"-and don't let them stay up past seven-" Dean orders into the phone, trying to sound stern, "-they'll say they're not tired but you can't listen to them- no not even fifteen-" There's a pause. He slowly brings the phone down, eyes going wide as he looks at you, "He hung up on me!"
"Probably because that's your third call in an hour." You try to hold back a laugh at your husband's expression.
"I'm gonna phone him back-"
"Baby-" you finally stand up, walking over to him, "-Stop calling. Sam's got this, he's good with the kids, you know that. The whole point of this weekend was for us to relax and you're more tense than when we left!"
"I'm fine! I just need to tell him-"
"Stop-" You lean up to kiss him, pressing your lips against his lightly to stop him talking, "-I got you a present."
He quirks an eyebrow, prompting you to continue.
You lean down to your bag, opening it up and pulling out a small ziplock bag, one pre-rolled joint inside.
---
"Jesus look at you-" His fingers are curled around your waist, pupils blown and mouth hung open in a half groan, absolutely enamored.
"De- baby- fuck-" you can't say anything else, your thighs burning as you ride him, his cock filling you on every hard thrust of his hips up into you.
"Y'so goddamn gorgeous-" he hums, smiling without realizing it, "Have your eyes always been this bright?"
"You're so high-" you giggle, running your hands down his chest.
"You're high- I'm just in love-"
The sound of Dean's ringtone cuts through your conversation. He lifts it, Sam's face lighting up the screen. You know you both have the same feeling- that small twinge of worry that it's an emergency. Dean picks it up, holding it to his ear.
"The kids okay?"
There's a small pause, then he gives you a nod to continue, everything obviously fine. You move slowly, letting him fill you as you stretch out above him.
"Yeah, yeah if they want ice-cream give them ice-cream-" he hums, rubbing his thumb against your waist, "-Yeah they can watch that, it's not that violent-" he looks up at you, a dazed expression of awe spread across his face, "-Yeah they can stay up 'til nine, why not!" He nods slowly, then pulls his phone away from his ear, "He wants to talk to you."
You take the phone out of his hand, holding it up as you continue to grind your hips, "Hey Sammy-"
"Who the hell is that and what have you done with my brother."
thinking about how dean winchester manhandles you… 🤤
he doesn’t even realise he’s doing it mostly. we’ve all seen how he’s always having to do something with his hands, tapping the steering wheel and the like so it’s only natural he does it with you!
he’s just very tactile and it’s his responsibility to take care of you. you’re drunk and he needs to get you home? he’s slinging you over his shoulder. there’s an attack of something? he’s immediately roughly grabbing you by the waist and pushing you behind him. but even little things too.
if he wants you attention and your back is to him he’s tugging on whatever style your hair is in. he needs to get past you he’s gonna rest his hands on your hips to move you out of the way. if he wants to kiss you he’s pushing your cheeks together with his hand till your lips are pursed in an exaggerated pout.
sometimes you bemoan it! you’ve got finger marks all over your body because your boyfriend apparently never grew out of the pull the plaits of the girl he likes phase but he just shrugs and says “what you can’t handle a little lovetap sweetheart?”
maybe i’ll turn this into a proper fic someday idk
Summary: You wanted Dean to fuck you “en cuatro el cuatro de julio” cause Bad Bunny said it in a song. He would never say no to you.
Tags/warnings: Minors do not interact. Established relationship. Female reader. No description of reader. No use of y/n. Porn without plot. Plot what plot ? Pinv. Unprotected sex (there’s no party without balloons). Doggy style. Sub/dom undertones.
Dean is thrusting up inside you, holding your hips in one of his hands while you whine and moan.
“F-fuck, yes! Dean!” you cried out, your puffy folds sucking him in as you bury your face in the pillow right below you, the angle making you feel every inch of his cock inside you.
He’s panting, his hand pulling your hips harder into his as he thrusts. The rhythm is hard, the slap of skin against skin surrounding you and the sharp sound of his heavy palm hitting one of your cheeks hard, making your ass immediately sting and you moaned at the pain. He groaned and you know he’s loving the view, you know he loves seeing your ass and how you move your hips by your own as you try to grind him harder, deeper. His free hand goes down to your hair, in a makeshift ponytail that he uses to pull you to his chest.
His hand grabs you by your neck to keep your back pinned against his chest. He keeps groaning in your ear.
“You feel so fucking good, baby.” he breathes out, his other hand grabbing your hip hard to keep you steady. “This is what you wanted, huh? Such a dirty girl.” he didn’t think twice before he smacked your stuffed pussy, making you whine and arch your back. “You like getting fucked from behind, don’t you dollface?” he teased, leaving small kisses on your neck only for a second before he pushed you back into your fours for him.
You’re a moaning mess. The pace making the headboard hit the wall with the movement and your head spin with pleasure. Your mouth is open, drooling a little into the pillow as you moan loudly. His tip hitting your g-spot with every movement.
“That’s my girl, so pretty f’me.” he moaned too, pulling you hips harder. “That’s the spot, huh?” his voice is soft, his thrusts hard.
PLAP. PLAP. PLAP.
“Yes, yes!” you can barely form words with how cockdrunk you are, moaning into the pillow and he smacked your ass again, making you squirm below him, your walls clenching around him and he moves a bit faster.
“Wanna cum, baby?” his hand is holding you against the pillow while he fucks you. You nod barely, whining. You feel how your walls flutter around his cock and he groans, moving a bit harder. “Gonna come f’me, princess?” his hips move faster inside of you, his heavy balls hitting your clit everytime he enters you and the tip of his cock kiss your cervix. “This how you wanted me to fuck you, mamacita? huh?” you nod, completely blissed out and he spanks you hard, just when the tight knot in your belly decides to explode and you let out cries of pleasure.
He follows right behind, allowing his sticky load to flow inside of you and he pulls out slowly, panting, right before he falls into the bed.
You’re completely, utterly fucked out while you stare at him with an entirely blank mind. As if he had just fucked you into oblivion. Dean chuckles, pulling you into his arms.
“Was that what Bad Bunny said?” he asked teasingly, kissing your hair softly. You nod barely.
“Feliz cuatro de julio.” you pant out, smiling barely before you let yourself rest in his chest.
—⛧ let’s be so honest, both these boys are so touch starved. but where dean is shown as more touch averse, sam is clingy.
—⛧ any chance he gets, he’s on you.
—⛧ brushing his hand against yours when you’re walking. linking pinkies with yours when he’s being subtle, full hand holding with his thumb rubbing circles on your hand when not.
—⛧ the amount of hugs you receive (truly think a hug from sam winchester would cure me)
—⛧ sam isn’t a side hugger either. he full on bear hugs you, pulling you as close as possible to the point where when you break apart, you still feel enveloped by his warmth and the smell of his body wash lingers.
—⛧ he especially loves hugs from behind. loves whenever your back is turned to him and he can wrap his arms around you, resting his chin on your head. if it was anyone else, it would feel kind of claustrophobic, but it’s sam.
—⛧ and if you thought you could have your own space when sleeping? think again. sam was a big fan of spooning, but as long as he had some hold on you, he was happy. the first time you had fallen asleep on him, you were laid out on the couch, practically on top of him. and sam’s smile was so bright, it could’ve lit up the entire city.
—⛧ dean loves to pick at him, teasing his younger brother for how soft he’s gotten since the two of you met.
—⛧ but dean also sees the way sam smiles more now. the way sam’s shoulders aren’t constantly hunched up to his ears, how he doesn’t flinch as much at sudden noises if you’re around. and that makes you pretty damn okay in dean’s book.
—⛧ and he’ll tell you that one late night, when sam’s already asleep after a long hunt. but not before poking fun at you and your ‘giant ass octopus boyfriend.’
Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.
Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)
MDNI! 18+
Word Count: 5688
A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!
The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.
“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.
“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.
“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.
“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.
“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”
“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.
“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.
“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”
“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.
“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”
I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.
“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”
“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”
I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.
“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.
Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.
“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.
“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.
“Now you're speaking my language.”
*
The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.
“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:
“Where do you put all of that?”
“Put what?”
“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”
He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.
“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.
“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”
“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”
“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”
He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.
“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.
“What's up?”
“What were you like in college?”
I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.
“What do you wanna know?”
Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.
“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”
I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.
“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”
My words brought a small smirk to his lips.
“You were that hot, huh?”
“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.
“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”
“Lone wolf?”
“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”
“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.
“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.
“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”
I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.
“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”
“Even you?”
For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.
“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.
“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.
“Lead the way nerd.”
I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.
*
The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.
The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.
“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.
“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.
“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.
“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.
“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat
“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.
“Is there a problem with that?”
“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”
“Dean?”
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“Sorry.”
I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.
“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.
“Earth to Dean?”
He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.
“So how long have you worn glasses?”
“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.
“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.
“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”
Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.
“Dean-”
“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:
“Maybe I will.”
He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.
The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.
“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”
“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.
“That.”
“What?”
“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”
The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.
“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.
“(Y/n)-”
“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”
Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.
“Fuck…”
I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat.
“Oh FUCK.”
His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.
“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.
“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.
“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away.
“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine.
Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker.
The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour.
“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor.
“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”
Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision.
“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.
“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.
“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.
“I was just-”
“The glasses stay on.”
“To the end?”
“‘Til I say you can take them off.”
I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.
“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”
With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.
“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”
I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.
“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”
He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.
Dean.
He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him.
“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”
I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria.
The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.
“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”
I scoffed.
“My fault? How is it my fault?”
“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.
“Oh, so you get to sit around and do nothing while we freeze our asses off in some cabin and pretend to be madly in love? Yeah, right.”
Pretend. The words hurt against your will. It would be pretend for him.
Dean sighs, taking a moment to grovel internally before he perks back up, slinging his arm around you. “Well, maybe with you as my wife, it won’t be so bad, will it, honey?”
“Great, ‘cause your check-in time is tomorrow at four, Mr. and Mrs. Smith.”
Pairing: Dean Winchester x F!Reader
Summary: You and Dean pretend to be a couple to investigate a case, but what happens when things start to get a bit too real?
“Last time I wore a tux, you thought I was going to propose,“ said Dean, unbuttoning his jacket in front of the mirror.
“Last time you wore a tux you did,” you said from the bed, crossing your legs as your dress took up most of the bed. “You look quite good in one, Mr. Winchester.”
“Well thank you. Mrs. Winchester,” he said, glancing back at you with a big smile. He kicked off his dress shoes and walked over to the bed, careful of your dress before he lay next to you. You rolled onto your side and propped your head up on your elbow, smiling at him as he looked over at you. “You made my heart stop more than a few times today in that dress.”
“S’just a dress,” you said. “But I know what you mean.”
“I love you,” he said quietly.
“I love you back,” you said, Dean smirking.
“Did you like the wedding? And the reception?” he asked. You hummed, shifting over closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder.
“I got to kiss this really handsome guy today. A lot. It was awesome,” you said, Dean chuckling. “For someone who said he didn’t care about this, today meant more than you let on.”
“It’s just a day, like tomorrow’s just a day. But all of the rest of the days I’ll have, I’m with you,” he said. “I always knew you weren’t leaving me, no matter what happened to us. But now I’m just thinking, I really know you aren’t going anywhere.”
“Never was,” you said. Dean simply smiled at you, with that look he’d shown you all day.
A little part of him had healed that day. You gave him a smile right back before he leaned up to kiss him.
Hopefully with all those other days you had together, you could find some more ways to help heal the rest of him too.
Summary: After a brutal case and a worse misunderstanding, a blizzard strands you and Dean far from home.
Word count: 4.2k
Warnings/Tags: Light Smut (18+ Only), Angst, fluff, idiots in love. Mentions of original characters.
A/N: Just a little something that came to me, inspired by the change in weather atm. I’m trying to get more stuff written, taking what my muse will give me 😅. I hope you enjoy this one and let me know what you think ❤️
Main Masterlist
You stared out the passenger-side window, watching as the soft flurries of singular snowflakes thickened into a relentless stream of white.
What had started as something almost peaceful had turned suffocating, the world narrowing until you could barely see more than a few feet ahead. The mountains disappeared behind a curtain of snow, road and sky bleeding together into nothing.
Dean sat forward in his seat, hunched slightly, shoulders tense. His eyes were narrowed as he squinted through the windshield, hands locked tight around the steering wheel while the wipers struggled uselessly against the accumulating ice. They squeaked in protest, smearing more than clearing, and the engine growled low beneath the hood.
It couldn’t have been worse timing, you thought bitterly.
A goddamn snow blizzard.
You were miles from the bunker, hours deep into unfamiliar mountain roads after chasing down what turned out to be a pack of werewolves. The town had been small already, tucked away, isolated, and the wolves had been picking off the population one by one, quiet and methodical.
The case was done. Finito. You and Dean had saved the day.
You should’ve felt relief. Victory. Something light.
Instead, your body ached and your chest felt hollow.
Your neck twinged when you shifted, ribs screaming in dull protest beneath your jacket.
Getting thrown into a tree by a pissed-off werewolf had a way of humbling you fast. You were pretty sure nothing was broken, Dean had checked you over with shaking hands and frantic eyes, but you knew you’d be bruised for days.
And still… the physical pain wasn’t what gnawed at you.
Earlier that day played on a loop in your head, vivid and cruel.
You’d been excited when you took the case. Too excited, maybe. Sam was off helping Eileen with another hunt, which meant it was just you and Dean. No third wheel. No motel rooms with a thin wall between you. Just space. Time. Something that felt dangerously close to domestic.
You and Dean hadn’t been seeing each other long, not long enough to define anything… yet, but long enough that it wasn’t just a comfort fuck in the dark anymore.
You hadn’t labeled it. Neither of you had. You were adults, friends first, hunters always. You cared about each other. You enjoyed each other. Really enjoyed each other. And at the start, that had felt like enough. Easy. Organic.
You’d told yourself it didn’t need more explanation.
Until suddenly… it did.
Because somewhere along the way, things had shifted.
Subtly at first. Then all at once.
Dean would pull you into his side on the couch in the ‘Dean Cave’, your legs draped over his lap while some old movie played half-forgotten on the screen. On long drives, his hand would find yours without comment, fingers lacing together like it was the most natural thing in the world. He kissed your cheek in the mornings when he reached for his mug, even in front of Sam, something that had once been just yours, private and unspoken.
It felt like something.
It felt like enough.
And then, just when you’d start to settle into it, when you’d let yourself relax, he’d pull back.
Some nights, he wouldn’t come find you, wouldn’t drag you half-asleep into the warmth of his bed. He’d go in alone instead. Other times, he’d wave off movie night, choosing a drink by himself, shutting himself away like a door quietly closing. You told yourself not to read into it. Being a hunter was heavy. You knew that better than most. Some days demanded space.
You understood that.
But Dean was hot and cold. Push and pull. One step forward, one step back.
And the more time you spent wrapped up in him, the more his habits became yours, the more his touch felt like home, the harder it became to ignore the quiet question building in your chest.
You hadn’t needed answers before.
Now, you did.
You weren’t looking for a label stamp of approval. Just the certainty that if you gave him your whole heart, he wouldn’t drop it the moment things got complicated.
And then you saw him today with the witness.
Her friend had been one of the victims, her grief raw and real… right up until Dean approached her at the bar, slipping seamlessly into his sympathetic cop routine. The voice he used was softer, practiced. His posture relaxed, familiar. You’d seen it before, just not in a long time.
You hadn’t meant to watch. You’d just arrived back after questioning your own witness, slowing when you spotted them at the bar. Her manicured hand rested on his arm, fingers lingering longer than necessary. Her chest angled toward him, posture open, inviting. She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, smiling up at him through lashes that were just a little too deliberate.
You knew that look.
Textbook. You’d seen it a hundred times.
And Dean, Dean knew it too. Yet he didn’t pull away.
He smiled. Played the part. Let her touch him. Let her slip that hastily scribbled number into his jacket pocket without protest.
And standing there, watching him not pull away, watching him slide so easily into a version of himself you thought you’d been slowly, quietly replacing…
It stung. Deep. Sharp. Personal.
Because that used to be all there was. That version of Dean. The charming, unattached one who kept things easy and left before they got heavy. The one you’d told yourself you were no longer sharing.
When he finally noticed you, his expression shifted instantly. Relief softened his features. His smile, the real one, turned warm and familiar as he crossed the room toward you.
It made it worse.
You played dumb. Let him touch you like nothing was wrong, his hand resting casually on your thigh as you compared notes in a quiet booth, nodding along while your head and your heart went to war.
You told yourself it looked worse than it was.
Told yourself it was just a means to an end. Just Dean doing what Dean always did.
But you couldn’t shake the image.
And then the spiral started.
Was this temporary for him? Convenient? Were you just… easy? Familiar? Someone warm to come back to until the next blonder, bustier, simpler woman caught his eye?
The thought twisted in your gut, cold and relentless.
You felt stupid for even thinking it. You liked to believe you knew Dean better than that. But it stuck under your skin, festered, made you reckless, made you push harder during the hunt than you should’ve.
And now you were hurt.
Dean didn’t know that part. He didn’t know how deep it went.
He probably thought your silence on the drive back was just pain and exhaustion settling in after a long, brutal day. And you let him believe it, because right now, you didn’t trust what might come out of your mouth if you tried to talk. You needed space. Time to think. Time to decide how to approach it without everything spilling out wrong.
But the universe, it seemed, was hell-bent on throwing curveballs your way.
Baby’s engine rattled suddenly, the car jolting beneath you both.
Dean stiffened instantly. “C’mon, Baby…” He patted the dash, like a comforting hand might coax her through it.
The Impala sputtered again, harsher this time, a violent rattle shuddering through the frame. The dashboard lights flickered once, twice, and the engine gave one final, defeated groan before falling silent altogether.
The sudden quiet was deafening.
The car rolled a few more feet before Dean guided it to the side of the road, snow already swallowing the tires as it settled.
You exhaled slowly, breath fogging in front of you as the heater cut out. Not that it had been doing much to begin with — the age of the car saw to that. The cold crept in immediately, sharp and invasive.
“Well,” you muttered, curling in on yourself. “That’s just great.”
Dean twisted the key. Nothing.
He tried again. Dead.
“Shit.” He blew out a breath and tugged his jacket tighter before slipping out of the car. The door opening alone dragged what little warmth remained with it, replaced instantly by an arctic bite.
You could barely make him out through the blowing snow as he rounded the hood, cursing under his breath while he checked beneath it. Another sharp “fuck” carried back to you, confirmation settling in your gut that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.
He shut the hood and hurried back inside, the cold following him despite his speed. He rubbed his hands together, breathing warm air into them before leaning back with a frustrated huff.
“Looks like she’s done,” he said quietly. “Too damn cold out here.”
Silence stretched between you, thick and uncomfortable.
“Awesome.” You said through chattering teeth, “Man it’s freezing.”
Dean glanced at you, that familiar crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Well,” he said, voice smooth despite the cold, “I might know a way to help with that.”
Something in you twisted, sharp and ugly.
“Don’t.” You pulled away before he could reach for you.
The word came out harsher than you meant it to, snapping through the small space of the car.
Dean stilled, blinking in surprise. “Hey—” His voice softened instantly. “What’s wrong?”
You didn’t answer.
He leaned closer instead, hand hovering uncertainly near your arm. “Is it your ribs? Your neck?”
“I’m fine,” you said, clipped and cold.
Dean frowned. He knew that tone. It set his teeth on edge. “Okay.” He said slowly, choosing his words. “Then what is it? Because you’ve been like this since we left town.”
You scoffed, turning toward the window again. Snow battered the glass relentlessly.
Dean exhaled, running a hand over his face. “C’mon. Don’t shut me out like that. What’s wrong?”
That did it.
You turned on him, anger flaring hot and sudden, cutting through the cold. “You,” you snapped. “You’re what’s wrong.”
Dean froze. “Me?”
“Don’t look at me like that,” you continued, voice shaking now, pain bleeding through the edge of your anger. “Don’t sit there and act like you actually care.” You were being a tad dramatic, but you were cold, in pain and he was making you feel crazy.
His confusion was immediate, written all over his face. “What are you talking about?”
“I saw you, Dean,” you said quietly. “Earlier. At the bar. With the witness.”
Recognition flickered across his expression a beat later. He shook his head. “That? I was just doing my job. Getting information — like we always do.”
“And getting her personal cell number was vital information?” you shot back.
He blinked, stunned. “That’s not—” He stopped, choosing his words carefully. “It wasn’t like that. I swear.”
You scoffed, turning slightly away.
“No,” he pressed, leaning closer now, voice earnest. “Honestly i forgot about it the second we sat down. I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t want it. It didn’t mean anything.”
You wanted to believe him. You really did.
But the day had been too long, your body hurt too much, and the image of him letting her touch him still burned behind your eyes.
And so you shoved the door open, cutting him of before he could continue.
The cold hit you like a wall, sharp and brutal, snow stinging your face as you stepped out into the storm.
“Whoa, what are you doing?” Dean demanded, panic edging his voice as he scrambled out after you.
You pointed down the road, toward the faint glow you’d noticed earlier, the only break in the endless stretch of white, the one lonely house on this godforsaken road. “There’s a house. I saw it a few minutes back.”
“It’s a blizzard,” he argued, already moving toward you anyway. “You can’t just walk off like this.”
You turned on him, words spilling out raw and unfiltered. “I’d rather take my chances out here than be stuck in that car with you right now.”
The sentence hung between you, heavy and irreversible.
Dean stopped short.
You saw it then, the way his shoulders slumped, the hurt flashing openly across his face before he could shove it down.
Guilt crashed into you instantly, sharp and sickening. But you didn’t take it back.
Instead, you turned away from him and began walking in the direction of the house.
It didn’t take long before you heard his footsteps following, the crunch of snow beneath both your boots the only sound left in the white, suffocating silence.
As you finally approached the house, you were frozen down to the bone.
The porch light cut a soft, golden circle through the snow, a small mercy against the endless white. Your fingers were numb, breath shallow as you climbed the steps and knocked, knuckles stinging with the effort.
The door opened slowly, and an older woman peered out, cautious at first.
“Hi,” you said quickly, words tumbling out through chattering teeth. “I’m so sorry to bother you this late, but our car broke down just up the road. There’s no service out here, and the storm’s getting worse. We didn’t know where else to go.”
It was only half a lie, you had known where else to go, but the heat spilling through the narrow gap in the door was already thawing your resolve. Suddenly, this felt like the only right choice.
The woman took one look at you, snow dusting your hair, your cheeks flushed raw from the cold, then glanced past you to where Dean stood a few steps back, shoulders hunched against the wind.
“Oh, you poor things,” she said immediately, concern softening her features. She was short, bundled into a thick knit sweater, her auburn hair cut short and permed in a way that spoke of another decade. The lines on her face were deep but kind, worn by years of smiling rather than worry.
“Come in, come in. Let’s get you out of that cold before you freeze solid.”
She pulled the door open wider and ushered you inside, already calling over her shoulder, “Honey! We’ve got company.”
Warmth wrapped around you the second you crossed the threshold, thick, comforting, almost dizzying. The smell of woodsmoke and something savoury hung in the air. You sagged slightly as the door shut behind you, cutting off the howl of the storm.
“We really can’t thank you enough,” Dean said earnestly as a man appeared from the adjoining room.
He was tall, nearly Dean’s height, but softened by a round belly and broad shoulders. A full grey beard framed his warm, ruddy face, and his eyes crinkled with easy kindness as he smiled at you both.
“Well, you’re safe now,” he said gently. “I’m Alan. This is Beverly.”
“I’m Dean,” he replied, shaking Alan’s hand before turning to Beverly. You followed, offering your name too.
It didn’t take more than a minute for Beverly to start fussing, the way only someone who had spent a lifetime taking care of others could. She’d already began brewing some tea, clucked softly at the state of your coat, and draped thick blankets over both your shoulders before steering you toward the couch by the fire.
“Sit,” she insisted kindly. “Both of you. Get some heat back in those bones.”
You sank down with a quiet exhale, the warmth slowly seeping back into your limbs, painful and welcome all at once. Dean sat beside you, close but careful, his knee brushing yours as he accepted his mug.
Conversation came easily after that. They asked where you were headed, nodded along as you answered carefully, filling the gaps with gentle stories of their own. It was… nice. Comforting in a way that caught you off guard.
At one point, Beverly smiled at the two of you over the rim of her cup. “You two married?”
You startled slightly. “No—” you said quickly, shaking your head. “No, we’re not.”
Beverly chuckled softly. “My apologies. You just make a good looking couple.”
You offered a small smile in return and then stared into the fire, watching the flames curl and snap. From the corner of your eye, you saw Dean’s mouth twitch, almost a smile, before it fell, something unreadable crossing his face before he tucked it away.
They told you about moving out here a couple years ago, how they’d traded the noise of town life for quiet mornings and long winters. How the snow didn’t bother them anymore.
Eventually, as the wind rattled the windows harder, Alan cleared his throat.
“You’re welcome to stay the night,” he offered. “Blizzard should pass by morning. I’ve got some things that might be able to help you get that car started once the cold eases up.”
“Thank you,” Dean said sincerely. “We really appreciate it.”
By the time Alan finished his story about digging the fireplace out by hand during their first winter, your social battery was well and truly dead. The adrenaline from the storm had worn off, leaving only exhaustion and the dull, persistent ache in your ribs.
You shifted slightly, blanket slipping from your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” you said softly. “I think I might turn in, if that’s okay.”
Beverly’s face softened immediately, like she’d been waiting for it. “Of course, sweetheart. You look done in.”
She was already on her feet, ushering you and Dean down the short hallway. The house creaked gently beneath your steps, warm and lived-in, the kind of quiet that felt earned.
“The bathroom’s just down there,” Beverly said, pointing. “Fresh towels are under the sink. And—” she hesitated, then smiled, already opening a dresser in the guest room, “my kids left plenty of clothes behind over the years. These should fit well enough for sleeping.”
She handed you a soft cotton shirt and a pair of lounge pants, then passed Dean something similar, fussing all the while. “Nothing fancy, but they’re clean and warm.”
“Thank you,” you said again, meaning it more than you could put into words.
Beverly squeezed your hand, a brief, grounding touch, before leaving you both alone. “Get some rest.”
The door clicked shut behind her.
Silence settled in, thick and fragile.
The room was small but cozy, lit by a single lamp that cast everything in amber. A quilted bed sat beneath the window, the blankets neatly folded, smelling faintly of lavender and clean linen.
You set the clothes down and tried to change, but the moment you lifted your arms, pain shot through your side. You sucked in a sharp breath, fingers trembling as you struggled with your shirt.
You felt Dean shift behind you, hesitate, and then ask, “can I help?” His voice was careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid of spooking you.
You paused, pride warring briefly with exhaustion, then you nodded, once.
He moved slowly, helping ease the fabric away from your skin, his hands warm and steady, but never lingering too long.
When the shirt finally slipped free, his breath hitched.
The bruise along your ribs was dark and ugly, spreading like a storm cloud across your skin.
“Jesus,” he whispered. You could feel his eyes burning into you skin, and turned to see his furrowed brow, the sadness in his eyes.
“I Hate seeing you like this.” He confessed, voice cracking, just barely.
You opened your mouth to brush it off, but he kept going, words tumbling out now, raw and unguarded.
“Every time you get hurt, it—it messes me up,” he admitted. “Because all I can think about is losing you. And that thought?” He shook his head. “It wrecks me.”
Your throat tightened.
“What you saw today,” he said suddenly, shaking his head again, frustration lacing his words. “That woman— none of it meant anything. I swear to you. I was acting out of habit and didn’t even think about it like that, and i’m so sorry.”
Whatever fight you’d been clinging to finally drained out of you, leaving only the ache underneath.
“I wasn’t mad about the number,” you admitted softly. “Not really. I was scared.” You met his eyes. “Because I don’t know where I stand with you, Dean. And the more I care, the more it feels like I’m losing my footing.”
He stepped closer. “You’ve got me,” he said immediately. “You’ve always had me.”
You let out a weak, but relieved laugh, tears stinging your eyes.
“You’re making me a little crazy,” you said, then really looked at him — this man who’d been in your life for nearly a decade. Not always steady. Not always close. But always there.
And suddenly, the truth landed.
“I think…” your voice shook, but you didn’t look away, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
The words hung there, terrifying and freeing all at once.
Dean didn’t hesitate.
He cupped your face gently, thumbs brushing beneath your eyes, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too,” he breathed. “I’ve been trying not to say it. Trying not to need it. But it’s there. It’s always been there.”
You smiled through tears, and he kissed you then, slow and careful, like you were relearning each other. His hands stayed steady at your waist, grounding, reassuring. The kind of touch that said I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.
You melted into him, the last of the tension you’d been holding onto finally slipping away.
The kiss deepened slowly, unhurried, like you were both savouring it — like you were finally allowing yourselves to feel everything you’d been holding back. All the hurt, the jealousy, the fear from earlier softened and dissolved, replaced by the warmth of him, the steadiness of his hands, the simple truth of this.
When he guided you back toward the bed, it was with the same care he’d shown all night, one hand firm at your waist, the other warm against your back, checking in with every movement, every breath.
He eased you down onto the mattress like you were something precious.
“Tell me if anything hurts,” he murmured against your skin as he hovered over you, breath warm and steady.
You nodded, fingers curling into his shirt to pull him closer instead, answering him with a deeper, more urgent kiss as he settled his weight carefully against you.
The rest of your clothes were shed slowly, his hands never rushing, never careless, until there was nothing left between you. When he finally eased inside you, it was gentler than he’d ever been before, cautious but reverent. You welcomed him instinctively, arms tightening around him, holding him close as he began to move.
His rhythm was slow, deep, mindful of every breath you took, every small sound you made. Enough to make you feel him completely. Enough to remind you that you were safe, wanted, chosen.
Your skin prickled, your heart thudding hard in your chest as he surrounded you, body and soul. You clung to him, his shoulders, his hair, anywhere you could reach, grounding yourself as he brought you closer to the edge.
His breath was hot and uneven against your neck, hands tangling in your hair, grasping at your uninjured flesh as he murmured quiet praises meant only for you.
The cold from earlier was long gone now, replaced by heat, desire, want, need, curling deep in your bones.
You held him to you as you came, burying your broken gasps against his skin as pleasure rolled through you in thick, overwhelming waves. He followed not long after, body tensing, movements faltering as he gave himself over completely, panting your name as he did.
And in the quiet that followed, wrapped around each other, it felt less like escape, and more like coming home.
Later, once you were tucked into bed beneath layers of quilts, Dean curled around you instinctively, one arm wrapped securely around your middle, careful of your ribs. Your head rested on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.
“Can I ask you something?” you murmured sleepily.
Dean hummed in response, nuzzling into the top of your head, his arm tightening around you just a little.
“Did you ever picture something like this?” you asked softly. “You know… moving somewhere quiet. A house. Growing old with someone?”
He was quiet for a moment, fingers tracing slow, absentminded patterns along your arm.
“Not really,” he admitted, and you tilted your head to look up at him, curious.
“By the time I was old enough to think about stuff like that,” he continued, “we were already knee-deep in hunting. Cases. Always on the move. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop.” He let out a slow breath. “Even when I did try… you know how that went.”
You nodded, listening, a small ache settling in your chest.
“But with you,” he went on, voice softer now, more vulnerable as he hooked a finger under your chin, and met your gaze. “I’ve thought about it. I let myself imagine it. Even if it never happens… when I picture happy?” His fingers brushed softly against your cheek. “It’s you.”
Tears welled before you could stop them. He brushed them away gently with his thumb, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“It’s you for me too, y’know” you whispered honestly.
He leaned down then, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, slow, warm, full of quiet contentment.
You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. But you knew this much: home was never going to be a place.
It was the man holding you.
And that, you thought, was enough.
A/N: I know i’m severely lacking with the content atm, i’m very aware of my overflowing WIP’s folder 🥴. I’m trying, albeit slowly, to get through it, finish off some pieces that are long overdue. Those who are still sticking with me, and patient. I appreciate each and every one of you, and hope to continue getting back to posting, reading, etc more regularly. Love you all X
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