CYOSA - Nov 16 - Part 4: Back to Life
(Let’s all pretend it’s still November, okay? Cool)
Characters: Dean, Reader, Sam, Nayan (Frank, Nate & Daniel mentioned) Word Count: 5.5k- Sorry...kinda, but mostly not Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, angst, SMUT A/N: Here we have another final installment for the amazing Choose Your Own Supernatural Adventure, November Edition. I know it’s not November anymore, but things happened. I hope you enjoy it, and if you’ve got feedback, I’d love to hear it. Big hugs and love to @kayteonline for her support and beta work. Did you know that she’s the best of the best? Go back and refresh your memory: Part One by @littlegreenplasticsoldier Part Two by @kayteonline Part Three by @moonlitskinwalker
“Now, Y/N, how about I introduce myself” he sneered, and you saw him take a step closer.
The vampire was a few feet in front of you, the stairs mere inches behind you… dare you try and make a break for it? You could try retrieving the machete, or even bolting back to your car. Suddenly, having Sam around as an extra pair of hands sounded very appealing.
But could you really just abandon Dean so easily?
“I’m Nayan, and I believe you’ve been looking for me.”
“God damn it,” you puff out in response, your chest suddenly painfully tight. “Dean?!” you yell, trying to rouse him, but get no response.
Your eyes flick between his form and Nayan’s. So much for that Winchester reputation; twice now he’s shown up and messed up your plans, only to get himself knocked out. You know he’s got to have a machete on him, but it’s too risky to try to get to it. Your eyes narrow as you try to get a clearer image of the vampire in front of you. Your feet slide backward up the first few steps as Nayan remains still.
“You seem a bit shocked, Y/n. I imagine you’ve thought of this moment in countless ways. Nothing quite like this, though, hmm?”
“No, not exactly,” you manage to steadily reply, your foot shifting up another step. Nayan makes the smallest motion forward, mimicking your movement, a slant of sunlight now illuminating his gaunt face. “I would’ve chopped your head off by now.”
Your machete couldn’t have gotten far, you reason, just a quick push out the door and you would grab it, back in no time.
“Oh, my dear, are you planning on leaving another hunter behind?”
“What?” Your blood runs cold, “No, no, I’m not - I didn’t leave anyone behind.”
He tut-tuts you. “Are you quite certain of that? I think, that if Nate were here, he may beg to differ,” he says, too much mirth in his tone.
Your jaw stiffens up, nostrils flaring at the name coming from his lips. “But he’s not here, all thanks to you.”
“Oh no, it’s because of you. You left him.”
“No, that’s not true. I fought and I fought,” your voice cracks. “I couldn’t do anything. I was about to die.” Your fists clench at your sides, hands feeling useless without a weapon.
“But here you are. You lived to fight another day. To be quite the inconvenience, honestly. And Nate was left to die - and he did - but I assure you, it was neither quick or painless. Just as your death will be.” Even without moving, he seemed to be advancing, the menace in his words making the world shrink around you. You move up another step, head bowing now under the closed door. “We fed on him for weeks,” he hissed. “He cried and begged, he called out for you over and over, sure that you would find him and save him.”
“Shut up!” you growl as you drag your nails along the wood, pushing it open and stumbling back with the momentum. You trip across the threshold, trying to keep an eye on Nayan as you make your way out to retrieve your weapon. You clumsily crawl backwards across the dead leaves and grass. Nayan calmly makes his way up the steps of the shelter after you, but halts at the opening.
“Hunter’s blood is always such a treat. When we were done, we left him for the animals.”
“No!” the scream rips from your throat. “Dean,” you plead, “Dean, get the fuck up!” Nayan grabs the door, ducking down and slamming it closed, shutting him and Dean inside.
“No! NO nonono! Dean!” Your screams echo through the open field and into the woods around you. Your hands are sprawled on the ground, digging into the dirt.
You fling yourself over, crawling on hands and knees, scanning the ground for your machete. The gleam of the metal just a few feet away catches your eye. You sprawl across the patchy earth, wrapping your fingers around the handle just as you hear a thunk followed by a dull smack from the storm shelter.
“Damn it Dean!” you sob. If he hadn’t shown up, you would have had your weapon. You’d be toe-to-toe with Nayan right now, not crying on the ground, scrambling to save him. Your face feels wet as tears pour from your eyes - still wide with horror at Nayan’s accusations. You breathe through gritted teeth, fast and shallow, while panic and guilt rest like a weight in your gut.
“Nayan, I’m gonna fucking kill you,” you grit out. Pushing up off the ground, you rush over to the shelter door. A yank of the handle confirms he’s latched it. “Don’t you fucking touch him, you hear me!”
You lean back, lifting a foot to stomp your foot against the weather-warped wood. You just hope the age and decay works to your advantage. Angry grunts and yelps escape you each time you lower your foot. The wood creaks and splinters before one of the boards finally cracks. A groan rises up from somewhere inside.
“Dean, get up, GET UP!” you scream through the boards. You take a moment to check inside, looking between the broken boards, but in the contrast of light, you can’t make out anything.
“Y/n!” a voice yells from somewhere; the sound of it echoes in the trees.
“Sam! Sam! The storm shelter! It’s Dean, help me!” you holler into the air, assuming he knows where to find you.
You step back to continue your assault on the door, just hoping that you won’t be too late. Your skin is damp with sweat, jagged splinters of wood jab at your leg, and your stomach muscles ache from the effort.
“Nayan” kick “you fucking” kick “son of a” kick “fucking bitch” kick. Rage, panic, adrenaline - your body feels consumed, one reckless goal the only thing on your mind: get Nayan, save Dean. Footsteps advance behind you. You swing around, jaw and neck tight, skin flushed bright red while beads of sweat roll down your brow, your machete clenched in your hand, ready to strike.
A breathless Sam raises his hands, one still holding tight to his own weapon, blood splattered across his torso. “Whoa, just me, Y/n.”
“Sam! He’s in there!” You turn back to continue your assault on the door, not providing any further explanation. A grunt followed by an anguished moan from inside the storm cellar draws both yours and Sam’s attention. You share a panicked look as he makes his way over, pushing you swiftly to the side. He lifts one massive boot and slams it down to the cracked boards, smashing them before jerking his arm inside, yanking at the latch holding the door closed.
“Dean?!” he yells, his voice strained.
“Get your ass down here, Sammy,” he shouts back, his voice pained.
Sam finally pries the door open, and you both duck into the storm shelter. Disoriented with the change of light, you squint and lean against the wall, watching the two hunters attack Nayan. Dean wobbles slightly, as does Nayan. They rush at him, swinging their weapons, but he manages to twist around them. After a flurry of movement, you find yourself face to face with Nayan, the two hunters holding tight at his torso and arms to keep him back.
“Y/n,” Dean growls, “Do it!”
Your lips straighten into a hard line. You cross your arm over your chest, lifting the machete to reach Nayan’s neck. He snaps his jagged teeth at you in a sinister smile before you swing your weapon, slicing his head clean off his shoulders with an animalistic growl of your own.
Dean and Sam immediately drop his body. The three of you stand in the dark cellar, chests heaving while you all try to catch your breath, the space around you starting to feel humid and stuffy. Sam steps over to Dean, slapping at his shoulders in a relieved hug while he props him up from under his arms. You close your eyes and lean back letting them have their moment. They have a hushed conversation as they check each other out, and you keep your eyes closed, concentrating on controlling your breathing, feeling your chin quiver, your throat constricting with emotion. Your shoulders slump as guilt and exhaustion hit you like a brick wall.
“Asshole,” you grumble, swallowing thickly. “Fucking asshole!” You scream at the headless corpse. The Winchesters heads both snap in your direction, watching as you sink down to your knees, sobs finally escaping your throat as you speak to your conscience.
“Nate, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I tried…” Your cries consume you then, preventing you from apologizing to any more ghosts as your words turn into incoherent wailing.
Arms wrap around you and you lean into them, hunched over with your face in your hands as you weep and mourn - finally opening the floodgates. The warmth from the set of arms holding you makes the rest of your body feel ice cold as the adrenaline subsides, and the sweat rapidly cools on your skin.
“Sweetheart? Y/n?” the deep voice cuts through your cries. He gently shushes you while he holds onto you tightly, letting you cry until you can’t any more and exhaustion takes over.
Hours later, you wake up in your motel room, dim lights shining through the worn out curtains. You roll over with a deep sigh and a groan.
“Hey there kiddo, how you doing?” Dean asks, sounding as tired as you are, leaning back on a chair.
“I’m sore. And dirty,” you answer, pushing to sit up on the bed, “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, “Yeah, Sammy patched me up. I’m good. Why don’t you go take a shower? I’ll get us some food.”
You nod and push off the bed, patting his shoulder as you pass to get to the bathroom. Your reflection looks as bad as you imagined. Your face is puffy from crying, hair a wild mess from sweat and fighting. Your skin feels tight and itchy from the dried sweat and dirt caked over it, but you don’t find any major injuries aside from your swollen and scratched up leg, and you let the shower rinse away the mess. You watch the dirt as it swirls around the drain.
‘It’s over. It’s really all over. They’re dead. You've taken them all out. No. Wait.’
Your mind races with worry and you hurry to get out of the bathroom, yanking on a t-shirt and sweats while opening the door.
“Dean,” you rush out. “What are we doing here? What about the bodies, and Frank, and Daniel? Where’s Sam? We have to -”
“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Everything’s good.” He grabs your forearms, holding you still. “Sam took care of Frank back at that barn and he has a lead on Daniel.” You stiffen up like you’re ready to jump out the door, but he holds you tightly. “He called in another hunter for back-up. Should be closing in on him any time now. He’s got this. You - you need to rest.”
“No. No, he shouldn’t have gone. That’s not on him, this was my job. I should be finishing this,” you grab at your hair. “Oh God! If anything happens…”
Dean turns you toward the table, backing you up until you fall into a chair. “He’s fine, Y/n. You need to eat, and to rest.” He leans down in front of you, still holding onto your arms.
His eyes flicker between yours, waiting for you to acknowledge him, to signal that you’re okay before he lets go. Finally you nod, letting out a tight, tense breath. Dean settles into the chair across from you and waits for you to start eating. You slouch against the table, a year’s worth of tension leaving a sharp ache in your shoulders. After a few bites you break the silence.
“How did you fight him?”
Dean’s eyebrows arch up as his mouth furiously chews at his mouthful of food. “Dead man’s blood,” he wipes his mouth with a napkin then takes a quick swig of beer. “I managed to get a syringe in him, knock him down a few pegs.”
You nod, then go back to eating. A few minutes later you break the silence again.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left you.” You lift your wide eyes to meet his, guilt gnawing at your gut and destroying your appetite.
“No, mm-mm, don’t do that. You have nothing to apologize for. You did what you had to do, it’s the job.” He inhales deeply before adding, “I’m sure Nate knew that, too.”
Your chin begins to tremble, but the sound of Dean’s phone ringing holds you on edge.
“It’s Sam.” He holds the phone to his ear, “Hey.” You can see his shoulders go lax when Sam replies, relieved of his own tension. The rest of Dean’s conversation consists of a string of one word answers that you zone out on. He ends the call, placing his hand over yours to grab your attention.
“It’s done. They took care of Daniel, that nest is finished.” You nod, staring blankly at the carpet. Dean huffs a little, pushing out of his seat to kneel in front of you. “I get it, I do. This isn’t the resolution or whatever you were looking for, but it’s done. What happened to Nate, that’s not on you. You didn’t do that.” He squeezes your thighs, before rubbing a hand over his face. “Hell, if you fought half as hard to help him as you did for me, then he knew, Y/n. He knew that you tried to save him.”
A small, self-conscious smile lifts the corners of your mouth. “Dean, you don’t have to try to make me feel better. Just skip ahead to the ‘I told you so’ part and get it over with. And while we're at it, I officially relieve you of babysitting duty.”
He shook his head. “First of all, you're a grown fucking woman, I'm not babysitting anyone, I’m here because I want to be. Second, I wasn't planning on saying anything like that. We’re alive. You kicked ass.” He tucks his chin down to chuckle. “I mean, you really surprised the hell outta that vamp when you started going berserk on that door.”
A flush of embarrassment makes your cheeks go pink. “Yeah well, I couldn’t let him kill you and deny the ladies of the world this handsome face, now could I?”
“Except, you threw a machete at me.”
“It was a pretty good throw, wasn’t it?”
“Well, you missed, but,” he shrugs.
“I won’t the next time,” you squint at him, teasingly.
“There you go, now you’re thinking clearly.” His thumbs rub absentmindedly back and forth along your thighs. “So, now that you’re done going Kill Bill on those vamps, what are you gonna do?”
You sigh, feeling dumbfounded at the obvious question. “Well, I kept telling myself that I was going to take a break. So I guess I’m on vacation.”
“No shit?”
“Yup. Had this whole grand plan of nothingness. Just me, a beach, some trashy novels, and alcohol. Even planned to upgrade from these shady motels, splurge on a suite.” It felt weird to talk about your plans like they could finally be a reality. It had felt like wishful thinking for so long.
Dean smirked as you daydreamed out loud. “Sounds relaxing...and boring.”
You can’t help the giggle that bursts from you. “It does, doesn’t it?” You shake your head at your foolishness. “Nayan was right. I imagined all of this so differently. I thought I’d feel relieved, refreshed, like once I checked that last mark on my list that I could just tuck it away. But it’s not like that at all. I’m just worn out and I’m anxious, like, what now? I feel like I've forgotten how to do anything else.”
You had isolated yourself for the better part of a year. Constantly on edge, denying yourself anything but anger. It was like the rest of your emotions were trying their damndest to play catch-up after that wall finally crumbled. It felt good to talk to Dean, not at him - even if you did just want to keep calling him handsome. To feel the warmth of him near you - pulling you into his chest. To let yourself smile and have it be genuine. It made a new feeling spread through your chest, your craving for anger replaced by something a little softer.
“It’s tough losing people. Then having that asshole digging into you like that...I’m just saying. I know this hasn’t been the easiest day - “
“Year,” you interrupt. He nods, accepting your correction.
“Yeah. If you want - If there’s, uhh,” he pauses, clearing his throat, “Look, I just think you kicked ass and you deserve to feel good about it. You know? You can relax, you’ve more than earned it.” He nods at you.
Your mind drifts to yesterday morning, and waking up with Dean. His hands lazily roaming your body, the way his lips skimmed along your neck and shoulders. You take your lip between your teeth when you remember the feeling of his hard cock rubbing along your ass. Your shoulders heave as you draw in tight breaths, cheeks burning at the memory of undressing him.
One of Dean’s hands leaves your thigh, making you shudder with the loss of heat. His fingers lift your chin, thumb swiping up to pull your lip out from between your teeth, the skin going white from pressure.
“Hey, hey, don’t do that. Okay, you’re alive. We’re alive. Don’t get upset with yourself for any of it.”
“Oh. No. Dean, that’s not…” He must have thought you were getting ready to cry. His bright green eyes search your face, trying to get a read on you. His look is sympathetic and open. His grip on your lower thigh gets firmer, keeping you grounded, comforted. It only spurs the feelings on even more; craving more contact, more of his warmth, and more of his solid pressure all around you.
“Sweetheart, I mean it. Anything I can do.”
He swallows and clenches his jaw. It looks like a nervous gesture, and it gives you the courage to let your next words slip out. You wonder, then hope that he’s thinking the same things you are.
“Will you? Please, touch me, Dean,” you whisper.
His lips part, tongue slipping out to lick at them. His eyes slowly roam down, then back up your body, reassessing the signals, taking your body in as you leaned ever-so-slightly toward him.
“Where?” his voice rasps.
“Everywhere,” you barely manage to breathe out. Your body tingles from head to toe - worry, anticipation, arousal, all flooding your system at once. His fingers twitch under your chin, his thumb still resting below your lip. You tilt your head down, pressing a soft lick then kiss to the pad of his thumb. He blinks, long and slow, keeping his eyes closed while he takes in your request, his own chest rising and falling with deep, steady breaths. When he opens his eyes, he’s staring directly into yours, his own need showing in his expression.
His hands move swiftly, cupping your face and pulling you to stand, your lips meeting his at some point in the process. Lips part immediately to taste each other as soft moans and deep exhales escape from the both of you while your feet shuffle, pressing your bodies together. You slide slowly up and down against him, lifting up on your tiptoes, then sinking back down, digging your fingers into his biceps as you hold him tightly.
He pulls his hips away, making you chase his movement, guiding you away from the table to the bed, covers still shifted from where you rested earlier. You feel the edge against the back of your legs and ease yourself down, keeping your lips attached to Dean’s, making him bend with you. One hand rests at the nape of his neck, helping to keep him steady, the other supports your weight behind you. Dean mirrors your placement, helping to settle the two of you onto the bed, and you shimmy further back until your legs no longer dangle off the edge.
You roll to your sides, facing each other as Dean pulls your leg up. He hooks it over his waist, wedging his thigh between yours, pulling at your leg and hip until he’s pressing against your center. You gasp when he applies pressure, rubbing against your clit through your clothes. Your arm trapped under his grasps at his shirt, his shoulder blade, anything it can reach. Your free hand holds onto his waist, pushing up and down, encouraging him and using the leverage to rub against him. You roll your hips sending a jolt of pleasure through you, your body twitches at the sensation.
His lips travel across your cheek, down your neck, over your ear - licking, sucking, and kissing any bare skin they come into contact with.
“You’re amazing,” he huffs out, pushing your shoulders flat against the mattress. The hand stuck between you reaches down to your lower back. You gently arch when he places his hand there, pushing at your hips from behind while you drag and grind against each other. You can feel the slick slide of your panties against your pussy lips with each back and forth between you. The zipper of his jeans is bulged out from his erection and it rubs against your lower stomach.
Your leg is still hooked over him, and his hand slides up grabbing a handful of your ass as it makes the journey upward. Fingers graze and tickle your abdomen, before landing on your breast. A pleased groan escapes Dean when he finds you’re not wearing a bra, your nipple already peaked and sensitive, and he rubs his palm over it, making you toss your head back onto the bed, clamping your eyes shut while you squirm and moan.
“Shit, you’re beautiful,” he says as he nuzzles against you. His thigh is still pressed firmly to your clit, but his hips now lift and rock harder against you. His hand slides down from your breast, over your side and tucks behind your back, both arms now holding you tightly while he props himself up on his elbows. His chin is nudged between your neck and shoulder, hot breath fanning across your skin, and two day-old scruff tickling the sensitive skin there.
“God, Dean.” You shift your knee, pushing at his other leg until he lifts it, allowing you to slide your own further apart, his waist now between them. He never misses a beat, pressing his trapped erection directly against your core, and your hips lift to meet his. You know exactly what he’s got to offer you beneath his pants, and your body goes tense, desperate to feel him.
“Yes,” you moan. “God, Dean. More. Just - more.”
He pulls away, slowly dragging his hands over your skin as he sits back on his heels. Your thighs rest over his, spread wide open by the breadth of his seated position. His hands move even slower as they approach the waistband of your sweats. His fingers graze softly between your hipbones, making your muscles jump until his fingertips reach your mound. He lightly drags them up and down, over your still-clothed center, no doubt feeling the heat radiating from you.
“Okay?” he checks. You nod, licking your lips and waiting for his next move.
His hands reach for the waistband again, this time hooking his fingers inside and pulling them away from you. You lift your legs, straightening them and holding them up in the air, letting Dean slide your sweats and panties up and off. A needy, lustful sound escapes his throat. His rough hands glide down your legs from ankle to thigh then back, careful over your cuts and scrapes. He moves his head, letting both your ankles rest on one wide shoulder. One hand hooks over your ankles, holding them in place, the other tracing a path back down, snaking between your thighs until he reaches your slick lips.
He rolls his head back, his chest rumbling with a grunt as he feels you. You think you hear a quiet ‘fuck’ in there somewhere, but you're too occupied by the drumming of your own heartbeat and containing your own moans to really listen. Two fingertips slide up and down your slit spreading your wetness. They glide over your clit, making your waist lift off the mattress, knees trying to curl in on you.
“A little sensitive?” he whispers, licking his already wet bottom lip. His hand pulls away to rest on the back of your thigh.
You cover your face with your hands, sucking a deep breath through your teeth. “Yeah, a bit. It’s, uhhuh, it’s been a while.” His head twists to place a kiss to your ankle.
“Relax. I got you,” he whispers against you. “Been thinking about this since I woke up with you next to me. So warm, and soft, and ready. Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you, I’ve got you.” He rambles while his hand kneads your muscle, his rough hands caressing you gently to soothe you.
“Like this?” you ask, eyes flicking to your feet positioned on his shoulder.
“Mmhmm,” he smirks.
You nod in response, relaxing back down onto the bed, concentrating on the feel of his fingertips. He slides them back and forth before dipping them into you, your slick letting them slide in easily. Your breaths hitch, but you keep your body from jerking away, letting him massage your walls with his two thick fingers.
He keeps a solid rhythm, letting you relax into his touch. After a minute your legs go lax against him, resting easily on his shoulder. You start to arch and rock into his touch, anticipating his pumps in, then back out. He drags his cheek down your leg, kissing, nipping, nuzzling along your calf. Your hands run up your torso, pulling your shirt up along the way letting it bunch up by your collarbone. You grab and rub your breasts, pushing them together then tugging at your nipples. Tiny moans and whimpers escape with labored breaths mixing with the strangled grunts and moans from Dean above you.
“Y/n,” he murmurs, so desperate sounding that it’s nearly a whine.
“Ohh, fuck,” you keen, “Please, Dean. Please, more. Come on.” You pull your legs down and spread them open across his thighs again. You push yourself to sit up, pulling your shirt up and over your head once you’re steady. You toss it to the floor, then reach for his shirt, helping him to pull it up, revealing his smooth, broad chest and shoulders. Your hands hook around his neck and you pull yourself onto him, straddling him and kissing him senseless. You lick down his jaw, neck, and collarbone, tasting him, savoring the feel of his thick muscles underneath you.
“Fuck,” he utters, voice husky and thick, “Fuck, babygirl, hang on, I gotta...mmmm…I can't with these jeans.”
He pushes you gently off his lap then crawls off the bed. His hands are already tugging at the button and zipper of his jeans before he’s upright. You clench up in anticipation. You bite down on a giggle when he stumbles for a second, trying to keep his eyes on you while he bends over and pulls the denim off his ankle. He’s standing straight again, bowed legs spread shoulder-wide, his cock jutting out from him. He’s thick and throbbing, and it’s better than you’d thought it would be - swollen, thick and long. Your lips part, anxious for a taste, for the feel of it on your tongue. You lean forward to crawl across the bed to him, but he stops you.
“Not right now. I, unngh, I just gotta feel you. I’m barely hanging on as it is.” He palms himself while he talks, making his abs clench.
“Get over here,” you curl your finger at him, inviting him back to you. You don’t know when he grabbed it, but he’s swiftly ripping open a condom wrapper and rolling it over himself.
He kneels down onto the bed, shuffling his way over to you. “Lie down,” he orders, and you resume your previous position, thighs parted and waiting for him to settle between them. He stops at your knees, sliding his hands up and down your legs again, prompting you to take your lip between your teeth to hold in another moan.
“You okay?” he asks softly, checking in.
“Yes, mmhmm,” you quickly answer.
He smirks at your hurried response. His palms wrap around your ankles, pulling them up and crossing them together, making your legs straighten again and placing them back on his shoulder.
“You look gorgeous like this. I promise, I’m going to make you feel so damn good, Y/n,” he says, looking down at you with hooded eyes. You murmur a quiet thanks as his arm hooks over your calves to hold your legs together against him, the other ahold of his shaft, rubbing the head over your clit and down, coating it in your wetness.
“F- fuck,” he stutters, “Okay?”
“Yes, Dean. Please,” you cry.
“Alright, yeah, okay,” he dips his hips down, lining himself up with you before pushing his hips slowly forward. For a second you tense up, unnerved by the feeling of him stretching you out. He immediately stops, waiting for you to take a deep breath and relax. You nod once you get yourself under control and keep eye contact while he pushes himself the rest of the way inside of you. Finally, you feel his stomach against the backs of your thighs, he’s fully sheathed and you clench your muscles around him, savoring the feeling of absolute fullness. You can feel his heart thumping in his chest beneath your calves.
“Ohhh..fuck,” he growls, tucking his head down and taking his lip between his teeth. He pulls back, tugging your legs up a little higher to correct the angle, then slides himself back in. You both tremble, letting out pleased hums from the feeling. Your thighs squeeze together, applying pressure around your swollen clit, and you can already feel the tension building in your core, your muscles beginning to burn from being strained.
“So tight, damn it.” Dean’s head rolls on his shoulders, his arms pulling tighter, hugging your legs to his stomach and his chest as his muscles shiver in his own anticipation.
“Dean,” whine with a tilt of your hips.
“Yeah, I know,” he says with a gentle thrust.
“Pleasekeepgoing,” you punch out in a quick breath.
From that point it's a constant string of groans, broken syllables, and gasps. At first it's steady pumping in and out, but when that's not enough he leans over you, your ankles still crossed and resting on the expanse of one shoulder. Your knees press into your ribs, but it's not uncomfortable, you're too busy relishing in the consistent pound of Dean's cock into you. His breaths pops out in quick huffs, his pubic bone pressing into your swollen clit at each pass.
His arms mount at your sides as your hands find the strong columns of muscle in his forearms and dig in. A shout escapes him, followed by a growl as he slams harder into you. Your eyes roll back into your head as your chin tilts to the ceiling. You tighten up as the ache from within your pussy becomes more; a new sharp tingle, then a twitch, then a quiver - it builds up and up and up. Your walls flutter and clamp down as the relief of your orgasm washes over you - all heat and tingling euphoria rushing through your veins. A throaty cry escapes your lungs.
Dean groans a fast, “Oh shit,” and slams hard into you, grinding and pushing as far as he can until he's throbbing and twitching his own release, a broken “oh-oh-oh” whispered with each slowing pump and aftershock.
He leans back a little, letting you open your legs and spread them on either side of him. He holds himself over you, propped on one arm the other stroking your face, thumb rubbing at your brow, swiping away the light sheen of sweat.
“Okay? You okay?” he checks with a slightly dazed smile.
You turn your head following the stroke of his palm, breathing deeply. “Mmmm, yeah. ‘M tired, though.”
He chuckles. “Yeah, me too.”
“I'm sore.”
He grunts, shifting and pulling out of you, settling at your side. “Sorry.”
You place your hands on his cheeks, looking into his sleepy emerald eyes. “Don't be. I haven’t - I mean - It’s, I feel good. Really good.” You pull him in for a kiss.
“Yeah?” he asks, a lazy, smug smile stretches across his face.
“Yeah,” you laugh. “I-I'm alive. We're alive. And I'm officially on vacation.”
CYOSA writers/subs tags:
@kayteonline @moonlitskinwalker @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @kittenofdoomage @saenalife @leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid @deandoesthingstome@sunriserose1023 @chaos-and-the-calm67 @cici0507 @skybinx-blog @rizlow1@babypieandwhiskey @mrsbatesmotel53 @winchesterprincessbride
