Impalachiseled

eighteen mdni

[wingedsully]

Every Girl's Dream

𝗍ᥲgs / ᥕᥲrᥒіᥒgs: !All Characters Are 18+! pstar!Dean Winchester, afab!reader, overstimulating, slight cnc, oral (f receiving), pinv, unprotected sex, drabble, reader insert (no descriptions of reader), no mention of y/n.

ᥲᥙ𝗍һ᥆rs ᥒ᥆𝗍ᥱ: i cant stop thinking about this AU, someone come get me

You lay on a stiff bed, with Dean fucking Winchester's face between your legs and a large camera behind him.

When you got the call from your agent telling you that you'd get to work with Dean, you were thrilled. He was the only actor that still did it for you after you joined the field.

This was every girl's dream.

You were terrified that it would be awkward meeting him, but he was surprisingly calm and polite. He was such a gentleman, but when the consent meeting came, a new light shone on him.

Your managers gave you both the run down of each other's boundaries, but he couldn't help but whisper a few of his preferences in your ear.

"I want you to beg." "You let me know if you need a break or anything, sweetheart," "Don't be afraid to be touchy, baby." Best foreplay ever.

They couldn't get you on that bed soon enough.

Now you're feeling like heaven is between your legs. You feel his hands gripping your waist, glueing your ass to the bed and preventing your hips from violently bucking into his face.

You can't help it, there is no part of your body that isn't on fire. His tongue lapped at your sensitive bud, then at your entrance. You couldn't believe how good someone's tongue could feel, all the other actors you worked with never cared for it. But, here's Dean, tongue deep in you and grinding against the plush comforter covering the bed.

Your legs start to tremble when you feel his absence suddenly. You want to snap your head down to where he was, but the large camera pointed straight at you made you remember this was your job.

He slowly snaked his hands under your thighs, pulling your waist towards him. The force made you yelp in surprise, then a soft giggle.

The camera moved to the side now, making it easier to actually enjoy the man above you. He settled his knees against your thighs, then pulled them to lay over his. He pumped himself quickly before looking down at you and placing himself at your entrance. Heat pooled in your abdomen and he quickly bottomed out, making your back lift from the bed. He picks up a brutal pace, resting one hand on your stomach and the other gripping your thigh. He squeezed the plush of your thigh, grunting occasionally. Your brain is numb and your body is trembling, making it almost impossible to regain any composer you had. The camera changed positions, but you and Dean were in your own world. He'd look between the two of you and see you clamping down on him, then up to your flush face. It didn't help when he took hold of your throat, grasping just enough to make you squeak. His open hand braced beside your head as he leaned forward and mercilessly thrust his hips to yours. The sound of skin on skin was once steady, now rapid and controlled all in one. You're eyes rolled back into your head, collections of gasps and moans escape you when he releases your throat and slaps your cheek just enough to leave a mark. When you're finally able to open your eyes, you see the lens pointing right at you. You try your best to display yourself better, but Dean decides to pull you further up his lap and somehow manages to thrust deeper in you. Now your clawing up his hands that hold your hips in place and at his biceps. "Oh- Oh, shit! I'm gonna come, oh God..." He smirks down at you, laying small slaps to your cheek then gripping your waist again. "What do you say, baby?" You gasp quickly, letting the strangled air turn into a moan before you say, "Please! Please, Dean!" He grunts in return, flexing his stomach and arms, he's close too. "Go ahead, baby. Come on my cock." His words were typically bedroom phrases, but his voice, his tone, you couldn't help but eat up everything he said. And the camera did too. Barely three seconds later, he snakes his thumb between your bodies and presses on your clit hard. You tremble. A desperate moan escapes you and your legs shake around him, closing in and holding him in a trap you didn't know you were making. Your nails claw at his forearms, your core tensing until you snapped. He continued to let you ride it out until you laid flat on the bed, breathing heavily. He wasn't far behind, pulling out and spilling warm ropes of cum on your belly. He slumps over himself slightly, panting with you until the director calls for a break. The once silent scene was filled with chatter and assistants running over with towels and robes. You can't help but groan as you sit up, your eyes occasionally flicking to Dean. You wipe the substance off your stomach, curling into the robe when you see Dean, still stabilizing his breathing. You pull your legs off of his, dangling them off the bed. You're used to the cold after a take, but even stars crave aftercare. You were handed a small plastic cup of water, taking one sip before being caught off guard by Dean's hand returning to your thigh. "You okay, sweetheart?" He took a seat right next to you, resting his thigh to yours. "Yes, i'm okay. Thank you." You smile softly, subconsciously leaning closer to him. "You did outstanding. Blew my mind." He praised softly, keeping the intimate moment. You blush softly, looking over at him with a sweet smile. You wanted to continue, but the director called for a new position and you watch the crew tweak the camera and reset some pillows behind you. Dean suddenly laid a quick peck to your temple and wrapped his arms around your shoulders. You rested your head on his shoulder and smiled softly. You mentally thank your manager one hundred times.

[funkythingsthatmyfriendssay]

yes, the jokes in Friends are terribly unfunny, yes, i’m still gonna watch the show

[devinemist]

how it felt switching from wattpad to tumblr

[klinegirl]

trucker!dean winchester who fucks you up against the gas pump for everyone to see. who brings forces you on all his road trips because he needs to have something to bury his aching cock into every night. who makes you give him head whilst he's driving, praising you for "bein' such a good girl f'your old man, kid".

trucker!dean winchester who gets your tits pressed up against the window as he fucks your cunt from behind when there's road closures and you get stuck in traffic. who works a beer bottle into your gaping hole when you're being bratty in the passenger seat because he refuses to touch you. who buys an assortment of "toys" for you to keep you happy and docile whilst on the road– after all, you only get the privilege of being fucked by him when you're not "actin' out like a fuckin' child. i know you're my baby girl an' all, kid, but i gave you rules for a reason."

trucker!dean winchester who taunts you by threatening to pass you off to his trucking buddies whenever you guys see one (or a few) at a stop, revelling in how you pout and cry because he's being so mean to you. you never notice how hard he gets at this reaction you give him, because before you know it, he's bending you over some grimy sink in the public bathroom, pounding into you– deep enough for you to remember exactly who you belong to.

[marlspn]

[inadoves]

oh my god

[dollislvt]

“FORBIDDEN.”

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ dbf!dean winchester au x reader

• sorry, i’m not the best at writing, but i had an idea and had to execute it somehow. ❤︎ this is only a snippet of a fic i want to write, but i wanted feedback (it is most appreciated) and if i should continue writing this! might put it on ao3, but im scared!

warnings : age gap (both adults though)

i’m still writing, and i have no idea what other warning i’ll be having, but i’ll be updating it as soon as possible.

there’s something completely intoxicating about wanting dean, especially knowing he’s your dad’s best friend, making him entirely forbidden.

dean being your father’s friend, while having an extreme attraction towards him, has created a secretive tension between the two of you that only you’ve felt; whether it’d be in the middle of the night when everybody was asleep. dean would often stay overnight after having a few drinks with your dad. he’d be laid up on the couch, watching tv, strongly reeking of whiskey, your heart would beat out of your chest from seeing him.

you were terrified of him, only because you felt like he could immediately read your thoughts; which were hardly appropriate to ever think about, let alone about your father’s best friend.

the thought of dean crosses your mind every once in a while. it’s been four years since you’ve last seen him now that you’ve been off at university and just graduated. since your first year of university, you’ve been completely occupied with your boyfriend , adrian.

he’s perfect; your parents love him, every time you visit your parents for the holidays he comes with you. the unfortunate thing is, he’s not dean. as much as you love him, dean has always been in the back of your mind; constantly contemplating on the what-ifs, what’d it’d be like with him, how he is, if he’s got a wife and family. you barely ask about him when you’re with your parents, but they bring him up once in a while, but it hurts to hear his name and you’d never admit that to anyone.

now that it’s summer, you’re visiting your family for the time being. for the first time in years, adrian won’t be coming since he’s visiting his family elsewhere.

your parents just picked you up from the airport. the first thing you do is jump onto your bed. it was a six hour flight, and you barely got to peacefully sleep because you were restless the whole flight.

as you plopped into bed, you couldn’t help but fall asleep immediately.

by the time you woke up, the clock on your nightstand read seven-thirty p.m. the time you got home was around twelve p.m; you slept for about seven hours.

your head feels extremely heavy, mouth dry. you got up from your bed to go downstairs for a glass of water, hoping that maybe dinner would be ready too.

as you walk downstairs, you start to hear a crowd of laughter and yelling; sounds like your mom and dad, and a random man. slowly you start to descend downstairs, trying to make the least noise possible, secretly peeking out to see who’s with your parents. everybody was huddled up in the living room.

your heart dropped. you could recognize that laughter and voice anywhere; it was dean. the first man other than your dad that you ever adored, looked up to. all you could think about was how bad you looked, how your breath smelt, how you smelt overall. before you could even run back upstairs, your dad immediately saw you and called you out.

“hey kiddo, come down. somebody here wants to see you.” he yelled. you cringed so hard, slowly turning around and going back downstairs to greet dean.

“hey, kid. haven’t seen you in a while.” dean smirked, holding his arms out to offer a hug you couldn’t escape from giving him.

“yeah, nice to see you again.” you said under your breath, hoping he couldn’t see how nervous you were and the fact that you just woke up. you gave into his hug, wrapping your arms around him, your face into his warm, brooding chest, smelling of a musky-vanilla cologne. he still smelt intoxicating since you last seen him. his arms completely wrapped around your body, instantly bringing a comforting feeling you haven’t felt in a while, not even a feeling that you felt with adrian. you didn’t want to let go, and it didn’t seem like he did either, but you let go of him anyway.

“how are you doing?” dean asked, staring at me with his greek eyes, i could barely utter a word out once i caught his glance. “i’m great, dean. how are you?”

he let out a small grin, “that’s nice to hear, i’m well. i missed you.” your heart skipped a beat, maybe a few beats actually. to hear that he thought of you, even missed you made you automatically flustered. “i missed you too, dean.” smiling awkwardly, hoping the spotlight turns to someone else. for a bit, he just stared at you, looking you up and down before changing the topic and continuing to talk to your parents.

fucking awkward, you thought to yourself. even years later, that forbidden feeling for him never changed.

after the conversation ended between you two, you resumed going back to getting water to rehydrate. the thought of him was still in your head; his scent, his eyes, his smile, his voice. you knew it was wrong, the feeling you feel for him wasn’t appropriate to feeling while being in a four year relationship with your boyfriend.

the cold water hit your throat, but it did absolutely nothing to cool down the sudden, burning heat radiating beneath your skin. you leaned against the kitchen counter, gripping the surface tightly, your eyes fixed on the tile floor as the muffled sounds of laughter drifted in from the living room.

four years. four years of building a perfectly normal, healthy life with adrian. adrian, who called you every night before bed, who bought you flowers just because, and who your father treated like a son. you loved adrian. you really did, or do. but as you stood listening to the low, gravelly rumble of dean’s voice, a terrifying realization washed over you: four years with adrian hadn’t done a single thing to wash dean out of your system.

dean’s scent; that heavy mix of musky vanilla and the faint, underlying trace of whiskey he always favored, seemed to cling to your clothes from that brief, agonizingly perfect hug. your skin still tingled where his large hands had pressed into your back. and the way he looked at you? that slow, deliberate scan from your messy, sleep-tousled hair down to your bare feet before his eyes locked onto yours with that unreadable smirk. it didn’t feel like a man looking at his best friend’s kid. it felt risky, it felt dangerous.

“hey, honey, can you bring out a couple of clean glasses?” your mother called out from the living room, shattering your thoughts.

your chest tightened. you forced a breath into your lungs, blinking rapidly to clear your head. “yeah! regular or…?”

“the whiskey glasses, sweetie. dean brought over a special bottle to celebrate your graduation.”

of course he did.

you opened the upper cabinet, your hands trembling slightly as you reached for the heavy crystal tumblers. you took three. you wanted to grab a fourth for yourself just to survive the evening, but you knew how that would look.

carrying the glasses back into the living room felt like walking on a tightrope. dean was sitting on the edge of the armchair, his forearms resting on his knees, holding a dark amber bottle. he looked up the second your feet hit the hardwood floor. his gaze caught yours, steady and intense, holding it just a second too long as you walked over to the coffee table.

“thanks, kiddo,” your dad said, taking two of the glasses and setting them down. he looked up at you, his eyes crinkling with pride. “dean was just saying how fast time flies. feels like yesterday he was helping me teach you how to drive, and now you’re a college grad.”

“time definitely flies,” dean murmured. he poured a generous finger of whiskey into your dad’s glass, then his own, never entirely breaking his perimeter of focus on you. “but some things don’t change. you still look exactly like the girl who used to steal my flannel shirts when you were a teenager.”

your breath hitched. your dad laughed, completely oblivious, swatting the air. “oh, don’t remind me. she ruined three of your good ones with paint stains.”

“i don’t mind,” dean said softly. his voice dipped, a low register meant just for this room, but it felt entirely directed at you.” his eyes flickered down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, a lazy, knowing grin spreading across his face. “they looked better on her anyway.”

your heart didn’t just skip a beat; it hammered violently against your ribs, you felt as if it could explode out of your chest immediately. the memory flashed vividly in your mind: sitting on the living room floor at two a.m years ago, wearing his oversized shirt, freezing under his intense stare while your parents slept upstairs.

you swallowed hard, your knuckles turning white against the edge of the glass of water you were still holding. “i, uh… i should probably change out of my clothes into fresher ones. before dinner.”

“don’t hurry on our account,” dean said, raising his glass slightly in a silent, private toast before taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours over the rim.

you turned swiftly, and practically fled up the stairs, your heart racing so loud it drowned out the conversation restarting below. closing your bedroom door behind you, you pressed your back against the wood, sliding down until you hit the floor. your phone vibrated in your pocket. you pulled it out.

a text from adrian: just landed at my parents' house! missing you already. tell your mom and dad I said hi. love you.

you stared at the glowing screen, guilt squeezing your stomach like a vice. you loved adrian. you are supposed to be thinking about adrian. but as you buried your face in your hands, all you could inhale was the faint, lingering scent of musky vanilla left on your skin, and all you could see were those sharp, intoxicating eyes watching your every move.

[beaujensen]

Beau Arlen 🤠 | Big Sky

[kysluts]

pinning him down and groping and biting him till he’s cumming in his pretty boxers

[bruisedfig]

[wayward-boys]

DEAN WINCHESTER in one random episode per day ▸ 056 /364 08.20 PAC–MAN FEVER

[very-merry-birthday]

Worship

Anon requested: Priest!Sam or Priest!Dean eating you out on an alter because he says you(r pussy) deserve(s) worship -🫎

A/N: Anon I'm breaking your message into separate parts so I can do different posts for your ideas 🙈 though the third part of your message does have some similarities to what's coming with the apple pie series

Somewhat part 2 for this

Dean's glad you're not looking at him. He doesn't think he could take that.

Your eyes are shut, your lips parted in a tiny whimper. He's pretty sure this is what angels are supposed to look like, the way the sweat is beading on your skin, your legs spread like you're offering him everything he's been begging for. He's never been one to pray, but he'd plead with the Lord every day if it meant he got to stay in this moment.

He's on his knees, they're raw and bruised, the solid stone floor digging against bone. He can't even feel it, he's too consumed with your taste. He feels pathetic- his only saving grace is that you sound more pathetic than he ever could.

"F-father-" you mewl out. Your voice is barely louder than a whisper, it makes his cock twitch in his pants.

He's got you spread out on the alter, candles and crucifix lay scattered across the floor, thrown down in a rush as Dean pushed you against the table, your dress bunched up your hips before he'd even got his mouth on you.

"We can't- we shouldn't-" You keep repeating it, but your grip on his hair tightens, pulling him into you. You won't let him go, you need this too much. You're soaking over him, he's got spit and arousal covering his chin, sweat drenching his hair, already got cum soaking into his underwear, he really is pathetic.

He's so devoted, digs his fingers into the flesh of your thigh, pressing his whole mouth against you. You've got a sinners hands on you, a sinners tongue in you- not that you'd know, you have no idea of the guilt that courses through his blood.

"It's a- oh- it's a place of worship-" your voice cracks, pitchy and desperate. You don't believe your own words, you'll do anything Dean tells you to right now.

He looks up at you, eyes dancing over your body as he smiles small, "Only thing I need to worship is you."

[whor3ing]

─── ꒲ nsfw needy wet dream / breeding kink blurb w dean winchester . . . ❜ ﹗ ﹙୨꣒﹚ ⊹⠀ᯓ‎ 𝄞 glory box , portishead⌇ f!reader , ❜୧ ‎ ‎ ˙ ⁴⁴⁴

The bunker bedroom is thick with the low hum of the air vents and the sound of Dean’s ragged and deep breathing.

He’s sprawled on his back beside you, sheets kicked down around his hips, bare chest glistening with sweat under the faint glow of the hallway lights.

His broad shoulders are tense, abs contracting sharply with every shallow roll of his hips. His massive cock strains obscenely against the front of his soaked boxers, the thick head leaking steadily, twitching and pulsing as he grinds up into nothing, all in his sleep.

Low, needy groans vibrate from his chest, your name spilling out in broken, desperate pants. One big hand fists the sheets while the other twitches at his side like he’s reaching for you even in his sleep.

His eyes fly open suddenly, dark green and hazy with raw lust and without saying a word, he rolls over you, caging your body beneath his massive frame.

One huge hand yanks your sleep shorts and panties down your legs in one rough motion, tossing them aside.

His cock springs free, thick, incredibly heavy, flushed dark and dripping precum all over your thigh.

“Fuck, baby… I need you so bad right now,” he rasps, voice rough and filthy.

“Was dreaming about this tight little pussy and woke up throbbing—can’t wait. Gotta have it. Gotta stuff you full.”

He hooks your thighs around his waist and pushes in with one long, relentless thrust, stretching you wide around his thick cock.

A deep, absolutely guttural moan rips from his throat as he fills you slow, hips flush against yours, the head of his dick pressed tight against your cervix, almost kissing it.

“Shit— so fucking tight. This greedy cunt is squeezing me so good,” he groans, already rolling his hips in deep, desperate strokes.

“Dreamed about ruining you and now I’m finally buried inside my favorite pussy, hmm? Take it, sweetheart. Take every inch of me like the good little slut you are for me.”

Dean’s big hands grip your hips hard, fingers digging in as he fucks you with raw, desperate, needy intensity.

Sweat rolls down the deep grooves of his abs and drips onto your skin with every punishing thrust. You can feel him claiming you, making your pussy his.

“Please, baby—fuck, please let me wreck you,—let me make you feel so good f'me,” he begs between strokes, voice cracking with desperation.

“I need it so bad. Need to feel you fluttering around my cock, clenching—yeah, fuck.. gonna pump you so full of cum you’ll be leaking me for hours."

He leans down, crushing his mouth to yours in a messy, hungry kiss while one hand slides under your ass, tilting your hips up so he can drive even deeper, acting as a makeshift pillow.

Every thrust makes his thick cock drag against that perfect spot inside you, making you twitch and whimper. He's so deep you can feel his abs grinding against your clit.

“Gonna cum so fucking much,” he pants against your lips, sounding wrecked and starving. “Gonna flood this cunt until it’s overflowing with my load. You’re mine. This pussy is mine to use whenever I wake up aching and leaking like this."

His pace turns frantic, hips snapping hard and deep. Dean buries his face in your neck, moaning your name like a prayer as his cock swells and pulses inside you.

"God—yes, atta fuckin' girl, I'm so close already baby.. c'mon, milk me, cum against my cock.. let me feel it, squeeze my cock—yes, shit—make me fill you up.”

Thick, hot spurts of cum flood your pussy, endless and messy, leaking out around his thickness with every shallow grind of his hips.

Even after he finishes, he stays buried deep, lazily rolling his hips to push his cum deeper.

His big arms wrap around you, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other strokes down your side, still trembling with aftershocks.

“Don’t move yet, sweetheart,” he murmurs hoarsely against your skin, voice low and needy. “Still so hard for you.. god—gonna stay right here… then I’m fucking you again until I empty the rest of my balls inside this perfect cunt, hmm?"

His forehead rests against yours, breath warm and ragged, cock still twitching deep inside you as he holds you close.

᭝⁀⠀᭝ @obsessivekniss @devotedlyteenagemusic @delilahsturniolo @dollinpearls @jackalthesaint @leena-bee

if you would like to be tagged in future works pls comment!! i am redoing my taglist :,)

꒱⠀₊   ˚⠀⊹⠀ library.

[impalachiseled]

yeah guess who’s under the table 🤤

[echo-shark]

my favorite part was doing the book

[avasarchve]

dean winchester , huntr.

part one of my moodboard series !

[deanwinchesterkiss]

I wish I could give dean the best domestic life after everything he's been through

[aegisrising]

‿̩͙‿ ༺ slip n' slide

or;    you dedicate yourself to the study of dean's back

⊱ warnings / tags: gn!reader, pre-established relationship, back kisses, vulnerable dean, tooth-rotting intimacy, fluff, faint allusions to smut

‿̩͙‿ ༺

Dean’s astray.

He can’t get a hold of himself. He’s sure of it, because it should be easy to roll sideways and let you fall onto the mattress, and when you gawk, to flash you a smile and say he can’t have you crushing one of his best assets. He’ll get an unimpressed look, but you’ll move to sit beside him and pick up the conversation in a preferably more normal way. 

But what’s left of his will seems to be limp, dissolving away with the rest of his body. 

You’re talking. One of your theories for the case. The only remaining tether he has to the real world, which is taking him his darndest to parse through and conjure up answers to so you’ll keep going. If you stop, his senses will take over, and they’re already clamoring for him to just let go and feel this. He frowns into the pillow as another soft quake races down the pathway of his spine, trailing after careful fingers until your palm is just inches from his waistband. The chill of your skin brings down the burn of the sun to a gentler warmth. You say something about secondary locations that slips right past him.

He’s gone loony. You’re just theorizing, and he’s dying, hyperconscious of the sound of your breathing, the way your weight is pressing on top of his ass, your thighs caging him in. Your hands; mixing in with his warmth, switching between flat presses and featherlight traces – ever so gentle. 

"--y’s and a good old stake, shouldn’t be too hard for us," is the only bit he hears when your voice comes back, and his eyes fly open in alarm. 

“Huh? Uh– yeah,” he clears his throat. Totally listening. He shouldn’t have taken off his shirt. “‘Course it won’t. We’ve ganked worse bastards.”

"Well, yeah. But these things can be a little sly."

“Mmh,” he grunts. “Nothin’ we can’t handle.”

He’s back to merging with his pillow, but he can sense the smile on your face. You’ve sat back up to simply rest your palms against the dips of his waist, eyes mapping out each plane, bruise, scar, and freckle into some little constellation of its own. 

It’s pretty, and sort of a representative picture of Dean. Not the first time you’re graced with the sight, but not like this – hands poring over his every mark of skin, which you’ve always longed to do but deemed a long shot. Not that he’s shy – this is Dean, but you knew it was simply a sort of territory he tended to leave uncharted, and you were the last thing from a pushover. Not with him, and not when it took so much to even get here. 

He seems to be letting you have it right now, though. 

You’d draw it; if you could ask as such without pushing your luck. You’re still half-expecting Dean to clamber out of your grip any second, so while he’s not actively wrestling for an out, you could commit this to memory. 

You’re being awfully quiet. 

Dean has half the mind to turn over and figure out why the hell that is, but that position would make you slip off of him just as he’s starting to warm up to his newfound fate, and he doesn’t think he can manage a redo. 

He lets out a muffled grumble of your name, and you hum, thumb tapping against him.

“Keep talkin’.”

You blink, having at some point surmised his acceptance as exhaustion. Guess you’ll have to scratch that. 

“Oh,” you murmur, suppressing a smile. “Okay. Um..” 

You look back down and pause over a particularly jagged line near his left shoulder blade – a knife wound from a ghoul attack you helped patch up. That was the very first time he’d given in to your aid. Your lips twitch, gently pressing it. 

"You remember this?" 

"Yeah," he said, angling his face sideways. "Got that in Nebraska. Stung like a bitch.”

You can’t help but sneer as you trace the scar. “Sam had to give up his new flannel,” you remind him – just because you know Sam still gives him shit for it – and it pulls a frown out of him. “And you still bled onto the carseats. Funny that you seemed pretty convinced you could’ve stitched it yourself.”

Dean scoffs, no matter that it had taken him a full hour just to get the needle through. Still. How many people can say the same? 

“Because I could. I think I know what I can and can’t do, sweetheart, and that was on–”

“Apparently not.”

His eyes shoot open, and he cranes his neck enough to be met with your smug smile. He returns it with a sardonic one. “Hilarious,” he mutters before plopping back down – not his fault, your free hand started stroking his hip. “I could’ve. Only reason I let you do it was ‘cause you and Sammy wouldn’t stop pestering me ‘bout it.”

“Gee, I wonder why.” 

Dean’s rebuttals die at the tip of his tongue when you press a kiss over the old wound – immediately stiffening under you – and you freeze, hands flying to your sides in an instant. “Shit– uh.” Great. Good going, idiot. Of all the times you’ve been able to hold back,  this is the one you can’t manage?

“Sorry, I wasn’t–”

“Do that again.”

You must be hearing things. 

The surprise is palpable as your gaze snaps down to him, and Dean swallows. 

“What?”       

“....Do that again,” he says the words quietly. A mumble against cotton, looking almost bashful. 

You remember then that this is much tougher for him than you. It should’ve scared him off. You’ve got a dozen reasons why. None of which supported the plausibility that he’d be willing to try. But here you are. 

Your mouth snaps shut into a smile. Dean’s fingers twitch, about to ask why you’ve gone so silent again when he feels a peck on the same scar from earlier. 

He feels you shift your weight before pressing another tentative kiss to its left.

“Is that okay?” 

“..Yeah.”

Only then do you continue. His eyes flutter shut as you pepper more upon his shoulders. Across, along, then moving down. You don’t skip a thing: old burns, scratches, cuts. Every freckle, mole, and sunspot.

At some point, Dean lets himself go. 

It’s difficult not to. Not when you’re taking your sweet sweet time, particularly with the scars. When a whine isn’t jumping to his throat, he makes sure to get a breath in on the intervals you place before every kiss – at times with a run of your thumb – as if recalling the memories associated with it, and wondering at the ones you hadn’t been there for. 

This doesn’t mean it was easy. 

He’s spent the past hour doing the opposite, after all, afraid of what it would do if he gave in – because this is a tenderness he’s longed for all his life, rushing over him on a random Thursday afternoon with no warning. 

“Jesus,” he breathes out, gripping the sheets beneath him when you find your way back to his spine – languid, lingering kisses along where it curved. You had to crawl down – chest now propped on the back of his thighs, so the hand resting on his loin becomes his new tether. This time, he feels your smile when it curls up against him. 

He doesn’t get why you’re like that with him. Gentle, in your quieter moments together. Eager, even with the most mundane, tedious shit he could possibly think of. Stakeouts, beer runs, waiting for Sam, sitting on the sink when he shits. His friggin back. 

Well. You do like him. That’s why he’s here. That’s why you’re here, but sometimes he doesn’t get that part either. Because you seem to almost savor Dean. And he’s still learning how to take without knocking anything over. 

His last spot a little further below, except this one wasn’t exactly battle-bourne. He feels you kiss where he’s pretty sure your teeth bared into him a couple nights ago. 

You pat it with a contented hum, sounding way too pleased with yourself. “Still holding up.”

“‘m still gonna get you back for that.”

A snort. “And I’m still waiting,” you say, moving back up to lay atop his slack figure and rest your cheek close to his shoulder. Which part he’s groaning about, you’re not sure. Both of you seem too content to care. 

“Do you really still think you could’ve sutured yourself that day?”

“What, the Nebraska thing?” he huffs, pulling at the bedsheets. “Yeah. I told ya, I was halfway through m’first stitch when y’an Sam came barreling in.”

You smirk. “You were flailing around like a highschooler with gum on his back.”

“At least gum’d be easier to get off my back.”

“And yet you didn’t when you had the exact, literal chance.”

The headboard receives his unimpressed glower. 

You know something’s wrong when he doesn’t jab back, but then Dean moves. You’re tossed to the mattress with a yelp, smugness wiped clean off your face, mirrored instead on the face of a towering Dean. 

He raises a brow as you catch your breath. “Looks like you spoke too soon, huh?”

“Not really. That was a reactive decision, kind of a little late for it to pr–”

Because you’ll drag this into a debate for your own cruel fun, Dean stops you with a kiss. You melt into it all the same, even if your grin refuses to cease – thankfully, it spurs him on. 

“You’re a fucking pain,” he says into your mouth, pulling away only to press a kiss to your temple. “You know that?”

“I revel in that fact, actually.”

Your grin only widens when he scoffs. 

One of these days, he’ll muck up the nerve to tell you to at least warn a man before you do things like that, or say that he doesn’t revel in that fact. 

For now, he’ll let his face slip into the crook of your neck and let your hands lull him to sleep. 

｡𓃉 a/n: i. (crawling through the dirt) fi..nally .. (wheeze of agony) got it done . dean's back is so smooth and clean in the show and to that i holler in objection. likely for the same understandable reason they didn't end up giving him tattoos but. still. enjoy the sprinkles of sub!dean.