hi love. im not sure if you write for dean winchester but i have a dean request. dean being a tits guy and reader waking up to him sucking on her tits in the middle of the night while he’s half asleep followed by smut.
if you don’t write for dean you can do this with soldier boy !!
He needs you even in his sleep (age gap, you are his young girlfriend, 18+ smut)
hi dolls, I'm starting to write for Dean as well and probably most likely for Beau Arlen, also your dad's best friend🎀🖤
After a grueling hunt, Dean returned to the motel you shared with your brothers. Sammy had his own business, so he definitely wasn't planning on returning to you both. He quietly closed the motel door and took off his shoes, placing the Impala keys on the table and tiredly lay down next to you. Several hours passed when Dean was already asleep next to you.
The dim light filtering through the motel curtains cast soft shadows across the room, but you were already awake, your breath catching in your throat. Dean's rhythmic breathing warmed your skin, but it wasn't the measured, sleepy breathing you expected. Instead, the wet, gentle touch of his tongue against your nipple through the thin fabric of your untucked shirt seemed more purposeful.
Dean was still fast asleep, his body heavy and warm pressed against yours, but it seemed his subconscious had taken over. His stubble brushed against your sensitive skin with every movement, sending jolts of electricity straight to your pussy. One of his large hands slid under the waistband of your shorts, his palm resting possessively on your thigh, tying you to him even in your sleep.
You felt a wave of heat wash over you. You knew your boyfriend; he was a tough hunter, a man who carried the world on his shoulders, but seeing him like this—vulnerable and driven by raw, naked need—awakened something deep within you. Your own body reacted instantly: your nipples hardened, pressed against his lips, and a familiar ache spread between your thighs. You considered pushing him away, waking him up and scolding him for such recklessness, but the part of you that craved him couldn't resist. You arched your back slightly, pressing your breasts closer to his lips, silently inviting the man who protected everyone to finally take what he wanted.
Your fingers brushed against his short, dark hair. The strands were soft, despite his stern demeanor; even in your sleep, you felt a surge of protective affection and love. "Dean," your voice was barely audible over the hum of the motel air conditioner. "Dean, darling, wake up."
At first, your touch was hesitant. But as your fingers continued to stroke his hair, Dean let out another low, guttural groan, pressing himself against your skin. Instead of pulling away, he seemed to instinctively respond to your touch; his grip on your thigh tightened, his fingers digging lightly into your skin, as if he were afraid his girlfriend might disappear if he let go.
"Dean, baby, come back to me," you whispered again, breathlessly, as his tongue swirled around your nipple again, this time more insistently. The vulnerability of the moment, the way this seasoned warrior sought comfort and release in your body, unconsciously making your heart beat faster. Your head leaned down, kissing his temple tenderly. You felt the heat radiating from him, the raw tension in his muscles.
His breath caught as your lips touched his temple, the contact breaking him from his sleepy haze. A low growl echoed in his chest—not angry, but pure, undisguised hunger. Dean's eyes opened slightly, darkened by sleep and a sudden, sharp hunger that took your breath away. For a second, he simply looked at you, his green eyes sliding over your flushed face before dropping to where his lips still rested on her bare breast.
He seemed to realize what he was doing, but there was no embarrassment in his expression, only a smug, dangerous smirk that further narrowed the shadows beneath his cheekbones. "Well," he croaked, his voice rough as gravel, "if you wanted me that badly, y/n, all you had to do was ask."
He didn't pull away. Instead, Dean shifted his weight, hovering over you with a predatory grace that made your stomach turn. His hand slid from your hip to the small of your back, pressing your body flush against his hard warmth. The vulnerability you'd felt a moment ago was gone, replaced by the commanding presence of a man who knew exactly what he wanted and knew exactly how to get it. "You're playing with fire, darling," he whispered against her skin, his breath hot and demanding as he nibbled on her nipple, "and I think we're both getting burned already."
You couldn't help but let out a melodic laugh as you pressed your palms to his chest, trying to create some semblance of distance. "Actually," you teased, your eyes sparkling with mischief, "you were the one who attacked me in my sleep. Pretty bold for someone who was snoring two minutes ago."
Dean didn't give you the satisfaction of retreating. Instead, his smug smirk became more playful, more purposeful. "Really?" he growled, the sound reverberating in his chest. In one smooth, powerful motion, he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head to the worn motel pillows. His grip wasn't painful, but it had the unmistakable power of a man accustomed to being in control.
Before you could respond with another barb, he pressed his lips to yours. The kiss wasn't gentle; it was desperate, passionate, laced with an unbearable love that spoke louder than words.
You gasped against his lips, your body betraying you as you melted beneath his weight. The teasing kiss faded, replaced by the all-consuming reality of him: the scent of leather and gunpowder ingrained in his skin, the rough stubble on your chin, and the way his body pressed you to the mattress. Dean broke the kiss only for a moment to press his forehead to yours, his breathing ragged. "Fuck, baby," he murmured, pressing his lips to yours, his voice trembling with uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I missed you. Don't ever make me wait that long again."
You bit your bottom lip, your eyes darkening with arousal as you looked at him. Your gaze was a challenge, a silent permission for him to shed his usual semblance of armor. "Then don't hold back, Dean," your voice was laced with honeyed provocation. "Show me how much you've missed me."
That permission was enough for him. Dean made a sound, half growl, half moan, and pounced on you like a hungry man. He pulled away from your lips to rake a fiery trail down your throat, his mouth hot and demanding as it touched your sensitive neck. His stubble brushed against your skin, a rough friction that sent an electric shock through your skin. When his lips touched your soft breast again, this time he wasn't gentle; he captured your nipple with a possessive bite that made you cry out.
Your hands slid from the mattress to his back, your fingers digging into the hard muscle beneath his shirt. You arched your back off the bed, craving more of his weight, more of his warmth. "Dean... oh god, Dean," you moaned, throwing your head back against the pillow as pleasure washed over you.
Dean moved with focused intensity, his hands sliding over your body with the confidence of a man claiming what was rightfully his. Every touch was deliberate, every kiss a declaration. He was no longer just a protector or a hunter; he was a man claiming his territory, and you relished every second of being at his mercy.
Dean pulled back just enough to hover directly above you, his green eyes burning with such intensity that you felt utterly small and vulnerable. The muscles in his arms tensed as he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. As he dropped it to the floor, you couldn't take your eyes off his broad chest, covered in scars and a mark, and his tanned skin—like a map of all his battle victories.
The sight only heightened your arousal. Without breaking his gaze, Dean leaned down again, capturing your lips in another passionate kiss, one laced with desperation and hunger. His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, sliding up the fabric. With focused intent, he pulled it off you, casually tossing it aside so that you lay naked beneath him.
The cool motel air touched your skin for only a moment before it was replaced by Dean's heat. His gaze slid down your body, lingering on your plush breasts before moving lower. "You're so beautiful, y/n," he rasped, his voice trembling with desire. "You're such a damn beautiful doll."
His hand slid down, his palm burning the skin of your stomach as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts. With rough impatience, he slid them down your thighs, discarding them until you were completely exposed beneath him. Your breathing became short and shallow as you felt his weight settle between your thighs, the anticipation of what was to come making your hips instinctively move toward him.
Dean slid down your body again, his gaze locked on yours with such intensity that you felt like you were drowning in him. He captured your lips in another passionate kiss, deep, commanding, full of raw need, promising everything you both craved. His tongue slid over yours, feeling desperation as you moved toward him, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer.
The tenderness of the kiss was short-lived, as his hands moved to your waist. You watched through narrowed eyes as he reached for his belt buckle. The metallic click resounded deafeningly in the quiet motel room. He moved roughly and quickly, peeling off his jeans to free himself. When he was finally ready, his cock was thick and throbbing, straining with a need that mirrored her own.
"Y/n," he moaned, pressing his lips to your plush ones, your name a prayer and a command. "Look at me."
You opened your eyes, your vision blurring, and saw those piercing green eyes staring into yours. He positioned himself at your pussy, his blunt tip penetrating the tight wetness. You gasped, arching your back off the mattress, feeling his all-consuming fullness. Dean didn't hesitate; he gripped your hips tightly, holding you beneath him, and with one powerful, decisive thrust, he plunged inside.
Your head snapped back, a cry ripping from your throat as he filled you completely, stretching your sensitive walls. The fullness was intoxicating, perfect, crushing. Dean froze for a moment, deep inside you, his muscles tensing and trembling with the effort. He let out a low, guttural growl of satisfaction, pressing his forehead against yours as you both tried to catch your breath after the impact. You bit your bottom lip hard, trying to suppress the overwhelmed moan that threatened to burst forth as Dean began moving inside your pussy. Each thrust was purposeful and powerful. Your manicured fingers dug into the taut muscles of his broad back, your nails leaving barely visible red marks on his skin as you clung to him as if he were the only solid thing in a world suddenly transformed into liquid heat.
Dean was relentless. He leaned down, his lips brushing your breast again, but there was no tenderness left in his touch, only a rough, unfiltered obsession. His mouth slid across your skin in hot, wet kisses, and his voice dropped to a hoarse whisper that made your toes curl.
"You like this, baby, don't you?" he growled, pressing against her nipple, his breath hot. "Taking me all the way, like you were made for my cock." His words were filthy, laced with rough promises and comments, as her body betrayed every attempt she made to restrain herself. "Fuck, doll, you're so fucking perfect, I want to cum in that tight pussy."
The combination of his physical dominance and his filthy, unfiltered praise sent a wave of pleasure through you. You couldn't hold back the shameless moans escaping your lips, your hips greedily rising to meet every thrust, craving more friction, more of his weight, more of a man who simultaneously broke you and put you back together.
Dean was relentless, his pace quickening, the friction between you flaring into an unbearable flame. He shifted his grip, placing his palms next to your head and leaning forward until his full weight pinned you to the mattress. You felt the heat and friction of his pubis against your pussy as he fucked you. Your eyes filled with tears. The feeling of being pinned, completely dominated by his strong, muscular body, drove you to the edge. You felt helpless and ecstatic at the same time, your body shaking as the orgasm began to tighten in your stomach.
"That's it, sweet little girl," Dean rasped, his voice trembling as he looked at your face. "Give me everything."
Your vision blurred as the orgasm ripped through you. Your inner muscles spasmed around him in desperate, rhythmic pulses, and you cried out his name, arching your back off the bed as waves of pleasure crashed over you. Your nails scraped along his spine as you clung to him through the storm.
Seeing you lose control, he was completely at a loss. Dean's breathing turned into a ragged, animalistic growl. He thrust into you one last time, each thrust deeper and harder than the last, his jaw clenched with tension. With a guttural roar that seemed to come from his very bones, he gave in to his own orgasm. He plunged impossibly deep inside you, his body shaking as he came inside, filling you with his heat, his weight pressing you against him, locking you in an embrace. For several long moments, the only sound in the room was his synchronized, labored breathing. The room fell into a heavy, contented silence, broken only by the ragged sound of synchronized breathing. You lay beneath him, wrapped around him, your limbs like melted honey, your skin flushed and sensitive to every micro-movement. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you tried to regain oxygen, your heart still pounding in your ribs like a trapped bird's.
Dean didn't pull away immediately. He remained leaning over you, his forehead pressed against yours, allowing his weight to feel protective rather than overwhelming. Gradually, the predatory, primal thirst in his eyes softened, replaced by something far more dangerous to a woman's heart: genuine tenderness.
He shifted slightly, leaning on his elbow so he could look down at her. A slow smile spread across his face—not the smug smirk he wore like armor, but something genuine, rare, and undisguised. His green eyes, warm and clear, searched hers. "Fuck, y/n," he breathed, his voice still husky but devoid of its previous aggression.
Leaning down, he kissed you on the lips, completely different from the last one. It wasn't a confession or a conquest; it was soft, slow, and achingly sweet. Pulling back just an inch, he traced the curve of your bottom lip with his thumb, lingering there.
"I love you," he whispered, and the words carried all the weight of what he usually hid beneath layers of sarcasm and bravado. "I fucking love you, sweetheart."
