I feel ultra mehh and i need Castiel to hug me π
He looks so gentle, and so caring ππ
Lately I've been feeling the kind of meh where I want him to fuck me until I can't think, but this works too
He wouldn't understand your emotions and feelings, but he'd see what they do to you. He'd see the shift in your mood, change in behaviour, anything out of the ordinary, even if you functioned just fine but didn't smile when you looked at him.
He'd try to ask you what was wrong, fail almost incomprehensibly, and sit beside you, close. You'd feel his arms wrap around you awkwardly, not knowing just where exactly they should go. He tried, and once you took the lead, leaning into his body, close enough for his hands to find the right spots on your back, he'd loosen up and find his place.
What helped him the most, was being able to focus on you.
He could turn his attention to your comfort and the pain you either let out or kept inside, not pushing you to do either, just waiting for your moment.
He'd press a cautious kiss to your temple, a rough, low "I'm sorry" coming straight from his chest. He didn't know what he was sorry for, other than not being able to fix this for you, not stopping whatever caused this, even if it was nothing.
He held you for anywhere from ten minutes to ten hours, as long as you needed or as short, anything that would make you feel even a touch better.
He let you do everything in your own time, after all, he had all of time, quite literally, and he'd be there for you throughout it all.
α sam winchester who's favourite thing in the world is to tease his pretty gf
tw. heavy teasing, size kink, dacryphilia, oral (f rec.), p in v, creampie. mdni.
your boyfriend, sam winchester, had mastered the art of teasing you.
while he'd always been a patient man in the bedroom, choosing to take his time to learn your body and its desires over time and prioritise your pleasure over his in true gentleman fashion, sam now enjoyed teasing you and watching you make a mess of yourself.
he liked seeing how whiny and impatient you got, clawing on his thick biceps with your thighs trembling around his head as he'd spend what felt like hours mouthing at your clit, dragging his tongue through the slick mess between your thighs in languid strokes which gave you just short of the orgasm you'd come to need even as his fingers would scissor you open with knuckle-deep thrusts.
he loved how deep your pretty skin would blush when he'd press his thick shaft flush against your wet folds, grinding against you with controlled thrusts as you'd whine and plead for his cock, for him to finally fuck you. " patience, sweetheart." sam would groan, your slick coating his cock and the swollen veins wrapped around it in sticky rivulets.
sam adored the fat, petulant tears that would start to pour down your flushed cheeks when he'd finally notch the head of his cock into your entrance only to pull back and start fucking into you with shallow thrusts that went just barely past the bulging head of his dick.
and when he'd finally give in to your pleas and fuck you with full, deep pumps of his hips that had the thick, mushroomy tip of him kissing your sweet spot with every thrust; sam loved how needy and loud you'd get, your inhibitions melting away as you'd claw trenches into his back, your legs wrapped tight around his pistoning waist while you'd moanβ high pitched and pornographic.
and finally, when sam would allow himself to finish, spilling inside you with a deep grunt after he'd made you cum on his cock at least twice, you'd be babbling thankyou's to him.
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I feel like Sastiel can't work and that's why I love it. I know I post a lot about Destiel and it's my otp, but Sastiel has a level of pain I adore.
My personal favourite version of Sastiel is one sided. Sam meets this Angel, a being of purity and everything good and he's nothing more to him than an abomination. Castiel sees the boy with the demon blood and looks past him towards the righteous man he pulled from Hell. Whether you see Destiel there or not, Cas has a clear favourite and he always will.
With time, Sam gets to see Castiel as more than just a symbol of good, because despite the ways he goes about it, then Angel's intentions are pure even when no other's are.
Cas sees Sam as someone who has been redeemed, and it's almost hopeful for him, to see such an abomination make better of himself, but he's still Dean's brother. Some days that's all he is, he's not the focus.
As they go on, Sam sees the fantastic being who saved him and his brother more times than he can count, and he can't help being enamoured, whereas all Cas sees is a side character who's gone from awful to alright.
Anyways, my completely unasked for take on Sastiel and yes there will be a fic at some point.
summary: Β you convince Ben to turn his morning cardio into something a little more fun.
warnings: 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex (itβs fiction guys!!), p in v, teasing, oral sex, very fluffy, breastplay, dryhumping, fingering, cumming inside, overstimulation if you squint, not proofread
you weren't really a fan of training. of course, being part of a superhero team meant you had to do lots of it. yet you tried to avoid it as much as you could, it wasnβt as if you didnβt already know how to control your powers. besides, you werenβt really on payback to fight crime or whatever. you were selected mostly as eye candy, and you knew it, you didnβt mind. you did mind having to train though.Β
your boyfriend on the other hand? he couldnβt go a day without training. already was the most powerful supe ever but didnβt seem to get enough.Β
you had memorised his routine quite well: a lengthy morning run, worked a bit on his powers, his beloved strength training, followed by the occasional swimming or, god forbid, another run.Β
Ben tried to get you 'hooked' on it all, claiming you just didnβt like it because you βhad to train with the other fucking pussiesβ in his own words. but his efforts were to no avail.Β
you had important things to do... like catching up on your beauty sleep.Β
βgβmorning dollβ, the rasp of Benβs voice lingered through the early morning air, cold hands trailing over your back. he pressed his lips onto yours at the silent response, watching you not budge even a centimetre in your sleep.
a sigh escaped his mouth as he pressed his knees onto the edge of your bed, bending down to push your hair behind your ears. he called your name softly, making you hum in response.Β
βBen,β you mumbled with sleep heavy in your voice. βyou better not askββ
βcome on a run with me,β he pleaded.
you forced an eye open, wincing at the immediate white light surrounding you. blinking rapidly, you honed in on Ben, who was already dressed for his venture, batting his green puppy eyes towards you.Β
βBen, you know i love you very very much,β you cooed, pressing your head further into the warmth of your pillow, βbut i'd rather watch swatto shaking his dick in gunpowderβs faceβ
an abrupt slice of cold air trickled past your bare skin and thin clothes. you yelped, covering your body, immediately missing the comforting heat of your duvet. βBen! You motherfucker!β you scolded, much more awake now.
Ben gave you a sick grin. βsay unwarranted things, get unwarranted things,β he shrugged before grabbing your ankle to drag you off the mattress.Β
βno, no, no, no,β you groaned, squirming in his grip. pouting your lips, you quickly reached over to grab Ben's hand. βplease,β you whined.
βoh doll,β Ben started, βi just want you to join me. i promise you it'll be good. it's fun morning cardio!β
feeling Ben loosen his grip, you yanked your ankle back and got on your knees, sinking down on the soft mattress. βBen,β you murmured, hands travelling up his arms as you leaned in.
Ben narrowed his eyes, quickly knowing you were up to something with that sweet tone of yours.Β
βname the better cardio. A morning run orβ¦β you trailed off, hand travelling down his arm and past his thigh, resting dangerously close to his crotch. β... morning fun?β
Ben let out a dramatic sigh but he couldn't keep the quirk of his lips at bay. he stretched out his thick arm, grabbing you by the waist. his skin swarmed with heat as he felt your bare waist under your shirt as he fully pulled you over him. a quick nudge to your knees left you straddling him.Β
βmore energy burnt,β you murmured, trying to persuade Ben even though you knew Ben would never need persuading. Benβs hand reached out to push your hair behind your ears before landing on the soft pillows of your lips. βand a whole lot more pleasure.β
you stared at Ben. Taking in those gorgeous green eyes, the warmth of his skin, those god-made eyelashes, and each little freckle mixed on his face. you had both been so busy lately and it felt like you hadn't seen each other in months.
βwhat's on your mind, doll?β Ben whispered, thumb still trailing the shape of your lips as those very same eyes searched yours.
βnothing. i just missed you. and your stupid morning cardio,β you rolled your eyes. βis that a crime?β
βthen I'm guilty as charged,β Ben confessed, not missing the softening of your eyes as he held you tighter against him. βall I've been thinking about since my last solo mission is coming back to you.β
βyeah?β you whispered, pressing a brief kiss to his cheek. βanything in particular?β
Ben took a deep breath in, your signature fragrance engulfing him. goodness, were you intoxicating. βwell... there were picnics, breakfast, and the beach on the agenda. and... morning fun.β
a gasp left your mouth as Ben fell back first onto the mattress, bringing his lips to yours.Β
your hands fell around his neck and hair, nose gliding near his as Ben continued to ravage your mouth. he sucked on your lips with a small nibble here and there, relishing the muffled moans escaping your lips. his own hands continued to travel the path of your body he had committed to memory. he knew as he traversed your burning skin exactly where the small freckles and bumps he had come to love were.
your soft moans became more audible and pleasing to Benβs ears as he moved his lips to your neck, leaving the sloppily yet controlled kisses down the base of your skin.
you gasped as you felt a sudden jerk underneath you, feeding into the pooling wetness between your thighs. your teeth sunk into your bottom lip, your hips automatically responded by grinding down onto Benβs bulge.
βshit,β Ben cursed, feeling his cock throb in his shorts. his eyes fluttered shut, hands returning to your hips to continue the stimulating pleasure.
both of your skins were covered in a thin sheen of sweat as you felt Benβs clothed cock rut into your poorly covered pussy. you rocked your hips harder into him, feeling a slight jolt against your clit. βoh, fuck, Ben,β you moaned his name in his ear.
god, what were you two? sex-crazed teenagers? dry humping on each other like rabbits in heat.
βgorgeous,β Ben panted, eyebrows strained with the urge to cum yet give you all the pleasure he could. βi need... i needβ¦β he breathed, βi need to be in you, fuck.β his entire body shuddered with a sharp arousal while his cock could feel your thin underwear becoming useless and drenched. it was as thin as his patience was wearing.
you made a poor attempt to nod, releasing a hand from his neck. you briefly lifted your hips, pushing your panties to the side. in doing so, your breath hitches as you feel your sensitive folds glide past your fingers.
βoh, fuck,β Ben blubbered, losing himself in seeing your bare pussy and your reaction. βfuck yourself on those pretty little fingers for me, gorgeous. i need you ready for me,β he encouraged breathlessly, attempting to shove off his shorts with one hand.
Ben watched in torture as you pushed your fingers into your warm walls, body jerking forward at the sheer pleasure. βthat's it, doll,β he continued to praise you, βdoing so well for me, hmm?β he asked, moving one hand down your hips, skimming past your burning thigh before reaching the small bundle of nerves situated near your hand.
βa little faster,β Ben said, βyou're already so fucking wet. pump those fingers... let me see how much you missed me.β
you were already moaning in a haze at the praises leaving his lips, pushing your fingers in faster, unable to see how your engorged folds took them in as your eyes focused on the ceiling. but the moment you felt the pad of Benβs thumb on your clit, you had given up every ounce of respect you had for yourself.
βoh, shit, oh shit,β you cursed, hips bucking up at his action. your eyes shut tightly. the white light of ecstasy felt close. your hand sped up faster, your hips went against your fingers and his thumb with a more brutal force, feeling his aching cock bounce under you... you were going to cum. and hard.
and just like that, it was gone.
you snapped your eyes open, falling to your pussy to see Benβs hand retreating. βfuck baby, donβt tease meβ you cursed without looking at his face.Β
βi need you to cum on my cock darlingβ he flashed you a cheeky grin. βiβm sure you understand,βΒ
you moved your eyes towards him, savouring the hiss falling from his lips as you took his cock out of his underwear. you gave a small smile, guiding his cock to your puffy folds. you both released hitched moans when you rubbed your pussy against him.
you watched as Ben purposely lifted his hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your clit, making your body convulse for a brief second. you pressed your lips together, pushing his cock slowly into your pussy. he was always so big. thick and pulsing in your hands, stretching your pussy out no matter how many times you made love as if it were the first time.
Ben groaned, both hands firmly placed on your hips, head falling back onto the bed headboard. it had been so long. he missed your touch everyday. but the feeling of his cock in your pussy... he thought about it every second of every day.
you pushed your hips down flat, ensuring Ben bottomed out. you groaned at the full feeling of his cock in you, eyeing the small bulge in your stomach. βfuck, you fill me up so well, baby,β you praised.
Ben groaned in response. βride me doll. you know i like it when you ride me.β
you moaned at his words, taking off the singlet you had slept in. the self control Ben had for your breasts was little. especially, when they bounced in front of him like they were right now. his hands almost immediately shot out, groping the soft mounds with all his might.
immersed in your tits, his body trembled when you raised your hips and slammed down on his cock, repeating the movement again. βah, shit,β Ben cussed, drunk on your pussy.
you ground your hips forward as you rode his cock, stimulating the pure pleasure of grinding on one another. out of the corner of your eyes, you could see Benβs hand reach towards your clit. your eyes shut, bracing yourself for what's about to come.
Ben intently watched you, rubbing your clit in soft circles. he could see you slowly fall apart, the fast rhythm of your hips slowing down and becoming sporadic. Your body was shaking with pleasure, your hands reaching towards his thick biceps.
he continued your work for you, lifting your hips with his one hand on your waist. he grunted, feeling you clench around his cock. βcum... cum for me,β he beckoned, increasing the speed of his cock and the pressure of his thumb on your clit.
he smiled at the complete lost look that had fallen on your face. your body jerked and convulsed over him, your brain unable to control it any longer. your climax hit you hard as he denied your previous one not too long ago. your whine was high pitched and dazed. you were completely lost in pleasure.
your pleasure only fuelled his own. your walls were holding his cock like a vice, clamping down on him. you could feel his throbbing cock overstimulating your sensitive pussy.
Ben groaned at the feel of his twitching cock in your walls. he panted, hips racing to chase the urge to cum. βyes, keep moaning in my ear, gorgeous," he mumbled, falling victim to your praises falling from your soft lips and the clench of your pussy.
you both groaned when you felt the hot ropes of his cum spill into your walls. his hips stuttered, faltering against yours as you took every last drop from his cock.
Ben buried his chin into your neck, riding out his last few moments of his climax. βfuck,β he mumbled, letting out a small exhale as he moved his head back and looked at you. he laughed softly at your tired look as he placed a few lingering kisses across your neck, coming to your lips last. βi love you,β he murmured against them.
you smiled gently. βforever?β you asked.
βforever,β Ben confirmed, placing a kiss on your forehead. slowly, he removed his softening cock from your pussy. you both watched his cum mixed with your spill out of you.
you looked up at Ben, eyeing the dark look on his face. you sighed. βmorning fun or not, give me at least ten minutes. if not thirty.β
Ben chuckled, moving out from under you and standing in front of you. he swooped you into his arms making you yelp. βlet's take a shower. i'll clean you.β
you raised a brow, hands hung around his neck. βjust cleaning? that doesn't sound like you,β you retorted with a grin.
Ben smirked, walking you to the bathroom. βyou're right. i'll clean you, fuck you, and clean you again.β
Summary: For once, instead of being ripped from sleep by gut churning monsters or frantic shouts, you blink awake slowly. Comfortably. Mornings like these? Theyβre rare. So, you and Sam decide not to waste it.
CW: Slowww and sweet smut, very gentle Sam, lots of praise, fingering, unprotected piv, lots of pet names, domestic fluff!
WC: 5.7K
Based on this request!
Mornings like this are rare.Β
Hunting is all about movement. Whether thatβs riding state-to-state in a car thatβs seen far too many miles, sprinting through sketchy alleyways and rundown junkyards, or flipping through some old journal at three in the morning; it never stops. Not really.Β
Usually, youβre awake by the time the first robin chirps out its morning song. The sun barely shining through moth-bitten curtains of whatever motel youβve made your temporary palace of the week, crawling out of bed on sore legs and with dark circles that could rival a raccoons. Already digging through your duffle to reload your gun, sharpen your blades, or read through the newspaper clippings you snatched from the library.
Thatβs just how it is, when you dedicate your life to slaying monsters most people only see in their nightmares.Β
But this morning? This morning, things are different.
Youβre not shaken awake to pack your things and jump in the impala. Your eyes donβt shoot open the moment the sun breaches the horizon.Β
Because the motel youβre staying in is warm. The covers are plush, and the blankets donβt itch, or smell like an old basement. Youβre clean. Because the place actually had decent enough water pressure to shower not just yourself, but both Sam and Dean as well, without feeling like youβre being pissed on by a lukewarm stream. And, for once in your goddamn life, you have nothing to worry about. Not today.Β
The hunts over. Some amateur vampire nest that was easy to track, and even easier to take down, leading to the three of you having downtime. Something unheard of in your line of work. And the best part? Youβve got nothing but a few sore muscles to keep you from really enjoying it.
So when you finally do stir, itβs not because of a worrying loud crash, or because your heartβs beating out of your chest. Itβs Samβs strong arm tightening around your waist, pulling your back closer against his chest. His big, warm hand had slipped under your loose t-shirt to splay his fingers wide along the bare skin of your stomach, tracing featherlight patterns on old scars and soft flesh.Β
Sunlight beams through the curtains, casting a golden glow over your bodies, the subtle warmth heating your cheek where the light hits just right. You blink your eyes open just to spare a glance at the clock: 8:09. Huh. You slept in. Deanβs already gone.
And yetβ¦ you canβt bring yourself to move. Not when all you feel is Samβs touch, so absentmindedly affectionate, sweet and as gentle as a feather stroke. He lets out a soft, content hum against your neck as he presses you impossibly closer, burying his face into your hair. His hold is tight, but not uncomfortable. Far from it. Itβs steady, like an anchor, holding you in that pillowy state between sleep and consciousness.
You can tell that heβs not asleep. Youβre tuned into everything Sam, all the time: you know that difference in his breath. The way itβs less shallow, deeper, and you feel that sweet way he nuzzles into the nape of your neck like heβs inhaling your scent that he finds so comforting.Β
Neither of you speak. Instead, you pull one hand from where it was resting under your cheek, the other stationed beneath your pillow, fingertips brushing his arm wrapped so protectively around you. Running a soothing line along his heated skin, like youβre telling him youβre awake without words.
And that simple feeling of your touch, like a gentle caress, honey-sweet and laced with quiet affection? Oh, it has Sam smiling sleepily into the back of your neck, and you can feel the twitch at the corner of his lips. He presses his nose against the curve of your jaw like heβs tracing a map of you.
Thereβs an unspoken understanding between you both: Neither of you are ready to break the moment. Not yet.Β
Not when times like this are so rare. Just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. Itβs like balm to a wound you didnβt know was bleeding. So comforting and sure, wrapped in a domestic bubble neither of you want to pop.
Sam lets his lips brush over your neck, leaving feather-light kisses along your sensitive skin. He trails them from just below your nape, along your shoulder, up behind your ear, until heβs pressing reverent kisses to your jaw.
His hand slips from your waist, so damn slow, until heβs massaging tender circles into your sore hips. And holy Christ, you feel like youβre meltingβand youβre too damn tired to repress the blissed-out sigh that escapes your throat.
You feel Samβs lips curl into a small, satisfied smile at that breathy sound, like youβve just exhaled the weight of the world thatβs been pressing on your shoulders. He loves it. Loveβs this. Not just because that noise means heβs doing something right, but because for once, thereβs no blood on his hands, no clock ticking down to some disaster or apocalypse.
Just warmth. Just you. The woman he loves, wrapped tightly in his arms, alive and breathing.
His fingers keep working their slow magic over your hip. He knows just how hard hunting is on the body, after all. And when his lips find your pulse point, he lingers there for a second longer. Savouring the feeling of your heart beating beneath his lips. The soft press has goosebumps rising on your skin, that familiar, comfortable feeling simmering through you like an electrical current.Β
Β ββ¦Morning,β he breathes, low voice still rough with sleep, and full of something quiet. Tender.Β
βMorninβ,β you murmur, voice barely audible, your eyes fluttering back closed. It melts into another sigh when his fingers press into your flesh with just enough pressure, slow rolls of his thumb. Just enough to work those sore muscles, but never enough to hurt.Β
He works over the aches with practiced care. He loves it: taking care of those pains, the injuries, the bruises, the scars no one else sees. Just taking care of you whenever youβll let him.
He doesnβt stop those kisses, peppering them wherever he can reach. His tongue darts out, just once, tasting your skin just below the curve of your jaw. And God, the way your pulse jumps sends a sweet jolt through your nervous system.
ββ¦Sammy?β you question, voice hushed, like speaking too loud might shatter the field of warmth the two of you have gotten lost in. βWhatβre you doinββ¦?β
He smirks all over again, and you can just imagine that sweet dimple on his cheek. Adorable and perfect. He chuckles softly, fond, like heβs savouring the way your body arches just slightly into him, every little sleepy reaction he can pull out of you.
βTouchinβ you. Makinβ you feel goodβ¦β he mumbles between gentle presses of his lips. ββ¦Want me to stop?β
Stop?
Youβre not sure youβve hated an idea more than you despise that one. The feeling of his gentle lips on your neck, his big, skilled hands working against your tender muscles? Perfect.Β
Your response is immediate.
βNo,β you mutter, and as though to punctuate your answer: you tilt your head slightly, giving him more access.
His breath hitches, just slightly, at that silent offer. That small, wordless yes that unravels something quiet and fierce in him.
His lips follow the line of your jaw in slow, deliberate kisses, each one a little deeper than the last. When he reaches that spot just below your ear, the one he knows makes you shiver, he pauses⦠then nips lightly with his teeth before soothing it over with his tongue.
You canβt help the sound that slides out at that sharp sting before it melts right back into something so sickeningly sweet. And Sam loves that sound. So much so that he does it again, just once, before squeezing your hip with those nimble fingers just once, just to hear your pleased gasp. That hand slides slowly along your side, brushing the curve of your waist below your shirt, before trailing his fingers across your stomach. He flattens his palm there, feeling, and you hear the way his next breath almost shudders. His hand is like a brand, warm and possessive in its steady press, fingers tracing invisible lines.
Itβs slow. Intimate.Β
Itβs all so soft. So much sweeter than usual, even with him. Slow and careful, like you have all the time in the world. And right now? You do.
He traces the dip of your waist, the crest of your hip, down your bare thighs, featherlight touch where your nerves are sensitive⦠before sliding back up to rest on your lower belly. That warmth combined with the soothing pleasure lolling you further to a state of bliss, your breath catching every time his fingers press with just a little more pressure.
Itβs that. That little hitch in your breath, the way you arch into his touch, that silent, soft, near desperate plea, thatβs like a damn spell on him.
Sam adores the way you respond to him. Always has. But thereβs just something so addictive about those slow, quiet movements, when thereβs nothing else to worry about than the ways he can make you shiver.
His lips linger over your pulse point, and when he speaks, his voice is like dripping honeyβsweet and thick with need.
βBaby?β
You hum in response, low and gentle, and Sam almost loses it at the sound alone. It was all he could do to not surge forward, roll you on your back, and make good on his every desire.Β
But he doesnβt. Because this morning? Neither of you crave fast, desperate friction. Justβ¦ this.
βThis okay, honey?β he breathes, fingers sliding across your stomach, just a fraction lower, until they graze the little bow on your panties. ββ¦Can I take care of you?β
And God, you canβt speak when heβs like this: so sweet and reverent and perfect, all his Sam Winchester warmth pressed against your back, touching you like he has to just to make sure youβre real.Β
You canβt answer with words. But your hips shift on the plush mattress, your knee propped up just so, giving him access beneath that heavy blanket. And oh, if Samβs breath doesnβt just deepen with that small, inviting movement.
He doesnβt rush. Canβt. Not when youβre offering him this; soft, trusting, open in the quiet light, just for him. His fingers tease along the edge of fabric, pinching that little bow with a breath that had to be a fond chuckle, cause God he just loves how sweet you are, before slipping beneath cotton and warmth. A single calloused fingertip traces delicate circles over your sensitive mound, featherlight at firstβ¦ testing.
βYeah?β he murmurs against your neck, voice barely above a whisper. Still needing something. That real confirmation.
But even as he asks, he already knows the answer.Β
You let out a shaky breath of your own at that first touch, not even pressing into your wet folds yet, just aboveβand your response is instinctive. βYeah,β you sigh, hips pressing back against him. βPlease.β
His chest rumbles with a quiet, satisfied hum against your back. That shaky sound, that hitch in your voice? Yeah. It all goes straight through him.Β Β
His touch isnβt hurried. Still slow. Still maddeningly gentle. He drags that fingertip through your core, just once, collecting that slick thatβs been collecting since that first sweet kiss, that wetness meant for him, and uses it to circle your swollen clit with delicate precision. Soft pleasure blooms in your core, sizzling beneath heated skin like embers in a wood stove.
Every twitch of your body, every silent arch or caught breath, he feels it all.
βSo wet fβme alreadyβ¦β he whispers, lips pressing against your jaw as his thumb joins in, replacing those soft circles over that sensitive bud while that one finger teases lower, swirling around your soaked entrance, pussy fluttering like itβs begging to be stuffed. βYou feel so good.β
He adds another finger, his index pressing along with the middle, and they circle once, twice, gathering more of that soaked arousal, and youβre already practically dripping for him. Slick painting your inner thighs and those soft panties, wetness sucking his fingertips in.
Itβs like heβs teasing you, dragging those perfect, thick fingers right where you want them, without giving you what you need. But you know heβs not doing it on purpose. Heβs just so lost in the feeling of you: you wanting him. Needing him. So fucking wet, that his fingers glide through heat without a hitch. βSamβ¦β you whine, your hand finding his arm wrapped so tightly around you, fingers flexing on his bicep.
βShhhβ¦ I know, baby.β Samβs lips brush over a sensitive spot at the base of your neck, soothing over goosebumps, his teeth just barely scraping like heβs fighting to control himself.
Cause God, he can hear you. How soaked you are for him already. How your voice has already taken on a pleading edge. How your breath is coming short and sharp, how every muscle is taut with tension.
But he keeps his voice steady, firm, still rough with sleep and need. βRelaxβ¦β he murmurs, pants of his own warming the back of your neck. βGonna take such good care of youβ¦β
And fuck, if those coos donβt just drive you wild.Β
Theyβre dizzying. The way his voice dips low, syrupy enough to give you a goddamn cavity. And those big, perfect hands? They donβt stop.
Your tight heat clenches around just the tip of his fingers like a promise, and the low groan he lets out thatβs muffled by your hair tells you just how easily touching you takes him apart. He keeps up the soft, wet circles with his thumb, before dipping those two fingers inside.
He doesnβt push in fully. Not yet. Just curls his fingers slowly, teasingly, deep enough to make you gasp but not enough to give you what you really need. Not until he can draw it out, stretch it into something slow and sweet. Work you towards your peak so gently, until youβre shaking in his hold, and only he can put you back together.Β
He keeps a steady rhythm on your puffy clit, the perfect contrast between soft circles and the slick drag of knuckles against your tight inner walls. Your body is still sensitive from lingering sleep, cunt fluttering around those fingers as each pump has stars glittering behind your eyelids.Β
βMmphβshit, thatβsβ¦ donβt stop, Sam, fuckβ¦β you puff out between gasps, pussy squeezing those thick fingers like you never want to let them go.Β
He groans at that, rough and deep. Every shaky breath, every soft moan, every whiny plea makes him harder, but he holds back. Because this? Making you feel good? Thatβs more than enough for him.Β
Youβre like putty in his hands, panting with every sleek glide of his fingers, choking on barely-audible moans that have him pressing just a little harder. You canβt help itβyour hips start to move, rocking gently against his hand. Not fast, not greedy, just enough to satisfy that intense craving for more. Fucking yourself on his fingers until the heel of his palm gets soaked right along with those digits.
Samβs chest tightens at the sound of your mewls, raw and unfiltered, and when you start to roll your hips, slow and sweet on his hand, he lets out a shuddering moan into the nape of your neck.
βThatβs itβ¦β he whispers, encouraging, praising. βTake what you need. Fucking beautiful.β
He adds just a bit more pressure with his thumb as his fingers curl deeper, deliberate now, finding that spongy spot inside of you like muscle memory. Barely coherent βso pretty, baby,β and βso fucking good,β slipping from his lips absentmindedly, like he canβt help but praise. He rubs it with the softest push, again and again, each one drawing another shaky breath or half-formed whimper. The sounds between your thighs are slick and sopping-wet, his fingers absolutely coated in your arousal. Itβs heavenly, heat pooling in your lower belly with each perfect crook.
Your body is running on pleasure-fueled autopilot, hips rolling against his hand so those thick fingers push deeper, and he finds a rhythm to match. Barely even pumping himself, just rubbing tight circles deep inside your pussy that have you gasping, your thighs trembling softly around his hand.Β
Itβs slow and sweet, but intense. Mind-numbing ecstasy until your body is threatening to burst.Β
βIβmmph, fuck, βm close, Sammyβ¦β you manage, tilting your head so your cries are muffled against your pillow, but oh, Sam doesnβt let you hide.Β
He curves his body around you so he has better access to your jaw, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses everywhere he can reach until his peppering them to your cheek, your temple; that arm of his that was trapped beneath you snaking under your shirt to rest over your breast, squeezing soft flesh, rolling your peaked nipple between two fingers.
βI know,β he breathes, voice a sweet purr, low and steady like heβs holding you together with his voice alone.
His fingers donβt speed up. Wouldnβt. Not yet. He curls them deep, pressing just right against that spot inside of you that makes the soaked walls of your pussy tighten and your back bow against his chest.Β
βLet go fβmeβ¦β he murmurs, nuzzling against your cheek, lips just barely grazing your skin. His thumb circles just a little harder, firmer now, building that heat and stroking it like a flame.
Heβs all around you. His warmth, the solid strength of his body pressed against your back, one hand steady at your heart, the other working you into a blissful high, his pants warming your temple. Itβs intoxicating in the best goddamn way, and the domestic-gentleness of it all has that all consuming pleasure peaking until youβre tipping right over the edge.Β
Itβs not shocking. Not overwhelming. It doesnβt make you scream or writhe or beg. But itβs blinding. Hot waves of bliss exploding in your core like firecrackers that sizzle through every limb, overcoming each sense in a way that has you feeling weightless as the waves continue to crest.Β
βG-God, yes, fuck, Sammyββ you choked sobs come between pants, muffled only by the soft squelch of your wetness as your cunt pulses around his thick fingers, soaking the digits until theyβre slick and glistening between your thighs. He whispers sweet praises into your ear as he works you through it, not stopping for a second.
He holds you through every wave, tightening his arm around your waist, pressing sweet, wet kisses to your shoulder, your hair, everywhere he can reach. He can feel every tremor, every sensitive flutter as you come apart so fucking beautifully in his hands. Not frantic or desperate, but deep, a release that comes straight from the soul.
βThatβs my girlβ¦ sβfucking perfect, yβknow that? God, I love youβ¦β he rambles, voice thick with pride and something quieter. Something tender that almost sounds like awe through broken lust-clouded praise.Β
His perfect hand stays steady: long fingers still curling gently through the slick heat of your fluttering pussy, prolonging the aftershocks with slow circles with his thumb and soft presses until every last shiver has run its course.Β
βL-love you sβmuch, fuck, Samβ¦β youβre cut off by an almost pathetic sob as your cunt pulses around his fingers, just teetering on too much.
Itβs then, and only then, that his fingers slip free with a filthy pop, your thighs squeezing his hand, trapping the slippery digits between soft flesh. He rubs gentle circles there, thumb teasing your inner thigh, before sliding his hand from your trembling hold, pressing his palm against your lower belly again. And God those fingers are still so soaked, itβs almost erotic.
Warmth blooms from deep in your core through every nerve, reducing you to a panting puddle in his arms, and fuck, youβre so pleasure-drunk that you canβt move. Not when his sweet fingers go right back to rubbing soothing patterns along your stomach like heβs just trying to coax you into some soaking mess.Β
Heβs all around you, and Christ, thereβs no denying just how much youβve affected him. He doesnβt hide it, canβt, not when your body is still humming from his touch, and heβs holding you so close that he can feel every heartbeat. His heavy cock is pressed so goddamn tight against you that you can feel your still-sensitive cunt clenching greedily around nothing.Β
His hips shift, just slightly, a quiet breath escaping his lips as his undoubtedly hard length brushes against your lower back, just above the soft curve of your ass. He doesnβt push. Doesnβt grind. just presses, like any bit of contact can sate that ache for a moment longer.
He mouths at your exposed throat still, sweet and hot, like his thick cock isnβt pulsing against you through thin fabric. So fucking patient, even now. But Samβs always been far more patient than you.Β
So you canβt help it, not really, when you press back against him so softly, just to feel his breath stutter against your neck. Not when youβre pretty sure youβll just die if he doesnβt bury that perfect, fat cock in your aching pussy as soon as goddamn possible. And when he pauses mid-kiss, a soft moan spilling into your ear? Yeah. Thatβs it. You grind your ass against him all over again, more deliberately this time, a rough groan ripped from his chest when your soaked-through panties stick to his boxers for a fleeting moment.Β
βFuckβ¦β he breathes, cock twitching against your heat, lips parting as his fingers flex on your stomach.
But he doesnβt stop you. Canβt bring himself to. Not when heβs just as quietly needy as you are.Β
Instead, his forehead drops to your shoulder, eyes squeezing shut when you roll back again, slow, maddening, rubbing that heat right where he aches the most. His cock throbs against your ass with every roll of your hips, and fuck, each of his pants come more ragged than the last.
βCanβcan you turn βround, baby?β he whispers after a moment, the deep rumble vibrating against your skin. βNeedaβ see your pretty face.β
Christ.
The words are so sweet, so natural coming from his tired lips, and yet, they make your chest feel tight in the best goddamn way. And fuck, if it doesnβt just make your pussy impossibly wetter.
He doesnβt wait for an answer, he already knows. He uses one big hand to roll you onto your other side, thumb rubbing circles into your shoulder.Β
Your eyes finally meet his, those hazel depths swirling with sickeningly-sweet love, and the smile that finds your lips is entirely involuntaryβone that he returns with soft eyes and those pretty dimples.
Your mouth finds his without another thought. Sam melts right into the kiss, soft, deep, and so needy, one hand cradling your jaw like youβre something precious.
His thumb brushes your cheekbone as your hips press together, his cock thick and hot against your belly, your soaked cunt squeezing around nothing. You rock forward again, just slightly, a low groan rumbling from his chest. Because Jesus, the friction is almost maddening.
His hand slides down again, gripping your thigh with steady fingers, gentle but sure, as he hitches it over his hip so your bodies fit even tighter together. He kisses you, slow, deep, and hungry, tongue slotting itself between your parted lips, you let out a low moan into his mouth; one he swallows eagerly. And when you grind against his length again, your fingers teasing the waistband of his boxers?
He pulls back just enough to speak, breath hot on your lips. βYouβre sure?β he asks, voice hoarse. Still so careful, even now.
βYes. Always. Please, Sam,β you murmur, and just like that: you can see him give in.
He lets out a shaky breath as he pushes those boxers down, freeing himself, his throbbing cock slapping against his taut abs with an intoxicating slap. His hand wraps around himself, stroking once, twice, slicking the length of his dick with the pre-come already beading at the tip. Your mouth fucking waters at the sight, and God, you want nothing more than to drag your tongue along that perfect pink head, trailing along that one strong vein that goes all the way downβ¦
βChrist,β he groans low, hips twitching forward in his own grip. βYouβre gonna give me an ego, baby. Lookinβ at me like thatβ¦β
βCanβt help it. Youβre fuckinβ perfect, Sam,β you say softly, saliva pooling behind your teeth, because God heβs just a sight.Β
But still, even through the teasing, he takes his time.
Guided by primal instinct and pure need, he shifts just enough to line himself up, pulling your ruined panties aside, the plump head of his cock spreading your sensitive folds, as he starts to push inside your dripping cunt.
Slow, deep, and perfect.
βF-fuckβ¦βΒ he drops his forehead to yours, eyes squeezing shut as your pussy sucks him in, one thick inch at a time. βTakinβ me like youβre made for me, huh?β
That familiar stretch consumes your senses, because holy hell, no matter how many times you take himβheβll always be fucking massive. So full that you feel like his fat cock head is teasing your lungs by the time heβs barely fully seated. But God, youβre so damn soaked for him, that your cunt just sucks up every inch.Β
He lets you adjust for a beat, even when the way youβre pulsing around him is all telling, and he kisses you then. Open mouthed, all lazy teeth and tongue, too tired and too pussy drunk to quite keep up. But when he pulls back, he rolls his hips once, and holy fuck your eyes just about roll back.
itβs small and sweet, a gentle drag, pulling back until just the tip is covered by your slick lips, before pushing back in until your pelvis meets his in one smooth glide. βGod, jusβ like that, fuck, Samβ¦β
Your breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, each one brushing his sex-swollen lips as he moves, slow and deep and perfect.
He drags his cock through that slick heat until his hips meet yours with a soft, wet sound, your combined arousal now coating his thighs, too. He keeps it oh so gentle, a steady rhythm of deep, aching thrusts that have you arching in his hold, pleasure exploding in your core, sizzling down to your damn toes. And the way you clench around him each time he bottoms out? Sam almost loses it.Β
βYou like that?β he gasps, his cock practically splitting you open with each purposeful thrust, his big hand pawing at your lower belly like heβs trying to feel the swell of him beneath your skin. And fuck, heβs so thick, that you can practically see it when he hits deep. βLike it when I go slow, baby? Stretch you out? Fuck you so deep that you feel stuffed?β
βYes! Fuck, yes, SammyββΒ
The sounds that slip from your lips are almost embarrassing, whines and whimpers that youβre too lightheaded to contain. But God, the way heβs moving so slow, moving you on his cock like you weigh nothing, pulling almost all the way out before sliding back inβ¦ itβs fucking intoxicating.
The angle lifts that thick blanket just enough so you can tilt your head, looking down, and fucking Christ, you almost come right there. Watching his lengthy cock disappear inside your sopping cunt, so goddamn slow, until you can almost see that bulge beneath your skin as his palm flexes against your belly. βOh, fuckβ¦β you moan at the sight, your hole squeezing around him as a shot of heat pulses through you.
Sam notices, of course he does, and his entire body damn near shudders at the way your lips part, watching his cock stuff you to the brim. His hips stutter forward, just a little harder this time, as he pulls your trembling leg higher on his hip, opening you even wider.Β
βYouβre so fuckinβ beautiful,β he rasps, peppering a sweet kiss to your hair, fingers digging into your hips. His thrusts stay slow but they gain weight, each one forcing your body to rock against the mattress. βShakinβ all for me, arenβt you? My girl?β
And holy shit, you nod so goddamn fast, youβre surprised you donβt get whiplash. You can feel it building, the heat climbing up your spine, the pull low in your gutβand biting your lip can only keep so many sounds contained.
That angle change? Exactly what you needed. It has that upward-curve of his perfect cock sliding against your g-spot with every push, every pull, pleasure spreading deep inside of you like liquid fire. His bulbous tip hitsβright thereβand your vision goes entirely white. βAhβ! Rightβ¦ right there, Sammy, mmββ
And just like that? He shifts your hips with purpose.
Tilting you back with those big man-paws so every thrust lands so deep that you can taste it. So precise, that thick curve dragging against that electrifying spot exactly. Not fast. Not wild. But relentless.
βYeah?β he pants, rolling his hips with a little extra drive, the kind that makes your breath catch with an βoh!β and your nails dig into the hard muscle of his shoulder. βThat good, baby?β
His hand slides from your hip to cup the back of your thigh just below your ass when you nod again vigorously, unable to speak, only whimper pathetically. He holds on tight while those deep, sweet strokes keep coming, slower than ever, because to him? Nothing feels better than making sure you shatter one more time before he lets himself go.Β
With how sensitive you already were, all it takes is a few more of those heavenly thrusts for you to break.Β
Toes curling beneath the sheets, your forehead falling against his shoulder, tight cunt pulsing and tensing as each wave of euphoria rolls through your entire body. Your inner thighs shake, you bite your lip hard enough to damn near draw blood, and Jesus, the string of moans that slip out are barely human.
βYeahβ¦ fuck, look at you, sβpretty, baby. Right?β Sam coos, syrupy sweet and honey thick, his puppy eyes dark with intense desire. βAllβall fβme, huh? F-fuck, βm soβ¦β
He holds you through it, so goddamn gentle, arms locking around you like heβll never let go as your moans slip into the crook of his shoulder, muffled and sweet and so fucking loud for the near-silent room. Each pulse of your core milks him deeper, dragging broken groans from his chest that he canβt quite stop. βSqueezinβ the hell o-out of me, God, honeyβ¦β
When your breathing slows, intense pleasure giving way to that relaxed, floaty state that only comes from blinding euphoria. Sam stays buried deep, one hand finding your cheek, guiding your forehead to rest against his, pressing a sweet kiss to your nose.
You feel like youβre on cloud-fucking-nine, dazed and flushed, still so full of his thick cock, your fluttering walls sucking him in. It takes you a second to come back, because Christ itβs like youβve just died and went to heaven, but when you do, your breaths come ragged against his lips.Β
βDonβtβ¦ donβ stop, baby,β you plead, voice undeniably wrecked. βI can take it. Please?β
His hips twitch at your words, and he sneaks another kiss, right next to your mouth this time. Gentle. Sweet. And when he pulls back to look at you, his eyes are so fond that you could almost come all over again. βYβsure?β He asks, voice barely audible over your pants. βSure youβre not gonna pass out on me?β
The tease comes with a breathy chuckle that holy shit only makes you wetter, but itβs still laced with that quiet concern he always holds for you. βSam,β you hum, shifting just enough to feel him pulse inside you. βPlease. βM not made of glass. Promise.β
It doesnβt take any more convincing.
Samβs hand tightens around you, his lips finding your cheek to press more of those heart-melting kisses, and his hips move again. Not fast. Not hard. But that same slow, deep roll that makes you both gasp, cause Jesus youβre even more sensitive now.
βCan youβGod, l-look at me, baby?β he groans through gritted teeth, each thrust making him shudder harder than the last. Sweat beads at his temples, jaw clenched tight as white-hot pleasure claws at his gut. βWanna see those pretty eyes. Fuckββ
He lifts that shaky hand, guiding your face to look at him, thumb warm on your cheek. And the second he sees you, eyes meeting his? It hits him. A sharp pulse low in his spine, and suddenly, thereβs no more words.
Just a broken moan against your cheek as his hips sputter once, burying himself deep in your soaked cunt, his body locking up as hot ripples of pleasure spill from him in pulses. Your nails claw at his shoulders, your lips parted in a silent βfuckβ, because holy hell. Seeing him like that, face screwed up in ecstasy, filling you up with slick heat that comes in wavesβ¦ yeah. Youβre pretty sure that you do black out for a second.Β
Sam practically pets you through his peak. Those big hands scooping handfuls of youβyour waist, your ass, your thighs, before his fingers slide into your hair at the nape of your neck, pulling you back in for an open-mouthed kiss. Neither of you can keep upβ¦ and neither of you care.
He pulls away only to press more gentle kisses to your face, whispering sweet nothings into your ear, your eyes fluttering right back closed.Β
Heβs still filling you up to the hilt. The mess between your thighs is spilling onto the sheets. Your bodies are sweat-slick and hot. Coffee wonβt make itselfβand the free breakfast is over at eleven.
But mornings like this are rare.Β
So why waste it?
AN: Ah! Finally finished this one⦠and on to the next!
Little fact about the titleβitβs based on a song by Black Sabbath (though, the Pantera cover is my favourite), about two lovers floating through space π€ thought it was sweet.
To the people who sent me requests (four of you now, wow!) I see you, and Iβll be working on them! Iβm going to make a post about requests soon with guidelines and what-not, but as of now, theyβre all amazing.
Fandom: Supernatural
Word Count: 1300
Tags: Friends to Lovers, Backseat Sex, Dirty Talk, Praise Kink, Fingering, Grinding, Dean Winchester is a Simp for You.
The interior of the β67 Chevy Impala always smelled the same: old leather, gunpowder, cheap beer, and the faint, lingering scent of Deanβs sandalwood aftershave. Usually, it was a scent that meant safety. Tonight, it felt like an intoxicant.
For monthsβmaybe years, if you were being honestβthe two of you had been playing a game of chicken with your own hearts. It was in the way your hand lingered on his shoulder a second too long after a hunt. It was in the way heβd let you pick the music, even if you chose something that wasn't "classic rock" enough for his tastes. It was in the silent, heated stares across motel rooms that Sam would break with a loud, pointed cough.
βWeβre just friends, Sammy,β Dean would bark, his jaw tight, eyes never leaving yours even as he dismissed his brother.
Just friends. Friends donβt look at each otherβs mouths like theyβre starving for a feast. Friends don't feel the air turn to static the moment they're left alone in a car on a rainy Tuesday night.
But here you were, parked on a dirt road miles from the nearest town, the rain drumming a rhythmic, frantic beat against the roof. You weren't in the passenger seat anymore. You were in the back, straddling his lap, your knees pressed into the worn leather on either side of his hips. The quarter-zip sweater you wore was pulled down just enough to expose the swell of your breasts, and Deanβs eyes were devouring the sight.
"So. What now, pretty girl?" he rasped. His voice was a low vibration you felt in your own chest. His hands, rough and calloused from years of iron and grease, slid down from your waist to cup your rear, squeezing firmly.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling in the short, soft hair at the nape of his neck. You leaned in until your lips were ghosting over his, breathing in his heat. "You always like calling the shots, Dean. You tell me."
He chuckled, a dark, hungry sound that vibrated through your thighs. He didn't hesitate. One hand shot up, his fingers threading through your hair and tilting your head back to give him better access. He didn't just kiss you; he claimed you.
It started with a bruising pressure, a desperate collision of teeth and tongue that tasted like unspoken promises. Dean groaned into your mouth, a low, guttural sound of surrender as he pulled you impossibly closer. He rolled his hips upward, a slow, deliberate grind of denim against denim that hit your clit with pinpoint accuracy.
A sharp, needy whine escaped your throat, swallowed by his mouth.
"Just friends, huh?" he whispered against your lips, his breath hot and ragged. "Friends don't make sounds like that for each other."
"Shut up, Winchester," you breathed, fumbling with the hem of his shirt. You needed skin. You needed to feel the heat of him.
He helped you, shucking his flannel and t-shirt in record time, his eyes never leaving yours. In the dim light of the dashboard, his skin looked like hammered gold, his muscles taut with tension. When you pressed your chest against his bare skin, the contact felt electric.
Deanβs hands were everywhereβon your back, your hips, sliding under your sweater to find the clasp of your bra. He popped it with practiced ease, his palms immediately finding the weight of your breasts. He kneaded the soft flesh, his thumbs flicking over your nipples until you were arching your back, gasping his name into the cramped space of the car.
"Youβre so beautiful," he growled, his voice dropping an octave into that gravelly register that always made your knees weak. "God, Iβve wanted this. Iβve wanted to get you alone in this backseat for so damn long."
He moved his mouth to your neck, biting and sucking at the sensitive cord of your throat, marking you. His hands slid down, tugging at the button of your jeans. He made quick work of the zipper, his fingers diving beneath the lace of your underwear to find you.
You were already slick, your body betraying how much youβd been craving this. When his middle finger slid into you, you let out a strangled cry, your forehead dropping onto his shoulder.
"Look at me," he commanded.
You lifted your head, eyes hazy with lust. He was watching you with an intensity that felt like it was stripping you bare. He pushed his finger deeper, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with agonizingly slow, rhythmic pressure.
"You're so wet for me," he murmured, a smirk playing on his lips even as his eyes burned. "Tell me how much you want it. Tell me youβre not 'just a friend' right now."
"Dean, please," you whimpered, your hips moving instinctively against his hand. "I'm not⦠I've never been just your friend. You know that."
That was the breaking point. The smirk vanished, replaced by a raw, naked hunger. He pulled his hand away just long enough to rid you of your jeans and toss them into the footwell. He worked his own belt free, his movements frantic but certain.
When he was finally bare, his length pressing against your entrance, he paused. He gripped your hips, his knuckles white.
"If we do this," he said, his voice trembling slightly, "there's no going back. I don't know how to be 'just friends' with you after I've been inside you. You get that?"
"I don't want to go back," you whispered, reaching down to guide him. "I want you. All of you."
Dean didn't need to be told twice. He surged upward, burying himself inside you in one smooth, deep thrust. The breath left your lungs in a sharp gasp, your internal muscles clenching tight around him. He groaned, a long, pained sound of pleasure, burying his face in the crook of your neck.
"You're so tight," he choked out. "Perfect."
He began to move, his hands locked onto your hips to control the rhythm. It was a frantic, desperate pace, the Impala rocking on its springs with every heavy thrust. The sound of the rain was drowned out by the wet friction of your bodies, the slap of skin against skin, and the chorus of broken moans filling the small cabin.
You leaned back, hands braced against the ceiling of the car for leverage, as you took him deeper. Every time he hit your sweet spot, the world tilted on its axis. Dean was relentless, his eyes fixed on your face, watching every expression of pleasure he elicited from you. He loved the way your eyes rolled back, the way you bit your lip to try and stay quiet, the way you whispered his name like a prayer.
"That's it, sweetheart," he urged, his pace quickening as he felt your walls start to quiver. "Come for me. Give me everything."
He reached between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit again, adding the friction you needed to tip over the edge. The combination was too much. You shattered, your vision going white as a powerful orgasm ripped through you, your body shaking as you clamped down on him.
The feeling of you coming was the final straw for Dean. He let out a loud, unrestrained shout, his back arching as he spent himself deep inside you. He held you tightly, his fingers digging into your skin, anchored to you as the waves of pleasure ebbed away.
For a long time, the only sound was the heavy, synchronized thud of two hearts and the rhythmic drumming of the rain. Deanβs head rested on your chest, his breath hot against your skin.
He finally pulled back, just enough to look at you. His hair was a mess, his lips were swollen, and his eyes were softer than youβd ever seen them. He reached up, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, his thumb lingering on your cheek.
"So," you whispered, your voice still shaky. "Friends?"
Dean let out a soft huff of a laugh, leaning in to press a tender, lingering kiss to your forehead.
"Not a chance in hell," he murmured. "You're mine. About damn time I admitted it."
You know that won't last long, not with his track record.
A/n: forgive me if it's not the most lore accurate! Credits to @diviniyae for the divider!
jealous! jo who insists she doesnβt get jealous because βthatβs middle school crap,β then spends the rest of the hunt glaring at the person who kept flirting with you.
jealous! jo who suddenly has an arm around your shoulders the second someone gets a little way too comfortable standing next to you.
jealous! jo who rolls her eyes every time someone laugh at your jokes. Theyβre not even that funny.
jealous! jo who starts finding excuses for the two of you to leave the room together before someone else gets your attention before her.
jealous! jo who tells herself sheβs only keeping an eye on you because hunters should always watch each otherβs backs. The way she never looks away is purely coincidental.
jealous! jo who hates hearing you say someone elseβs name a little too often.
jealous! jo who catches someone checking you out from across the Roadhouse and suddenly decides sheβd rather stand between you and the rest of the room.
jealous! jo who becomes ten times more sarcastic whenever your attention drifts toward someone else.
jealous! jo who claims she couldnβt care less who you spend your time with, yet always ends up sitting beside you anyway.
jealous! jo who keeps interrupting conversations just to remind everyone that she already knows that story about you.
jealous! jo who notices the second someone starts flirting with you, even if sheβs halfway through cleaning a shotgun.
jealous! jo who pretends to tease you about your βadmirer,β hoping youβll immediately tell her youβre not interested.
jealous! jo who acts normal until someone touches your arm. Then suddenly sheβs asking if youβre both ready to leave.
jealous! jo who would rather fight a nest of vampires than admit the reason sheβs in such a bad mood is because you smiled at somebody else.
jealous! jo who always volunteers to be your hunting partner before anyone else gets the chance.
jealous! jo who starts remembering every detail about you just to prove herself she knows you better than anyone ever could.
jealous! jo who tells dean sheβs βnot jealous,β then literally asks him what he thinks that guy wanted with you.
jealous! jo who softens the second you reach for her hand without thinking, because maybe she was worrying over nothing after all.
jealous! jo who realizes her jealousy was never really about other people. It was about the terrifying possibility that someone else might make you happier than she could.
Castiel doesn't understand your fascination with fantasy books at first. You're one of the few people in the world to know what's really out there, all the monsters and creatures that lurk in the dark, why would you need to read about fictional versions of them? But eventually, he comes to see your view. He sees the way you let yourself get lost in the stories, how a hero saves the day and vanquishes the beast, it's easier to deal with than reality, when you don't always win and when people you care for die. After some time, he grows to enjoy them. More specifically, when you tell him about each tale. He loves the sound of your voice when you get excited about a particular series, when a new book has been released or when the love interests finally confess. He loves the sound of you happy and light, something you always are when you're with him.
And Sammy!
Sammy absolutely loves holding your hands. He loves your rings, each of them stacked meaningfully, intricate little patterns carved into them. Whenever he's nervous or trying to distract himself from something, he'll hold your hand in his, fingers twisting, sometimes even rearranging your rings. You eventually buy a few fidget rings so he has something specific to play with, something to help take his mind off the inevitable apocalypse, and back to you, the one who grounds him, just with your mere presence.
Want your own personalised moodboard/s? See how to request here!
demon!dean telling you that you make such a good little pet and you beam with pride and he laughs and tells you that he should treat you more like one and gets you a collar and maybe a tail plug π«£
| demon!dean winchester and his pup! <3
α―β note; pairs well with puppy!reader, btw..
finding yourself bored (and horny) in some sleazy, run-down motelβ the kind where about eight times od mold grow in the bathroom and the sheets are forever stained with questionable stainsβ and being forced to wait for dean whilst heβs out βrunning errandsβ with crowley; forever getting the ββs not safe for you, sweetheart,β excuse. so as soon as he comes back, youβre eagerly greeting him with kisses.Β
however. you donβt get the reaction you wanted from himβ no affection or love; much unlike the old deanβ but rather him forcefully pushing away from you and staring down at you with dark eyes.
βhuh, donβt remember any bitch that could walk,β is all he mutters, and before you can ask what he means, heβs shoving you onto your knees. he roughly grabs your face in one hand, making you keep eye contact with you. βhad a real tough day, sweetheart; all i could think about was you.β his other hand gropes at your chest, making you whine, and ends up curling around the collar thatβs tight on your neck. βyβwant to make me feel better, yeah? βs that what you want? gonna be a good pup and show me what i taught you?β and all the while, you absent-mindedly nod.Β
youβre too busy staring at his boner.
youβd been waiting for him all dayβ waiting with the fluffy plug in your ass and the collar around your neck, resisting every aching urge to finger yourself because dean would know what youβd done. and when he knows, thatβs when he gets mean. more mean than he usually is. the last thing youβd want is for him to do that to you, especially when all you want to do is be his βgood bitchβ.
he doesnβt like when you touch whatβs his. and he doesnβt like when you forget what your purpose is.Β
dean points down at his boot with a hardened look, not saying anything. you tilt your head in confusion, the room suddenly feeling so cold against your naked body, and itβs only when he harshly yanks on your hair that you realise that he wants you to hump it. like a dog. βi know youβve been waitinβ for me, sweetheart, to do it βcause youβre a fuckinβ freak like that.β youβre blushing, insatiably wet, and shyly position yourself over his boot and start grinding. heβs still got a hold on your hair, forcing you to look up at him as you degrade yourself like this. all whimpery and snivelly because itβs not enough. and youβre so distracted with the lack of care he gives you that you donβt notice him undoing his belt and pulling out his hardened cock. βhuh, whatβ yβwant somethinβ more?β
you nod. βyesββ
he yanks on your hair again. you canβt help but to yip.Β
ββyesβ what?β
βyes, sir,β you reply, hazy gaze fixating on his fat cock; mouth basically watering at the sight of the pre-cum that slightly leaks from the tip, the veins that run up and down the thick girth pulsing violently. you feel your cunt grow wetter. βplease, sirβ can i?β
dean huffs. βyβgonna be my good bitch and take it?β youβve stopped grinding entirely on his boot; waiting with held breath as he guides his cock, so obviously in need of you, towards your mouth. but he never pushes it past your lips. instead, he tells you, βwell, seeinβ that you waited here fβme so patiently, i think you deserve a treat..β
and with that, youβre scampering up onto the bed and presenting yourself for him; the plug on display as you get onto your hands and knees, arching your back. staring at the headboardβ one youβve studied more than enough today, picking at the loose threads of the ratty material as youβd absent-mindedly grinded onto the filthy sheetsβ you flinch a little when deanβs hand makes contact with your dripping cunt. he rubs roughly against it, making you buck backwards into him, eager for him to just get on with it and fuck you.Β
βhey, hey, heyββ dean grunts, bringing his hand down on your cunt and making you whimper. for a second, you think heβs going to go back on his words.. until you feel the fat tip of his cock press bluntly up against your hole. βthatβs not beinβ good fβme, is it now? βm not gonna be nice to you if you canβt behave yourself.βΒ
and before you can start stumbling out an apology or two, begging for him to do what he needs to do, he pushes into you in one swift movement, burying himself to the hilt. heβs pressed up against your ass, with one hand on your waist and the other on the fluffy plug. it doesnβt take him long to find a steady, albeit rough, rhythm as he begins to pound into you from behindβ and it doesnβt take you long to start whining and moaning loudly.Β
βpleaseβ ughβ itβsβ dean!β you cry out in broken syllables, which get lost to his vocal groaning and heavy breathing as he fucks you. and you canβt help but to yelp when he thrusts into you so hard that your already-weak arms send you falling forwards into the sheets. you can smell stale cum and sweatβ being this close to such filthβ but you donβt focus on that. you focus on how dean hits all your sweet spots with such precision, the tip of his cock pressing up in your cervix. βsirββ
βoh, sheβs all pent-up fβme, isnβt she, sweetheart? did you want to touch her today?β to which you mumble out some incoherent answer, hoping heβll gave you some pestilence-laced grace and not take too much notice of how you feebly cried βyesβ. thankfully, he doesnβt seem toβ or, he does, but he doesnβt show itβ and he keeps thrusting into you, his blunt nails digging into your waist.Β
youβre so desperate to cum, your entire body overstimulated and overwhelmed, that as soon as dean asks if you want to let her cum, youβre whining. βgotta beg for it, sweetheart,β is what he replies with, and you can feel his wicked grin bruning into the back of your head. βwanna hear how desperate and bad you wanna cum on me.β
βughβ i wanna cumβ pleaseβ wanna cumββ you cry out, words all muffled as you press yur face into the sheets in order to hide your tears. your face is as wet as your cunt; stained with the neediness thatβs comorbid with shame. and whilst he doesnβt tell you to, just a deep and agonising thrust into your squelching cunt is enough to make you cum. you swear that you black out as you do, your ears ringing and thighs tensing as that all-too familiar wave of relief and euphoria washes over you.Β
however, he continues to fuck roughly into you, one hand moving from the plug in your ass to your lower abdomen. he presses against it, making you wince, finding the slight bulge of how deep he is in you. βright where i fuckinβ need to be,β he groans, voice strained as he buries himself one more time into you, balls right up against you, as he cums. as he comes down from his high, he slowly, albeit a little weakly, he continues to thrust into you, making sure all his cum is up and in your guts.Β
youβre sniffling into the sheetsβ face still wet and heart still racingβ with deanβs hand gently rakes down your back, as you feel cum still being released from his pulsing cock. and when thereβs nowhere else for it to go, you wince when it starts to seep from around his cock and your gaping cunt, dripping slowly down your thighs. βknew you could be a good girl fβme, sweetheart,β he murmurs, fingers playing with the plug thatβs been untouched, slightly unacknowledged, this entire time. βbut i think we should do somethinβ about this..β
β¦summary: dean learns, slowly, that he's actually pretty good at being boyfriend material. it would be nice if you'd stop pining after him long enough to noticeβ¦
β¦warnings/tags: Dean Winchester x female!reader, no use of y/n, no description of reader, friends with benefits to lovers, age gap (20s - 40s), 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 (facesitting, praise kink, big dick dean, fingering, pussy spanking, teasing, dean's dirty talk, spanking, fingering, stripping, body worship, degredation kink, soft!dom Dean, size kink, begging, soft and rough sex, messy, creampie, mean dean, dean has an orgasm rule and you. benefit. dumbification), love confessions, fluffβ¦
β¦wc: 12.5kβ¦
β¦author's note: request! super normal about this oneβ¦
You tell yourself, over and over again, that this is going to be the last time. Itβs not something thatβs meant to be held onto, so you can justβ¦ let go.
But then you find yourself here. Between tangled sheets with your legs spread wide, your nails digging into Deanβs bicep and his cock dragging through your wet, sensitive cunt.
βThere you go,β he coos in your ear, every thrust deep and rough. βThatβs my girl, takinβ me so good, so- Good-β
Dean moans, pressing up against the soft, gummy spot inside of you, and your eyes roll back in your head.
He always does this. He knocks on your door and grabs your face between big hands, and suddenly all that resolve and determinationβnever againβdissolves with your willpower. His hands are roughΒ and calloused, but trace your hips and hold you down so gently, you can almost pretend he cares if you break. His cock is thick and impossibly long, and he always drags it between your soaked heat and bumps it against your clit before pushing himself in just right. His lips are chapped and soft, sucking possessive marks into your neck that he has no right to claim, but that doesnβt stop you from running your fingers through his hair and holding him right where he is. He wouldnβt dare to leave. Not in the middle of this. Not before youβve both gotten what you want.
What Dean wants. You donβt let yourself pretend that this is everything you need anymore. Itβs the only hope you have of one day telling him no, because the rest of you control rests on a thin rope, and it always slips from your hands the moment Dean touches you like you matter.
You never walk away from him with an aching, unsatisfied body. A few nights ago he put you on his face and made you ride until your thighs were shaking and tears were springing into your eyes. Before this, he spit on your cunt and scissored you open with thick, careful finger, kissing and nipping at your thighs as your greedy pussy swallowed him right up to the knuckle. Even now, as every roll of his hips becomes smallerβas his face twists in concentration and his mouth against your jaw becomes desperateβDeanβs thumbing at your clit, trying to get you over the edge with him.
βCβmon, baby, cβmon-β He pushes himself up to his knees, forcing a deeper, rougher angle. βShow me what youβve got, I know you can do it, come on-
You whimper, staring up at him under lidded, glazed eyes. The whole world is just a blur of color at this point, but Dean is bright and clear. The heave of his broad shoulder and chest, every muscle in his arm as he wraps it around your waist and makes you arch your back, the flex of his abdomen as he ruts forward like a feral dog. The sharp, unforgiving thrusts are making your head spin with pleasure, turning you into a boneless wreck of need. You grab his arm, trying to steady yourself against something, and Deanβs attention rips up.
He says he likes to watch himself fuck you, and youβve never doubted that for a second. Heβs spent whole sessions just staring at his cock or fingers splitting your cunt open. He likes putting you on his face because he can watch you react. You like it better like that, usually. The eye contact is too close. Too intimate. Too real.
But you grab him, and he looks at you, and itβs almost like a shot. His eyes are blown-out and so strangely soft, staring at your wrecked, open expression with too much, too much, too much-
βDe- Deeean-β You cry it out like a pray, because it is. Dean grunts, hips snapping, the wet sound filling up the air and his eyes never leaving yours. βDean- Dean- Fuck, please- Please-β
Youβre babbling. You never do that with anyone else, but Dean is Dean, and he makes you do things you never counted yourself capable of. He groans your name, and you squeal when he drags you up, off the mattress and straddling his thighs. Your clit drags against his abdomen, his cock bullies right against your g-spot, and Dean grabs your jaw with a single, painfully gentle hand.
βCum for me, sweet girl,β he rasps, still holding your gaze, even as your eyes start to cross. βSoak this fuckinβ cock, baby, cum-β
You almost scream as your orgasm rips through you, and Dean crashes his mouth against yours, eating every whimper and moan with harsh lips and his tongue down your throat. You press into him, pussy gushing and fluttering around his dick, and he makes that deep, rumbling sound that always comes right before-
βShit-β Dean gasps against your mouth, pulling you so close you canβt feel anything but the heat of his bare chest, the sensation of his cock twitching and pumping in your cunt. βFuuck-β
Dean moans your name, and a warm, pleasant heat starts to spread through your tummy and drip between your thighs. He doesnβt stop moving until his cock is softened, and you donβt try to stop him. Youβre barely more than a limp doll right now, returning his kisses with tiny mewls, eyes crossed and body limp.
For a moment after itβs done, you stay tangled together. You always do. Itβs the most dangerous part of the whole thing, because it feeds that tiny little fool in your chest, who refuses to believe that this is just sex. Who takes your heartstrings and weaves grand worlds where Dean loves you back, and youβre going to be just fine.
Dean kisses your brow, and your eyes flutter closed. Thereβs an advantage, to being a crybaby whenever he fucks you stupid. He never once has considered that the tears might be real.
βThink you can walk?β He mutters, still buried deep inside of you, still holding you like he cares.
You shake your head, and his mouth twitches against yours.
βAlright, pretty girl. Iβve got you.β
And you press your face into the crook of his neck, letting that fool take you over. She takes his words as gospel. My girl and Iβve got you and Baby, theyβre exactly what he means and nothing more, nothing less.
When the logical part of your brain wakes back upβDeanβs always had this ability to hit a button in you, sliding his hand around the back of your neck and making all your thoughts just bubblegum feelings and electric colorsβyouβre going to remember why you always say this has to be the last time.
Heβs perfect, and heβs not yours. He makes that perfectly clear, until he pulls these little stunts and ends up buried between your thighs. You agreed that he wasnβt yours, when this arrangement started.
Safer with someone you know, heβd told you, like he hasnβt fucked his way across the entire country. Easier. Nothing to worry about, when itβs you and me.
And youβd been a starry-eyed, gooey hearted fool who just wanted whatever part of Dean he was willing to show you. The burning love you kept tended in your ribs hadnβt seen a problem with adding fuel to the wildfire, even if Dean was never going to see it. But now heβs carrying you to the bathroom like a princess, and heβs going to be gone in the morning, and that wildfire is an inferno. He doesnβt know. He canβt know. You can map out everything heβd ever say in response to your feelings, from the harsh sneer he wouldβve given when he had the Mark of Cain, to the kinder let down youβd get now.
Youβre too young, heβd say, like it was a consolation prize. And I like you, sweetheart, but I donβt do this kinda thing. Not with girls young enough to be my daughter. Not with kids that I hunt with. Not with you.
You press your face further into his neck. Heβs always so warm and sturdy, a massive tree thatβs offering you just as much shade crushing, unbearable weight and tangled roots that keep you pressed down. He smells like leather and whiskey and something perfectly, faintly spice. You want to drown in it. You want to drown in him.
βYou good?β Dean asks, and his voice is too gentle. It rattles the little fool, screaming for the rest of you to listen and just accept that he loves you.
But he doesnβt. He doesnβt.
βYouβre beinβ quiet, even for- Yβknow-β He chuckles, that low, insufferably charming pride crawling into his voice. βAfter I fuck you dumb.β
βYou did not fuck me dumb,β you mumble against his skin, and you can hear his grin.
βBig words from the girl who couldnβt talk five minutes ago.β
βThat was unrelated.β
βUnrelated,β he echoes, his thumb dragging a small circle against your spine. βAlways forget how bratty you get after, sweetheart. Dangerous.β
You roll your eyes, and hug him tighter. He laughs, and kisses the side of your head, and he has the nerve to call you dangerous.
βYou wanna watch a movie?β He asks, leaning down to run the water, still keeping you tucked so carefully against his chest, and all you can do is nod. Dean sighs. βCβmon, gimme a little more than that-β
βYes, please,β you mumble, and he pauses.
Itβs only a fraction of a second. You donβt understand it, and you donβt want to. Not when he feeds your delusions and kisses your brow again, then your cheek, then your lips. And you let him. You always let him, because youβre a foolish, stupid, lovesick idiot. You donβt want his affection, not like this. But you donβt want to lose himβit would be like ripping a vital organ out of your ribcage, even if you didnβt know you had it a year agoβand you canβt ever tell him to stop being so sweet without explaining yourself, and getting that gentle, horrible let down.
You donβt want it. You donβt want any of it. And this, this had to be the last time.Β
You hold the line. You donβt know how, but you hold that line with white knuckles and grit teeth and a taste like bile in the back of your throat.
Dean knocks on the door, only two nights later, and you donβt answer. He calls your name and you sink into the mattress, praying he just thinks youβre asleep.Β
βI just- Uh- I wanted to talk?β He says, and you press your face into the pillow like that can somehow shield you. βReally, thatβs it. Just talking, so- If you could-β
Dean sighs. You can hear the please, hanging between every word, but Dean doesnβt really say please. He just begs with everything else in him, or gives up. And you can picture him running his hand over his face, the heavy look in his eyes, the defeated sag in his shoulders. Itβs like a knife being driven through your gut, and you sit up, ready to open the door-
βAlright,β he mutters, and you freeze. βNight, baby. Sleep well.β
Footsteps retreat, and you stay there on the mattress, frozen and lost, adrift in a sea you dove into.
But you did it. You held the line.
And you keep it. It makes sweat bead and your skin burn, but you close the door and donβt open it back up. Youβre done, and youβre going to keep it that way.
Dean doesnβt ask questions. You donβt know if you want him to or not, but it doesnβt matter, because you catch him staring and giving out signals, but heβs taken your no in stride, and doesnβt seem to have any plans to push back against it. When this started, you agreed to leave out a specific book on the war room table if either of you wanted something. Dean starts to leave it out every night, and you never go to his door, and one night, it vanishes.
And thatβs fine. Thatβs exactly what you wanted.
And if it feels like youβre dying because of it, and if you spend an hour over the toilet dry heaving that night, thatβs no oneβs business but your own.
βDeanβs been grumpy lately,β Sam says one morning, and you blink at him over your coffee.
βGrumpy? Dean? Thatβs- Woah-β
βYeah, yeah, okay.β Sam gives you a flat look. βYou know what I mean. Grumpier.β
You shrug, looking back to your mug. βMaybe he needs to get laid.β
βUh huh.β
You can feel Samβs stare. It makes you itchy and small, and youβre not sure if you want to punch him or run. You settle for staring at your coffee harder. Itβs the easiest course of action.
βDean needs to get laid,β Sam repeats your words, something strangeβalmost sharpβin his tone, and you nod.
βThatβs what I said.β
βDean-β
βWhatβs up?β Dean walks into the kitchen, stopping right behind you, and you hunch over like you can grow a shell to protect yourself.
Even just a few feet away, heβs always so warm.
βUh- Hey, Dean-β
βHey,β Dean mocks back, and Sam huffs.
βDude-β
βShut your face-β
βI didnβt say anything- I-β Sam says your name, and you glance up. His brow is furrowed with worry, his eyes locked on Dean behind you. βWe were just-β
βJust what?β Dean snaps. βJust talking? Shooting the shit, getting real comfortable?β
Sam sighs. βDean-β
βI got a gun, Sammy,β Dean points firmly, and you stare at his finger like a woman driven mad with thirst. βDonβt forget that.β
Sam rolls his eyes. βWe all have guns, that- That threat doesnβt do anything-β
βIβll show you doing something- Hey-β
Dean says your name, and you freeze. Youβd been trying to slip out while they fought, but Deanβgoddamn himβhad noticed. He always notices. You love him so much itβs going to make you cave in on yourself, and maybe take the whole bunker with you, like a dying star.
He catches your arm, and you canβt stop yourself from looking at him. His brow is knit, his jaw locked, and his handsome face has deep lines you only used to see when the world was ending. There are bags under his eyes. Deeper than usual. You want to smooth the lines with your thumb and kiss his jaw until he relaxes, but thatβs not your ache to soothe.
Dean doesnβt say anything. You canβt say anything. He looks exhausted, and thereβs a lump forming in your throat.
βYou- You hungry?β Dean rasps, and youβre starving.
βNo,β you breathe before you can think, and Dean swallows.
βWell, when youβre hungry- Thereβs a diner in town-β
βHenryβs?β
βNo, uh- A new one. I- I was wonderinβ if you wanted to go, later, or something.β
βOr something?β You tilt your head, and Dean nods.
βWhatever you want.β
God, heβs cruel. Heβs perfect and cruel, and you want to vomit on his flannel and kiss him until you pass out.
βOh- Okay,β you say, because youβre only so strong.
The lines in Deanβs face relax. His grip loosens. Then Sam coughs, and Dean lets you go.
The diner isβ¦ nice. Nice and easy, in a way you havenβt felt in longer than you want to admit. Dean insists on driving you, and paying, and sitting in one of those booths with your feet bumping under the table.
He presses his knee forward, while he orders. You swallow and donβt allow yourself to think much of it. Heβs warm through his jeans, but heβs always warm, and he hasnβt tried anything in a few weeks, so you allow it. Your love for him hasnβt been flickering out, but the harsh wind of his absence has made everything feel colder. Itβs okay, to indulge yourself in something so small. Youβre still keeping it together. Youβre still holding the line.
βSo, uh-β Dean clears his throat, turning his bottle in his hands. βHow are you?β
βHow- Am I?β You blink at him, and he nods tightly. βI- Iβm okay. How are you?β
βGood. Great.β He frowns at the table. βYou know. Same as always.β
You almost laugh. βYouβre always great?β
βI focus on the positives, sweetheart-β
βNo, you donβt.β
He rolls his eyes, glancing up to hold your light, amused gaze. His mouth twitches. His fingers tap against the glass, and you try not to let yourself sink too deep into the attention.
Itβs okay to drown a little. A long as you donβt drop the line.
βMaybe Iβm turning a new leaf,β he says, and your face splits into a full smile.
βYou?β
βYeah, me. Whyβd you say it like that-β
βBecause youβve never turned a leaf in your life-β
βAh-β He points the head of his bottle at you with a grin. βNot true. Remember when I started learning guitar?β
βYeah, you smashed it on a werewolfβs head after a month.β
βThat was a tactical choice, I wouldβve kept playing if the wolf didnβt get in the way.β
βUh huh.β You lean back in your seat, crossing your arms. βWhat songsΒ had you learned to play?β
Deanβs nose wrinkles. βHey, we donβt need to talk about that-β
βI think we do.β
βNah, I mean- I only had a month-β
βYou learned how to work a rocket launcher in a week.β
βThatβs just buttons and triggers, sweetheart. Even you could work it.β
βEven I?β You raise your browsβtrying not to let the delight shine too bright in your voiceβand Dean freezes.
βI mean- uh- Youβre not great with guns, and- I could teach you-β
βYou could teach me.β
βMaybe? If you wanted- Or-β Dean groans, slumping back. βStop givinβ me that look.β
βIβm not giving you any look,β you tease, and Dean sighs.
βWill you stop if I say Iβm an idiot?β
You soften slightly. βYouβre not an idiot, Dean-β
βYou sure?β He grumbles. βKinda feeling like one right now.β
You laugh, but itβs gentle. You can almost see him pushing down into himself. It makes you heavy for him, like youβre trying to take that invisible weight off his shoulders, even if he canβt feel you helping the pain. βYouβre a dork,β you say, bumping his knee under the table. βBut youβre not an idiot.β
Dean grunts, watching you under hooded eyes, and you smile easily.
You missed this, more than you want to tell him. Just talking, without worrying that itβs going to end in world-changing, back-breaking, beautifully heart-aching sex. He feels like your friend again, closer to your fingertips than heβd been when he was balls deep inside of you.
βWonderwall,β he grunts suddenly. βAnd Hallelujah.β
You blink. βWhat?β
βThose were the songs,β he mutters, picking at the label of his bottle. βThat I got, before I smashed the guitar.β
βOh,β you pause. βI love Hallelujah.β
βYeah. I know.β
You stare at him, and he stares right back. A faint flush is threatening your cheeks, so you duck your head to hide it, and Dean lets out a soft laugh.
βYou alright-β
βYep. I- Iβm good-β
βYou look good.β Dean laughs again, when you shoot him a glare. βDonβt gimme that face, Iβm saying something nice-β
βYouβre being a butt,β you stick out your tongue, and his eyes dance with an easy kind of light that almost makes your heart stop.
βYouβre the one who was callinβ me old earlier,β he drawls, and you roll your eyes.
βYou are old.β
βYeah, but thatβs never stopped you, has it.β
Your mouth falls open, eyes going so wide it almost hurts, and Dean grins at you. If you werenβt shocked into static, youβd slap him or- or lunge across the table and kiss him-
Hold the line.
βAged wine is supposed to be better,β you manage to say, somehow, and Dean laughs, loud and free.
βThat all I am to you? Some wine?β
βNo,β you smile at your plate. βYouβre also very good cheese.β
βGood cheese, huh.β
βMhm.β You point a stern finger at him. βNo puns.β
Dean rolls his eyes, but dips his head. βYes, maβam.β
Thereβs the flush. Youβd keep trying to hide it, if Dean didnβt start talking about something unimportant and easy, and suddenly you forgot to be embarrassed. Heβs not trying to kiss you or get you back to the car. Heβs justβ¦ Talking to you. Dropping that light, teasing praise like itβs nothing, then telling you a story about when he used a tuba to beat a poltergeist, grinning like a winner every time you laugh.
When lunch is over, he rests a hand lightly on your lower back, but doesnβt do much more. He kisses your cheek when you get back to the bunker, and asks if you want to watch a movie tomorrow night. You swallow, locking your hands together like they can force the line to stay firm. Dean says your name, almost panicked, and you blink up at him.
βJust a movie,β he says, rubbing the back of his neck. βOut in town, at- Uh- That shitty theatre next to the coffee place. Or- I can try and find a drive-in, if those still exist-β
βThey do,β you say softly, and he swallows. βThereβs one out in Beloit.β Β
βBeloit,β Dean mutters. βYeah- Yeah, okay. You wanna go there?β
You nod, and he grins. You smile back, and it feelsβ¦ Different. Shy, in a way you havenβt been around him since he first started fucking you. Almost delicate. You werenβt supposed to let this feel like something delicate.
Dean jaw works, and you can almost see the thoughts turning behind his eyes. He lurches slightly, brow furrowed, then pulls back up. Youβre seconds from asking him whatβs wrong when he just leans down andβ¦ does it.
His lips graze your cheek, his hand brushing against your waist, and you almost melt right into him.
But then he stands back up, and takes a large step away. You swallow, resisting the urge to reach up and brush your fingers over where he kissed. Itβs not like heβs never done that before, but again.
It just feels different.
βSee you tomorrow,β he murmurs, and you nod weakly.
If you had a mind that was thinking in more than bursts of glee and songs of Dean, Dean, Dean, youβd tell him that you live together, and heβs always going to see you tomorrow. But he walks away, and you let him, and it doesnβt hurt. Thereβs a space that he left, but something in you seems to think heβs going to come back. You canβt tell if itβs the fool or not.
For once, you decide not to try.
The movie is nice. Dean rests his hand on your knee, but doesnβt go any higher. You lean into his side, and his arm goes around your shoulders, but thereβs no kissing or dragging into the back seat, and you didnβt know there could be a better way to be close to him. Sex is great. Looking up and finding him already watching you is better.
He brushes some hair from your face, and you half expect him to kiss you. His eyes dart down to your lips like he wants to. Your fingers curl in his shirt, and his throat bobs.
βYou likinβ the movie?β He whispers, and you nod.
βGood find,β you breathe, and he grins.
βThanks. Eat the popcorn, it cost me a billion bucks.β
You roll your eyes, and throw some of the over-buttered, half-burnt popcorn at his face. He laughs, catches a kernel in his mouth, and grabs your chin between two fingers. Your breath catches. He just turns your face back to the screen, and pulls you a little closer into his side.
The movie ends the same way the diner did. Dean walks you to your bedroom door like itβs the porch of your house, kisses your cheek, then walks away.
Then, after the movie, you play mini golf. You win, but you know he let you. He buys you a snow cone and licks it off his nose when he eats it like a rabid dog. You wipe a little extra off his cheek, and he stares at you, but still doesnβt kiss you. Not fully. His hand seems to always rest on your lower back, now, but thatβs all the contact you get. All that you allow. Β
Hugs are on the table, too. Theyβre somehow more dangerous than the forehead kisses. After the hugs, he sometimes just stares at you and cups your cheek, and your heart moves into your throat until you think youβre going to spill it out all over his chest. Β
You manage to keep it together. For the sake of this new, slowly growing garden of what your friendship is becoming, you swallow your love with greater ease and more bile than you ever did while you were fucking. After the mini golf you get dinner and see another movie. You convince him to go on a walk with you, and he hates it less than he pretends to. You eat together in the bunker and call when heβs on a hunt with Sam and go to a car show and it all feels like breathing.
Sometimes he still looks at your mouth, and you freeze up, unsure if you want him to kiss you or not. You know you want him, but somehow youβve found even more to lose than before, and if it slips through your fingers, youβre not sure theyβre ever going to stop shaking and groping at the empty spaces again. You can take holding his hand in the bookstore while he peers over your shoulder, pretending to be interested for no real reason other than to make you smile.
βThere are so many of them,β he mutters, and you giggle.
βThereβs a lot of ways to write words, Dean.β
βYeah, but- Youβd think there would be repeats or something.β
βThere probably are,β you shrug, running your fingers over the spines. βBut theyβre still all fun.β
Dean sighs, squeezing your upper arm. βWhatever you say, sweetheart.β
You hum, leaning back to smile at him, and all his features relax.
βYou want some coffee?β He brushes some hair from your face and you nod.
βThereβs a shop next door, could you get me-β
βHey,β Dean flicks your nose, grinning roguishly. βTrust me, I know what you want.β
You nod a little stupidly, and his smile falters. He looks to your lips again, then almost shakes himself, taking a small step.
βDonβt move,β he squeezes your arm again, then backs away. You watch him go, unable to help yourself, and smile when he looks back. He does that all the time now. And he always smiles back.
You turn back to the shelf, looking at the books without actually looking. You already miss him, and he told you not to move, but that canβt count if youβre going to stand next to him in the coffee line, can it-
βHey.β
You fumble slightly, turning to find a man leaning against the shelf and smirking at you. You blink, and his smirk widens.
βWhatβs girl like you doinβ in a place like this?β
βTheβ¦ Bookstore?β You frown, and he laughs. You donβt think you said anything all that funny.
βLook, I just- I saw you from over there,β he nods vaguely, and you frown. βAnd I thought you were cute. Can I get you some coffee or something?β
βMy- My friend is already getting me coffee,β you say, and your voice sounds strangely far away.
The man nods, but doesnβt retreat. βAlright, then can I get your number? Maybe beat your friend to coffee next time?β
And you donβt want to say yes, but this is a chance. To hold onto this new friendship with Dean while also getting over him at the same time. This man isnβt ugly. Compared to Dean, no one really stands a chance anyway, and you have to get over him eventually.
So you give him your number, and try not to feel like you just did something wrong.
Dean clears his throat from behind you, and you spin around on your heels, a sour guilt twisting in your gut.
βYou- Youβre back,β you say, and he grunts.
Heβs not look at you. Heβs glaring at the man with the same, deadly glint that he gives monsters and demons before he cuts them in half. You touch his arm lightly, and he tenses. You feel sick.
βHey, buddy,β he snaps at the man, whoβnot seeming to understand the gravity of Deanβs glareβgrins back.
βHey.β He winks at you, slowly backing away. βHave fun with your friend.β
Deanβs coffee spills over the top of itβs lid. He doesnβt look away from the man when he leaves the store. He shoves your drink into your hand, not meeting your gaze.
βDean-β
βIβm gonna go wait in the car,β he mutters, and you swallow.
βOh- Okay.β
Your arm wraps around your stomach, and you press a little away from him, from the wrath seeming to wave off his body like a volcano. He glances down, jaw tight and a vein in his brow ticking. You stare at his neck, unable to hold the weight of his gaze. He lets out a sharp breath, and shakes his head.
βGet your book.β
You shake you head. βNo- It- Itβs okay-β
Dean says your name, and your mouth snaps shut. βJust- Get the damn book.β
He looks like heβs in pain, and you donβt know how to fix it, so you do as he says. You get a cheap one, that worm of guilt burrowing deeper and deeper into your gut until you canβt even drink your coffee without feeling like itβs going to come back up.
Deanβs fingers dig into your back, when he guides you out the door. He starts the engine by almost punching in the keys, and holds Babyβs wheel like heβs trying to strangle it. You can see all the anger brimming under the surface of his skin, and worried youβre just going to make it worse. You donβt even know where it came from. Itβs not like youβre together, or the guy said something rude. You open and close your mouth too many times to count, then give up, shrinking back into your seat.
Dean looks over at you. You try to look out the window, and nowhere else.
A loud, sharp breath escapes him. βSon of a- Alright.β
You look over with a frown, then squeak when he yanks the wheel off to the side.
βShit- Dean-β
βJust- Fuck-β He bows he head, glaring down at his legs, and you swallow.
You fidget with your fingers, watching him nervously, waiting for him to break the silence. It takes while. So long you think about just getting out of the car to give him space.
But then he looks up, and your heart gets cleaved open. His face is twisted in pain, his lips parted and his voice quieter than youβve ever heard.
βWhat-β He takes a deep breath, scanning over your openly confused features. βWhat else am I supposed to be doinβ?β
You blink at him, fingers curling in your lap. βWhat?β You ask softly, and his throat bobs.
βI- Iβm really trying,β he mutters, looking back to his hands. βI swear to god, baby, Iβm tryinβ my best, and- I know I ainβt amazing at this but- If you could throw a guy a rope when heβs never- Iβve never done this, alright.β He waves between your bodies, jaw clenched tight. βAnd Iβm really givinβ it my best shot, but Iβm still not allowed to kiss you, and youβre takinβ numbers right- Right in front of me- So just- Something.β He gives you a pleading, broken look, eyes shining on yours in the dark. βAnything.β
You open your mouth, but you canβt even figure out what the fuck youβre supposed to say. You know all the words heβs saying, but itβs like heβs speaking a language you never learned, spitting out a code youβre just supposed to magically understand. Deanβs jaw ticks, when you donβt answer, and you try to sputter out an answer, but heβs too loud to hear your confused whimper.
βLook, just- Whatever the hell you do need me to do, Iβll do it, I swear Iβll do it, but- You gotta tell me, sweetheart-β
βTell you what?!β You almost shout, and Dean leans back in surprise. βDean, I- I donβt know what youβre talking about.β
Dean huffs a low laugh, looking back out to the road. βYeah. Alright,β he grabs the keys, voice rough and pained. βSure. Whatever-β
βNo.β You grab his wrist before he can start to the engine. βTell me what youβre talking about.β
βIt doesnβt matter-β
βYes, it does-β
βNah.β
βDean-β
βYou wanna call that guy, call βim.β Thereβs an almost toxically bitter sound to the words, and Deanβs making a face like he just got shot. βWhatever. See if I care.β
Your nails dig into his wrist, when he tries to yank it away. He shoots you a glare, the bagsβgone, after months of easeβalready starting to form.
βCβmon, kid, just- let go-β
βWould you care?β
Your question is small, but it makes Dean recoil like it burned. He scoffs, but itβs too loud, and you hold him tighter.
βWould you care-β
βNo, I fuckinβ love watching douchebags parade around with my girl, who would care about something like that?β
Something snaps, right at the base of your spine. You sit so tall youβd think someone is dragging you by the nape of your neck, and Dean blinks in something close to surprise.
βWhat-β
βYour girl,β you whisper. βThatβs- Iβm- Why would you say that?β
Dean blinks. βWhy wouldnβt I say that?β
βBecause you and I- Weβre not- Thatβs-β You lean back, letting go of his wrist, and when you look down, youβve left little crescent marks in the skin. βNo- No- You didnβt- You said no- No strings-β
βYeah, and then you stopped fuckinβ me, and I-β Dean says your name as you press back against the window, brow furrowed in worry. βBaby, itβs- Itβs alright, Iβm not that pissed-β
βYou were yelling,β you choke out, and he swallow.
βWell, I was- Just- Cβmere.β
He reaches out, cupping your cheek with the same gentle touch he used to use, right before he kissed you. You gape at him, head spinning, panting like you just ran a marathon.
βIβm not mad,β he rasps, almost pleading, and you shake your head.
βYou were-β
βSweetheart-β
βWhy?β You whisper, grabbing his wrist, your nails sinking back into the marks. βWhy- Why would you care?β
Dean swallows. He shakes his head, looks out the window, and chuckles.
βDean-β
βI donβt want you goinβ out with him. And- Call it possessive, or stupid man shit, or- Whatever the hell you want,β he drags his thumb over your cheekbone, voice dropping to something tender, something soft. βYouβre my girl. And I want you here, telling me what to do, how to- To be what you need.β His voice cracks. βCome on, baby. Just- Tell me what to be.β
You stare at him, a lot of pieces colliding into each other at once in your head. The diner and the movie and the touching and the caution and-
βAre we dating?β You choke out, and Dean frowns.
βWhatβd you mean, are we dating?β
βI mean are we dating, Dean, are you- Are you my boyfriend?β
βUh- Boyfriend kinda makes it sound like weβre sixteen and necking-β
βWhat the fuck is necking?β
Dean groans, dropping his head. βDonβt say that, sweetheart. Makes me feel fuckinβ fifty.β
Your lips twitch. βYou are almost fifty,β you say, and he chuckles.
βYeah. Guess I am.β He looks back up to you, caution lining his features. βYou always seemed to like it.β
You swallow. You did. Youβd never been sure if it was the older thing itself, or the fact that it was just Dean, but youβd liked it. You always liked all of him, from the uglier wounds to the beautiful, glowing heart that almost managed to peak through, no matter how thick his steel and iron walls became.
He glides his thumb back and forth over your cheekbone, and your breath hitches. He swallows, closes his eyes, and mutters your name.
βDid youβ¦ Not think we were dating?β
You shake your head, and Dean snorts dryly.
βHuh,β his mouth curves into a tight smirk. βMakes sense why you wouldnβt kiss me, I guess.β
βYou guess?β You squeak, and Dean nods.
βYeah, makes a lotta sense, actually-β
βHow long have we been dating?!β You almost shriek, and he gives you an amused look.
ββBout three months.β
βThree months?!β
βThatβs what I said, baby-β
βShut- Shut up-β You plant a hand over his mouth, and he raises his brows. βWhy the fuck wouldnβt you tell me we were dating, you- You butt?!β
Deanβs eyes sparkle, looking pointedly down to your hand, and you release him with a scowl. He rubs his jaw, grinning at you like youβre some cute bunny, and you lean back in your seat with a huff.
βSweetheart,β he says gently. βI thought you knew.β
βHow would I have known-β
ββCause I asked you on a date? And you said yes?β
βThat- That never happened.β You snap, and Dean frowns.
βYes, it did. Sammy- He was there-β
βSam was there-β
βYeah, and- I said there was a new diner in town, and you said youβd go with me, and we started dating!β
You stare at him, mouth hanging open. Dean stares pointedly back, and you canβt help yourself. You bark out a loud, sharp laugh.
βThat was not asking me on a date, you fucking- Oh my god!β You shake your head, and Deanβs frown becomes almost puppy like.
βYes, it was-β
βYou have to actually say itβs a date, Dean! You canβt just- Just ask me to do something, I thought we were just hanging out! As friends.β
Heβs pouting now. If you werenβt pissed, it would be adorable. βI- Uh- I paid for everything. And got you gifts.β
βFriends do that-β
βDo friends kiss your face all the time?β Dean twists to fully glare at you, and you pause.
βUm- Maybe?β
Dean snorts. βNo, they donβt-β
βBut I thought that was just you!β You protest. βYou- Youβre always- You know-β
βI know?β He mocks, and you scowl.
βWe were fucking for a year, Dean,β you snap, tipping up your chin. βI thought you were comfortable with me.β
βI am comfortable with you,β Dean shrugs, leaning slightly forward. βReal comfortable.β
Your nose twitches. Heβs too close, now. Consuming your vision, making your vision all stupid and fuzzy. βYouβre comfortable with everyone,β you sniff, and he laughs.
βOh, sweetheart,β he drawls, running a hand slowly up your thigh. βWe both know that ainβt true.β
You make a tiny, involuntary sound when his fingers dip under your skirt, teasing sensitive, neglected skin. He hasnβt touched you there in so long. Too long. You have to hug yourself to stop your body from flying at him.
βI havenβt fucked anyone else in eighteen damn months,β Dean mutters, holding your gaze. βIβve been waiting around for you for months, wondering what the hell I was doinβ wrong, and you thought I was just being nice?!β
You swallow, your voice suddenly small. βYou are nice,β you whisper, and Dean snorts.
βNo, Iβm not.β
βYouβre nice to me-β
βBecause I-β He cuts himself off, fingers pressing into the soft skin of your thigh. You grab his hand, holding it against you, and his eyes dart down. He heaves a long breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and bows his head.
βDean?β You whisper, and he shakes his head. βDean, I- Iβm sorry I didnβt- You said we were just going to be casual-β
βI know what I said,β he grunts, glaring at your hands. βBut I- I didnβt- I thought it would help me.β
You swallow. βHelp you?β
βYeah.β
βWith what-β
βYou know what.β He finally looks at you, and youβve never seen him this vulnerable. Almost bowing before you, holding onto your hand like itβs the last thing keeping him alive. βAnd I canβt- I donβt know how to-β He takes another ragged breath, gives you another pleading look. βYou stopped letting me pretend, you started- You started telling me no, and I couldnβt- I couldnβt.β He swallows. βIβm tryinβ to do this right, baby.β He squeezes your hand, leaning a little closer. βPlease let me do this right.β
You blink at him, tears watering in your own eyes, and nod. Deanβs shoulders shudder, and he holds your hand so tight you think heβs trying to just mold you together. He glances at your lips, but doesnβt move. So you do it for him.
Dean stares at you, completely still as you lean forward, his chest so still youβre worried heβs not breathing. You rest your hand lightly on his chest and press the lightest kiss you can to his parted lips. He shakes, one hand flying to your waist, his touch still heartbreakingly delicate. You kiss him again, a little harder, and a low rumble starts in his chest.
You pull back, pressing your brows tight together. Dean stares at you, eyes glossy and blown out, the restraint ticking in his jaw, and you smile softly.
βI love you,β you breathe. βAnd I- I know you canβt- You know, say it back, but- I love you, Dean.β
His breathing his ragged, and heβs still gaping. You laugh nervously, looking down to your fingers, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.
βIf- If you could say something, though, that would be- Um- Nice-β
Dean grunts, and your words fall off into a squeak as Dean drags you forward into his lap.
And this. This is a real kiss. Deanβs mouth slots perfectly against yours, his arm wrapping fully around your lower back, his fingers digging into your hips and his other hand cradling the back of your head. He kisses you like heβll die if he doesnβt, pushing his tongue down your throat and moaning against your mouth. You pull on his shirt and he gropes at your ass, dragging you further into his lap. The pressure of his thigh against your core makes your head spin, but that might just be the lack of oxygen. Neither of you seem to be willing to come up for air, taking sharp, tiny breaths between sloppy kisses.
You whimper, already going limp, and Dean leans back with darkened, shining eyes. You know that look. You used to pray for and dread it all at once. It always made you feel like something close to prey, paralyzed and unable to flee his spell.
But this time is different. This time, thereβs nothing youβd rather do but fall into his charm.
Dean presses another, small kiss to your lips, dragging his thumb over the tingling swell. Your tongue flicks against the pad of the finger, and he groans, pushing it slowly between your lips.
You wrap around him, sucking lightly, giving him your best, sweetest Bambi eyes. Deanβs throat bobs, his fingers digging into your ass.
βWeβre goinβ home,β he mutters. βThen Iβm gonna fuck you.β
Thatβs a lovely plan. You smile around his thumb, and he says your name, pulling his thumb away with a small pop.
βJesus, you- You gotta tell me yes-β
βJust fuck me here,β you whisper, pulling on the collar of his shirt.
Dean glances to the backseat, then to you. βUh- I mean- Thatβs- If youβre sure-β
βPlease,β you push a little further forward, dropping your hand to press against the bulge in his jeans. βI need you, Dean. Now.β
And for a second, you think heβs going to demand going all the way back home. Say something about you deserving a soft bed and gentle loving, when you just want him, filthy and raw and yours. Youβre so busy giving him doe eyes, you donβt notice his hand dragging down your spine and your ass, right up until it dips under your skirt, and cups your pussy through your panties.
You gasp, and Dean smirks, slowly rubbing his hand back and forth.
βNeed me?β He drawls, pushing his thumb against your clit. βLike this, baby? This how you need me?β
βYe- yes-β Your lips brush over his, your hips starting to grind down as he drags his thumb in tiny circle, his hand still rocking back and forth. βJust- Just like that, Dean- Shit-β
You push down, kissing him with a sloppy, uncontrolled mouth. Dean grunts, splaying his free hand against your neck and pushing you down. Heβs massive and warm, the hand working your pussy offering just enough friction to work you up, but nothing more. You wrap your arms around his neck, panting against his lips and moving you hips to chase more friction.
βThat feels good, doesnβt it,β he mutters, kissing you between every word.
You coo, trying to kiss over his face, and Dean slaps your pussy once, leaning back with a stern glare.
βDoesnβt it?β
βYes,β you answer immediately, already getting heavy-eyed and dazed. βSo- So good, Dean, feels so good, just- More-β You claw at his shoulders, trying to at least get to some bare skin, and settle for pressing your mouth back over his. βMore- Need some more, De, now-β
Dean silences you with a deep, rough kiss, and taps his thumb against your clit in quick, harsh movements, pushing his palm down hard against your aching pussy. You cry out, trying to force your hips further down against him, and Dean squeezes that back of your neck.
βLook atΒ you,β he mutters, almost in awe. βFew months without some cock and you get bossy, donβt you.β
βNo- No,β you manage to protest. βYouβre just- Youβre being slow-β
βIβm being slow?β He mocks, running his fingers over the line of your panties. βBaby, Iβve barely fuckinβ started.β
You try to roll your eyes at him, but he uses his hold on your neck to turn your head, forcing your gaze back down to his. Your eyes widen, and he smirks slightly, raising his brows.
βYou gonna break out some manners for me?β He asks, slowly dragging your panties to the side. βOr am I gonna need to teach you again?β
βTe- Teach me?β You choke out, and Dean hums.
His thumb drags down from your clit, parting the lips of your pussy and smearing your arousal. Your heart is trying to hammer out of your chest, every nerve in your body seeming to respond to the mockingly sweet touch.
βDean,β you press your hands against his chest, unsure if you want to push him away or drag him closer. βDonβt- Donβt be mean-β
βIβm not beinβ mean,β he hum, the gleam in his eyes something else all together. βIβm giving my girl exactly what she wants, how she wants it.β
You blink at him hopelessly, and he chuckles, pulling you down into a long, slow kiss. It would be romantic and loving, if it wasnβt for his thumb pushing at your weeping entrance, refusing to dip even a fraction of the way inside.
βRemember how you used to beg for me?β He mutters, and your face burns with a mix of arousal and shame. βI sure as shit do. Spent hours thinkinβ about it lately, planning how I was gonna take you when you let me again. But,β he switches out his thumb for the very tips of his fingers, yanking slightly on your hair when you try to look down. βJesus, baby, Iβm worried Iβm gonna break you.β
You shake your head frantically, and Dean raises his brows.
βWords, pretty girl,β he reminds you, pushing his fingers just a little big deeper. βI know itβs hard, but youβve got it, talk to me-β
βI can take it,β you breathe out, watching him under fluttering lashes. βI- I can take it. I promise.β
Dean works his jaw, his grip on your hair tightening. βSweetheart-β
βPlease,β you breathe, leaning down until your noses bump. βI need it. I need you.β
Those are the magic words. Dean stops trying to play noble, stops trying to hold back for the sake of romance. You loved him when he fucked you like a whore and gave you nothing soft, and youβre going to love him even more when he treats you like a toy, then kisses you everywhere after.
Dean smashes his lips against yours and eases his fingers into your waiting pussy, groaning under his breath when you clench down around him.
βSo fuckinβ tight,β he mutters, scissoring them inside you. βNever gonna get over how fuckinβ tight you are, sweetheart, like you were made for me. Made to be mine.β
He almost snarls the last words against your lips, pushing himself fully up to the knuckle. You mewl as he finds your g-spot with that precision that makes it look easy, thatβs always made you sure you couldnβt ever enjoy someone else if you tried.
Dean pumps his fingers slowly, crooking them so they drag against that spot, and pulls you back to watch your face contort with pleasure.
βThatβs it,β he grunts, pulling almost all the way out before slamming them right back in and twisting to bully against that sensitive spot. βThatβs just how you like it, huh? Already gettinβ like this from just my fingers,β he chuckles, grinding his hips up against your thighs. βImagine how youβre gonna be on my cock, sweet girl, if you can barely fuckinβ take this?β
βThat- Thatβs not fair-β You choke out, every word breathy and weak, and Dean just smirks.
βIsnβt it?β
You try to protest, but Dean pushes your head back down, and his kiss knocks almost every thought from your head. Itβs all just the familiar, perfect way his mouth moves against yours, rememorizing something that never stopped being his. The wet sound of his fingers working you open fills the car, and your whole body burns with desire and shame. Heβs right. Youβre already soaked and ready for him, your cunt clenching down and still begging for more. You need that full, impossible split of him. After months of nothing, youβre worried his cock is the only thing thatβs going to be able to do it.
But Dean seems to like proving you wrong today. A coil, tight in your stomach, starts to wind tighter and tighter. He drops his grip on your hair for a second to push down on the base of your spine, forcing your cunt almost right over his bulge. He reangles his hand, forcing in another finger, and you make a strangled sound.
βDe- Dean-β
βWeβre gonna get you relaxed, baby,β he mutters, twisting his wrist so the drag against your g-spot almost rips through your body. βNice and relaxed βf me, you can do it.β
You let out a shaky breath, trying to listen, and your clit pushes down against Deanβs cock, still tight in his jeans. The pressure is perfect, combined with the brutal thrusts of Deanβs hand, and you press your cheek to his.
βThat- Thatβs good,β you pant, clinging to the hem of his shirt. βSo- Soo good-β
You whimper, and Dean hums. Heβs rubbing your back, and thatβs somehow almost as good as the hand obliterating your cunt. βThere she is,β he mutters. βAlways so good at listening when I got my hands on you, arenβt you sweetheart.β He kisses the side of your head. βThatβs my girl.β
Thatβs what does it. My girl.
The coil snaps, and your orgasm rips through you, making your eyes cross and your body curl limply into Deanβs arms. His hand coaxes you through it, his palm rubbing against your pussy as you mewl and clench around nothing, the light pressure helping you ride it like a long, easy wave.
Dean kisses your cheek when itβs done, then right under your eye, then your nose.
βThatβs one,β he mutters, and you whine. He chuckles, hiking your skirt up with light touches. βCome on, you know the rule.β
βStupid rule,β you grumble. βNever agreed to it.β
βNever heard you complaining before,β he points out, peeling your dress off, and you stick out your tongue.
βThatβs because I always forget- Dean!β
He smacks your ass, and you squeak, pussy clenching around nothing. Heβs forming a tent in his jeans as he looks up at you, and you narrow your eyes. You fingers brush against the head of him, and his groan falters, his head tipping back against the bench.
You smile, pushing your hand down against his cock, and he catches your wrist, shooting you a stern glare.
βNot at young as I used to be,β he warns, and you giggle.
βBut I want to,β you try to pull your hand free, and roll you eyes when he wonβt let you. βOh- Come on-β
βNope,β he grunts, even as his dick jumps against the fabric. βYou know the rule-β
βDean-β
βThree to one,β he mutters, a dare gleaming in his eyes. βYou give me one, I give you six. Thatβs the fuckinβ deal.β
You laugh, but his mouth doesnβt even twitch, and slowly, your smile falls into something more serious. More determined.
Damn this stubborn beautiful man and his orgasm rules. Damn you, for thinking he ever wouldnβt want to fuck you when he made you orgasm rules that werenβt proportional or fair at all.
You yank your wrist away, stick out your tongue again, and pull your underwear fully off. Dean watches you with his hands tight on your waist, eyes shining with curiosity, but patient.
And youβve never been good at riding him, but youβve always been good at this. You climb over Deanβs lap so your ass is near his shoulder and your face in his crotch, your back arched like some animal in heat, your pussy bare and on full display.
Deanβs never been able to help himself. One hand immediately slides around the arch of your back, then the curve of your ass, then settles back against your pussy. The other slides in your hair, petting your hair while you fumble with his belt. He chokes out your name, and you shoot him a glare, pulling out his cock with light, careful hands.
Heβs so hard youβre worried heβs going to hurt himself. Pre-cum is beading around his tip, his veins throbbing like a porno. You stroke him slowly, and he lets out a sharp breath between his teeth.
βIβm serious, baby-β
βProve it,β you say, before licking a slow, teasing stripe up his shaft.
And you know how this game ends. Youβve played it a million times before. The beautiful thing about it is thatβespecially when Dean thinks heβs winningβyou can never lose.
You take him into his mouth, and the sound that he makes is sinful. Itβs a choked, rough version of your name that sounds holy from his mouth, and comes with his fingers dipping into your heat like itβs a comfort toy. You take him until he bumps against the back of your throat and hum, swirling your tongue. Dean grunts, and pushes your head a little further down. You wiggle your ass, pussy cold and throbbing, and Dean groans.
βJesus, woman- Gonna kill me- Fuuuuck-β
You start to bob up and down, sucking with that perfect pressure you know he likes, getting what canβt fit in your mouth in your hand. You can take him better and better with every second, letting his push against your gag reflex, and you drop that hand to play with his balls. Deanβs already giving shallow uncontrolled microthrusts, repeating your name over and over until itβs more of a choked moan.
βCanβt- Shit, baby, I canβt- That damn mouth, youβre gonna- Shit-β
You squeeze his balls and suck as hard as you can, and Dean almost roars your name, his cock jumping as he shoots thick, white ropes of cum down your throat. You swallow every drop, licking the rest off your fingers as you rise back up. Thereβs going to be a handprint on your ass, from where he was holding onto you. You hope you feel it in the morning.
And when you smile at Dean, you know youβre in trouble. Naked and wet for him, crawling forward so your tits press into his face and kissing him as sweetly as possible. Dean grunts, one hand shooting up to cradle the back of your head, and his responding kiss is deceptively gentle. He lets you lead it, groaning when your tongues press together, tasting himself on your lips. He lets you pull his shirt over his head and lets you trace over the lines of his muscles. You smile against his lips and lean back, and thereβs that predatory glint again.
Deanβs hand twitches on your back. He wipes your chin, gathering some stray cum and slowly pressing his against your lips. You clean it off obediently, and his jaw ticks.
βBack seat,β he grunts. βNow.β
You almost scramble to listen. Rolling off of him and trying to climb over, making it halfway before you feel massive hands wrapping around your waist, holding you in place. You swallow, trying to twist over your shoulder to look at him, but Dean blows a sharp breath over your clit, and you double over with a squeak.
βDe- Dean-β You plant your hand on the bench, blood rushing to your cheeks. βDean- wait-β
βHmmm.β He kisses one curve of your ass, then the other. βWait for what?β
Youβre not really sure. βThis- I- I canβt hold myself up,β you fumble, and he chuckles, kissing right over your clit.
βThat gonna be a problem?β He teases, pressing smaller, faster kisses over the sensitive button. βOr,β he spreads your ass cheeks, humming against your heat. βDo dirty girls get what they asked for?β
Shit. βItβs uncomfortable,β you whisper, and Dean pauses.
He sighs, then kisses your clit again. You squeak when he drags you back down, and melt into his chest as he kisses all over your face, rocking you back and forth in his arms.
ββS why I wanted the bed,β he mutters, and you sigh.
ββM sorry-β
βNo,β he kisses the corner of your mouth, massaging your hips with steady hands. βIβve got it, just- uh-β
He glances up, and you watch him frown around the car with an openly adoring expression. The work of his jaw and furrow of his brow as he thinks, how he holds you so tight in his arms, itβs impossible to not love him.
βGot it,β he mutters. βTrust me?β
You nod easily, and he glances back down. His eyes soften when they meet yours, and this kiss isnβt feral or brutal. Itβs justβ¦ slow. Adoring, a silent promise of what youβve sort of always known.
Dean is going to take care of you.
He lays you out in the backseat, rubbing your thighs as you settle into the cushioned bench. You watch him with your heart in your throat, arms wrapped tight around your stomach. Sometimes, under his attention, youβre not sure what to do with yourself. Heβs too pretty, too big, too much in the best possible way.
βGettingβ shy on me?β He teases, pushing up your knee, and you flush.
βN- No.β
βHm,β Dean pins your leg against the bench, guiding the other one so it hooks over his shoulders. βSounds like youβre gettinβ shy.β
You swallow, hugging yourself tighter, and he chuckles.
βAll that work to make you relax,β he mutters, kissing his way up your thigh. βAnd youβre already wound back up.β
βYou took too long,β you whisper, and Dean laughs.
βSorry, sweetheart.β He kisses just the side of your cunt, and your breath hitches as he sucks a small, firm bruise into the skin. βYou know Iβm gonna make it up to you, yeah?β
You nod weakly, then blurt, βYes!β
Deanβs mouth twitches, and he grabs one of your wrists, guiding it down to his hair. You weave it between your fingers, your breathing already ragged, your whole body lit up with anticipation.
βEasy,β Dean murmurs, kissing the other side of your cunt, massaging your thigh and pushing your leg a little higher. βNice and easy, pretty girl.β He kisses you pussy, open-mouthed and wet, and you let out a high, shameless sound.
His mouth should be classified as a sex toy or something. It moves and works against you like a machine, kissing you with so much fervor you already start to see stars. You had some recovery from the fingering, but Deanβs already stripping it away with sharp, unrelenting kisses and grazes of his teeth against your clit.
βTaste so fuckinβ good,β he groans against you, the word vibrating through your body. βNever wanna live without this pussy again, baby girl, shit-β
He groans and dives back down, starting to work you open like a man starved. You push on his head, silently begging for more, afraid to open your mouth. The sounds that leave you will be embarrassing, and youβre already too far gone for them.
But Dean likes you loud, and he wonβt let you hold back. He hooks his arm fully around your leg, dragging you further down, giving him a better against your pussy. You mewl when he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking impossibly hard, and Dean laughs against your cunt.
βFuck- Fuck-β You grab at the front bench, yanking mindlessly on his short hair. βDe- Dean- Oh my god-β
He groans, pushing his face impossibly further. His tongue is deliberate and thick, pumping in and out of your cunt before pressing flat on your clit and dragging back and forth. Itβs enough to drive you mad, making the coil in your stomach burn and burn and burn until your whole body is shaking with the sensation.
βDe- Dean-β You whimper. βYou- Fuck-β
He nips at your clit, dragging a long, slow stripe up your pussy. Your eyes lock, and you swallow, a broken moan falling from your lips. The first time he did this, he told you that he loved it. That there was nothing better than a woman, right on his face, dripping and sweet for him. It didnβt take you long to believe him.
Here, he looks at you like youβre some kind of heaven heβs been allowed to touch. His mouth never stops moving against you, his eyes lidded and almost drunk, and your arousal shining on his face whenever he reangles it to devour you a new way. Itβs a sight that could knock you off your feet, if you had any left to stand on. Dean on his knees, his broad, freckled shoulders forcing your knees apart, his attention a drug you never want to bother being clean from again.
You start to shake, your stomach seizing up as you fight off your orgasm, but Dean doesnβt tolerate that either. His mouth goes back against your clit, his tongue darting up and down and back and forth in tiny motions, almost tickling it, making the little nerves light up and-
You cum with a loud, choked sound thatβs really supposed to be Deanβs name, and push at his head. You expect him to stop, and finally get on top of you.
But you forgot about his stupid orgasm rule, and he doesnβt stop. His grip tightens and he starts to make out with your overstimulated pussy. You squeak, pushing weakly at his head, and his eyes gleam.
βDe- Dean- Fuuuuck- Thatβs-β Your eyes roll back, your body seizing up again, almost unable to take so much. βOh- Oh my gooood-β
Dean groans against you again, and itβs worse than a vibrator. Itβs warm and deep and Dean, mixed with his filthy mouth and stubble, scraping against soft skin.Your thighs lock around his head and he lets them, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly pulls you fully onto your back, pushing himself up onto his knees. His cock bounces against his stomach but he ignores it, using his now free hand to grope at your breast. You moan, clenching around nothing as he laps at your clit and pussy.
βI- I canβt-β Tears spring at your eyes. βDean- Please-β
He hums, rolling your nipple between deft fingers, and you throw your head back with a broken moan.
Warm, thick fingers weave through yours, andΒ you blink at him under watery lashes. Heβs let go of your breast to hold your hand. His thumb is dragging slowly back and forth, and his mouth isnβt slowing down, but you donβt want it to. You can see the challenge shining in his eyes. You take a ragged breath, give him the smallest nod, and he smiles against your pussy.
You didnβt know the human tongue could move that fast. Youβre sure itβs not supposed to, but Deanβs never cared about things like that. He drinks you up like wine, rapidly toying with your clitβswirling and kissing and flicking and sucking like itβs candyβand your eyes roll back in your head as your third orgasm springs through your body like a geyser.
Dean lowers you down slowly, pressing one last kiss to your swollen kiss before rising back up, wiping his chin of your release and cleaning it off his fingers with a smug grin. His cock is at attention, and your mouth waters. He always gets it in. Youβre a little afraid of it right now.
βSix?β You breathe out, and Dean snorts.
βYouβre the one who pushed for it, princess.β
βIt- Itβs your stupid rule-β
βYou love it,β he shrugs, slowly settling himself back between your legs. βAnd youβre gonna take it, arenβt you, baby.β
You wrinkle your nose, and Dean gives you a stern, amused look.
βArenβt you?β He taps the head of his cock against your cunt, and you squeak.
βDean-β
βYouβre the one who got bratty and cocky, sweetheart,β he drawls, pushing your leg back down. βSo youβre gonna take it, βcause I know you can.β
You swallow, giving him your best doe-eyes, and he just chuckles. Dean lowers himself down, presses a gentle kiss to your brow, and murmurs against your skin.
βThat ainβt gettinβ you out of this.β
You press your face into the crook of his neck, and Dean smiles, kissing the side of your head.
βAll shy again,β he mutters, dragging that massive cock between the lips of your pussy. βLetβs take care of that, huh?β
You cling to him as he rolls you both over, guiding your legs to straddle his torso and lining up his cock with your weeping, abused pussy. He pulls you gently up, rubbing your side and watching you a painfully adoring gaze. You try to cover yourself again, and he catches your hand, shaking his head.
βCome on,β he mutters, weaving your fingers together. βLet me see you.β
And damn him for being so soft and sweet, you donβt think you could tell him no if you wanted.
βTake it easy,β he says, wrapping both of his hands around your waist. βAll you, baby. Show me what you want.β
βI- I canβt-β
βYes, you can.β
You believe him, in a way youβd never believe anyone else. It might be how he looks at you. Like youβre an angel over him, like youβre really, truly letting him enter paradise as you sink down onto his cock.
He grunts, his fingers tightening against your body as his cock slowly splits you open. Even with how much heβs worked you openβyour pussy so wet itβs already dripping onto his thighsβitβs a tight fit. You can feel every vein dragging inside of you, the hard curve pressing right into your g-spot and making you flutter around him.
Dean jerks his head up, squeezing his eyes shut, and you swallow.
βSorry-β
ββS- βS alright,β he exhales sharply, relaxing back into the seat. βDonβt worry βbout me, baby. Iβm good.β
A smile ghosts over your lips, even as you start to only breathe through your nose. βYou look it,β you tease, and Dean gives you a half annoyed, half impressed look.
βYouβre tight,β he grunts, and your smile widens.
βYouβre big.β
He groans, throwing his head further back, and you giggle again. Heβs sitting just right again, his chest rippling under your hands, and you feel like that angel. You feel like a goddess, with how his hands are dragging over your body, how your name falls from his lips.
βSo fuckinβ perfect,β he mutters, eyes raking over your body. βSo perfect.β
You take a deep breath, and start to grind down onto his cock. Dean groans, one hand dragging down to squeeze your ass, but he doesnβt move. He wonβt unless you beg him, and youβre determined not to. You can ride him until your thighs give out. His cock bumps against your g-spot, and his abdomen drags near your clit, and it feels good. You rock back and forth a little faster, your breath catching, and Dean groans.
βLook at you,β he mutters, almost to himself. βPretty fuckinβ girl, riding my cock like the needy little thing you are, arenβt you. So fuckinβ wet for me, baby, so- so tight-β
He groans, and you push down on his chest, picking up your pace.
βSo big, Dean,β you moan, pushing up your chest like a pornstar, trying to make him break first. βYouβre so big, feels so- so good-β
You moan, tossing your hair, and Dean makes an almost feral sound.
But he doesnβt break. The bastard never breaks, and youβve never been good at riding him. Your thighs are already sore, and they quickly start to ache, making your movements smaller and weaker. Dean watches you start to whine, your brow furrowing in concentration, and just smiles. You both know what heβs waiting for. You donβt want to give in.
βSo quiet, sweetheart,β he coos, running his hand up to palm at your breast. βSomeone drove by, theyβd think I wasnβt fuckinβ you properly.β
You glare at him, unable to even speak, and he chuckles.
βYou know what you gotta do, baby girl.β
βFu- Fuck you-β
βI will,β he winks. βIf my girl says please.β
Your eyes narrow. His grin widens, and you think you might be about to fly apart with how bad you need it. Fuck him. Fuck him and his stupid face that you love and his big cock that makes you all jelly and dazed thoughts and useless.
βPlease-β
The word barely leaves your mouth before Dean moves. A single, well-aimed thrust up into your cunt that makes you fall apart. You fall forward onto his chest with a scream, and Dean groans, giving shallower, gentle thrusts to work you through the orgasm.
βI know,β he murmurs in you ear, his words painfully soft in comparison to the pleasure wracking your body. βI know, princess. Two more to go.β
You donβt think you can take two more. Four has been your max for a very long time, and that was with a lot more prep time and space between orgasms. But Dean doesnβt seem like heβs going to give you much of a choice.
Youβre a doll in his arms again, when he hauls you up into his lap. His cock leaves you for a single second, just for the adjustment, and you whimper at the loss.
Dean hums, kissing all over your face as he slides back in.
βThatβs my girl,β he starts to rock your hips back and forth with steady hands, picking you up then dropping your back down so his dick drags through every inch of your heat. βTakinβ me so good. Just like that, feel that, baby-β He pushes on your lower back, making his cock slam against your g-spot, and you sob against his neck. βFeel how fuckinβ good we fit together, my girl.β
Deanβs voice is lined with something darker now. More possessive and hungry. He fucks up into your like an animal, dips drilling forward and mouth attached to your neck. All you can do is take it, over and over until your eyes are crossing and the only words you can remember are babbles of Dean and please.
The neck orgasm is slow, blooming from where heβs slamming against your cervix and spreading pleasantly through your body. Dean moans against your skin, mouthing at your jaw and neck, his tongue dragging and kisses messy. When you try to kiss him back, itβs mostly with a mewl and lips that follow his lead. Everything is humid and light in your body, everything is Dean around you, and thereβs a new, strangely hot sensation in your core thatβs demanding all of your attention.
Itβs tighter than the usual coil, and gets hotter and hotter with every thrust of Deanβs cock. Heβs getting uneven now, his own words falling into pants and moans, his balls slapping against your ass and hands leaving prints as he folds you fully over his chest.
βOne- One more-β His voice is gravelly, almost as wrecked as you feel. βMilk my fuckinβ cock, baby girl, cum for me-β
You open your mouth to warn him about the strange feeling, but itβs too late. Dean slams home, crashing his mouth against yours, and you cum with a hoarse scream. Hot cum shoots into your cunt, right as something gushes out of you in wet, burning waves. It feels good, so good you canβt think, so good your mouth hangs open and your moans turn into pathetic, weak babbles.
βFuck- Fuck-β Dean groans against your mouth. βFuckinβ- Yes-β
Your body seizes and twitches around him, but even when heβs done, Dean doesnβt pull out. The last of your release pushes itself out and her collapses backward, rubbing your back and craning his neck to grin at your cockdrunk expression.
βGettinβ stupid?β He teases, and you canβt manage to raise an arm, so you just bite his nose. He laughs, leaning up to steal another, quick kiss from your lips before settling back down.
You curl over him, resting your head against his shoulder while he pets your head, both of you still panting and coming back down. You might be there for a hundred years, or just an hour. It doesnβt matter. The car is going to reek of sex for maybe a year. Sam might never agree to ride in it again. But it was worth it. More than worth it, when you look up at Dean, and find himβjust as alwaysβalready looking back.
βWeβre still dating, right?β You whisper, because you have to be sure.
Dean grins, and kisses you slowly. You hum, letting your eyes flutter shut. Letting him carry you, whenever he thinks is safe to go.
βYeah,β he mutters, and you can hear it in his voice. All the love heβs been trying to show you, for who knows how long. βWe are."
β¦End note: if i write enough of these it's gonna happen to me guys trust β¦
β¦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3β¦
β¦Buy me a coffee!βοΈ (and get early access!)β¦
hi im so sorry for my recent inactivity on tumblr! been very unmotivated to do anything, but i will try mt best to be active on here more! pupchesterssss
I seem to be inspired today (and this is all I'm gonna talk about today). At this rate I'm bullying your ask box, but you love me so it's ok.
So this ^ Castiel, says he'll watch over you. Sam and Dean stare at each other and they both react the same way. "No way in hell" they seem almost irritated so they decide to leave and go out for a drink. But you- You just smile at the angel. "You promise?" You ask him innocently. He nods. Typical Cas, you think. So you lay in bed, and he's sitting on the edge of the bed there awkwardly. That's when you pull on his trench coat, then his arm, you want him laying down next to you. So you make yourself comfy on top of the softest angel in the garrison. "Thank you for watching over me, Castiel"
It is very okay
He's so awkward at first, but it gets better. He softens and lets hi arm rest over your waist, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin as he's seen on tv, and he finds it comforting, a new way of watching over you, where he can hold you if he feels you drift. He can pull you tighter against him when he's scared you'll slip away.
And, when Sam wakes up early and sees you two snuggling, it's weird, but almost cute. Dean does not have a similar reaction when he gets up to see you having coffee while you're wrapped up in the Angel's coat.
dean winchester + reader who never feels like they're enough for him. </3
"oh, sweetheart, why d'you think that?" he asks you one night when he finally gets you to confess. you've been upset about something, he can tell; the way you shut down at the bar tonight when someone, a girl, asked for his number. and the way you went all quiet in the impala after someone gave you a strange look when he had his arm around you earlier. he hates it when you get like this. but it's never your fault. never. you're practically a saint compared to him, and it just makes him feel all wretched and cursed when you're like this. some days, it feels like he's the one who is corrupting you. "you're always gonna be enough f'me. fuck, you're more than enough. there's nobody else who can compare to you."
