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Toffee/Toph. ִ ࣪𖤐.ᐟ
Born of ice and shadow. Scorpio. American. BPD. AuDHD. They/Them. Constant state of exhaustion. Smut enthusiast.
I post incredibly inconsistently and I’m bad at keeping up with writing, but I swear to chuck I’m working on it. I’m also relatively new to actually posting on tumblr so please bear with me here while I figure it out.
I write pretty much anything within reason, I have morals. I will not write anything involving incest, Wincest, pedo shit, racism, or homophobia. No bullshit over here. Oh and just so we’re clear where I stand, fuck Donald Trump and fuck ICE.
I am a freak so I’m pretty open when it comes to writing different kinks and scenarios, please feel free to reach out with any ideas as long as they are respectful and follow my boundaries!! :3
I’m currently working on a few different things, Sam Winchester!Dad’s best friend x reader is the main thing along with some other shorter fun things. I make no promises on when I will post anything because I am very unreliable when it comes to writing deadlines, I write whenever I can and whenever I have the energy to do so, so I apologize for my inconsistency right off the bat haha.
Characters I write for: Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Castiel, Soldier Boy, König, Mark Meachum, my own characters, and possibly others but that’s all for right now. :3
I need to set up a post specifically for rules so I can go more into detail and make things very clear and I need to make another post specifically for my masterlist, but today is not that day. So everyone just pretend there’s cute links here for things lmao. Honestly this entire post will probably be edited and updated quite often, but this is what we’re working with for right now haha.
I wanted to give some extra love and credits for mi amor @bitemysin because this post would NOT be possible without them, they literally helped with my theme and even gave me an outline for this post-legit on my knees for them rn. So everyone go for fawn some love and support because they are an amazing writer, an amazing friend, and they deserve love!!! ♡
The room is bathed in the dim, golden glow of the salt lamp Dean insists on keeping in every motel room “for vibes, Sammy”, but right now, the only vibe is the slow, heavy drag of Sam’s cock inside you, his body a warm, solid weight pressed against your back. He’s half-asleep, his movements sluggish, like he’s fucking you in a dream. One he never wants to wake up from.
A pillow’s wedged under your hips, tilting you just enough that every time he sinks in, he stays there, buried to the hilt, his pubic bone grinding against your ass with a lazy, circular roll. You can feel everything—the stretch, the heat, the way his cock twitches inside you when you clench around him, like he’s surprised by how good it feels, even now.
His arm is a band around your waist, his fingers splayed over your stomach, pulling you back onto him with every slow, deep thrust. His other hand is clamped over your mouth, but there’s no real force behind it. Just the quiet understanding that Dean’s in the next room, and if he hears anything—even the wet, obscene sounds of Sam fucking you—he’ll never let either of you live it down.
“Mmm, fuck,” Sam mumbles into the crook of your neck, his voice thick with sleep, his breath hot against your skin. “You’re so tight like this.” His hips rock forward, his cock dragging against that spot inside you that makes your toes curl, and you whimper against his palm, the sound muffled but desperate. He smiles, you can feel it against your shoulder—because he knows what he’s doing to you.
His hand on your stomach slides further down beneath you, his fingers finding your clit with the kind of lazy precision that comes from knowing your body. He doesn’t rush. Doesn’t need to. His thumb circles you in slow, maddening little swirls, his touch feather-light at first, then firmer when you buck back against him, begging without words.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice a sleepy purr. “Take me. All of me.” And you do. You do, because how could you not? When he’s like this—warm, heavy, his cock throbbing inside you with every shallow breath—there’s nothing else in the world but the two of you, the slick slide of skin, the way his chest rises and falls against your back.
His thrusts are lazy, almost drowsy, but no less deep. Every time he bottoms out, he stays there, his hips pressed flush against your ass, his cock pulsing like he’s savoring the way you clench around him. “Fuck, you feel so good,” he whispers, his voice breaking just a little, and the sound of it has you squeezing around him harder, earning a broken groan from his chest.
His thumb presses down on your clit, and your body shudders, your orgasm building slow and deep, like a tide pulling you under. You can feel him everywhere—his chest against your back, his cock buried inside you, his fingers working you over, his breath hot against your neck. “Sam—” His name is a plea, a whine, and he swallows it, his hand pressing harder over your mouth as his own rhythm stutters, his hips losing their careful pace.
“I can’t—fuck—I can’t last,” he admits, and the admission is raw, so Sam it hurts. His thrusts turn erratic, his fingers digging into your hip, his cock twitching inside you as he chases his own release.
And then his thumb presses down, hard, and the world tilts. Your orgasm rips through you, slow and deep, your body clamping down around him so tightly he groans, his own release following with a shuddering, broken cry against your shoulder. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth grazing your skin as he spills inside you, his cock pulsing, his whole body trembling.
For a long moment, there’s nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing, the thud of his heartbeat against your back, the way his grip on you loosens just enough to let you drag in a lungful of air. His hand slides from your mouth, his fingers lingering against your lips like he’s memorizing the shape of them.
Then, because he’s Sam, because he can’t not say it—“You okay?” His voice is rough, worried, even now. Even after.
And you laugh, breathless, because of course he’d ask that. Of course he’d still be checking on you when he’s the one who just got fucked senseless.
You turn your head just enough to catch his mouth in a slow, sleepy kiss, tasting the salt on his skin, the faint hint of coffee from the diner down the road. “I will be,” you murmur against his lips, “when you do that again.”
His chuckle is quiet, low, and full of promises. “Oh, we’re definitely doing that again.”
/̵͇̿̿/’̿’̿ ̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ̿̿ ⠀.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ⌖ ₊ mdni, u will be blocked.
cw: gunz, sb teaching u and not keeping his hands off you, some explicit content. not proofread ahhh. wc: 2.4k~
— ᨳଓ⋆˚࿔.
he’d driven you out to a private forest clearing, with a lake nearby. a little spot he knew. the two of you sat with the roof of his vintage black classic down, the breeze brushing through the trees and against your hair.
beside you in the driver’s seat, ben licked the edge of a small, cherry-flavored rolling paper. he focused on securing the joint he was fashioning for the two of you. he was nearly finished, already packed the weed in snug. you couldn’t help but smirk at his posture: his back hunched over as he zeroed in on his task. his aviator sunglasses rested atop his head, pushing his hair back and out of the way, nearly a headband. the lenses reflected the sun. a meteor could strike and he wouldn’t notice until he was done.
feeling bored, you tapped your nails against the door armrest. you looked around at the trees. you sat up to see the lake in the near distance, the sun glistening off the ripples. you poked the fuzzy dice hanging from his rear view mirror. you rummaged through his glove compartment…
… and your brows shot up upon seeing a black pistol buried under documents and condoms.
you glanced over to see if he’d caught you snooping. his brows were still furrowed as he rolled the joint over the steering wheel. utterly enraptured by his weed. you smirked, feeling suddenly mischievous. with great care, you gently retrieved the firearm.
“put it down.” his voice rang beside you.
you tensed, suddenly feeling like a scolded child, then smiled faintly. you didn’t put it down. you treated it delicately, of course, purposely avoiding the trigger as you examined it. the metal was cool and heavy in your hand. “why is it in here?”
“needs to be,” he said simply. then, he took the gun from you, grabbing it by the barrel. he set it muzzle down in the empty cup holder between you before focusing his attention back to the blunt.
you tilted your head, unsatisfied, and stated matter-of-factly, “you’re indestructible.”
“you’re not.”
you raised a brow again, intrigued. “so it’s for me.”
“for assholes.”
“my hero.”
ben looked over at you then, sizing you up, half impressed, half perpetually annoyed.
“have you ever even been this close to a roscoe?”
you looked through your lashes. “… once or twice.”
that got his attention. he lowered the unfinished joint in his lap, looking you over again, his keen green eyes following a steady path down your figure. ben paused for a long moment, as if he was assessing you.
“when?”
“fourth of july.”
“what’d you shoot?” he sounded nearly fascinated. never in a million years would ben have guessed you did something like that. you were always such a sissy.
“the ground,” you confessed timidly.
the sharp sound of his laughter broke the peacefulness of nature surrounding you. his shoulders bounced, he tipped his head back against the headrest, and his eyes crinkled at the corners. he licked his lips and muttered something like jesus christ as he settled down, shaking his head and bringing the joint back up to work on again.
“you’re a card.” he stated. he gave the joint a final lick, pressing the paper down flush with the pads of his thumbs. he inspected it carefully before tucking it in his shirt pocket. he pushed his aviators back down, wearing them properly, hiding his eyes. “get out.”
you blinked, watching him open his door, grab the pistol, and step out of the car all in one motion. after a moment of hesitation, you followed.
he beckoned you over with a finger, his gun in his back pocket. ben’s hand snaked around your waist when you were close enough and he leaned against the hood of his car. he thumbed your hip and raised his hand, moving it to follow the horizon.
your eyes followed. the lake’s shore lapped at the dirt a few respectable paces away, the water slightly murky. surrounding you, conifers and hardwood cast sparse shadows. their leaves occasionally swayed with the soft breeze, and the unmistakable smell of sap comforted you in a strange way.
his voice recaptured your attention. “pick a tree.”
you looked over at him, a surge of disbelief passing through you. he really trusted you enough to do this?
you shook your head. “i don’t wanna shoot a tree.”
ben rolled his eyes. “hippie,” he muttered, reaching into another pocket of his. he pulled out his cherry rolling papers and ripped two out- then crumpled them into little balls. you blinked in surprise at the sacrifice of two perfectly good rolling papers.
“put these in your ears,” he commanded. and so you did. the sounds of the lake’s waves, the chirping of the birds, the swish of tree branches brushing against each other muffled.
without warning, he grabbed your waist in both hands, and yanked you in front of him. with his chest flush against your back, he wrapped an arm around your middle and fished his pistol out of his pocket. he brought it out to show off.
you knew not to reach for it. he turned it in his hands. his chin brushing against the back of your head. “this bitch’s no joke, you hear me, doll?”
you nodded. he grunted in approval, then flipped the gun back, left side up. he flicked the safety off, keeping the nose pointed to the ground.
gently, ben’s hand smoothed across your stomach, to your hip, and up your side. he trailed his palm over your forearm and down to your hand. being this close to him, you could hear each little inhale and exhale of his. you could feel his breath brush against your ear. you fought the urge to shiver, especially when his hand found yours. he lifted it and guided it to hold the grip of the gun, adjusting your fingers to stay clear of the trigger.
his hand wrapped firmly around yours, keeping your fingers temporarily disabled, the gun still pointed to the dirt. he squeezed your hand, and you felt something click beneath your palm. your heart raced.
“that was the grip safety,” he said, his voice calm. you nodded once, relaxing.
his other hand gestured in front of you, to a dead tree stump about sixty feet away, maybe four feet tall. it sat unimposing at the opposite shore of the lake, gray and peeling bark, surrounded by its living kin.
“see that stump?”
you nodded.
“aim for that.”
“… okay.”
his grip around your hand on the gun remained. you felt the grainy surface of the grip on your skin. his other hand moved, guiding your left hand to the gun in the same fashion he did the other. ben hummed in approval as he fixed your hands over the grip.
wordlessly, he guided your arms up, the gun still snug inside your fingers. he straightened your arms outright, then maneuvered your right index finger to rest gently on the trigger guard.
“don’t move your finger yet,” he said, his voice in your ear. you swallowed.
his hands left yours, leaving the breeze to brush over them, the coldness emphasizing the loss. he ran his hands slowly up your wrists, to the sensitive skin of the inside of your elbows, and he stopped to hold your biceps. he kept his feet planted firmly outside yours, his broad chest flush against your back.
you pressed your thighs together, his touch molding, and you avoided exhaling too shakily. though, you were almost certain he could hear your pounding heart. just the thought of his awareness made your cheeks flush.
“now…” he let go of one of your arms, his chin by your ear. he gently tapped the small, triangular-shaped bump on top of the pistol once, the one closest to your eye; then the bump further away, on the very tip of the barrel.
“sights. front and rear. as you can see, front is a post, rear is a notch. you line ‘em up both horizontally and vertically, at the center of that stump… and you’ve got your aim.”
you squeezed one eye shut to line the sights up, doing your best to center them as he instructed on the awaiting stump. he shifted, leaning over to look at your face, assessing briefly. he smiled faintly.
“now, i know that might feel right, sweets, but it’s better to keep both those pretty eyes open.”
his voice was cogent. you quickly reopened your eye, exhaling. you could hear the faintest of chuckles leave him.
he licked his lips and slid his hands up back to yours on the gun. one held both of yours in place securely, and the other reached to grab his gun by the barrel, between the sights. he slid the slide back, exposing the metal barrel underneath, and it made a clicking noise that made your brows furrow. he let it go, covering the barrel once again.
“she’s cocked. don’t you move a muscle till i tell you to.”
he found his place behind you again, his chest against you. he squeezed your shoulders gently before he smoothed his rough hands down your upper back, over the ridge of your bra, down to the dip of your waist. you blinked slowly, your eyes darting momentarily to the ground, then back up. you knew you needed to focus, not let his carnal touch divert your attention.
he ran his thumbs back and forth over your waist. his hands were warm and unmoving, and you couldn’t help but notice he kept your ass pressed firm against his hips, the print of his dick faint but felt. it made your breath hitch, but you remained planted against him. and when you heard a rough, faint groan leave his lips right in your ear? you wanted to ditch this whole shooting lesson.
when he spoke again, his voice was considerably softened. but it still made your heart skip. it pulled you back into what this was supposed to be. “you can put your finger on the trigger now, but do not put pressure on it.”
you swallowed again, nodding, regrouping, and you moved your finger carefully off the guard and onto the cool trigger. it was a strange sense of power. one pull and a killing stone would come out at 800 feet per second.
“atta girl. don’t pull yet. take your time, give yourself at least half a minute to aim. then you fire.”
you held the gun pointed where you wanted, taking slow, shuddering breaths, heeding his words. he trusted your judgment, the good head on your shoulders. you’re not so reckless to fire when you’re not confident. and you’re listening so well to each of his instructions.
you lined up the sights, acquiring yourself a good shot, but damn if his closeness didn’t make you blush. as if sensing your temperament at the moment, ben nuzzled his half hard cock against your ass with a slow exhale, causing you to gasp faintly.
your chest sank, about to lower the gun. but he spoke again, this time whispering gravelly. “now… shoot when you want. it’s gonna recoil, and it’s gonna recoil pretty fuckin hard, so be prepared for that.”
he lowered his hands from your waist to grip your hips. the feeling made you breathe uneven, just one short breath that didn’t escape his notice. he smiled, but for once didn’t point it out. not now. he held you tight, not letting you move even an inch away. having your precious self this close was too good to not take advantage of. just feeling your body heat seep into his sent blood straight down. he breathed heavy through his nose, right in your ear, and he gave your hips a gentle squeeze.
you pulled, and a loud bang- one you didn’t anticipate to be so booming because of the rolling papers- rang out when you applied pressure to the trigger. and not even half a second later, the sound of the bullet hitting the stump met your ears. just as he said, the recoil shoved you back. right into him.
tree branches shook as birds fled from them, and you gasped loud. his arm came around you immediately, and ben snatched the gun from your hands harshly by the barrel, quickly flicking something on it down with a click. you heard his laughter in your ear, your heart pounding.
“ha-ha! fuck, baby, you hear that? you hit that shit dead fuckin’ center. that’s my girl.”
he tucked the gun away, adjusting you forcefully to face him. his grin was unmoving, plastered on his face shamelessly. he gave you a shake as he laughed, and after getting your bearings, you finally sighed in relief. you smiled coyly, your hand bracing against his chest. and when you saw your stunned reflection in his sunglasses lenses, you finally laughed alongside him.
“i hit it?”
“did you hit it? yeah, you fuckin’ hit it,” he rubbed your arm, ruffling your clothes. he pointed to the stump. “see for yourself.”
you looked over, narrowing your eyes to see better. sure enough, near the center of the trunk, a hole from the bullet was marked. you picked the balled up rolling papers out of your ears. you let out a disbelieving laugh, grinning, feeling a twinge of pride for yourself. you just shot a gun and hit your target.
you were pulled out of your thoughts by a large hand smacking your ass, the slap causing you to freeze. his laugh deepened by your ear, his arm around you caging. he adjusted you in front of him, practically manhandling you, your hair catching in the wind.
your face fell at the proximity. your chest pressed flush against his made eye contact difficult. but ben hooked his finger under your chin, his other hand sliding down to grip your ass and pull you even closer. that’s when you registered it. him, the hard bulge of his cock straining against his jeans, pressing into your hip. your eyes widened.
“my little sharpshooter,” he said fondly. he leaned in to kiss you roughly, his teeth knocking against yours. it was as brief as it was aggressive, and it left you breathless and squirming.
he grinned, plucking the joint he rolled out of his shirt pocket, taking it between his lips. his other hand found your ass again, and with half lidded eyes, ben rutted his cock against you, just once. enough to make you gasp.
“now, why don’t you be a good girl and bend over this hood for me?”
a/n: can u tell i’ve missed the shooting range. if sb was my instructor id never miss a lesson. ugh this is soooooo dialogue heavy i don’t usually write like this i hope it lands well. as i said in a previous post, fighting through my feeling of un-motivation. this was fun to write tho. more content to come, ily guys~~~
explicit sexual content - making love in the woods with dean
𑣲 from k: bye i listened to wicked game by chris isaak on repeat for hrsss while writing thisss lmaoo. okok pls enjoyyy ilyy
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
The trail is quiet except for the crunch of gravel and fallen leaves under your boots. The Pacific Northwest mist hangs low between the evergreens, turning everything soft and hushed. You’ve been hiking for hours—flannel tied around your waist, your favorite sundress swaying against your thighs, those pretty lace stay-ups hidden underneath like a secret only he knows about. Dean walks beside you in his worn jeans and heavy brown boots, the gold pendant catching what little light filters through the canopy.
You stop at a bend where the path widens near an old fallen log. The air smells like damp earth, pine, and that faint leather-and-gun-oil scent that always clings to him. Dean turns to you with that crooked half-smile, green eyes softer in the filtered light.
He steps in close, brushing a stray piece of hair from your face with gentle fingers. “Been wantin’ to get my hands on you all morning, sweetheart,” he murmurs, voice low and warm. “Just you and me out here… no monsters, no noise. Just us.”
“C’mere,” he adds softly, backing you gently against the wide trunk of a Douglas fir. One big hand cups the back of your neck as he leans in. The kiss is sweet—slow and lingering, full of affection, his thumb stroking your cheek. But it quickly turns heated, tongues brushing, breaths deepening.
His other hand slides down your side, fingertips tracing the curve of your waist through the thin cotton of your dress before slipping underneath the hem.
His palm is warm against your thigh, calluses catching on the delicate lace at the top of your stay-ups. He groans softly into your mouth when he feels them.
“Fuck, darlin’… you really been wearin’ these all day?” His thumb strokes the lacy edge where it meets your soft skin, then slips just underneath, teasing. “Tryin’ to kill me out here, huh?”
You laugh breathlessly, but it melts into a whimper as he presses closer, the hard line of his body pinning you sweetly to the tree. Dean’s mouth trails down your neck, stubble scraping deliciously against your skin while his hand keeps exploring higher.
He finds the edge of your panties—delicate lace that matches the stay-ups—and his fingers trace the seam slowly, teasingly. “So pretty,” he breathes against your throat. “All dressed up pretty for me… so soaked already.” His voice drops even lower, filthy and fond all at once. “This little pussy been aching for me on the trail?”
You nod, hips twitching toward his touch. Dean hums in approval and pushes the lace of your panties aside with two thick fingers, exposing you to the cool forest air. He strokes you slowly, spreading your wetness, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb while his other fingers tease at your entrance.
Then he drops to one knee right there on the forest floor, careful but eager, and hooks one of your thighs over his shoulder. Your boot rests against his back as he leans in. He presses a soft, open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, right above the lace band, then higher—until his tongue replaces his fingers. He licks a slow, broad stripe up through your folds, savoring you with a deep groan that vibrates against your core.
“Goddamn… taste so fucking good.” He takes his time, licking and sucking gently at your clit with perfect pressure, then pushing his tongue inside you while his thumb keeps rubbing tight circles. One big hand grips your hip to hold you steady, the other still holding your panties pulled to the side. Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging as your hips rock against his mouth. The misty air, the scent of pine, and the wet sounds of his mouth on you push you closer and closer to the edge.
You’re right there—thighs trembling, breath catching, a desperate moan building—when Dean suddenly pulls back, kissing your inner thigh softly instead.
You whimper at the loss, a needy, broken little sound escaping you as your hips chase his mouth.
“Shh, I know, sweetheart,” he soothes, voice rough with arousal as he stands up, pressing a quick kiss to your lips so you can taste yourself on him. “Not yet. Want you to come on my cock instead.”
He gently turns you around to face the tree trunk.
“Hands on the tree,” he murmurs against your ear, warm and commanding. “Palms right there. That’s my good girl.”
You brace your hands against the cool, rough bark, arching your back for him as he pushes your sundress up over your hips. He keeps your panties pulled aside with one hand while the other smooths reverently over your ass, squeezing softly. You hear the sound of his belt and zipper, then feel the hot, heavy press of his cock against your soaked entrance.
“Look at you,” he groans, rubbing the thick head up and down your slick folds. “Bent over for me in the middle of the woods, pretty pink lace all messy and wet… my perfect girl.” He leans over your back, the gold pendant brushing cool against your shoulder blade as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck. “Gonna fuck you so nice and deep. Want you to feel me for the rest of this hike.”
He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you open with a low, wrecked moan. The angle is perfect—deep and intense—and once he’s buried to the hilt, he stills for a moment, one hand on your hip and the other sliding around to rub gentle circles over your clit.
“That’s it… takin’ me so well,” he praises, voice low and sweet. “So tight and warm around my cock. You were made for this, hm? Made for me.”
Then he starts moving—long, steady thrusts that rock you forward against the tree. His grip on your hip is firm but loving, keeping you exactly where he wants you while he fucks you deeper.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” he growls, picking up a little pace, the sound of skin meeting skin mixing with the distant drip of mist from the branches. “My sweet, filthy girl… letting me bend you over like this out in the open. Love how you squeeze me when I talk to you. You like when I tell you how pretty you look takin’ my cock?”
You whimper out a yes, pushing back to meet his thrusts. Dean rewards you with a particularly deep stroke and more praise, his mouth right by your ear.
“That’s it. So good for me… so fucking wet. Gonna make you come just like this, with your boots in the dirt and your hands on the tree. Need to feel you fall apart on me.”
His thrusts stay deep and rhythmic, one hand still playing with your clit while the other holds you steady. The sight of it all undid him—your soft floral dress bunched up, delicate pink lace stretched aside, his rough jeans brushing the backs of your thighs, boots planted firm in the gravel. He keeps murmuring sweet filthy things until you come hard around him, clenching and shaking. Only then does Dean let go, burying himself deep and groaning your name as he fills you up, hips stuttering against your ass.
He stays inside you for a long moment afterward, arms wrapped around your waist, pressing soft kisses along your shoulder and the back of your neck.
“I got you,” he whispers, voice soft now. “Love you so much, my sweet girl. Don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He helps you stand on shaky legs, carefully fixes your panties and dress, then pulls you into his chest for a slow, sweet kiss. Your boots are scuffed with dirt and pine needles, lace slightly askew, but you’ve never felt more cherished.
soldier girl who loooooves to stretch out her girl..
ᯓ★ note; very loose extension of this after hours thought..
you’ve never been fucked like this before. and you’ve definitely never been fucked like this– by a woman.
pinned to the bed by your thighs, slightly trembling as soldier girl inspects your wet cunt with fingers so rough and careless as they poke and prod you, that you can’t help but to shudder when she scrapes a nail against your walls.
“huh, you never been stretched out, doll?” she asks, her breath hot against your swollen folds. the smell of weed lingers in the air, making you all hazy and warm.
“just my fingers,” you reply shyly– only to then wince when she brings her hand down sharply on your drooling cunt.
“think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ at the end of that.” her nails tap against the inside of your thigh, gently ghosting bite marks that she’s left there. she squeezes your flesh roughly. “who’re you talkin’ to, doll?”
“you, mom, ‘m talking to you.”
“yeah, that’s right.” and with that, she pushes one finger into you, whilst her other hand holds you down firmly as you begin to writhe. you’ve never had this sort of attention– and never for your cunt– and just the feeling of a single finger alone is making you clench tightly. “hey, just gotta relax f’your mom, okay? gonna stretch you out before i do anythin’..”
and all you can do, as she adds a second and a third finger, sharpened nails scraping your walls, is whine and squirm; feel so uncomfortable by this sudden intrusion, and yet, grow more wet and needy as she starts to fingerfuck you.
“yeah– doin’ so well f’me, doll– aren’t you? bein’ my good girl an’ all?”
you rut your hips forward, grasp onto the sheets below, as you feel your orgasm build. she fucks you like a pro– making you all hot and bothered before you’ve even gotten to the main event. your sweat-slicked body aches, and breathy sounds spill from your mouth as she begins to circle and tease your clit.
“‘s feeling so good–” you whimper, bucking your hips with more intensity. “mom, i need you– please– mommy–”
“oh, you say somethin’?” she pauses briefly, smirking up at you before going back to basically shoving her whole fist into your gaping cunt. meanwhile, you whine and cry for her– your needy noises getting lost in the obscenely vulgar sounds that your hole makes– and tug on her hair for more.
and when she finally does fuck you? well.
she’s not the type to waste her time. immediately, she bottoms out inside of you, burying herself to the hilt with that fat strap. she stills for just a minute or so, allowing you to get used to the fullness of her; and then she’s back to stretching out your hole, in just the way you need!
every time she slams back into you, the plastic tip of the toy kisses your cervix, and the ridged sides are hugged by your warm walls like you don’t want her to go. “you feelin’ god f’me, doll? feelin’ all good for your mommy?” she coos at you, again and again. you nod absent-mindedly, only able to focus on how full you feel, writhing under her sheer brutality because your poor body cannot take it.
but both of her rough hands grip firmly onto your ass, holding you in place as she fucks you so hard that her huge strap begins to bump up and poke at your lower abdomen. when the both of you catch sight of this, she just pushes down on your stomach, fucking into you harder. “gotta let mom use what belongs to her; takin’ like the good girl i know you are.”
soldier girl who loooooves to stretch out her girl..
ᯓ★ note; very loose extension of this after hours thought..
you’ve never been fucked like this before. and you’ve definitely never been fucked like this– by a woman.
pinned to the bed by your thighs, slightly trembling as soldier girl inspects your wet cunt with fingers so rough and careless as they poke and prod you, that you can’t help but to shudder when she scrapes a nail against your walls.
“huh, you never been stretched out, doll?” she asks, her breath hot against your swollen folds. the smell of weed lingers in the air, making you all hazy and warm.
“just my fingers,” you reply shyly– only to then wince when she brings her hand down sharply on your drooling cunt.
“think you’re forgettin’ somethin’ at the end of that.” her nails tap against the inside of your thigh, gently ghosting bite marks that she’s left there. she squeezes your flesh roughly. “who’re you talkin’ to, doll?”
“you, mom, ‘m talking to you.”
“yeah, that’s right.” and with that, she pushes one finger into you, whilst her other hand holds you down firmly as you begin to writhe. you’ve never had this sort of attention– and never for your cunt– and just the feeling of a single finger alone is making you clench tightly. “hey, just gotta relax f’your mom, okay? gonna stretch you out before i do anythin’..”
and all you can do, as she adds a second and a third finger, sharpened nails scraping your walls, is whine and squirm; feel so uncomfortable by this sudden intrusion, and yet, grow more wet and needy as she starts to fingerfuck you.
“yeah– doin’ so well f’me, doll– aren’t you? bein’ my good girl an’ all?”
you rut your hips forward, grasp onto the sheets below, as you feel your orgasm build. she fucks you like a pro– making you all hot and bothered before you’ve even gotten to the main event. your sweat-slicked body aches, and breathy sounds spill from your mouth as she begins to circle and tease your clit.
“‘s feeling so good–” you whimper, bucking your hips with more intensity. “mom, i need you– please– mommy–”
“oh, you say somethin’?” she pauses briefly, smirking up at you before going back to basically shoving her whole fist into your gaping cunt. meanwhile, you whine and cry for her– your needy noises getting lost in the obscenely vulgar sounds that your hole makes– and tug on her hair for more.
and when she finally does fuck you? well.
she’s not the type to waste her time. immediately, she bottoms out inside of you, burying herself to the hilt with that fat strap. she stills for just a minute or so, allowing you to get used to the fullness of her; and then she’s back to stretching out your hole, in just the way you need!
every time she slams back into you, the plastic tip of the toy kisses your cervix, and the ridged sides are hugged by your warm walls like you don’t want her to go. “you feelin’ god f’me, doll? feelin’ all good for your mommy?” she coos at you, again and again. you nod absent-mindedly, only able to focus on how full you feel, writhing under her sheer brutality because your poor body cannot take it.
but both of her rough hands grip firmly onto your ass, holding you in place as she fucks you so hard that her huge strap begins to bump up and poke at your lower abdomen. when the both of you catch sight of this, she just pushes down on your stomach, fucking into you harder. “gotta let mom use what belongs to her; takin’ like the good girl i know you are.”
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ the sweet christian girl who’s been trying to save sam winchester’s soul decides the fastest way to reach him is on her knees
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ sam winchester x christian!reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 884 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ smut !!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, blasphemy, semi-public sex inside a church confessional, oral sex (m!receiving), religious kink, corruption kink, power imbalance vibes, sam being shocked but very into it
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
you’ve been watching sam winchester for weeks.
he sits in the back pew every sunday, tall frame folded awkwardly, hazel eyes distant like he’s somewhere else entirely. you told yourself it was your duty to bring him to the light. but the longer you watched those broad shoulders and those long fingers, the more your prayers started to drift somewhere darker.
tonight the church is empty, candles flickering low. you cornered him after he wandered in looking for “some quiet.” now he’s sitting inside the old wooden confessional, knees spread, looking up at you like you’ve grown a second head.
“you’re serious?” his voice is low, rough with disbelief.
you sink to your knees between his legs, the hem of your modest sundress brushing the dusty floor. your hands slide up his thighs, bold in a way that surprises even you.
“i want to save you, sam,” you whisper, fingers working his belt open with surprising steadiness. “and maybe… this is how god sent me to do it.”
his breath catches hard when you pull him out, already half-hard and thickening in your palm. he’s big. thicker than you imagined during those restless nights when you touched yourself whispering his name like a sin.
“fuck—sweetheart…” sam’s hand hovers near your cheek, unsure. “you don’t have to—”
you lean forward and take him into your mouth before he can finish the sentence.
the groan that tears out of him is filthy, echoing off the wooden walls of the confessional like a cursed soul crying out. it’s loud. too loud for this holy place.
the sound shoots straight between your legs.
you suck him deeper, tongue sliding along the underside, cheeks hollowing. sam’s head falls back against the wooden panel with a dull thud. “jesus christ,” he hisses, then immediately lets out a breathless laugh. “shit—sorry.”
you pull off just enough to murmur, “it’s okay. you can say his name.” your voice is soft, almost sweet, completely at odds with the way you’re licking a slow stripe up the length of him. “i like hearing you lose control.”
then you sink down again, taking him further until he bumps the back of your throat. your eyes water but you don’t stop, relaxing your jaw and swallowing around him. sam’s hips jerk, a broken moan spilling from his lips. his hand finally settles in your hair.
“you’re—fuck, you’re really doing this,” he breathes, awe thick in his voice. “in here. on your knees for me like a good little—”
you hum around him and his words cut off into another low, wrecked sound. the confessional feels too small, too warm. every wet suck, every quiet gag, every tiny moan you can’t hold back fills the sacred space.
sam’s thighs tense under your palms. he’s trying so hard to stay quiet now, but he can’t. not when you take him so deep your nose brushes the dark hair at his base and swallow again.
that’s it—good girl,” he whispers, voice strained and reverent. his fingers tighten gently in your hair, guiding you just a little faster. “just like that. you’re taking me so well… fuck, look at you.”
you glance up at him through wet lashes. his eyes are blown dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling fast. the sight of sweet, shy christian you with your mouth full of him seems to break something in his brain.
you pull back just enough to whisper, voice hoarse, “after this… i’ll pray for both of us.” then you dive back down, sucking harder, faster, one hand stroking what you can’t fit in your mouth.
sam’s moans grow louder, rougher, bouncing off the confessional walls like sacrilege. his hips start rocking gently, fucking your mouth with careful restraint even as his control frays. “i’m—shit, i’m close,” he warns, voice cracking.
you don’t pull away. you take him deeper, humming encouragement, eyes locked on his. sam comes with a choked groan that sounds almost pained, hips stuttering as he spills down your throat. you swallow every drop, gentle and obedient, until he’s trembling and oversensitive.
when you finally sit back on your heels, lips swollen and shiny, you fold your hands neatly in your lap like you’re back in sunday school.
sam stares down at you, chest heaving, looking thoroughly ruined and completely in awe. “you’re…” he lets out a shaky laugh, dragging a hand through his hair. “you’re not what i expected from bible study.”
you smile softly, a little shy again now that the heat is fading, even as his taste still lingers on your tongue. “god works in mysterious ways,” you murmur, voice sweet and honest.
then you lean forward, pressing one last gentle kiss to the head of his softening cock before tucking him back into his jeans with careful fingers.
“now,” you say, standing up and smoothing down your dress like nothing happened, “kneel with me. we should probably pray for forgiveness.”
sam looks up at you, stunned, flushed, and already half-hard again. but he doesn’t argue. he just slides off the bench and drops to his knees beside you, shoulder brushing yours in the cramped space, the faint scent of candle wax and sex hanging heavy in the air. the candles keep burning, flickering like they know exactly what kind of salvation just took place.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
✶ notary nsfw content. hello world.... i am back with a small drabble that i wrote in 10 minutes before i upload my long ahh fic
sam winchester is the most respectful, polite and soft spoken man you've ever met. the one you would be proud to introduce to your parents. but behind closed doors? he can be a fucking menace.
your high-pitched whimpers are filling the impala. hands clawing at his arms, his hair, abs, almost everywhere, as sam's on top of you pounding himself into you so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.
your parents think you're on a movie date. i mean, he showed up on your doorstep with flowers and puppy eyes, who would not believe him? who would think that he would have you begging for mercy for an hour straight?
the windows are getting fogged up, your body is probably on it's 10th orgasm, but sam is nowhere close to stopping.
"sam-" you choke on a moan, because sam is choking you himself. his hand is tight around your throat, just enough for your world and senses to narrow to only him and nothing else. and it's working. your eyes are rolling to the back of your head, you're seeing white, you almost can't breathe but it all just feels so good.
he leans down to capture your lips into another messy kiss, filled with tongue, spit and desire. you struggle to kiss him back, because you just can't seem to stop moaning.
"look at me" he says between his own groans and whimpers.
you try. you really try to. but it's all just too much. too much pleasure. your body's almost gone numb.
"fuckin' look at me or i'll stop" he urges now, just with a hint of desperation.
that's when you got desperate. "no- please" you whimpered, fluttering your eyes open.
and god, he has never looked better. sweaty, rosy cheeks, eyes filled with lust and desire. but then a small smirk appeared on his face and before you could register anything, his second hand wraps around your throat too and he starts rocking his hips impossibly fast inside you.
thinking about ruby strapping reader to put her back in her place after she’s been bratty the whole day… she’s so hot i need to be put down
nsfw. MDNI. 18+
i was thinking about bondage earlier today but didn’t know who to write it for, you read my mind anon. i feel like she’d be so condescending and mocking. “is this what you wanted? hm? some attention, be good now.” (i’m picturing brunette ruby as i type this but both of them are so hot.)
I KNOW soldier boy loves a messy blowjob, spit running down your chin, gagging noises, tears down your cheeks, and if you're not sucking his balls you're only doing half a job
i’m nodding my head so hard right now. he doesn’t even consider it a blowjob if you don’t give any love to his sack. he’s so revolting about it, yanking his cock straight outta your mouth and tapping your cheek with the wet tip, tutting down at you with, “c’mon, babydoll, gotta show the stones some love too. go on, feel how full they are. you’re gonna let me fill your cunt with all that baby makin’ juice later, aren’t ya? m’gonna leave my pretty girl so fuckin’ stuffed.”
Sam x soft spoken reader? Just thinking of him leaning down during a conversation just to hear better and not thinking anything odd of it, while reader is just scrambling to get their words out without stuttering while their eyes flick anywhere but him lol. And maybe when they have sex they aren’t as vocal but then Sam coaxes it out of them? Love your stuff!!
⋆｡ ˚ the quiet ones break the loudest
summary ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ you’ve always been soft-spoken, especially around sam—stumbling over words when he leans in close to hear you, eyes darting away—until he finally shows you how vocal you can.
pairing ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ sam winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ 1012 genre ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ smut!!
warnings ˚˖𓍢ִִ໋ explicit sexual content, soft-spoken/shy reader, size difference, gentle dom!sam vibes, coaxing/encouragement, praise kink, voice kink (sam coaxing sounds out of quiet reader), p in v, emotional intimacy
notes ˚˖𓍢ִ໋ ִ❀໋ consider supporting my work .ᐟ
The library in the bunker is dim, just the desk lamp and the faint glow from Sam’s laptop screen. You’re tucked into the corner armchair with a lore book open on your lap, legs folded under you, voice barely above a whisper as you read him the passage about the djinn variant you’re hunting.
Sam’s sitting on the floor in front of you—back against the ottoman, long legs stretched out—head tilted back so he can look up at you while you talk.
He’s close. Too close.
His shoulder brushes your knee every time he shifts.
You get to the part about the venom dosage and your voice drops even lower, automatic, like you’re afraid of disturbing the silence.
He turns fully toward you then. Leans in. His face is suddenly inches from yours—ear tilted toward your mouth so he can catch every murmured word. His hair brushes your cheek. You smell cedar and coffee and the faint trace of gun oil on his skin.
Your sentence dies halfway.
“…and the—the antidote needs to uhm be administered within—” You swallow. Blink fast. Eyes flick to his mouth, then the bookshelf behind him, then the ceiling. Anywhere but the warm hazel staring at you like you’re the only thing in the room. “Within, um. Forty minutes.”
Sam doesn’t move back. Just stays there, patient, waiting for the rest.
You try again. “It—it has to be—” Your voice cracks. Tiny. Barely audible.
He smiles—small, soft, the kind that makes your stomach flip—and murmurs, “You can talk quieter. I’ll hear you.”
That’s the problem. You know he will.
You nod jerkily. Finish the sentence in fragments. He nods along, serious, focused, like this is normal. Like leaning in so close your breaths mingle is just practical.
It’s not practical.
It’s devastating.
Later—hours later, after the hunt’s done, after showers and takeout and the kind of bone-deep exhaustion that makes everything feel slow—the motel room is dark except for the bathroom light you left on. One bed. Always one bed lately.
You’re already under the covers when Sam climbs in behind you. Big spoon by default. His chest presses to your back, arm sliding around your waist, hand splaying wide over your stomach.
He kisses the nape of your neck. Soft. Once. Then again.
You shiver.
“Still thinking about that djinn?” he asks, voice low against your ear.
You shake your head. Barely.
“Good.” His hand drifts lower. Slips under the hem of your sleep shirt. Fingers trace lazy circles over your hipbone. “Because I’ve been thinking about you.”
Your breath hitches—quiet, but he hears it.
He always hears.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispers.
You bite your lip. Shake your head again.
Sam chuckles—soft, fond. “Can’t hear you, sweetheart.”
His fingers dip between your thighs. Find you already wet. He groans against your shoulder. “Fuck. You’re soaked.”
You whimper—tiny, almost silent.
He circles your clit slow. Teasing. “Use your words. Tell me.”
“I—” Your voice is threadbare. “Want… you.”
“Louder.”
You try. “Want you inside me.”
He rewards you—slides one finger in, then two. Crooks them just right. You arch, mouth open on a soundless gasp.
“More,” he coaxes. “Let me hear you.”
You shake your head—habit. Too shy. Too much.
Sam pulls his fingers out. You whine—small, pitiful.
He rolls you onto your back. Settles between your thighs. Big hands push your knees wide. He’s already hard, heavy against your stomach. “Look at me.”
You do. Barely. Eyes flicking to his, then away.
He notches himself at your entrance. Doesn’t push in yet.
“Say my name.”
“Sam…”
“Louder.”
“Sam.”
He sinks in—slow, inch by inch, stretching you open. Your head tips back. Mouth falls open. No sound.
He bottoms out. Stays there. Lets you feel every thick inch. “Tell me how it feels.”
You swallow. Try. “Full.”
“Not enough.” He rolls his hips—just enough to drag against that spot. “Tell me.”
You gasp. “So full—Sam—please—”
“Please what?”
“Move.”
He does. Slow, deep thrusts that make the bed creak softly. Every time he bottoms out you make a tiny, choked sound—barely there.
He leans down. Lips at your ear again—just like in the library. “Louder, baby. I want to hear every little noise you make when I’m fucking you.”
Your hands fly to his shoulders. Nails digging in. He picks up the pace. Deeper. Harder. Precise. You’re trembling now. Trying to stay quiet. Failing.
A real moan slips out—high, broken.
“There it is,” he breathes. “That’s my girl.”
He hooks one of your legs over his elbow. Changes the angle. Hits deeper.
You cry out—sharp, surprised.
He groans. “Fuck yes. Again.”
You can’t stop now. Every thrust pulls another sound from you—whimpers, gasps, his name over and over, getting louder each time. “Sam—Sam—oh god—”
He kisses you—messy, deep—swallowing the noises. Then pulls back. “Let me hear. Don’t hide.”
You don’t. Can’t.
The sounds spill out—desperate, wrecked. “Please—harder—Sam—don’t stop—”
He gives you what you need. Pounds into you. Hand sliding between your bodies to rub tight circles over your clit.
You’re loud now. Unrecognizable. Moaning his name like a chant. Begging. Crying out when he hits that spot again and again.
“Come for me,” he growls. “Let me hear you come.”
You shatter.
Back arching. Thighs shaking. A long, broken cry ripping out of you—his name, garbled, loud enough the walls probably hear it. He follows right after—deep, grinding thrusts as he spills inside you, groaning low against your throat.
You’re both panting. Shaking.
He doesn’t pull out yet. Just stays buried, kissing your temple, your cheek, the corner of your mouth.
“Good girl,” he murmurs. “So fucking good for me.”
You’re still trembling. You hide your face in his neck. Embarrassed. Pleased.
He chuckles. Soft. Wraps both arms around you.
“Next time,” he whispers, “I’m leaning in close again. Just to hear you try to talk.”
You groan—half mortified, half already aching at the thought.
He kisses the top of your head. “Get used to it, sweetheart.”
You don’t answer.
You just hold him tighter.
And hope he never stops making you break the quiet.
ꔛ. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
Thinking about spnAU!Dean Winchester being reader's bf who wants her literally all the time, no matter where!
Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it up), car sex, quickie, semi-public, penetrative sex, creampies<3 BOTTOM DEAN!
(wc: ≈ 1.4k) (genre: smut)
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨ᰔ୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
| It could be everywhere; after a long day in a motel room, during a hunt in an abandoned house, or at a gas station in some disgusting bathroom.
Today was one of those days again. Dean found himself worked up after a—way too long—drive across the country. Not only haven’t they reached the motel where they were supposed to stay at, but the weather was absolutely unbearable too. Mid July, the hottest of all the months.
Sam was complaining. You were complaining. Dean was already in a grumpy mood to begin with! He refused wearing shorts since he insisted they weren’t manly enough and the Impala he loved so much didn’t really have any sort of AC.
With the windows down and his dad-rock playing from the cassettes he kept in the glovebox, you three eventually did reach some lonely-looking diner. It wasn’t exactly luxury, but hunting didn’t come with a paycheck. In other words; you were too broke for any fancy restaurants.
————————————————————
"Sam, you go and check what’s on the menu— Get me extra fries while you’re at it." Dean called over his shoulder to his brother.
Sam glanced between the two of you from the front seat, catching the shift in Dean's mood.
"I’m just gonna… go order food before I see something I don't wanna see.." He mumbled, as he slammed the car door shut.
"Take your time, Sammy! No need to hurry—" Dean shouted after him, looking way too smug.
As soon as Sam was gone, Dean turned to his girlfriend; you.
Currently, you were sitting in the backseat, trying to get your shoes back on, in order to get out of the car and stretch your limbs. Maybe get some ice cream yourself.
"What're you doin', babe?" Dean's voice was raspy, a twinge of that boyish tone still shining through, despite his best efforts to sound composed.
"What does it look like, De? I'm starving—" You'd complain. He expected nothing less.
"You really wanna go in there with Sammy? C'mon, can’t the food wait? For a moment? Don’t you wanna spend time with your boyfriend?"
"Dean, what—" You'd look up from your shoe laces, only to meet his green eyes, his sickly long lashes, looking at you like he’s starving too. Just.. not for food.
"Baby, please— Sammy’s gone. He’ll be gone for at least twenty minutes. I've been.. I couldn’t stop thinking about you today. Don’t be cruel.." He pleaded. Actually. His voice turned much whinier than before, still slightly cocky nonetheless.
"Seriously?! We fucked last night—" You were cut off by his frame already climbing into the backseat, already pressed against you.
"C'mon, please.. Whatever you want. Let me taste you— Or.. use your mouth on me. Your hands. Ride me, I don’t care—" The way he said it made you feel pretty sure he was about to cry if you didn’t give in.
"You’re such a loser, Dean, like.. you’re worse than a teenager!" You’d laugh, while simultaneously climbing on top of his lap, your arms lazily wrapped around his neck, before you press your lips against his plush ones.
The kiss quickly turned into a makeout session, his tongue swiping along your bottom lip, claiming it’s way into your month, just to intertwine with yours. It was a moment full of tongue and teeth, his hands roaming all over your body, already pulling your tank top over your head, leaving your in your bra.
When he unclasped it single-handedly, his lips were still glued to yours. You could feel the sliver ring he wore, cold metal against your searing skin, leaving goosebumps in it's wake.
You were forced to be the one breaking away from the kiss, since Dean was ready to asphyxiate on your lips and die a happy man. You could tell by his panting, his parted, wet lips, as you looked over his flushed, freckled face.
At this point, neither of you really cared about the people that may walk by and catch a glimpse of the heated moment anymore. The diner's parking lot was pretty much empty anyway.
"Please, baby.. don’t make me wait. I can’t—" He begged. His eyes looking up at you, as you smile to yourself and trail your hands down his chest.
"Patience, De.." You'd scold, although his hands were already palming at your tits, squishing the soft flesh, and trying to drink in the sight. His cock was already hard and leaking in his pants, pleading to be noticed.
His shirt was lost soon enough too. Leaving his amulet to dangle across his freckled muscles. It was a delicious sight, made you almost forget that Sam would be back in ten minutes. That said, you quickly lost your shorts as well.
With this new determination to finish before you got caught, you undid his belt, unzipped his jeans, pulling the fabric down to his meaty thighs, revealing his ratty, grey boxers.
"Can’t wait— wanna taste.. wanna look at you all day.. every day—" Dean had to stop himself from drooling over you, when you finally pulled his precum-stained boxers down and freed his aching cock.
The tip was already flushed in a deep shade of pink, clear pre running down the veins along his shaft, soaking his dark blonde pubes.
Usually, you’d give him a blowjob first, but honestly? You weren’t sure if he could handle that right now, given that he almost came untouched.
You moved your lace panties aside, revealing your already glistening cunt, as your grabbed a hold of his cock, sliding him along your slit to gather the mixed lube of both of your arousal.
Once you finally slid down his length, his eyes fluttered shut and his head tipped back, sweat already beading at his short dirty blonde spikes of hair. His mouth fell slightly open, breathy moans leaving his throat immediately.
"Oh— fuck, Dean.. It’s big—" You should be used to it by now.. but every now and then, you still need a moment to get used to his size.
"You got it, baby— It’s okay. It’s fine— Just move. C'mon.." He urged you on, his hands squeezing and pulling at the flesh of your hips.
Dean was entirely blinded by the pleasure of your warm walls around him, dismissing the fact that you might have needed some time to adjust, because he was just that desperate.
When you did begin riding his cock with a steady rhythm, his face buried against your shoulder, his forehead tipping onto your collarbones, as his arms hugged tightly around your body.
The lewd sounds of skin on skin and the slick between your bodies now started to combine with Dean's whines. He was no longer moaning, no, his sounds bordered on whimpers.
"Baby— I'm not gonna last— I can’t.. feels too good—" He forced those words out, while his body was unconsciously trying to merge with you, his face now smooshed against your chest. His mouth was left slightly agape, his eyes squeezed shut, and his eyebrows furrowed.
He clumsily tried to slide one of his hands down towards your clit, giving it uncoordinated circles. Though, he missed the spot with his thumb about five times, before he gave up and just wrapped both his arms around you.
"Come, De— Fuck, just— come inside." You'd moan, as your hands were clawing at his chiseled shoulders and the back of his head. Fingers tugging at hair that was too short to really pull at.
The scratching of your fingertips against his scalp and the warm, wet pleasure of your walls tightening and pulsing around his swollen cock eventually overwhelmed him, pushing him to a mind-blowing orgasm, that had him moaning and whining high pitched gasps against your damp skin.
His cock pulsed thick hot ropes of cum inside you, leaving your cunt so full, it caused the sticky mess to drip down against his own lap, soaking his thighs.
"Oh— shit, that was—" He breathed out, trying to regain his consciousness, even though he was still seeing stars from the orgasm.
Then it washed over him like cold sweat; Sammy was about to come back! His eyes shot wide, as he looked at you.
"Fuck, baby. You gotta clean up. You’re dripping—"
"Yeah, and whose fault is that, smartass?" You laughed, before quickly pulling both your panties and your shorts back up, not minding the literal cum that was leaking out of you.
"Can’t blame a man for wanting his girl, baby.." There was that cocky attitude seeping back into his tone, as if he hadn’t just whimpered and pleaded for you.
With surprising efficiency, he was dressed again, climbing back behind the wheel, as he made sure to open the doors to his beloved car, wanting to get rid of the smell of sex before his brother suspected anything.
As for the dubious stains on the leather seats; he just threw his jacket over them, hoping he wouldn’t forget to clean the car tomorrow.
You were in the bathroom of the diner, trying to freshen up, as Sammy finally came back with the food. Greasy fries and burgers.
Weirdly enough, Dean was flushed, trying to look unbothered, as his brother got back into the car.
"Dean, you okay? Where’s reader?" Sam asked innocently, frowning in confusion.
"Yeah— sure. Just fine. She’s— she said she had to freshen up. Heat must be getting to her."
Dean was such a liar. His dick was still twitching in his boxers from his earlier high.
ᥫ᭡ writers note: I'm literally so sorry for disappearing for like a month omg ! There was so much shit going on in my life. But anyway, here’s this! If you guys have any other requests or ideas, lmk! xoxo —ℳ ᥫ᭡
✦summary: everything was fine between you and dean until you moved into the bunker. everything is tolerable until you get hurt on a hunt. dean loses his mind. and when you try to apologize, dean tells you exactly why.✦
✦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (20s - 40s), angst, pining, average dean winchester emotional intelligance, shameless smut (dry humping, knee riding, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, oral f!reciving, pussy slapping, fingering, breif mentions of spanking, dean's dirty talk, big dick dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, crying, creampie, squirting), love confessions, fluff✦
✦wc: 10.3k✦
✦author's note: old dean you've done nothing wrong ever. murder? what murder? i can't hear you over how fine he is.✦
“She should stay in the car.”
“I’m not staying in the car-“
“It’s a small nest.” Dean doesn’t even acknowledge you, tapping his thumb on the wheel as he addresses Sam. “She’d just be an extra block, you know we can clean that place up blindfolded and ball-gagged-“
Your nose wrinkles. “Why would you be ball gagged-“
“We leave her with a knife.” He keeps ignoring you. “Lock the doors, crack the windows, and we’re in and out like-“
You slam your feet into the back of Dean’s seat, cutting him off with a grunt. He whips around to shoot you a glare, and you stick out your tongue.
“What the hell was that.”
“I’m not a dog, dipshit.” You snap, and he scowls.
“I know you’re not good at listening, sweetheart, but I didn’t call you one-“
“It was implied.”
Dean rolls his eyes, giving Sam a you see what I gotta deal with expression, like he’s not the one making the whole fucking issue.
“I’m not staying in the car.” You repeat, louder than before, and Dean chuckles dryly.
“Yeah. You are.”
“I’m not-“
“You are-“
“You lock me in here, I’ll start screaming-“
He gives you an unimpressed look. “I’ll gag you.”
You grin at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “Kinky.”
Dean jaw clenches. You beam. Somewhere in the background, Sam sighs.
“Guys…”
“You’re staying here.” Dean snaps. “That’s that.”
“You’re not the boss of me, Winchester-“
“The hell I’m not-“
“You don’t offer me health insurance-“
“None of us get health insurance, sweetheart, that’s why I’m telling you to stay in the car-“
“Guys.” Sam sighs, looking between you with the same, exhausted expression as usual. “We only have until the sunrise, and it’s already 4am. Can you please do this after?”
You don’t look away from Dean. He doesn’t look away from you. You raise your brows mockingly.
“He’s talking to you, Dean. Can you do this after?”
Dean narrows his eyes, and he opens his mouth to bark something at you that you probably would’ve deflected now—using taunting words and matching his harsh tone—then cried about later. In the safety of your bedroom, where Dean can’t see you. The only place that you can go to let everything out. It’s safe in your room. Dean never even knocks on your door, always sending Sam in his stead. But you don’t go to his room either. It’s an unspoken rule that you’ve never had steady enough feet on the ground to bother breaking. You’re pretty sure that if Sam doesn’t kill you both over this, he’s going to strangle you later for making him a messenger pigeon.
But you need that solace. That quiet, where Dean can’t shake your world with sneers and glowers. It hits something raw in you, a wound that you’ve never bothered to stich up or cauterize because you love the bleeding too much. It pours all over your hands when you hug your stomach, out of your mouth like bile when you try to defend yourself—to make him stop just seeing you as some stupid, naive civilian girl he needs to heard around—and out of your eyes when you cry over all of it.
The things that do make you that naïve civilian girl. The things that make you barely any better than a teenager with a crush, wandering around after the boy you like and pulling at his sleeve for just an ounce of attention.
No one can blame you for falling for the hero who saved your life and swept you off your feet. Offered you a new life, taught you how to shoot a gun with his arms around your body—you can still feel him sometimes, when you rub your shoulders—and told you that he’ d always keep you safe.
Dean had been straight out of a romance book. You’d let yourself get starry eyed, you’d daydreamed that he lingered around you out of affection rather than obligation. You’d been an idiot, and you’d gotten comfortable, and when Sam said you had a knack for the lore and were more than welcome to stay, you’d said yes without a thought.
You’d thought Dean would’ve been happy.
But you’d told him, and he’d looked like he was going to put his fist through a wall.
Everything had shifted, like a picture into the negative. Dean stopped seeking you out for anything, stopped training you, almost stopped looking at you all together. In the first months, he’d walked out of a room the moment you entered. At one point, you’d overheard him having a very loud fight with Sam about letting you stick around.
He hadn’t been speaking to Sam either. They’d gotten over it, because they always seemed to. Your second foolish fantasy was that Dean would get over whatever you’d done to him—you’re still not all that sure—and decide that he actually did like you. That he’d remember how good things had been at the start, and if you proved yourself to him, everything would go back to normal.
But it’s been a year.
And normal is this now.
Dean hates you. He must hate you. There’s no other reason he’d argue with Sam about bringing you on hunts, even when they need the extra hands or your research. And even when Sam wins the fight—which is always, you think he might have a cheat code that makes Dean always agree with him, and you’d very much like access to it please—Dean still acts like you don’t exist. Or worse, like you do, and it’s the bane of his entire life. For the whole fifteen hour drive, and you get handed snacks without eye contact and checked on like you’re a dog he’s making sure didn’t piss all over his precious car.
For the entire hunt, you’ve been able to feel his attention burning through you. Whenever you’d look over, he would’ve already looked away, but you could feel it. And you’re the one who tracked the nest and identified the mutation in these vamps that made them daywalkers, but when you’d looked to Dean with a hopeful smile for approval, he’d looked away again.
You might’ve sat in the bathtub with the water burning yours shoulders and useless tears sliding down your cheeks after. Clawing at your face like you could remove the pain, remove all the love you felt for him with all the brutal precision of a hungry animal. But if you did, it’s none of his fucking business.
And you might not want to join in on the actual hunt—that sounds gross, and bloody, and kind of scary—but Dean doesn’t get to win. You can handle it, and if you can’t he’s there.
It makes you feel safer than it should. Dean always makes you feel safer, and you hate him for it.
The thing about loving him is that it’s not so much a choice as something that slammed into you like a comet. Dean left a massive depression in something so vital you think it might be your soul, and now it blooms all the time. Alone and in the dark, finding sunshine in every piece of him that’s worthy of such a feral, unyielding devotion.
It’s most of him. He’s still that hero who saved you, and your body knows it better than your head sometimes. He opens doors for you even when he keeps his gaze fixed firmly over your head. He makes you coffee in the mornings before stalking out of the room like you make the whole place reek.
He’s going to keep you safe, even if he bitches about it and shouts at you the whole time.
And it’s so easy to love him for all of that. In the end, most of your desperation isn’t really to stop loving him.
It’s to scream loud enough that he stops pretending he can’t hear it. That he saves you again, even if it’s from yourself.
You win the argument about going into the house. For all his postering and deep, commanding grunts and threats, Dean’s not actually that good at telling you know. You’ve told Sam it’s because you have the numbers against him. Sam always gives you a strange look and says uh huh, like you’re supposed to know what that means.
“You stick with me.” Dean snaps, pulling out his dainty little baby gun and passing it into your hands. “You wanna speak, think five times, then don’t say it. These things are noise-sensitive, they hear you breathe, they rip you up.”
“I know.” You grumble. “I discovered them.”
Dean sighs heavily, just loud enough for you to know he heard you. “I don’t want you out of my sight.” He mutters, and you give him a flat look.
“So you’re planning to look at me today?”
He shoots you a glare, saying your name in a low warning, and you roll your eyes.
“Never mind.” You mutter under your breath, like a petulant child. “Guess it’s easier to look at ugly things when they’re in the dark.”
That makes him flinch back, like you punched him in the gut. He’s going to say something again, and you really don’t want to hear it.
You stalk over to Sam, leaving Dean gaping and rigid at Baby’s truck. Sam looks between you, but doesn’t bother to ask what you’re fighting about. He rarely does, and it’s always followed by an annoyed now, like it’s somehow your fault Dean thinks everything you do is a sin. What are you two doing now. Why are you mad at him now. Why is Dean being an idiot now.
He’s always an idiot. A handsome, insufferable idiot you want to sucker punch, then make out with until you can’t breathe. If you tried to hit him, maybe he’d catch your wrist and pin you to something. His massive body crowded over yours, his face inches away, lips brushing as he shouted at you, then gave up when you moaned—he’d be too close, his crotch pressing you down, you’d probably moan—and started touching and kissing you until your legs gave out and you were putty in his hands and he worshipped you with the same soft attention he used to offer-
“Stop flirting and fall in.” Dean snaps at you and Sam, standing in complete silence.
Sam rolls his eyes, and hisses something to Dean when they walk past each other that makes Dean look murderous. You flush—thankfully hidden in the dark—and grip your baby-gun tight as you follow.
“Stay with me-“
“I know.” You snap, not looking him in the eyes. “I’m not an idiot.”
Dean grunts, and you can’t tell if it’s an agreement or dismissal. You’re not sure which would be worse.
The moment you’re in the nest, you remember why you don’t usually do this. Why you actually prefer waiting at the motel for them to come back, or just staying in the car with an anxiously bouncing knee. You always ask to go with them because you hate the dread. Hate watching them—both of them, because you might not be in love with Sam but he’s sort of your only friend anymore—walk out the door for what always might be the last time. They never think it will be.
You do. Every time, Dean pulls out of the parking lot with your heart in his dumb, big hands, and you know it could stop beating any second. That you won’t even know until you get a phone call, and a part of you withers that’s never going to be reborn.
So you ask to go with them. To help. Do first aide, be extra hands, anything so you don’t just have to wonder if they’re okay.
But then you actually get here, and you hate it.
It’s scary. Scary and quiet and loud all at once. You have to physically yank yourself back from grabbing Dean’s forearm and clinging to him. He radiates heat, and this barn is so fucking cold, and you’d like to go back to the car now, thank you very much-
Everything happens so fast. It always does, on a hunt.
You find the vamps. Sam offs one, Dean gets another two, and your fingers tremble but you manage to kick a third back into Dean’s machete. He gives you an approving look, and you feel like you’ve grown wings.
Then another on comes out of nowhere. Slams into Dean and starts driving him backwards.
You scream, and shoot. It won’t kill them, but it’ll distract.
And it does.
The vamp stumbles when you hit his calf, dropping Dean to the floor. It turns on you with glinting eyes, and lunges.
You’re thrown to the ground with teeth gnashing near your throat. There’s a roar in the background, and you feel a rush of pain through your stomach as the vamp hits you. Heat burns over your neck, and your arms are starting to get weak, and-
All the noise stops. The body over you slumps.
You open your eyes to find Dean standing over you, just like that first time he saved you.
Only now, he looks like he wants to cut off your head next.
He’s staring at you a strangely furious and pallid expression all at once. There’s something glinting in his eyes that you can’t place. His breath is heavy through his nose, and he’s not even blinking as he scans over you.
His eyes widen, when he sees the blood blooming through your shirt. He drops his machete, bends down, and scoops you up into his arms.
The rest of the night is a little hazy.
Dean carries you to the Impala. He smells good, like leather and pine trees and something a little spicy. He looks really good, too. Covered in blood and grease and so angry he’s almost feral. His hands are warm, and make you feel fuzzy when they brush over your stomach, checking the wound.
The whole thing feels like a dream. Especially after he coaxed some painkillers down your throat, and the world all becomes just color and Dean’s undivided attention, pressing over you.
He doesn’t speak to you the whole time. He’s humming something, fingers brushing over your bare skin, and the feel oddly light. Almost shaky.
You breathe out his name. You don’t know why. Through the drugs, it’s sort of the only word you know.
His hands still for a heartbeat, then grab you a little tighter.
Before you pass out, your vision swimming and thoughts covered in a fog, you could swear you see him bow his head against your chest. He holds your hips tight, lips brushing against your exposed stomach.
Your weak fingers reach up, brushing through his hair. A deep sound rumbles from his chest, and it’s soothing.
The world goes peacefully dark, and Dean stays wrapped around you all the way into your dreams.
He hasn’t spoken to you.
It’s been three weeks, and Dean hasn’t said a single word.
It’s worse than before. Worse than it’s even been. Even those first months after you moved in permanently, he’d at least acknowledge your existence. It had been via avoiding you like the plague and snipping and glaring, but at least you’d known he could still see you. That he still thought of you.
Now, he’s treating you like a ghost.
The first week you’d expected. The drive back from the hunt had been tense, everyone dead silent. Rest stops happened when Dean decided they would. Sam never once asked him to turn down the music. You turned your face into the window and hid behind your jacket, hoping to hide the shame burning through you.
Dean had been right. You couldn’t handle that hunt.
But he hadn’t even rubbed it in your face. Hadn’t done an I told you so.
When you got back to the bunker, he’d shoved the door open and marched inside without looking back. Sam had rubbed a hand over his face, given you an apologetic look in the mirror, and you’d just shaken your head.
“He’ll get over it-“
“It’s fine, Sam.” You’d muttered. “I’m fine.”
You were not fine.
You hadn’t even been able to sit up without Sam’s help. He’d half carried you out of the car, a hiss of pain escaping your with every movement, and when you’d finally gotten on your feet you’d looked up to find Dean standing in the doorway.
His hands had been fisted at his sides. He’d been staring at you like he wanted to say something, jaw clenched so tight you could see a vein.
You hadn’t quipped. Hadn’t pushed. You’d just watched him, praying he’d do anything but just stand there. Part of you had wanted him to yell. To let out all the anger you could see simmering behind his gaze, so you could all move on.
But Dean had turned, and stalked back into the bunker.
The ignoring had begun. And you didn’t think you could last a day of it, let alone almost a month.
When you’re in the same room, he pretends you’re not even there. If you’re talking to Sam, he cuts you off like he didn’t hear. If you pass each other in the hall, he looks firmly ahead and bumps your shoulder. If you’re blocking him from getting something in the kitchen, he just reaches over you like you’re part of the room.
His chest presses against your back, and your breath hitches. You bow your head, fighting the instinct to moan and push back into him. He’s so warm, a secure and unwavering pillar of resolve that you want to worship at the feet of forever. He’s sturdy, he’s safe, his muscles flex around you and his breath is warm on your neck and he’s acting like you don’t even exist.
It’s cold when he pulls away.
You retreat to your room, and lie on the floor until you’re out of tears.
Part of you wonders if Dean even knows what he’s doing to you. He can’t. He thinks you hate him with all the fever and loathing he hates you. There’s no possible way for him to understand that every second he ignores you, something in you cowers and whines. That you’ve been passing the door to his room just to try and run into him, even though that breaks the unspoken rule of never invading such a sacred space. That this is killing you more than the injury did, because at least that was allowed to heal.
Dean fixed you, there.
Here, he’s just clawing you wider and wider, until there’s a gaping pit in the cavity of your chest, and you’re about to fall through.
He’d been going out drinking every night. He comes back reeking of liquor and perfume, but he comes back. Every single night, he’s back around 1am.
You know, because you stay up waiting.
Dean always walks past your room, when he gets home. His shadow lingers under your doorway, and sometimes you swear you hear a thud against your door. As if he’s knocking, or just leaning there.
Breaking the rule himself.
It’s the only way you still know you’re not a ghost. That he still knows you exist.
But that’s it.
Otherwise, you’re nothing to him at all.
You can’t take it anymore. Sam says you haven’t been eating as much, but you barely even noticed. You’re too tired, from losing sleep. And everything tastes like ash, anyway.
Sam also says that Dean’s being a dick, but he’ll get over it. They went on a hunt a few days ago—they’re talking again, although from what you’ve seen it’s clipped, and they’re both still pretty pissed—and Sam told you he’d try to talk some sense into Dean and his silent treatment. You have no faith it will work. Sometimes living in the bunker feels like a pissing contest of who can be the most stubborn, if every contestant had an infinite bladder and thought they’d die if they lost.
You’ve been checking your phone for updates every ten minutes. You’re getting itchy and restless, and you can hardly breathe. What if this is it, and foul voice reminds you. What if he dies, and he dies angry at you, and you can’t even remember the last thing he said to you because it was a month ago.
The seams in you are coming apart. Sam sends you a brief text, saying the hunt is over and they’ll be back tonight. You don’t bother to ask how the talk went. If Sam even went through with it, you already know the answer.
But you can’t. You can’t keep living like this. That voice is only going to get louder, and you’re only going to waste away, and Dean won’t even notice with how determined he is to make you nothing at all.
You’ve been crying too much. Your eyes are red when you look in the mirror, and your lips are swollen.
Maybe you shouldn’t stay here. Maybe Dean’s right, and you never belonged here at all.
He once acted like you did. And you still don’t know what made him change his mind.
And you don’t want to leave. This is home. Dean is home, because despite everything you still think of him, and you feel safe.
You know that’s why it hurts so much. You’re not weak. You can stand to be ignored, and you’ve certainly had louder and more violent and cruel fights with people you’d actually been dating. But Dean being so mad feels like your heart is trying to eat itself. And you can’t take it.
It takes all night, but that’s the perfect amount of time. You go out to the grocery store and get everything you need, then haul up in the kitchen and bake like your life depends on it. A fairly big fraction of it does.
You think about writing I’m sorry or You were right on the pie with whipped cream. That feels like a little too much. Hopefully, that part will speak for itself.
When they get home, it’s with a slam of a door. There’s no shouting, but you have a feeling it’s because the fight already passed. You watch Sam give you a tight smile before slumping off to his room, and you know he tried. You appreciate it. But only you can fix this now.
“Dean.” You force your voice to be steady. It doesn’t work that well. “Dean.”
He looks up at you with a heavy, tired glare. He doesn’t speak, but he looks at you, and it makes you sit a little taller. You can do this.
“I’m sorry.” You push the pie forward, and he blinks.
“You’re sorry.” He echoes, like he doesn’t believe what he’s hearing. “You’re sorry?”
You nod, chewing your lip nervously. “Yeah. For- For the hunt. And anything else I did to you.”
“Anything else you did.”
“Um- mhm.”
Dean stares at you, and you push the pie again. Look down to it, then back to him, swallowing the nerves in your throat.
“I- I made you pie.”
“Yeah. I can see that.”
“Oh- Okay.”
The silence is suffocating. Your face is starting to burn, and you’ve never cried in front of him before, but the tears are insistent. The ache of loneliness, of just missing him, it’s insistent. Like a hurricane, devastating and impossible to ignore. You bite the inside of your cheek to hold them back, and that usually works.
It’s useless now. The first tears burn on your cheeks, and you wipe them away with trembling, frantic hands.
Dean rasps your name, taking a lurching step forward. As if someone shoved him, his hand reaching out before he yanks it back.
You swallow, and find a painful, barbed lump in your throat. You shake your head, and look to the side.
Dean repeats your name, his voice thick and strained.
You realize this is the first time he’s said it in a month.
A damn breaks in your chest. Something snaps near your ribs, and a pathetic, choked sob rips from your throat. You can’t stay here.
“I- I’m sorry.” You shoot to your feet, pushing the pie roughly forward. “It’s- It’s cherry.”
“Sweetheart-“
“The pie.” You clarify, staring at Dean’s knees.
“Yeah, I know-“
He takes a step forward. You take a step back, and he freezes.
When you look up, he’s watching you like you’d just smacked him in the face. You swallow, lip wobbling as you keep losing the battle against your own tears.
“I- I’m sorry.” You choke out, wrapping your arms around your stomach.
Dean works his jaw, shaking his head. “You said that already-“
“I- I know. I’m sorry-“
“Stop saying sorry!”
He takes a larger, firmer step forward. His voice echoes off the walls, and you bite the inside of your cheek until it stings.
Dean rubs his face, lowering back down to rough, low words as he says your name. “Just- Fuck- I don’t want a sorry.”
“I-“ You cut yourself off, shrinking further into your body.
He doesn’t want an apology. He doesn’t want you.
“I’ll go.” You whisper, looking down to his shoes.
Dean makes a choked sound. “You’ll- What-“
“I’m going to go.” You can’t be here right now. Can’t break down when you’re really not sure if he’ll pick you back up. “I- I’m-“
You swallow another apology, and duck past him. Dean shouts after you, so you walk faster. Almost running to the safety of your room, to the one place he won’t follow. Where you can fall apart alone, and wrap yourself in blankets you pretend are his arms, because you’re the exact, pathetic, stupid girl he thinks you are. You’re crying so hard you can’t breathe, and you hate him, and you hate yourself more for knowing you’ll still love him once the tears dry out.
There’s a knock on the door. The fight must have been that loud.
“Go away, Sam.” Your voice is muffled through the sheets.
Dean’s is muffled through the door. “Not Sam, sweetheart.”
You sit up, still holding your blanket to your face. As if he might somehow see you. There’s a long silence—he’s not supposed to be here, why is he here—and Dean coughs.
“It’s, uh- It’s Dean-“
“I know.”
“Oh. Okay.” He pauses, then, “Are you gonna open the door?”
You shake your head, then remember he can’t see you. “No.”
Dean grunts your name, and you raise your voice a little.
“Leave me alone-“
“No. We gotta- There’s stuff I have to- Fuck.” There’s a thump on the door. You think he’s leaning against it. “You’re crying, alright? Just let me in so I can fix it-“
“I’m fine.” You snip, and he laughs dryly.
“I can hear you. I know you’re still upset, and-“
“Why do you care?”
Dean goes silent, and you glare at where you think he’s standing.
“Why do you care, Dean. You never cared before-“
“That’s not true.” He snaps, and you roll your eyes.
“Don’t lie-“
“I’m not lyin’, I just-“ He cuts himself off. “Just open the door, alright-“
“Not until you tell me why you give a shit-“
“I just do, alright?”
“No, you don’t-“
“Stop- Stop saying that.” He’s not shouting, but you can hear him fighting against the urge. “Stop telling me what I care about, you don’t get to decide that-“
“I’m not deciding.” You push the words out, even as they burn on your tongue. “You just don’t get to act like you care about me when you wish I didn’t exist.”
The silence falls again. It’s thicker than before. So heavy it pulls your heart down to your stomach. You’re so sure he’s going to walk away, just leave you there to finally, fully break.
Instead, when he speaks, his voice is rough.
“Don’t say that.” He grunts. “I’ve never wished that. Not once.”
Your heart flutters. You want to smack it, remind it that it’s only hurting because of him. “Whatever.”
The door shakes again, as Dean’s shadow shifts.
Despite yourself, you lean closer.
“Open the door.” He says your name again, the tone a command.
You raise your chin. “No.”
“Come on, just open it-“
“Go away, Dean-“
“No.” It’s shockingly firm. You sit up in surprise. “No, I’m not- I’m not just gonna leave and let you go, no. That’s not fuckin’ happening, sweetheart, just- Open the door-“
His voice is getting louder, every word sounding more and more strangled. You shift to your knees, saying his name softly through your tears, but he doesn’t seem to hear.
“You can’t leave me, alright? You win, you fuckin’ win, I’m the idiot. You can stay and run me into shape, whatever the hell you want, just- just open the door, please-“
You’ve never heard him like this before. Rambling like a broken record. If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was crying.
“I’m sorry for being a dumbass.” He’s not pushing the door anymore, but his voice is muffled and loud all at once. He’s leaning against it. “Sorry for being a dick, sorry for- For whatever the hell you’re cursing my name with, I know I deserve it, I was a douchebag and if you wanna hate me you got every right, but-“ His voice breaks. “Don’t leave me. Fuck- Please don’t leave me, please-“
You slide off the bed, gliding across the room like you’re in a trance, and open the door.
Dean stumbles forward, catching himself against the doorframe. He’s only inches away, and you can read it all over his face. How much he means every strangled word.
His hair is disheveled, his eyes red as he scans over your open, sad features, his jaw clenched so tight you think he might break his teeth. His arm flexes over your head, hand fisting and unfisting at his side. There’s a stain of a tear on his cheek, gleaming in his stubble like he’d half wiped it away.
He watches you like he’s a dog, bracing to be kicked.
You hold his gaze, letting your voice stay small. You have a feeling he’d cling to every word if you only breathed it out.
“You’re sorry.”
He nods. You swallow.
“Why-“
“All of it.” Dean mutters. His eyes are locked onto yours. It’s almost too much, making you feel molten when you need to be unmovable.
You look down to your fingers. “What you said?”
“And did. And-“
“Being a douchebag.”
He chuckles, but it’s more of a rasp. “Yeah.”
“For how long?” You look at him under your lashes, and maybe it’s a bit of a test, but you need to be sure he understands. The sheer magnitude of how this—all of this—has hurt you.
“The whole year.” He says immediately. “From when Sammy told me you were staying to- Shit, five freakin’ seconds ago. I’m sorry.”
You hear it again, even if he doesn’t say it.
Don’t go.
“You didn’t want me to stay here.” You say lightly.
Dean shakes his head. “That’s not true-“
“You told Sam he never should’ve asked me.” With all the bravery in your body, you meet his gaze. “You said you wanted me far away from here.”
Shame almost pours from Dean’s expression. He bows his head, as if he’s trying to make himself smaller. “I- Uh- I didn’t know you heard that-“
“You’re both very loud.”
“Ah.” He pauses, shifting on his feet. His handsome features twist into a tight frown. “But- That’s not what I said.”
“Yes, it is-“
“I said you should be far away from here.” He mutters. “Not that I wanted you there.”
“That’s the same thing-“
“No, it’s not.” Dean gives you a firm look, his voice dropping impossibly lower. “What I want and what’s right?” He chuckles dryly. “Ain’t ever really the same thing.”
For a long moment, you just watch each other. And he means it. Every inch of you knows that, right into your bones. But you’re still fragile from a year of him acting like you were nothing. And you want that to be enough, you want that so desperately. To just give Dean all of you to freely break, and trust that he won’t. But-
“What about me.”
Dean blinks. “What?”
“Am I right?” You raise your chin, crossing your arms over your chest. Dean’s frown deepens.
“Are you-“
“You’re sorry. You said you don’t me to leave.”
“I don’t.”
“So I was right.” You challenge. “I was right to stay.”
Dean swallows. You don’t waver.
“Do you care, Dean. If you don’t want me to leave then you have to tell me why you’d even fucking care-“
“I care.” He grunts, pressing further over you. “I care more than you can imagine.”
You snort. “I don’t know about that-“
“I can’t imagine it, sweetheart.” Dean reaches down slowly, cupping your jaw. You freeze. “Sometimes I- I can’t even work it out in my head. Can’t measure it, can’t justify it, can barely even understand how it’s possible.” His thumb drags over your cheek. “How much I fuckin’ love you.”
Oh.
Oh.
“Love is different than care.” You whisper, and Dean’s lips twitch.
“Yeah. But not by that much.”
You stare at him. He stares back, and when you don’t move away he drops his brow. Presses it against yours, his voice lowering gently.
“You don’t gotta forgive me. Just-“
“I love you, too.” You blurt, and Dean’s eyes shoot open. “And I’m not leaving.”
Dean swallows. Searches your gaze, like he’s trying to find the a tell that you’re lying. “You don’t have to-“
“Shut up.”
You grab his neck, and drag him down. You’re tired of talking. Of fighting and crying and being so far away. Even an inch feels like too much right now.
Dean must feel the same way.
When you pull him into a kiss, he’s rigid for a second. The brief, electric brush of your lips. Your noses bump, and your nails dig into his neck. He grunts, his hand on your doorway sliding down. You flush and try to pull away, but he’s not having it.
Dean melts over you so fast your brain can’t keep up.
He grabs your hip, blunt nails digging into your shirt, and tugs your head gently back as his lips work over yours. It’s so sudden you don’t immediately kiss him back, just grabbing the collar of his shirt for balance. Dean grunts, the hand on your hip sliding around your lower back. Grounding you against him as he almost bends you backwards, never once breaking the kiss.
His lips are softer than you dreamt of. Plush and a little chapped, but still so soft. He moves them slowly but insistently over yours, tasting and letting his tongue brush slightly. When you shiver and try to rise up a little higher, he meets you immediately. He kisses like he already somehow knows exactly how you like it. Easy but a little messy. Close, so close he’s almost eating your face while you try and claw closer. He tastes like salt from the tears, but under that is a little bit of cherry.
“You-“ You speak between kisses, dizzy from desire. “You ate the pie-“
“Tasted it.” He grunts, walking you back into your room. “Checkin’ it wasn’t poison.”
You lean back, glaring up at him. “I would not poison you-“
“I know.” He grins, kissing your pouted lips. “But I woulda deserved it if you did.”
You want to argue with that, too, but Dean’s faster. He kicks the door closed behind him, grabs your waist, and picks you up with barely a grunt. Your arms fly around his neck as you yelp in surprise, but the sound quickly falls into a loud, long moan when he pins you against the door.
His kisses are turning more frantic. Hungry and bruising, but still restrained. His hands stay politely on your clothing, his lips pressed over yours with only small grazes of his tongue.
You open your mouth in a long, shaky moan. Dean takes the permission, grabbing your jaw and tipping it a little further back. His tongue brushes over your teeth, and you wrap an arm around his neck. His chest is pressed right against yours, and it’s secure and sweet and hot. You’ve never been this hot just from a few kisses.
Passionate, messy kisses. With Dean. His broad fingers on your soft skin, and his solid body right against yours. You comb your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, and he groans. The noise vibrates through you, and you shudder with that burning, needy heat.
Dean notices. Of course he does. He’s Dean.
“Do you want-“
“Yes.” You moan against his lip, trying to spread your legs. “God, Dean- Fuck-“
He sucks on your lower lip before releasing it with a wet pop. Licks over the hurt before travelling down. Over your cheeks, then your jaw, repeating the same motion. Your arms wrap tight around him, your hips bucking mindlessly up.
“Oh- Dean-“ Your nails scratch his neck, and he hums. “You- You can’t just- Holy shit-“
He shoves his knee right between your thighs, the sudden pressure a curse and a relief. Your hips roll like they have a mind of their own, and head dropping against Dean’s shoulder as you cry his name. He moans, his hand on your waist tugging at your shirt.
You grab it and move it under the fabric, moaning at the feeling of his rough callouses, his warm palms, how possessive just a light touch can be. His fingers splay, the tips pressing into your skin, and you’re fully humping him now. He hisses when your knee bumps into his hard crotch, and you giggle, dragging a hand down his spine.
Dean pulls back, watching you ride his thigh with hooded eyes and a lazy grin. “Something funny, pretty girl?”
You giggle again, pressing purposefully against the bulge in his jeans. He groans, pressing his brow to the top of your chest.
“Shit- You’re tryin’ to fucking kill me-“
“Nuh uh.” You breathe out, not caring how convincing it is. You can feel the pressure building in your core, but it’s not quite enough. You need him to give you more. “De- Dean-“
You grab his wrist again, trying to pull it to your ass, but he resists. He yanks his hand from your grip, sliding it up your ribs slowly. His thumb brushes under your breast, and you bow into the touch with another loud moan.
“Jesus.” He mutters. “You look fuckin’ gorgeous like this, sweetheart. Think putting you on my cock might turn me into a religious man.”
You grab his shirt, yanking desperately, and he clicks his tongue. His voice is deep and taunting, and he leans forward so his lips brush yours with every word.
“Easy, baby girl.” He coos, his thumb grazing over the curve of your breast. “Thought about this for so long. Wanna take my time with you, show you that I mean what I’m saying. Love these pretty tits,” he palms it as he speaks, grinning as you moan like a shameless whore. “And this smart fucking mouth.” He nips your lower lip. “And your whole, sexy fuckin’ body. Love it almost as much as that impossible, pretty head you got. And I’m not wasting my shot on making you mine.”
You shake your head, the wet heat becoming almost unbearable. “Al- Oh-“
Dean’s mouth attacks your neck and shoulders, and you have to take a deep breath to remember how to speak.
“Already yours, Dean, always been yours, always- Fuuuuck-“
He grabs you hips and moves them so your clit is always dragging against him, the friction from his jeans and your panties making your head spin.
“I know.” He mutters, breath warm against your ear. “You think I didn’t know, princess? That I didn’t see every time you’d give me those Bambi eyes and beat my cock in the shower that night, thinkin’ about what you’d let me do to you?”
You moan as shock and surprise burns on your cheeks, but it also floods south. Right to your core, making you squirm in his arms. Dean chuckles, watching you with a dangerous smirk.
“Thought it was just a crush, at first. Thought you’d get over it, move onto someone better-“
“No- No one better.” You breathe out despite yourself, and Dean’s eyes flash. “No one better, Dean, just you, just you-”
He grabs your jaw, kissing you long and rough. You whimper, pressing your tongue into his mouth. He pushes you further back against the door, kissing you with teeth and spit. You give in immediately, just trying to chase anything, anything he can give you at all.
“De- Dean-“
“Always someone better for you.” He growls against your lips, grabbing under your knee. He squeezes it tight before hiking it up, offering even more friction.
You moan, dropping your head back against the door. He’s almost fucking you through your clothing, his bugle pressed right against your throbbing pussy. Dean’s mostly just letting you grind down onto him, but every few moments he gives a shallow thrust of his hips, grinning when the pleasure shakes through your whole body.
“Look at you.” He coos, reaching up to smear some of his spit on your cheek. “You deserve the fuckin’ world, sweetheart. Deserve a guy with his shit all in order, someone half as sweet as you are-“
“You- You’re sweet-“ You gasp when he shoves his hips up, slamming right against your clit. “Holy shit- Dean-“
“I’m sweet.” He mocks, and it shouldn’t make you feel as needy and light as it does. “I treated you like shit, baby. Thought it would help you get over it, but look at you. You like this. Like bein’ my pretty fuckin’ slut.”
You let out a guttural, strangled noise of desire, and Dean taps his thumb against your lips. When you open them, he slides his thumb inside. You suck obediently, watching him under dazed eyes. His throat bobs, eyes blown out with lust.
“Good girl.” He mutters, lips twitching when you hum happily around him. “Oh, you like that, too. My good girl.”
He leans forward, whispering into your ear, and your eyes flutter hopelessly.
“You’re such a fuckin’ brat, sweetheart. You’d sass me and I’d think about kissing you nice and stupid, then giving you the whole fuckin’ world.”
You whine, and Dean pulls his thumb out to let you speak.
“Don’t- Don’t want the world.” You gasp. “Just want you, Dean, please-“
He hauls you off the bed, and your legs wrap around his middle. This time when he kisses you, he’s holding you over his body like you’re something for him to worship. He’s slow and sweet, just like you know he is. He tosses you down onto your bed before pulling off his shirt and prowling over your body. He pulls your pants down, kissing back up your ankle, your knee, your hipbone. He sucks your clit lightly through the fabric of your ruined panties, pinning your pelvis to the bed when your hips slam up.
You fist a hand in the sheets. “De- Dean-“
He hums, pressing you down harder. His tongue flicking, and you pant, desperately trying to wiggle out of his grip, to chase release.
Dean stops suddenly, chuckling when you whine like a spited child. Two fingers hook around the center of your panties, and he yanks away the ruins fabric like it was made of paper.
“So wet.” He mutters, dragging two fingers between your pussy lips. “You’re like a fuckin’ dream, baby, son of a bitch.”
He slaps your clit once, grinning when the reaction shakes through your whole body. You can almost see him making the metal note, before moving on. Dean grabs the hem of your shirt and tugs it over your head, kissing your tummy, your sides, the valley of your breasts and a tiny mark he’d left on your neck.
His lips meet yours, lazy and gentle. He palms at your exposed breasts, slowly kneeing your legs apart.
When he settles between them, he slows down even more, his breathing ragged and voice low and almost desperate.
“Say it again.” He mutters, and you hum.
“I want you.”
Dean kisses the corner of your mouth. “And- The other thing.”
“I love you.” You say, easy as breathing. “Love you, Dean.”
He grunts, planting a kiss on your nose. “Thank you, my love.”
You smile, letting your hands wander over the broad planes of his back. You’re still so close to the edge, tingly and aching, and maybe he’s just going to fuck you stupid like he promised right now-
Dean pulls away.
He sits up on his knees, one hand pressing you into the mattress. His thumb lingers just above your clit, capable of reaching it if he reaches. But instead he just watches you, shuffling out of his own pants and tossing them off to a corner of the room.
You swallow, salivating at the sight. He’s thick. Long and thick in every way you’d imagined. Broad and angry at the top, leaking with pre-cum that he swipes with his thumb. You’ve only see cocks like that made of silicone with a vibrator built in. You bought one once, feeling pretty brave. You’d given up very fast.
“De- Dean-“
“Yeah, baby?”
He squeezes your thigh, and you look up to him with wide eyes. “I- I can’t take that.”
“Yeah, you can.”
“No, I-“
“Shh.” He coos, thumb grazing over your clit. You shudder, grabbing his wrist.
“Dean-“
“I’m gonna help, princess.” He says. “You’re gonna take it.”
He says it so certainly, you fucking believe him. He’s got a goddamn monster-porn cock, but his rich, deep tone has you convinced you can somehow fit it easy.
“Guess that’s why you’re so confident all the time, right?” You giggle nervously, and Dean raises his brows.
“Excuse me?”
“Just if- If I had- That-“
“You mean a big dick?” He drawls, and you flush.
“Um. Yeah.” You turn your face into the pillow, trying to hide. “Shut up.”
He laughs, guiding your face back up as he leans down. Dean kisses you slowly, and you hum dazedly into his lips. He starts to drag his thickness up and down your soaked cunt, and your mouth falls open in a loud moan.
“You’re so fuckin’ cute.” He mutters. “My girl.”
“Yours.” You echo, and he grins.
“Can we try something, baby? You trust me?”
“Mmmm,” you mumble, mostly thinking about the friction he’s giving, the pleasurable shock every time his dick bumps your clit.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” You breathe, and Dean smirks.
“Good girl.”
Then he’s gone again. Your fluttering eyes shoot open, and you try to reach up but he slams you right back down. Pinning you to the mattress as he sits on his knees, watching you drink him in a slowly stroking his cock.
“Here’s what we’re gonna do.” He drawls, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “You’re gonna tell me exactly what you want me to do to you, then I’m gonna make you cum until you can’t even talk.”
You gape at him. “Wha- What-“
“You’re so smart, princess.” He taps your clit, and your breath hitches. “Talk.”
“Dean, don’t tease-“
“Not teasing. I’m dead fuckin’ serious.” He gives you a stern look. “You don’t tell me what you want, you don’t cum.”
You glare at him, and he just shrugs. He’s still pumping himself with thick, long strokes, and you’d kill him if you didn’t feel like a firework only he could set off.
“Touch me.” You grumble, and he gives you a flat, amused look.
“How.”
“I- I don’t know- With your hands- Oh-“
Dean’s thumb starts to rub around your clit, and your let out a shaky breath. The gleam in his eyes tells you all you need to know. You listen, you get a reward.
“Touch me there.” You breathe, nervous and breathy. “Keep- Keep doing that, Dean- Ooh-“
He snorts as you hug yourself, pressing his thumb directly down and making you squeak.
“Fuck-“
“You’re bad at this.” He observes, and you reach up to whack his forearm.
“I’ve never done it before, dick-“
“So I’m givin’ you a new skill-“
“You’re making me insane.” You whine. “Just- Just fuck me, Dean, it shouldn’t be that hard!”
“Yeah?” He grins down at you, letting go of his dick to rub your thigh. “Big words from the girl who’s not gonna do any of the work.”
You stick out your tongue, and he laughs.
“I knew you liked being a little cockslut, dripping just thinkin’ about taking me, probably gonna call me daddy and beg-“
“Shut up-“ Face burning, you kick his chest, and Dean catches your ankle, kissing it before moving it back to the bed.
“Well if it’s so easy, I should be guessing right-“
“I just want you to fuck me stupid, Dean!” You shout, the words desperately pouring out of you. “Just- Just take your hands and toss me around, use me and- and kiss me and touch me- Fuck-“
He’s rubbing your clit again, eyes almost black with desire. You push on, grabbing his arm to keep focus.
“Use- Use your fingers and make me cum on your hand.” You breathe out. “Then- Then flip me over and fuck me- Fuck me until I can’t talk, fuck me stupid, Dean, please-“
Your words fall off in a moan as Dean rubs faster, leaning down over your body.
“You want me to talk?” He rumbles, and you nod.
“Talk- Talk the whole time- Oh my god-“
“Tell you how good you’re doing for me?” He mutters, a finger teasing over your entrance. “How good your pussy feels, how crazy you make me, what a perfect fuckin’ girl you’re being when you take my cock-“
“Yes.” You whine, pussy squeezing as he presses that finger slowly inside of you. “Yes, fuck, yes-“
“You want it rough?” He pumps slowly in and out, his thumb still working your clit. “Wanna feel me? Be fucked like you deserve?”
You nod, babbling agreements. He drags lightly against your g-spot and you let out a shuddering gasp, scratching at his shoulders. Dean groans, adding a second one, pushing them knuckle deep and scissoring the thick digits inside you.
“Fuck- Fuck-“ He’s kneading that gooey spot, and you’d already been wound so tight. “Dean, oh my god- Yes-“
“And where am I gonna cum, princess?” He coos in your ear, setting a shallow, deep pace with his fingers. They open you up and massage your pussy until it’s fluttering, until there’s a fuse burning your tummy that needs to be lit, that needs Dean to light it-
“Inside.” You breathe. You need more of him. All of him. “Want you to cum inside Dean, God, please-“
He moans—fully moans—and rubs your clit in furious, tight circles as he kisses you.
“Knew you could do it.” His thumb flicks as he presses your g-spot, and you whine. “Cum for me, baby girl, show me what you’ve got-“
Your release hits you with a scream of Dean’s name, making your toes curl and your back arch off the bed. Dean groans, twisting his hand so his palm is flat against your clit, rubbing and pressing down until you’re trembling and trying to shove him away.
“Look at you.” He says under his breath, like he’s admiring some sort of art. “Look at you, so goddamn sexy, making such a mess on my hand. Bet you’re gonna look even better, getting wrecked on my dick.”
“De- Dean-“
“I know.” He mutters, pulling his fingers fully out. “Soon. I’ll fill you up nice and pretty, fuck you ‘till you can’t think. It’s gonna feel so good, sweetheart. This tight fuckin’ pussy, strangling me while you beg.”
He lands a sharp hit on your pussy, and you barely get out a broken plea before he’s grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your stomach. You squeal, scrambling for a grip on the sheets as Dean drags your ass into the air.
“Such a mess.” He hits your pussy again, and you press your cheek into the mattress, panting as heat floods your body. “Greedy little pussy, don’t even gotta do much to get you ready for me. No,” he pushes his fingers back inside of you, the angle letting his knuckles massage your g-spot. “Basically fuckin’ begging for it, trying to fuck yourself on my fingers. Dirty girl.”
You hadn’t even realized you were doing that. Fucking back onto Dean’s hand, ass wiggling in the air as his free hand soothes down your spine. You’re shaking, but already ready for more, the sensitivity from the first orgasm building you back up.
“Deeean-“ You whine, spreading your knees wider. “More, need more, please-“
“Ah. Just feel this.” He yanks his fingers out, spanking your clit three sharp times before shoving his fingers back in. “You asked me to touch you, I’m touchin’. Touching you real good.”
He starts to knead your g-spot again, kissing slowly up and down your spine.
“Want you to come for me again, baby girl.” He mutters, lips wandering over the curve of your ass, then your thighs. “You’re gonna cum until you can’t stay up, then I’m gonna fuck you. Alright.”
You nod, but there isn’t something he could ask you that you’d say no to right now. “Oh- Okay.”
“Awesome.” Dean sucks on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, pushing you higher in the air. “Hold onto something.”
Your hands fist in the sheets, right before his sinful mouth latches onto your clit.
You almost scream. Dean starts to make out with the bundle of nerves like it can kiss him back, shifting below you until you’re almost sitting on his face. His fingers keep grinding down onto your g-spot as his tongue flicks back and forth, your button sucked between his soft lips, and you push your hands into the sheets, almost unable to take the pleasure.
“Dean- Dean- I- I’m gonna- Fuck-“
A sharp spank lands on your ass before grabbing a handful of the fat and shoving you fully down. You cum with a scream of Dean’s name, the pleasure rolling through your body like a wave.
But he doesn’t stop.
Dean keeps you trapped against his face, working you so hard you see starts, then other universe. His stubble burns against you and it’s perfect, his tongue moving so relentlessly—in tight little kitten licks, working you into a blind frenzy—and the feeling to overwhelming you can’t even remember how to close your mouth. Dean drags you on his face when you try to pull away, chuckling against your pussy, and the vibration is too much.
This time when you cum, you’re shaking and boneless. You think you might be about to cry, but maybe that’s just how hot this is.
He still isn’t stopping, and you might be in heaven. Blissful and dumb from pleasure, just a fuck doll in Dean’s big, careful hands.
You’re about to cum again, and you didn’t know you could do twice, let alone four times.
“De- Dean-“ You whimper. “Can’t- Can’t do it again-“
Dean grunts, lifting you over his head. “Yes, you can.”
He yanks his fingers out, rubbing your clit quickly before flipping you back over. You blink up at him, the coil in your stomach burning to snap. You’re so cockdrunk and dazed you almost don’t feel it at first.
Dean’s cock, slowly pushing into you.
When it hits you, he’s already got the thick head inside. You mewl, trying to cover your chest as he presses in deeper, but Dean grabs your wrists and pins them next to your head.
“Let me see you.” He mutters, sounding just as wrecked as you are. “Wanna watch you. So pretty, fucking crying for me.” He leans down, kissing your cheek, and you sob with delight. “Feels good, doesn’t it. So- Shit-“ You clench around him, and he hisses. “So fuckin’ good.”
“Good.” You repeat, just trying to stay conscious as Dean drags through your oversensitive, abused pussy. “So, so good, Dean, so fucking- Ooooh-“
He bottoms out, and you could swear you feel him up your spine and in your mouth. You’ve never been so full before, never had someone hit so many sensitive spots inside of you, and it lights you up like a summer sky.
Your eyes cross, as the almost peaceful orgasm blooms from your womb to your lips. You smile up at Dean, twisting to tangle your fingers together, and he swallows.
There’s a soft shine in his eyes. Pure, utter affection as he watches you come undone around him. It even moves into his voice, all the teasing and dominant command coated in devotion.
“You’re so beautiful.” He murmurs, bowing over you until there’s no telling where you stop, and he ends. “Feel that, baby?” He gives a long, lazy roll of his hips, and you gasp. “Yeah, that’s right. That’s you, takin’ my cock. Just like I said you could.” He kisses you, repeating the motion. “Good girl.”
You pant, grabbing his bicep as he fucks slowly into you. He mutters low praise in your ear, bullying your pussy open with every thrust. You’d asked for it rush, but this is better. You feel priceless. You feel like Dean’s.
“Breathe.” He reminds you, and you take a stuttered gasp. “Good job, princess. Don’t want you passing out on me. Need to see those pretty eyes when I cum inside of you,”
You moan, body moving in a mindless rhythm with his, and Dean grins.
“Yeah, I’m gonna fill you up, sweetheart. Make this pussy mine, let it drip out, show everyone who fucks you so good.”
“You.” You whimper out. “You, Dean, ‘s you- Fuck-“
“Damn right it is.” He grunts, dropping his hips so he hits your g-spot even better. “You’re my girl, never gonna let you think anything else again.”
You nod, your breathing getting short and desperate. The room is filled with the wet sound of his dick sliding in and out of you. Your body is slick with heat and Dean’s kissing every inch of it he can reach. Grabbing and squeezing soft skin until you’re sure you’ll be covered in handprints and finger-shaped bruises in the morning, but you can’t bring yourself to care.
Not as his cock drives deep into your with every, precise thrust.
Dean kisses you, dragging his tongue over your upper lip, and your pussy flutters.
Oh. God. “Dean, I- I think-“
“I know.” He grunts, like he’s just attuned to that. “You can do it, baby girl.”
“No- No-“
“Yes.” Dean kisses the tears, streaming down your cheeks from overstimulation. “Do it for me, come on. Just feel it, let it happen. Bet it’s good, isn’t it. Nice and sweet, right here.”
He presses down on your pelvis, right over where the fire is building. You sob with pleasure, and Dean grins.
“That’s right, there it is, come on-“
You cum like you were struck by lighting. Every muscle in your body seizes, the pressure where Dean’s pressing breaking like a damn. You gush and squeeze around his cock, arching off the bed like you’re trying to take flight, and Dean drops over you with a shameless moan.
“Fuck- Fuck yeah-“ He presses his face into your neck as you milk his dick. “Holy- Christ-“
Thick spurts of Dean’s release fill you up. They’re hot, and you hug Dean’s head, whimpering in his ear as you take them. He’s kissing your shoulder, but it’s unmeasured and desperate, and you’re sure you’re having the same control issue right now.
The feeling is so consuming you can’t think of anything but Dean. You’re saying his name like a prayer, as he ruts into you, sloppy and desperate. Neither of you really come back to earth, as your orgasms fade. Dean just slumps over you, cradling your body in his arms, and you smile at the ceiling, completely fucked out.
“Shit.” Dean rasps, and you giggle.
“Yeah.”
“You know you could squirt?”
You shake your head, and he grins against your neck.
“Awesome.”
His cock twitches inside of you, and you hit his shoulders.
“Dean, oh my god-“
“Not now.” He groans, rolling onto his back and hauling you with him. “But later, right?” He gives you a hopeful, almost boyish look.
Like you might reject him while he’s still fucking inside of you.
“Cause I meant it.” He adds quickly. “Everything before, uh- This. Meant every word, promise, and- You can hit me or something, if that makes you feel better-“
You lean down, taking his sweet, dumb face between your hands and kissing him. Dean hums in surprise, but kisses you back immediately. One hand slides through your hair, the other up your spine, but he lets you lead. Looks up at you with a drunken smile when you pull away, like you’re some kind of god.
“I don’t want to hit you.” You say, tracing his tattoo.
He nods quickly. “Good. I mean- for me-“
“But you have to ask me out for real.” You give him a firm look. “And take me on a nice date.”
“I can do that.” He grins. “And then… You’re my…”
He trails off. Lets you fill in the space.
You think he got it right, just like that.
“Yeah,” you smile. “But you’re mine, too.”
And there’s nothing on Dean’s face that tells you he’s going to argue with that.
✦End note: im drooling. i know most of you prob dont read my main dean series, but every day i dream about getting to the end and just making him old and happy. very normal about how i want this old ass man.✦
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Just saw the stepbro!Sam posts and I'd like to parallel it by proposing stepdad!Dean
i think stepdad!dean only works if his wife’s daughter is estranged. dean genuinely wants a family and adores kids to the point that if he married someone with a kid he’d see them as his own, y’know???
when dean finds out that his wife has a daughter he kind of blanks out. it was an accident. she’d been hiding it and acting as a single, childless divorcee for the last few years. he’s very confused. he didn’t have his mother most of his life, so he didn’t fully understand the reasoning why she’d completely give up with her daughter for undisclosed reasons. he doesn’t push about it, doesn’t ask.
you were the one who set up the whole coffee-date-meetup with dean. you sent an email. for someone who’s so estranged from her mother, you sure do care.
it’s a very awkward first meeting. you spend half the time with your eyes staring at your coffee and your hands in your lap. he can’t help but feel bad. he can tell you miss your mom, but he knows she doesn’t want anything to do with you.
“i don’t.. really mean to pry.” he manages, leo sure brushing his fingers against the back of his neck. “but what’s up with you and your mom? why don’t you guys talk?” you purse your lips into a thin line. your hand lifts to stir your coffee with the spoon provided. “went to live with my dad after they got divorced. she kind of took it personal, so we haven’t spoken since then.”
he exhales longingly. “..right. damn.” he gently reaches over, grasping at your hand. you let go of the spoon and allow him to gently squeeze your hand. it makes your heart flutter. “i’m sorry about that. y’know, i didn’t know anything about you ‘til.. shit, two weeks ago.” dean can tell you’re still distraught from how your big puppy-dog eyes look at him all sadly. he smiles somewhat. “tell you what. i’ll give you my number. we can talk, and I can try and.. i dunno. help you with your mom.”
despite how innocently everything was supposed to go, god had other plans a few months in. these plans always end with you under his body, face smushed into the pillows as he fucks you from behind.
at first dean felt guilty. you did, too, but it almost felt like revenge against your mom for her personal vendetta against you she’s had since middle school. so you didn’t try and stop, and whenever he did it backfired immensely.
he’s balls deep inside you, lips pressing gentle kisses to your bare skin from your shoulder to your spine. you whine softly, hands squeezing the pillowcase beneath you. he’s always gentle. “you’re okay?” he whispers, lifting his head up to look at your face. you nod slightly. “peachy.” a moan slips past your lips as he circles a hand around to rub at your clit. “oh god, dean. please, please fuck me already. i hate when you do this.”
he laughs his beautifully rustic laugh. it’s boyish and charming despite the many horrors he’s seen in his life. “oh, of course. needy thing, aren’t you?” you nod eagerly, humming in delight as he slowly reels himself back and gasping when he thrusts all the way back in. his hand presses at the small of your back, forcing you to arch for him.
dean drowns his guilt in the warmth of your insides, animalistically fucking you as if your mother would catch you soon although she was all the way at work right now. your moans are so absurdly loud he’s shocked it isn’t rattling the room. when he snakes his hand back around to rub your clit again, you get impossibly louder. it eggs him on, his movement slow but his thrusts now powerful. it reverbs through your body and has you freezing up.
“can tell you’re gonna cum,” he groans, squeezing your clit between his pointer and thumb. you squeal and nod frantically, legs kicking beneath him. your cunt flutters around him, your muscles completely swallowing him up.
dean moans as he cums inside you from that warmth, his hips stuttering as he pulses inside you. your body melts into the bed beneath you as your orgasm finally hits. he keeps rubbing smooth circles against your bud until it subsides and you’re twitching under him.
he doesn’t pull out just yet. if anything, he lays beside you and spoons you with his softening cock still plugged inside you. he wraps his arm around your shoulders and kissed your head lovingly.
“i love you, dean.” you murmur, turning your head and looking at him. it’s those same puppy-dog eyes from that first meeting. it would melt his heart if his first thoughts weren’t about how horrible it was to do this. “..yeah. yeah, i love you, too.”
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: implied smut , soldier boy x fem.reader , degradation , fauxcest (if you squint) , power imbalance , 18+
𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 804
#𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒: this idea came to me and i haven't written in ages so be nice to me (hides).
the vought penthouse was a monument to excess. floor-to-ceiling glass and cold polished marble that overlooked a city that belonged to the most evil of people. you were just another one of ben’s high-end acquisitions. the closest thing to a 'sugar baby' a man like him would ever allow. though he’d never use the word. all because the term implied a transaction, and ben preferred to think of it as your natural duty to always be at his beck and call.
draped in silk that cost more than you could ever afford , you nursed a drink you didn't even want , while the sun dipped below the skyline. you’d been waiting for hours, dressed and ready for a dinner ben had more than likely forgotten about , the moment he stepped out of the room. it was like this every night; ben didn't operate on a schedule, he operated on his own whims. he did what he wanted , when he wanted— and not a second sooner.
ben had finally stalked in, the heavy thud of his worn boots echoing off the marble. heading straight for the heavy mahogany bar, his suit still on, smelling of gunpowder. the dark green scales of his suit catching the dim light made him look like a relic of a more violent age.
“you’re late,” you murmured, the frustration finally bubbling over as you stood up. “i’ve been sitting here for three hours. i thought we were going out.”
the clink of ice against glass stopped. ben turned, his gaze heavy and unimpressed, looking at you like you were a child complaining about a rainy day.
“late?” he huffed , a sharp, condescending laugh catching in his throat. “i was working, doll, unlike you. don’t spend my day picking out jewelry and looking at m'self in the mirror. i’m the one keeping this god damn country on its feet. y'should be thanking me for having a place to wait at all instead of whining like a brat.”
as he went on, his footsteps got closer to you. the sheer mass of his gear making him look twice his size as he loomed over you. “isn't that right?” ben reached down, his leather-clad fingers— rough and smelling of old tobacco and expensive bourbon , hooking under your chin to force your gaze up.
“let’s get one thing straight , angel. you stay in the condo, paid for with my money. you eat the food i buy, you wear the clothes i pick out, and you sleep in the bed i provide.” his grip on your chin tightened just enough to be a warning. eyes searching yours for a spark of defiance he could snuff out. “now i don’t ask for much, but it’s time to show a little fucking respect.”
the air in the penthouse felt suddenly thin. the gaslighting was effortless, the raw, antiquated authority of a man who truly believed your time was his to waste.
“'nd you were rude with that attitude , kid. don't appreciate being greeted with lip service when i get home from a long day,” he continued, his thumb pressing firmly into the dip beneath your lower lip. “s'only fair you make it up to me.”
ben , like usual , didn't wait for a response. he stepped back, the metallic clicks and rasps of his suit’s fastenings cutting through the silence as he began to undo the congested layers. peeling back the reinforced fabric until reaching into the opening of his boxers.
with a grunt, he freed himself. a cock you never got sick of. angry-looking, a heavy weight of salt-scented heat that looked almost as lethal as the shield he carried around all day. the shaft flushed a dark, bruised purple. veins standing out like jagged cords against the rigid length of him. a bead of pre-come sat at the blunt, swollen tip, glistening under the expensive chandelier light.
it was a vile, physical demand for the "respect" he’d just lectured you about.
ben gestured to the floor at his feet, his expression turning into something wilder. you moved, your silk robe whispering against the marble as you sank to your knees before him. hands clumsy as you reached for the meat of his thighs. your movements were hesitant, a bit too cautious for his liking.
ben let out a huff of dark amusement, his hand winding into your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat. he looked down at you, his thumb tracing the line of your plush lower lip with a deceptive tenderness while the tip of his cock twitched just inches from your face.
“i know you can do better than that,” ben murmured, his voice lowering into a gritty, commanding register that always made your knees weak. “now go on and show me.”
── .✦ note; based on the same ask from here. i wanted to do a dean version as well.
“look so perfect f’me, sweetheart,” dean groans against your mouth, hissing slightly as your legs tighten around his waist. you let out a small gasp as a response, only for it to get lost in the obscene sounds of bare skin meeting bare skin, and the creak of the old motel bed. “takin’ me so well tonight.”
truly, there’s no better place to breed someone than in a shitty motel room. at least you guys aren’t the ones cleaning it up.
you nod dumbly, unable to feel anything below your waist. he’s been rutting into you like some wild animal for what feels like hours now, roughly pushing his cum back into you with each thrust. as a man who gets the job done, he’ll do anything to make sure you;re pregnant after tonight.
“y’so deep,” you involuntarily clench down on his cock, desperate to keep him inside of you. he’s the only barrier to stop his cum from escaping you, and every time he pulls back, you can feel it discreetly escape your stretched cunt. “it’s– just– um–”
“feels good, yeah?” he smirks softly at you, his warm hand cupping your cheek and catching the stray, few tears that escape your eyes. “gonna be worth it– promise.” to which you merely stare back at him with glassy, doe eyes, feeling your bottom lip quiver.
“is it too much, sweetheart? can always stop if you want..”
“no! no–” you whimper, tirelessly bucking your hips into his. dean mutters something against your lips, something you don’t pick up on in your euphoric haze, the thick head of his cock pressing firmly against your cervix. “‘m gonna be yours forever.”
and with a pretty thing with you around the bunker, following him and sam on all their cases, he’s been determined for weeks now to get something to keep you out of trouble. to put his baby in you. you don’t think he’d retire– despite his constant protests that he will when you bring up the topic– but it’d be nice to think he would. just for you.
“gonna look so pretty and perfect, all full with my kid,” you can feel his cock pulse inside of you, that thought of a visible sign of his ownership, and he whimpers into your neck. “gonna do it all f’you.”
you’re not sure how many times you’ve came already, the sheets sticky beneath you. but the next time you do, he laughs weakly into your neck, teeth wet on your skin. “look at how easily you cum f’me,” dean teases, before he cums inside of you. it’s hot, a surprise to you despite how many times he’s already finished in you, and you can’t help but to gasp. “gotta return the favour for my girl, yeah? keepin’ you full and all.”
your cunt squelches as more of his cum seeps out of you, despite the fact that he’s bottomed out in you, still as he possibly can be. “don’t want it going to waste now,” he tells you, mouth gently nipping at yours. “gonna make you the prettiest mom ever.”
Hello. It's me again. 🙂↕️ Thoughts on Ben with someone with a horrible oral fixation? Like they need to have their mouth on him, gnawing, biting, licking, or resting on his skin. I do apologize for my last ask as well </3
Hiiii!!! Literally no apology needed it just caught me by surprise (we're about to talk about rimming so the call is coming from inside the house) I genuinely need to know where the term smegma came from I was actually dying it's such a crazy word. This is such a good idea, and I raise you the idea that ben would give anyone a horrible oral fixation. He's always shoving his fingers in your mouth or resting your open mouth on his shoulder when he's holding you, telling you how soft and warm and perfect your tongue feels against his skin. When his fingers dive in they go exploring, rubbing behind your teeth and at the soft back of your throat to get you addicted to the sensation of stimulation in your mouth. He's also truly the worlds best chew toy because you can gnaw on him at will. I think he would actually find it pretty cute, calling you his little puppy, and the look he gives you when you're all over him like that just makes you want to do it more. He'd love feeding you his soft cock so you can more comfortably swirl it around in your mouth, gently sucking and pulling at the pliant skin while he grows in your mouth. Also... sucking on his balls... omfg. You're on your knees in front of him, laving over the puckered skin while he slowly jerks himself off right in front of your face. He could have you do it but he likes feeling your nails dig into his thighs from your delight. They would just feel so good in your mouth -- all warm and musky and soft. Or lowkey rimming him (sorryyyyy but also there's a link to a vintage salad tossing blurb). You get all focused on his balls and start drifting back a little bit, and before you know it your tongue is bumping against his rim while your nose is buried in his sac. His hand is still resting in your hair, gently encouraging you and silently telling you that you have free reign to lick him wherever you please. The sound he would make when your tiny pink tongue starts to breach him... it's a sound only a man obsessed could make. The slight pressure against you feels so good, exactly the type of sensation you seek when you're licking all over him. You don't go too deep, just enough to feel yourself slipping in and out of the tight squeeze. After Ben cums all over your back (feeding you a little after you pout about it not going down your throat), he pulls you in for a deep fucking kiss, keeping your mouth busy just the way you need.
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