summary: celebrating a hunt goes wrong when a milkshake goes flying. perhaps you’ll learn to not make a mess in his car again, huh?
cw: silly fluff, featuring sam, moody dean
dean winchester x fem!reader ⋮ wc: 873
“no! no way, princess. you get back out there and finish cleaning that damn milkshake outta my car,” dean huffed as soon as you stepped into the motel room again, holding a bucket full of soapy water and a sponge.
you laughed at the look on his face and whined at him playfully, “dean, come on. i’ve cleaned it.”
sam, who was sat on the bed across the room, couldn’t help but let out an amused laugh at the whole situation.
you see, the three of you had been celebrating a successful poltergeist hunt, and on the way back to the motel, you had the bright idea of getting milkshakes to celebrate ‘properly.’
and somehow, your bright pink strawberry milkshake had ended up all over the backseat of the impala. and all over you too, not that dean seemed to care about that though, only about the leather interior of his damn car.
he was absolutely furious.
“like hell you have,” dean snapped and shook his head, “i’ve seen your so-called cleaning, sweetheart. that ain’t cuttin’ it. so get back out there and finish the job.”
sam snickered again.
“you think this is funny, sammy?” dean turned to his brother, “she spilt her damn milkshake! all over baby!”
sam shook his head and raised his hands in surrender, though he was definitely fighting off a smirk, “hey! i didn’t say a thing.”
dean narrowed his eyes at his brother, before turning back to you, “i’m serious. you leave even a drop of that milkshake in my car and you’ll have hell to pay.”
you laughed again, a grin spreading from ear to ear on your face.
“dean, relax! it’s clean,” you breathed out through your laugh.
dean’s face tightened as he stood a few steps in front of you with his arms crossed, clearly unimpressed and irritated at this whole ordeal and how blasé you were being.
“don’t tell me to relax. that car’s my baby!”
you pouted playfully, “i thought i was.”
“you know what i mean,” dean muttered and shoved past you, out of the motel room.
you looked at sam in amusement. he shrugged with a smile, before you turned on your heel and followed dean outside.
you found him with his ass hanging out the backseat of the impala as he inspected your cleaning. you tried not to laugh as you made your way over.
“see?” you raised your brows and waited expectantly for his snarky response.
dean climbed out of the car, a grumpy expression still splashed across his face.
“it’s sticky.”
“it’s not sticky.”
“no, it is. it’s milkshake sticky. and it smells of strawberry.”
you chuckled, which made dean’s face tighten even more.
“dean, i’ve been cleaning it for like an hour!”
“and still… it’s not clean!” he huffed, his green eyes tracing over your features.
you scoffed and walked over to him, putting the bucket on the ground and throwing the sponge in it.
“dean… c’mon,” you muttered softly and crossed your arms as you stood in front of him.
he looked down at you and sighed, “it’s still sticky, baby.”
you glanced past him to look into the car. truthfully, the inside of the impala was clean—perhaps cleaner than it had actually been in a long time. you didn’t understand why dean was biting your head off about it, though you were amused nonetheless.
“you’re being a princess about this, dean,” you laughed.
he didn’t find that funny. he stepped forward and cupped your cheek, an irritable expression on his face.
“no, you’re being an ass. you know how much i love this car and—”
“yeah, i know,” you muttered softly, leaning into his touch, “i’ve really cleaned it, dean. i promise. and anyway, you're always spilling like… burger juice and monster blood all over it, what's a little strawberry sauce too?" you giggled softly.
dean sighed and studied your face for a moment, before softening his expression and leaning down, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.
“you’re right. i’m sorry,” he chuckled breathily, though he was still a little tense, “you're right, it's clean. i’m just… i’m just being a pain… i think today’s hunt just really took it out of me. you did a good job, babygirl.”
“course, deanie. it’s been a long day. and i do actually listen when you speak about baby. i know how much you love her,” you nodded along as you spoke.
“mhm… and i love you too, my sticky girl. your turn for a wash now i think,” dean smirked down at you, the tension having left his body almost completely.
you chuckled again. “finally,” you breathed out playfully in relief that he’d finally cooled off about the car, “i need to get this milkshake out of my hair. do you... maybe wanna help me, de?”
dean's eyes raked over your figure, “course, angel. let me clean you,” he spoke softly despite the smirk on his face.
he took your hand and guided you back to the motel room and into the bathroom, ignoring the amused scoff that came from sam as you both passed him. you stripped off each other’s clothes and hopped into the shower, proceeding to forget all about that damn milkshake…
A/N: i’m ngl, i found this WAY back in my drafts and it’s probably the stupidest thing i’ve ever written (i was high idk what goes on in my brain when i smoke) but slay ig?? i’m debating even posting this tbh ahhHhHH ANYWAYS happy late bday to my pookems,,, i didn’t write anything for his bday (i haven’t written in like two weeks oops) BYE
feedback and reblogs are welcome and appreciated!!!! thank uuu
Pairings: Dean Winchester x Female Reader (established relationship)
Summary: the morning after Dean’s refusal comes. And now that you’re sober the rules no longer apply.
Warnings: hangover, consensual sex, fluffy smut.
Also any mistakes are my own, please do not repost my work anywhere however reblogs are fine and welcome :)
If you love it, please comment and/or reblog. Let me know your thoughts! :)
**IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT DON’T READ IT**
A/N: Got lots of requests for this! So here is part 2 to Whiskey Rules.
Read part 1 here: “Whiskey Rules”
Sunlight, harsh and unforgiving despite the bunker’s subterranean nature, speared through a ventilation grate directly onto your face. You groaned, flinging an arm over your eyes. Your head throbbed with the steady rhythm of a jackhammer, your mouth felt stuffed with cotton, and your stomach gave a queasy lurch. Memories of last night flooded back – the tequila shots, the desperate need for Dean, his infuriatingly steadfast refusal… the feel of him hard beneath you, the taste of his skin, and the crushing disappointment when he’d put you to bed like a misbehaving child.
You squeezed your eyes shut tighter. Stupid damn rule.
Then, awareness prickled. You weren’t alone. The warm, solid presence beside you was unmistakeable. Dean. He was propped up on one elbow, watching you, the early morning light catching the flecks of green in his hazel eyes. There was no trace of judgment, only quiet concern and… something else simmering beneath the surface.
“Mornin’, sunshine,” he murmured, his voice gravelly with sleep but impossibly soft. “Rough night?”
You managed a pathetic whimper, peeking out from under your arm. “Head… feels like an Impala engine’s tryin’ to escape.”
A small, understanding smile touched his lips. Without a word, he leaned over you, reaching for the nightstand. You heard the clink of glass, then felt the cool press of a water glass against your hand. “Small sips,” he instructed gently. Next came two aspirin placed carefully in your palm. “Take these. Then just lie still.”
You obeyed, the cool water a balm to your parched throat. He watched you swallow the pills, his gaze tracing your face with an intensity that made your pulse flutter despite the hangover. The frustration from last night was still there, a low hum beneath the physical misery, but it was tempered now by a profound sense of being cared for.
“Better?” he asked, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. His touch was feather-light.
“A little,” you rasped. You looked up at him, really looked. His hair was sleep-tousled, stubble shadowing his jaw. He looked rumpled and real and devastatingly handsome. The memory of grinding against him, feeling his desperate hardness… heat pooled low in your belly, separate from the nausea. “Dean…”
He shushed you softly, leaning down to press a chaste, lingering kiss to your temple. “Not yet. Gotta make sure you’re okay first.” He shifted, sitting up fully. “Hungry? I could make toast? Maybe some weak tea?”
The thought of food made your stomach rebel. “Just… water. And you.” You caught his hand as he moved to get up. “Stay.”
He paused, looking down at your hand on his. Then he settled back against the headboard, pulling you carefully, oh-so-gently, so your head rested against his bare chest. His skin was warm, the steady beat of his heart soothing against your aching temple. He wrapped his arms around you, one hand resting protectively on your hip, the other beginning that familiar, hypnotic stroking through your hair.
“Okay,” he breathed. “I’m right here.”
You lay like that for long, quiet minutes. The aspirin slowly dulled the headache’s sharpest edges. The water settled your stomach. But more than anything, Dean’s presence, his quiet strength and unwavering care, acted as an anchor. The desperate, drunken lust had burned itself out, replaced by a deep, thrumming ache of pure want – clean and sober and entirely focused on the man holding you.
You tilted your head back to look at him again. His eyes were already on yours, that simmering intensity now blazing openly. He saw the shift in you – the clarity replacing the haze of the hangover and the tequila fog.
“Dean,” you whispered, your voice stronger now. You traced a finger along the line of his collarbone. “I’m sober.”
A slow, devastating smile spread across his face, lighting up his eyes. It was a smile full of promise and relief and barely leashed desire. “Yeah,” he agreed, his voice dropping to a husky register that sent shivers down your spine. “You sure are.”
He didn’t move immediately. Instead, he lifted his hand from your hair and cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your cheekbone. His gaze searched yours, deep and searching. “You still want this?” he asked, his voice thick. “Truly want it? Not the tequila talking?”
The tenderness in his question, the depth of his care in making absolutely sure, melted the last remnants of your frustration. “Yes,” you breathed, pushing yourself up slightly to meet his gaze fully. “God, yes, De. I want you. Sober mind, sober heart.” You reached up to trace the curve of his lower lip with your thumb. “No rules in the way now.”
A low groan escaped him at your touch and your words. The careful control he’d maintained all night and through the morning snapped. In one fluid motion, he rolled you gently onto your back, settling his weight over you without crushing you. His hips pressed down, and you felt him – hard and insistent against your thigh, even through the thin layers of your panties and his boxers.
“Thank Christ,” he muttered against your lips before capturing them in a kiss that was nothing like the desperate clash of last night.
This kiss was deep, yes, hungry with pent-up longing, but it was also slow. Deliberate. Reverent. He explored your mouth with a languid intensity, tasting you like fine whiskey he wanted to savor. His hands slid under the hem of your tank top, calloused palms skimming up your sides, leaving trails of fire on your sensitive skin. He broke the kiss only to trail his lips along your jawline, down the column of your throat, placing open-mouthed kisses that made you arch beneath him with a soft gasp.
“Told you,” he murmured against the pulse fluttering wildly in your neck, his breath hot. “Worth waiting for.” He pushed your tank top up slowly, inch by torturous inch, revealing your bare breasts. His gaze darkened further, pure heat and adoration mingling as he took you in. “So damn beautiful.”
He lowered his head, not rushing. He kissed the swell of one breast, then the other, before taking a peaked nipple into his mouth with agonizing slowness. His tongue circled, flicked, sucked gently, sending jolts of pure pleasure straight to your core. You tangled your hands in his hair, gasping his name as he lavished attention on first one breast, then the other, building the ache between your legs into a throbbing need.
His hand slid lower, over your stomach, dipping beneath the waistband of your panties. You lifted your hips instinctively, helping him slide them down and off. His fingers found your center immediately, slick and eager for him.
“See?” he breathed against your skin as he began to stroke you with exquisite slowness, circling your clit with maddening precision before dipping a finger shallowly inside you. “All for me now. Soaked and perfect.”
He added a second finger, curling them gently against that spot inside you that made stars burst behind your eyelids. “This what you needed last night? Hmm? This slow burn?”
“Yes!” you cried out, bucking against his hand. “De… please…”
He chuckled, a low, warm sound vibrating against your skin. He withdrew his fingers slowly, making you whimper at the loss. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he quickly shed his boxers, freeing his erection – thick and straining and glistening at the tip. He positioned himself between your thighs, the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance.
His eyes locked with yours again, holding your gaze as he slowly, so slowly, began to push inside. There was no resistance; you were more than ready for him. But he took his time, inch by exquisite inch, filling you gradually until he was fully sheathed within you.
“Oh god…” you moaned, the sensation of being stretched and filled by him completely overwhelming. It felt different sober – deeper, more intense, every nerve ending screaming with awareness.
Dean let out a shaky breath above you, his biceps trembling slightly with the effort of holding back. He braced himself on his forearms on either side of your head, cradling you. “Feel that?” he whispered hoarsely, barely moving inside you yet. “That’s us. Really us.” He dropped a soft kiss on your lips. “No tequila. No rules.” He began to move then – not the frantic pace fueled by drunken desire you might have initiated last night, but a deep, rolling rhythm that started slow and built gradually.
Each thrust was deliberate, measured, designed to draw out every possible ounce of pleasure. He filled you completely with each deep push and withdrew almost entirely before sliding home again. It was an exercise in control and connection. His eyes never left yours as he moved within you, watching every flicker of emotion cross your face – the pleasure, the awe, the deepening need.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper still, meeting each thrust as best you could despite the overwhelming sensations. Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the powerful muscles flexing beneath smooth skin.
“De… so good…” you gasped.
“That’s it,” he encouraged softly between deep thrusts that hit that perfect spot inside you relentlessly now. “Just feel it. Feel me.” He lowered his head to kiss you again – deep and consuming – swallowing your moans. One hand slid between your bodies, finding your clit again with unerring accuracy. He circled it in time with his thrusts, applying perfect pressure.
The dual stimulation – the deep fullness inside you and the insistent pressure on your clit – was too much.
Pleasure coiled tight in your belly, spiraling higher and higher with each deep stroke. You cried out against his mouth, clinging to him as the orgasm crashed over you like a wave. It was blindingly intense, stealing your breath and shaking you to your core as you pulsed around him.
Dean groaned your name like a prayer as he felt you clench around him. He buried his face in your neck as his own control finally shattered. His thrusts became deeper, harder, more erratic for a few glorious moments before he stiffened above you with a guttural cry of release, spilling himself deep inside you.
He collapsed onto you for a moment, breathing heavily against your skin before quickly rolling to his side, taking you with him so you lay cradled against him. His arms wrapped around you tightly as both of you trembled through the aftershocks.
He nuzzled your hairline as your breathing slowly evened out. "Okay?" he murmured softly against your temple.
"More than okay," you sighed contentedly, snuggling impossibly closer into his warmth. The hangover was a distant memory replaced by a profound sense of well-being and satisfaction.
He chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. His fingers started combing gently through your hair again in that soothing rhythm that always calmed you. "Told you I'd take care of you this morning." His voice was thick with satisfaction and affection.
You tilted your head back to look up at him, meeting those warm hazel eyes that held nothing but tenderness now. A smile played on your lips. "Yeah," you admitted softly, tracing the strong line of his jaw with your fingertip.
"Worth every second of waiting." You kissed him then – slow, sweet, and full of gratitude.
He deepened the kiss briefly before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours. "Even the stupid damn rule?" he teased gently.
You laughed softly against his lips. "Maybe," you conceded, snuggling back into his chest where you felt safest. "But only because it led to this."
Dean held you close, his embrace warm and secure as the bunker settled into peaceful silence around you. The only sound was the steady beat of his heart under your ear and the soft whisper of his fingers in your hair – a perfect morning after a long night of waiting.
notes just dean being a lil softie, whole lotta fluff, sfw, definitely gonna be making a nsfw version for this as well though,, cause I know y’all are freaky like that!
ʚ he def knew u had a crush on him long before you two even dated, so he would flirt with random girls to get u jealous cause he thinks it's attractive
ʚ scared to open up to u at first, too anxious that he’d scare u away with all of the things he’s carrying inside of him, but u always reassure dean that you would never leave him
ʚ 100% acts like a big baby, when you two are alone in the motel room, since he wants to feel ur warmth and affection
ʚ always calls u “sweetheart" even in the middle of an argument.. it’s his way of showing affection.. in some way.. and he can't help it
ʚ he is incredibly protective of u, he would always try to shield u from the worst of it, even if it means being a little overbearing at times..
ʚ he loves flirting with u, even after you've been together for a long time.. he would out cheesy one-liners or make playful comments, trying to make u laugh
ʚ if u ever get hurt, emotionally or physically, it would break him.. he has a hard time coping with seeing u in pain, and he’d go to great lengths to make things right
ʚ the type to just grab u and drive off in the impala, no real destination in mind, just enjoying each other's company and the open road
ʚ lets you pick out the music whenever he's driving.. “Excellent song choice, sweetheart."
ʚ he loves listening to u babbling, even if it’s about the most boring things.. he’d just be happy to hear ur sweet voice
ʚ he’d feel so proud while seeing u flipping off random guys that are trying to hit on u
ʚ he is addicted to ur lips, sneaking in little kisses here and there, sometimes even having a hard time stopping, he just loves u so much
ʚ always has his hands on u someway, especially when he is driving, his palm would be on ur thigh ALL the time
