my name is, Jordan, you can call me Jt, Jay, or Jordy. I write for many things, my requests are open, and if thereâs something thatâs not on my masterlist I will try my best to write whatever you want me to. it might take me a bit, but I hope to capture what you want. I also donât roleplay, sorry not sorry.
Things I will NOT write about are: Incest, Rape, Domestic violence/any type of abuse, Sexual harassment, Bestiality, Grooming, Age gap higher than 30, Underage. absolutely NO wincest
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âïž đđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â youâre naturally bold, friendly, and just flirty enough to make deanâs eye start twitching when someone else gets too comfortable around you.
àčàŁ â he tries to play it cool. he really does. then somebody touches your arm while laughing at your joke and suddenly deanâs beside you, hand settling at your lower back, making it very clear that heâs entered the conversation. he insists heâs not jealous. he just thinks the guy is âannoying.â sure, babe.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â your impulsive charm makes him nervous, but sam is more likely to watch quietly than start a scene.
àčàŁ â he notices every person who looks at you. every single one. he wonât interrupt unless someone crosses a line, but the silence afterward is suspiciously heavy. you ask if heâs okay and he says, âyeah, why?â with an emotional wound the size of europe.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â dean trusts your loyalty, but the second someone mistakes your warmth for availability, his mood changes.
àčàŁ â youâre steady enough that he doesnât spiral easily. still, he doesnât enjoy watching someone flirt with you while you politely pretend not to notice. heâll slide into the booth beside you, steal one of your fries, and start calling you sweetheart more than necessary. very subtle. nobody notices. except everybody.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam gets quietly possessive because your affection feels rare, safe, and a little too precious to share.
àčàŁ â he doesnât make a scene. that would be too easy. instead, he gets closer. his hand finds your knee under the table. his answers get shorter. if someone keeps pushing, sam gives them one calm, unreadable look that somehow feels worse than a threat. you activate the part of him that has already mentally placed your toothbrush beside his.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â you flirt conversationally without even trying, and dean absolutely canât tell when youâre being friendly versus when someone needs to be salted and burned.
àčàŁ â youâre laughing, talking fast, lighting up the room, and deanâs across the bar pretending he doesnât care. five minutes later, heâs suddenly standing beside you with a drink in one hand and a very pointed, âwhoâs your new friend?â in the other. he loves your charm until anybody else enjoys it too much.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam trusts your mind, but your social ease has him overanalyzing every interaction against his will.
àčàŁ â you tease everyone. you make strangers talk. you can create chemistry with a brick wall when youâre bored. sam knows this. he also knows heâs being irrational. unfortunately, that doesnât stop him from replaying the conversation later and asking, far too casually, whether you thought the bartender was attractive.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â you care so naturally that dean gets territorial when someone else starts relying on you too much.
àčàŁ â itâs not always romantic jealousy. sometimes you simply spend too long comforting another hunter after a bad case and dean gets weirdly quiet because that softness is the thing he wants most and knows least how to ask for. he doesnât want to share the version of you that remembers whether he ate dinner. emotionally mature? no. painfully transparent? yes.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam falls hard for your tenderness, so watching you give it freely to someone else stings more than he wants to admit.
àčàŁ â he understands that youâre caring. he likes that about you. loves it, actually. but when somebody leans too heavily into your attention, sam gets quieter and more withdrawn. later, when you ask whatâs wrong, he says he âjust didnât want to interruptâ. tragic sad little giant puppy behavior.
âïž đđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â you attract attention by breathing, and deanâs leo placements take that as a personal challenge from the universe.
àčàŁ â you walk into a room and people look. dean notices immediately, then spends the entire night pretending he finds it funny while becoming steadily more possessive. one hand on your waist. one sharp look at anyone lingering too close. one smug little smile when you turn your attention back to him. heâs not beating the territorial allegations.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam admires your confidence, but he does get insecure when everyone else seems to want a piece of your warmth too.
àčàŁ â he wonât compete for attention loudly. if anything, he pulls back, which is somehow worse. sam starts wondering whether you would rather be with somebody lighter, easier, less complicated. then you seek him out across the room and he softens immediately. embarrassing for him. sweet for you.
âïž đđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â dean gets jealous when someone else starts appreciating your competence a little too enthusiastically.
àčàŁ â the flirting itself might slide past him. the second another hunter starts praising how smart you are, asking for your help too often, or looking at you like you hung the moon because you solved the case? deanâs suddenly hovering. he claims he only came over because he needs you for something. he does not. he just dislikes sharing his favorite person with the group project.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam is deeply attached to the feeling of being understood by you, so somebody else becoming your intellectual favorite is his personal nightmare.
àčàŁ â you and another person get absorbed in a theory, bouncing ideas back and forth, and sam goes painfully still. he doesnât interrupt. he waits. then, later, he casually brings up three better sources, corrects one minor detail, and acts as if heâs not academically peacocking for your attention. subtle king.
âïž đđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â your charm is effortless, your smile is lethal, and dean doesnât enjoy watching an entire room discover that at once.
àčàŁ â youâre polite. thatâs the problem. people think they have a chance because you make everyone feel special for five minutes. dean knows youâre not doing anything wrong, but his patience still gets dangerously thin when somebody starts leaning into your space. he becomes extra charming too, except his hand is firmly on your hip and the smile does not reach his eyes.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam tries to be reasonable, but your social grace makes it difficult because people are always drawn to you.
àčàŁ â he watches for longer than he should. not because he distrusts you, but because he distrusts everyone elseâs intentions. if somebody gets too bold, sam steps in gently, asking whether youâre ready to leave with a politeness that somehow translates to back off immediately.
âïž đđđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â youâre private, magnetic, and difficult to read, which means deanâs jealousy goes from zero to a billion in seconds.
àčàŁ â somebody looks at you for too long and dean notices. somebody makes you laugh quietly and dean notices harder. he hates not knowing what youâre thinking, especially when another person seems to have your attention. the jealousy comes out sharp: more teasing, more touching, more eye contact that feels almost accusatory. very normal behavior from a man having a silent crisis.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â you trigger the quiet, intense kind of possessiveness sam wishes he didnât have.
àčàŁ â sam doesnât get loud. he gets watchful. still. almost unnervingly calm. he trusts you, but when somebody pushes too close, something in him hardens. his hand settles at your back. his voice drops. he doesnât need to say much. youâre getting the version of sam who knows exactly how dangerous silence can be.
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â dean loves your freedom until it reminds him that you could walk away whenever you want.
àčàŁ â youâre friendly, spontaneous, impossible to cage. thatâs exactly why he likes you, and exactly why you make him nervous. if someone else makes you laugh or invites you somewhere reckless, dean gets competitive fast. suddenly, he has a better plan. a better joke. a better reason for you to stay close.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam gives you room, but your unpredictability occasionally sends his overthinking into orbit.
àčàŁ â he doesnât want to control you. he knows better. still, there are moments when you disappear into a crowd, come back with three new friends and a ridiculous story, and sam has to remind himself that you chose him for a reason. he gets quieter, then melts when you lean into him again.
âïž đđđđđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â you donât give your attention away easily, so dean notices immediately when somebody else earns it.
àčàŁ â youâre composed enough that he never knows exactly how worried to be. then somebody impresses you, makes you smile, or gets invited into your carefully guarded inner circle, and dean starts acting strange. sharper jokes. extra swagger. unnecessary offers to help. you make him compete for approval without even trying, which is honestly very funny.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam knows your loyalty is valuable precisely because itâs not automatic, so the idea of losing your respect scares him more than flirting does.
àčàŁ â somebody else flirting with you? manageable. somebody else becoming the person you trust with the difficult things? unacceptable. sam gets jealous in a deeply capricorn-compatible way: quietly, seriously, and with enough repression to power a small city. he wonât ask for reassurance. heâll need it desperately.
âïž đđđđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â your independence drives dean insane because jealousy doesnât work properly when the other person refuses to perform reassurance on command.
àčàŁ â you have your own life, your own thoughts, your own weird little orbit. dean loves that until somebody else enters it and you donât immediately explain the situation. then he gets grumpy. not angry exactly. just suspicious, sarcastic, and suddenly very interested in who texted you. aquarius, you make him feel clingy. he hates you for the experience.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â sam respects your space, but he can get insecure when you retreat into your own world without telling him where he stands.
àčàŁ â he wonât chase loudly. instead, he starts reading into things. the distracted replies. the private jokes with somebody else. the fact that you said you were âfineâ in a tone he doesnât trust. sam wants clarity, but asking for it feels vulnerable, so he waits too long and makes himself miserable. classic.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â dean gets jealous when somebody else receives your softness because he secretly wants all of it, even when he pretends he doesnât need any.
àčàŁ â you listen too kindly. you make people feel seen. dean watches somebody open up to you and starts feeling left out before he even realizes whatâs happening. he gets sulky in the most dean way possible: jokes that land a little sharper, shoulders tenser than usual, one quiet âyou ready to go?â thatâs absolutely not a question.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â samâs weak for your empathy, and the thought of somebody else becoming your emotional priority quietly wrecks him.
àčàŁ â he understands why people are drawn to you. heâs drawn to you for the same reason. but if you start worrying over someone else too much, sam slips into the background and convinces himself heâs being mature. he is not. he is sad, jealous, and hoping you notice without forcing him to say it.
hey babe!! do you think u could pls do smut for dean winchester x reader where sheâs really tough and mean, sheâs a hunter, but when sheâs in bed with him sheâs all shy and whiny?? :3
hiii !! of course, hope u like it:))
ALL BARK, NO BITE
wordcount: 2623
summary: Out there? Youâre stubborn, mouthy and unapologeticâ the moment Dean gets his hands on you? It all melts away.
warnings: fem!reader x dean winchester, established relationship, mild arguing, cursing, dean being a smug little shit, brat-ish? Reader, smut (dry humping, groping, grinding, fingering) think thatâs all for now!!
âYouâre unbelievableâ you snapped, slamming the motel bathroom door hard enough that Sam probably heard it from his own room. To be fair, the shitty walls were thin, but still. Meanwhile, Dean chuckled while plopping down onto the bedâ low, smug, entirely too entertained for someone whoâd just spent the last hour being yelled at for something he didnât even remember. Something about him not taking your hunting knowledge seriously, was it? Never mind, itâs not like it was a huge dealâ you were just more⊠opinionated than others.
âGonna hold this grudge forever, sweetheart?â He drawls, lazy enough that you can almost feel the stupid little smirk that was definitely on his face.
âYesâ
Dean huffs with dismissive amusement, more than used to dealing with your temper. âCuteâ
You yanked your jacket off your body with enough annoyance to nearly dislocate your shoulder. âYou are the most annoying person I have ever metâ
âAnd yetââ Dean drawled from the bed, â âyou keep me around?â He adds, adding a sarcastic tilt to his voice to fake innocent curiosity. Asshole.
Heat flared instantly up your neck. Half from frustration, half from that ridiculously attractive gravel in his voice. God, you hated when he did that. That stupid voiceâ that same stupid grin from before you could feel without even seeing it. You opened the bathroom door just enough to glare at him. The Winchester looked entirely too comfortable sprawled against the headboard, green eyes bright with amusement, one arm behind his head like he didnât have a single care in the world despite his girlfriend currently berating him.
âYouâre insufferableâ
âMhmâ Dismissive. Smug. Amused.
âYouâre cockyâ You continue, listing off all the different reasons Dean had pissed you off tonight.
He tilts his head to the side, a teasing glint to his eyesâ further testing your patience. âUsually means Iâm rightâ
âAs ifâ A scoff escapes your lips as you plop down onto the mattress beside himâ craving his closeness even while technically arguing with him. You were stubbornly looking at the other side of the room, away from his preying gaze, so you didnât see the slow smile pulling at his mouth when all of your attitude disappeared the second his hand slid over your waist. Because suddenly, the same girl whoâd spent all evening mouthing off at him was melting against his chest over one touch. And Dean noticed. Of course he did.
âOhâ he murmured quietly. No matter how many times yâall did this little dance, the back and forthâ heâd always act as if it was new to him, feigning surprise just to get a rise out of you.
Smug bastard.
âShut upâ You huff out, shifting away from him once moreâ though your voice lacked some of the earlier bite.
Deanâs hand tightened slightly against your waist before dragging you back against him with embarrassing ease. (Stupid Winchester genes and their ridiculously large men, built like fucking tanks made for hunting and surviving on the road)
âThere she isâ He murmured, nose nudging against the top of your head.
You rolled your eyes instantly, even as your body betrayed you by sinking into his warmthâ your back melting into his broad chest. âDonât startâ
âStart what?â His lips brushed the shell of your ear, voice dipping lower on purpose. âPointinâ out how mouthy you always are until I touch you?â
Heat slowly creeped out your neck and towards your cheeksâ not that youâd ever admit that, or let him see. âYouâre so annoyingâ
âMhmâ Dean sounded entirely too pleased with himself. âYâve said that already, sweetheartâ Before you could retort with another protest, his hand slid under your shirtâ rough, warm palm splaying against your stomach, making your breath catch in your throat before you could stop it. And thatâ that was exactly the problemâ because Winchesterâs always noticed everything. Especially smug Dean Winchesters, looking for another thing to tease their girlfriends about. He pressed the proud grin youâd been avoiding all night against your shoulder, letting out a quiet chuckle. âWowâ
âGodâ you groaned, already annoyed and flustered, shifting even more away from himâ back still flush against his chest, only now your face was practically buried into the pillows.
âNo, sweetheart, câmonâ His fingers spread slowly against your skin, almost innocent, but you knew him better than that. He never did anything out of pure innocence, not when it came to getting under your skin. âYou were just yellinâ at me five seconds agoâ
âStill amâ Your voice is muffled into the fabric of the bed.
âSure yâareâ You hated how weak youâd sounded compared to earlier. Hated it even more when his hand drifted higherâ teasing the space between your breast and making your thighs pressed together automatically.
Dean went quiet for half a second, absorbing his quiet victory.
âThere it isâ He coosâ voice soft, low and gravely as he murmurs against your skin, his face burrowing into the crook of your neck. Your face burned even more, hating how smug he was inevitably about to get.
âShut upâ Your boyfriend just laughed quietly against your neck, the sound warm enough to make your stomach tighten.
âNahâ He murmured. âThink mâ finally startinâ to understand somethingâ
You groaned into the pillow once more. âIf you say one more smug thing, mâ leavingâ
âThat so?â His hand slid higher beneath your shirt, fingers spreading slowly over your breastâ squeezing it between his long fingersâ until your breath caught again. âThen whyâre you still here?â
You opened your mouth with a comeback already preparedâ something sharp, mean and satisfyingâ but it was forgotten the moment his teeth grazed the spot under your ear. The noise that escaped you was humiliatingly soft. Dean went still for exactly half a second before you felt him grin against your skin.
âOh, sweetheartâ He said, low and rough. âYou are not helpinâ your case hereâ
âDeanâ You warnedâ but it came out ridiculously weak compared to all the earlier words you had to throw at him..
There was no bite left in itâ you knew it and Dean definitely knew it.
His hand tightened on your waist, dragging you fully into his lap with ease. âWhereâd all that attitude go, huh?â He teased softly against your skin. âThought you were gonna keep yellinâ at meâ
âI can multitaskâ
That actually made him laugh. A real laugh this timeâ not the teasing chuckleâ a sudden, fond sound that wrecked any chance you had at staying irritated. (Whatever once of annoyance was left inside of you)
âCuteâ He mumbled, pressing soft, lingering kisses along your jaw.
âYouâre still annoyingâ
âMhmâ His lips brushed the sensitive spot caught between your jaw and neck, stubble scratching your skin. âBut now youâre whininâ about itâ
âAm notâ You retortedâ flushed and embarrassed by how easily he could always get you to shut up and melt into his arms. Dean only hummed, entirely too pleased with himself, before tilting your chin up just enough to make you look at him. God that was a mistake. Because Dean Winchester looking at you like thatâ lazy and heavy-lidded and smug underneath youâ was enough to make every coherent thought in your head disappear.
âThereâs my girlâ He said under his breath, proud like heâd won something.
You hated how your body brayed your stubbornnessâ reacting to his gravelly tone. One look, one touch, one stupid soft spoken sentence from Dean and suddenly all that sharp attitude melted into something embarrassingly soft. His thumb brushed slowly along your jaw, eyes fixed on your face like he was watching your walls break down, brick by brick.
âLook at youâŠâ He murmured quietly. âCan barely mouth off anymoreâ
âI can tooâ You argue weaklyâ was it childish? Totally. But you needed to grasp onto whatever ounce of dignity that remained inside of you.
âYeah?â His eyebrows lifted slightly in a quiet challenge. âThen do itâ The dare shouldâve been easyâ it usually wasâ youâd moth off at him all day, any day. Usually youâd have ten insults locked and ready before he even finished speaking. But his other hand slid down your back, gripping your ass hard enough into his lap to pull a breathy moan from your throat. A slow, proud grin spread across his face, leaning in close enough for his lips to brush yours when he spoke.
âThatâs what I thoughtâ Then he kissed youâ that slow, lazy movement of his mouth he always did after getting what he wantedâ working you up just by being his unbelievably asshole-ish self. Your hands instinctively pressed to his broad chest, hands tightening on the fabric there to anchor yourself to him.
Dean groaned quietly at the touch. âJesus Christâ He murmured against your lips. âYou get this needy from a little attention?â Heat surged straight through you, flooding at your core.
âShut upââ Repetitive much?
The words broke apart into a gasp when his free hand joined the other one on your ass, kneading the flesh there while dragging you more firmly against himâ making the hard bulge of him press into your core through the fabric of yâallâs pants. A broken, needy moan escapes your lipsâ shame gone the moment his cock strained through his jeans and into you. He actually smirked at that. As affected he was himself, he still needed to relish in your embarrassment a little more. âWhat?â Dean asked innocently, despite the way his hips thrusted up to meet yours. âThought you were still mad at meâ He batted his unfairly long eyelashes up at you.
âItâs complicatedâ You huff softly.
âBet it isâ He replies with faux sympathyâ his mouth moving down your throat slowly, deliberately slowly over the spot that always made you lean further into his touch. Your head tipped back before you could stop it. Dean (of course) noticed how your body followed his touch, his hips now shamelessly grinding up against you. A quiet chuckle brushed against your hair when you buried your face into his shoulder, clearly trying to hide even while still meeting his thrusts halfway. âOh câmonâ he teased softly. âNow youâre shy?â He asks, hands slowly pulling your shirt over your head.
âNoâ Defensive, sharpâ but weak.
âThat sounded real convincing, sweetheartâ He hums dismissively, turning his attention towards your newly exposed breasts, large hands cupping and kneading the flesh while peppering soft kisses over your collarbone. You made a noise somewhere between a groan and a complaint, which only seemed to amuse him more. (Even if you were struggling not to moan pornographically at his touch) âThereâs that attitude againââ Dean murmured approvingly, his breath brushing your neck. âMissed it for a hot secondâ
âYouâre so full of yourselfâ
âMhmâ One of his hands slid down to the small of your up your back before flipping you down into the bed below him. âYouâre about to be tooâ The proud little smirk on his face when saying thatâ he thought he was so slick.
The moment youâre under him, your whole face changesâ morphing from that barely restrained frustration into a doe eyed mess, already breathing heavy for him. God that fed right into his ego. His sharp, mouthy, hunter girlfriend all soft and pliable beneath him. Out there? In the real world, on the field? You stood your own. Here? Beneath closed doors? Dean could make whatever the Hell he wanted out of you. His inner dialogue is cut by the feeling of your gentle hands trailing under his shirt, pulling it upâ demanding without words. He huffs out a soft, quiet breath of amusement, sitting back on his heels before pulling the fabric over his head and tossing it somewhere onto the floor. âBetter?â He hums knowingly, hovering over you, forearms braced on the bed and mouth latching onto your bare chest.
You make a barely there sound of agreement as you nod, hand cupping the back of his head as his lips seal around your nipple, fingers threading through his dirty blonde hair while your back arches off the bed and into his warmth.
âBet youâre all nice and wet for me arenât you sweetheart?â He murmurs against your skin, green eyes flicking up to meet your dazed expression. Instead of answering (you were too gone for words) you simply lift your hips off the bed, grinding up into the hardness of his jeans. âTake that as a yesâ Dean hums to himself as he traces his hands down your sides, hooking his thumbs into the elastic of your sleeping pants (Youâd changed into them while raging at him from inside the bathroom) and slowly peeling them off your legs, leaving you completely bare under him. âSuch a smart girl all drippinâ for an asshole like me?â He continues talking to himself, smug admiration in his voice as he trails the kisses lower and lower until they reach the sensitive patch of skin under your navel.
âShut up nâ fuck meâ You protest, trying to sound firm despite the breathiness of your words.
âYes maâamâ Dean hums against your skin, placing one more kiss for good measure before pulling back. He sits back on his heels, rough hands working fast to unbuckle his belt and push his jeans offâ leaving him in his boxers, already stained with a patch of precome. Despite how cocky he was acting, he clearly had been getting affected himself. âSure youâre ready for me, baby?â You hear him talk, but youâre too distracted by the feeling of his fingers suddenly stretching you out. His fingers are bigâ like pretty much everything about himâ thick and impossibly deep inside your pussy. The movement is meant to check if youâre stretched out enough for his cock, but he also simply enjoys seeing how you squirm, pushing down into his fingers whenever he curls them just enough inside you.
It was supposed to be a quick checkâ a push of his fingers before pulling them out. Instead, he starts thrusting them into your pussy, deep, slow pushes that reach spots you could never touch by yourself. You try to protest, say something snappy about how heâs an asshole for teasing but all that comes out of your mouth is soft moans and pleas.
âI know, I know, sweetheart but you can take itâ He coos, voice low and gravelly with need of his own, even when fully focused on taking care of you. âWanna see you cum on my fingers first, then Iâll fuck you real good, âkay?â He says it with such softness that it almost makes you forget heâs currently pounding your walls, his fingertips relentlessly pressing into your g spot. Dean knows your body better than you doâ heâs spent countless hours focused both on the outside and insideâ he knows what buttons to press and how hard to press them to get you undone.
Just when you think it can get any more intense, his thumb joins into the movements, pressing sharp circles on your clit. A sharp cry of his name escapes your lips, hips arching up from the bedâ though youâre not sure if itâs trying to escape or follow the feeling. âMhmâ He hums, smug with dismissal as he keeps working you closer and closer to the edge. âThere she goes, come on sweetheart let go for meâ
Thatâs all it takes before youâre cumming all over his fingers, thighs clamping around his arm as embarrassingly loud moans escape your lipsâ completely opposite from the tough, mouthy girl from just an hour ago. His name falls on repeat from your lips, quiet and breathy.Fucking Dean Winchester and his ability to make you crumble.
giddy up đđđđđ đđđđđđ
when bucky asks to try something new, you expected bondage or maybe a headlock. what you didnât expect was bucky wanting you to take the lead. (it doesnât last long.)
bucky barnes has a reputation, even in your relationship. heâs always the one with a plan, always the one making decisions, always the steady hand guiding things. you joke that dating bucky is like dating a very affectionate drill sergeant. heâs bigger, stronger, older in every sense of the word, and youâve long accepted that letting bucky take charge is just part of loving him.
so when he shyly asks if the two of you can âtry something different,â your imagination immediately spirals. something adventurous. something complicated.
instead, buckyâs request catches you completely off guard. he wants you to take the lead. and out of the 8 months youâve been dating, heâs refused to let you be on top.
but because after decades of carrying everyone else, making impossible decisions, and feeling like he always has to be in control, heâs curious what it would feel like to let someone he trusts hold the reins for once.
the problem?
youâre terrible at being in charge.
bucky is six feet of muscle and old-fashioned manners who blushes when you compliment him too much. meanwhile, youâre overthinking every little thing because youâre terrified of doing something wrong. the first attempt is awkward. the second is interrupted when you accidentally burst out laughing because bucky, who once fought aliens, gets embarrassingly flustered when heâs the one being fussed over. he watches you carefully. he's trying really hard not to take over. he knows this is about trust. trusting you to lead. trusting himself to follow. he swallows hard when you laugh. he knows he's not good at this. he's not used to being led.
you take a deep breath, moving to straddle his hips. youâre both fully clothed, but decided maybe dry humping would open a few doors. his hands hover uncertainly at your sides. he's not sure where to put them. he's used to gripping your hips, your waist, your ass. but right now, he's trying to follow your lead. so his hands just hover there, fingers twitching with the urge to grab on.
"okay?" he asks quietly, voice rougher than usual, looking up at you with those too-blue eyes. he's letting you be in charge. and you can see how much effort it's taking him not to take over. not to guide your hips. not to set the pace. "you want me to grind on you?" you ask, testing the waters. "yes?" he says, like a question. because he's not used to you checking in like this. you're usually the one getting directed, getting told what feels good.
you start grinding slowly, testing the way it feels. your clit presses against his hard bulge through both sets of clothes. you bite your lip, watching bucky's face carefully. his eyes are glassy, his breath is shallow, but he's still not touching you. his jaw tightens. he's getting hard. he can feel you moving against him. he's not used to this. he's used to being the one moving. the one taking. he's used to pulling you against him. pushing you down on him. he's used to being in control.
you grind down harder, pressing your lips together to keep from moaning. bucky's face twitches, his nostrils flaring. his hands curl into fists at his sides, knuckles turning white. "fuck," he grits out, eyes squeezing shut. you lean forward, pressing your hands against his chest. you feel his heart pounding beneath your palms. you grind your hips harder, feeling his dick swell against you.
you suddenly stop moving. bucky's eyes fly open, his breath coming in harsh pants. he looks up at you, confused and desperate. "don't... don't stop," he pleads, voice breaking. his control is hanging by a thread. "please..." you freeze, a little bit confused by his uncharacteristic begging before bouncing back.
you suddenly start moving again, faster this time. bucky's eyes roll back slightly, a low groan escaping him. his hands twitch at his sides, like he's physically restraining himself from touching you. "fuck, fuck," he chants softly, hips lifting slightly to meet your movements. âtake, fuck- take it out,â you all but demand, pawing at his chest.
he looks at you with complete surprise, like he can't believe you're telling him what to do. then he realizes what you want and his brain short-circuits. he shoves his pants down, freeing his hard dick. no underwear today. you immediately grind down on his bare dick, feeling it slide against your underwear. bucky lets out a strangled sound, eyes locking onto yours. his hands hover uncertainly over your hips, squeezing the air like he wishes it was your flesh. "shit, shit, shit,"
you lean back, bracing your hands on his thighs behind you. you start rolling your hips, using his dick to rub your clit through your underwear. bucky's eyes are glued to the sight, mouth hanging open slightly. his hands are still hovering, like he's waiting for permission to touch you. âyou look so-" he stops himself. he's not supposed to be describing things. you're supposed to be in charge. you grab his hovering hands and slam them down on your hips. "touch me," you order, voice shaky but firm. his fingers immediately dig into your skin, like he's been holding back for years. "fuck,"
his hands move of their own accord now. one stays on your hip, pulling you down harder against his dick. the other moves to your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks apart so he can feel you better through your underwear. his hips start lifting to meet your movements. âmore,"
iâm you shakily reach down, tugging your panties to the side. his breath catches audibly. he watches you expose yourself to him. he sees your wet pussy, the way your folds are puffy and swollen. his mouth waters. his dick twitches against your opening. he wants to thrust up and fill you, but he waits.
you rub your wetness against his bare dick head, coating him with your arousal. bucky throws his head back and groans loudly. his hands tighten on your hips possessively. one hand slides down to grip your ass cheek firmly, pulling you apart again. "stop fucking teasing me,"
you slap his cheek, âwhoâs on top?â he pouts at the light but prominent contact. âyou are.â he says with a heavy breath. he swallows hard, hands moving back to your hips but not taking control. he's waiting for you to make the next move. his dick is throbbing between your spread legs, dripping with your wetness. "please... sit on it," he begs softly, breaking his own rules.
you feel a little jolt of power go through you. bucky barnes is begging. you've had him under you before, but never begged quite like this. never let you lead. never looked at you with such raw, needy desperation. you position yourself just right, his head brushing against your entrance. you look down at him, watching his face contort with want.
he's staring up at you, eyes wide and pleading. his mouth is open, breathing heavy. his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. "come on... sit down..." his hips twitch, trying to lift up and push inside you. "please," he begs again. you slowly lower yourself onto him. you're so wet that he slides in easily. but you're also tight, and he's thick. so it burns a little as he stretches you open. you bite your lip against the sensation, hands flying to his chest for support.
ohis face screws up in pleasure as you take him inside. he grips your hips tightly, fingers digging in as you sink lower and lower. when you finally bottom out, his dick buried deep inside you, he lets out a shaky breath. "oh fuck... fuck...â he resists the urge to thrust up into you, waiting for you to set the pace. his hands move to your ass, spreading your cheeks and squeezing as he holds you down on him, feeling you pulse around his dick. "move... fuck, move on me," he urges hoarsely.
you start moving, lifting up and down slowly. you watch his face as you do, seeing the way his eyes flutter closed and his mouth opens slightly. he's so handsome like this, desperate and out of breath. you lean forward, placing your hands on his chest and grinding down on him. his eyes roll back as you lean forward and grind down harder. he can feel your tits pressing against his chest, your hands squeezing him possessively. he loves this view - you towering over him, riding him like he's your own personal fuck toy. "yes...â he hisses.
you start bouncing on him, using his chest for leverage. he watches your tits bounce with each movement, the sight making his mouth water. he lifts his head, catching one nipple between his teeth and biting down gently. his hands slide up to your back, holding you in place as he sucks. you yelp at the sudden bite of pain, arching your back. your hands fly to his hair, gripping tightly as he sucks hard on your nipple. you keep bouncing on him, using the new angle to take him even deeper. he releases your nipple with a pop, only to start kissing and biting his way up to your neck.
his breathing is ragged against your throat now. his hips start moving up to meet yours, thrusting into you from below. he can't help himself anymore. his control snapped the second you bounced on him. âcan'tâ can't justâ" he gasps between thrusts, his mechanical arm wrapping around your waist to hold you down on him. he starts fucking you in earnest now, his real arm joining the mechanical one to hold you in place as he pounds into you from below. his face is buried in your neck, his open mouth sucking bruises into your skin.
your arms are wrapped around his neck, holding onto him tightly as he fucks you hard. you can feel every ridge and vein of his dick as he thrusts into you. you're so wet that it's dripping down onto his stomach. the sound of his hips hitting yours fills the room.
he suddenly stops moving, his dick buried deep inside you. he looks up at you with a determined expression, his arms still holding you tightly. "turn over," he demands suddenly, his voice hoarse and commanding. "i need to be on top now." his hips twitch inside you.
you whimper at the demand, immediately understanding his need to take control. you lift off his dick with a wet sound and quickly turn over onto your hands and knees. before you can adjust, he's gripping your hips and slamming back inside you from behind.
he starts pounding into you immediately, his hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. his mechanical hand reaches around to grip your throat, pulling you up so your back is against his chest. his other hand moves down to toy with your clit. "fuck, so tight," he grunts in your ear. you whimper and moan, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. you can feel his thick dick stretching you open with each thrust. his hand around your throat is squeezing just enough to make you see stars.
his thrusts become more erratic as he feels you squeezing around him. his mechanical hand tightens on your throat, cutting off your breath. his real hand works your clit faster, applying more pressure. he's fucking you so hard the headboard is hitting the wall with a thudding noise. he leans over you more, practically folding you in half as he fucks you from behind. his broad chest is plastered against your back, his heavy breathing ghosting over your shoulder. he's so big that he's practically swallowing you whole with each snap of his hips.
you feel his dick twitch, knowing his heavy load is on the way. his eyes roll back as he feels his orgasm building. his hand on your throat tightens even more, his fingers digging into your clit roughly. he buries his face in your neck, biting down as he starts to come. âfuckâ fuckâ iâm gonna fill you up,â
he slams into you one last time, his dick pulsing as he comes hard. you can feel his hot seed flooding your insides, coating your walls. his hips spasm against your ass as he empties himself completely. his mechanical arm wraps around your stomach, holding you in place as he keeps you full of his cum. âiâŠwhatâŠwhat happened to me being on top?â you breathe out, tapping at his bicep.
he huffs out a laugh, still buried deep inside you, still coming a little. his hand finally releases your throat, moving to gently rub where his fingers dug in. "you felt too good bouncing on my dick. had to take over, doll."
he slowly pulls out of you, his softening dick slipping out with a wet sound. a flood of his cum follows, spilling out of your well-used pussy and onto the bed below. he collapses next to you, pulling you into his side and throwing a heavy leg over your hips.
he kisses your forehead, his arm wrapping around you possessively. he's still breathing heavily, his mechanical heart rate slowly returning to normal. he can feel his cum leaking out of you and onto the bed, marking you as his. "next time, i'll let you stay on top longer," you huff a tired laugh. you donât believe him in the slightest.
Foaming at the mouth for big brothers Sam and Dean especially after Sam stars really getting involved in the dynamic đ
They love playing good cop / bad cop with Sammy being so sweet and Dean being so rough but sometimes they need to switch things up and itâs reversed and it fucks with her head so bad in the best way and they love watching her desperate little baby brain trying keep up with them both teasing her mercilessly about it
They're absolutely impossible to keep up with!! They can both turn on a dime depending on what they think will fuck with your head the most, and you swear they're telepathic the way that they're connected. Dean might be more gruff, a little more obsessed with teasing you and seeing his handprints all over you just for the fuck of it, but if you piss sam off you can kiss any chance of a pleasant evening good bye. It's normally a good bet that sam will baby you, taking everything slow and not wanting to fuck you up too fast, but he's also the more sadistic one. All dean's gonna do is slap you around a little and call you names that make you a little teary, but you can never predict what sam's going to do if you piss him off.
You can be completely at dean's mercy, bent over his knee with belt marks all over your ass, and most of the time sam will take pity on you, scoop you up under your arms and make dean play nice, but if he feels like you're trying to take advantage of his kindness to get out of a well-deserved punishment? He's taking that into his own hands. Suddenly, dean is being instructed to twist your nipples while sam crams a dry finger up your ass. If he feels like you're taking the new treatment okay, accepting that you deserve to be put back in your place, he'll gently take your ass to remind you how big he is, how understanding he is, and let dean cum down your throat. If you're still being fussy, acting out, you're getting tied to a chair and gagged to be reminded of who you're really fucking with. You know dean loves to watch you get manhandled, but even he has a pitying look on his face when sam pries your mouth open for a ring gag.
"Can't trust your big brothers know what's good for you, huh? You just had to keep acting like a little fucking brat?" Then sam would watch you, that calculating gaze making you feel totally iced out while you drooled on yourself. One time you tried sticking your tongue out to lick it up, try to save yourself from some embarrassment, but sam used one end of the nipple clamp on your tongue, forcing you to either keep your tongue out like a dog or painfully pull at your tit. Even though you could see dean's dick trying to press through his jeans, the look on his face told you how guilty he felt.
"You need to be put in your fucking place, baby," sam told you, squatting down to your eye level. "Gotta remember that it's our job to teach you what's right and wrong, and acting like a crybaby when you get what you deserve wrong."
Your eyes shot to dean, silently pleading with him to help you out of this.
"Jesus, sweetheart," dean scoffed. "Really goes in one ear and out the other with you. Can't even look sammy in the eye when he's telling you that you gotta learn to take it." He swung a chair around, sitting on it backwards close enough that you could feel his breath fanning across your face. "Seems like little sis is on her own tonight, huh? I know I don't feel like gettin' you out of this."
Your eyes darted to sam, and he shook his head at you.
"A little piece of advice? Decide whose side you're on before you're tied up."
âŸâ.Ë seeing through their bullshit: who's faster
ê. navigation đË get your compatibility reading ; support my work .á
âïž đđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 11 / 12
àčàŁ â you know somethingâs wrong, but your first instinct is to fight the problem, not sit there decoding his emotional hostage situation.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 10 / 12
àčàŁ â you notice when sam gets quieter, but youâre too impatient to wait for him to unpack it gently, so he just shuts the box harder.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 7 / 12
àčàŁ â you donât catch it immediately, but once you do, you become impossible to shakeâsteady, stubborn, and quietly present.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 6 / 12
àčàŁ â samâs calm act works on you for a minute, but the second his routine changes, you know something is rotting under the surface.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 9 / 12
àčàŁ â you catch the inconsistency in his jokes, but sometimes you play along too long because the banter is simply too good.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 5 / 12
àčàŁ â you hear the shift in his words fastâsam says âiâm fineâ too logically, and youâre already side-eyeing.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 2 / 12
àčàŁ â dean barely has to breathe wrong before youâre looking at him like, âwho hurt you?â which is his personal nightmare.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 3 / 12
àčàŁ â you feel the heaviness in him before he says a word, and sam hates how gently you notice what heâs trying to bury.
âïž đđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 8 / 12
àčàŁ â you recognize pride because you have your own, but deanâs performance can still distract you when he makes it charming enough.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 11 / 12
àčàŁ â you can tell when sam is off, but you might mistake his silence for distance instead of pain, and that gives him room to hide.
âïž đđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 3 / 12
àčàŁ â you notice everythingâthe fake laugh, the extra drink, the shoulder heâs favoring, the way his eyes donât match his mouth.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 1 / 12
àčàŁ â sam cannot hide from you. you read the pattern, the posture, the research spiral, the over-politeness. embarrassing for him.
âïž đđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 6 / 12
àčàŁ â you can read the room well enough to know when deanâs charm is doing overtime, but you wait for the right moment to press.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 8 / 12
àčàŁ â you sense the tension, but samâs composed sadness is harder for you to confront because he makes it look so reasonable.
âïž đđđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 1 / 12
àčàŁ â you see straight through the smirk, the jokes, the swagger, the âiâm good.â dean hates it. dean needs it. dean will deny both.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 2 / 12
àčàŁ â sam can hide from most people, but not from youâyou smell the guilt, the fear, the self-punishment before he even names it.
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 10 / 12
àčàŁ â you want to believe the joke because it keeps things lighter, and dean uses that opening like the emotionally evasive criminal he is.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 12 / 12
àčàŁ â you assume sam will talk when heâs ready, which is sweet, but unfortunately this man would rather research folklore until his feelings fossilize.
âïž đđđđđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 5 / 12
àčàŁ â you know the look of someone functioning through pain, because you do it too, so deanâs âiâm fineâ lands suspiciously familiar.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 4 / 12
àčàŁ â you understand his control too well. the tighter sam gets, the more obvious it becomes that something inside him is cracking.
âïž đđđđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 12 / 12
àčàŁ â you understand detachment, but thatâs the problemâyou might respect his space so hard that he disappears into it.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 7 / 12
àčàŁ â you can read the mental spiral, but emotions make you both act like two haunted laptops trying to connect to bluetooth.
âïž đđđđđđ
đ°đąđđĄ đđđđ§ â 4 / 12
àčàŁ â you donât need proof. you feel the sadness under the sarcasm, and dean immediately regrets having a soul around you.
đ°đąđđĄ đŹđđŠ â 9 / 12
àčàŁ â you sense heâs hurting, but samâs pain is so quiet and controlled that you sometimes soften around it instead of calling it out.
younger sam winchester who is so so afraid of hurting you or laying a finger on you in a wrong way. he's always asking "is this okay?", "are you sure you want this?" before he moves his hand near your skin. his touch is always so gentle and featherlight and shaky, it makes you shiver.
he feels guilty for even thinking about you undressed, laying so pretty under him. he feels guilty for thinking about you when his hand is moving up and down his cock when he's alone and he feels like a real asshole when he closes his eyes and imagines it's your lips wrapping around him instead of his hand. he can behave like a prude sometimes.
older sam winchester who fucks you like his life depends on it. actually fucks you till your eyes roll at the back of your skull and your vision turns white. he likes caging you under him, holding you down and slamming himself into you so deep, you can feel him in your stomach.
he likes the sounds you make, or try to make. the moaned out "fuck, sam" and whatever gibberish your fucked out head manages to pronounce. he likes the way his hands look around your neck, or on your tits, and the way your hands look trying to desperately claw on his chest or the sheets beneath you.
older sam winchester has a filthy mouth. mainly because he knows how crazy it makes you. how fast heat pools between your legs the second "be a good girl and take it" leaves his pretty lips. and when he feels you tightening around him, this thumb immediately moves to your clit, his head leaning down to mouth and bite down on your neck, enough to make you shake.
with him, it feels like sam knows your body more than you do.
a/n don't come for me for the size of this now... it's finals week :(
ROADHEAD ââââă
mdni .á drunk!reader, head while driving, oral (m), gagging, spit kink, teasing / mocking...
halloween 2006,
dean winchester was driving you to and from your little halloween party and god were you a sight for sore eyes in the tiniest excuse of an angel costume. not even a minute down the road and already pawing at his jeans and tugging at his belt.
you're the tiniest bit tipsy with your hair all ruffled and roused, of course you'd lost your make shift halo in the chaos of loud music and drinks. dean can't help but let his lips quirk up in a mean smirk, and of course he had to mock your current state, with one hand on the wheel cruising through endless dark back roads of quiet suburbia, watching you finally unzip his pants down the bulge of his already hard cock.
"baby, what the fuck happened at that partyâ you end up in the mosh pit ?", he quips low and musing, his smirk only growing when you reply with a little pouty scoff, blinking up at him all pretty as you leaned across the car, your head practically in his lap with little hands rubbing over his clothed length.
"don't be meanâ"
"whatâ? it was a question," he lets out a deep huff of a laugh, almost cooing.
"lost your cute halo 'n everythin' angel."
then he sees you hesitate, you give a little frown about yo sit up and dean was not having it.
"okay, okayâ i'm sorry baby I was being mean."
god the way you pout all sad, lips jutted out with your little frown and that tipsy, half there look behind your eyes had heat pooling low in the pit of his stomach. don't even get him started on how your tits spilled out so pretty from the top of the little dress that had the tiniest sway of your hips showing of the round plush of your ass.
dean could feel his cock twitch beneath his jeans, as you give a lazy drunk smile, so pretty, always wanting to please.
you tug out his cock, the thick length flush in your hands and you're practically drooling as you lean down again, giving him a good view of down your top. half his focus is on the empty road, one hand gripping hard on the wheel as he let out a deep shaky sigh as you eye up the pretty twitchy cock, faint veins leading up to his flushed pink tip already dribbling with pale precum.
"you sure about this babe ?"
like he would ever refuse head.
"eyes on the road deanâ"
you lick your lips before sinking down, slurping messily at the thick tip, you don't even hesitate before taking the tip of him into your mouth. the initial taste of faint, saltiness lays heavy on your tongue. he draws a sharp breath, his hand grips tight on the wheel and the other snakes up into your hair, not pushing or pulling just present, fingers curling through the strands.
you close your lips around him, drooling over him with your tongue, all sloppy and slow, just how he likes it, working slowly at first, getting used to his size. after a long second, you take more of him in your mouth, feeling the thick of his length at the back of your throat, prodding as you sink your head lower, squeezing your eyes shut as they prick with tears at the effort.
you hear him hiss out, adjusting his hips beneath you and let out a half nervous laugh.
"fuckin' killing me babyâ"
you reply with a muffled slurp. you were sloppier tonight, probably because of the drinks you had earlier, whatever it was dean liked it.
ignoring the slight burn, you push past the initial resistance, taking more of his thick inches, enough that your nose pressed against the rough of the denim of his jeans. the sensation is intense, borderline uncomfortable making you gag slightly on reflex before you swallow hard and push through it.
you want all of him. you slide down his full length, the smooth head bumping against the back of your throat. your eyes gloss over prettily from the pressure, but you hold him there, letting the sheer size of him fill your mouth heavy and twitchy, his cock demanding attention.
a low groan escapes deans throat, muffled but undeniable. his fingers tighten, gripping into your hair, pushing down just slightly, enough to anchor himself.
"jesus," he weakly groans, his head tipping back against the rest of the seat, eyes half lidded as he keeps half his focus on the road and not how you're choking on his cock like you re trying to swallow him whole.
you begin to move, slow and deliberate sliding up and down his shaft as you drooled and dribbled down his length. it doesn't last long, not when he tastes so good, not when he feels so heavy in you're mouth, not when you're distracting him just right.
you pull up, enough to glance up at him and dean knows whats coming, that cheeky glint in your eye that tells him everything he needs to know. that's all it takes for him to swerve to a halt on the side of the road.
"you're fucking psychoâ", he laughs deep squeezing the back of your neck, then carries on half serious.
"could've got us in trouble babyâ what if iâ"
"but you didn't â", is all you reply before licking over your lips and sinking back down.
"fuckâ"
he hisses pressing youre head down and you feel your eyes roll back and heat pool between your legs, making you squeeze your thighs together. your head bobs up and down now, pace borderling frantic. it's a deep, wet pressure, the friction slick and intimate and disgustingly messy.
dean focused on puling over his chevy impala. you focused on the sensation, the taste, the desperate want, how your nails dug into the fabric covering his thighs and how tense they were. the faint sound of the radio and the night were utterly and completely irrelevant compared to the sound of deans ragged breathing and the wet noises and moans your mouth made around his cock.
another slurp and a squeeze and a lazy kiss to his stomach had him tensed and on edge, so, so, so close you could feel it.
dean groans out your name, fisting at the soft of your hair as his hips lift of the seat just slightly as if to urge you on or hold himself back from fucking your throat. all of a sudden he cums hard and deep, you feel him hot down your throat and you swallow without thinking, without even gagging. you pull your head back, tongue dragging the under side of his now limp cock before slurping slightly at its head.
he watches you in awe, like youre an actual angel, panting as he pulls himself back together.
summary ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ years after dean walks away, a chance reunion in a park turns into a very casual, definitely-not-a-date dinner where monster goo, too much cologne, old feelings, and second chances all end up sharing the table.
pairing ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ 2243 genre ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ giggling
warnings ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ mutual pining, unresolved feelings, references to past relationship and heartbreak, awkward flirting, dean being hopelessly down bad, monster gore mentions, nostalgia, slow-burn energy
notes ËËđąÖŽà» ÖŽâà» tagging @bitchinwallaby @kissesfrommercuryyy because yall asked for a part 2 and here i am providing đ ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ read part 1 ËËđąÖŽà»ÖŽ consider supporting my work .á
dean doesnât ask you on a date.
that would require calling it a date, which would require admitting that he spent the better part of an hour sitting beside you on a park bench while your daughter built structurally questionable sandcastles and slowly remembered exactly how easy it is to make you laugh. it would require acknowledging the fact that he kept finding reasons not to stand up. another question. another story. one more minute watching you peel the wrapper from a granola bar because your kid insisted she could do it herself until she very suddenly and passionately could not.
so, no. dean does not ask you on a date.
he scratches the back of his neck as your daughter races toward the slide, sand still clinging to the knees of her leggings, and says, âyou eaten yet?â
you look at him over the rim of your coffee cup. âitâs four-thirty.â
âyeah, wellâiâm planning ahead.â
âplanning ahead,â you repeat, with the same amount of belief you gave his big park guy routine.
dean narrows his eyes. âsome people appreciate organization.â
âyou used to pack one shirt for a three-week hunt.â
âit was a good shirt.â
âiâm pretty sure it had holes in it.â
âventilation.â
the smile happens before you can stop it. his follows a second later, quieter and a little crooked around the edges, and there it is againâthat strange pull low in your chest, too familiar to dismiss and too old to feel this new.
he glances toward your daughter, then back at you. âthereâs a place a few blocks over. decent burgers. actual tablecloths. no laminated menus stuck together with syrup.â
âhigh standards.â
âiâm classy now.â
âyou have mustard on your jacket.â
dean looks down immediately. you laugh when he realizes thereâs nothing there, and he gives you a deeply unimpressed look that would probably work better if his mouth wasnât twitching.
âyouâre still mean,â he says.
âyou liked me mean.â
his eyes catch yours just for a second. long enough to remind you that this hasnât always been teasing on park benches and careful questions about where you live now. long enough to remember motel mattresses, his hand around your wrist as he tugged you back beneath the sheets, his sleepy voice against your shoulder telling you to stay another five minutes when both of you knew there was nowhere else you wanted to be.
dean clears his throat. âyeah,â he says, quieter. âi did.â
your daughter shrieks happily from the slide. the moment breaks before either of you has to do anything dangerous with it.
âmy mom can take her tonight,â you say, trying for casual and getting close enough. âif you still want to⊠catch up.â
âcatch up,â dean agrees quickly. âyeah. exactly. two old friends. food. normal amount of catching up.â
âwhat would be an abnormal amount?â
âguess weâll find out.â
you agree to meet dean at the restaurant at seven-thirty. he checks his watch afterward and realizes he has just under three hours to help sam kill whatever has been dragging people into the storm drains beneath the town, shower, find a clean shirt, and pretend he hasnât spent the last decade occasionally thinking about what your laugh sounds like when youâre trying not to let him know heâs funny.
it should be manageable. it isnât. the creature takes two iron rounds, a machete, one extremely undignified wrestling match in approximately three inches of sewer water, and a final shot from sam before it stops moving. even then, it manages to rupture something wet and foul-smelling all over deanâs chest on the way down.
dean stands there in the dark tunnel, breathing hard, covered from his hairline to his boots in a greyish slime with the texture of half-set gelatin.
sam lowers the shotgun slowly. âyou okay?â
dean looks at him.
sam presses his lips together. he makes it almost three seconds before laughing.
âshut up.â
âyou smell terrible.â
âyeah, no kidding, sam.â
dean checks his watch and swears. loudly. with feeling.
the motel shower has the water pressure of an elderly garden hose, but he stays beneath it until his skin turns pink and the water finally stops running an alarming shade of brown. he shampoos his hair twice. then a third time because he catches a faint whiff of sewer monster when he leans closer to the mirror and refuses to risk it.
his cleanest shirt is only slightly wrinkled. his jeans are fine. his boots have survived worse. he stares at his reflection, rubs a hand over his jaw, then reaches for the bottle of aftershave beside the sink.
not enough.
dean opens samâs toiletry bag.
âtouch my stuff and die,â sam calls from the other side of the bathroom door.
âwhy do you have three different bottles in here?â
âbecause i know how hygiene works.â
âthis one says eau de toilette.â
âput it down.â
âwhat the hell does that even mean?â
âit means you donât need half a bottle of it.â
dean uses some anyway. then a little more aftershave. then, on the drive across town, he stops at a gas station and sprays himself once with the tester bottle of cologne locked inside a dusty plastic display beside the register, because dignity is a flexible concept and heâs already running twelve minutes late.
by the time he reaches the restaurant, he smells less like a dead monster and more like an airport duty-free shop. youâre already waiting near the entrance.
for one stupid second, dean forgets every excuse he rehearsed in the car.
youâre not dressed for anything fancy. neither is he. but your hair is loose around your shoulders, and thereâs a softness to your mouth when you spot him weaving between the tables that makes his palms damp in a way heâd prefer not to examine too closely. you smile. dean smiles back before he remembers heâs supposed to be annoyed with himself for being late.
âsorry,â he says as he reaches the table. âcase ran long.â
your eyes drag over him, taking in the damp hair, the faint nick beside his temple, the clean shirt he has clearly pulled from the bottom of a duffel bag.
then your nose wrinkles. âdid you bathe in cologne?â
dean slides into the chair opposite you. âno.â
you raise a very questionable brow at him.
âthere was an incident.â
âan incident.â
âmonster goo.â
you bite the inside of your cheek. it does nothing. your shoulders start shaking anyway.
âglad my sufferingâs funny to you.â
âiâm sorry,â you say, entirely insincere. âiâm trying to be sympathetic. itâs justââ
âi smelled worse before.â
that does it. you laugh into your hand, warm and helpless, and dean stares at you with the beginning of a grin he canât quite suppress.
âmuch worse,â he adds, because apparently heâs willing to humiliate himself for the sound of it now.
âi believe you.â you reach across the table without thinking and brush your thumb lightly over the scrape at his temple. the touch lasts barely a second before you pull your hand back. âyou okay?â
dean goes still. you used to ask him that after every hunt, usually while patching him up in some motel bathroom with your knees pressed against his and your medical kit spread across the sink. he used to lie. you always knew when he did. sometimes youâd let him anyway. âyeah,â he says. ânothing serious.â
your eyes stay on his face for another moment. âwhat was it?â
âugly bastard living beneath the storm drains. samâs digging through the lore. had these teethââ dean holds two fingers apart, warming immediately to the story. âseriously, they were huge. and it moved fast. faster than it had any right to move, considering it looked like a melted halloween decoration.â
you listen as he talks, interrupting with questions in the right places, your expression shifting with easy familiarity when he mentions sam nearly losing his footing in the tunnel. by the time the waitress arrives, dean has stopped feeling quite so aware of his own hands. by the time your burgers come, heâs made you laugh twice more and learned that you still steal fries from other peopleâs his plate without asking.
âyou have your own,â he says as your fingers retreat from his side of the table.
âyours looked better.â
âtheyâre the same fries.â
he pushes his plate slightly closer to the middle anyway.
it should feel stranger than it does. there are years sitting between you, too many of them, full of things neither of you knows how to ask without making the evening heavier than itâs allowed to become. but some habits survive untouched. dean still eats the pickle from your burger because you slide it onto the edge of his plate without asking. you still nudge your knee against his when you laugh too hard. neither of you acknowledges the contact. neither of you moves away.
eventually, he asks about you. not in the easy, polite way people do when they are waiting for their turn to speak. dean wants details. where you work. whether you still hate mornings. how long you have lived in town. whether your mom is nearby. what your daughterâs favorite cartoon is and why she apparently considers apple juice a matter of national importance.
you tell him more than you mean to. about preschool drop-offs and your job and the apartment with the unreliable kitchen faucet your landlord keeps promising to fix. about the way your daughter insists on wearing mismatched socks because matching ones are âtoo seriousâ. about your mother taking her tonight and giving you a look so unsubtle it should legally qualify as harassment.
dean laughs at that. âshe still hates me?â
âshe never hated you.â
âshe threatened me with a carving knife.â
âshe threatened everyone with a carving knife. it was her favorite knife.â
âcomforting.â
âshe asked whether you were still handsome.â
dean pauses halfway through reaching for his beer. âwhatâd you say?â
you pick up a fry, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking embarrassed. âi told her age had been very cruel to you.â
âwow.â
âtragic, really.â
âand yet here you are.â
âfree burger.â
âright.â
his smile lingers afterward. yours does too.
the plates empty. the restaurant grows quieter around you. someone begins stacking chairs upside down on the tables near the window, and you realize with a start that youâve been sitting there for almost three hours. dean glances toward the closing staff with visible betrayal, as though theyâre personally responsible for the fact that the night has to end.
he pays before you can argue properly, but you argue anyway. he ignores you with the smug ease of someone who has always enjoyed irritating you in very specific, carefully cultivated ways.
outside, the air has cooled. your car is parked beneath a streetlamp at the edge of the lot, but neither of you moves toward it immediately. dean stands in front of you with his hands tucked into his jacket pockets, rocking back slightly on his heels. for a man who has faced demons without blinking, he looks strangely uncertain now.
âso,â you say.
âso.â
âthis was nice.â
âyeah.â dean looks down, then back at you. âyeah, it was.â
the silence isnât uncomfortable. it would be easier if he gave you a grin and some teasing line, something familiar enough to hide behind. instead, he watches you with an openness that feels almost accidental, as though the part of him that usually shuts every door has forgotten where the locks are.
âwhat time do you work tomorrow?â he asks.
you blink. âeight-thirty.â
âi could drive you.â
your eyebrows lift. âdeanââ
âor we could get coffee,â he says, too quickly. âbefore. after. lunch, maybe. doesnât have to beââ he exhales through his nose, frustrated with his own mouth. âanything. i just thought i could see you again.â
the honesty of it settles between you. slightly awkward. too specific. very dean, even if he looks as though he wishes he could grab the words and shove them back inside his chest.
you should make him work harder for it. maybe you will, eventually. he left once. you remember that too. the motel room door closing. the impala disappearing from the parking lot. the horrible, childish part of you that waited for the sound of the engine returning even after you knew it wouldnât.
but heâs here now. smelling faintly of too much cologne and looking at you with that small, nervous smile he probably doesnât realize heâs wearing.
âcoffee,â you say. âbefore work.â
deanâs shoulders loosen. only slightly. âyeah?â
âyeah.â
âiâll pick you up.â
âseven-thirty.â
âon the dot.â
you laugh softly, pulling your phone from your bag. âyouâre a little out of practice.â
âbeen busy.â
âwith sewer monsters?â
âamongst other things.â
you exchange numbers even though some stubborn, embarrassing part of you still remembers his by heart. dean sends himself a message from your phone, then hands it back carefully, his fingers grazing yours.
âiâll see you tomorrow,â he says.
you nod. âtomorrow.â
he takes one step backward. then another. he looks reluctant to turn away, and it makes your chest ache in a place you thought had learned better.
âdean?â
âyeah?â
âyouâll show, right?â
his expression shifts. the teasing leaves first. what remains is quieter, stripped of every easy escape he has relied on since the moment he saw you wearing your grandmotherâs ring.
âi wouldnât miss it.â
ê. all works ; writing guidelines ; writing schedule.
You reflect on how Bucky has changed you for the good.
I'm very behind on these, I'm suffering from some serious task paralysis at the moment and basically couldn't move forward with this one holding me back. Hopefully getting this one done is turning a corner! Could be read alone, could be part of the kind of semi-linked June scribbles for Bucky.
Warnings: none
Words: 293
June Jukebox Masterlist | Bucky Masterlist
The party was louder than you needed it to be tonight.
You'd slipped out without anyone noticing. The sound of Sam losing badly at cards filtered through the apartment door and into the cool, dark hallway.
It was more peaceful out there. That was the problem.
You knew this feeling. Youâd worn it like a second skin for most of your life - this particular quiet, this particular alone.
The Red Room had given you just as many things as it had taken, and one of them was a very high tolerance for your own company and a very low tolerance for needing anyone.
Natasha had called it armour once. She was, as with most things, probably right.
You could get addicted to a certain kind of sadness. In a lot of ways, it was comfortable - it asked nothing of you. You knew exactly how it would feel tomorrow and the day after.
But shit, it was lonely.
Happiness, on the other hand, had too many variables.
Happiness was terrifying.
How was it possible that after so many years, you now felt so happy you could die?
That shouldn't be a thing.
You heard him before you saw him, holding the handle so that it didn't spring back, opening the door just enough that he could peer out.
He didn't ask if you were OK. Instead, he let the door click quietly closed and leaned against the wall beside you, close enough that his right arm pressed against yours, heat radiating from him.
"Cards is getting ugly in there," he said.
"I heard."
His kind of quiet was different to yours - it never felt empty, and it never made you feel isolated.
more ruminating on the positive influence of Bucky. direct continuation of day 9.
warnings: none
words: 235
June Jukebox Masterlist | Bucky Barnes Masterlist
Back in the room, with the clouds shaken off you once again, Bucky had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows - demonstrating the severity of his situation.
From across the room, you watched him laugh. His head tipped back, a real belly laugh that carried over the sound of Samâs protests at the selection of cards in his hand.
You still werenât quite used to him being so openly happy.
You still werenât used to being so happy yourself.
Youâd left a lot to get here. Looking at him now, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes and the sliver of tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth, you couldnât remember most of it.
Once upon a time, you would have known every exit, every window, who was closest to the door, the quickest way out, the easiest direction to travel inâŠ
Tonight, watching Bucky had brought you something you'd always dreamed of - peace.
If you allowed yourself to think about it, every night's another reason why you left it all. Every night, every day, he gave you reason after reason.
As if he felt the weight of your gaze, he looked up.
The laugh softened into something else entirely. Something that was just for you.
Every night's another reason. Every morning too, if you were honest.
You'd left it all, and somehow ended up exactly where you were supposed to be.
Pairing: formerly Sam Winchester x fem!reader, eventually Dean Winchester x Fem!reader
Summary: you come to a new realization.Â
An: I would like to say before you read this, I tolerate no Sam hate. None. But Iâve been holding out on Dean and I thinks itâs time to give husband #2 the stage. Iâve thought about doing this for so long but I never wanted to be messy. But yk what letâs get messy fuck it! This part is short, next part will be longer and possibly smutty. Because I just know later seasons Dean⊠all Iâll say is âbest night of my lifeâ Dean Winchester in his early twenties. Imagine him in his thirties.
WC: 678 - Sam Masterlist - Dean Masterlist
It was late in the afternoon, Dean was out, Sam was out and you were drowning in tequila.
At this point you weren't sure if the burning in your throat was from the alcohol, or your constant need to cry.
You took another swig, straight from the bottle wiping your teary cheeks roughly when suddenly the door opened, and in walked the biggest reason for your sorrows.
Sam Winchester.
You barley spared him a glance, nor did you try to hide the tears rolling down your face. He dropped whatever was in his hands and rushed towards you, worry completely covered his face as he said your name "are you okay"
You stared forward, refusing to look at him, you took another sip. "Go. Away." You muttered.
Sam's eyebrows pinched "wha-" he looked at the bottle clutched tightly in your hand "you're drunk" he said before attempting to take the bottle.
"I will shoot you" you warn with malice in your tone. Sam was clearly taken aback, having never been at the receiving end of that tone. "Go Sam, leave" you tell him again.
He swallows, shaking his head "I can't just leave you like-" "why not?" You cut him off, your red, teary eyes finally moving to look at him.
He blinked rapidly, trying to understand where it all was coming from. "Why can't you leave Sam? It's that you always do when I need you" you stand up, still sober enough to keep your balance and move away from him.
His face drops. He says your name quietly but you don't let him. You shake your head "no. No you don't get to come back and win my heart again. You don't deserve it." You hissed, angry tears rolling down your face, the bottle still clutched so tightly you were shaking. "You left me Sam. Again. And I-" your voice broke, you licked your lips "i won't let you break my heart again."
Your chin shook "after college, after ruby, after everything that you've done I have loved you like a damn idiot. When Dean was in purgatory, you told me- that you needed space. I gave you that, but after a while I started calling. Every day for months Sam. Because when Dean dies I don't just mourn him, I mourn you too." You turn away from him, not being able to stomach the guilt ridden look on his face.
"And then he comes back and I find out that you- you were fine. You were happy, with some girl and her stupid fucking dog!" You shout the last part.
You down the rest of the bottle, throwing it to the side. It lands with a thud but you pay it zero mind.
Your jaw clenches "we've fought the end of the world together. Twice. I don't know how deep that kind of bond goes for you. But now I think⊠I think I chose the wrong one. Dean wouldn't do that to me."
Sam sucks in a breath "your trying to be hurtful" he says. You turn towards him, a deadly look in your eyes "is it working? Maybe then you'll feel a fraction of what you made me feel."
Sam's jaw clenched, your glare never wavered. Suddenly the doors opened, and in walked Dean himself. He paused, the tension in the room was so sharp it could lice him in two.
He saw the broken and twisted look on your face, the guilty and solemn look on Sam's. He realized that it had finally happened. You finally snapped.
He realized, thy maybe, as sick as it was. Maybe it was his turn to show you, to show Sam what you really deserve.
Because he may be a broken man, but he promised himself at the mere age of twenty, that if there was even the slightest chance, that he could finally have you, he wouldn't mess it up. Especially not like his brother has.
His eyes connected with your red rimmed ones. That was it, that was his confirmation.
dean winchester and his girl best friend, who are way too comfortable with each other (og post!)
Theyâve always been that way â too touchy with each other and not enough with anyone else. Sammyâs seen the brunt of it for the most part.
The late night talks on the sidewalk outside of their motel room, where she leans on Deans shoulder, and nudges his work boots with her sneakers until he picks her legs up and throws them over his lap.
On long drives, where she desperately wants to get the hell out of the car but wonât say it, so instead sheâll bend forward and wrap her arms around Deans shoulders. Dean will pull into the next gas station he sees, and help her crack her sore back. Sheâll wrap her arms close to her chest, and Dean will lift her off the ground and to his front. Afterwards, she lets out a big sigh of relief and Dean will pat her lower back â well, he used to.
When Sam was sucked into the cage, it was only the two of them. Somewhere in that time, they lost a lot of care for what âbest friendsâ are and arenât supposed to do. Her and Dean donât seem to notice the difference, but Sam does, once his soul is back.
Their first ânormalâ hunt, all three of them back together, she wraps around Dean four hours into the drive.
âAll good, pretty?â Dean turns his head a little, just to nudge hers which sits on his shoulder, but still watches the road. She nods, and holds him tighter.
Sammyâs used to that â itâs kind of refreshing, actually. To see something thatâs so normal in their everyday life, compared to everything thatâs been happening. Yâknow, like, angels and the devil and not having a soul.
Dean still pulls over, twenty minutes later. She leaves the back seat immediately, stretching her arms over her head and raising up on her tippy toes. Sam watches the pair unconsciously as he leans over the other side of the car.
Dean pats her arm, shoves it a little, so sheâll turn around. He lifts her off the ground effortlessly, and her head falls back on his shoulder in relief.
âBetter?â He asks, while she turns back around with a grin.
âYeah.â She nods. âThanks, De.â
âAh,â He grins right back, tilting his head. âAlways, pretty.â
Then, she turns once more, to open the back door and hop in, and Dean pats her on the ass. Twice.
âAlright, letâs get this show back on the road.â He jumps back in the drivers seat, leaving Sam frozen, and quite honestly, disturbed, outside of the car. ThatâŠthat was not refreshing.
Neither was the time Dean went to go get food when Sam was supposed to. Itâd been mutually agreed that they switch back and forth every time they get take out, but the last time theyâd been near their current place of stay, Deans girl had a wonderful milkshake at this diner that was pretty far. He wanted to get her one, but obviously, he canât just say that, and Sam wonât go to a random diner ten more minutes away than the others in town just âcauseâ, so Dean opts to take another turn grabbing dinner.
The problem here, though, is that that decision was made while she was in the shower.
Twenty minutes later, she bursts through the bathroom door in nothing but underwear and a covering her chest.
âDe, whereâs my pajamas- oh, my God, Sam!â As quickly as she entered the room, sheâs back in the bathroom. âIâm so sorry, I thought you were Dean!â
Sam, with heat crawling up his chest, and ears burning red, is so sick of them.
âWhat difference would that have made!â His head flips in the opposite direction of the bathroom, even with the door closed again. âYou just walk around naked when iâm not here?â
âWell-itâs Dean, it doesnât matter!â
Samâs so done. Thereâs no point in continuing to argue about it with either of them, because it gets nobody anywhere. They still continue acting all lovey dovey and clueless, and everyone gets more irritated.
Somehow, neither of them understand why people think theyâre a couple so often â the motel clerks when they get a room with one bed, random old ladies in stores watching them swing their conjoined hands and giggle, bartenders and waitresses passing every tab Deans way, the list is endless. Hell, their first time at the Roadhouse, that crew thinks so too.
âSo, uh,â Jo starts, from next to her mother. The brothers were conversing with Ash, and left her back with the two woman over on the other side of the bar (she didnât feel like getting up, and dean didnât have the heart to make her). It was a nice change of pace, really, to not be surrounded by so much suffocating testosterone, even if they had just been holding her and the two people she is the closest with at gunpoint. âWhenâd you meet those two?â
âCouldnât tell you,â She shrugged, taking a gulp of her water. âWhen Sam was okay with being called Sammy.â
âHuh,â Ellen scoffs. âWell how âbout that.â
âWhenâd you get with the little one?â Jo interrupts her motherâs reminiscing, leaning over the counter.
âUh,â She laughs a little, confused. âDean? What do you mean?â
âYâknow, like whenâd start being more than just real good friends?â
âWell, I mean heâs always been my best friend, if thatâs what you mean.â She shrugs, and a little smile makes it way onto her face. âGuess if I had to find a point itâd be when we were all playing with Bobbyâs dog, and I fell and scraped my knee in sixth grade. He cleaned it up and stole me some Cracker Jack and then we listened to Led Zeppelin.â
The three sit in silence for a minute, her, staring over at Dean at the other side of the bar with a wide grin, and the mother and daughter sharing a look of disbelief.
ââŠso youâre saying you arenât dating that guy?â Jo tries one last time, pointing over in Deans direction.
âMe and Dean? No,â She shakes her head, and laughs it off. âA lot of people think that, though. I donât get why.â
The other two woman share another brief glance at one another, before the Winchesters and Ash come barreling over. Sam sits on the stool to her left, and Dean stands close enough to her right that she can lean against his chest.
âAnything good?â She asks, peering up at him from next to his heartbeat.
âOh, yeah, pretty,â He grins right back, wrapping an arm around her. âAshâs checking some stuff out, thinks he can track the demon down.â
âOh, great!â
âSammy said Ellenâs found us a case while we wait. Somethinâ with clowns.â He wiggles his eyebrows, and they both turn to âoooohhhhâ in Samâs direction.
âOh, just-shuddup!â He grumbles, stomping outside to the busted van. She shoves her face in Deans chest as they cackle at Samâs expense, before eventually crawling down from her seat.
âIâm gonna use the bathroom before we get outta here. Meet you in the car, yeah?â She does a quick stretch, backing up towards the bathroom a little, only for Dean to palm her waist and pull her right back against him.
âAlright.â Dean plants a kiss to her forehead, and gives her waist a gentle squeeze before backing off. âHurry!â He shouts on his way out the door.
Ellen and Jo watch the pair go their separate ways from behind the bar. Ellen grabs a beer, and sighs.
âHow long you think thatâs gonna last like that?â She grumbles with plenty snark.
âWho knows how long theyâve been like that already! Oh, poor SamâŠâ Jo shakes her head.
Masterlists | Pinned Post | Schedule | Taglist Form | Author Recs
Dean knew he was in the dog house. He knew he fucked up when he tried cozying up to you this morning and you shook him off your shoulder, getting up without a word.
The morning continued like that, silent contempt brewing thick in your veins. He kept obsessing over what he might have done wrong. Did he forget something? A birthday? An anniversary? What?!
He finally stopped his mind from going wild, giving in and just focussing on fixing rather than thinking.
He sauntered up behind you, hands finding your waist, smoothing up and down your sides before you could pull away.
"Dean" You warned, tone harsh but starting to soften around the edges.
"Hm, Sweetheart?" He murmured, leaning in closer, his chest pressed up against your back.
"Dean stop"
"Aw c'mon baby" He hummed, face buried in the crook of your neck.
"Don't-"
You felt his lips brush along your pulse point, cutting you off immediately. He mouthed at your neck, leaving wet kisses over your skin, teeth grazing deliciously along your veins.
"D-Dean" Your voice faltered, growing breathy.
"Yeah baby?" His voice was muffled as his kisses travelled across the back of your neck, over to the other side to give you the same treatment as before.
You leaned back into him, resting against his surprisingly comfortable wall of a chest "Fuck you"
He chuckled before nuzzling his chin into your shoulder "Right here or�"
"You pig!" You laughed, taking his hands and pulling them further around you.
"You feelin' any better?" He probed, cautious, like he was shoving a fish in a hungry bear's face.
"Yeah" You sighed, giving in "But it better not happen again, okay?"
"Okay darlin' but, what was it?"
"You don't know?"
"NotâŠexactly"
You rolled your eyes "You were flirting with that damn librarian"
"Lexi?"
"You remember her name?"
"It was for information! On a case!"
"Oh yeah? Well you could look a lot less into it"
"I-I wasn't into it, baby, I swear"
"You do, huh?" You cocked a brow "Think you can prove it?"
He grinned, relieved as fuck "Sure can, Sugar, follow me" He pressed a heavy, fast kiss to the hinge of your jaw before grabbing you hand and leading you to his room, very quickly.
Taglist for all of my Supernatural writing - 47 + more in reblogs!
âŠsummary: dean kisses you while he's drunk, and then the world keeps spinning. all you want to do is figure out if he remembers, if he meant it, and if he feels what you do in return. but he's not making it easy, until he does.âŠ
âŠwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, age gap (20s - 40s), angst, overprotective dean, older dean, pining, dean being a stupid, lovable dork, some plot to get to the smut (dry humping, dean's dirty talk, car sex, praise kink, soft!dom Dean, fingering, begging, handjobs, nipple play, pussy slapping, fingering, mating press sex, creampie, big dick dean, overstimulation, body worship, dumbification, light dacryphilia, finger sucking, squirting), love confessions, fluffâŠ
âŠwc: 11kâŠ
âŠauthor's note: every week i overtake myself for 'horniest thing i've ever made'. enjoy!âŠ
You donât know what happened. Youâre too afraid to ask.
You donât want to live in a world where it gets taken back.
Dean isnât acting like anything happened. Heâs not draping himself around you or acting like youâre not there at all. Thereâs no slobbering man at your feet, acting like the ground you walk on turns to gold, but youâre also not curled up on the curb because Dean wonât look at you, and you canât stand to be in room where he acts like youâre gum under his shoe.
Youâve always understood that as how this would go. How your little infatuation would end.Â
Either a miracle would hit like lightning, and Dean would return your feelings. Or heâd reject you, and never look you in the eyes again.
The data was leaning in favor of the former. Which is why youâve been so very careful not to reveal your feelings under any circumstances. Witches have gaped about your sheer willpower. Samâs made passing comments about never seeing someone who could fight demonic possession so well. Everyone around you seems to think youâre some kind of mind Titan, able to simply focus and drive off any monster or force that tries to take you over.
They donât know that thereâs always on common factor. One thing that they try to force you to reveal, that makes you pry your mind back from their bare hands.
When you got possessed by a demon, Sam and Dean had you tied to a chair. Youâd still been able to see through your own eyes. Still been able to think, even if the demon had been using your internal monologue as a broadcast public radio, sharing every thought you had the mistake of thinking.
âAw.â Sheâd used your mouth, you voice, and it had sounded twisted in your brain. âSheâs worried about you two. Isnât that adorable.â
Sam had frowned, shooting Dean a weary look. âIs there something we need to be worried about? Or-â Heâd said your name gently. âIf youâre worried we canât take this demon, we can.â
âShe batting out of her league.â Dean had muttered, glaring down at the knife in his hands. âWeâve tangoed with the bosses and come out on top, sweetheart. No one needs to be worried but the bitch inside you.â
Whatever parts of your heart were still yoursâmost of it, as the demon had been able to sink her claws into everything but the organ that only played one, embarrassingly loud songâhad fluttered at his words. He hadnât been looking at you since they realized you were possessed. Sam had been doing all the talking, asking questions and trying to figure out what the demon wanted, how long sheâd been in your brain. Dean had just sat on the edge of the mattress, fists curled on his knees, jaw clenched so tight you were worried about his teeth. If you were in control of yourself you wouldâve told him to stop doing that. It made his headaches worse, and you bought him gum specifically so he could chew on something when he got pissed.
He wouldâve smile to himself, shaking his head, and given you the look that always made your knees wobble. The one that had a silent affection behind it, that came with his hand grazing your lower back and teasing about how bossy you were.
Youâd think I was dying, way you talk about my health.
Iâm trying to avoid you dying, Dean-
Why? Happens to everyone eventually, and Iâm further down the line than I thought Iâd be-
Youâre not a dinosaur. Stop talking like Iâm putting you in a home, I just told you to drink some water.
If I drink some water, are you gonna stop circling me like a freakinâ shark?
I am not circling you like a shark-
Yeah, you are. You wanna take a bite outta me, sweetheart, I can see it.
Youâd always blink at him, your heart in your ears and your jaw slack. Heâd grin, drink his water slowly and dramatically, then boop the bottle on your nose and walk away. When youâd tell him to do something later, heâd roll his eyes and give you that look again.
That was how they figured out you were possessed. The demon had asked Dean to grab the artifact youâd been investigating, and when heâd whined that he wanted to go get pie, sheâd smiled and said that was fine, as long as Dean told her where the artifact was first.
You wouldâve told Dean that he could have his pie after he grabbed the artifact. You wouldâve stood in front of him with your arms crossed and glared until he got up with a groan and let you drag him exactly where you needed him to be. Thatâs what you and Dean did. He pretended to be annoyed by it, but you wouldnât ask anything of him unless you really needed it. You got him the pie after, and he teased you about being wound up and needing to breathe for a second. Heâd feed you some of his pie like you were a baby, and youâd pretend to bite his fingers off.
But the demon had just bent for him. Dean had stared at her. And youâd know heâd seen it. Right through you, and to the ugly thing inside your body.
Ugly in a different way that you were. The demon was just cruel, but you were selfish.Â
Dean had told you not to go out alone, but you loved him and heâd been sitting so close. The love inside you had been threatening to pour out of you like a flood, and youâd needed to be anywhere but near him. The demon had found you while you were at the convenience store, buying Dean jerky. Youâd been too slow, and now you were a burden to him and Sam again. Dean had been forced to knock you out to tie up the demon, and Sam had to burn you with holy water. You could feel it, the burn and blistering of you skin. Youâd never tell them that, because the guilt would eat them alive.
Youâd never tell Dean. He was already angry with you for going out as it was. Youâre already more trouble than youâre worth, most of the time. Your worry hadnât been for you.
Itâs for him. That this was going to be too much for him to deal with, having to hurt another person he cared about.
The demon had plucked that thought from your head, and curved your lips into a smirk.
âOh, sheâs not worried about herself, Deanie.â It had drawled. âI know you see her as a woman of steel, but our lovely girl is just so sweet on the insides here. Itâs like swimming through marshmallows. Sheâs just so perfectly worried about how this is going to effect you. Itâs all she can think about, the pathetic little slut.â
Deanâs eyes had narrowed. âDonât fuckinâ talk about her like that-â
âIâll talk about her however I want.â The demon had purred. âSheâs my meat toy. But if you want to share with me, Winchester, Iâm sure she wouldnât mind both of us inside of her. She-â
The demon had cut herself off. Dean had shot to his feet, looking ready to throw a punch. Sam had blocked him with an arm, and your body had started to convulse. The demon sputtering and choking on nothing as Dean shouted your name. Sam had let him get to you when it became clear this wasnât the demon making a play, but you hadnât needed the help.
Sheâd made her mistake already. Youâd been able to feel her next words, building on your own tongue. Sheâd been sneering in your brain about how Dean would hate you after she revealed the truth, and youâd grabbed her by the throat.
Youâd pushed her out of your body, no exorcism required. Sam and Dean had stared at you in awe for about a month after. Sam had even pulled you aside and lowly asked how you did it. Youâd told him you had no idea.
It wouldâve been insane, to say well, Samuel. It was the power of my love for your brother. Donât tell him, or Iâll fucking kill you.
You wouldâve been serious about that threat, too. You never wanted Dean to know. If Sam had ever found out and told him, there wouldâve been a double murder suicide.
Which is why you donât know what to do now.
Because Dean kissed you, and the world didnât end.
Paradise didnât come. Hell didnât split through the Earth, and you didnât have to go into hiding in Romaniaâyour backup plan if Dean had ever found out and it wasnât Samâs fault.
The Earth had just kept spinning. Dean had gotten up the next morning and acted like nothing happened at all. Grumbling about his hangover and running a hand through his mussed hair. The same hand that had held the back of your neck last night, certain and possessive in his grip. Dean licked his lips, and youâd mirrored the motion, only able to think of that same tongue pressing into your mouth. â
Heâd kissed you like he knew what he wanted. Heâd tasted like whiskey and had a glazed expressionâas if he was looking at the world through glassâbut heâd kissed you. Heâd lifted you off the ground with the force of it. Heâd looked at you with blown out eyes, and been half-hard in his jeans, and begged you to come back to his room, and-
âYou alright?â Dean asks, and you blink at him.
âMe?â
âYeah, you.â His lips twitch. âYou look like you spent the night getting run over by a truck.â
You frown, and Dean pauses.
âIn a good way.â
âI look like I got run over by a truck in a good way?â
âUh- Yeah?â He smiles, rubbing the back of his neck. âI mean, Iâm not sayinâ you look bad. Youâre just all spacey and tired, and-â
He waves a hand at you sheepishly, and normally youâd keep pushing him for how exactly you could be run over by a truck in a good way.
But today, you can only look at his dumb, handsome face and think about how his stubble brushed over your skin. How your noses bumped, how heâd help you to his chest like you were a doll and he was a worried child that needed you.
âI didnât sleep well last night.â You mutter, and Dean chuckles.
âMe neither.â
âYou got drunk.â You say, flat and low. âYou passed out.â
âYeah, but I had some dreams, and-â He cuts himself off, eyes widening and grip on his mug slipping. He catches it with a curse, and looks at you like heâs seeing a ghost.
You raise your brow, not letting any emotion onto your face. Dean clears his throat, eyes dropping for the briefest second to your lips.
âHey, uh-â He runs a hand through his hair, shifting nervously on his feet. âIf I did anything stupid while I was wasted, youâd tell me. Right?â
And maybe you should tell him. But he looks so worried, and you know, deep down.
He doesnât really remember. Â
âYeah.â You breathe, offering him a tiny smile. âI would.â
Deanâs silent. He studies you for a second, then shakes his head with a laugh. âGood. âCause I get some, uh- Some crazy dreams.â
You pretend to laugh, but it echoes in the hollow of your chest until you feel sick. You have to excuse yourself to take a shower. To help you wake up, is what you tell Dean.
Really, you just sit on the floor and cry, letting your tears wash down the drain with the water. He doesnât remember. He kissed you, and heâs chalking it up to a crazy dream.
You have to get over him. Itâs a punch in your gut, knocking wind and snot out of you, but itâs what you needed. Deanâs never going to see you like that. Heâs older, heâs a hero, he could have anyone he wanted and heâs not going to chose the bossy girl who watches cartoons with him and makes him do bar trivia with her, because heâs better than he thinks he is. Heâll find someone cooler and older. Someone who likes cars as much as he does, who can actually help him with the Impala instead of just sitting on the bench in the garage and bothering him. Someone who can cook as well as he does, and doesnât make him try all the crazy soda flavors she sees.
Someone just as resolved and perfect as he is.
Not you.
You pick yourself up, and try to set a goal. Get over Dean.
The asshole doesnât make it easy.
He makes it impossible.
âIâm gonna work on Baby this afternoon.â He says, and you hum. Youâre curled up on the couch with your laptop, and heâs been leaning over your shoulder for the past hour, watching whatever you put on the screen. You donât understand why. Heâs got his own TV right in front of him, and he has to put his arm around your shoulders to comfortably be so close.
His fingers keep brushing the bare skin of your collarbone. His warmth is wrapped around you like a blanket, and itâs all impossible to deal with.
âI bought those snacks you like.â He adds, and you hum.
âOkay.â
âTheyâre gonna be with me. In the garage.â
 âIâll come get them later.â
Deanâs face twitches. You look over to find him staring at you, nostrils flaring and nose slightly wrinkled.
âPut it in the freezer.â You manage to whisper, and he shakes his head.
âToo far. Gotta focus on work.â
âIâm going to distract you from work-â
âThatâs different.â He shrugs, and suddenly youâre being pulled to your feet.
âDean-â
âCâmon.â He moves you in front of him, and all but herds you out of the Dean Cave. âIâll even let you pick the music, alright?â
You canât argue with him. Heâs too cute, and always has a command over your body youâve never been able to fight off. He doesnât even know that if he asked you to walk over hot coals, youâd do it to reach his side. If he wanted to get away youâd drop everything and go with him. If he needed you to bring him the moon, youâd learn to grow taller enough to grab it in your hands, and shred yourself back down to stay at his side.
Thereâs no way you can get over him while being his friend. Being his friend alone is a trial thatâs slowly wearing you down. Enough that soon, you think, youâll just be crawling on your hands to lay at his feet. Itâs all youâre going to be able to muster. All youâre going to want to do.
You need to get away from him.
You canât get away from him. Because if he asks you to do something with himâwhich he always doesâthereâs no way youâre going to be able to say no.
Which leaves one solution.
Avoid Dean.
Avoid him like heâs the plague.
You wake up in the morning, and touch your lips. Touch them like you can push the feeling of his kiss further into them. Like itâs a sugar that you could gather on your fingers and taste, a tattoo youâre trying to make sure is permanent. You do it every morning now, because itâs the last thing of Dean youâre allowing yourself to have.
If youâre careful, you donât see him through the day. Youâre up before he is, you find a corner of the bunker to hide in, you go out, you stay on the move like youâre prey and Deanâs on a hunt. When you see Sam, he gives you an odd look. If youâre sloppy, and end up in the same room as Dean, you flee before he can say something. If he says something youâre going to crash right back into him. Heâs gravity. And you donât have the strength to pull away twice.
But itâs not working.
You havenât been alone with Dean for a week, and you just miss him. You feel like youâre trying to carve out a vital artery from your chest. It just hurts. It just makes your love spill all over you, now that thereâs nowhere for it to go. You watch something on your computer and hug yourself, because your body seems to think itâs missing a limb without Dean wrapped around you. You sneak out in the middle of the night to get food, and end up just staring at the pie and jerky and beer until youâre sick. Youâve started to hole up in your room with ice cream as if youâre going through a breakup.
Itâs pathetic. You look in the mirror and see a husk, with tear stained cheeks and sunken features. Youâre wearing one of his fucking shirts, but your skin burns every time you think about taking it off. Youâd think you were cursed, if you didnât know this was just the feeling of love dying.
Not dying.
Youâre not strong enough to kill it.
This is the feeling of love being tortured.
Because youâre stupid and tired, you look up how to get over a crush. The internet says to list out all his faults, and logically you know Dean has those, but you canât remember any right now. His teasing always makes you flush and giggle, his stupid jokes make everything feel lighter, you know he gets angry because he cares. You even miss the loud, sloppy way he chews. Youâd always been able to reach over the table and wipe sauce from his cheek, and heâd smile at you after, and you miss his smile. Youâd do anything to see it right now.
You scroll to the next step. Think about it logically. If theyâd even be a good match. You skip that one. Deanâs always been the one thing you donât bother to think about logically. Something about him makes all the common sense in your head go down the drain. Which is the same issue the next stepâask yourself why you have a crush on themâfails as well. Of course you have a crush on Dean. You could list out every reason, but theyâd all just circle back to heâs Dean. And everything that he is demands that you love him.
Force yourself to move on, is the final step. Go out with someone else. Even if theyâre not your soulmate, it will help you realize there are plenty of other fish in the sea.
There are many other fish. The world is filled with men.
Thatâs part of the problem.
None of them are Dean Winchester.
But this is the most actionable step. The only one you can try to take, even if it doesnât work. So you get cleaned up, put on a nice dress, and do your makeup a little bit like a slut. The goal of this is to get laid, through, and itâs not like anyone you know is going to see-
âWhere the hell are you going?â
You freeze, squeezing your eyes shut. Heâs up. Why the fuck is he up. âNowhere?â
âYouâre going nowhere.â Dean drawls. âAt eleven. Dressed like⊠That.â
âMhm.â You turn slowly, trying to offer a winning smile.
He doesnât look amused.
You havenât seen him in person in a month. He kind of looks⊠awful.
Heâs still handsome. You donât think heâs capable of being anything else but amazing and desirable. But his hair is longer than he usually lets it grow, and there are heavy bags under his eyes. His shoulders are hunched, thereâs a stain on his flannel, and when he rubs his jaw you can see grease stains on his hands. Â Â
âWere you in the garage?â You blurt, and he grunts.
âMaybe.â
âBut-â His gaze is lidded, his features pale in a way that only happens when heâs awake for too long. âHave you slept?â
His brow furrows. âNapped.â
âFor how long.â
âLong enough.â
âThatâs not an answer-â
âWhere are you going.â He raises his voice over yours, and you swallow.
âOut.â
âOut where.â
You look down at your heels, fidgeting with the folds of your dress. âTo a bar.â
Dean doesnât respond. You canât bring yourself to look at him, but you think you might be leaning forward. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid. You havenât even been able to build up a flimsy wall against your feelings, and now theyâre all crashing through you like an asteroid, slamming through your world.
Heâs right there, and if you took a step forward youâd be able to touch him. Wipe the grease off his hands, pull off the flannel and order him to change into something clean. He needs a haircut, but you kind of like it longer. You could run your fingers through it, like this. Soothe the spots where itâs sticking out, help him wash it if heâd let you.
But you donât think he will.
Because when you look up under your lashes, heâs staring at you with a pained, exhausted expression that makes you want to cry.
âYou goinâ to meet someone?â He finally says, and you shake your head.
âN- No.â
âWe got drinks here-â
âI know.â
He grunts. âItâs not safe for you to be out by yourself.â
âIâm bringing pepper spray.â You mumble. âAnd my gun.â
Deanâs silent for a long moment, and you think heâs going to give up and walk away. Everything will be easier, if he just leaves for you. It will splatter your heart all over the floor, but at least you wonât have the weight of holding onto it anymore. At least it wonât churn like something rotten, when a stranger who isnât Dean lays his hands all over you.
But Dean doesnât leave.
He takes a step forward, and suddenly the air is so hot itâs hard to breathe.
âIâm goinâ with you.â
Your head shoots up, eyes wide. âDean-â
âYou said youâre not meetinâ anyone.â He challenges, glaring down at you. âI need a drink. You come with me, or you donât go at all.â
A scoff slips from your lips. âAnd how the fuck would you stop me-â
âIâd toss you over my shoulder and carry you back to your room.â
Oh.
He says it so casually. His voice a deep rumble as he stares at you. An ache demands attention between your thighs, and your cheeks burn as you laugh nervously, looking to the side.
Dean doesnât even crack a grin.
So thereâs nothing you can do, but let him walk with you to the car. You try to get in the backseat, but Dean snaps his fingers and points at shotgun with a scowl.
âIâm not a fuckinâ taxi. You sit up here, or we walk.â
You flush, and silently slide into the front bench. Dean drops behind the wheel, his gaze fixed firmly ahead as he starts the engine. You forgot how dangerous being close to him is. Heâd grabbed his coat on the way out, tossing his dirty flannel to the side. He smells like leather and pine tree, and even across the bench you can feel the heat radiating from his body. He rolls up his sleeves, and you want to nuzzle close to him and have him put you in a headlock. His hand runs over his inner thigh, and you press your own together.
Youâre staring at him. You canât help it.
Dean must feel it, because he shoots you a look from the corner of his eye. You look away, and hear him let out a heavy breath.
And the game begins. Dean pulls out of the garage, and youâre both perfectly silent, daring the other to break first. You stare out the window, stealing glances whenever you think you can get away with it. Sometimes Dean catches your eye, and you curl further into yourself, twisting away. Once, Dean opens his mouth. He closes it just as fast.
Youâve been driving for thirty minutes, when you realize heâs not taking you to a bar. Youâve passed three bars, and he didnât even slow down to check them out. You grab all the thin courage you posses, rooted deep in your stomach and sticky with nerves, and drag it to the surface.
âDean, where are we-â
âYouâve been ignoring me.â He says, blatant and flat. âPast month. Donât think I havenât fuckinâ noticed.â
You swallow, pulling your knees to your chest. âI- I donât-â
âDidnât even say why.â He mutters, tapping his fingers on the wheel. âThought you were sick at first, but youâve been talkinâ to Sammy.â
âItâs-â
âAnd you run outta every room I walk into. Like I got cooties or something.â Heâs scowling at the road, and you feel like the smallest thing in the world. âDidnât even bother to tell me why. Just⊠Fuckinâ vanished.â
Thereâs a lump in your throat, and unearned tears stinging at your eyes. He sounds broken, and itâs your fault. You and your stupid, useless love for him. âDean, itâs not like that-â
âSo whatâs it like, huh?â His words are harsh. You flinch back. âYou start acting like Iâm the goddamn devil and Iâm supposed to take your word that itâs just not like that? There ainât anything for it to be like, sweetheart-â
âNo, I- I just-â You lean forward, then curl back. Youâd wanted to grab him. You donât think youâre allowed. âI just needed- I needed-â
âSpace?â He spits the word like itâs poison. âGo on. Tell me you just needed space from me.â
âDean-â
âThe hell did I do to you?â He sneers. âI know I ainât perfect, but I- I thought you- I was so fuckinâ careful, and you promised youâd tell me if I did something stupid.â
You frown, not fully understanding what he means. âDean, you- You didnât do anything-â
âDonât bullshit me!â He shouts, and you donât think you can breathe anymore. âYou promised me, you said youâd tell me, and the goddamn least you coulda done was tell me what the fuck I did-â
âPlease- Please stop yelling.â You whisper, not even sure if heâs going to hear you.
But he does.
Dean cuts himself off with that clench of his jaw, and pulls over to the side of the road. You hug yourself tight, trying to shrink back into the seats. This is your fault. Heâs angry because of you, and you stupidity. Youâre barely a schoolgirl with a crush, and you let it hurt him, and thereâs no possible world where heâd ever want you now.
You hide your face in your knees. Tears burn on your cheeks, and when you try to take a deep breath, itâs ragged and aching.
Deanâs silent. The whole car is silent. Heâd turned off the radio, and the only sound hanging in the air is your sniffling. You think about climbing out of the car, but heâd just chase after you. Itâs started to rain, and you donât want him to catch a cold.
You wrap your coat tighter around you. Your dress feels too tight on your skin. Feels wrong. You think youâre going to be sick. When you risk a look at Dean, heâs still holding the wheel with white knuckles. Staring at you with a pained expression, eyes even heavier than before.
He leans forward like heâs going to reach for you. Your breath hitches. He pulls back.
For a second, you just watch each other. You wipe your cheeks with your palm, and it feels like a raw, open wound.
Dean opens his mouth. Closes it, and looks back to the road like heâs searching for something.
âIâm- I didnât mean to yell.â He mutters, voice hoarse. âI just- Iâm sorry.â
You nodâyou didnât blame him in the first placeâbut when he looks to you for a response, you canât find one. Everything is lodged in your throat, behind a quiet confession youâve worked far too hard to shove down.
âIâll fix it.â Dean rasps, and you blink.
âWhat?â
âWhatever I did.â Heâs staring at you, his voice cracking. âWhatever pissed you off or- Or hurt you. Iâll work on it, alright? You donât have to do anything, Iâll fix me, and then you can stay.â
âI- I can stay?â
He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. As if the words hurt to stay. âIf you canât, I get it. I do. But you gotta give me a chance to set it right, before you give up. Just one chance, and if I screw it up a second time you can run off, but- One shot, itâs all I need. Donât- Donât leave.â His voice cracks, eyes shining in the dark. âPlease.â
You stare at him, mouth hanging open. He looks broken. Lone tears stain his cheeks, and heâs not even wiping them away. When you shake your headâjust trying to make sense of what he saidâhe cowers away like a kicked dog, and you split down the middle.
âI wasnât going to leave, Dean.â Horror leaks through your voice. You couldnât leave him if you tried. âIâd never leave you.â
He laughs dryly. âYeah, like I didnât just fuckinâ catch you-â
âI was going to the bar.â
âWithout telling anyone?â
âNo, because I knew youâd try to do this!â You wave around you, and Deanâs throat bobs. âNo, I didnât mean-â
âYou didnât wanna see me.â He mutters, looking back to the wheel. ââS alright. I get it.â
He doesnât. He really doesnât. And you can see him trying to drag himself back together, still refusing to wipe his tears and breathing through his nose. Heâs just sitting there, hollow and angry, and he doesnât understand.
âYou kissed me.â
You say it without thinking, soft and weak. Dean goes rigid. He looks at you with bloodless, horrified features. You wrap your hand around your own throat, trying to hold yourself in one piece.
He shakes his head. Youâre going to throw up.
âNo, I- Iâd remember that-â
âYou were drunk.â You breathe. âI- I picked you up from the bar. And you kissed me.â
Dean looks like someone punched him in the face. Heâs pallid, looking around the car like thereâs a way out, fisting and unfisting his hands.
âThatâs- Thatâs why youâve been avoiding me.â He rasps, and you nod, fixing your gaze on his chest.
If you have to watch his face while he rejects you, thereâs a chance youâll just die.
Dean says your name, slow and broken, and you bite the inside of your cheek. Bracing for the knife about to be driven into your chest.
âIâm so fuckinâ sorry.â
That makes you look up. And itâs not rejection you find in Deanâs eyes.
Itâs guilt.
âI shouldnât have kissed you, and- Being drunkâs no damn excuse.â
âDean-â
âIf you want nothing to do with me, I- I understand.â Heâs too lost in himself to hear you. âHell, Iâll move out so you can stick with Sammy. You wonât have to deal with me anymore, youâre- Itâs not your fault-â
âDean-â
âI shouldnât have forced you on that, my own- My own shit is mine to deal with, and you never gave me any kinda go and I damn well knew it- Iâm so fuckinâ sorry-â
âDean!â You shout, and he falls silent. Squeezes his jaw shut, gaze mournful and completely shattered.
Youâre not entirety sure whatâs happening. You say the only thing you can think.
âStop grinding your teeth.â
Dean blinks, but his jaw loosens. He mutters your name, and you shake your head. You donât think you can stand another apology.
âI- Iâm not mad about you kissing me.â You whisper, and he snorts, empty and humorless.
âItâs not your job to make me feel better about hurting you, sweetheart-â
âYou didnât hurt me.â You snap, and Dean stills completely.
He opens his mouth, but youâre faster. Flushing furiously and too tired to fight the words.
âI- I liked it.â You whisper. âA lot.â
Dean sits a little taller, words low and cautious. âYou didnât tell me in the morning. Why wouldnât you tell me, if-â
âYou were drunk. I- I thought-â You take a deep breath, face burning with shame. âI thought you didnât mean it.â
âAh.â Heâs silent for a moment. âBut- Why the hell would you avoid me-â
âI kissed you back.â
âDid you mean it?â
His question feels like the barrel of a gun, loaded and pressed to your temple. You nod weakly. Dean lets out a sharp breath, drumming his fingers on the wheel.
âYou thought I didnât mean it.â He finally echoes, and you nod again. âSo you just-â
âThat hurt.â Tears are falling again. Everything blurring except for Dean. âThatâs the part that hurt, Dean, I just- I had to try and move on. And the internet said thatâs how you do it.â
âThe internet?â
âYeah.â You mumble, and Dean huffs a low laugh.
âSweetheart, why the hell would you check the internet for advice-â
âNone of my ideas were working.â You hiss. âAnd I- I didnât like avoiding you, it felt really bad-â
âYou didnât have to avoid me, you coulda just told me-â
âAnd you wouldâve what, confessed your love and kissed me again-â
âYeah!â He shouts, throwing his hands in the air. âI wouldâve, if youâd just fuckinâ told me!â
Your heart stops, for a full second. You donât think you heard him right. âWhat?â You whisper, and Dean sighs.
âI meant it, okay?â He mutters, looking up to the sky. As if he was praying. âEverything I do with you, I mean it.â
âAnd- And the love-â
âI mean that too.â He gives you a sad, tired smile. âI know I shouldnât. God knows I tried not to, youâre- Youâre young and you got a future and Iâm just me-â
âI love you.â You blurt, and Deanâs jaw falls. âI love you just like⊠you. And-â You bow your head shyly. He wonât stop staring. âIf you- If you feel something too-â
Dean moves before you can think.
One second youâre rambling, trying to figure out how to say it. The next his lips are pressed against yours, kissing you like heâll die if he doesnât. Like youâll die.
You grab his wrist when he cups your face, he turns you to deepen the kiss, and youâre both moving like youâre trying to breathe the other in. Your nails dig into his skin and he grunts, the sound vibrating against you. You roll onto your knees, moving over him without breaking the kiss, and he grabs you by the waist. Tight enough to bruise. To leave a mark.
Itâs just a kiss. A hungry, hot kiss thatâs making your head spin. Itâs better than anyone else touching you. Better than being fucked, just because itâs Dean.
He picks you up, pulling you into his lap forcing you to straddle. You grab his shoulders for balance, letting out a sharp breath, and Dean chuckles. Sucks your lower lip with a tiny smirk, rubbing your hips as your finger brush the back of his neck. You let out a shuddering breath, sinking fully against his chest. One of his massive hands drags up your spine, callouses and teasing fingers dancing over bare skin and you arch, chasing the fuzzy, addictive sensation of Deanâs hands.
Your core presses against his bulge. Heâs hard, twitching inside his jeans. You roll your hips once, unable to stop yourself, and Dean hisses against your lips.
âCareful.âÂ
You donât want to be careful. You want to be ruined. You grind down again, kissing him while you move, and he groans.
âHey- Woah-â He wraps his arm fully around your waist and pins you down. Forcing the outline of his cock against the thin panties youâd worn to go out.
Thereâs not a single regret in your head. You can feel him better like this. The thick curve, almost pushed between your pussy lips. Your underwear is bunched up, offering extra pressure, but Dean is holding you down so hard thereâs not even space to wiggle. You almost whine, pouting at him under wet, fluttering lashes.
He just stares up at you like a man whoâs lived underground his whole life, finally seeing the stars. You drag your nails down his chest, trying to spur him into action, but he just keeps staring. He even laughs under his breath, like somethingâs fucking funny.
You scowl, but donât even get to provoke him before heâs rising back up.
Dean brushes hair from your face, and kisses you slowly. Sweetly. A confusing, sharp contrast to how his erection is angled right against your heat. Your body doesnât seem to know what to do with it, and just settles for going limp with overwhelmed, happily dizzy confusion. Dean chuckles again. If your body could listen to any whims but his right now, youâd punch him in the face.
âStop laughing.â You manage to grumble, but that just makes him laugh again. âDean-â
âSorry.â He grins against your lips, rubbing your hips in soothing circles. âYouâre just- Youâre unbelievable.â
âYouâre unbelievable-â
âYouâre the most beautiful thing Iâve ever fuckinâ seen.â He mutters, dragging his hand up your side. As if heâs marveling in just the shape of you. âNever thought Iâd get to have you like this, and- Look at you.â He draws back, whistling with a smug smirk. âThey should let people touch the art, baby. You get even prettier.â
Thereâs nothing coherent you have to respond to that. Your brain is mostly a confusing garble of Dean and touch and more.
He kisses just under your jaw, and you gasp. Your eyes flutter as your head lolls to the side, and Dean chuckles.
âYou-â You bite back a moan as he sucks on a pulse point. âYouâre pretty too.â
âHm.â He nips at the sensitive skin, before flicking his tongue against the hurt. âPretty, huh.â
You nod, wrapping your arms around his neck until heâs almost in a headlock. Dean doesnât seem to mind, moving onto another, somehow more sensitive spot. You try to move against his clothed dick, your pussy starting to throb, but heâs holding you too tight. Dean hums against your skin, and you moan, right in his ear. It makes his cock jump, and you almost cry from the fleeting offer of friction.
âCome- Come on-â You whine, wiggling uselessly in his arms. âYouâre being an asshole- Dean-â
He pushes his lips back over yours, right as he grabs a handful of your ass and squeezes. It loosens his grip, letting your hips freely move against him, but youâre so pent up from making out that you canât even work out what you want to do. Youâre grabbing at his shirt and kissing him with spit and teeth, and heâs barely giving you anything in return.
âDean- Just-â You claw at his shirt. âOff, get it off-â
âThatâs not a very polite way to ask, sweetheart-â
âFuck you.â You breathe out, moaning when you get the thickest part of him to drag over your clit. âTake your shirt off, Dean, now-â
 A strong hand wraps around your throat, pulling you back down into a mind numbing kiss. Youâre still fucking down onto his crotch, but their angle offers less pressure. You mightâve burst into tears, if it wasnât for the magnitude of Deanâs attention. His hands all over your body, one fisted in your hair while the other started to map every inch of you he can reach.
âDe- Dean-â
âNot polite.â He mutters, kissing you between every word. âNot patient. What am I gonna do with you?â
Your heart stumbles, still a little bit bare from the fight and confused from the gentle way heâs suddenly touching you. No more grabbing or marking. Just soft, possessive but careful fingers, tracing your curves like heâs trying to memorize every inch.
âCan I tell you what Iâve wanted to do?â He rasps in your ear. âSince I first fuckinâ saw you?â
âYes.â You breath, trying to just feel him. His strength all around you, his voice rolling through your chest.
Deanâs words are deep and rough in your ear, and you cling to every one like gospel.
âIâve wanted to kiss you since before you even said your name. Wanted to fuck you when you stood in front of me and threatened to shoot if I didnât back off and leave you be. Decided Iâd marry you when you called me a chicken butt âcause I told you to stay behind me. Then I thought I was insane, told myself I just needed to get laid. But I got laid. And you wanna know the only thing I could think about, the whole damn time?â
You nod, and Dean pulls back, dropping his brow tight against yours.
âYou.â He rasps. âClosed my eyes and saw you under me. Got kicked outta bed for calling your name, felt sick after âcause some stupid thing in my head kept telling me Iâd betrayed you. Then Sammy came and told me youâd be coming with us, and I knew I was a goner. If it wasnât such a selfish freakinâ masochist I wouldâve told him that I didnât want you around.â
Your lip wobbles. âYou didnât want me-â
âI wanted you so much.â He grabs the back of your neck, the words a low growl. âDrove me out of my damn mind, how much I wanted you. Thought Iâd need to be put down, like one of those dogs that humps every damn thing it sees.â
âYou- You never-â
âWhat? Thought youâd be into something like me?â He laughs, and you frown.
You plant your hands, flat on his chest, and push up a little taller. Demanding he listen to every word you say.
âIâm into you.â You snap, and Deanâs sarcastic smile falters, slipping back into that awe. âDo you think thereâs something wrong with me?â
âNo.â He answers without thought. âYouâre perfect.â
Dean kisses you, slow and deliberate. Everything is suddenly controlled and delicate, like heâs weaving together a song.
You think youâre supposed to be the instrument. You donât realize, though, until heâs already playing you as if youâre a toy.
Deanâs mouth trails down, leaving wet, open kisses over your neck and collarbone. The beard scrapes and tickles against you. You decide you like it. Heâs not allowed to shave later.
You shiver, moving your hands to rest on his stomach. His abdomen flexes under your fingers, and you start to grind back down onto his crotch. When you press further forward, you can get that perfect friction from before. The one you needed so bad you almost screamed. Dean nips at your throat and you pick up your pace.
He grunts, and lifts you up like you weigh nothing. You squirm like animal, even as he handles you well. Youâre moved backwards, your knees still knocked apart as Deanâs spreads his own legs. He pushes you back until your elbows are resting on the horn, and heat prickles over your skin when you realize the position heâs put you in.
Your barely clothed pussy, wet and on full display to Deanâs lust-blown expression. He traces over your inner thigh, teasing and teasing until youâre almost thrusting up to meet him.
âRemember what I said about patience?â He drawls, eyes sparkling on yours.
You just pant, making to grab his wrist and move it where you want. But heâs too strong, and you donât even get a budge.
âI- Iâve been patient-â
 âNah. Not enough. But,â he lifts up your skirt, exposing you further. âLook at her. Just begging for some attention.â
Dean presses a single knuckle against your pussy, running it up until it hits your clit, and your elbow slips. Babyâs horn startles you, making you almost scramble back over Dean, and he just laughs. Kisses you sweetly while you pant in his ear, even nipping under the lobe as you try to control your heartbeat.
âFuck- Fuck-â Your eyes roll back as you realize what happened.
Youâd trapped Deanâs hand between your bodies, and heâs taken full advantage of the situation. For every honeyed and light kiss he presses over your cheeks and lips, he rubs your pussy with light, deft touches. A graze of your clit, then his thumb teasing over your entrance. Itâs torture, the touches too light to do anything but make you feel insane, but youâre certain if you move away heâs just going to remove his hand altogether. Leaving you no other choice but to whimper, take it, and plead for mercy.
âMore- There-â You bury your face in Deanâs neck, when he rubs your clit back and forth in a frenzy, then simply moves away. âDean- I- I need to come, please, just, up- No-â
You tremble when he moves away again, humping against his hand. It doesnât do anythingâheâs too good at thisâbut you donât think you could stop if you wanted to.
âPlease, please, please-â
âYouâre real good at begging, sweetheart.â Dean kisses the side of your head, and you nod weakly. âYou think Iâm not give you what you need?â
âI- I donât think youâre showing any signs of it.â You breathe, and he laughs.
âCanât argue with that. But youâre kinda restricting my movements.â He splits his two fingers, placing them around your pussy lips and rubbing slowly up down. âAnd trust, Iâd love to play with your wet little pussy until you were coming all over my hand, but you started something on my pants. Think you should finish it.â
You lean back in slow confusion, and Dean nods between your bodies. You flush when you see it.
The faint dark spot, on his still hard crotch. You canât look away from it.
Dean pulls your panties forward, then snaps them back against your pussy. Your hips jerk, wild eyes flying up to his, and he grins.
âKeep them on.â He smirks, dragging you back to sit on his crotch. âAnd take what you want.â
You nod breathlessly, grabbing the bench behind his head and starting to fuck down against Deanâs bulge. Youâre more deliberate than before, gaze locked onto Deanâs, knowing exactly where to move to get the best friction. Dean watches you as if youâre sent from Heaven, licking his lips and rubbing your ass. Heâs hiked up your skirt, giving him full access to whatever he wants. You expect handprints, maybe more teasing touches to keep you on the edge.
Instead, he grabs the back of your neck, and just watches you move on him. His mouth falls open, and when you lean a little down, he doesnât hesitate to close the space.
Your speed picks up. The ruined fabric of your panties only adds to the friction, almost completely letting you feel the rough, tantalizing sensation of the denim. When you get your clit, itâs like being rolled between two pinched fingers, and you start to hump that one spot.
Dean groans, and when you catch against something, you realize youâre hitting the head of his cock.
You reach between your bodies, grabbing for something of him to hold onto, and find what has to be his balls. Theyâre big, heavy even when youâre not really holding them, and when you squeeze softly Deanâs whole body jerks.
âFuck- Son of a bitch, you canât just-â Deanâs words turn into a long moan of your name, when you squeeze again.
You smile to yourself, riding him faster and faster. Deanâs eyes flutter, his fingers weaving into your hair. You throw your head back, and he chases. Starts to bite and suck on your neck again, pushing further and further up until you can no longer get a grip on his balls.
For a second, you try to push back, but Deanâs a solid wall of muscle. Youâre using all your energy to keep yourself moving against him, and every thought empties from your head as his lips travel down.
Dean rips the top of your dress open. You hadnât been wearing a bra. It wouldâve ruined the outfit.
He has a clear, direct line to wrap his lips around your peeked nipple, and start to suck.
A loud, uncontrollable sound escapes your lips. You donât know how he can be so good at that. His tongue flicks and swirls, teeth grazing against the bud, and all you can think of is what heâd do between your legs.
You movements are becoming shorter. More desperate. You press your breasts up, trying to demand more attention. Dean obliges, giving a harshsuckle before a series of kitten licks. He lazily kisses over the valley of your breasts, taking the neglected bud between his lips and sucking even harder than before.
âOh- Oh my god.â You pull at the short, soft hair on the nape of his neck. He moans, mouth wet and warm wrapped around you. âYes, Dean- Oh- Oh fuck-â
Your eyes roll back in your head, the pressure in your lower tummy just needing a little more to snap. Youâre barely even humping him anymore, just thrashing around and trying to find the right position to get you there.
âI- I canât-â You scratch Deanâs back, pressing your cheek to the side of his head as you almost sob. âDean, I need to cum, need to cum so fucking bad, Deeaan-â
His hand shoves between you, shoving one finger into your dripping pussy. Even with how wet you are thereâs a slight stretch, and itâs just the one finger. You slam down onto him, your clit getting plenty of attention against his jeans, and youâre getting lightheaded with the need to find release.
Dean finger crooks inside you. Right against your g-spot. He wiggles it, rubbing fast and firm. His tongue presses flat against your nipple, swirling as he moans, and your shriek with delight.
You cum, shaking and moaning right into Deanâs ear. His finger slowly fucks you through it, but the moment you make a broken sound of his name, his lips are back over yours to swallow it. You donât think youâve ever cum that hard before. You can feel it all the way to the tips of your fingers, electric on your tongue as Dean kisses you.
Your pussy is clenching around his finger, and he grunts, angling his head to kiss you deeper. He pulls out slowly, rubbing your cunt until your wetness is smeared all over your thighs.
âThe back.â He grunts, words thick and strained. âGet in the back.â
You feel bubbly. Youâve never felt bubbly before. Thereâs a rough command in Deanâs words thatâs probably going to make you melt in a matter of minutes. But right now, you just giggle.
Dean leans back, looking at you like youâre insane.
âSweetheart.â He wipes the hair stuck to your brow, and you can feel the tension in his voice. Heâs trying to be patient. âWhatâre you laughing at?â
You shake your head, beaming as you press back over him. Dean grunts when you kiss him, but kisses back immediately.
âI just came on your pants.â You breathe.
He hums, leaning back to give you an exasperated look. âAnd thatâs funny?â
âLast week I was crying about how I was never going to hold your hand.â
âAh.â That makes him smile. He kisses your cheek, squeezing his hold on you. âWe can do that later.â He mutters. âAfter we get in the back.â
You hum, going back in to kiss him again. Dean gives you five seconds, before youâre being picked up like a sack of potatoes and tosses over the bench. You land with a squeal, scrambling up to your palms, and Dean laughs.
âWhat the fuck-â
âTold you.â He shrugs, pulling his shirt over his head. âBut donât worry. Was counting on you not giving a damn what I told you to do.â
You gape at him. âI- I do what you tell me-â
âNo, you donât.â
âWhat about when you told me to go grocery shopping, I did that-â
âYou got everything wrong.â He gives you an amused look, and you scowl, crossing your arms over your chest.
âYour list was confusing. And when I tried to call, you didnât pick up.â
âList works for Sammy.â
âIâm not Sam, I need you to make a list for me-â
âI did make a list for you.â Dean crawls over the bench, grinning down at you. âAnd you still bought that fuckinâ turkey meat.â
You swallow, unable to stop yourself from drinking him in. Youâve seen him shirtless before, but itâs always been quick glimpses you forced yourself to look away from, or in the context of a wound. But this, here, the car is filled with steam from your fun before, thereâs only to golden halo of the streetlamp, and Dean is all yours to stare at, as much as you want.
His chest is broad, softer in some places than heâs probably been in his youth, but perfect. Youâre going to be completely smothered in him, you could shove your face between his pecs, feel his thick biceps wrap tight around you as he fucks you like youâve always dreamed. Heâs covered in jagged scars and freckles. You want to touch every single one.
âSam gave me twenty dollars not to get red meat.â You breathe.
Dean chuckles, pulling at his belt. âAnd you chose him over me?â
You meet his gaze again, sure you must look like a lost doe under all of him. Youâre not sure what to do with yourself at all. âYou didnât give me twenty dollars.â
âAnd if I gave you twenty bucks?â He grins, pulling down his pants.
Thatâs your queue to say something smart. You canât think anything smart.
Deanâs cock stands proud above you, and itâs pretty. Prettier than a porn cock, and those things look like theyâre plastic. Deanâs thick and veiny. Heâs well groomed, his balls heavier than they felt beforeâthey could fit in your mouth, and you might choke, but would that really be so badâand the tip of him nice and curved. Just the sight of him makes your pussy clench around nothing. Your legs spread wider.
Deanâs throat bobs, as he follows the movement. Heâs slowly stroking himself, and you watch his grip get white knuckled as you spread your legs wider.
You need to touch him. He touched you. Itâs only fair.
But you reach for him, and Dean catches your wrist. Pins your arm over your head, forcing him to lower down. He settles between your legs, giving you a stern look that makes your breath hitch.
âNo.â He chastises, and you pout.
âI wanna put you in my mouth.â
âYou- Jesus, woman.â He lets out a sharp breath, closing his eyes. âYou canât freakinâ say that-â
âWhy not-â
âI ainât as young as I used to be, alright?â
You frown. âI know that.â
He shakes his head. âNo, I mean-â He sighs, dropping his brow against yours.
You pull your hand carefully out of his hold, running your fingers through his hair. He lets out a low rumbling sound, almost like a purr, so you keep going. He makes nice sounds. Youâd like to collect all of them, and keep them in little jars on your shelf you can listen to whenever you want.
âI like the hair.â You say, soft and casual. Like his cock isnât pressed right against your cunt. âAnd the beard?â
Dean huffs a low laugh. âYeah?â
âMhm. Makes you look your age.â
âI am my age-â
âIn a sexy way.â You blurt, and he sits up, brows raised.
âA sexy way?â
âYeah.â You nod, suddenly wanting to hide your face. âI mean, youâre- Youâre always sexy- Iâve always wanted to have sex with you, but- But I also think, if itâs- If youâre going to be kissing me all the time- Iâd like this-â
Dean shuts you up with a deep, open-mouthed kiss. You hum, thankful for the mercy, and shiver when you feel him peeling away the scraps of your underwear and dress. You donât think youâre going to haver anything to ride home in.
Something to worry about later. When Deanâs not rubbing his dick against your pussy. The large head of his presses against your clit, Deanâs beard tickling your neck as he kisses everywhere his mouth can find, and you feel the pressure starting to build again.
âDeanâŠâ You mumble. âOh- Oh-â
He sucks on a hickey from before, and the previous orgasm had already made you more sensitive. Your back arches, forcing your swollen button to rub against his shaft, and your mouth falls open in a loud, lewd moan.
âEasy,â he mutters, dropping his weight. Forcing you back down. âTryinâ to tell you, sweetheart. Iâm barely fuckinâ holding it together, and if I blow before I get inside of you, Iâm gonna drive myself off a cliff.â
You giggle despite yourself, letting your body relax into his touch. You trust him, and the idea of him just having you is enough to make your pussy ache. âAw.â You turn, smiling at him. âYou care.â
He snorts. âYou always a brat? Or just when Iâm fuckinâ you.â
âDo you want the real answer to that?â
âHm.â Dean tilts his head, gaze raking over your body. Over every mark heâs left, to the point that youâre mostly a map of his hands and lips.
A smirk curve on his lips, and you feel one strong hand grab under your knee, moving it up to your chest. Putting you on full, naked display.
âNah.â He drawls. âI think Iâm good.â
The air is knocked from your lungs, as he presses forward. His cock slides slowly into you, filling the car with the hottest, wettest sound youâve ever heard. You grab his forearm, just trying to ground yourself, and he goes for your other knee.
Dean bends you in half under him, folding you into a pressed little ball. You can see yourself swallowing his cock. See every inch disappear into your pussy, every vein right before it bumps inside your gooey walls. Deanâs chest is heaving, his features open and slack.
âFuck.â He grunts. Reverent and as wrecked as you feel. âSon of a bitch, you fit me like a goddamn glove. Takinâ me like a champ, sweetheart, câmon- Just a little more-â
He spits on where youâre meeting, on your clit, and you try to arch up. He grunts, pushing the last few inches fully in.
You throw your head back, trying to adjust to the feeling of being so full. He feels even bigger than he looked, and youâd forget to breathe if he didnât wrap his hand around your ribcage, and squeeze gently.
âGood?â Deanâs voice cracks, and you can almost see his chest rippling with the restraint to hold still.
You nod, opening your mouth, then closing it when words fail you. Heâs just- Heâs so big and everywhere. Heâs pushed over your g-spot, and itâs making you feel like youâre being dragged through a pool of pleasure. Thereâs nothing else to think about.
Deanâs brow furrows. âBaby, I need you to talk to me-â
âGood.â You breathe out. âSo- So good, Deaaaan-â
You tug on his wrist, trying to bring him down to your level. He immediately understands, bending over for a kiss. You relax as his lips move against yours, pushing your hips a little up to take in more of him. You might be able to cum just like this. Impaled on Deanâs cock. Usually youâd need something more, but youâre hypersensitive, and itâs like he was made to be inside you.
You smile at him, when he pulls back up. He swallows, slowly reaching up to grab your jaw.
âIâm gonna move, alright?â
You hum, still smiling, and Dean takes in a slow breath.
âCan you keep lookinâ at me?â
You nod, and his lips twitch.
âYou really canât talk right now, huh?â
Head shake. Deanâs eyes glint, and your mouth falls open as he thrusts. Once, harsh and short against your g-spot.
âSo fuckinâ cockdrunk you canât speak.â He drawls, grinding slowly into your pussy. Still too shallow to be anything. Just working your g-spot until tears prick at your eyes. âYou think you can at least say my name, baby?â
âDeeean-â You mewl out, gasping as he finally gives a full, deep thrust. âDean- Dean-â
âThatâs it.â He grunts, pulling almost fully out before slamming back in. âThatâs my girl. Nice and dumb on this cock. Just letting it happen, arenât you sweetheart.â
âMmmm.â Is all you can manage, but itâs Deanâs fault.
Heâs fucking you like a man possessed. Cock slipping in and out of your channel, drilling into your g-spot and cervix. You can see it, see the vein in his brow as he moans your name, see the mess forming around your pussy as you soak his dick.
âDean.â You babble, a strange, tight heat forming deep inside you. âDeaan, âs- âs big-â
âI know.â He coos. âI know, baby, but- Shit- Youâre takinâ it so well. Best thing Iâve ever fuckinâ felt-â
He grunts, balls slapping against your ass. His body is sticky and shining with sweat, and you canât stop yourself from staring at how he moves as he fucks you. Each motion is so powerful, and thereâs an impossibly good, perverted feeling you get from watching where you meet, and-
âLook.â He grunts, tapping your chin with his thumb. âLook at me, sweetheart, come on-â
You blink up at him, and he groans, bending over as he slams inside.
You donât think. Your mouth opens, and you take his thumb between your lips, sucking softly. Itâs nice to have something to do, when youâre too fucked out to even remember your own name.
And it does something to Dean. His thrusts stutter, and a deep, growling sound comes from his chest. You hum, blinking up at him from glossy eyes. He groans, chest heaving, and something snaps in his expression.
Dean fucks you so hard you could swear the car was shaking. His thumb pushes further between your lips, and you take it happily. You can feel the sensation between your legs building, a little different than your usual orgasm, but itâs good. Tingly and hot, almost like youâre being shot up with direct euphoria. Your lashes flutter, and you moan around Deanâs thumb as he starts to give sharp, abusing thrusts to your g-spot.
He bends like heâs trying to get his mouth on your pussy, only just remembering his body canât move like that and pulling his hand away from your mouth. Youâre about to whine in frustration, but then Dean finds your clit.
He gives it tight, back and forth rubs that make your hips buck up. He uses his cock to bully them back down, rubbing even harder, and the sensation explodes like fireworks.Â
 Itâs wet and messy, spilling out of your pussy with Dean still seated deep inside you. He moans, dropping over you as you milk his cock, dragging him into orgasm with you. Youâre shaking, cumming and cumming harder than you can keep up with. You can feel the releaseâyours or Deanâs, doesnât really matterâsticking inside of you and dribbling down your ass.
Dean kisses you, and you barely manage to kiss him back. Youâre boneless and floaty again, your body so washed with pleasure you might be shaking from it. Like heâd struck you with lightning.
âYou did so good.â Dean murmurs, pulling slowly out. âThat was- Fuck, that was awesome.â
You smile in a dazed agreement, beaming up at him, and everything in Dean seems to soften. He presses a gentle kiss to your brow and pulls you upright, helping you settle in the bench before getting himself to work.
He tries to clean up the seats, but gives up fast and mumbles something about doing it back home. You were right in assuming your clothing was ruined, so Dean just gives you his shirt and wraps an arm around your shoulders, holding you against him for the drive home.
When you pull in to the garage, he doesnât give you a chance to try and walk. Youâre hauled into his arms like a princess and marched inside, Dean only pausing to wipe the back bench and stop a smell.
First stop is the bathroom. Then Dean offers to bring you to your bedâthe words weighted and reluctantâbut you shove your face into his neck and shake you head.
Dean. You need to be near Dean.
He carries you to his bed with a tall pride, and somehow manages to keep a hand on you as he changes into his own sweats. You cuddle into him, smiling when he presses a kiss to your brow.
âIf I forget this,â he murmurs. âRemind me in the morning.â
You laugh softly, voice quiet but returned. âIf you forget, Iâm going to kill you.â
âAnd I woulda earned that.â
âMh.â You curl further into his arms, andâunable to help itâwhisper. âDonât forget.â
Dean kisses the top of your head, words a lullaby as you drift off to slip.
âNever. Iâm yours now, sweetheart. Like it or not.â
You like it.
You donât think you could like it more if you tried. Â
âŠEnd note: deeply unfair that he isn't real. we gotta talk to someone about that.âŠ
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