cait, she/her, 20s & uk based. I've been writing for nearly 10 years and reading for much longer than that. I write for anything and everything - usually whatever my current hyperfixation is. currently working on a long series but doing one-shots alongside it.
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Nights out for an ER department were like a military operation. Establishing shift schedules and swapping assignments for those who didnât mind working whilst everyone was out having fun. People came late and left early, de and rescrubbed, leaving it as long as they could before they absolutely had to go.
But there was a part of the night where things evened out. All parties were present; drinks were flowing and due to the sheer size of the entourage people were deposited at several stations around the room. You were sitting with the girls, squished into a booth and laughing over a story Mel had just told you about a patient sheâd had yesterday whoâd fell on his sonâs tee ball bat.
Or at least, you were trying to. But you could feel your eyes flitting to the other side of the room. Jack and Robby were playing pool, with Whittaker standing beside them waiting to play the winner. Your eyes kept landing on Jack. Tight black T-shirt, camo pants that he somehow pulled off, arms bulging as he leant against the table to take his shot.
You forced your eyes away, but Trinity had spotted you watching and had started looking too. As Jack sunk a striped ball he pulled back, surveying the table to establish his next shot. He walked around the table, a swagger that was undeniable.
âHe walks like itâs heavy,â Trinity commented in your ear.
âTrin!â
âWhat? Itâs true,â Trinity shrugged.
âWhatâs true?â Javadi asked.
âNothing!â you blurted.
âThat Abbot walks like heâs swinging wood,â Trinity said. Javadi blushed, but her eyes betrayed her flitting over to the pool table.
âYouâre a lesbian,â you reasoned.
âIâm also a doctor, itâs just an astute observation,â Trinity said matter of factly, before she turned her eyes on you, âbesides donât tell me youâve never noticed.â
âI donât know what youâre talking about,â you said, thankful for the pitiful lighting and makeup that hid your blush.
âSure you donât,â she said, rolling her eyes.
âWait, whatâs that?â Javadi said, noticing your reddening cheeks.
âNothing,â you said.
âWaitâŠdo you like Doctor Abbott?â Mel asked.
âNo, of course not,â you lied.
âOh my god!â Javadi gasped, âyou do!â
âNo I donât!â you hissed, as a chatter erupted around the table you hissed, âwould you stop?! Heâs right over there!â
âWhoâs where?â
Jacks voice cut through the chatter. When you turned, he was standing beside the booth, watching you with soft eyes that made your heart flip flop.
âNothing, no one,â you lied quickly. Jackâs eyes narrowed, looking at the girls behind you who were all very interested in watching you two, smiles barely suppressed as you forced one and said, âwhatâs up?â
âJust wondered if you girls wanted a drink,â he said.
âOh uh-â you started.
âYep!â Trinity said, shoving you up out of the booth, âsheâll help you; she knows what we want.â
Jack smiled and stepped back to let you out. You followed him, shooting one quick glare back at your friends, who were all practically vibrating in excitement.
Once you were at the bar you stood beside him, arms rested on it, trying to ignore how he was watching you.
âYou having fun?â he asked after a minute.
âYeah, itâs been nice,â you said, bracing as you looked up at him. He looked better up close, more handsome, more rugged. And he smelled good, clean like soap with something expensive dabbed over the top.
âLooked like you girls were enjoying yourself,â he said, his voice low and teasing.
âOh yeah, you know what theyâre like,â you said though you werenât sure he did. He didnât really take an interest in the residents; he taught them obviously. He was kind and professional, but they werenât friends, the only person he seemed to have taken a shine to was you.
âYeah?â he asked, âwhat were you talking about?â
You swallowed thickly.
âOh you know just stuff,â you said, shifting under his gaze as he leant against the bar, still watching you, âgirl stuff.â
âLocker talk huh?â Jack asked.
âKinda,â you blushed, watching as a small smile tugged at the corner of his lip.
âYeah? See someone you like in this dive?â he asked.
You let your eyes flit back to the booth, where the girls were all watching you two until Jack looked over his shoulder and suddenly anywhere but the bar looked more appealing. When you looked back at Jack, he was closer, his hand resting on the counter right near your arm.
Youâd hoped to avoid it. Hoped that you could slip in, find Langdon or someone whoâd skipped the party, take hand over, and get straight to work.
But you were never that lucky.
Javadi caught you as you were getting changed, a smile on her face.
Mel bumped into you as you walked onto the floor, with an âoh hey! Did you have a good night?â to which you muttered a yes to and scurried away.
And Trinity caught you as you were standing at the nursesâ station, waiting to catch someone for handover. She shuffled to stand next to you, pretending to be deeply enthused in her chart as Dana looked over making sure you were working.
âHow was your night?â she asked, amusement dripping from her voice.
âFine,â you said.
âLiked playing pool, huh?â she said.
âYep,â you said tightly.
âGet home safely?â she asked.
âYep,â you said.
But right as the word left your lips, Jack stepped onto the unit, a distinct swagger in his step. He only seemed to notice you when he passed by his hand lightly brushing your arm as he murmured, âExcuse me,â in that low, intoxicating voice that stirred up a rush of memories from last night: the pool table, the cab, Jackâs apartment.
The two of you watched him head over toward Robby, that confident stride unbothered.
âAnd?â she asked, an eyebrow raised. Youâre felt your mind flit to the last night again, the word heavy rattling through your mind along with several others you could offer.
As Jack looked back over, you felt a smile creep onto your face. When you turned to Trinity, that smile had grown into a full grin.
summary â after a brutal hunt leaves you bruised and tangled in deanâs motel bed, a slow morning together draws out the three words neither of you has been brave enough to say.
pairing â dean winchester x reader ( f )
wordcount â 3451 genre â soft smut [mdni]
warnings â explicit sexual content, p in v, fingering, handjob, riding, praise, pet names, light competitive teasing, post-hunt soreness and minor injuries, mentions of bruising and stitches.
first, itâs the motel heater clicking beneath the window. then, the thin stripe of sunlight pressing through the gap in the curtains, landing directly across your closed eyes. somewhere outside, tires drag over wet pavement, followed by the heavy clunk of someone shutting a car door too hard.
your entire body hurts. nothing sharp enough to make you reach for the gun on the nightstand or check whether the stitches along your side have opened again. itâs the deep, stubborn soreness that follows a hunt gone bad and then somehow worse. the reminder of running through the woods in soaked jeans, getting thrown into the wall of an abandoned farmhouse, and spending nearly an hour digging a grave because dean insisted burning the body where you found it would attract attention.
you shift beneath the motel blanket, trying to find a position that doesnât pull at every bruise you own.
the arm around your waist tightens before you get very far.
dean makes a rough sound behind you, something between a grunt and a protest, and pulls you back against him. his face presses into your hair. heâs still half asleep, his palm spread low across your stomach beneath the hem of your shirt.
âquit movinâ,â he mumbles.
âeverything hurts.â
âyeah. me too.â
âyouâre crushing me.â
âyouâd complain if i let go.â
a laugh slips out of you before you can stop it, small and scratchy from sleep. deanâs mouth brushes the back of your head. then, when you turn carefully in his arms, he lifts his face enough to press a kiss to your forehead. itâs quick. barely awake. the kind of thing he does when he isnât paying enough attention to stop himself.
you settle facing him, your knee sliding between his under the tangled blanket. his chest is bare beneath your hand. there are fresh marks from last nightâa purple bruise near his ribs, a shallow scrape across his collarboneâbut your eyes catch on the older ones. the uneven scar near his shoulder. the pale line beneath his sternum. little pieces of history he doesnât offer unless you ask, and sometimes not even then.
dean watches you through heavy eyelids as you trace one with your thumb. âwhatâre you doing?â
ânothing.â you lean in and press your mouth to the scar near his shoulder.
you kiss the next one, lower this time, feeling his skin shift beneath your lips when he takes a slow breath. his hand moves along your back, sliding beneath your shirt, but not pulling you closer yet. just resting there. waiting to see what youâll do.
âyouâre being weird,â he says, voice rougher now.
âyou kissed my forehead.â
âso?â
âso, this is what you get.â
âpunishment?â
you glance up at him. âmaybe.â
his eyes are properly open now. green, tired, fixed on your face with an attention that makes the room feel smaller.
you kiss the scar beneath his ribs. then another, closer to his stomach, your mouth lingering until the hand beneath your shirt presses more firmly against your back.
dean exhales through his nose. âyou planning on working your way through all of âem?â
âmmhm.â
âyeah?â his thumb moves in a slow line along your spine. âmight take a while.
you lift your head. âwe got time.â
you push the blanket down and shift over him before he can say anything else, settling across his lap with one knee on either side of his hips. deanâs eyebrows lift, but he doesnât make a joke. his hands find your legs instead, palms sliding from your knees to your thighs, steadying you while you get comfortable. the movement puts you directly over him.
you rock your hips once, softly enough that it could almost be an accident. deanâs mouth parts.
you lean forward and kiss the scar near his collarbone again. his hands travel higher, following the outside of your thighs until they reach your ass. he squeezes, slow and firm, drawing you closer as you move against him a second time.
heâs beginning to harden beneath you. you can feel every gradual inch of it through the thin fabric separating you, the way his body responds before his voice catches up.
dean tips his head back against the pillow, eyes closing for half a second when you roll your hips again. âshit.â the curse comes out quietly, almost embarrassed by how quickly youâre getting to him.
you smile against his chest.
his hands leave your ass and slip beneath your shirt, palms spreading over your back. thereâs nothing hurried in the way he touches you. his fingertips trace over your skin, avoiding the worst of the bruises without needing to look, caressing each uninjured stretch he finds.
you press another kiss over his heart, then glance up. heâs already watching you. his eyes move across your face with sleepy, open admiration, no smirk to hide behind.
âso pretty,â he says, so low you nearly miss it.
your hips press down harder. deanâs breath hitches. his fingers flex against your back, and the corner of his mouth lifts.
âlove waking up to you like this,â he admits. âall sweet, pretending you donât know exactly what youâre doing.â
âi know what iâm doing.â
âyeah, sugar. i noticed.â
you kiss the edge of his jaw, grinding against him in another slow pass. his head turns, mouth brushing your temple while his hands pull you flush to his chest.
âweâre gonna miss check-out,â he murmurs.
âyou care?â
ânot even a little.â his lips drag against your cheek. âbut you keep looking that pretty while youâre grinding on my dick, theyâre gonna charge us for another night.â
his hands slip farther beneath your shirt, moving up your sides until his thumbs graze the underside of your breasts. you press down against him again.
deanâs mouth opens against your cheek, a quiet breath leaving him as his hips shift beneath yours. heâs fully hard now, thick against you through his boxers, and the knowledge settles low in your stomach. you do it again just to feel the way his grip changes: his fingers digging into your back before he catches himself and eases them loose.
âyouâre trouble in the morning,â he murmurs.
âonly in the morning?â
âdonât fish for compliments, sweetheart.â
you pull back enough to look at him. âthought you said i was pretty.â
âyou are pretty.â his gaze drops to your mouth. âstill trouble.â
you kiss him before he can add anything else.
he meets you lazily at first, lips warm and dry from sleep, one hand sliding behind your neck while the other stays spread across your back. the kiss deepens without either of you rushing it. his tongue brushes yours when you rock against him again.
dean groans into your mouth, the sound low and caught somewhere in his chest. you drag your hands over him as you kiss, across the broad shape of his shoulders and down the firm planes of his stomach, following old scars with your fingertips.
you kiss one near his collarbone when his mouth leaves yours. then another.
âstill doing inventory?â he asks.
âyou keep distracting me.â
his fingers hook into the hem of your shirt and you raise your arms. dean drags the shirt over your head and tosses it somewhere near the end of the bed.
cool air moves over your skin, raising goosebumps along your arms, but his hands follow quickly. his palms cup your breasts. his thumbs brush over your nipples once, watching the way your body answers him, before circling them again.
âfuck,â he says quietly. thereâs no smirk behind it. no teasing bite. he looks at you with sleepy concentration, hair flattened on one side and eyes fixed on every change in your expression. âlook at youâŠâ
deanâs eyes close for a beat when you grind down harder against him; hands tighten around your breasts, thumbs pressing over your nipples until the small sting makes you do it again. he mutters something under his breath, too low to catch, and lets one hand travel down your stomach.
his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your panties.
the first touch is light. barely there. two fingers passing through the wetness and warmness between your thighs, spreading it over you without giving you the pressure you want.
you shift impatiently, trying to guide his hand, but he follows the movement and keeps his touch maddeningly shallow. âdean.â
âwhat?â he glances between your bodies with false innocence, fingertips tracing around your entrance before sliding back toward your clit. âuse your words, sweetheart.â
âyou know what i want.â
âprobably.â he gives you one slow circle, just enough to make your hips jerk. âstill wanna hear you say it.â
you reach between you and palm him through his boxers. his next breath comes out uneven. âtouch me properly.â
he presses two fingers into you. the stretch pulls a moan from your mouth. your thighs tighten around his hips, and deanâs attention snaps back to your face while he works them deeper, slow enough to make you feel each inch. his thumb settles over your clit, rubbing with steady pressure as his fingers curl.
you grab the waistband of his boxers and tug. they catch beneath your knees, and dean lifts his hips enough to help you drag them down. his cock rests against his stomach, flushed and already wet at the tip.
you stroke from the base to the head, spreading the bead of precum with your thumb before tightening your grip on the way back down. his hips twitch upward into your hand.
âeasy,â he says, though he pushes into your fist again.
âcanât handle it?â
his eyes narrow. âcute.â
you stroke him slower. dean retaliates by curling his fingers inside you, pressing against the place that makes your hand falter around him. you let out a rough little sound and rock down against his palm, giving him exactly the reaction heâs after.
his mouth pulls into a smug half-smile. âwho canât handle it?â
âshut up.â
âmake me.â
you lean down and kiss him hard enough to knock the satisfaction from his face. your hand keeps working over his cock. his fingers keep working inside you. neither of you gives the other enough room to recover.
the morning stays quiet around you. springs shifting beneath your knees. the wet sound of his fingers moving inside you. deanâs breathing growing rougher each time your thumb passes over the head of his cock.
when your bruised side pulls, you flinch before you can hide it. his hand leaves your neck and slides over your ribs, supporting you while you settle at a different angle.
âyou okay?â
âyeah.â
âsweetheart.â
âiâm fine.â you roll your hips experimentally. the bruising protests, but not enough to make you stop. âjust sore.â
his thumb brushes over your clit again, gentler this time. âtell me if itâs too much.â
you kiss the corner of his mouth. âi will.â
you push yourself upright and lift your hips enough to pull your panties aside. dean withdraws his hand, the loss making you clench around nothing.
you take him in your hand and guide the head of his cock through your slickness.
his hands settle on your hips. âslow,â he says, softer than an order.
you sink down carefully, taking him a little at a time. the stretch burns pleasantly at first, your body opening around the thickness of him while dean holds you steady. his thumbs press into the soft curve of your hips, keeping you from dropping too quickly.
dean curses under his breath. his face draws tight with the effort of staying still, eyes fixed on where your body takes him. when you finally settle all the way into his lap, his hands slide around to your ass and hold you there.
for a few seconds, neither of you moves. you feel him everywhere. deep enough that the smallest shift sends a pulse through you, his cock held tightly inside your body, his thighs hard beneath yours.
âfuck, sweetheart,â he murmurs. âyou feelâŠâ
he doesnât finish. you rock your hips forward. deanâs grip tightens.
âgood?â you ask.
he lets out a breath that turns into a laugh, then you lift yourself and sink back down.
the first few movements stay slow. your bodyâs still sore from the hunt, and dean lets you find the angle that doesnât pull at your side. his hands move over your thighs, your hips, the curve of your ass, never forcing your rhythm. he watches you ride him with a heavy, unguarded stare, his lips parted each time you take him to the base.
you place one hand on his chest for balance. his heartbeat works fast beneath your palm.
âyouâre staring,â you accuse.
âi am.â
âwhy?â
âyou really need me to explain?â
you clench around him deliberately. deanâs answer breaks apart into a curse. you smile.
âoh, you think thatâs funny?â
âlittle bit.â
one hand leaves your hip and slides between your bodies. his thumb finds your clit, pressing down while you lower yourself onto him again.
your smile slips.
âyeah,â dean murmurs. âthatâs what i thought.â
he rubs slow, tight circles in time with your hips. the pressure draws everything closer, each drag of his cock through you feeding into the touch between your legs. you lean over him again, your breasts brushing his chest, and kiss him because you need somewhere to put the sound threatening to leave you.
dean swallows it greedily.
his free arm wraps around your back, holding you close while you move. the position gives you less room, but it lets him thrust up into you in small, measured movements that meet every roll of your hips.
he keeps one hand on your clit and the other spread over your spine, careful around every bruise created last night.
âthatâs it,â he says against your mouth. âkeep going.â
your thighs are starting to burn. you sit up, changing the angle, and dean slides deeper. the next downward roll hits somewhere that makes your vision blur for half a second.
âright there.â
âyeah?â
you do it again instead of answering.
his eyes stay on yours while you ride him faster. thereâs nothing sleepy left in them now. his gaze tracks every broken movement of your mouth, every time your concentration slips. when your pace begins to turn uneven, he plants his feet against the mattress and starts meeting you from below.
the bedframe knocks quietly against the wall.
âdeanââ
âi know, babe.â
his thumb keeps working over you. his other hand grips your ass, helping you move, giving your aching thighs enough support to keep going. the pressure builds low and deep. you feel it in each stroke, in the friction of his body beneath yours, in the rough praise he mutters when you tighten around him.
âso fucking pretty.â
his voice is strained now.
âlook at me.â
you do.
dean thrusts up as you sink down, his cock dragging over the place that sends the first hard ripple through your stomach. your rhythm stutters. you brace both hands on his chest, trying to hold yourself together while everything starts coming apart.
âthere you go,â he murmurs. âiâve got you, sweetheart.â
your orgasm rolls through you before you can answer. your thighs lock around him, hips jerking out of rhythm while your body clenches tight around his cock. a broken sound catches in your mouth. dean keeps rubbing you through it, slower once you start shaking, his eyes never leaving your face.
âfuck, sweetheart.â
the way he says your name pushes another shudder through you.
youâre still coming when his control finally gives. his hands grab your hips and hold you down against him, cock buried deep as he spills inside you. his groan catches against your shoulder when you fold over him, his mouth pressing to your skin while his body jerks beneath yours.
afterward, you stay where you are. neither of you seems interested in dealing with the rest of the room.
deanâs hands move slowly over your back. long strokes from your shoulders to your waist, then up again, avoiding the tender places without needing direction.
you rest your cheek against his chest. his heart takes a while to settle.
âwe really are gonna miss check-out,â you mumble.
âmm-hm.â his mouth presses to your hair, then your temple. the kiss lingers this time, awake enough that he canât pretend it happened by accident.
his hand drifts down your back again. fingertips following the curve of your spine, palm flattening at your waist before starting over. thereâs no hurry in it. no expectation that youâll get up and shower or find your clothes or leave.
you draw a lazy line through the faint freckles across his chest. dean watches your finger move.
âi love you,â he says, and the words are quiet enough that, for one strange second, you think youâve put them there yourself. something your tired brainâs slipped into the space between the heater clicking off and a truck groaning past on the road outside.
your hand stops. deanâs does too.
you lift your head slowly. âwhat?â
he stares at the ceiling. âyou heard me.â
âiâm not sure i did.â
the tips of his ears are turning red. itâd be funny under almost any other circumstances. dean winchester naked beneath you and suddenly unable to look anywhere near your face, except your mindâs still trying to catch up.
youâve known how he feels. or you thought you did.
itâs there when he hands you the first cup of coffee without asking how you take it. when he changes the radio station before a song you hate reaches the chorus. when he checks your seat belt with a quick tug after a bad hunt, pretending he only reached across you for something in the glove compartment. itâs there every night he chooses your bed instead of his own and every morning he stays longer than he needs to.
but heâs never said it.
dean clears his throat. âlook, you donât have toââ
âyou donât get to say something like that and then immediately give me an escape route.â
his mouth closes.
âfine.â his hand settles against your lower back again, though thereâs a new uncertainty to it. âforget i said anything.â
âthatâs worse.â
âyeah, well, this is going great.â
you push yourself up enough to see him properly. his expressionâs gone defensive around the edges, but he still wonât quite meet your eyes.
thereâs no apocalypse waiting outside. no demon deal running out, no blood on the walls, no desperate reason to say everything before one of you loses the chance. just an overdue check-out, cooling sheets, and dean looking more frightened now than he had with a monsterâs claw around his throat last night.
âsay it again,â you whisper.
his gaze finally finds yours. âsweetheartââ
âagain.â
he studies your face for a moment, searching for the joke or the trap or whatever else might let him retreat. when he doesnât find it, his thumb moves once against your back.
âi love you.â
this time, each word lands cleanly.
your surprise must show because his jaw tightens. âi know the timingâs kindaââ
you kiss him.
dean makes a startled sound against your mouth, then catches you by the waist and pulls you closer. the kiss isnât hungry now. itâs clumsy and lingering, his lips moving over yours while one hand cups the back of your head.
when you pull away, he follows for half an inch before stopping himself.
âi love you too,â you tell him.
dean blinks.
you almost laugh. âdid you hear me?â
âyeah.â
âyou sure?â
âshut up.â his hand slides into your hair, bringing you down for another kiss before you can tease him any further.
you feel his smile eventually, small and uneven against your mouth. when the kiss ends, neither of you moves far. deanâs forehead rests against yours, his hand still tangled in your hair. he looks almost embarrassed by the happiness creeping across his face, trying to press it down before you can make too much of it.
âwe should probably get up,â he says after a while.
âprobably,â your thumb brushes over the freckle near the corner of his mouth. dean catches your wrist, but instead of moving your hand away, he turns his head and presses a kiss into your palm.
you settle back over him carefully, your cheek returning to the place above his heart. you stay tangled together beneath the thin blanket, your joined hands resting against his chest while his thumb keeps passing over your knuckles, learning how the words feel now that theyâve finally been said.
.â„ Ę Ë writing guidelines â posting schedule â all works
me writing dean x autistic reader and panicking everyoneâs gonna hate it because what if it doesnât read right and doesnât feel authentic forgetting the suspect is closer than you think
summary:Â for someone so smart he sure can be dumb sometimes
tags/warnings: mentions of sex, mild angst, fluff, miscommunication, stanford era sammy!, flustered embarrassed sam, dean would hundred percent use the pineapple thing
You were an idiot. Grade A. An utter fool. Your mother had always warned you that drinking was not big or clever, and boy oh boy did you wish youâd listened. If you had you wouldnât have been lying on the couch right now, the only position that didnât make you want to throw up, your eyes glazed over as you tried to watch TV and ignore the ache in your head and the fuzziness of your tongue that only added to the nausea.
It hadnât even meant to be one of those nights. There was no frat house to go to, no game to tailgate. You were trying to act grown up, but cheese and wine night at your apartment with your girlfriends had fast turned into six bottles of wine between you all before you started hunting for leftover liquor and badly singing karaoke in the middle of the living room.
Fortunately, you boyfriend Sam hadnât seemed to mind. Heâd even managed to get up and get on with his day in between moving you from the bed to the couch and making you breakfast, which you didnât eat though you thanked him for trying anyway. He was up now, moving between the living room and the hallway as he gathered his stuff forâŠwell, whatever it was you were too tired to notice.
âUgh Iâm so hungover,â you grumbled as he placed his backpack by your feet at the end of the couch, hand buried inside as he rooted around for something.
âYeah, it was a late one.â
âIâm never drinking again,â you declared.
âHmm,â was all he muttered in return. You paused, looking at him instead of the TV. Youâd expected teasing. A âyeah right,â with that signature smirk and glinting eyes. But he looked lost, focused on his bag in front of him, avoiding your eyes.
âAre you okay?â you asked, feeling the quiet between you.
âYeah fine,â Sam dismissed as he zipped his backpack. As you watched him sling it over his shoulder it dawned on you that he wasnât just going through it, but going out.
âWhere are you going?â you asked curiously. You couldnât remember him having anything on today, though if he couldâve told you he was going to the moon last night and you wouldnât have batted an eye.
âOut.â
âWhere? I thought you donât have work or classes today,â you frowned.
âI donât,â Sam said. But there was something in his tone that unnerved you. You shifted, well as much as you could without vomiting, watching him closely.
âOh, you meeting up with some friends?â you asked.
âJust going the library,â Sam said. You fought a frown. That was something you did together. And obviously he could go on his own but if he did it was normally because heâd asked you and you couldnât go. Same when you went, though you never lasted as long, bringing your work home with you so you could do it with him nearby when he got home. You forced yourself up, reaching across to hold his hand, anchoring him in place as you looked up at him with a coy smile.
âWell how about you forget that and come hang out with me instead?â
But Sam didnât smile. He didnât pretend to contemplate it or make some excuse that he would let you talk your way around until he was staying behind, studying with you snuggled against him.
âI gotta study,â he said flatly.
âI can help you,â you offered, starting to hear the desperation in your voice.
âCanât. Got stuff to do.â
âOh, okayâŠâ you said, dropping your hand, though you tried to keep your voice light, âcan I at least get a kiss?âÂ
Sam nodded and leaned down, kissing your cheek for a fleeting second before he pulled back and headed out the door.
You tried not to let it ruin your day. Sam had plans and he shouldnât have to put them on hold just because you werenât able to rein yourself in. Not to mention, heâd spent the morning seeing you sweaty and gross, so you got you werenât the most appealing specimen to be around.
But Samâs weirdness lingered. You tried not to notice. But you did.
He spent hours in the library. He took extra shifts at work. Heâd even taken up running! Sam, who was more limb than anything and hated the California heat when stationary. For a minute you had thought it was just a health kick. The running went hand in hand with clean eating heâd started at least whenever you two did have dinner together. Otherwise in the sparse minutes you saw of him for the next week he was shoving a protein bar down his neck or chugging water. Pineapple juice had even become a staple in your fridge. No doubt for the smoothies he was blending up at six in the morning.
But after a while you were sure he was avoiding you.
You tried not to let it bother you, but every time your schedules clashed again you felt your heart sink.
You didnât know what it was, what youâd done, and you werenât sure you wanted to ask. Asking meant risking him telling you something you didnât want to hear. And you loved Sam beyond anything. Losing him would crush you.
So you turned to comfort. Trash TV. It was what youâd spent your afternoon doing, curled upon the couch, and it was where Sam found you when he finally walked in, clad in shorts and a T-shirt, hair damp at his temples from sweat.
âHey,â you said as he sat on the arm of the couch, unlacing his sneakers.
âHey,â Sam said quietly.
âDid you have a nice run?â you asked.
âYeah, it was good,â he said, offering you a smile. You sat up a little, your heart hopeful.
âWanna watch TV with me?â you asked.
âYeah sure. What are you watching?â Sam said
âSimple life.âÂ
âSoâŠtrash?â Sam chuckled, slipping down onto the couch.
âIâm sorry we canât all have such astute and intellectual capabilities,â you said, rolling your eyes.
âYouâre literally a student at Stanford,â Sam countered.
âDetails,â you said, shuffling closer to him, âbesides, thatâs the point.â
âGoing to Stanford is the point of watching Paris Hilton pretend to be stupid?â
âSwitching your brain off for half an hour is good for you,â you said.
âYeah?â Sam asked, arm going up on the couch behind you, eyes glinting.
âWhat do you think?â you asked, leaning forward to change the channel.
âIs it my brain switched off, or hers?â Sam yawned.
âYou need to relax,â you said.
âThat right?â he smirked.
âAnd I might know how to help with that,â you grinned. You leant forward and kissed him, your lips catching his gently until he deepened it. It made you hungry; made you climb into his lap, your kisses desperate after being pushed away for days. His hands tugged at your hair, pulling your head so he could kiss down your neck, sucking on that spot he loved to tease you with.
âSam,â you moaned. As he detached you shuffled back, sinking onto your knees and fumbling with the drawstring on his shorts.
âDonât,â Sam mumbled, but you didnât listen. You could feel him hard already, straining against your hand but as you reached to pull him out, he froze, capturing your wrist to stop it.
âGet up,â he said. You frowned, confused and Sam sighed, âitâs fine, you donât need to do that.â
âI want to.â
âJust leave it,â Sam said, trying to pull you up again but you dug your heels in refusing to budge.
âSam whatâs going on?â you asked.
âNothing.â
âYouâre being weird,â you said.Â
âNo Iâm not,â Sam said defensively.
âYes, you are,â you countered, rolling back on your heels as Sam pushed himself up, heading to the kitchen to avoid your gaze. You followed.
âYou have been all week.â
He ignored you, going to the fridge and surveying it for a reason to have his back to you.
âThe health kick, the running, the damn juice cleanse,â you said, pulling the carton of pineapple juice from his hand and thrusting it onto the counter as he huffed.
âIt was supposed to fix it,â he muttered.
âFix what?â you demanded. Samâs eyes flashed with panic.
âNothing.â
âSam.â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â Â
âItâs nothing,â he said, trying to get past you but you blocked him.
âDonât avoid me.â
âIâm not.â
âSam tell me,â you pleaded.
âI heard you, okay?!â he finally huffed.
âHeard me?â you said, brows knitting together in utter confusion.
âAt girlâs night,â he offered. Again, clueless, âthe girls were talking aboutâŠblowjobs.â
âOkayâŠâ you said, watching as he flushed crimson, âso?â
âSoâŠBrooke said she didnât like them and you said you didnât either,â Sam mumbled.
âOh.â
âI figured-â he started, ânever mind.â
âNo come on,â you said, stopping him from moving again when he tried to flee. Just like he always did when he got flustered.
âI justâŠI get it. Itâs notâŠgirls donât⊠I just thought if you didnât feel like you have to orâŠI remember Dean telling me once that if you eat healthier girls like it more-â
âWait hold on,â you said, shaking your head in disbelief, âyou took Deanâs advice?â
âWellâŠâ
âDean? Never had a girlfriend, doesnât learn a girlâs name before he has sex with her Dean?â you challenged. You couldnât believe how Sam, your soft and studious boyfriend, could think a couple cartons of pineapple juice was the selling point of you wanting to do anything with him.
âWellâŠâ
âSam,â you sighed, watching him with your heart aching at how soft and puppylike he looked, âSam thereâs nothing wrong with it, or you, or anything-â
âBut you-â
âI just agreed!â you explained, âall the girls were moaning about their sex lives, and I didnât know what to say! I didnât think saying âsorry about you guys, but Iâve got a hot smart funny guy who Iâd bang any time of the dayâ would go down well.â
Sam flushed, still hesitant.
âBut what aboutâŠâ
âI like it,â you promised, moving to wrap your arms around him, content when he held you. âI mean sure thereâs a little jaw ache to contend with because of the sheer size,â you teased, suppressing a smile when he flushed beet red, âbut I like that part of our relationship. I like making you feel good.â
âYeah?â
âYeah. I lucked out with you Sam Winchester.â
âYou think?â Sam asked, genuine hesitance in his voice.
âOh I had to listen to Brooke tell me all about her boyfriend who never changes his underwear and forgets her birthday every year. Believe me, I lucked out,â you said, leaning up onto you tip toes. As he leant down to kiss you, you pulled back an inch, âbutâŠthere is one thing.â
âWhat?â
âIf Dean was rightâŠwe better stock up on pineapple juice.â
âŠwarnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, friends to lovers, loss of virginity, age gap (20s - 40s), dbf!dean, angst, overprotective, bad at feelings dean, pining, idiots in love because it's the best way to be, dean's down so bad, shameless smut (dry humping, senstive reader, begging, teasing, light spanking/pussy spanking, praise kink, massive dick dean, fingering, dean's got a panty kink, dean's dirty talk, spanking, oral f!reciving, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, nipple play, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, overstimulation, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, mean dean, dumbification), love confessions, fluffâŠ
âŠwc: 9.6kâŠ
âŠauthor's note: from a few requests! i need him so so bad its like a problemâŠ
You know youâre far from the first, whoâs dreamt about Dean Winchester. It would be like thinking youâre unique for liking ice cream, or wanting world peace. Nothing worthy of note. You gawk at him when he walks around the yard shirtless, and youâre no better than all the suburban moms and bar girls that lick their lips at his smallest smile. Itâs really front page news, to be in love with the handsome, muscular man that holds open doors and helps old ladies cross the street. Youâre really breaking barriers, drooling over his biceps when he works on a car and pressing your thighs together when he catches you watching and winks.
But thatâs where you do start to get a little ahead of the curve.
Dean looks back.
Heâs not supposed to. You both know heâs not supposed to, and youâre both awfully good at pretending you care. Dean walks into your house without invitation, saying heâs looking for your dad, and you suddenly have about fifty different reasons so bend over and stretch and wear the shortest skirt you can find. Your dad asks you to drop something off at Deanâs garage, and his secretaryâan even older man named Bobby, who detests the word secretary, but doesnât really have any other kinds of duties since he stopped being able to work on carsâdoesnât exist anymore. Dean needs to come out to greet you himself. He has to take the package and let your fingers brush, and his sleeves need to be rolled up, and heâs so sweaty he simply must use his shirt to wipe his face.
You gape at his thick, muscled chest and abdomen. He says your name, grabbing your waist for attention, and you both stare at each other a little too long.
He licks his lips. His throat bobs. Your breath hitches, and you take the smallest step forward. His dull nails dig into your hips, and your hand lands on his belt for balance. Thereâs an electricity in the air you can taste. It shoots down your spine like a lightning and makes your skin wet and hot. Deanâs eyes go dark, and you push up on your toes.
Then something rattles. Someone calls. Your dad walks back inside with a wide grin and spread arms, and you and Dean jump apart like children playing cooties. He steals a glance at you, before you walk away. You lock yourself in your room or car and rub your inner thighs, eyes squeezed shut with frustration, face burning from the flood of arousal between your legs, sticking your panties to your cunt and filling up the air with the smell of shame and need.
Neither of you speak of it. The dance replays itself for almost a year, and youâre not brave enough to change a single step.
But Dean isnât either. Though heâd call it not stupid enough. It doesnât matter than heâs told you heâs more at ease with you than anyone else heâs ever known. He doesnât think the evidence of his need for youâimpressive and mouthwatering, straining through his jeans whenever you accidentally let your ass press against himâamounts to anything but a desire that makes him sick.
Itâs wrong, heâd say.
And youâd agree, if it wasnât growing over your life like a weed. If you hadnât tried to move onâover and over and over, with boys in clubs and co-workers and dating appsâbut failed more times than you can count, all because of Dean. He lives in your dream, now. You structure your day around trying to steal a glimpse of him, because itâs all youâre allowed to have. You stop trying to work the weed of your love out. Itâs prettier than all the other deadened brushel of your previous crushes. It breeds a new kind of ecology, makes you brave in different ways than you were before. You know more about cars than you ever thought you would. Bobby let you into his old man book clubâeven Dean and your father arenât allowedâand you can drive a boat because summer vacation comes with even more Dean, and it was just impossibly important that you basically sit on his fucking knee while he taught you to drive.
You wonât change yourself for him. You wonât play poolâthereâs too much math and just⊠standing aroundâor pretend to like things you donât. But you know youâre not the only one changing.
Your dad says Deanâs been listening to different music lately. That he doesnât kill the fish after he catches them anymore, when they go out to the docks, and youâre sure it has nothing to do with you getting teary eyed when he tried to do it in front of you. He let you describe your makeup routine to him once, and remembered everything you told him, to the point that his sister-in-law Eileen noticed that he understood her product before his brother Sam. Heâs evenâsupposedlyâdriving slower, after you hit his arm and told him not to get himself killed.
And the big one.
He doesnât flirt.
Not the way he used to. He doesnât do cheesy pickup lines that only work because heâs a living Adonis, and he doesnât stuff numbers in his pockets like spoils of war. You overhear your dad making fun of him for having lost his game, and Dean just chuckles and shakes his head.
âMaybe Iâm growinâ,â he drawls. âYou ever think of that?â
Your dad laughs, and it echoes over the lake. âWhy the fuck would I have thought of that?â
Dean shrugs and takes a swig of his beer. You can feel his gaze, over the firepit. Itâs warmer than the raging flame. You pull your knees into your chest, and donât dare to look back.
âYou really looking for something serious, Winchester?â Your dad asks, and Dean hums.
âSomethinâ like that, yeah.â
Your dad beams and starts to talk about single women he knows, who might be good for Dean. They all sound perfect. Intelligent and kind and age-appropriate, with no weird complications. Your throat hurts like youâre catching a virus. You excuse yourself for the night, and lock yourself in your room.
And it goes like that for a long, long time.
But when the weeds grow over everything, it does, so slowly, start to change.
Itâs almost inevitable. Like you both accept that thereâs nothing to do but go with the tide, even if itâs sweeping you out to sea. Itâs still not spoken about. It just⊠is.
âYou doinâ something tonight?â Dean asks you, and you shrug.
âI never do anything. Any night.â
He snorts. âThat ainât true, sweetheart-â
âI donât do fun things,â you counter, and Dean hums.
Heâs lounging on your couch like he owns it, his arm tossed over the back of the seat and a beer in his hand. He watches you move around the room with lidded eyes and a hand fisted on his thigh. Neither of you acknowledge the almost bungee like tension, that sends you walking past him, even when you donât need to be.
âI think youâre plenty fun,â Dean offers, and you roll your eyes.
âYeah, sure.â
He frowns. âIâm not joking-â
âDean,â you give him a flat look. âItâs okay. I know Iâm not- You donât have to make me feel better about it. I have other redeeming qualities.â
âRedeeming-â Dean cuts himself off with a disbelieving laugh. âJesus, woman.â
âWhat?â
He shrugs and takes a long swig of his beer. You cross your arms and glare at him, trying not to get too stiff. You know youâre not fun. Not like the women heâs used to, not like most people. You can be fun, but youâre never anyoneâs first choice to get a thrill. You keep yourself in your head, and you read, and you work, and thatâs it.
Deanâs type, if your dad is to be believed, is long legs that are hard to catch and batting lashes that try to outdo his smirk. Youâre very easy to catch. All Dean would have to do is offer a hand, and youâd fall to your knees. You couldnât outdo his smirk if you tried, because the only weapons you have are eye rolls and sharp words. Difficult, youâve been called.
Not fun.
But Deanâs looking at you like heâs having the time of his life, staring you down from the couch. You tip up your chin and narrow your eyes, and he raises his brows, amused and lazy.
âWhat?â You demand, and he shrugs.
âDidnât say nothing-â
âYes, you did, you- You said Jesus, woman,â you drop your voice to mimic his, and he snorts.
âI donât sound like that-â
âYou sound exactly like that.â
âNo-â
âYes.â
And this is what you mean. Youâre stubborn and mean and a lot of teeth for a girl who doesnât really know how to use them. But Deanâs eyes gleam, and his smile only grows. Suddenly youâre restless. You need to press your away from that dangerous, hungry gaze, or you need to throw yourself into the dark and hope itâs as warm as youâve dreamed.
âI think you can be plenty fun, princess,â Dean teases, and you bite your lip. âYou just donât go out.â
âYou donât go out,â you snip, because itâs all you can think.
Dean just hums, looking you up and down. âYouâre right,â he muses. âWe should fix that.â
You huff, then pause. âWe?â
Dean grins, and thatâs how it starts.
Itâs not a date. You remind yourself of that the whole drive there, that this is not a date. Deanâs just taking you a dive bar he knows, far enough out of town that your dad wouldnât catch youâthough it doesnât matter if he does, because this is not a dateâand heâs going to buy your drinks and sit next to you in the booth and listen to you babble about nothing like youâre telling him the secrets of the universe.
He turns down a waitress with boobs almost spilling out of her shirt, and keeps his hand on some part of your body almost the whole night.
But itâs not a date.
âSo,â he murmurs, his thumb drawing small circles on your wrist. You watch him with wide eyes, your breath caught in your throat.
He hasnât been drinking. You didnât know that was something he did. And he smells like sweet, summer smoke and leather and oil, and his body radiates heat like a furnace, and you think you might just melt under his gaze.
âYou from âround here?â He drawls, and you swallow.Â
You know that tone. Heâs inviting you to play, but in a way that feels far more dangerous than usual. Dean leans down until youâre only inches away. Your eyes flick to his lips, and his hands fists on the table.
You shake your head, and his lips twitch.
âJust passinâ through town, huh?â
You nod, and he raises his brows.
âWhatâs got a pretty little thing like you, hanginâ out in a place like this?â
Oh. He wants to play play. To have the exact kind of fun you warned him you werenât capable of.
But you can try.
Under Deanâs gaze, it kind of feels like you can do anything.
You pull all your confidence together with clenched knuckles, and lean forward. Close enough for your lips to brush, if either of you dared to breathe a little too heavy. Dean blinks, and his ears go a little red, but he doesnât back away. You smile as coy as you can manage, and run your nails lightly up his forearm. Youâve watched a lot of movies, and you might not be fun, but youâre a fantastic actress.
âMy daddy did me wrong,â you coo, fluttering your lashes. âHurt me real bad, and now Iâm lookinâ for something new.â You lean a little further forward. Deanâs throat bobs. âCan you help me find it, sir?â
Dean stares at you, and for a horrible second, you think you took the bit too far.
Then he laughs. Itâs strangled and tight in a way youâve never heard. It sends a rush through your blood, and paired with his red face and squared shoulders, you think you might get addicted.
âFuckinâ- Christ.â Dean takes a long drink from his beer, grinning like he doesnât know what else to do with his face. âThat was- Good one.â
You beam, your heart glowing under his pride. He pats your shoulder, throat bobbing, and your eyes dart down to his jeans.
To the thick outline, threatening the fabric. Your mouth waters, and you frantically look away before Dean looks back. Heâs grinning when he does, casual but wide. His arm slings fully over your shoulders, his thumb dragging in those small circles, and you wonder if he has any idea, exactly what pathetic kind of doll he turns you into.
âSee, princess,â he taps your nose, and it scrunches against your will. âYouâre real fun.â
âI think,â you say slowly, trying not to sound too breathless, too desperate, too his. âYou have a low standard.â
Dean shakes his head. âI think I got a high standard. You just never seen anyone else clear it.â
âBut-â You try to fight the question. It slips out anyways. âI- I clear it?â
And something in Deanâs face softens. You donât know how to pinpoint it, because itâs so small, you didnât even know there was tension. But it eases, and itâs like the clouds clearing from the sky.
âYeah,â he says. âYou clear it.â
You smile. He smiles back.
And before either of you can realize whatâs happening, you both let go of that edge at the same time. The one youâd been clinging to, that plunges from stares to⊠Something.
Not dating. Thereâs nothing but soft touches shared the whole night. Dean looks at your lips but never moves. You stare at his chest but never climb it.
But thereâs something.
And together, you start to fall.
Once a week, you go to the bar.Â
You tell your dad youâre going for a walk, or to a friendâs. You go down the street, and Dean picks you up. Neither of you talk about why youâre sneaking around, even though youâre not sleeping together, because you know.
Whatever this is, it isnât above board. Itâs stolen glances and bodies pressed together against the bar. Itâs Deanâs hand on your ass, but only ever over clothing, and you sitting in his lap but never kissing more than your drink. Itâs secrets whispered in the dark and being backed up against a wall with no way out, and nothing close to a desire for one.
Itâs Dean glaring at men who get too close, and you dressing up in a way youâve never done for anyone else. Heâs a causal man, but he turns wolfish when a guy your age sits next to you at the bar. You never wear anything you donât want to, and youâve never been lazy about your appearance, but with Dean you try. You get high on his dragging looks and glinting eyes, giggling and smoothing your skirt like a schoolgirl.
Youâve never been a fool for a man. But Dean doesnât count.
Because heâs a fool for you in return.
âI donât need the doctor-â
âEveryone needs the doctor, dumbass,â you tap your fingers on the wheel, and Dean grunts.
Heâs slumped like a child in his seat. You rub his neck, trying to soothe him, but all you get is a lean into your touch and a few less complaints.
He made the mistake of telling you he hasnât been to the doctor since his late twenties. Youâd like him alive, so youâre putting an end to that now.
And neither of you mention, that youâre out in broad daylight. Itâs dangerous. You canât care, when Dean holds you hand walking into the office and demands you go back into the room with him. Heâs restless the whole appointment, looking at the door like heâs thinking about running. You grab his knee, and he shoots you a glare.
âPlease,â you whisper, and his shoulders slump.
âFine,â he mutters, holding your hand on his leg. âFor you.â
You smile, and float through the rest of the day.
For you.
He said it simply. Like it was all the reason heâd ever need. He agrees to eat a banana every once and a while, and lower his salt intake, for you. Â
âIâm fuckinâ old,â he whines on the drive home, and you smile at the road.
âYou complain like youâre young.â
âHaha,â he rolls his eyes, then gives you a strange look. You try not to squirm beneath it, but Dean never makes that kind of thing easy.
âWhat-â
âYou really donât mind,â he cuts you off with quiet words. You donât have to ask what he means. âI mean- Princess, you could be runninâ around with a real white knight, instead of-â
âDean,â you give him a firm look. âShut up.â
He raises his brows. He doesnât look convinced, but his mouth twitches. âYes, maâam,â he says, and you huff.
He is a knight. Not the fairytale one, but youâve never liked things that are so perfect they have to be plastic. You like Dean with all his scars and callouses and rough words. He doesnât save you, and you donât save him, but thatâs not what this is about.
Your dad says Dean looks alive, in a way he hasnât in a long time. Your friends say you look happy, in a way theyâve never seen. You donât cry into pillows anymore. You drive to Deanâs place and knock on the door with teary eyes, falling into his arms because itâs safer than any fortress in the world.
âIâve got you, baby,â he mutters, carrying you up to his bedroom. âLet it out. Iâm right here.â
You still donât kiss. Deanâs knuckles graze your bare skin, and his morning wood rubs between your thighs, but thatâs it. You wear his shirt, and pretend not to notice that your panties go missing, every time you stay at his place.
Thereâs this line in the sand, and it keeps getting washed away. All thatâs left is you and Dean, both pretending itâs still there. So the dance turns. Both of you take new steps in perfect time, staying in the boundaries of something acceptable. Something deniable.
Something leaveable, even if neither of you seem to be eyeing the exit.
Something safe.
Itâs all still safe. Your dad has no idea. You think Bobbyâs noticed, but he doesnât say a word. You hold Deanâs hand with both of yours when he pulls you through a crowd, and he looks back to make sure youâre still smiling, but it all coated in the illusion of a friendship.
A friendship where he says he loves you, when he thinks you canât hear. A friendship where your lips brush his neck when youâre cuddling, and you pretend not to feel his cock rut against your thigh. Itâs not sustainable, but youâre willing to let the candle burn itself out, just to have him like this.
But it doesnât burn out. Itâs electric and solar powered, and every bit of warmth only lets it sustain itself long. Nothing dies. Nothing changes. You and Dean never let yourself touch deeper than your souls, and neither of you dare to ask for more.
Until something snaps.
Itâs nothing. Compared to the everything that you and Dean have been pretending not to notice, thereâs no real reason for this to be the break.
âYou goinâ out?â Dean asks from the couch, and you nod, sorting through your purse.
âYeah, um- Groceries.â
âAh.â He glances at the fridge. âWe outta something?â
Your mouth twitches. âWeâre out of everything.â
âWe ainât outta everything, sweetheart-â
You yank the fridge open, revealing itâs bare innards, and Dean cuts himself off. You give him a pointed, smug look, and he drums his fingers on his knee.
âHuh.â
âHuh?â You snort, closing the door. âI think sorry is better.â
Dean laughs, low and rough, his gaze raking over your body. You flush, but donât shy away. He always does this. It never amounts to something worth being flustered over.
You cross your arms and raise your brows, pretending to wait for your apology. Deanâs jaw works. His tongue flicks out, and you shift on your feet.
âYouâre real dressed up for the store,â he mutters, and you shrug.
âSo?â
A vein pushes in his brow. âNothinâ. Just- Câmere.â
He stretches out a hand, and you swallow. âDeanâŠâ
He beckons. Two fingers, crooked and pulling you forward like heâs got you on a string. You almost stumble between his legs. You flush for the first time in a while, tucking your hands nervously behind your back. Itâs never been this close before. Youâve stood here, but never with his hand so securely on your hip, with him leaning forward so his breath fans over your midriff. His hand drags down the back of your thigh, goosebumps rising in its wake. You shift on your feet, heat pooling in your core.
âYou want to come with me?â You whisper, because itâs all you can muster.
âNah.â
He doesnât even look up, as he answers. He watches himself touch you, retracing sensitive spots and furrowing his brow in a brutal focus that makes your head spin. Â You open your mouth to say his name again, but nothing expect a tiny gasp comes out. His fingers are teasing your inner thigh, and it turns your knees to jelly. You brace a hand on his shoulder. His eyes snap to yours, and thereâs nothing teasing or restrained behind them.
His face is blown out with hunger, and you could so easily shove yourself away, but you donât want to. He doesnât need to give chase or fight. Youâre not a hunt heâs going to lose. Youâre laying yourself down like an offering, and whatever he does with it, youâre more than happy to comply.
Dean tugs you down to his lap in one movement. You squeak in surprise, and his free hand wraps around your neck. You barely have time to brace yourself, before heâs kissing you.
And this is better than dreaming.
This is Dean, warm and strong and demanding beneath you. He kisses you like heâs both going to and returning from war. His mouth slots perfectly over yours, lips chapped and warm and coated in a thin layer of spit. His tongue slides over your teeth, then presses down your throat, working in a way that makes your legs spread wide, imagining that heat against your count. His fingers press into your soft skin, encouraging you to mold easily into his body. You coo, throwing every bit of friction back, and a low rumble rolls through his chest.
Dean settles back against the couch. You straddle him, your wet core pressed against the tent forming in his jeans. You comb your fingers through his hair, and his beard scrapes against your cheeks and jaw. He sucks on your lower lip, squeezing the back of your neck. Your hips roll, and he groans.
Heâs hard. Thick and hard beneath you in every possible way. Combined with the heat and unrelenting kisses, it makes you dizzy. You need him. You need him in a way youâve never needed anything, so much it hurts, so much you think youâre going to scream.
And thereâs a little problem. You think he knows about it. Youâre less sure than youâd like to be. The tips of his fingers graze your inner thigh, and you buck against him with a whine.
Sensitive. Too sensitive. You think you could cum just from grinding against his rock-hard bulge, because itâs the only way youâve cum before, and combined with Deanâs mouth roaming over your neckâplanting open, messy, possessive kissesâyouâre already halfway there.
âDe- Dean-â You gasp, and he groans against your skin. âDean, slow down-â
He pulls back immediately, his brow knit with worry. âWhat- Whatâs wrong-â
âNo- Nothingâs wrong, I just-â You swallow, and Deanâs frown deepens.
âSweetheart, if you ainât ready-â
âNo!â You shout and Deanâs mouth curves in a smug, surprised smirk. âNo- No, I just- Stop looking at me.â
Itâs a pathetic whine, but Dean obeys it like an order. He squeezes his eyes shut and cups your cheek, like heâs still trying to keep track of where you are. You giggle, and his thumb drags over your upper lip. You let your tongue flick against the pad of his finger, and he groans.
Dean drops his face against your chest. Still not looking, but mouthing at the curve of your breasts, in a way that really isnât fair to anyone. You weave your fingers through his hair, trying to only breathe steady. Dean rubs your waist, humming against your skin.
âTalk to me, baby girl.â
âI- Iâm not-â Youâre stumbling. Stuttering even in your own thoughts, unable to think outside of Deanâs lips. âYou know Iâve never- Been serious with anyone.â
Dean grunts, nipping at the swell of your tits, and you hide your face in his hair.
âItâs- Iâve never been anything,â you whisper. âExcept myself. And I- Iâm not very good at it.â
Thatâs an understatement. You cum too fast and itâs nothing more than a small, disappointing shiver. Toys barely help. Nothing helps, except thinking of Dean.
And now you have him below you. Completely still, breathing so heavy it makes you nervous. Heâs gripping your hips tight enough to leave a bruise. Tears start to prick in your eyes, having nothing to do with the dull pain.
âI- Iâm sorry-â
Deanâs head snaps up. His massive hand covers your mouth, and you blink with glossy-eyed, nervous confusion. Youâve never seen his eyes so dark, his jaw so set. That hidden gleam, that shines just for you, itâs out and free. Dean looks at you like youâre an angel, falling from Heaven, ready to be dragged to the deepest pits of his desire. Your body starts to tingle with excitement, your heart pounding out of your chest and in your pussy.
âNever?â He asks, his voice impossibly low. You nod nervously, and he swallows. âAnd you want- You want me?â
He asks it as if youâre insane. As if you could ever want anyone else. You grab his wrists and squeeze gently. His throat bobs, and he shakes his head.
âPrincess, you could be doinâ so much better- Yes, you could.â He gives you a stern look, when you shake your head.
You push your hips further against him, and a vein in his neck throbs. You drop your brow against his, and he releases your mouth, cradling the back of your neck instead.Â
âBabyâŠâ He rasps. âI- I might love you, but I ainât the only douchebag whoâs gonna feel that-â
âBut youâre the only one I love back.â
Both of you fall silent. Dean tenses, and you hold his stare. He said it first. You just said it back. Now itâs on him to actually fucking do something about it.
Youâre offering to crash into the waves and drown together. He can either stay in line, or try this new dance. Be the one to show you, to have you, to finally just fucking take you. Itâs not the noble thing to ignore this anymore. Itâs only cruel.
Deanâs throat bobs. You wait.
âYeah?â He chokes out, and you donât hesitate.
âYeah.â
âAre you-â
âDean,â you breathe. âPlease.â
His throat bobs. He nods, once to himself, then once more. Something sharp settles over his features, like a picture coming into focus. His hold on your body tightens, his breath steadies, and his tongue darts over his lips. A satisfied yet starved light shines in his eyes, and your heart thunders. You didnât know anticipation could feel like wildfire, until you were trapped under Deanâs attention. But he looks at you the same way he looks at a pool table before he makes a move, his hands starting to slowly massage your hips, and youâre being unraveled with nothing but his gaze.
âPlease?â His tone is low. Close to mocking. âPlease what?â
You swallow, your voice stuck in your throat. Youâve practiced this, in the mirror. Ever since thisâthis strange, beautiful danceâbegan, youâd spent hours under the steaming shower water, imagining Dean pressed behind you, the roll of his voice, the way youâd be cool and collected and match his every sparring tease with the ease of a woman heâd want. The older, leather-wearing, red lipstick models that wrap boys around their finger like theyâre collecting rings.
But the practice is paying in nothing. Youâre not one of those girls. Youâre nervous and wired and wound up so tight, you canât do anything but lean further over Deanâs chest and pant.
Dean raises his brows, dragging one hand down to kneed at your ass. Your breath hitches, and your hips mindlessly roll. Deanâs jaw ticks, his eyes going so dark you think you might be drowning in them. He pulls you closer, his lips parting as he watches you fuck yourself against his thigh, and it starts to dawn on you with the rising heat, electric up your spine.
For whatever reason, Dean doesnât want the cool, collected woman. Heâs entranced by you, confused and rigid and so frantic for him that you donât know what to do with yourself.
And youâre in the best kind of trouble about it.
Dean splays his hand on your lower back and shoves you down, trapping you against him with no chance for friction. You whine, and his hand slips under your shirt. He drags a rough, light touch up your spine, bunching the fabric against his wrist, and wraps his fingers around the base of your neck.
âYouâre gonna need to use your words, sweet girl,â he warns, dragging his thumb in tiny circles. âI ainât able to help brats that wonât talk to me.â
You nod, but youâre still breathing too fast to speak. Dean hums, settling fully back into the couch cushions, and waits. Patient and cruel, rubbing your lower back and squeezing your neck in a gentle prompt.
âCâmon,â he coos. âWhereâd all that smart talk go?â
You donât know. You dig your nails into his chest and watch him with wide eyes, trying to drag your thoughts out of the humid, demanding throb between your thighs.
âDeeean,â you manage to whine, and Deanâs throat bobs.
âRight here, baby,â he rasps. His voice dropped. It sends a rush through your blood, the ache between your thighs growing.
âI- I-â You try to grind down, to show him what you need, and a sharp spank lands on your ass. You squeal, and Deanâs mouth twitches in amusement, massaging the sting until it fades to only pleasure.
âYou like that, huh?â He mutters, right before landing another. âDirty girl. Been neglected too fuckinâ long, havenât you?â Another spank. You fall against his chest with a cry of need, and his hand drags down, letting him thumb at your pussy through your shorts.
You wrap your arms around his neck, and he weaves his hand through your hair, delivering one more spank before kissing the side of your head.
âNo oneâs been takinâ care of you,â he says, low and rough. You clench around nothing, nodding uselessly, and Dean hums. âNeedy fuckinâ baby, doesnât even know what the hell to do with herself when sheâs finally gettinâ some attention.â
âDean,â you whimper. âDean, please-â
He moves his hand around, grabbing your jaw and forcing you a little back. You blink at him through teary lashes, the eye contact too intense, too addictive.
âPlease, what?â He taps your cheek, and you swallow.
âPlease. Fu- Fuck me-â
Dean yanks you forward, cutting you off with a demanding, bruising kiss. Your nails sink into his shoulders, your body turning to putty as his tongue pushes back down your throat. Dean grunts, groping your ass and angling your head so the kiss deepens.
âDe- Dean-â
âI know,â he grunts against your lips, barely giving you a second to breather between sloppy, open-mouthed kisses. âI know itâs achinâ, baby. Iâm gonna take care of it.â He kisses one corner of your mouth, then the other, his voice dropping to a murmur. âIâm gonna take care of it.â
You mewl, nipping at his lower lip with every bit of energy you have. Dean grunts and stands, keeping you tight against his chest. You wrap your legs tighter around his waist, and he half-stumbles down the hall and up the stairs. You make it five steps before heâs pressing you against the wall and focusing on sucking and licking your neck, then another five before heâs pulling at your skirt, teasing his thumb back over your clothed cunt. Like he canât help himself from touching you. Like everything is secondary, to getting his hands all over your body.
The paintings on the wall shake, when he kicks open the door to your room. You hug him tighter, kissing over his beard with sloppy, uncoordinated lips. He grunts, swaying against the door frame. You dare a glance up, and find his eyes rolling back, his jaw gaping and breathing ragged. You double your efforts, hypnotized by the effect you seem to have on him. His fingers dig into your ass, and he moans, pressing further back against the door frame.
His eyes flick down to yours, and you keep thinking youâve hit the bottom of his desire, just to find a new, rawer layer below.
âYou like watchinâ, sweetheart?â He rasps, and you flush so hard you think youâre on fire.
Dean chuckles and pushes off the wall, kicking the door closed behind him. His kisses turn suddenly sweet and slow, exploring your lips, working you up until youâre panting and scratching at his shoulders. Itâs romantic in the worst way. Heâs treating you like a delicate flowerâsetting you down on the edge of the mattress, kneeling between your legs and massaging your thighsâwhen you just want to be tossed around and fucked like a doll.
Then his hand glides ever so slightly up, his knuckles teasing against your clothed pussy. Your breath hitches, and Dean chuckles.
âYouâve never let yourself feel good, have you?â He murmurs against your lips, and you swallow.
âI- I donât-â
ââS okay,â Dean kiss over your cheek, his knuckles grinding into your weeping slit. âShouldâve known my busy girl was neglectinâ herself. So smart, so sweet,â he nips at your jaw. âSo fuckinâ bad at relaxing.â
You moan a broken agreement, and Dean hums. His mouth travels down your neck, sucking love bites right as his fingers hook around your panties. Your eyes go wide, your cry a strangle, desperate sound you didnât really know you could make. Dean smirks, pressing his knuckles right against your clit before he rips your panties clean off.
âDean-â You cut yourself off with a choked whimper, your elbows shaking with the effort to keep yourself upright. The air on your pussy is cold, and the need just makes it impossible to do anything but blink at Deanâs set jaw and devout gaze.
He brings your panties up to his face and takes a deep, slow breath, his gaze never leaving yours. You whimper, grabbing his hand on your thigh, and he flips it palm up, letting your fingers lace together. Â
âSo fuckinâ sweet,â he grunts. âBet youâre gonna taste even better, wonât you.â He squeezes you hand, and you whimper.
âDe- Dean,â you spread your legs wider, shameless and needy under his stare. âJust- Please.â
Deanâs gaze drops. He shoves your skirt higher up, fully revealing your slick, pulsing pussy. Youâre not sure youâre breathing, as you watch him take you in. He glances up to your wrecked, hopeless expression, a vein ticking in his brow.
âYouâre gonna be loud,â he mutters, and you blink.
âMa- Maybe, Iâm not- Iâve never-â God, youâre seconds from sinking into the bed and never coming back up. âIâve never- Finished,â you whisper, and Deanâs hand flexes in yours.
He closes his eyes for a moment. Takes a deep, almost labored breath, and shakes his head.
âGonna fuckinâ kill me,â he mutters, running his thumb over your knuckles. âSwear to god, sweetheart, you could make a man lose it just listeninâ to you.â
You swallow. âSo- Sorry-â
âNo,â Dean glares at you, and your mouth snaps shut. âNo apologies. Never to me. Just gotta- Hold on.â
He kisses the back of your hand, and stands suddenly. You watch, trembling and cold without his touch, as he stuffs your panties into his jean pockets, then yanks his shirt over his head.
And dear lord, heâs a work of art. Youâre only able to breathe shallowly, as if something too deep and loud will wake you from this heated, perfect dream. The one where Deanâs towering over you, all muscle and broad shoulders and warm, tanned skin. His chest alone is massiveâhis tits might be bigger than yourâand his biceps bulge with every single movement. You donât even realize youâre drooling under heâs wiping the spit from your lower lip, smiling with such adoration it makes you squirm.
âHereâs what weâre gonna do,â he mutters, careful and slow. âIâm takinâ care of you, and youâre just gonna lay there lookinâ nice and pretty, alright?â
You nod frantically, trying to lie down immediately, but Dean catches you by the back of your neck. You falter, blinking up at him in confusion, and his lips twitch.
âSo fuckinâ perfect,â he says to himself, squeezing gently. âGonna make that wet little pussy feel better, baby girl. Gonna make it feel so good.â
You whimper, and Dean lets out a ragged breath. He ducks down, pressing his lips slowly against your, and you push up on trembling fingers to kiss him back. He rubs your thigh, tracing his tongue over your swollen lips, and slowly presses you back into the sheets. Youâre fully trapped beneath him, wrapped in pure warmth and safe, worshipful strength.Â
Dean glides one hand up your side, teasing over your hips and ribs before resting it right under your breast. Callouses fingers flick your nipple once, before dragging gently over the hurt. He smiles against your lips, at your tiny squeak, the sensation sending a jolt right to your pussy.
âI know it hurts, princess,â he coos. âBut youâre beinâ so good for me. So fuckinâ patient.â
You make a disgruntled sound. Youâre not exactly choosing to be patient. You just donât have the strength to wrestle with him, or the mind to argue. Youâve watched enough porn and read enough smutty fanfiction to think youâd understand how this would go. In all your carefully crafted fantasies, Dean rips off your clothing and pins you to the mattress, fucking you suddenly and desperately, like an animal finally let out of its cage.
But Deanâs not the kind of animal that others kept trapped. He had himself on the leash. Heâs more practiced in control than you couldâve imagined, an expert at letting himself have just enough to be satisfied, without actually having anything at all. And now youâre spread on the bed for him to take without any kind of consequence he could make matter, and heâs not going to do anything but take his time.
âFirst time I fuckinâ saw you,â he mutters, lips brushing against yours. âKnew I was goner. Spent four years, hearinâ about how smart and kind you were, never knew you were a fuckinâ knockout too. Thought Iâd died and gone to heaven, before I realized who you were.â He bunches the fabric of your shirt in his hand, slowly pulling it up your body. âDidnât realize I was gonna be trapped in a hell where I couldnât have the one girl Iâd ever thought about wantinâ forever.â
Dean pulls off your shirt and begins to pepper kisses over the curve of your breasts, massive hands massaging your sensitive tits. Your back arches, a soft whimper leaving your throat as snaps your bra strap against your skin, then slowly traces the line of the fabric, all the way around to the clasp. He undoes it with a single, easy motion, and, before something ugly and greenâreminding you of how many times heâs done beforeâsettles in your gut, he squeezes your tit, and kisses his way back up your neck.
âYou got no idea,â he purrs. âHow much Iâve been dreaminâ about this. How fuckinâ hard,â he pushes his hips against your thigh, forcing you to feel the length of his hardened cock. âItâs been to keep my hands to myself, when you were runninâ around looking like every fantasy Iâve had since I was a goddamn teenager. Used to pop one justwatching these bounce around,â he ducks back down, mouthing at your swollen tits. âAnd thinkinâ about how reactive youâd be, how good youâd feelâŠâ
He trails off with a groan, wrapping his wet, warm mouth around your nipple, his free hand teasing the neglected bud with careful fingers. You pull on his hair and he groans, pushing his boner harder against you, all while offering no friction to your pussy. You try to protest and whine, try to shove his face lower, but heâs set on taking his time.
Dean switches attention between your tits, letting his hands roam your body with leisure. He maps every curve and dip, letting that dirty mouth follow the wake of shivering, burning need his touch leaves. He pulls your skirt down slowly, kissing over your stomach and hips, wrapping a massive arm around your knees and trapping them together when you try to grind into his face.
âBe good,â he warns, letting the tips of his fingers drag under your ass, barely brushing the lips of your pussy. âI know what you want, baby, but youâve been waitinâ this long. You can be good.â
You think, somewhere in your lust addled brain, that he has a lot of misplaced faith in you. You cannot be good. Not when Dean kisses everywhere around your dripping mound, but never lets anything but his nose touch that little button. Not when he fully drags your skirt off your legs and teases your knees and feet, smiling to himself when you squirm and splaying a huge hand over your tummy, pinning you to the mattress and kissing his way back up your trembling legs.
He pushes your knees to your chest, and sucks dark, possessive marks on your inner thighs. Two broad fingers press the lips of your fluttering pussy together, and your hips buck, tears starting to spring into your eyes. Youâve never been teased like this. So careful and deliberate, like heâs trying to find every possible way to pull you apart. He kisses every spot twice, glancing at your slack, drunken expression like heâs measuring and memorizing each and every reaction. He blows on your pinched pussy and you cry out, grabbing his wrist and trying to roll away from the touch.
âAh,â Dean spanks you cunt, pushing up on his knees. âThis ainât beinâ patient, sweetheart.â
âIâm- Iâm trying,â you try and push his hand back against your core, but heâs too strong. âDean, just- Just touch me, pleaaseee- Mhm-â
Dean leans down, kissing you back into the mattress. Youâre almost folded in half beneath him, your cunt clenching around nothing, weeping for attention heâs taking his sweet time to give.
âIf Iâd known I was makinâ you this needy,â he rasped. âI woulda started fuckinâ you that first night.â
He spanks your pussy again, then swallows your needy sob with another kiss. You hump the air, the movements shorts and stuttered with how heâs keeping you pinned down.
âSo goddamn wet,â Dean drags his hand against your swollen cunt, grinding the heel of his palm against your clit. Your eyes roll back in your head with every short movement, and his lips curve in an adoring, smug smirk. âYou like that, baby girl? Feels good?â
âYe- Yes,â you manage to stutter, clawing at the arm pinning you against the sheets. âDean- Deean-â
âThatâs right,â Dean spanks your pussy again, before running two thick fingers through your soaked folds. âJust like that. Jesus, youâre dripping on my fucking hand.â
He laughs in disbelief, and you didnât think you were able to flush more, but the heat starts to cascade like a waterfall, a wet pressure building up at the top of your core.
âDe- Dean-â Youâre trying to warn him, but his eyes only darken.
âYouâre gonna cum?â He pushes those fingers against your entrance, barely dipping them into your tight channel. âLose it just from hearinâ about how I wanna fuck you?â He leans down, forcing your gaze to stay trapped against his. âHow I wanna stuff this pussy up with my fingers, my cock, my fuckinâ cum? Fillinâ you up like you deserve, makinâ you even stupider and prettier than Iâve got you right now, let it drip out, let everyone see who owns this perfect little cunt-â
The heat snaps, and you cum with a long, broken scream of his name.
Youâve never had an orgasm like this. It makes every single one with your vibrator seem downright pathetic, the way this one crashes through your whole body, forcing stars behind your eyes and making you thrash like a dog in heat. Your pussy is gushing in a way you didnât know was possible, your body rolling in the sheets as the pleasure crests and becomes almost too much to handle.
And you donât get a chance to come back down. To settle and collect yourself and just beg for his cock, the way heâs been promising for too long.
Your orgasm doesnât fade, because Dean doesnât let it.
He presses your knees right to your chest, tangles your hands back together, and shoves his face right into your trembling cunt.
You thought the fingers and the dirty talk were bad. You thought you knew the limit of pleasure your body could take, but Dean seems to be determined to prove you wrong. You knew his mouth was warm and wet and unrelenting, but you hadnât been prepared for how it would feel against your pussy. Itâs like a vibrator got sent on fire and covered in cocaine, giving you a second hand high just from the contact. Dean makes out with your cunt like itâs your lips, but without demanding a single thing in return.
He groans when you pull on his hair, his tongue flicking back and forth over your clit so fast you canât even find anything but a high-pitched whine in your throat. He licks a rough stripe up your cunt and mouths at your fluttering hole, drawing out every bit of arousal with the tickle and scrape of his beard against your already overused thighs. He draws back for half a second, spitting on your clit and using three fingers to rub your pussy so brutally, your knees give out laying down.
âDean- Dean- Fuuuuuuck-â You cry it over and over like a prayer. You hump his face and try to squirm away from it at the same time, but Dean never lets you get too far. He smiles and nips at your clit when you grind against his jaw, and chases you up the mattress when you try to get away, manhandling and dragging you back against his face. Soon youâve got nowhere left to roll without falling off the bed, and Dean stops putting up with your antics.
Youâre still in half below him, but heâs pressing you down too tight for you to move. You sob and crane your neck, holding onto his head for dear life, the slick between your thighs starting to feel too tight again. You donât have to say it this time. Deanâs eyes glint, opening to look back to yours, and wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it like the sweetest candy heâs ever tasted.
Thereâs a thick, slapping sound that fills the room, and you manage to focus from the blur of pleasure just long enough to crane your neck and find its source.
And Dean was already a sight, between your legs. His eyes peeking up, his muscles budging, the hair you convinced to let him grow flopping over his brow. But thereâs a reason heâs pushed himself so high on his knees, dragging your ass fully off the mattress.
Heâs freed his massive, thick cock from its confines in his boxers, and heâs beating it into his hand like heâs watching the most sinful, lewd porno in the world. He moans against your cunt, almost drinking up your arousal, and his hips jerk into his fist. A shining pearl of precum, falls from his angry red tip.
Your eyes roll back in your head, as your second orgasm rip through you like a storm. Pulling you so totally apart you think you float out of your body, twitching in the sheets and gaping at Dean under hooded eyes.
Dean groans, his mouth working you through it, and when you float back down heâs already started to rub his cock between the lips of your pussy, tapping the head against your clit, and smiling when it jolts you like lightning.
âLook at this fuckinâ mess,â Dean murmurs, bending over until heâs resting his chin on your knees, still trapped against your chest. âLook at you, sweetheart. Such a good girl for me, takinâ it so well.â
You keen under the praise, past words, past anything but the thought of Deanâs warm skin against your, his dick notched at your entrance, begging to just come inside and take whatâs been his since the first time you saw him.
âYou gonna talk to me?â Dean kisses the corner of your mouth, and you blink at him under fluttering, doe-like eyes. âOr did I work my girl a little too hard already?â
You shake your head frantically, grabbing his wrist. Dean pauses, raising his brows.
âBaby, if youâre tapped out-â
âNo,â you manage to breathe, and Deanâs throat bobs. âPlease. Please donât stop.â
Dean stares at you, the mask of teasing and control slowly slipping away. All thatâs left beneath it is a man thatâs just as wrecked for you as you are for him. He smears drool over your cheek and takes a ragged breath, glancing down to where your bodies are almost joined, where his dick is begging to just drive into your pussy and make you his.
He looks back to you with a zealous, almost primal need. You tip your head back, offering your neck, your throat, your jaw, anything he wants, just as long as this lasts forever.
âYou mine, sweetheart?â Dean says, low and rough, almost desperate. Like heâs afraid to know the answer.
You donât know why. There isnât another you could possibly give your heart, knowing their going to destroy it and keep it safe all at once.
âIâm yours,â you breathe, and thatâs all Dean needs.
He pushes you into the mattress with shockingly gentle hands, dropping his weight over your legs to keep you nice and curled up beneath his massive body. His cock pushes slowly, inch by inch, into your abused, weeping pussy. You gasp, the stretch both more and better than you ever couldâve possibly imagined.
And the through worship of your body paid off. There isnât a place in your body you canât feel him. Itâs like youâre being split in half and fused back together, all in the small, shallow thrusts that Dean uses to get himself fully seated inside you. His head kisses your cervix, his balls swollen and pressed against your slick ass, his face buried in your knees and his breath fanningâhot and raggedâover your tits.
âSo fuckinâ tight,â he says, squeezing you tighter. âSon of a- You feel so fuckinâ good baby, you- Youâre gonna fuckinâ kill me.â
You giggle. You donât know why. You canât really justify it, past being so cockdrunk and wrecked that everything is kind of bubbly and bright. Deanâs head shoots up, his eyes narrowed, and you giggle again, smiling at him so freely, you canât bring yourself to care about the tears streaming down your cheeks and cunt. You just feel full, and itâs perfect. You never want him to pull out.
Deanâs eyes glint, and you know youâre in trouble.
Good. You really want to be, as long as itâs with him.
Dean snaps his hips, and your giggle falls into a broken, shameless moan. Dean grins, kissing the tears off your cheeks and setting a slow, rutting pace in your cunt. He bumps over and over against your g-spot, fucking you into a whining, squirming mess within minutes.
âThatâs right,â he whispers in your ear, pushing your knees a little higher up. âFeels so fucking good, doesnât it? Sweet girl, takinâ this cock like you were made for it. Lettinâ me use you like the greedy little cockslut you wanna be. Mine,â he kisses a soft spot under your jaw, words rough and possessive. âFuckinâ mine.â
You nod, babbling out a pathetic agreement. You are his. Youâre a useless, soaked wreck beneath Deanâs massive body, but youâre his, and thereâs nothing else youâd rather be.
And you were sure that youâd reached the limit for orgasms for the night, especially given that your previous record was one, weak and barely worthy of note.
But youâve never been fucked by Dean before. And with the way heâs ruining you, you donât think youâre going to be able to be fucked by anyone else after.
His cock slides in out of your pussy, like your bodies were made to mold together. The sound fills the room, obscene and lewd, mixed with Deanâs low moans in your ear and your own, pathetic whimpering. He bullies that gummy spot inside of you, driving against it over and over, as his thrusts become longer and harsher. Â
Every inch of your body is so thoroughly claimed by him, you almost canât stand it. The squelch of his dick, each vein and pulse making your wet pussy throb, his messily connected to yours and his hands groping desperately at your hips as you both reach your peak. The heat is building back up like a flood, making your eyes cross and your head spin. You grip his shoulders with shaking hands, your nose twitching and wrecked pleas falling from your lips.
Dean kisses everyone away, past words himself. He grabs your jaw one last time, angling his hand between your bodies to toy with your clit, and something at the very base of your spine shatters. Itâs not like the dreamy floating of your last orgasm. Itâs loud and wet, making you feel every single second of overwhelming pleasure as Deanâs thrusts become unruly and frantic. You milk his cock, crying his name, gushing with so much slick that youâre almost worried youâre peeing.
The sound that leaves Dean is almost inhuman. He doubles over, clinging to you with a reverence like youâre holy, emptying thick, hot ropes of cum into your pussy. Youâre so full, so loved, you grab Deanâs bicep and gape up at him with open, loving eyes.
Dean grunts, drilling his cock into your g-spot with shallow, uncontrolled thrusts.
âOne more-â He grunts. âOne more âf me, Babygirl, please-â
One last orgasms blooms and shudders through your core. Dean makes a feral, satisfied sound, and collapses over you with a moan. Â Â
And for a little while, you both just lay there. Lost in the feeling of each other, the pure, simple ease. Dean kisses away your tears and buries himself a little deeper, whispering an apology against your lips when you whine.
ââS okay-â You gasp. âFeels good.â
Dean grunts, still doubtful, and you give him a winning, gentle smile.
âI liked it,â you cup his cheek, pushing your breasts a little higher. âA lot.â
Deanâs cock twitches inside of you. He groans and drops his face between your breasts, shaking his head. You giggle and pet his head, and he props his chin up.
âToo rough?â He mutters, and you shake your head.
âPerfect.â
âHmm,â he looks you up and down, and you spread your legs a little wide, using your heels to push him closer.
He grunts and braces himself next to your head, eyes soft and gleaming in the dark. He takes you inâboneless, limp, and dizzy with happinessâand lets out a slow, ragged breath.
âThink I mighta just created a monster,â he mutters, and you beam.
âMaybe.â
He raises his brows, kissing the inside of your wrist. And heâs buried inside of you. Youâre filled with his cum, and covered in love marks you have no idea how to hide.
You still flush.
Deanâs eyes gleam with satisfaction. He kisses your wrist again, massaging your hips.
âWeâre gonna do this again, right?â You ask knowing the answer.
You just want to hear him say it.
âYeah, baby,â he murmurs, watching you like none of the world matters. Like itâs really only you and him, and a hazy but glowing and certain future. âWeâre gonna be doinâ this until you get sick of it.â
âAnd if I donât?â You whisper. âGet sick of it?â
Dean shrugs, smiling faintly. âThen I think weâre gonna be doinâ it for a long, long time.â
âŠEnd note: dfb fever is getting me and i'm not. mad about it.âŠ
âŠIf you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3âŠ
âŠBuy me a coffee!âïž (and get early access!)âŠ
Hey its me again and I was wondering if you can do a story or series (depends on you) on reader being psychic like Lorraine warren or season 2 sam, where reader tries to hide it away in fear of Dean's judgement towards it
Hi lovely!
Due to time I'll add it to my drabbleathon, will tag when done <3
