blanket— just resting there.

“you were always like that. big eyes 'nd an even bigger heart. never thought you’d grow up into someone so damn—” he trails off, then laughs under his breath. “special.”

in the moment you shouldn’t feel what you feel— but you’re so tired of being broken down, so tired of being unloved. he turns toward you, gaze heavy on your face, his own reflecting the tv's illumination.

“look at me,” ben says gently, tipping your chin up with two fingers. his eyes drop to your lips— only for a second, then back to your eyes. he’s so close you can smell the chocolate on his breath.

“make me a promise yea?” he murmurs.

your lips part. “what kinda promise?”

he tilts his head, brushes his thumb over your chin. "no more wasting your time on boys who don’t deserve you, promise me that.”

you nod, slow, but your eyes don’t quite meet his. instead they lower— his chest, his mouth, then down at your own hands, tangled up in the edge of the blanket.

“ben, i try,” you whisper. “i really do. but it’s like— like i’m never enough for them.”

a beat passes, and his fingers are already reaching, tilting your chin up until there’s nowhere left to look but him— those green eyes catching every flicker of pain you’ve been trying to hide.

“don’t say that,” he murmurs. “don’t ever fuckin’ say that, you hear me?” his thumb drags over your bottom lip.

“you wanna know why they’re gone?” he asks, and his voice is quiet, but it cuts through the hum of the movie. “it’s because they weren’t good enough for you. none of ‘em.”

your breath hitches. your eyes search his, confused again. but his hand doesn’t leave your face. brushing a piece of hair behind your ear, then his palm settles against your cheek, thumb stroking again and again.

“you think i was gonna let some dumb fuck-boy keep his hands on my baby girl?”

you blink. “ben—”

“no,” he cuts in, shaking his head. “you don’t get it. you don’t see what i see. you’ve grown up into the sweetest thing i’ve ever fuckin’ laid eyes on, and they were just gonna ruin you.”

your lip trembles beneath his thumb. “you’re so beautiful,” he breathes. “ 'nd you don’t even know what you do to me.”

his other hand slips under the blanket, resting at your thigh. “all i’ve ever wanted was to keep you safe. and maybe” he leans closer, breath grazing your cheek, “maybe i’ve been selfish about it, but i did it for you.”

he wets his lips. “you believe me, don’t you sweetheart?”

and you sure as hell shouldn’t, not after everything he’s just said, or the way your heart’s twisting into something unfamiliar. but your head nods anyway.

because ben’s always been the one to see you. when you were younger, it was the way he carried your backpack in from the car, let you fall asleep on his shoulder during bonfire nights, called you kiddo even when you were too old for it.

when your dad was working on your birthday that one year, ben showed up at your door with a single cupcake, a crooked candle already lit. he always knew when to show up and always knew just what to say.

and sure, you thought it was because he cared. but you never realized how much.

and now— with his hand cradling your cheek, his mouth just inches from yours, speaking to you like you’re the most delicate thing in the whole world— your heart can’t tell the difference between love and something darker.

he leans in, so close his breath practically mingles with yours, eyes dragging over your face like he’s carving the way your pupils are dilated into memory.

“the things i’ve thought about doin’ to you, god, i’d ruin you, even right where you’re safest, in my arms.”

you can still feel his thumb at your mouth, still feel the heat of his gaze. and that’s when you lean in— drawn in like a thread caught around your ribs— mouth ghosting his.

“you gonna let me kiss you, sweetheart?” ben murmurs, voice wrecked and low. “or do i have to wait 'til i’m dreamin’ again?”

you tilt forward— until your nose brushes his. and when he doesn’t pull back, when he doesn’t blink, you close that final inch between you. and ben doesn’t stop you when your lips brush his, doesn’t pull away. he guides you as you lean in again, kissing him slower this time, a little deeper, waiting for the part where he changes his mind.

“get over here,” ben mutters, rough around the edges. his hands settle at your hips as he helps you shift over his lap. you move slow, nervous, one leg at a time until you’re straddling him fully— his chest against yours, his hands planted on your waist.

then you go back in again, a little more confident this time. sweet and trembling, barely touching your mouth to his. his beard scratches your skin, but he lets you take your time, lets you keep control even though you’re sitting on top of a man who’s twice your size and far too old to be looking at you the way he does.

“did you ever think of me— like that?” the question slips out before you had time to stop yourself.

ben's eyes shut for a second, jaw clenching beneath your fingertips. “i tried not to,” he admits. “for a long time. but you kept growin’ up, didn’t you?” he murmurs, almost to himself.

“did you ever think about y'know— what would you do to me?” you ask, and it comes out smaller than you mean it to.

ben’s thumb brushes under your lip. “if i could?”

“i’d take my time with you. start with my mouth— everywhere. get you feelin’ so twitchy and wet you'd forget why it ever felt wrong.”

when you don't say anything he keeps going.

“first, i’d make you come on my fingers, maybe my tongue if i'm feelin' greedy,” he continues, one hand splayed across your lower back. “then i’d get you under me, nice and gentle. make sure you knew what it felt like to be wanted, not just used.”

his voice hitches just slightly, like he’s holding back the weight of it. “you always deserved more than what those boys gave you. a real man.”

now his hands are guiding you, the constant friction makes you wetter with each push of his hands, his cock imprinting against his sweatpants with a perfect outline.

your hips twitch against his bulge, needy for more. ben feels it— the way your trying to grind your needy cunt against him, the way your breath hitches every time he shifts just enough to make you chase the feeling.

his other hand slides up to your cheek, thumb resting near your lips. he watches the way your lashes flutter, your lips parted and damp from all the soft, searching kisses. his mouth ghosts yours again, so close you feel the promise of another kiss, one that he doesn’t give you.

“but, i’m not gonna do any of that,” he says suddenly, the line snapping tight. “not tonight. not ‘cause i don’t want to,” he murmurs. "you got no fuckin’ idea how bad i want to.”

he tilts his head, presses a sweet kiss to the corner of your mouth. then another, lower on your jawline. one more to your neck, where your pulse hammers wild beneath his lips.

“you deserve to squirm over it a little first,” he adds. “i want you thinkin’ about it—thinkin’ about what i could do to you if i really let myself.”

he holds your gaze for a moment longer, like he’s weighing it— your scent, your pulse, your silence. then he exhales, slow through his nose, and lets his hands slide off you with reluctant finality.

"alright," he mutters, like it’s taking effort to sound composed. "i better drive you home."

you blink at him, disoriented. “now?”

he stands, adjusting his boner in his sweats like it’s no big deal, like he doesn’t still feel how good it was to have you in his lap. "yeah. gotta make sure you get a good night’s sleep."

he flashes a crooked grin, but his eyes stay heavy on you, devouring. "you know you won’t sleep a fuckin’ wink if i let you stay, and what the hell would your dad think?"

he tosses a hoodie toward you— his, oversized and worn in. gesturing for you to put it on. “throw that on. i’ll go start the truck.”

and just like that, he’s stepping out of his living room, leaving you alone in the quiet, still confused and aching, his words still echoing low in your gut.

you pull the hoodie over your head. it smells like him. and you already know— you're screwed.

tags: @tinas111 @fancyhideoutpeach @kimxwinchester @soldiersgirl @lanasgirlfr @unfortunate-brat @bruisedfig @angelically-yours @winchestersbgirl @spnaquakindgdom @plasticflowersinahistorycemetery @pieandflannel @bejeweledinterludes @deanstubble @sunnyteume @sluts4superman @sunnyfuffly @deansbeer @claymoresofinfamy23 @beforeroachfalls @capkatie @sbwifey @thesevnthseal @lunaleah @prettywhenipanic @defnot-svnshine @coventina2001 @adoredawn @averagedenjienjoyer0290 @scrmqwn @littlejoels @lori19 @tinysunshine @luvriablack @hueswithblues @lupinslibraries @a-lil-pr1ncess @lovtaesunu @beausling @lacysretribution @eternalstaar @maleficdean @ladykitana90 @n0t-vzin1s @deansposessive @quinnsdesk @okyouknowwhat @castielsonlyangel @maanlikemoon @viluren

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[grilledcheeseandtomato]

I'VE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS ONE🙌🙌

[fxckingjo]

𝙎𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙢𝙚 𝙝𝙤𝙬 𝙩𝙤 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚 𝙮𝙤𝙪

Smutty little Dean Winchester/GF!reader drabble for the TL 🫦

You had a number of punchlines at the ready when Dean booked this ridiculous motel room in Atlantic City. Between the shower behind a transparent bathroom wall, the golden (yes, golden) toilet, and the mirrors on the ceiling above a heart shaped bed, you had lots of material.

You're eating those words now.

Or rather, Dean is.

He's got you on your back, thighs clenched around his head as he devours your pussy like a man starved. You're oversensitive and putty in his hands as he sucks hard on your clit, tugging just enough with his teeth to send a wave of heat through your spine.

You feel your back bow, curving as your abdominal muscles clench. You let out a cry, eyes rolling back as you gush against his mouth and cum again.

And then he pauses. "Eyes open."

"Huh?"

He grins wickedly, pointing at the ceiling. "Pay attention to how beautiful you are when I'm wrecking this pretty pussy."

It's a little like art, as you watch yourself come undone. Hair wild, cheeks flushed, lips curved into an "O" shape as he brings you dangerously close to the edge over and over again. He's playing with you, mocking you into getting desperate. Fuck, you could trace his reflection forever. The muscles of his shoulders and back, the dimples of his spine. His perfect ass clad in boxer briefs straining against his cock. Your face is flushed, your eyes feral.

As he makes you come one last time before he stuffs you full of his cock, you decide this room was money well spent.

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

UGHHHH YESSSS

[freemonts]

OWNED

demon blood!sam x demon!reader x ruby

cw: 18+ MDNI; a lot of blood, oral (f. recieving), ruby and sam are a bisexual's dream n nightmare.

a/n: I COULDN'T FIND ANYTHING TO MAKE A HEADER/DIVIDER 💔💔💔

You were just some lowlife demon loyal to Lilith. You were really just minding your business, tormenting hunters who got too invasive. But you were also sloppy, which is probably why you're now being "interrogated" by Ruby, that traitorous bitch, and the younger Winchester brother.

“You wanted attention?” Ruby’s voice is syrupy, smug. Her knee presses into your back, keeping you bent against the mattress, spine bowed like she’s presenting you. “Sam, baby—look how desperate she is.”

You snarl at her, or try to — but her hand is already in your hair, yanking your head to the side to expose your throat.

"Such a little brat," she hums. "But she tastes so sweet."

And that’s when she does it. She bites. Not deep — just enough to pierce the skin. Just enough to let that demonic blood well up, slick and shining, and offer it to Sam.

You hear it — that stuttered inhale. That growl deep in his chest. His booted steps across the room, slow and heavy, and then—

"Ruby," he warns, but his voice is already thick. Strained. Starving.

“She can take it,” Ruby croons. “Can’t you, sweetheart? Don’t you want to feel him inside your head? Inside your body?” She licks the blood from her fingers like candy. “You wanted to play with fire. I’m just giving him the match.”

And then Sam’s hand is on your jaw — rough. Turning your head toward him. His pupils are blown wide. He looks wild.

"You think this is a fucking game?" he hisses, voice ragged. "You wanted me like this?"

Your breath hitches. "Yes," you whisper. "God, yes."

He doesn’t wait.

He sinks his teeth into the same spot Ruby opened — drinking deep, like it’ll fix something broken inside him. Like your blood is salvation and damnation all in one. You scream at the first pull, not from pain — from the connection. Your mind slams into his, raw and electric and hungry.

You feel everything.

His need. His fury. The way he wants to ruin you just to see if he can fix you after.

And then it starts.

Ruby releases you, grinning like the devil she is, as Sam throws you onto your back. You barely have time to gasp before he’s inside you — one hand choking, the other gripping your hip hard enough to bruise, his movements vicious.

“You want to be used?” he snarls into your ear. “Then take it.”

Ruby’s behind you again, all warm lips and cruel laughter, whispering filth in your ear. Telling you what a pathetic little mess you’ve become. How Sam’s gonna fuck the fight right out of you.

And he does.

You forget your name. You forget how to speak. The only sound you can make is a high, broken whimper, caught between ecstasy and oblivion, while their voices crawl into your brain and eat you alive.

You come like your soul’s being dragged from hell again.

And they don’t stop.

You're already shaking — already soaked, wrecked, and dazed, pinned between Sam’s broad shoulders and the heat of Ruby’s body.

She’s behind you now, cradling your head in her lap like she’s your girlfriend — cooing sweet little things while Sam kisses his way down your stomach, pupils blown wide and dark with bloodlust.

You’re spread open like a feast, thighs trembling, breath caught—

And Ruby?

Ruby drags her nail — just lightly— down your pelvis.

Teasing. Circling. Watching you flinch and moan like a whore.

Then she says, soft and sweet,

“Hold still, baby. Gotta make him lose it somehow.”

And with one flick, her sharp nail slices just across the top of your clit.

Not deep.

But enough.

Blood wells instantly, a sharp sting blooming as the coppery scent fills the air — and Sam?

Sam stops breathing.

His hands tighten around your thighs, and his lips part in a stunned, starving gasp.

“Ruby,” he chokes. “What the fuck did you just do—”

“You want her, right?” she whispers, grinning like she’s won. “Then take her.”

And Sam snaps.

He dives down like a beast, tongue lapping at the blood like it’s nectar — desperate, messy, frenzied. He groans against you, loud and guttural, burying his face in your cunt like he’s trying to merge with it.

His nose bumps your clit — right over the cut — and it’s agony.

Pain and bliss get so tangled you can’t even breathe.

Your scream rips out of you raw.

Sam moans louder. He’s grinding into the bed now, getting off on just tasting you, fingers digging bruises into your hips, tongue sliding through blood and slick and everything you give him.

He’s not being gentle.

Not precise.

Just needy. Violent with hunger.

And Ruby’s behind you still — humming, stroking your face while you sob through pleasure so sharp it borders on torment.

“You like it,” she murmurs. “Filthy little thing. You like giving him your pain. You like how he devours it.”

You can’t even speak. You just nod, tears slipping down your cheeks, hips bucking helplessly as Sam wrecks you from below like an animal in heat.

“You gonna cum?” she purrs. “You gonna bleed for him again? That’s it, baby. Give it to him. Give it all to us.”

You break.

And Sam doesn’t stop.

He growls like a beast and licks every drop of blood and come you offer him — until your body gives out, until your soul shatters, until you’re left sobbing and twitching and so emptied you don’t even know your name anymore.

Just his.

Just hers.

Just theirs.

TAGLIST

@bowxs @sammyslittledoll @nicetomeachum @castielsonlyangel @butterphiiss

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

i am in awe of this.

[freemonts]

STICKERS

dean winchester x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MDNI ; pasties, nipple sucking, rough sex, unprotected p in v, light choking

a/n: ugh this was so indulgent of me and i think it was very on brand for dean to do ts

You were just trying to be playful. A little surprise after a long hunt. You’d kicked off your jeans, crawled onto the motel bed in nothing but those ridiculous black lace panties and glittery X shaped nipple pasties you bought on a dare two towns ago.

You expected him to laugh. Maybe smirk. Tease you a little.What you didn’t expect was for Dean Winchester to stop in the doorway, jaw going slack like you just broke his brain.

“...What the hell are you wearing?”

You blink innocently. “You don’t like ’em?”

You twist your hips slightly, letting the motel lamp catch on the glittery pasties. Your nipples are hard under them, peeking through the thin edges of lace. Dean swallows—hard.

“No, I mean—I do—Jesus.”

He drops his duffel like it weighs nothing and crosses the room in three long strides. The look in his eyes is somewhere between awe and absolute carnal desperation.

“You tryna kill me, sweetheart?”

You hum, dragging a hand up your stomach. “Figured you’d appreciate the effort.”

He grabs your chin and tilts your face up, gaze flicking between your eyes and the little X's on your tits.

“Oh, I appreciate it.” His voice is low. Rough. “I just didn’t know I’d come home to a goddamn fantasy.”

His hands are already on your thighs, pushing them apart as he kneels in front of the bed.

“You know what these are?” he murmurs, lips brushing the inside of your knee.

“What?” you breathe.

“Targets.”

You giggle—until he surges up and sucks one pastie-covered nipple into his mouth, hard. You yelp, thighs twitching around him, and he growls.

“Thought I’d be cute, huh?” He drags his teeth along the edge, tongue flicking the peak through the material. “Thought I’d be able to handle this?”

His other hand’s already slipping into your panties, fingers rough and greedy.

“Newsflash, sweetheart: you wear something like this, I’m not gonna fuck you gentle.”

He looks down at your tits, those stupid, sparkly pasties still covering your nipples like a challenge—and then he grins.

“Y’know what?” he pants, mouth brushing your collarbone. “You wear shit like this... you deserve to be ruined.”

He dips his head low—and tears one pastie off with his teeth, slow, like he’s unwrapping a gift. Tongue flicking under it. Teeth scraping. You gasp, back arching, as he mouths over the now-exposed nipple, sucking until it’s raw and red and wet with spit. Then he moves to the other one.

“Bet you thought I’d be sweet, huh? Take it nice and slow.”

He bites gently, then pulls the pastie clean off with his teeth, watching your chest shudder under him. “Nah. You want that? Go find a boy. I’m not here to cuddle.”

You barely have time to moan before he slams into you, thick and deep and unforgiving. “You want it rough?”

His hand wraps around your throat, not tight, just firm, grounding you as he pounds into you hard enough to shake the headboard. “Then take it, sweetheart. Take every fuckin’ inch.”

The pasties are crumpled somewhere on the floor. Your voice is wrecked from moaning. And Dean? Dean is feral.

“You fuckin’ ask me not to be gentle again,” he grits, cock twitching deep inside you, “and I’ll keep you like this all goddamn night.”

divider by @strangergraphics

TAGLIST

@sammyslittledoll @nicetomeachum @castielsonlyangel @honeyyxxbee @bowxs @butterphiiss

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

🥵

[very-merry-birthday]

Sweet or Heat

Summary: When you're stuck in a motel room, trying to pass the time, one thing becomes clear. Sam prefers sweet sex, while Dean prefers it heated. It's up to them to convince you which is better.

Warnings: Smut, Some degrading language

~~~

You stepped out of the bathroom, still drying your hair from the shower. The two men paused their conversation, turning to look at you instead. Sam let his eyes glance down to your tight shirt, his cheeks going red as he took you in, before turning away, bashful. Dean made no secret of his own gaze, looking over your body slowly before eventually landing on your ass, covered in a small pair of PJ shorts, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth.

You'd been stuck in the motel room for too long now, the brothers' small glances becoming more and more noticeable. Your own looks probably were as well, the small peaks as they changed, the V lines at Sam's waist, the back of Dean's shoulders. The tension hung in the air, thicker and thicker as you tried to pass the time.

Tonight the method of choice was alcohol, enough of it that you'd all hopefully pass out without having to acknowledge any of the tightness in the room. Dean passed you the half drunk bottle of whiskey as he finally dragged his eyes away from your body, looking up at you with a lopsided smile. You took it, sitting down on the bed beside him.

"You started drinking without me?" You smiled and swigged down a couple of gulps, letting the fiery liquid warm you from the inside, and passing it over to Sam.

Dean shrugged, turning back to Sam to continue the conversation you'd been missing, "I'm telling you, there's nothing hotter than when you're plowing a girl from behind, pulling on her hair-"

Sam coughed on the whiskey, shooting his brother daggers with his eyes, "Dude come on, let's not do this now?" He gestured back to you.

You looked between the two of them, waiting for them to explain as they seemed to have a silent conversation with their eyes. You continued to pass the bottle between you all as you spoke.

"Well Sammy here likes to have sappy sex-"

"Hey I never said that," Sam cut him off, his face going red "I just- fine- I think it's better when sex is intimate, you know? When you've been dating a girl for a while and you can just have slow, soft sex, when you just know her well enough that every touch is deliberate. Sometimes I just prefer it when it's sweet!"

Dean shook his head, "And I told him he's wrong- sex is always better when it's rough and sweaty and leaves bruises. No girl actually wants it slow, not all the time! They want to be fucked properly. Sex is just better when it's hot and heated! Right?"

They both looked at you expectantly, waiting for an answer.

You thought carefully about their words, images filling your mind. You imagined Sam, his strong arms wrapped around you as he pushed into you, his lips pressed softly against your skin. Then you imagined Dean, his hand around your throat as he roughly thrust against you.

"Both- both are pretty good." You looked back at the two men.

Dean sighed and rolled his eyes, "Don't be embarrassed just because you want to say you like it rough, you know I'm right."

"Shut up Dean, she doesn't have to tell us anything she doesn't want to."

"I'm not embarrassed- I'm being honest. Sometimes I prefer it when it's sweet and sometimes I prefer it heated, it just depends on the time, and the person." Your eyes darted between them.

Dean's eyes dropped to your lips and then back up to you, keeping himself composed, "That's not a real answer, you have to choose."

"Well argue your case then, let's hear more." You knew this was only an excuse for them to talk about sex, and they knew it too.

"I like to feel a woman," Sam began to speak, surprising you both, "like- really feel her. You've got to take your time to do that. I just let my fingers flow over her skin, touching every inch of her body. Dean you're only arguing because you don't know what it feels like to slowly inch your cock into a woman, let her feel you fill her up more and more, until you're completely inside her and she's practically begging for you."

You could feel a wetness growing between your legs as you listened to his words, your own face going flush as you pictured it. You watched him swallow hard before leaning back and shrugging, acting like he didn't know what he was doing to you. Dean gave it a second, watching for your reaction, a small pit of jealousy growing in his stomach as he saw your eyes wash over Sam's body.

"That's what doing it rough is all about though," Dean made sure your eyes were back on him before he continued, "there's no practically about it. I like making sure she's begging for me. When you have a girl on her knees in front of you, and she's fucking worshipping your cock, desperate to have it inside her? Damn there's no better feeling." He was talking to Sam but his eyes were firmly on you. "When she's able to loose all control, and just lets you take over, telling her exactly what to do, where to go, when to cum? Yeah I'd say that's the best kind of sex."

He refused to let the eye contact break, keeping you looking at him, the air growing thicker and thicker between the two of you. Then he let his eyes dip, only slightly, to your lips. You wet them instinctively and he broke a small smile, looking back to Sam and allowing himself to grin completely. "I think she agrees with me."

Sam rolled his eyes, "No way, tell him Y/N, you liked what I was saying."

You let the whiskey get the better of you, "I liked what you were both saying. A lot."

"But which is better?" Sam reached out to you, letting his finger lightly trace a small circle on your bare leg. It was the sort of touch that in any other situation you'd take as friendly, but right now you couldn't take any other way except lustful. He kept his eyes away, feigning innocence.

Dean watched his movements carefully, holding his breath tight in his chest. His eyes flicked between your eyes, Sam's, his hand, and back to Sam's again, none of you able to say what was clearly happening.

"I don't know Sam, I like them both. I still don't think either of you have fully convinced me."

"Well what would it take to convince you?" His hand got higher, his fingers drawing patterns across the top of your thigh, inches away from your PJ shorts, and the growing arousal between your legs.

Time felt as though it slowed, Sam looking at Dean, Dean looking at you, you looking between them both. His fingers were barely moving, but they sent fireworks flowing through you. None of you wanted to be the first to break, all of you holding onto the moment in the room.

He slowly inched his hand towards your inner thigh, tiny movements that left your breath hitched in your throat. You looked at Dean, who seemed to be watching you carefully, looking for the expression on your face, gauging his next move carefully. He cocked his eyebrow, only slightly, enough that you could barely see it. A question hung in the air between the two of you, imperceptible to anyone else. You dipped your head in a small nod.

In a single moment his hand came up to your cheek as he crashed his lips into yours, pulling your body away from Sam. You felt his lips, hot and heavy, his hand gripping at your jaw, a low hum emanating between you both. He tasted like whiskey as he easily pushed his tongue into your mouth, both your bodies entwining together, his other hand finding your waist and dragging you closer to him, wanting you to himself.

Sam moved his hand away and you let out a small whine, wanting him closer to you. You pulled your hand behind your back as you continued to kiss Dean, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him into the mix. You smiled as his hand found your thigh again, followed by the feeling of light kisses against your skin.

Dean pulled back to look at the scene, you bit your lip as Sam's lips pressed lightly against your inner thigh. He shook his head, "Hey dude, it was my turn to convince her."

Sam just rolled his eyes and looked back at your legs, small deep kisses peppered against your skin.

Dean looked back at you, holding your jaw to look at him as he spoke quietly for a moment, "This okay? How far do you want this to go?"

You smiled and kissed him lightly, "I want you to convince me, Winchester, both of you. That means you have complete control."

His expression turned dark once again and his hand found your neck, lightly wrapping around it as he dipped in to kiss you again, fierce and full of desire. Your own hand reached up to his shoulders, letting yourself feel his strong muscles as you bit back another whine. He pulled back, looking at you intensely, "On your knees."

You began to move, wanting to do as he said, but Sam grabbed your leg and looked back up at the older man, "No way you're taking her away right when it's about to get good." He lightly let his thumb rub over the crotch of your shorts and you let out a quiet gasp.

Dean watched you carefully, "You like it when both of us touch you, one not enough?"

You nodded your head.

"God you're fucking needy," he grabbed your jaw in his hands, "I should have known you were a slut."

You let out another moan as you bit your lip, looking up at him. Sam pressed his mouth down to your shorts, kissing you through the fabric, as Dean made sure you kept your gaze firmly on him. "Fine, Sam, have it your way, only because I know her mouth will feel better if you keep her moaning." He let go of you and began to stand, your attention turning back to Sam.

"Lay down, baby." He kissed your hip gently, looking up at you, and to Dean behind you, hiding the small smile that was forming at the corner of his mouth. You did as he said, pulling off your shirt at the same time. You felt both men's eyes on you for a moment as you got yourself into position, your bare breasts exposed, both of them unable to look anywhere else. You heard Dean behind you unbuckling his pants, Sam looking up at him and then back to you, "He wants your head off the back of the bed, baby, can you do that for us?" He kissed your hip again, "I promise I'll make it worth it."

You shuffled backwards slightly, letting the rest of your body sink into the sheets, your head off of the mattress, still looking down at Sam. He hooked his fingers around your shorts, slowly pulling them down your legs and throwing them to one side. He found his own position, laying between your legs, his mouth forming a small trail from your knee up to your pussy. You wanted him to touch you, but he was taking his time, savouring every moment. Then his tongue was on you, softly stroking through your soaked folds. You let out a loud moan, your head rolling back, gripping the sheets.

Dean stood behind you, his cock in his hand, stroking himself to the sight. Just seeing him, your head hung off the back of the bed, caused your chest to tighten, desperate to reach out to him. He saw your eyes on him and stepped forward, pressing his tip against your lips. He slowly pushed into your mouth, as Sam pushed two fingers into your pussy, filling you up from both ends. You moaned against Dean's length, sending vibrations through him.

He began to thrust his hips into you, his large cock filling your mouth, swallowing down his salty taste. Sam's tongue found your clit, lightly darting over it, and you lifted your hips up to him, desperate for more. Dean's thrusting got faster, the sight of you unravelling below him sending him into a desperate frenzy, pushing his cock further and further on each thrust until you felt like it was fully down your throat, choking you from the angle. His movements didn't slow as you tried to take him completely, the oxygen in your lungs starting to go, eyes going wide as you desperately tried to please him.

Sam almost spoke up, wanting to make sure you were okay, but he could tell by the wetness between your legs and the clenching of your pussy around his fingers how much you were enjoying it. He shot Dean a small wink and lowered his mouth back down, his tongue flowing through your folds, small, deliberate movements sending you to the edge.

You took in a large gasp of air as Dean pulled out for a moment to let you enjoy the feeling, your thighs wrapping around the younger man's head, legs over his shoulders. One of Sam's large hands came up to your bare breast, firmly palming it as his tongue continued to move through your wetness. He lightly pinched your nipple, causing you to let out another moan.

Dean pushed himself back into your mouth, your own tongue playing with his tip for a moment before he thrust in deeper, wanting to fill you once again. "Fuck your throat feels good- you like both of us inside you?"

You tried to nod as he began to roughly fuck your mouth. The feeling of Sam sucking lightly on your clit sent your body twitching beneath the two of them, the coil tightening in your stomach. You let out another moan against Dean's cock, and he sucked in a desperate breath, "Don't let her cum- not yet-"

Sam chuckled, sending vibrations through you as he licked along your folds, before looking up, slowly pushing another finger into you, "I wasn't planning on it, do you see how good she looks like this?"

"You should feel her mouth- god she knows what she's doing- and she fucking likes it too-"

"I can tell, you've got her so wet, she tastes incredible."

"Fuck look at her-" he pushed his cock in further, filling your throat, "-I don't think I can last much longer if she's gonna keep taking it so well."

Sam leant back down, licking through your folds, gaining speed as he moved past your clit, "You want to cum baby?"

You nodded, moaning against Dean's cock, loud enough they could both hear.

"Want to cum with a cock inside you?" Dean stepped back, giving you a chance to suck in a deep breath before nodding again, unable to form any words.

"Who do you want baby?" Sam pulled his head back, his fingers still slowly pushing into you, "Who convinced you?"

You took a moment, looking between the two men, desperate for both of them to keep touching you, wanting them both inside you.

"Sam." "Dean."

[click the name for a personalized ending]

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

you're incredible.

[atrwriting]

on the road again — sam winchester x fem!reader

as always, warnings: smut, rough, choking, dom sam, mean sam, friends with benefits sex, car sex, p in v penetration, one night stand

summary: sam finds out you’ve never had an orgasm

barely edited we die like men

———

usual scene after cracking a case — dive bar, everyone buys a round, greasy food, and a game or two of pool. usually a round consisted of a beer… but tonight? after the case you had? tonight was whisky. and it flowed. and flowed. and flowed.

“i’ve only been doing this for a few years — i don’t know how you and dean can still get up every day and do this,” you spoke, setting your shot glass down.

“dean loves nothing more than work all day, and crawling into someone else’s bed at night —“ sam laughed, taking his shot. “keeps him sane. and him getting laid and not cranky keeps me sane.”

“is sex what keeps you sane?” you asked with a laugh, motioning the bartender over for another round.

“sometimes — not really,” he shook his head.

“same,” you spoke. “casual sex is so hard to enjoy — i don’t care what dean says.”

“why do you say that?” sam chuckled.

“it’s hard enough teaching someone what you like — now you have to tell and expect a stranger to understand, and leave satisfied? that’s a lot of trust in someone i don’t know.”

he laughed again. “fair, but also — you might just have to advocate for what you want more. clear and explicit directions are the way to go.”

you stayed silent, wishing your glass was full once more to do something — anything — to tear away from the awkwardness of the situation. the whiskey had already began to dull your senses, but nothing ever seemed to dull sam’s. you knew he knew with barely a glance in his direction.

“unless you’re not able to convey clear and explicit directions…” he stated.

fuck.

“ok, lawyer,” you scoffed, taking your shot as you tried to hide your embarrassment.

“maybe that’s why you can’t perfect the ‘dean method’,” he spoke, fighting back a laugh, before awkwardness struck his face. “i’m sorry — i shouldn’t — i’m just messing around, is all.”

“you’re good, i know,” you smiled, waving your hand in the air. “but who’s got the time? i swear — it’s so much easier for guys.”

“definitely,” he spoke, and continued in a very technical manner. “i mean, i’ve heard that some women really struggle with even achieving orgasms by themselves.”

“i forgot you were a scholar, winchester,” you spoke, trying to not draw attention to the way your cheeks were reddening.

but with the way he stared at you, his eyes narrowing… you knew he knew your secret.

“you’ve never… before?” he questioned.

“no,” you spoke softly, holding his gaze. awkward topic, sure, but, hey — if he’s bringing it up, he’s got to deal with it.

“wow,” he spoke, letting out a sigh of disbelief. he did that weird thing with his eyes that he usually does when he’s surprised: they go wide, and they blink a few times — as if he could blink away the conversation he definitely regretted starting like an eyelash. “like… ever?”

“never,” you responded, shaking your head.

“wow,” he spoke, taking a swig of his beer. “that’s… that’s…”

“sam, i didn’t break my leg,” you spoke, trying to laugh it off. “i’ve never had an orgasm, but i’m not dead.”

“dean would think you might as well be,” sam quipped.

“agreed,” you chuckled, flagging down the bartender for another drink. “i’ve turned dean down a few times — lil too old for me — but if i get really curious, maybe i’ll —“

“don’t,” he suddenly spoke, shaking his head.

“…hey, you brought up dean and my sex life — this was bound to get uncomfortable,” you giggled.

“i can talk about either when they’re mutually exclusive,” he replied, now keeping his gaze on his beer bottle.

“and you’re also the one that brought up me needing casual sex,” you quipped.

“not with him.”

you rolled your eyes then, but the smile on your lips remained. “dare i ask — who, pray tell?”

you watched as sam took his time answering. he leaned over the bar with both elbows on the counter, letting both muscles strain against the sleeves of his shirt. his skin, lightly tanned, reflected the light from above to show off just how much sam put into working out. you watched the veins in his arms ripple, along with the one in his neck as he swallowed. once he took a final swig of his beer, he stared at you then. and when he finally spoke? well, he only spoke one word: “me.”

a half hour later, you were in the back of the impala. sam had you in his lap, manspreading his strong, long legs. it was hard to be insecure about anything about yourself with sam — he could pick anyone up and throw them if he wanted, so you felt like a goddess in your tight black jeans, grinding your core down onto him.

he had his large hands on your hips — pads of his fingers digging into your flesh. they would push and pull with every roll of your hips you gave. he wanted you as much as you wanted him, and he couldn’t help but want to control and mold it. the way you keened for him? sat so nicely in his lap? ran your hands all over his chest, up and down his neck, and through his hair? the pretty way you pressed your chest into him? oh, he was done for — but sam’s selfish side would be taking over.

“take off your pants and lay back against the door,” he ordered, pressing one last firm kiss to your lips.

you scrambled off of him, pushing your jeans down your legs as sam tried to pull the fabric off. there was nothing but confidence, determination, and hunger in his movements, leaving you with no room for awkwardness.

“your hands feel so good on me,” you rasped. “can you touch me… there?”

you shouldn’t have even had to ask, he thought. he liked to hear your voice, though — especially when it was full of want and need. there was nothing shy about your requests, and there was nothing shy about his response. the pads of sam’s fingers had immediately found your most sensitive bud, drawing rough circles. he had to test the waters, after all — you didn’t know what you liked, but sam winchester would find out. you sucked in a soft breath at the feeling, but all that came out of you was a whine. a whine for sam’s hands. his arms. his chest. his muscles. everything that held him above you and shielded you from the world — hiding you from everything dangerous, while keeping you all to himself.

sam’s lips immediately connected with the soft, sensitive skin of your neck. you hated hickeys, but the way he sucked at your neck? drawing blood to the surface? keeping your attention and thoughts on him, and only him? it was intoxicating, the way it felt. sam drew primal feelings from you — there was no shame, nor insecurity. he wanted you to feel everything he felt for you, and he wanted you to crave it.

he wanted you to crave the way skin prickles when it’s excited and scared and sensitive. he wanted you to crave the perfect amount of friction and moisture on your clit. he wanted you to crave the smell of his cologne on his flannel, the whisky on his breath, and the hungry look he had in his eyes when he saw your nipples peak underneath your shirt.

“please, sam…” you whined, cheeks beginning to burn with pink.

“nah — not like that, baby,” he spoke. “gonna make you work for it.”

you detested him for that as he climbed off of you, settling against the back of the seat. he shoved his pants and boxers down. you situated yourself into his lap once more, letting out a huff of frustration.

“you’re pissed?” sam quipped with a cocky smile, smacking your ass before swallowing you into a kiss. “good. show me.”

immediately, you forgot how angry you were. how deprived you were. how frustrated with him you were. you grabbed him by the base, and sank down onto him.

sam filled you to the brim. a man of his size and stature would do nothing but. you could feel your walls squeezing him, holding him in place as you struggled to adjust to his size. but sam? the cocky bastard? sam could only stare at you with a knowing smirk on his face, hunger for a challenge brewing in his chest.

“you’re so mean,” you whimpered, rolling your hips down onto him.

“i know, sweetheart,” he spoke. he wrapped one arm around your hips, and used his other hand to push you back in between the front seats. “lay back for me, yeah? trust me — i’ll make it right.”

you threw your hands behind you, holding yourself up by balancing on the console. and when you felt sam thrust inside of you for the first time? oh, fuck… you knew exactly what he meant.

what they don’t tell you in romance novels is that it’s incredibly difficult to find those sweet spots that make you sing. they make it seem so easy to “come undone” with one finger or one thrust, but anyone left unsatisfied knows the truth. you know the truth, and that’s exactly how you got yourself in the back of the impala. but sam? oh, sam… sam was the one they wrote those stories about.

it’s like sam could tell what you were starving for. you needed a man to see everything you were deprived of, and wanted to give it to you tenfold. sam was selfish in the way that he was selfless — he wanted you to see stars. he wanted your cheeks and the back of your neck to blush. he wanted you to whimper. he wanted you messy and beautiful and full of life. but sam wanted all of that for himself.

sam forcibly kept you bent at the angle you were, but he didn’t have to. the head of his cock pistoned into that spot behind your lower stomach, and immediately you recognized that this is what they meant by that special spot inside. his tight grip on your hips forced you take every bit of his strength against the neglected wall that craved sam and all of his talent so, so badly.

“oh my god —“ you whimpered, throwing your head back. “i didn’t — how did you —“

“yeah — that’s right, baby. never had this before, huh?”

“n-nothin’ like this, sam,” you spat through bitten lips, trying not to cry. “it-it feels...”

you tried to keep up with his speed and aggression. you wanted to show him you were good too and that you could make him feel good too, but it was all so much. too much. putty in his fucking hands, you were, and you had never felt so safe nor so good.

“you fuckin’ tease me on every hunt —“ he rasped, taking one hand off of one hip. “flirting with everyone, when i’m right there.” he spat on your clit, making you shiver. “wasting your time, and mine.” his thumb found your clit, making circles. “any of them make you feel like this?”

“never,” you were starting to stutter, words and movements. the pressure building in your womb was building, and building, and building. it was all getting too much. “i should’ve — please —“

he grabbed you by the back of your head then, forcing you upright and close to him. your chest was pressed against him, and warmth spread throughout you once more. you rolled your hips against his like you were chasing him, afraid you would lose him.

“fuck —“ he rasped in your ear.

“sam…” you weeped. “i’m so close. don’t stop — please —“

he grabbed you by the throat then, putting space between your faces. he held you in place and your gaze, scolding you when you tried to drift off with your eyes closed. each thrust combined with the circles he drew was drawing you closer and closer to your demise.

“so fucking worked up, aren’t you?” he spat. “yeah, yeah — i can see it. face all red, and tears? so frustrated.”

you couldn’t do anything besides nod and try to wipe your tears away, forcing back whimpers. something snapped inside you when you saw the dark, feral look in his eyes. he wanted your orgasm as much as you wanted him to give it to you. and when it hit? when it consumed you? when it made you so weak you couldn’t do anything besides lean against him?

all he could do? fucking laugh.

laugh at your demise. laugh at how it overtook you. laugh at how it crashed over you and swallowed you whole. laughed at how it filled you to the brim and then some. but most of all? sam winchester laughed in triumph at the fact that the badass, independent spitfire he knew was coming apart and making a mess in his laugh.

“that’s right, doll —“

“act so tough, and this was all you needed —“

“fuck, you’re so pretty when you cry for me.”

the swell of pride in his chest was felt by both you and him. he was pushing, pulling, nipping, biting, and kissing you every which way. your mind bent each movement of his, completely pliant in his hands as you came undone. your climax — it was so powerful, you fell against him as he chased his own. he bit down on your shoulder as he came, fucking his load into you.

the collapse was felt by both of you. he held you against him as you both came down from your highs, rubbing your back with his thumb. when he sighed in relief against your cheek, leaving a kiss on the still blushed skin… you knew you weren’t the only one satisfied.

————

lmk what u think xoxo

love u sammy <3

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

LORD HAVE MERCY THIS WAS SO INCREDIBLY HOY

[bowxs]

heyyy! I absolutely LOVE your fics. I was wondering if you could do something long the line bfd! Beau Arlen, or if you have another character you think might fit better thats also cool!

im so sorry to tell you ive never seen big sky (YET) and so idk beau arlens character enough to write him and i dont wanna assume anything

so for now ill give you bfd!soldier boy until i watch big sky and can do it properly!!

this id kinda like a normal!au? but like ben was still famous at some point (mention of him being in magazines) it made sense in my head😔

divider from @uzmacchiato

god knows how long youve had a crush on your best friends dad- probably since the day she first invited you over.

you weren’t the only one with a crush on him though, obviously with him being a former model for playgirl magazine, he was every teenage girls crush back in the day

but now. now he was so much hotter, with the slightest dad bod, scruffy beard and that look of maturity on his face? who could blame you for having the hots for him and having every magazine hes ever been in

your thighs clenched together as he called you that nickname he has called you for the past 6 years. sweetheart. it sounded so sickeningly sweet coming from his lips- god you wondered how good his lips would feel on both of your lips

“sweetheart? you listenin’?” his voice snaps you out of your thoughts, your eyes snapping up to his, a sheepish smile on your face

“yes sir- sorry, just a bit distracted” you mumble your excuse, hoping he doesnt ask what has you so distracted

“what did i say about calling me sir, sweetheart” he gently scolds, sitting next to you on the lightly worn couch. you has been waiting for your friend to come home and she was taking way longer than expected. not that you were complaining

“sorry ben” you say in that sheepish voice again. god did ben love it. hes known you for so long, and since youve turned 19 you just had this allure about you that he struggled to ignore every time you were around

you guys sat in a not-quite-comfortable silence, with you staring at your feet, hand politely in your lap, trying not to steal glances at your damn best friends dad

but ben didnt care. he stared at you with no shame, a small but cocky smirk on his lips like he could feel how damn worked up you were just from being that close to him

“i got an idea to pass the time, sweetheart. you know how long she takes..” is what you hear before your brain short circuits as his hand reaches your thigh. god you must be dreaming.

ben was behind you, chest pressed flush against your back, his hips pumping in and out of you like hes been holding back his whole life- its only been a couple months since he started to even look at you in that way but god was it torture

“ben- ben oh my- ah” your body wanted to collapse, just fall forward into the bed from the pleasure, but bens strong hands held you up- one gripping your waist like a lifeline, the other arm hooked around your throat like a chokehold

“fuck, who knew youd be a slut? fuckin’ dripping on your best friends dad?” he tsks at you like hes not the one thrusting into you non-stop. like this wasnt his idea.

“you have no goddamn idea how much ive been thinking about this- shit your so tight.” his voice is gruff against your head, his breath fanning on the side of your face

you wondered if he was so good cause he was older- all of his experience was paying off. the way he moved, the way he knew you were about to come just from the way you clenched around him, it all had you seeing stars.

“yeah come on my cock- juustt like that- goddamnit” he grunts out as you clench and pulse around him, his own orgasm approaching.

you can feel him pull out, almost whining at the loss before you feel a warm drip of something on your ass- his cum. you practically moan at the feeling, looking back at the mess as he takes his arm off of your neck

before you know it hes leaving you on his bed, face down ass up as he grabs a wet cloth from the bathroom to clean you up. his touch was gentle despite the way he practically just destroyed you, and it only made your pussy clench around nothing

“shouldve got you to do this as soon as i was legal” you smile, craning your head to look back at him, meeting his already grinning face

“we got lots of time to make up for it, sweetheart” and god you hoped your friend went out without you more often.

[grilledcheeseandtomato]

GOOD LORD😫😫

[wendichester]

𖤐⭒๋࣭ ⭑ just the flannel,

summary. you slip out of the shower and put the first thing your eyes land on: dean's flannel. though it doesn't stay on for too long.

pairing. dean winchester x reader genre. smut ( mdni )

wordcount. 762

notes / warnings. mirror play, mild dom vibes, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex (established relationship), filthy talk with a lot of feeling behind it

You didn’t mean to start something. Really.

It’s just—you’re sore, a little bloodied, but not broken. The hunt’s over. You’re back in the motel. The shower’s hot, the water scrapes away the adrenaline, and when you step out with nothing but damp skin and a racing heart, your eyes fall on one of Dean’s flannels tossed over a chair.

You slip it on.

No bra. No panties. Just soft cotton and his scent.

He opens the door maybe thirty seconds later. You're standing in front of the mirror, towel-drying your hair, humming quietly under your breath—completely unaware of the way the air shifts the second he walks in.

There’s a beat.

Then— “Is that my flannel?”

You glance at him in the mirror, casual. “Mhm.”

His eyes narrow. Then drop.

“And is that all you’re wearing?”

You smile. Innocent. Wicked. “Maybe.”

Dean shuts the door behind him with a soft click. The way he walks toward you is not casual. He stops just behind you, body heat radiating against your back, and you meet his eyes in the mirror.

God, the look he gives you. Hungry. Dangerous. Worshipful.

“That’s a dangerous game, sweetheart.”

You shrug, still drying your hair. “Just got out of the shower. Couldn’t find my pajamas.”

“Didn’t look very hard.”

“You leave your clothes everywhere. Not my fault they’re comfy.”

His hands settle on your hips. Heavy. Certain. Possessive.

“You’re dripping water all over my shirt,” he murmurs, voice low and rough behind your ear. “Gonna have to take it off you now.”

Your breath catches. “Oh no. What a tragedy.”

Dean chuckles darkly and tugs you back against him, his body solid and hot. You can feel him, half-hard already, pressing right against your ass.

“You got any idea what you do to me walking around like that?” he says, mouth grazing the side of your neck. “You think I’m gonna let you just tease me and not ruin you over this shitty motel sink?”

You whimper. Your hands grip the edge of the counter.

“I was just being cozy,” you say, voice small. Breathless.

“Yeah? Well, now you’re gonna be cozy bent over this counter.”

He spins you around and kisses you hard—teeth, tongue, hands everywhere. The flannel rides up fast, and he lifts you effortlessly onto the bathroom counter, spreading your legs like he already knows exactly how this ends.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, pulling back to take you in. “Wearing my flannel like it’s yours. Looking like heaven. And all for me, huh?”

You nod, dizzy with it. “Always.”

Dean drops to his knees like it’s instinct. Like worship. His fingers dig into your thighs as he buries his mouth between your legs, making you moan and arch and cry out his name like a prayer.

“Dean—fuck—”

“That's right, baby,” he growls, voice vibrating against you. “Let it out. Give it all to me.”

You fall apart fast—his tongue, his hands, his voice, his flannel still clinging to your shoulders while the rest of you shakes and gasps and begs.

By the time he stands up again, you’re panting. Soft. Desperate. Needing more.

He unzips his jeans and presses his forehead to yours. “Turn around.”

You don’t argue.

The flannel slips off your shoulders when he bends you over the sink, your hands braced against the cool porcelain. You watch him in the mirror—his flushed face, the way he fists himself, the way his eyes don’t leave yours.

“You ready?” he asks, voice hoarse.

You nod. “Yes, baby,”

He slides in slow. Thick. Deep.

You both moan.

The thrusts start steady. Hard. The kind that say this has been coming all night. That flannel slaps gently against your back with every movement, like it knows it started all this.

Dean leans down, mouth against your ear. “Next time you wanna play dress-up, baby, I want you in nothing but that. In my lap. In my car. Wherever the hell you want—just mine.”

“Yours,” you gasp, clutching the sink. “God, Dean—”

“Yeah, you are.”

You come with a broken moan, and he follows not long after, collapsing against your back, breath ragged, hands gripping the counter on either side of you like he’s anchoring himself.

For a long second, neither of you speak.

Then— “So…” you say, voice wobbly, “can I keep the shirt?”

Dean breathes a laugh against your neck. “Hell no.”

He pulls it off you, tosses it aside, then lifts you gently into his arms.

“But you can wear it again tomorrow.”

You grin, already pressing your face into his chest. “Deal.”

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[grilledcheeseandtomato]

love love love