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į“ÉŖÉ“į“į“į“Źį“Ź į“ į“Ź. į“ ÉŖÉŖ. october 7th, 2025. feat. demon!dean winchester. bondage. established relationship. edging. pleading. spitting. cream pie. degradation. this author thinks moc!dean and demon!dean were hot as fuck and deserved more screen time.
Main Masterlist. Kinktober Lineup.
É“į“į“” į“Źį“ŹÉŖÉ“É¢: į“į“į“Ź Źį“į“ į“į“į“Źį“ - ź±Źį“ į“”į“É“į“ź± Źį“į“ į“É“É¢į“ 0:01 āāāāāāāā 4:46 ā» ā² ā
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You always find your way back here.
You know Sam would be so disappointed if he knew. Betrayed even. Heās been searching for Dean desperately, and youāve been running into him on the road, lying to Sam about your cases, pretending you donāt know where Dean went.
The first time was an accident. His move. He showed up in your motel room naked and had you bent over the radiator in five minutes, his fingerprints kissed in spots on your throat. The second time was on purpose. He called. You told him where to meet.
He makes no promises. Just cums inside of you, on you, staining you with his corrupted soul. Your Dean, a demon. Your Dean, who tears you apart and puts you back together with his cock. Dean, who is not the man you knew, but looks enough like him.
You donāt think he can be saved. You donāt think he can be killed. So youāll take what you can get, like a beaten dog crawling back to eat crumbs.
āI was starting to think you werenāt coming, sweetheart.ā You hear his voice before you see him, two onyx eyes glowing under a streetlight, the Impala a hearse against his back. He leans languidly, lips curled into a sneer and a smirk of amusement all at once.
āTraffic,ā you lie. Like you didnāt agonize a block over before you finally decided to show.
āSamās closing in, I hear. You think heāll be happy to find out youāve been keeping my bed warm? Lying to him and handing him tissues while he plays Whereās Dean-o? Heāll be so upset to find you know all the answers. But you donāt care, do you? You like being used like a needy little slut.ā
āAre you finished?ā You bite out.
He whistles. āKittenās got claws now, doesnāt she?ā
āAnd what if I tell him where you are?ā
Heās got you pinned against the car in a heartbeat. The metal echoes through your teeth at the impact. Youāre shaking, but not from fear. From anger. From lust.
His black eyes flash again, obscuring the green youāve come to love. āDonāt forget what I am, sweetheart. Donāt want to outweigh your usefulness. Iāll cut your pretty little throat.ā
And you know he means it. It terrifies you and arouses you all at once.
"One day, you're never gonna see me again," you say, chin high, even if the words have no bite.
Dean snickers. "Sure. If that were true, you'd have called Sammy a long time ago."
He holds up the keys to a motel room, the chain swinging back and forth tauntingly. "Shall we?"
The second you're inside the room, he slams you into the door and locks it, deadbolting it in place. You gasp at the impact, slight pain radiating from your back as he pins you with one arm. With the other, he dips his hand into the back pocket of your jeans, scoffing.
"Really?" He shoves the Enochian handcuffs in your face, making you take a long look at them. "I'm hurt, sweetheart.''
You struggle against his hold. "You had to know I wouldn't give up on you."
He shakes his head. "Now, what am I going to do with you?"
For the first time, genuine terror seizes you. He smirks, hauling you over to the bed. He tosses you onto the mattress, like you weigh nothing, and then handcuffs your wrists to the bed frame. You thrash for only a moment, but realize there's no point.
He yanks the First Blade out of the back of his jeans, pointing it at you. "Maybe I should gut you like a fish and leave you for Sammy to find. Just because you planned to betray me."
"Don't make me gag you, baby. I like your mouth just fine," he warns. "Lucky for you, you have the tightest, sweetest little cunt I've ever fucked, and it would be a damn shame to kill you."
He weilds the blade across the thin fabric of your flannel, ripping out the buttons. Your shirt falls to the side, bearing your stomach, your breasts cupped in cotton, to him. He grins at the way you flinch as he holds the knife over you.
"I won't hurt you, baby. Not too bad," he cooes, kissing your neck. His hands find the front clasp of your bra, and he smirks. Easy access is his favorite, even as a demon. Your breasts spill free, and he nips at both nipples, turning them into hard peaks. Your jeans go next. When he has you down to your panties, he slaps your pussy through the lace, groaning at the way you yelp.
"So fuckin wet," he remarks. "God-damn! It's fuckin hot how riled up I make you. Such a needy little whore, you'll take whatever I give you. I say what I want, do what I want, and you're at my mercy. Isn't that right?"
You nod, squirming as the cuffs rattle over your wrists. He laughs, placing mean hickeys on your chest as he starts to play with your clut, teasing your cunt just enough to make you miserable. You're aching with need, and he knows just what to do, what spots to press, which shapes to draw on that bundle of nerves. He teases and strokes and taunts you the whole time, never giving you too much, or enough. You're delirious, exhausted from him drawing you right up to the edge and catching you at the last second. Relentlessly pushing you to overstimulation.
By the time there's sweat beading on your brows and your panties are soaked through, you're on the verge of tears. You're shaking, an ache inside you that can only be fucked out.
"Go ahead, baby," he cooes. "Ask."
"Let me go," you plead. At least to take care of yourself.
"No," he says. "Try again."
He unbuckles his belt. You shiver.
"Ask," he says, pinching your clit and rolling.
Your hips shoot off the bed. "Please, Dean. Please fuck me. Please!"
"Such a needly little whore," he says, tearing off your panties and pocketing them. He undoes his zipper, just enough to free his cock, and you can feel the teeth of it on the inside of your thigh as the blunt head of his cock smacks against your clit, then notches inside your entrance. "Pathetic, what you'll let me do to you." He runs his thumb across your lower lip, then shoves it deep into your mouth. You gag, tears in your eyes, as you dutifully suck. When he pulls his finger out with a wet pop, you're still just barely taking him inside.
"Open your mouth," he barks.
You do. He pulls back and spits as hard as he can.
You obey, and he rewards you by slamming into you so hard your teeth rattle. His entire cock is stuffed inside of you, abusing your cervix, filling out every spot in your velvety hole. He doesn't give you time to adjust before he fucks you punishingly, like it's a race to get to the finish line. But he doesn't neglect you, even like this, even black-eyed. No, he strokes your clit with that thumb you sucked and fucks you so hard you see god.
At some point, you cum, but you barely notice it. Your body is a live wire set to explode, and you're just taking it in, one thrust at a time. Tears are rolling down your cheeks as pain and pleasure bleed into one singular sensation, and you just let it happen. Just feel it.
When he cums, he spills inside of you, leaving a mess between your legs. Then he uses the first blade's handle to break the chain on the handcuffs, freeing you.
There are bruises on your arms from the metal. Bruises from his cruel kisses on your body. Soreness radiates from your cunt and then wider.
"Next time," he says, without looking at you. "If you bring any traps or tricks, I'll break your pretty neck."
"There won't be a next time," you croak.
The devil has nothing on Demon Dean's smirk. "We'll see about that."
