.⛧ ݁ ˖ ࣪ Famous last words
SUMMARY: you finally convince dean to go to a spooky attraction with you, but he has no idea what he's signed up for. 3.1k
WARNINGS: set post sammy leaving for stanford. established relationship. fake gore. fluff. smut. oral sex (m receiving). fear kink (kinda). pet names. porn with feelings. semi-public sex. reader is a freak. and so is author.
Dean might just be a bigger halloween fan than you are, and you adore halloween.
But he loves all of it—the candy, the horror movies, the pumpkin pie. He drags you to bed to watch slashers all night and then indulges you in your silly spooky movies. He takes you to halloween stores and models all the dumb hats and masks that you put on him, striking pose after pose before challenging you for a duel in the fake-sword section. He even gives into your pleads of getting matching Friday the 13th pajamas.
But he refuses to go to a haunted forest with you.
“Come on, baby,” he drawls from the motel bed, still only in his underwear even with the chilly breeze coming through the window. “My whole life is a freaking haunted forest.”
You giggle, standing near the edge of the bed and ignoring the grabby hands he makes at you. “It’ll be fun, De! Please, I’ve been wanting to go to one for ages.”
He pouts, crossing his arms and frowning, but you know he’ll give in.
“It’s just people in dumb costumes, sweetheart. I can’t see how it’ll be fucking fun. I won’t even get scared, because in case you forgot, I fight actual monsters.”
“Yes, yes. My big, bad hunter.” You drop onto his lap, sighing dreamily as his hands immediately find your hips. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning in until your lips brush his. “But you can take a break from being a hero for one day to make your girlfriend happy, can’t you?”
And you usually wouldn’t be this pushy—you know when Dean is faking indifference and when he actually doesn’t wanna do something—but Sam left for Stanford a few months ago, and you know Dean’s been taking the worst of it.
You’ve seen the circles under his eyes getting darker, the weight on his shoulders getting heavier, the occasional bruise you know doesn't come from hunting. You’ve seen John only once since you secretly helped Sam move into his dorm, when Dean called you to tell you he was at Bobby’s and you hadn’t realized he meant him and his dad.
The man had looked angrier than usual, more violent and volatile. He’d rolled his eyes so hard when he saw you, you thought his head would explode, but you hadn’t said anything. Because Bobby shook his head from the kitchen doorway, and Dean looked about to pass out from exhaustion, but you’d wanted to.
John looked like Death—worse than the monsters you don’t hunt but still know a lot about.
And he’s taking Dean down with him, just like he’s been doing ever since Mary died. But you won’t let him, you won’t let Dean get drunk on his misery until he becomes the shell of a man his father is. Because he deserves better, he deserves the world.
So you’ve been spending as much time as you can with him—going to the theater, apple orchard visits, silly picnic dates he claims to hate but you know he loves. Baking pies and reciting your autumn read to him and driving halfway across the country with him. And now, forcing him to go to the town’s haunted forest instead of wallowing in this room.
He grumbles, scowling but chasing after your lips, and you know you’ve won. “Fine. But don’t expect me to actually get scared.”
Because as soon as you enter the forest, Dean is already on edge. He clings to your arm as you walk through the pumpkins-and-skeletons lined trail, looking all around him with nervous eyes. He claims it’s just because he doesn’t want you getting scared and running off without him, but you can tell that the whole spooky vibe is getting to his head.
At the first clown that ambushes you, fake axe swinging in the air, he jumps.
He doesn’t scream, and—thank god—he doesn’t try to punch the guy, but he still jumps.
“Thought you said they were just dumb costumes?” you tease him as you walk through an abandoned asylum-themed station, giggling when a fake ghost girl pops out of a broken window right in front of you. “What happened to fighting real monsters?”
“That I know these motherfuckers aren’t real,” he grunts, flinching and bumping into you when a crazy doctor tries to inject him with a comically huge syringe. “So I can’t kill 'em. I don’t even have my freakin’ gun. I feel naked.”
“I wasn’t gonna let you bring a gun here, baby.” You finally reach the exit of the loony bin, and Dean relaxes a bit when he’s out in the open again.
“Exactly. I can’t do anything against these sons of bitches, just wait for them to jump me and remind myself not to hit them. I’m fighting all my instincts here, darling.”
You turn around to argue, and you catch sight of what looks like a witch far away near the asylum—black running down her eyes, moon tattoo on her forehead, fake blood dripping down her black gown. She smirks at you and points at Dean, and you subtly nod, returning her sly grin before taking a step back.
Then you gasp and point behind him, making Dean spin on his heels immediately. The witch cackles and charges toward him, knife in hand and a very well acted bloodlust in her eyes. Said instincts finally kick in, and in the blink of an eye, Dean’s turning around and grabbing your hand before taking off.
It’s kind of tragic, how used he is to escaping danger. You refuse to make yourself sad right now.
He runs for about five seconds before his brain catches on and he stops, but by then you and the witch are already dying of laughter a few steps behind. He glares at the both of you as you high-five the scare actress, still trying to catch your breath from keeping up with Dean’s sprinting.
“Fucking hell, baby You can’t do that!”
There’s screaming somewhere behind you, and the witch gives you one last smile before disappearing in the shadows, getting ready for her next victim. When you turn to Dean, he’s still sulking.
“Come on, pretty boy,” you hook your arm with his, hugging his side in apology. “You gotta admit that was hilarious.”
He rolls his eyes, but still accepts the kiss that you softly press to his lips. “Whatever. Let’s go, wanna get out of here as soon as possible.”
He does pretty well in the butcher shop, only just startling when a fake pig head drops from the ceiling. He absolutely hates the zombie-motel, claiming that it hits too close to home. He complains about the Sawmill station, rolling his eyes at the fake machinery and exaggeratedly loud noises.
“This isn’t even scary,” he huffs, but he still holds onto your hand firmly. You catch the headless lumberjack from the corner of your eye, a small thrill running down your spine at the surprise, making your grin grow. “I don’t understand why they even chose this—”
That’s when the lumberjack pops from behind a machine, holding a chainsaw. You laugh loudly as Dean jerks back, hand coming up to cover his eyes immediately. He curses under his breath, and you slowly tug him toward the exit door, where a bunch of mannequin body parts wait for you in between a wood pile.
You’re walking right next to it when a hand suddenly reaches out of the bunch, wrapping around your ankle and trying to tug you down.
“Shit!” you giggle, that same tingle rushing through your body and making you feel alive.
Dean doesn’t share the sentiment, with the way he lets out a choked sound when the hand moves, holding tighter onto your arm. He manages to pry you away from its grasp, stumbling forward until he’s face to face with a fake impaled corpse.
He needs a second before you move to the next station.
He’s had enough when you reach the haunted church, though.
“How the fuck are you not getting scared?!” he grunts, recoiling from a nun that’s trying to make him drink from a chalice. “You were the one who wanted to come!”
“I am!” you argue, and just then a possessed priest lurches for you. There’s that rush again, filling every part of your body and warming you up, curling around your insides and making your blood sparkle. He backs you up into a corner, and you just giggle breathlessly as you dodge his crucifix and walk toward where Dean is waiting for you, still looking around frantically. “I’m just not as jumpy.”
“No, you’re just a freaking psychopath—”
You’re walking out of the church when something steps in front of you. It pines you against the wall of the church, and when you finally look up, you think it’s supposed to be the devil.
The actress has long, dark hair, a reverse pentagram on her forehead, and red eye-contacts that keep getting closer and closer to you. Huge goat horns curl around her face and brush your cheek. The heat returns, prickly and electric, and you stare up at her with bright eyes as she leans in.
She tilts her head—wicked, blood-stained smile trying to scare you—but you just grin back as your chest heaves, the adrenaline filling your veins like a drug. It’s not until Dean grabs your hand and pulls you away that you come back to reality.
He mutters your name, speeding through the last station—some random spooky sewage. “What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” you laugh dazedly, still a little high from all the scares.
There’s a small bit of trail you have to get through to finally exit the forest, and just when Dean is unwinding, there’s a guttural noise behind you. You both turn just to find a guy with a Hannibal Lecter-esque mask and a machete in hand, suddenly sprinting toward you.
Both Dean and you take off running without a word, making it out of the trail in seconds. You only slow down when you reach the back of some abandoned, castle-themed station. You stare at the Caution: Under Renovation sign on the wall as Dean leans against it, trying to catch his breath.
But the chase has gotten you all restless, and Dean looks so cute with flushed cheeks and a still slightly-parted mouth. The heat on your body travels south, your body aching for him, his salty taste on your tongue and the weight of him in your mouth. You lick your lips right before you grab Dean’s hand, pulling him into the fake castle.
“Sweetheart, what are you—” you interrupt him, pushing him against the wall and kissing him feverishly. He lets out a surprised noise against your mouth, and you take the opportunity to press your tongue in between his lips. You slowly lick behind his teeth, sucking on his tongue as your hands slip under his shirt.
Dean tries to pull back to say something, but you just chase after his lips and press your body closer to his, nails softly scratching down his torso. And Dean is nothing if not weak for you, so he immediately gives in. His hands find your hips, one of his thighs pushing in between your legs as his teeth graze your lower lip.
You let out a desperate sound that he swallows immediately, his hands moving to your ass, squeezing when you grind against his leg. It only makes the flame inside you turn into a wildfire—uncontrollable and unstoppable.
You take a step back, letting out a breathy giggle when Dean tries to chase after you. Before he can complain, you drop down to your knees, your tights ripping as they hit the mossy cobblestone. They’re going to bruise, you hope they bruise.
“Baby, what—” Dean stutters when your hands frantically undo his belt, mouth already watering. You ignore him, unbuttoning his jeans, head still dopey with adrenaline. Dean huffs, tangling his fingers in your hair and tilting your head up. Your mouth parts with a gasp at the slight pain, and he curses as he takes in your dilated pupils, grunting your name. “Did you… Did the chase turn you on?”
You shake your head, and then you nod. Dean just looks down at you with raised eyebrows, a bit of amusement seeping on his face as he takes in how much of a mess you already are.
“It’s not only that, I—” you take a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “The whole spooky thing, the jump scares, the rush…” you lick your lips, getting yourself all worked up as you remember the electricity running down your spine. You stare up at Dean, your hair still balled up inside his fist and your eyes all clouded. “I wanna suck your cock. Can I suck your cock, please?”
He curses under his breath, head dropping back against the fake castle wall. “Yeah, baby, you can.”
Before he’s even done talking, you’re already pulling down his boxers. It’s unfair, that he’s pretty all over. Thick and hard, pink with need and already leaking with pre-cum. You lick a long strip up his shaft, suckling on the tip as he hisses.
The moment his taste fills your mouth, you can’t stop. You take all of him in one go, until he bumps against the back of your throat and your nose brushes his stomach.
“Holy—fuck,” Dean groans your name, and your pace is unrelenting. Your speed picks up until all you can hear are wet, sinful noises filling the empty castle, your knees stinging from the friction and your hands squeezing Dean’s thighs. “You feel so good, baby. All warm and wet, just for me. So fucking pretty, such a good girl sucking my cock like this—shit.”
You moan around him, the high of the praise joining the high of the adrenaline in your brain, leaving you all dumb and needy. You start to lap at the underside of his shaft, hollowing out your cheeks and swallowing him even deeper, so eager that you make yourself gag—throat contracting around him and tears stinging in your eyes.
“Jesus Christ," Dean grunts, trying to pull you away by the hair, but you shake your head and whine around him, shamelessly humping the air in search of any relief, your panties already soaked through. It makes Dean laugh, hips jerking. “Fucking hell, you’re so fucking desperate, baby girl. All horny from getting scared, my gorgeous little psycho. So worked up from just my dick in your mouth. God—”
Your pace becomes frantic, drool running down your chin and your hand playing with his balls, moaning when he twitches against your tongue, eyes rolling back in your head. You look up at him through wet lashes, admiring his panting mouth and the perfect noises leaving him. Anyone could hear you, anyone could wander away from the trail and find you like this, but you don’t care.
“Sweetheart, I’m– shit– close.” You barely hear him through the fog in your head, tongue swirling around the head of his cock before swallowing him all the way down your throat, sucking on him like your life depends on it. Kinda feels like it does.
He pulls harder on your hair with a shout of your name, and some poor employee is bound to catch it, but you can’t worry about it when you pull back until he’s resting on your tongue, coating your mouth with his release. You swallow every spurt, still softly suckling on him as the lewdest sound you’ve ever made leaves your mouth.
He moans, his dick twitching one last time before he tries to pull away. You grip his hips tighter, trying to keep him close.
“Fuck, baby, you can’t—” you brush your tongue over his slit, drunk on the taste of him. A shiver runs down his spine, and you almost want to keep him in your mouth until he gets hard all over again. But then he hisses coarsely before he’s forcibly pulling you up, his mouth crashing against yours.
Your legs are shaky, knees weak and scraped, so he has to hold you up with strong arms around your waist. You know he can taste himself on your tongue, and it makes his hips buck.
“You’re crazy,” he mutters, staring at you under the moonlight like you’re a miracle.
“I’m crazy for you,” you hum, grinning up at him, blissed out and boneless. The haze in your brain is slowly clearing, but the ache between your thighs still makes you squirm.
“No, pretty sure you’re just mental.” He kisses you again, this time gentler as you regain enough strength to stand by yourself. “Is that why we always fuck after watching a horror movie?”
You giggle, pressing your face against his shoulder and kissing his collarbone, not bothering to answer. He zips his pants up, already semi-hard as you cling to his side, nipping at his neck and leaving what will surely become a trail of hickies up his throat. “C’mon, you fuckin’ vixen”
He tugs you out of the fake castle, dragging you across the forest toward the parking lot.
You pout, but you let him take you wherever he wants. “Hey! I wanted to get some cotton candy.”
“I’ll buy you anything you want tomorrow.” He turns to you when you finally reach the Impala, parked in the back of the place and hidden under the shadow of the trees. He opens the backseat door, and you just frown, confused. “You don’t think I’ll leave you all needy like this, do you? You’re still all worked up, baby.”
You are. You’re so wet it might just start dripping down your thighs, and the tingling on your scalp and the throb of your knees only add to the fire inside you.
“You’re insane if you think you can suck my soul out of my body and I won’t return the favor,” he scoffs, carefully pushing you inside the car. He licks his teeth, looking down at you with nothing but hunger, and your thighs rub together as you lie down on the leather. “Besides, I’m starving.”
NOTES: does this count as my contribution to kinktober? I'm still terrible at writing smut but I need to suck dean's dick so desperately, I just had to write this. another ode to sucking cock by me!!!
Totally not inspired by me going to a haunted forest last Halloween and getting turned on by a satanic priest trying to slit my throat. (I'm going again this year).
Any way, thank you for reading, I love you all!!!
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