How about Dean and a semi public fun house fucking
Mirrors
Words: 879.
Warnings: risky sex (is that even a warning?)
A/N: Darling Erica, I hope this satisfies your needs! Not beta’ed so all errors, spelling mistakes and general bullshit are entirely mine. While likes are gold, feedback is golden. Masterlists/taglists can be found in my bio.
“Can we go?” You ask with a pout, hoping your wide eyed look will convince Dean. He’s really not into fairgrounds but after finishing up on a hunt earlier than expected, you fancy an afternoon of normality. Anything to remind you that you’re human and deserve some downtime.
“Surrounded by screaming kids hyped up on sugar? Hell no.” Dean replies. He carries on shoving balled up clothes into his duffel - his idea of ‘packing’ and your idea of hell. You glance at Sam out of the corner of your eye who’s busying himself in research for the next potential hunt and he smirks back at you over the top of his laptop.
“You’ve hunted far worse.” You laugh and begin to cross the room to where Dean stands over the bed, bag still in complete disarray.
“The answer’s still no. I’d rather take my chances with a vamp who hasn’t fed in months.”
“Dean, don’t be such a spoilsport. Go, have some fun,” Sam interrupts, “I can hold the fort here for a couple more hours.”
Dean shoots his younger brother a scathing look. “Don’t encourage her Sammy.”
You reach him and slide your hands up over his shoulders. “Please Dean,” you pepper kisses over his jaw softly. He’s still not convinced. “They have corn dogs and beer…”
His demeanour changes in a heartbeat at the promise of beer. “So, fairground huh? Sounds pretty neat.”
-
The sweet sickly smell of candy floss clings to your clothes. Despite the fact you’ve not had a strand of the spun sugar the entire time you’ve been here, somehow you can taste it on your tongue.
You can hear kids muffled laughing outside, parents yelling after them and the sound of the carousel’s haunting tune whistling in the air as it carries its song across the fairground. It’s a little too quiet in the House of Mirrors, shrouding it in an eerie atmosphere you thought you’d shaken off once the ghoul you’d been hunting was dead.
It’s too hot inside the windowless building. Your hair sticks to the back of your neck, sweat pools behind your knees and in the crease of your elbows and dust from the dried mud kicked up outside makes your skin feel heavy and itchy. You just wanted out at first - any chance of escaping this claustrophobic hell but as soon as Dean had propositioned you, you didn’t mind being stuck inside for a little while longer.
“Can we just get out of here please?” You whine, looking for the exit but the multitude of mirrors makes that task inherently difficult.
“We’ve only been here an hour,” Dean sighs. “After all that begging back at the motel and now you wanna leave?”
“I mean this mindfuck of an attraction Dean.” You pull at the hem of your tank top, trying to air yourself dry but it’s no use. There’s none inside this pressure cooker.
“Oh,” he sidles closer to you, “that’s a shame ‘cause, well I kinda had an idea.”
“Hm, what sort of idea?”
His fingers reach out, gliding over the bare skin sitting just above your shorts. You glance up, Dean’s smile wide and inviting. He leans in, grazing his lips against the shell of your ear and whispers softly.
Your denim shorts are hanging off one sneaker, panties shredded somewhere on the floor below you as Dean hoists you up around his waist. He bottoms out with every thrust, forcing your back to slam against the reflective wall and no matter which way you look, you get to watch him disappear inside you with each snap of his lithe hips.
Sweat pours off both of you. Dean’s black t-shirt drips wet and your tank top is now a darker shade of red from the moisture but neither of you care. You pant against his damp shoulder, his lips buried into the crease of your neck while he nails you hard and fast.
“You like watching me fuck you?” Dean groans against your skin. “Get off on watching me ruin your tight little cunt huh?”
“Mmhm, yes Dean, oh shit!” You yell, heat beginning to blaze in your stomach.
“Oh this is so trippy!” You hear a high-pitched voice squeal followed by a cacophony of teenage giggles. Dean hears it too, lifting his head from the crook in your neck. Fuck.
“Heh, better hurry up and come baby.” He states with a smirk. You know you’ve gotta otherwise you’ll have to wait until you get back to the bunker.
A four hour drive away.
No way.
Dean drops you hurriedly and spins you round, shoving your face hard into the mirror. He’s back inside you within milliseconds and the change in angle sends you hurtling towards your orgasm. The girls’ voices get louder as every second passes while Dean’s hand muffles your scream as you finally come.
***
Cooler but humid air hits you as you push the exit door open with force, the breeze swirling around your sticky thighs.
“Shit, that was close!” You giggle as Dean laughs into your shoulder. “You think they’ll realise?”
With your ruined panties left behind and your ass prints smudged across every mirror you came in contact with, Dean doesn’t even need to respond because you already know the answer.
Summary: Somewhere along the line, her life became something she didn’t like. On her 35th birthday, she makes a decision to change all of that.
Pairing: Dean Winchester x female reader (1st person)
Warnings: explicit, overly descriptive orgasms, Dean’s really good at sex
Words: 2234
Author’s notes: thank you @cracksinthewalls for the line: “This isn’t a man I need to spend the rest of my life with, but this is a man I need to spend the rest of my life remembering.”
Happy belated Birthday @maddiepants! I love you, sister. xox
Today is my 35th birthday. I got up this morning, watered my plants, went for a walk, got some coffee, read for a bit – not one call or text.
It’s not that I don’t have family and friends, I just don’t have good family and friends.
I don’t know how I got here, but, frankly, I don’t care anymore. I decided over the course of the day that I’m done with this dwindling intimacy and lack of concern for me.
The only person in my life right now who seems to give a shit sets my drink in front of me. “Run a tab?” the bartender asks, wiping her hands on her towel, and I nod, handing her my credit card.
She walks off and my eyes wander as a sip my drink. In addition to the handful of people scattered in the booths and pool tables, there’s a couple huddled together, slurring and giggling. They’re only about three seats down from me, but I can’t understand a word they’re saying – not that I want to. At the end of the bar, there’s an older gentleman, sipping a sweating beer and talking on his mobile phone.
I hear the bartender laugh and turn to see her doing a shot with an extremely handsome man at the other end of the bar. They seem fun and friendly. I sigh and close my eyes then focus on my cocktail.
I don’t drink much, but when I decided to come out tonight – fixed my hair, put makeup on, stepped out for the first time in months – I also decided that I was going to do my 35th orbit around the sun justice.
I’ve got Uber on my phone and condoms in my purse.
And today is a new day.
On her way to clean up after the departing couple, the bartender checks in with me again. “Doin’ ok, darlin’?” she asks, reaching for the empty popcorn basket and glassware.
“You know what?” I answer. “I’ll take a shot.”
“Sure,” she smiles. “What kind?”
“I dunno,” I answer, scanning the bottles behind her. “It’s my birthday and no one remembered,” I say, my gaze landing back on her pretty face. “Whaddaya recommend for that?” I ask with a wry smirk.
She arches a brow and purses her lips. “Tequila,” she says, turning on her heel and grabbing a clear, heavy-looking, square bottle in one hand and three glasses in the other as she faces me again.
“Campbell!” she tosses over her shoulder toward the striking man she just did a shot with moments before. “Birthday girl. Herradura. Now.”
The guy chuckles and shakes his head before standing and wandering toward us, sipping a beer.
He’s tall, broad-shouldered, clean-cut, and probably the best-looking man I’ve ever seen in person. Even in the dingy bar, it’s obvious that he’s built solid as a brick house and moves like a song.
And that face… I’m rusty with my words but my brain is jump-started with a jolt of literary verse for his lips alone.
“Happy Birthday,” he says, his eyes twinkling and his pink, wet tongue wetting his bottom lip to shine.
I smile slow and broad. “Thanks,” I reply. I haven’t smiled like this in a while – genuine and wide. Heat spreads from my cheeks to the tips of my ears, fingers, and toes.
Our bartender slides our glasses toward us and utters a toast. “Sláinte,” she says, and we clink glasses before throwing back our shots. Some of my drink spills over my chin and I scoff then scurry for a napkin.
“M’usually all about the whiskey,” the man says, his eyes dancing along with my fingers as I dab the liquor from my chin. “But that’s some good shit.” He hands his glass to the bartender and drags his eyes back to meet mine. “I’m Dean, by the way.”
He reaches for my hand, and I toss my soiled napkin aside before accepting his offer and giving him my name. When I do, his hand swallows my smaller one. It’s warm and calloused but gentle, and I feel a pleasant pooling in my belly.
Dean props himself against the bar top on one elbow near enough to feel his heat. I wonder if I’m that cold or if he’s just that hot.
“So,” he starts. “What’re you doin’ out by yourself on your birthday?”
I shrug. “No one remembered, so I decided to entertain myself.”
“Damn,” he says, sincerity in his eyes and tone. “Sorry, sweetheart.”
“Whatever,” I answer. “I’m over it.”
Dean watches me for a minute before speaking. “Yeah, well, I don’t place much emphasis on birthdays.” He fixes me with a playful spark in his eyes. “I mean, you’re still alive, right? Every day’s a new one.”
No, no one remembered my birthday, but this gorgeous man is here now – flirty and attentive. I deserve gorgeous, flirty, and attentive.
“Exactly,” I reply, raising my glass to toast him again. “Happy Day We’re Still Alive.”
We clink glass to bottleneck, and the sound is bright and festive. It sends a shimmer of delight over my skin that’s been rippling under his gaze.
We chat about nothing important. Dean is funny and smart. He buys us another round of drinks, and I’m starting to feel loose.
“No dogs, huh?” I say when he tells me that he doesn’t have any pets at home. I don’t either, but he really seems like a dog person.
“No,” he says with a small chuckle. “Not that my brother hasn’t tried. He’s enough into dogs for the both of us, but we’ve just never had the kinda life where we can worry about takin’ care of a dog.”
I nod. Same for me. “I get that.”
Dean has lived, though, if his features and mannerisms can speak for him. Etchings of laughter and anguish splay from the corners of his eyes. The breadth and bow of his shoulders are hard-earned and well-used. He leads with his hips when he moves like he’s powering the swing of a weighted baseball bat.
“What’s your favorite song?” he asks, shoving his fist into his pocket. “They got an old jukebox over there.” He pulls out a handful of change and starts sorting, eyes concentrated on his task.
I shrug again. “Zeppelin?” I take a sip of my drink and his eyes dance to meet mine.
“Woman after my own heart,” he says with a wink, straightening to his full height before turning and heading to the jukebox.
I openly watch him. From behind, I can better enjoy the long, balanced curve from his shoulders to the base of his spine. Every gesture and syllable from Dean stirs a cry in me that I’ve shut out for too long.
When he turns to walk back to the bar, I know – this isn’t a man I need to spend the rest of my life with, but this is a man I need to spend the rest of my life remembering.
“I love real jukeboxes,” he says with a boyish grin. “Want another one?” He points to my drink hopefully.
I pause for a minute, looking into my watered-down vodka to formulate my response. “One more, yeah,” I say then raise my gaze to meet his. “Then… let’s get outta here.”
Dean’s eyes widen slightly before his grin turns sly. Then he waves down the bartender without breaking eye contact. “Tasha,” he says. “Two more silvers. And the check.”
~~~~~~~
All the things I thought I knew – thought I was just out of practice, but, no, Dean is superb at this. He’s an expert kisser. His hands seek and give pleasure. His body packs the perfect heft and he knows how to use it all.
“OK,” he mutters, smoothing a hand around my back to unclasp my bra. “This’s gotta go – in the way.” In seconds his lips wrap around one of my bare nipples and he hums, dropping the black lace to the floor.
I hiss and arch into his mouth, sink my fingers into his short, thick hair and tug. Dean moans and spreads my knees open wider with his own. “So soft,” he whispers as he focuses his wet, warm mouth on my other nipple, cupping the abandoned breast in his hand. “Talk to me.”
“Fuck,” I groan, thrusting against his solid hips.
He chuckles. “Yeah?” he says, dragging his lips up over my collarbones and throat. “What else?”
“God, you’re such a tease,” I breathe, trying to pull him into me with my ankles crossed over his back. I guide his mouth to mine and dive in. “I just want you inside me.”
“That all?” he asks, his voice lilting around the question and his hands pressing my hips flat to the bed. “What if I wanna snack first?”
I groan out loud as he handles me, moves me. My fists grip the sheets and I close my eyes, feeling lace scrape over my thighs as he drags my thong down and off then wedges his bare shoulders between and under my thighs.
“Jesus,” I utter, giving up on trying to compete with him. I just let him have his way, I let him have me.
He starts with kisses like he was kissing me before in the uber on the way here, but now his lips are on my cunt making me wetter. Then his tongue swipes slowly, gently, up and around, back down and inside. He pulls my clit between his lips then moves his tongue back and forth, back and forth, faster; and I’m gasping.
“Dean, my god, what…”
“Mmm,” he moans, burying his tongue inside me and using his whole mouth to work me over.
He won’t let me move, just holds me open and in place, kissing me deep and strong. I’m wound up like a hand-crafted top, ready to spin out as he laps at me from opening to clit, like he’s licking a double-scoop ice cream cone.
I’m shaking as his jaw and his tongue and lips fuck me blind. My body burns where we’re connected, where his fingers press into my skin and his mouth between my legs. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I’m sure no one has gone down on me this long since I was in high school and my fumbling boyfriend was trying to figure out how to give head.
Dean already knows very well how to give head, and I come against his lush lips, sparks flying behind my eyelids.
He gets rid of his jeans and boxers before sliding his fingers with mine and his hot, heavy body up over me. He fits his hips nicely in the cradle of my own and kisses my mouth for a long time. I can feel him hard and leaking against my inner thigh and I want him so badly.
“You taste good,” he says, pulling my lips with his and licking into my mouth. “You feel good, too?”
I sigh and roll my hips under him, longing to feel him push inside. “Why don’t you find out for yourself?” I answer.
Dean grins before kissing me again and reaching for a condom. He has it on in no time and starts teasing me again, grazing my entrance with his wide tip, pushing in just an inch and pulling back out.
I beg and grip his hips, pull on his next pass and he squeezes into me slow and stinging. Dean swears and I whine as my knees fall open. Once he’s fully seated, he pushes up on his hands and pulls out before inching back inside.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he breathes, swaying his hips and making shallow thrusts. “Open up for me, princess.”
His brows are knit as he works me open. I’m so wet, but it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve had a real cock inside me, and, fuck, it hurts so good.
I sob. “God, I’m gonna come again.”
I grind against him as he holds me open with his hands on the insides of my knees, steadily pounding me. The icy-hot sensation of him splitting me wide and deep has me shouting his name and quaking.
“That’s right,” he grits from above me, fucking me through it. Then he’s dragging me to the edge of the bed so he can stand. “Let’s see if we can’t get one more outta you.”
He pushes back inside me easy this time, but he still feels so big and hard. “Girl, you’re a swollen mess,” he says with a grin as he dips in to kiss me. I huff a laugh and scrape my nails over his sweat-slick chest and around his back.
He braces my ankles on his shoulders and sets a steady pace. “Feel that?” he asks, and I nod.
“How could I not, God, you’re grinding right over my g-spot.” I gasp with every thrust. “Did you study the Kama Sutra before heading out to that dive bar tonight, or…?”
Dean laughs as he rolls me to my side and hovers over me, driving into me fast and hard. “Oh, honey,” he says, out of breath and eyes wild. “There’s a lot more where that came from.”
Before we both finally pass out, I come three more times, three new ways, and Dean tucks me into the curve of his body.
I drift off, feeling the kind of renewal of body and soul that only comes from the blaze of fire.
If you like what you’ve read, please let me know and/or buy me a coffee!
Not officially, but that’s because I don’t risk it. I didn’t have the best experience with men growing up, so I keep my heart pretty guarded (lots of bullying and the movie-worthy scene of a mean girl telling me my crush was going to ask me to a dance when he went on to ask her in front of everyone). There is a guy I have in my life now who I could very easily fall in love with and may have already, but I never put myself out there for fear of getting my heart broken. The therapist and I are working on it, lol.
120: Wore make up?
I did when my sister got married, but I hardly ever do.
130: Been fishing?
No, but I went gold panning once, and with how miserable I was with that, I think I’d really suck at fishing.
140: Where do I want to live when older?
Probably the same place I do now, but I’d love to retire to Hawaii!
150: The meanest thing somebody has ever said to me
I’m sure it’s something my sister said growing up, or the aforementioned story with the preteen boys. I’ve been lucky not to have too many mean people as an adult.
