pairing: dean winchester x brothersbestfriend!fem!reader
summary: Sam told her not to do anything stupid with his brother. He really did. But when Dean Winchester shows up at Stanford in a leather jacket and a cigarette in his mouth, there's little she can do to resist him. Really, it's not her fault she's in the backseat of his car, mouth on him, his hands in her hair. It's on Sam this time, he should've never left those two alone.
disclaimer: english is not my first language!
warnings: porn with very little plot, car sex, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, they are very stupid with it, please be smart!, creampie, (almost) caught in the act, semi-public intercourse, reader is v dean crazy, dirty talk, throat fucking, cowgirl, missionary, mentions of drinking but everything is consensual, dean is cocky, no use of y/n, no explicit physical descriptions, third person, switching povs, kinda dom!reader and dom!dean, season 1 dean (it is a warning, you know how it is)
word count: 3k (not proofread)
chye's corner: season one dean, forbidden "relationship", sam's best friend???? sign me the fuck up. dean is a menace, and im here for it! pls consider a reblog, a like, or a comment! thank you for choosing to read my words (((:
chye's grimoire (masterlist)
requests are open!
In Sam's defense, he'd said it months before Dean even showed up, some casual warning thrown over a burrito and a stack of finals. "He's gonna visit eventually," he had muttered, flipping a page in his textbook like he wasn't dropping a bomb. "Just... don't do anything stupid, alright?"
She'd tilted her head. "Stupid how?"
"You know how," a pause. "Dean." He added pointedly.
She had laughed at the time. More like a scoff, really. “What, you think I’m gonna throw myself at your brother because he drives a loud car and says ‘baby’ too much?”
“Yes,” Sam had said flatly.
And maybe she had rolled her eyes, offended by what his best friend thought of her. Maybe she’d even promised to ignore him, to stay away. Cross my heart, Sam. Bros before hoes... or whatever Dean was.
But that was before Dean Winchester showed up on campus, all leather jacket and smirking mouth, hands in his pockets like he already owned the place, leaning against the hood of his Impala like he knew what he looked like doing it.
That was before they had a few drinks together. Before the beer buzz settled just behind her cheekbones, and she found herself leaning back on the bar's lumpy booths with Dean sitting way too close. A cigarette almost finished between his plump lips, one arm stretched behind her like he wasn't calculating every inch of space he didn't let her have. Sam had gone back to his dorms two drinks ago, very naive of him in hindsight.
And Dean had stayed. Because of course he had.
“You’re not what I pictured,” he said, somewhere around drink three, gaze flicking from her mouth to her eyes and back again like he hadn’t been caught doing it twice already.
She raised a brow. “What did you picture?”
Dean shrugged, slow and unapologetic. “Thought you’d be bookish. Quiet. Maybe someone who scolds Sammy for cussing.”
She took a sip of her beer. “I do scold Sam.”
“Sure. But not for cussing.” That earned him a laugh, and he smiled like he’d won something. God, he was shameless. His voice dropped a little lower, resting comfortably in the kind of flirt that sounded like a dare. “He didn’t tell me you were gorgeous, either.”
She gave him a look, flat, dry, the kind that said try harder. “I’m pretty sure he specifically told you not to flirt with me.”
Dean’s smile turned razor-sharp. “I’m not flirting. Just speaking facts.”
“And what facts are those?”
He leaned in, the tiniest bit. Not enough to cross a line. Just enough to nudge it. “That you’re smart. Sharp. Way too good for a guy like me.”
She blinked. “That’s your line? You neg yourself?”
He laughed, low and genuine, and it did something traitorous to her stomach and tapped the ash off the end of his cigarette. “Nah,” he said. “That’s just the truth. But here’s the thing...” His eyes dropped to her lips for half a second too long. “Girls like you? Always want trouble at least once.”
She arched a brow, pulse ticking up. “And you’re trouble?”
That was when she should've left.
Instead, here she was, kneeling half-turned in the backseat of his Impala, leather warm against her knees, breath hitching in the heavy air, her hands braced on his thighs. The engine was off, but her pulse felt like it could power the whole block. His belt was undone. His pants and underwear down. His head was tipped back against the seat, jaw clenched, lips parted, breathing like he’d forgotten how to do it quietly.
Her mouth had found his cock fast. Warm, wet, eager, and far too practiced for Dean's ability to think straight. She glanced up through her lashes, lips brushing his tip just enough to keep him on edge, and murmured, “You always this quiet, Winchester?”
No answer. Just a barely audible groan and the tense roll of his hips.
She smirked. Gotcha. Her hands smoothed up his thighs again, possessive, teasing. “What happened to all that cocky talk, huh?” Her voice dropped, dark and dangerous. “Where’s the smart mouth now?”
Dean tried to breathe. Failed.
“You’ve been looking at me like a damn problem since the moment you showed up,” she whispered, slow and smug. “Now look at you. Can’t even form a sentence.”
Another sound tore from him, half a curse, half a plea, his head tipped back hard against the seat.
She leaned in closer, letting her breath skate over his skin, dragging her nails lightly down the inside of his thigh. “Tell me you want it,” she teased. “Come on, Dean. Let me hear you say it.”
He muttered something. Barely. Not a full word, just a broken string of syllables that might have been her name.
“That all you got?” she asked, lips brushing the line of his hip now. “And here I thought you were trouble.”
Dean’s hand twitched, catching a strand of her hair between his fingers like he needed something to anchor himself to. His voice was wrecked when it finally came, low and hoarse, cracked open. “You’re... unbelievable.”
She laughed, low, breathy, cruel in how gentle it was. “That’s more like it.”
Her movements were slow at first. Deliberate. Teasing, like she wanted to savor every reaction he couldn't control. His cock felt heavy against her lips, pulsing. She kissed his tip first, tongue darting just enough to prompt him to find her hair and grip it. She moved with purpose, every kiss, every lick, every suck was calculated. Steady, but taunting. Not fast enough to give him relief, not slow enough to be merciful. Just pure unraveling. She glanced up at him, once, his cock barely in her mouth.
Then she broke him. Spat on his tip, engulfed him with one small breath and went, oh so down, oh so deep. Her nose touched the strand of hair just above his member, and her throat convulsed around him. Dean bowed, abs peeking through, and groaned. She brought her hand to tease his balls, and felt the shift in the man below her. He chocked on a sound, part gasp, part curse, like her name was lodged somewhere in his throat.
She choked and came up for air. A wicked smile on her lips. Her hand kept stroking him, and squeezing, and caressing every vein of his cock. Dean's spine twitched against the seat. She went down again, hollowing her cheeks, swirling her tongue, a ring of saliva coating his cock. She moaned around him and he gripped her hair even harder. He began to take control, slowly but surely, and began thrusting in her wet mouth. She put her hands on his thighs, stabilizing herself, and opened her mouth even wider, letting him use her the way he wanted to.
One hand tangled fully in her hair now, no hesitation left, the other bracing against the dash like he needed the leverage. His hips rolled forward in tight, instinctive thrusts, not rough, not yet, but purposeful, like he needed to feel every inch of her wrapped around him. “God...” he choked out, voice raw. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
She looked up at him with those wide, unyielding eyes, like she wanted him to go further. Wanted him to take it. All of it. Her fingers dug into his thighs, grounding herself as he moved with slow, deliberate force.
He leaned forward slightly, his breath ragged, his voice just above a whisper, but sharp enough to cut through the heat around them. “You’re gonna let me, aren’t you?” he rasped. “Let me use that smart mouth until I forget my own name?” She moaned in answer and nodded. His cock still lodged in her mouth. She let a low, guttural sound that sent another pulse of heat down his spine. “Yeah,” he breathed, now fully in control, thrusts sharper, deeper. “That’s it. Just like that. Be good for me.”
She didn’t stop him. She braced for it. Asked for it, every fiber of her body in sync with the way he moved, her breath catching each time he hit deeper, her mouth adjusting to him like she’d been made for this, for him. He pushed closer to the edge with every movement, every sound she gave him.
Dean’s hips stuttered once, a sharp, involuntary tremor, and that was all it took. He swore, low and rough, and suddenly his grip tightened in her hair as he pulled her back with a ragged breath, not harshly, just enough. “Stop,” he gasped, voice wrecked and hoarse. “You... shit... baby, I’m not... I don't wanna finish like that.” She ignored him, sucking his tip once again. He growled and pulled her to him with more urgency than grace.
She was now straddling him, legs bracketing his hips, her dress bunched at her thighs, breath uneven, lips wet. His hands found her waist first, firm, grounding, then skimmed upward, framing her face. "You're insane." He kissed her. It wasn't soft, it was hot, and aching, and desire. Her fingers curled into his collar, clutching at him like she needed something to hold onto. His tongue brushed her lips, a reverent sound escaping his throat. She ground her hips on his, and Dean cuckled and shuddered.
When they finally pulled apart, she smiled. "Was that you thanking me, or begging for more?"
His forehead was pressed to hers. "That was me holding on by a thread." He let out a breath. "And, for the record, it's always begging."
Her hips rolled against him again, just enough to make him hiss through his teeth. His bare cock against her soaked panties. She kissed him just below his ear. "Please, Dean, I want you inside of me."
His breath caught somewhere between a groan and a curse, low and raw. “You’re really trying to kill me,” he said against her neck, his voice ragged, strained. "I don't have any condoms, baby, didn't expect this. Let me just take care of you."
She smiled against his skin and shook her head. "Do you think I care? I need you."
Dean let his head fall back against the seat, eyes closing like he needed a second to get his grip. His hands stayed on her hips, thumbs stroking slow circles into her skin through the thin fabric of her dress. “You keep saying things like that and I’m gonna forget to be respectful.”
She lifted herself from his lap. Her panties hovering over his dick. She pulled them aside. Rose petals, dripping, soaked just for him. She circled her clit with one hand, and moaned, right into Dean's mouth. His eyes focused on her hand, following every movement with droopy eyes, which was now moving dangerously lower, wetting his cock with her need. Dean bit his lip and his mouth fell open in a gasp when she lowered herself. Slowly, teasing, killing him.
His tip was now kissing her entrance, and she moved just enough to let the man understand what it would feel like without actually taking him in. She let out a small laugh. "You think you can pull out?"
His tongue darted over his lips, getting ready to refuse her. But then he looked into her eyes, really looked. Glassy, needy, his. So he nodded, once, he was a weak man after all. And she thanked him by sinking on his dick with one single thrust.
They both moaned. Hers sounded like the beginning of a giggle, her legs trembling with the feeling of him buried inside her. Her breath shallow. The windows of the impala began fogging, shelding them from prying eyes. She began to move, slow at first, a rhythm that seemed to match the frantic beat of her pulse. His hands gripped her tighter, eyes looked on hers like he couldn't afford to look away.
"You feel..." he chocked on the words, voice wrecked.
She leaned in, lips brushing his jaw, her voice like velvet. "I know."
Her fingers curled into his shoulder for balance, and she shifted, adjusting her angle. She moved faster now, more insistent. Skin warm where it touched his. She bounced on his cock, the slapping sound echoing in the car. One of his hands gripped her ass so tight it was surely going to leave a bruise after it. She moaned and tilted her head back. Dean took the opportunity to lick, kiss, and bite her neck. His hands slid up her back, down again, guiding her without pushing, letting her take what she wanted, how she wanted it.
“Jesus,” he whispered, voice rough. “You trying to kill me?”
She leaned in, their faces close enough to share breath, her expression flushed and focused. “Maybe,” she breathed, the motion beneath her picking up, quicker now, more pressure, more heat.
Dean’s head tipped back against the seat, a deep sound rumbling from his chest, hands tightening on her hips. “You feel that?” he managed. “You feel what you're doing to me?”
She did. She felt everything. The strength of his hands, the heat between them, the way her pulse climbed higher with every shift of her hips. Her breath was coming faster now too, mouth parted, skin flushed, and she couldn't stop even if she wanted to. It was too much, and not enough.
Every roll of her hips sent another jolt through his spine, sharp, electric, almost unbearable. His head tipped back again, jaw clenched, breath falling out in stuttered bursts. He was close. Too close. "Baby, I gotta pull out..." he managed to blurt out.
“Dean,” she gasped, her voice cracking like her restraint, “Don’t you dare stop me.”
Dean’s eyes snapped open at her words, wild, dark, undone. For a second, he didn’t move, like the weight of what she said had pinned him in place. But then he growled low in his throat, something rough and wordless and entirely primal.
His grip shifted fast. In one motion, strong hands slid from her hips to her thighs, lifting her just enough to throw the momentum. Her back hit the seat with a soft thud, legs still wrapped around his waist, her breath catching as leather squeaked beneath them. Dean hovered over her now, braced on one elbow, his other hand gripping her thigh, anchoring them both. His face was flushed, mouth parted, eyes burning as they dragged over her like she was something holy and his at the same time.
"You wanna keep going?" he asked, voice low, dangerous.
She nodded, eyes wide, chest rising. Her legs wrapped around his back, keeping his cock deep inside of her.
Dean leaned in close, their noses almost brushing. “Then you’re gonna let me take care of you.”
And just like that, he rocked forward again, deeper, more control in his rhythm now. No more riding it out. He was setting the pace, holding her steady as his hips met hers with purpose, each motion heavier than the last. His breath was hot at her ear, jaw tight from holding back. But he wasn’t pulling away this time.
He shifted, just slightly, taking one of her legs and putting it over his shoulders. She moaned, loud and unfiltered, and her nails scratched his back. He moved faster now, body pressed fully against her. His balls slapping against her ass. He felt every inch of his skin on fire. She felt his cock kissing her deepest secrets. She clung to his shoulders, grounding herself as he found that rhythm again, deep, fast, and all-consuming. Each movement sent a jolt through her, her body reacting before her thoughts could catch up. Her back arched off the seat, her hands threading into his hair, pulling him closer, needing more.
Her lips parted in a silent cry. Dean felt it. The way her body clenched around him, the way her breath stuttered, the heat of her release rippling through her body. He held her tighter, still dragging his dick inside her walls. It was crashing into her all at once.
"That's it, baby," he breathed, low and ragged, forehead pressed to hers. "That's my girl, just like that..."
Her nails curled against his shoulders, grounding herself, riding it out as she shook beneath him. “Dean...” his name was punched from her lungs like prayer and surrender all at once.
He was unraveling, right behind her.
He fucked her through her orgasm, but every pulse of her body, every tremor, every sound she made dragged him closer, tighter to the edge. His pace faltered, stuttering once, then he pushed into her one final time. Drawn out, tense. A hoarse groan torn from his chest, low and raw and shaking. His cum painting her walls, dripping on leather. She held onto him, her arms wrapping aroung his back as his body trembled against hers, moaning in his ear at the feeling of them together.
For a long moment, neither of them moved. Just heartbeats and breath, tangled together in the dark leather cocoon of the car. Dean exhaled, finally, a heavy breath against her neck. “You just ruined me,” he murmured, the faintest laugh in his voice.
She smiled, head turned to brush her lips against his temple. “No telling Sam about this."
A sharp knock on the Impala's fogged windows. "There's no telling left to do, I know, you damn morons."
Dean groaned, dropping his head to her shoulder with a muttered, “Son of a bitch.”
She didn’t move, just laughed, breathless. “Guess we’re both dead now.”
