#smallsmut

[hauntedbymiller]

“Have I ever told you, how much this-,” he points to your glistening pussy, his eyes just visible over your pubic hair, “-looks like a pink rose? Darlin, it’s just-”, a low growl comes from deep within his chest, “-fuckin perfect.”

He devours your core, tortures your clit and makes you cum, (you lost count) but each one, had you screaming out his name. Being claimed. Being fucking worshipped✨

[violentlillith]

D E V I L W A N T S S E C O N D S

Love Interest; Dean Winchester x Demon!reader

Scene; This story will take place between S3 // S4 ( A bit of Spoilers so please read with Caution if you haven’t passed these seasons )

🦇 𝖘𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖒𝖚𝖙 𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌

Word count; 1,480

𝖔𝖕𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌, 𝖔𝖓𝖊, 𝖙𝖜𝖔, 𝖙𝖍𝖗𝖊𝖊

It had been a slow burn for weeks. Dean wanted, no, he needed to call. He needed the sound of your voice to ground him and the heat of your skin to remind him he was still alive. He craved the way your fingertips dug into his biceps, a desperate plea for a mercy neither of you truly possessed.

He was reckless this time. He knew the clock was ticking, the hellhounds practically breathing down his neck.

A few weeks ago, he’d visited you after your run-in with Ruby. You’d told him you were buried in "business", a polite way of saying your time with him was over. He hated that. He’d never admit it, but that night, he didn't give a damn what Sam or Ruby whispered about you. Hell, he was headed for the Pit anyway,  why not spend his last chips on the one person he couldn't have?

𓆩 𓆪

“Dean.” You leaned against the doorframe, a tired smile tugging at your lips. You stepped aside, letting him into the small motel room. “I’m sorry I didn’t answer.”

He brushed past you, leaning against your desk that was covered in books and scriptures. "Kinda figured you were busy."

“Yeah.” You shut the door, the lock clicking with finality. “I had visitors.”

“Ruby,” he spat, the name tasting like lead.

“So she told you?”

“No.” Dean shoved his hands into his pockets, his leg twitching, a tell-tale sign of the storm brewing inside him. “I need you to be honest with me, because-”

“Because what, Dean?”

You knew he didn't have the full picture. You wanted him to stay in the dark, shielded from the price you were both going to pay. If you told him the truth, the plan would shatter, and the higher ones would make you pay in ways worse than death.

But then he looked at you. Those green eyes, shimmering with a vulnerability that made you feel something dangerously close to human.

“I don't care who you work for,” he rasped, stepping into your space. “I don't care what you have to do to me. I just need you to be honest. The last thing I need is for the person I..” He choked on the words, shaking his head. “Just tell me what you feel. Nothing else matters.”

Your stomach twisted. He’d admitted it. Without saying the words, he’d laid himself bare.

“What?” you whispered, drawn to him like a moth to a soft flame.

“Don’t make me repeat myself.”

The room felt smaller, the walls leaning in to catch the confession you weren't allowed to give. Your throat tightened. You wished he’d said it months ago. You wished he’d never said it at all.

“Winchester-”

“Don’t call me that,” he growled. “Not after everything else you've called me.”

He was right. The pet names, the soft murmurs in the dark, they were all lies if you couldn't tell him the truth now. You took a breath, hardening your heart.

“Dean,” you began, your voice cold. “If it makes it easier..you were just a chase. A soul I had to collect. We had our fun, and now it’s over.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“All I needed to hear,” he said quietly. He rubbed his eyes with both palms and walked toward the door. He paused, hand on the knob, waiting for the inevitable.

You sighed, a flick of your wrist sending the deadbolt home with a telekinetic thud. You weren't letting him go. Not yet.

The memory of that night haunted you. The way he’d pinned you against the wall, his hands rough and certain on your waist. It was a desperate, primal exchange, the millionth time, yet it felt like the first and the last all at once.

He’d grabbed your neck, forcing you to look at him as he claimed your mouth. He knew how you liked it, the edge of pain, the friction of "personal use" turned into something sacred. When he finally moved you to the bed, the world fell away.

“Feels so good to be inside you again,” he’d whispered against your skin as he pushed himself deeper into you, a deep thrust that only caused you to moan his name in response.

Every kiss was a mark of ownership, every groan was a prayer. You realized then that you were crying, not on the outside, but somewhere deep within your fractured grace. You didn't want to be the one to drag him to the dark.

“Dean?” you’d asked later, watching him sit up, his skin a map of the marks you’d left behind.

“Mmm?”

“You know you’re running short on time.”

He scanned your face, searching the secrets in your eyes. “Yeah,” he said, his voice heavy. “I know.”

𓆩 𓆪

Then came the end. It happened in a blur of blood and betrayal.

Lilith, wearing Ruby’s host like a cheap suit. Sam, pinned and helpless. And Dean, slammed against a dining room table, the clock finally striking midnight.

You stood outside the double doors of the small modernized home, watching the horror unfold. When Lilith opened them, her smile was a jagged blade.

“Y/N,” she cooed. “Business is business as you know darling. Take him.”

“Lilith, please,” you begged.

“Don't make me repeat myself. Or should I have him torture you instead?”

Dean looked up at you, a ghost of a smirk on his face despite the blood. “Crazy,” he wheezed. “You’re never a top.”

You felt the sob rise in your throat. “I’ll get you out,” you promised, your voice a jagged whisper. “If it’s the last thing I do.”

Then, you drove your nails into him. The screams from Sam were deafening, but it was the light fading from Dean’s eyes that broke you. You weren’t just taking his soul, you were tearing out your own.

It passed so fast as Sam screamed at you for what you've done. Every tear dropping on Dean's skin made you realize how in love you've fallen with the man you've just killed.

𓆩 𓆪

Four months.

Four months of screaming at the ceiling of that same motel room. The scent of vanilla lotion and Dean’s leather jacket still lingered in the sheets, a ghost that refused to leave. You’d thrashed the room, broken the mirrors, and pleaded with every demon in the hierarchy.

“No,” was the only answer you ever got.

You’d even crawled to Bobby Singer. He’d tried to kill you three times before your grief finally convinced him you were sincere. You were a demon, yes, but you were a demon in mourning.

One morning, you walked through Bobby’s house, a cryptic lore book in your hand. “Bobby? I think I found a lead on-”

Bobby intercepted you in the hall, his hands gripping your shoulders.

“Whoa, what’s the problem?” you asked, trying to smirk through the exhaustion.

“Y/N, go back to the room. Now.”

“Bobby, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Y/N, please-”

“Y/N?”

The voice hit you like a physical blow. Your heart, the one you thought was empty, shuddered. You dropped the book.

“No,” you whispered, your skin crawling with goosebumps. “No way.”

The man at the end of the hall looked like Dean, smelled like Dean, but you knew better than anyone what kind of tricks the basement played. You pulled a blade from your waistband and lunged.

“HEY!” Dean yelled, pinning your wrists. “It’s me! It’s me!”

“How do we know?” you screamed at Bobby. “How do we know it’s him?”

“I checked, Y/N! It’s him!”

You pressed the blade to Dean’s throat, your breath hitching. “Prove it. Prove it to me.”

Dean’s green eyes locked onto yours, steady and weary. “Your name is Y/N L/N. You’ve got a beauty mark on your left breast. You told me you hated it because it was right where your heart should’ve been. Underneath the empty.”

The blade clattered to the floor. You collapsed into him, your arms wrapping around his neck so tight it hurt. “I missed you,” you whimpered into his shoulder.

“Ive missed you too, but did you uh, did you pull me out?” he asked.

You shook your head, clinging to him. “No. I tried. God, I tried everything. How are you here?”

“I don't know.” His voice just above a whisper as you and Bobby shared concerning glances.

𓆩 𓆪

You found out soon enough though.

A few days later, you stood in a salty parking lot, a greasy burger bag in your hand. The air suddenly hummed with static, a high-pitched ring that made your teeth ache. You didn't flinch.

“Well, well,” you said to the empty air. “What do we have here?”

A man in a trench coat appeared behind you, his presence radiating an ancient, cold power.

“Y/N,” the raspy voice said. “It has been a long time.”

You turned, eyes narrowing at the celestial being standing before you. “It has, hasn't it? Castiel.”

𝖆/𝖓 I know it took me a while to get this going, I've had tons of school work to catch up on AND Christmas shopping killed my bank account but I'm ok now!

tl; @pillowjj @fertilise-me