#Latino Dean Winchester

[im-some-lionheart]

I am once again asking latinenatural truthers to think about the implications of Lago en el Cielo by Gustavo Cerati being the first song Dean's top 13 rock en español

[ryujin-25]

Y en español para más placer uwu ✨️

[supernaturalkickparty]

So since it's hispanic heritage month I thought I'd post my latinonatural fics.

Esta Es Mi Vida

Tu Eres Parte De Mi

[prontaentrega]

one timw i went down the rabbithole of a mutuals supernatural sideblog and i found a playlist titled like things dean winchester would listen to if he was latino and canción para mi muerte was there and uhm. he would not fucking say that

[zepskies]

Show Me - Part 2

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Plus-sized Latina!Reader || Sam Winchester x Eileen Leahy (background)

Summary: Dean meets your infamous ex-boyfriend at a fallen hunter’s funeral. You just forgot to mention that he’s a hunter as well. Maybe because he still has the power to get under your skin…in the worst of ways.

AN: I know I said I'd release this on Wednesday, but I thought I'd get this out a bit early. Here’s Part 2! **Read Part 1 here.

Word Count: 5,300

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, angst, body insecurity, hurt/comfort, body appreciation.

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

Part 2: “A Thorough Reminder”

It’s a few hours’ drive back to Lebanon.

Dean stops at one of your favorite restaurant chains for takeout, though he notices how you only eat about half of what you ordered. Even he managed to eat all of his bacon cheeseburger, and that was after an entire afternoon of snacking and day drinking.

“Thought you were hungry,” he says.

You shrug as you package up the rest of your dinner and lean back in the passenger seat.

“I don’t know. Guess I don’t have much of an appetite today.”

You’re normally a stress eater, by trade. But today, a familiar anxiety has crept in, taking root in your chest, and creating a mental block between your throat, your brain, and your stomach.

Despite what some people might like to believe, Dean does notice the small things, when it matters.

He glances at you, catches the way you rub at your tired face and release a small sigh.

“You okay?” he can’t help but ask.

You nod absently. “I’m fine, Dean.”

His lips press together. That doesn’t sound like fine. It sounds a lot like Winchester fine.

“I didn’t know he was a hunter,” he remarks.

You both know who he’s referring to. You look over at him, resigned, and a little annoyed.

Dean’s palms lift halfway off the steering wheel as he shrugs.

“You made it seem like he was a normal Joe,” he says. “Some dude you met in Miami.”

“We did meet in Miami,” you confirm. Part of you falters with another sigh. You don’t want to talk about this, but you suppose you might as well get it over with. Dean deserves an explanation.

“Okay, here it is,” you begin. “Carter came into town on a job. I caught wind of it not long after he did, and when we eventually ran into each other, we agreed to work the case…”

And you and Carter were good together, at least on the hunt. There had been a certain rugged charm and confidence to him that had drawn you in (apparently, you had a type). When he’d asked to stay with you for a few days, you hadn’t been able to say no.

“I thought it was because…he wanted to see more of me,” you explain. Your expression turns dry. “Maybe that was part of it, but mainly, he was broke. He literally couldn’t leave. Not until he scored some cash.”

Dean doesn’t want to think about how that guy charmed you, luring you in with what he thought you might want to hear. Though he processes all this with a nod. You’ve filled in most of the gaps, and he thinks he knows where this part of the story leads to: the one thing you did tell him about your ex.

“So you helped him get a job,” Dean supplies. His wry gaze meets yours. “At the local strip joint.”

“As a bouncer,” you specify. “He wasn’t qualified for much else. As it was, he needed me to talk to the manager for him. It was a Miami club run by Latinos. They weren’t going to hire a random white guy off the street who didn’t even speak Spanish.”

“Not until you finessed them,” Dean smirks.

You flash him a small smile. “I’m good with people.” 

You hadn’t realized it at the time, under the haze of a hunters’ romance, but everything with Carter had been at his convenience, and whatever he needed from you. A hunting partner. A bit of money (a loan, he’d claimed). Some good food and a place to stay, free of charge. Not to mention a warm bed.

The giver in you had been all too ready to oblige.

“And when he got enough money to hit the road, he asked me to go with him,” you continue. “My grandma was still alive at the time. I had never left the city for more than a few days before, in case she needed me, but she told me to go. To live my life…so I did.”

You turn to Dean then. You suck in a breath as your eyes begin to sting.

“It’s my biggest regret,” you say. “She was gone by the end of the year.”

Dean sobers. His eyes soften, and he reaches across your thigh for your hand. You lace your fingers with his.

“I told you, she basically raised me,” you say. You brush away a tear from your cheek, sniffling. “…I should’ve been there.”

Dean raises your hand to his lips. “That’s not on you.”

You shake your head instead of answering. You’d been on a hunt with Carter when you got the call from your grandma’s neighbor. For almost a year, you’d lost what you hadn’t realized was precious time.

Meanwhile, you’d become what you’d thought was a partner, both on the Job and in life. Turns out, you’d been more like a sidekick, allowing Carter to tell you where, when, and how. It took your grandmother’s death to snap you out of the trance. 

So you went home, picked up the pieces of your life…and you started again, somehow.

“A few months later,” you say, squeezing Dean’s hand. “I met you in a dirty bar in Las Cruces.”

He shoots you a more amused look.

“You mean you tried to hustle me,” he says.

Your lips curve into a grin. “Oh, please. You knew what you were getting into.”

Dean chuckles at that, tossing his head back against his headrest.

“Well, not exactly,” he says. Your hand is still tucked in his, and his thumb draws back and forth across your fingers.

He hadn’t known you were a hunter at first. He’d noticed your curves in those tight jeans and fitted top, your red lips, the shade of your hair, the perceptive gleam in your eyes—he’d liked it all.

Still, after he watched you hustle a guy out of all his money that night, just to give him $30 back so he could afford to get home…he’d known then that there was something special about you.

Then you’d slid into the seat next to him at the bar. Your English had been as smooth as your Spanish, and he’d been all too willing to get hooked into a game of pool with you.

He hadn’t known then that he was staring into the face of his future. 

“I knew I wanted you in my bed that night,” Dean says. His easy smile is flirtatious, but his eyes are honest, finding yours. “I just didn’t count on you being even more badass than I took you for.”

Your cheeks warm as you fight a deeper smile, shaking your head.

You lean over as far as you can with your seatbelt on and press a kiss to his cheek. You linger there, with your hand reaching out to caress his face. You don’t want his eyes to leave the road, but you want him to know what he means to you right now. 

After you pull away, he gives you one of those grins, and his eyes are dancing. It makes him both a giant dork, and incredibly charming all at once.

Not for the first time, you’re grateful to know this man—let alone be with him.

And yet, Dean knows.

Something’s not quite right with you.

He feels it in his gut when you two get back to the bunker that night. You shower quickly and alone, and you took a change of clothes into the bathroom with you, like he’s never seen you naked before.

By the time Dean finishes his own shower and gets dressed, you’re getting ready for bed as you putter about the room. He eyes your long pants and sweatshirt.

“You cold?” he asks, while digging in his dresser for a clean pair of sweatpants.

You spare him a glance, but you don’t fully turn to him while you go through your skincare routine with your hair clipped up.

“No, I’m good,” you reply.

“So why the long johns,” he quips, gesturing at your pants. He can’t remember the last time you wore anything but a shirt and underwear to bed (or less). He catches the look on your face in the dresser mirror: a slight pause, a press of your lips, but your face is otherwise guarded.

“I guess I am a little cold,” you say. You head to the bathroom again to finish the rest of your nightly routine, but you don’t see the way Dean’s frown follows you.

He later waits for you in bed. He pauses in his iPad scrolling when you slip in beside him under the covers. You've let your hair back down, nice and wild the way he likes it.

You heave a sigh. “Good night.”

“Hold up,” Dean says. With a hand on your shoulder, he stops you from facing away from him. He leans in and caresses your cheek with his thumb. You give him a small smile.

And he gives you a slow, purposeful kiss. He pulls away, just enough to see your eyes, beautiful and warm. He leans in again and angles into a new kiss, one that deepens with a spark of heat. He props himself up with a forearm above your head, digging into your pillows.

His thigh slots between your legs. For a reason you don’t want to name, you fight the instinct to press your center against him. His hand on your cheek slides down your neck, down the front of your close-necked shirt, between your breasts. He finds purchase on your hip and squeezes soft, tender flesh.

That’s when you stop him with a gentle push on his chest.

You slowly break from his kiss and lick your lips. Your eyes are apologetic.

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m just…I’m tired,” you say.

Dean nods and lets out a sigh through his nose. He shifts more fully onto his side, lifting his weight off of you, and brushes your hair back from your face.

“You sure you don’t have anything you wanna talk about?” he asks.

You raise a brow at him. “Like what?”

“Like how you’re letting that asshole get back into your head,” Dean replies.

His gaze feels heavy on you, and you pause, staring back at him in soft shock.

“I’m not—”

“Look, I know you. And whatever this is, it’s more than what we talked about in the car,” he says, with a firm, yet gentle gaze. “If there’s something else you need to get out, you can tell me.”

Dean has worked hard to help you through the mental roadblocks you’ve had in the past—about you being comfortable with yourself, and with him. He’s not going to let some dipshit like Carter undo all of that, unraveling you with a single thread.

But your mouth works as you start to get annoyed, and even a bit angry at his accusation.

“Just because I don’t want to have sex, doesn’t mean I’ve got a problem, okay Dean? I just want to sleep,” you say tersely.

Dean’s jaw clenches at your tone. His head quirks, and he nods.

“Fine,” he says. “We’ll sleep.”

He turns around and shut off his beside lamp, casting the room in darkness. You huff and turn onto your side, away from him.

You cover yourself with the blankets up to your shoulders, but the longer you lay there in silence, the more that guilt prickles in your chest, along with the tightness of anxiety that welled up when he started to touch you.

Fuck, what’s wrong with me? you think, trying to work through the emotion clogging in your throat. You haven’t felt like this in years…

Slowly you turn back towards Dean. By now your eyes have adjusted enough to see the outline of his broad back in his gray shirt. You steel yourself with another shaky breath, and you scoot forward across the bed. Your curled hands rest against the middle of his back, where you also press your forehead. You feel his body tense up a little.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper in the dark.

After a beat, you hear him sigh. Dean reaches out to turn the lamp back on, filling the room once again with soft light. He turns and finds you haven’t moved, though you stare up at him with shining eyes.

His own soften. He takes one of your hands and presses the back of it to his lips.

“Talk to me,” he says, and he waits for you to gain your courage.

After another couple of steadying breaths, you begin.

“There’s too many things I didn’t realize at the time,” you say. “He didn’t force me to go with him, to stay with him. Even when I felt like shit inside, I thought he was right about me. About how I looked, and…and what I was good for, I guess. I thought he needed me, and that made everything else okay.”

You sniffle, and a tear rolls down your cheek. Dean’s hold on you tightens a fraction. He’s listening intently, but in his silence, there’s anger. He wishes he really had broken that guy’s hand. Or at least his goddamn mouth.

“I mean, what the hell was I thinking?” you ask, laughing a bit through your tears. “I always thought I was stronger than that, you know? I just realize now that…I must not have liked myself very much.”

Dean lets go of your hand, just to dry your face. He’s no stranger to looking in the mirror and not liking the man staring back at him, but he doesn’t think that’s your problem. 

He caresses your cheek, shakes his head, and he offers a rueful smile.

“Nah. You just have a habit of fallin’ for poor sons of bitches who don’t deserve you,” he says.

You read between his self-deprecating lines there, raising your brows at him.

“Hey. That might be true, but you better not be lumping my boyfriend in with the rest of them,” you say firmly. Your arms slip around his waist, and you press yourself in close.

Dean chuckles and welcomes you into his arms as well. His hand tangles in your hair, and his lips find your neck with a deep inhale.

He knows what kinds of thoughts are likely plaguing your mind, just like he knows that whatever he says will only go so far. He presses a kiss to your neck that grazes with teeth. You let out a little hum of surprise. He smiles and begins to move down, letting his lips brush across your skin.

“I’ll just speak for myself then,” he says. His hand trails lower and brushes the side of your breast. “If you need me to remind you how beautiful you are, how goddamn sexy…then I got no problem showing you.”

His hand moves down the soft slopes of your body and comes to rest at the curve of your waist. Hearing your faltering breath, Dean pulls back so he can see your face.  

“Let me take care of you for a change,” he says. His lips pull at a grin, and it makes you smile in turn.

You take his face in your hands and bring him down to you for a kiss, languid and a bit devouring. It makes heat lick up Dean’s spine.

“Okay,” you whisper, close to his lips. “Show me.”

His grin deepens, teeth shining. “Yes, ma’am.”

This man is nothing if not endearing, and it earns a giggle from you as he moves down your body. First, you help him with getting your sweatshirt up and over your head; the collar is close to your neck and he doesn’t want to choke you (yet).

His gaze focuses on the rise and fall of your chest, the familiar sight of your full breasts, waiting for him to touch and tease.

Before he can start to follow through with his mental plans, you sit up with him and your hands dive under his shirt, both to start inching it up, and to feel him. His stomach clenches under the soft graze of your nails, but he gently pushes you back down onto the bed.

“What’d I just tell you?” he chides.

You give him an incredulous smile. “What, I’m not allowed to touch you?”

Dean reaches up to pull his shirt off from behind his neck. It’s a smooth move, and your eyes roam over his chest, and lower still.

He smirks. “Just be a good girl and wait your turn.”

You bite your lip to stifle a laugh. You let him finish undressing you by peeling off the sweatpants. You were getting hot in those anyway.

He leaves your panties on for now, but he travels back up to slot himself between your open legs. With a forearm braced above you, he starts again from the top.

He caresses your cheek, and begins with a trail of warm, open-mouthed kisses down your neck.

You sigh at the attention, tilting your head to make room for him. The sound of your voice is just one thing that he loves (and you know it), but Dean also loves the smoothness of your tan skin. He doesn’t mind a few faded stretch marks here and there, the lower he gets. He’s got a few scars and worry lines himself.

What matters to him is the sounds he’s able to pull from you as he nips and licks down between your breasts. He massages and teases one with his hand, while his tongue lavishes attention on the other. He earns a breathy sigh, a moan when his lips find the hardening buds, your knees starting to bend and squeeze his waist. He already feels the dampness of your clothed core brushing his thigh.

“Already squeezing on me, huh? I’ve barely touched you,” Dean teases. He nips at a plush spot on your left side, below your breast—something you might’ve been insecure about, if his thumb wasn’t also still distracting you by swirling over a nipple. His hands are sinfully good (something you love).

You utter a small moan and grasp his wrist just for something to hold onto as his mouth continues worshipping every curve of your body. Even the parts you’d usually rather him steer away from.

Dean senses your tension, however, when his teeth graze your soft stomach. He glances up at you, finding a bit of insecurity in your eyes.  

“Here’s the thing,” he says, and his lips move against your skin. “You act like I haven’t already seen and conquered every square inch of you. Like I haven’t torn you apart, time after time.”

He sits back up, and his hands squeeze your hips and thighs and ass. He moves up to look down on you with almost predatory focus. Like he’s trying to determine what part of you he wants to devour next.

It’s a look you’ve seen before, though it still makes your face warm and your pussy clench on nothing. Your mouth parts with an unsteady laugh. 

“You’ve got a point,” you nod. Dean shoots you a smirk, but he still takes your hand from where it’s been tangled in the sheets. He presses a kiss into your palm.

“You don’t gotta hide from anybody,” he says. “For damn sure, you ain’t hiding from me. You're too damn beautiful for that.”

You smile up at him, softer now as you thread your fingers with his.

He soon lets you go though. Because his hand moves down and down, to brush his fingers along your clothed core. You breathe deeper in anticipation, but his grin tells you that he’s not going to make this quick.

“Dean,” you implore him.

“Yeah, baby,” he answers. The pads of his fingers stroke and press into you. You lean into his touch, wanting and craving more. But he doesn’t give it to you just get.

He keeps teasing you, brushing your clit through the soaked fabric of your panties. It’s sort of what you want, and yet nowhere near enough. You can taste the edge of pleasure, just starting to make you squirm against his hand.

“You’re killing me here,” you whine.

“I’m ‘a need you to be patient,” he says. 

You laugh, both incredulous and frustrated. His grin is damn near insufferable now.

Dean’s fingers move your panties aside, but they do no more than brush against the wet seam of your pussy. You hum and try to press into his hand. He doesn’t heed your unspoken demand.

He thinks you’re sexy as hell like this, writhing and waiting for his touch. He just wants to savor that for a bit longer—that he’s the only one who gets to see you like this. He’s the only one who gets to tease you, to be with you, to love you. 

You’re getting impatient though. With a ragged sigh, you sit up and hook a hand behind his neck and pull him down into your kiss. He chuckles against your lips when he feels your hand sliding from his chest to the generous bulge in his sweatpants. You stroke up and down the full length of him with a practiced hand.

“I get it, baby. I do,” you pant, “but I need you.”

He falters for a moment, grunting when your hand slips into the front of his pants and boxer briefs and takes his cock firmly in hand. Your touch is soft and warm and you know how to elicit a shiver running down his spine.

Dean has a plan though, and he forces himself to focus through gritted teeth. He takes your wrist, carefully guides it out of his pants, and pins it beside your head, using his strength against you. It’s as frustrating as it is hot, making your skin flush as you stare up at him. 

“We’re not there yet,” he tells you. Amusement gleams in his eyes. “But I like the enthusiasm.”

Without warning, he pulls away from you. He sits up on his knees and grabs the nearest pillow. He grasps your thighs and raises you up enough to slide the pillow underneath your ass, which he bares after snatching off your panties. You yelp and the suddenness of your underwear sliding off your legs. He tosses them elsewhere.

“What, now you’re speeding things up?” you remark.

Dean raises his brows at you. “What gave you that idea?”

He shifts down the bed and sinks down between your thighs. You lean up just on your elbows so you can try to figure out what he’s about to do (though you have a pretty good guess). For a delicious moment, you feel his warm breath against your pussy. You clench in anticipation…

Until he veers further down the inside of your thigh. His hand moves smoothly underneath one of your thick thighs and hooks it over his shoulder. He starts with wet kisses from the inside of your knee, steadily moving up your thigh. Your eyes close as your breathing shallows.

You force yourself to take deeper breaths as the gentle feeling of his lips, and a hint of teeth, continues to make your body tingle with pleasure. You feel warmth and wetness pooling between your legs. Your core is already throbbing with need.

Just as Dean draws near to the apex of your thighs…he changes course, starting the same path of kisses up your other leg. You blow out a shaky sigh and have to clench your hands into the sheets. His name falls from your lips, both a reverent sigh and a plea.

You know what he’s doing. He’s worshipping your body in the sweetest of ways. You knew he was going to take his time with you, working you up, but this is both heaven and hell.

“Would you relax?” he says, chuckling into your skin.

You release a breathy giggle. “Yeah, right. I love and hate you right now.”

Dean’s shoulders shake with near silent laughter. His free hand soothes up and down the thigh he holds propped up on his shoulder.

“As long as it’s more of the first one, we’re good,” he teases.   

You groan, but eventually you relax against the bed. You realize now that you’re more comfortable, more focused more on the pleasurable sensations he’s giving you than on how exposed you are right now. You smile begrudgingly, as you realize that’s probably what Dean wanted all along. 

Just when your body is starting to settle into this, you gasp when you feel his tongue finally lick a warm stripe up the seam of your pussy.

Your head raises, and you see your man’s mischievous green eyes and the edge of his smile between your legs. Your mouth opens to say something petulant, but you cry out when his fingers slip past your wet folds and find your clit.

He knows where you’re most sensitive, what’s going to have you even more slippery and pulsing with need. His tongue replaces his hand, licking and sucking at your clit, while his fingers slip into your tight entrance and fuck into you slowly.

“God, Dean,” you breathe. Your nails dig back into the mattress.

You feel his voice reverberate inside you when he says, “Relax…”

He's already hooked your thighs over his shoulders. The pillow under your raised hips just gives him even more leverage to work you over. His mouth is noisy and makes you blush down to your neck, but you can’t help fisting a hand into his hair and clenching tight as he brings you right to the edge…

And he tumbles you over. His fingers brush deliberately and firmly against that sensitive spot deep inside you, until your inner walls quiver and your legs shake around his head.

Then you’re coming all over his hand. Your whimpers turn into a moan of release as warmth travels from your center, throughout the rest of your body. His tongue doesn’t stop, and your skin tingles, causing a shiver to run up your spine and arch your back as you moan. 

He doesn’t pull away until your clit becomes oversensitive, and you start to squirm away from his hold. When he finally gives you reprieve, your body sags on the bed and your head rolls to the side as you try to catch your breath.

Dean’s panting hard too by the time he’s done. He has to wipe his mouth, nose, and hand, but he still strokes your thighs after he guides your legs off his shoulders and back to the bed.

Since you’re incapable of speech at the moment, you tug more gently on his hair to get his attention. He greets you with a grin as he takes in how wrecked you are.

You smile back and beckon him with a curling finger. “Come ‘ere.”

Dean obliges you, moving up your body to prop himself up on a forearm, next to your head. You grab his chin and bring him down to you for a searing kiss. You shudder a little, as you can taste yourself on his tongue. The press of his fingers along the small of your back brings more tingles across your skin.

You feel him hard and heavy against your thigh. You let your hands run down his back as well. Down the slope of his spine, and under the waistband of his sweatpants.

“I need you,” you whisper, in the small space between your faces.

“Yeah?” he pants, though his tone is teasing. “Where?”

“Inside me,” you reply. Your thighs squeeze his hips, pressing his length against your center and earning a groan out of him. “Fuck me ‘til it hurts.”

Dean’s grip on your hip tightens. He drops a biting kiss to your throat and nods. He quickly gets the rest of his clothes off, then he directs you to move onto your side. You’re a bit confused at first, but you oblige him. He kneels between your thighs, straddling the bottom one, then hooking your top leg over his.

He pushes his cock into you slowly, making you both breathe harder as he stretches you and finds his way home.

This angle is different, but it’s good. You feel him bottom out deep and snug inside. Already your inner walls respond to the feeling of him, and you tighten on reflex.

Dean makes a sound of pleasure and presses his forehead against your shoulder for a moment. 

“What’s this, like doggy style?” you ask.

“Kind of,” he says, giving you a grin. “This way, I can still see your pretty face.”

You can’t help a giddy burst of laughter, even though your face warms. Yes, he still manages to make you blush when he talks like that.

Dean smirks in amusement. Once again, he swipes a thumb across your cheek and presses a kiss to your lips. You hold him there and lick into his mouth. When he starts to move, rocking out, then back inside of you with ease, you shudder at the feeling of him. Your thigh curls tighter around his hip, and he squeezes your soft flesh there.

“I happen to like a little give,” he says, with a lusty gleam in his eyes. “You know why?”

You’re already panting for breath. His slow strokes make you feel every inch of him, but you lick your lips and meet his hot gaze. You start to smile as you humor him.

“Why?” you ask.

“Call it a ‘soft landing,’” he grins. “Makes it feel that much better when I fuck you good and deep.”

Your mouth falls open, this time more in shock as you blush further and shiver in arousal—not only at his words, but the sound of his voice, and his sincerity. You unintentionally clench on his cock, and he groans. He gives your ass a heavy smack. You jolt with a gasp.

“Keep that up,” his voice deepens, rough with pleasure. “’Bout to fuckin’ wreck you.”

All you can do is nod and hold on tight for the damn ride.

He builds up the pace, until he needs a hand on the headboard for balance. The old mattress creaks to the tempo of his pounding strokes, and he’s hitting your G-spot with every single one of them. Your toes curl and you grab onto his thigh to help keep both of you steady.

You feel that coil starting to tighten, but you’re not quite there. You reach down between your bodies and massage your clit in time with his thrusts. Your eyes close on a gasp.

And the coil eventually snaps. Your inner walls spasm and flutter around him, making his hips stutter.   

“That’s it, baby. Let go for me,” he grits out. He chases his own release as well as yours. “So fucking sexy like this, coming apart for me.”

He's spurred on by the way your voice echoes in his ears. A few more hard thrusts, and he’s spilling into you. He fills you up with his warmth and makes a shiver run through your body.

You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you’re probably giving him bruises, but it’s not unlike the fingerprints you often find on your ass and hips (and probably will find tomorrow).

You finally twist onto your back and relax. Dean catches himself against the bed before he crushes you with his weight. You welcome him anyway, with your hand soothing up and down his back.

“You okay?” he asks. Somehow, his gruff voice is still soothing to you. 

You smile, giving a teasing squeeze on his arm. “Much better.”

He chuckles at that. His skin is dewy and sticks to yours, but you don’t mind. In turn, he brushes your now frizzy hair away from your face and neck, so it fans out on the pillow instead.

After he untangles from you and rolls onto the bed at your side, he lays there on his back and tries to regain his breath. You turn toward him and press a kiss into his shoulder.

“Thank you…for reminding me,” you say.

For making me feel beautiful, wanted, loved…

You try to blink past the sting of tears, but you know your eyes are shining.

“I love you,” you remind him.

Dean’s face warms and softens. He reaches over and takes your hand. Again, he presses it to his lips. 

I love you too, that gesture says. Then he smiles. 

“Any time you need a little show and tell, I’m here.”

AN: 😮‍💨 Well then! lol I hope you liked this! For me it was equal parts fun and cathartic, being a plus-size girl myself. 💗💗

I was definitely thinking of that scene in 9.13:

Mala: "What can I say? Sometimes it's nice to feel a little give."

Dean *has an epiphany*: "Oh. Yeah, I get that. A little extra cushion for the, uh..." *fist pounding motion* (lmfao)

🎙️ Again, if you want to listen to the whole story narrated in podfic form, check it out here!

Keep Reading:

Next up in this series is "Get Stuffed":

Summary: Dean enjoys the way you cook Christmas dinner with a Latin flair, even if Sam likes to tease him about his insatiable appetite. You remind Sam about the true reason behind one of Dean’s biggest quirks.

▶️ Next Story: Get Stuffed

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Ko-Fi Me ☕

Dean W. Tag List:

@hobby27 @kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @vanillawhiskeyflavoredkisses @roseblue373 @this-is-me19 @emily-winchester @spnexploration @deans-spinster-witch @deans-baby-momma @iprobablyshipit91

@melancholictearz @nic-kolas @sanscas @sleepyqueerenergy @wayward-lost-and-never-found @thewritersaddictions @just-levyy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons @antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @adoringanakin @theonlymaninthesky @teehxk @midnightmadwoman @brianochka @branj19

@agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @xsophianicolex @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow @beskarfilms @mimaria420

[latinotiktok]

Official list for "Canonize your blorbo as LATINO Tournament"/Lista oficial del Torneo "Canoniza tu blorbo como LATINO"/Lista oficial do Torneio "Canonize seu blorbo como LATINO"

Disclaimer: these are characters that have been voted more than once and have "propaganda" on why they are thought to be latino/latina/latine. 64 characters will be selected, there are still spots left. Tournament will began on October 9th/10th and the polls will be up for 24hs for the first round.

Aclaración: estos son personajes que han sido votados más de una vez y tienen "propaganda" sobre por qué se cree que son latinos/latinas/latines. Se seleccionarán 64 personajes, aún quedan lugares. El torneo comenzará el 9/10 de octubre y las encuestas estarán abiertas durante 24hs para la primera ronda.

Esclarecimento: são personagens que foram votados mais de uma vez e fazem “propaganda” sobre por que são considerados latinos/latinas/latinos. Serão selecionados 64 caracteres, ainda há vagas. O torneio começará no dia 9/10 de outubro e as votações ficarão abertas por 24 horas para o primeiro turno.

Shadow/Sonic

Leorio Paladiknight (hxh)

Tortugas ninja pero en especial Miguel Angel

varios personajes de Dorohedoro

Wei Wuxian (MDZS/The Untamed)

Wolfwood (Trigun)

Kung Lao (Mortal Kombat)

Naruto (Naruto)

El equipo Rocket/Team Rocket

Los locos Addams/Addam's family

Gojo (jjk)

Yuuji (jjk)

Peter Parker (Marvel)

Matt Murdock (Marvel)

Todos los Jojos pero en especial joseph joestar y narancia (JJBA)

Crowley (good omens)

Denji (chainsawman)

Jason Todd (DC)

Percy Jackson (Percy Jackson series)

El trio de evangelion pero en especial SHINJI (Evangelion)

Reigen (MP100)

Nishinoya (HQ!!)

Magnus Archives dudes pero en especial Martin (TMA)

Marceline (Hora de Aventura/Adventure time)

Leon s. Kennedy (Resident Evil)

Sanji (One piece)

Chell (Portal)

Simon Petrikov (Fionna and Cake/Adventure Time)

Lelouch lamperouge

the guys from Yakuza (Yakuza)

Dean Winchester (Supernatural)

Claude Von Riegan (Fire Emblem)

Link (Zelda games)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted Wonderland)

Jake el perro (Adventure time)

Utena Tenjou y Anthy Himemiya (revolutionary girl utena)

Vriska Serket (Homestuck)

Karkat Vantas (Homestuck)

Candy Candy (Candy Candy)

Murdoc Niccals (Gorillaz)

Michael Afton (FNAF games)

Godot (Ace Attorney)

JESUS FROM LIKE, THE BIBBLE

Catra (She-ra)

Hinata (HQ!!)

Rengoku (kny)

Shrek y Burro (doblaje latm)

Edward Elric (FMA/FMAB)

Hobie Brown (Marvel/ATSV)

Amatista (Steven Universe)

L (Death Note)

Heidi (Heidi anime)

Madotsuki (yumei nikki)

Koby (One piece)

Sasuke Uchiha (Naruto)

Pato Lucas/Duffy Duck (Looney Tunes)

Manuela Casagrande (Fire Emblem)

Hatsune Miku (Vocaloid)

Taylor Hebert (Worm)

Joker (Persona 5)

Yugi Muto >(Yu-Gi-Oh!)

Karamatsu Matsuno (Osomatsu-san)

Satsuki Kiryūin (Kill la Kill)

La piratería (sí, el concepto de la piratería)

Edit: been informed Taurus is already latine so I'm taking him out I'm sorry uwu

[olderthannetfic]

Just like a small question based on that one ask, but... might the lack of brown/black men in popular M/M ships have to do with people trying really hard not to be racist so they just... never feature black/brown men? Because I know several F/F ships with brown/black women, but I can't remember a single M/M or even M/F with a black/brown male love interest... well, maybe Link/Gan or Zelda/Gan? But besides that one... nothing rings a notable bell.

--

There are more than that, anon, even if there aren't a lot.

If we're talking about AO3, Link/Gan has 785 works. Finnpoe has 8,636. Sam/Bucky has 10,591. Do you just not watch live action media?

--

Part of it is "I don't know. I just don't find them hot for some reason..."-style racism. That can shift with time and exposure but there's no instant fix even if someone is interested in changing their own tastes.

Part of it is being instantly screamed at and held to higher standards. (And yes, no matter how much people want to whine and say this isn't true, it is true, and anyone who goes ahead and writes despite the haters will tell you so.)

Part of it is fear of messing up above and beyond fear of reactions. Personally, I think this is toxic white guilt-flavor time-wasting and it's better to try and fail than not try, but it's a massive factor in what some people choose to write.

A lot of it is simply the composition of the mega-franchises that tend to generate the ships with bajillions of works. If we're looking at AO3 circles, the biggest f/f ships are not that big. If you look at m/m ships of the same size, there are some with some guy who is not white and not a pale-skinned Asian.

Here's the AO3 f/f tag where you can directly see what's big in the sidebar.

Kara Danvers/Lena Luthor (20389)

Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Emma Swan (15516)

Original Female Character(s)/Original Female Character(s) (14062)

Clarke Griffin/Lexa (12661)

Minor or Background Relationship(s) (11492)

Adora/Catra (She-Ra) (10855)

Amity Blight/Luz Noceda (9751)

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (7913)

Blake Belladonna/Yang Xiao Long (7205)

Korra/Asami Sato (6866)

If we exclude nonspecific tags and misplaced dudes, we add:

Alex Danvers/Maggie Sawyer (6127)

Robin Buckley/Nancy Wheeler (6120)

Waverly Earp/Nicole Haught (5738)

Luz Noceda and Korra have darker skin. Lana Parrilla is Latina, but is Regina Mills? This isn't exactly some paradise for the diversity you're talking about.

Here's the M/M tag:

Castiel/Dean Winchester (107699)

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (68231)

Sherlock Holmes/John Watson (65757)

Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter (64761)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers (59546)

Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens) (48169)

Minor or Background Relationship(s) (47119)

Steve Rogers/Tony Stark (43665)

Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson (41631)

Sirius Black/Remus Lupin (40374)

Let's exclude some things and see what we get as we head towards the 5-20k range.

Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku (38445)

Jeon Jungkook/Kim Taehyung | V (36025)

Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn (35907)

Keith/Lance (Voltron) (31634)

Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester (30488)

Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood (29568)

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin) (28959)

Jeon Jungkook/Park Jimin (28191)

Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter (27775)

Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou (27193)

Well, we've got Lance. (*shudder*) He's one of the most distasteful and useless stock character types in episode one and is the reason I never bothered to touch Voltron again, but his fans are certainly loud enough about him being Latino.

Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov (26087)

Dazai Osamu/Nakahara Chuuya (Bungou Stray Dogs) (26058)

Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF) (21900)

Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson (21897)

Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV) (21296)

Original Male Character/Original Male Character (21035)

Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion (20224)

James T. Kirk/Spock (18810)

Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru (18703)

Min Yoongi | Suga/Park Jimin (18147)

Eddie Diaz is Latino.

Blaine Anderson/Kurt Hummel (17787)

Levi Ackerman/Eren Yeager (16950)

Dan Howell/Phil Lester (16818)

Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier (16229)

Blackbeard | Edward Teach/Stede Bonnet (16193)

Harry Potter/Severus Snape (15551)

Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich (15539)

Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki (14990)

Keith/Shiro (Voltron) (14816)

Hinata Shouyou/Kageyama Tobio (14780)

We've got the Taika Waititi thirsters in this cohort.

Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier (14413)

Rodney McKay/John Sheppard (14209)

Uchiha Sasuke/Uzumaki Naruto (13135)

Tartaglia | Childe/Zhongli (Genshin Impact) (13016)

Han Jisung | Han/Lee Minho | Lee Know (12962)

Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto (12878)

Aizawa Shouta | Eraserhead/Yamada Hizashi | Present Mic (12817)

Loki/Thor (Marvel) (12767)

Armitage Hux/Kylo Ren (12391)

Frank Iero/Gerard Way (12146)

Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams (12050)

Akaashi Keiji/Bokuto Koutarou (12002)

Jung Hoseok | J-Hope/Min Yoongi | Suga (11898)

Jeon Jungkook/Min Yoongi | Suga (11352)

Kim Namjoon | RM/Kim Seokjin | Jin (11101)

Levi Ackerman/Erwin Smith (11088)

Jack Harkness/Ianto Jones (11083)

Loki/Tony Stark (10699)

Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables) (10523)

Kim Taehyung | V/Park Jimin (10415)

Bilbo Baggins/Thorin Oakenshield (10312)

Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard (10211)

Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi (9950)

Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne (9944)

Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Mark Lee (9763)

Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington (9686)

Getou Suguru/Gojo Satoru (9625)

Byun Baekhyun/Park Chanyeol (9471)

Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski (9367)

Clint Barton/Phil Coulson (9359)

Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist (9347)

Nico di Angelo/Will Solace (9317)

Roronoa Zoro/Vinsmoke Sanji (9186)

Wang Yi Bo/Xiao Zhan | Sean (8973)

Jim Ellison/Blair Sandburg (8785)

Dabi | Todoroki Touya/Takami Keigo | Hawks (8710)

Alhaitham/Kaveh (Genshin Impact) (8657)

Peter Parker/Tony Stark (8607)

Bakugou Katsuki/Todoroki Shouto (8588)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Sam Wilson (8522)

Only here are we finally getting down to the range where a lot of the big f/f ships on AO3 hang out, and here's Sam/Bucky, which is frankly not a small pairing at all unless you only mean in comparison to Stucky.

I'll stop there for m/m since these numbers are getting pretty distorted by me filtering out everything higher up, but you get the idea. Even that wretched Old Guard fandom couldn't completely kill off its ship, though then we get into how you're defining your terms and how much actual skin tone matters.

Here's f/m on AO3:

Adrien Agreste | Chat Noir/Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug (32122)

Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (26417)

Original Female Character(s)/Original Male Character(s) (23498)

Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren (23403)

Minor or Background Relationship(s) (18497)

James Potter/Lily Evans Potter (18142)

Kylo Ren/Rey (15915)

James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader (15200)

Pepper Potts/Tony Stark (14547)

Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley (13843)

Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin (13551)

Fox Mulder/Dana Scully (13145)

Oliver Queen/Felicity Smoak (11318)

Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan (11031)

Castiel/Dean Winchester (10851)

Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth (9236)

Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski (9152)

Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson (9141)

Other Relationship Tags to Be Added (9108)

Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper (9046)

Bellamy Blake's actor is Filipino, isn't he? I remember race wank.

I don't see anything particularly significant until we get further down the listings, but there are definitely smaller fandoms like Leverage where everybody loves and ships the black guy.

I mean, yes, clearly, media does have a bias against darker skin, and the darker the skin, the bigger the bias. This bias may be exacerbated by fandom, but in a lot of cases, it just seems to be replicated at about the same level.

That pattern notwithstanding, it seems like you just haven't heard of a lot of ships.

[goticoamericano]

latino winchesters forever dean would smoke industrial AND the cheapest eight he could get in a gas station

[bluestar22x]

Alien Son Masterlist

Series Summary: Unbeknownst to him, Cade was a product of an experiment with the goal of raising a super solider. Saved from that fate by his adoptive parents, he is still hunted. Eventually, as it always does, his past catches up with him, though now there's another plan for him, one he could've never imagined.

With the help of friends, Cade must escape his captors again, resuming his life on the run in hopes of finally ending it once and for all, before another generation of his family line has to suffer the consequences.

Rating: 18+ series (explicit content, sensitive topics)

Warnings/General Info: Science fiction, mpreg (due to fictional science), violence, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, friendship (found family), romance (male x female), eventual love scene, violation of autonomy (by the antagonists), cloning, inter-species relationship (sort of - Cade is part human/more human than not), xenophobia, alien super human abilities

--- Don't like, don't read or comment! ---

Author's Note: I wrote this a few years ago, never intending to really show this to anyone, but then I saw this Joel Miller Fanfic and the request that it spawned from, and I couldn't help but think maybe I could share this story on tumblr.

This is an original character story, created long before I became a part of the Pedro character fandom, but the main lead does have Latino/Hispanic heritage by coincidence.

The idea for this formed from wanting an mpreg story that wasn't treated like a joke or too over the top. I wanted to write something someone who isn't really into mpreg might enjoy anyway, because that's not all this is about. It's about friendship and family (and some cruel mad scientists).

I'm a very sentimental person. What drew me to mpreg was seeing a softer side to a male character (specifically one born male) - that's all. Plus it makes for some humorous freaking out because bio males aren't supposed to fill this role, blah, blah, blah. I really enjoy making the boys weirded out by the flipped role situation (hopefully their reactions feel realistic - this is why this is an original character fic instead of a fanfic).

Cade And Kamilah aren't really based on any characters, but Noah has a little hint of Dean Winchester (SPN) in him. Cool guy, even cooler leather jacket. ;)

xxx

Chapter 1: Found

Chapter 2: The Facility

Chapter 3: The Aliens Among Us

Chapter 4: Mara

Chapter 5: Kamilah

Chapter 6: The Plan

Chapter 7: Clone

Chapter 8: Purgatory

Chapter 9: Connection

Chapter 10: The Escape

Chapter 11: Officer

Chapter 12: Doctor Hill

Chapter 13: The Beginning

Chapter 14: New Orleans

Chapter 15: Breakfast

Chapter 16: The Ambush

Chapter 17: Concern

Chapter 18: Bigfoot Town

Chapter 19: Fourteen Weeks

Chapter 20: Union

Chapter 21: Movement

Chapter 22: Noah

Chapter 23: Awake

Chapter 24: Goodbye, San Francisco

Chapter 25: The Grand Canyon

Chapter 26: Fear

Chapter 27: Birthday

Chapter 28: Redfield

Chapter 29: The Return

Chapter 30: Captured

Chapter 31: The Rescue

Chapter 32: Decisions

Chapter 33: Family

Chapter 34: Restless Flight

Chapter 35: Switzerland

Chapter 36: Haflingers

Chapter 37: Doctor's Appointment

Chapter 38: Pain

Chapter 39: Hope

Epilogue

x

Extended Scenes/Post Series One Shots

x

Music Inspo List

Some Days - Brent Morgan

Time Moves On – Phantom Planet (1st 15 seconds – highway travel song inspo)

Lean On Me ��� J2

The Fixer - Brent Morgan

Make You Feel My Love - Adele

We’re In This Together Now – Loving Caliber

Warm With You - Hayden Calnin

I Guess I'm In Love - Clinton Kane

What Dreams Are Made Of - Brent Morgan

In My Blood - The Score

Blink - Revive

On My Way (Marry Me) - Jennifer Lopez

xxx

[conobarco]

decir que dean winchester es latino es un crimen de odio

[im-some-lionheart]

I honestly don't think we at the latinenatural fandom talk enough about the implications of Dean's top 13 rock en español traxx starting with Cerati's Lago en el Cielo.

[urboymutual]

hi what’s ur oc

I ACTUALLY HAVE AN EXTENSIVE GOOGLE DOC THAT I'M BUILDING but he is a mix of jason todd (dc), faith lehane&buffy summers (buffy the vampire slayer), and dean winchester (😭 you know). but i played this old game that hasnt been updated in years and my dc hyperfixation collaborated to make me crazy.

but his name is a work in process. hes latino, he's bisexual, he's TRAUMATIZED ‼️‼️ im still working shopping him a lot what im going with so far is he originally was a sidekick to another hero (batman and robin type beat) but he died when he was 16 (buffy type beat). he came back to life bc mad scientists were experimenting and. yeah he came back all wrongs because he originally had no superpowers but bow he kinda has light powers so he can create bright lights and fly and stuff still workshopping that! but a quote im basically thinking that i wrote to describe him is like "shoving divinity into a dead 16 year old" i dont knows i am having so much fun creating his character

but yeah currently hes 18-20 age range and he's going to be workin with a group of anti-heroish people (so far only one of my friends has join me 😭😭) and yeah he's a bit of angrie dude bc his mentor replaced him with another sidekick and he definitely is morally grey but also hes going thru it can u blame him! hus mbti type is -stp still deciding on extroverted or introverted and the tv trope that fits him best is asshole with a heart of gold. he doesn't rlly come off as like caring abt other ppl and shit but at the end of the day he's still that young kid looking up at his mentor asking if he did a good job 😔😔

[supernaturalkickparty]

so with it being cinco de mayo and me being in my latinonatural feels and knowing no one celebrates today but people in the US do for some reason lol so I wrote a little one shot that takes place inbetween Route 666 and Nightmare

Tu Eres Parte De Mi

[estrangedaframian]

// While I'm on a rant regarding spn-related TV & lgbtq representation, allow me to say a few words about Carlos of the Winchesters... If you ask me, he's a terrible character and horrible representation of bisexuality, homosexuality, and queerness in general. First off, they say he's bisexual, letting it be known early on in the show that he's had male and female flames in the past and yet they are always quick to trump his bi-ness with only gayness instead.

Secondly, he acts like a flagrant homo stereotype i.e. rolling his eyes frequently, scoffing/sighing, swaying when he walks, generally being bitchy, obsessing over his outfits/hair/appearance/etc., giving the "shoulder", as well as annoying many other characters both deliberately and non-deliberately.

Also, given the time period the show is set in, I think it's slightly unrealistic for him to be so out about his sexuality/identity. Yes, there was the free love movement still going on then, but at the same time it still wasn't common for someone to flaunt that kind of thing (he's shown doing so even to John's mother, who, at the time, he had never met).

No offense meant to fans of Carlos, and there are good things about his character, of course, but I expected a lot better of a show from 2022, especially considering the fact that the execs had approx. 17 years to learn from the origin's (Supernatural) large lgbtq fanbase.

I know that those of us who fall into both queer and fan categories— especially those of us who are men— would prefer to see a complicated character (think Dean Winchester) for our representative. Frankly, we've been seeing queer characters of the Carlos kind for DECADES. Simply put, he is a queer character, more likely than not written by a straight person to fill a politically correct quota but severely missing the mark. One need look no further for an example than the scene in episode 9, showing Carlos weaponizing his curls through a soak in holy water...

It didn't even prove THAT useful in the fight, so it was obviously done for laughs at the gays' expense.

Or maybe the Latinos' expense.

Either way, I think he's a depressing character.

Get with the programme, @ the CW.

[zepskies]

Midnight Espresso

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized/Latina!Reader 

Summary: You’ve never taken Dean’s flirting seriously…until he asks you for an impromptu Spanish lesson. 

AN: The muse hit me hard on this one last night lol. I felt like "Midnight Espresso" was catchier than the working title, "Midnight Coffee Shots."

Thanks for the encouragement and inspo: @deanwinchesterswitch @iprobablyshipit91 @freewastelandstrawberry

Song Inspo: "2 Be Loved (Am I Ready)" by Lizzo

Word Count: 7K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, mutual pining, body insecurity, ass appreciation, supernatural shenanigans, naughty language, bad bitch o’clock and thicc thirty. 

☕ Midnight Espresso Masterlist

When you spot the caller ID on your buzzing cell phone, you have to smile. You answer the call.

“Well if it isn’t Dean I need a favor Winchester,” you tease. You hear his genuine chuckle, deep and smooth in your car speakers. 

“Hey, sweetheart…” He hesitates, which makes your lips curve wryly. 

“Yeah, Dean? What’cha got?”

“I need a favor.”

You sigh dramatically. “So fucking predictable.”

“Sorry, but look. We really do need you…we’ve got a situation.”

“Oh, a situation? How specific,” you chuckle.

“All right, smartass,” he says, but you can hear the amusement in his voice. “Just listen…”

When he tells you the lowdown on the case he and Sam are on, you have to change directions—all the way to a dusty little town in the south of Texas.

There you find the brothers Winchester outside La Cantina Libre. 

You greet Sam first, stretching up to meet his hug. He’s friendly and warm when he rubs your back.

“Good to see you,” he says. 

“You too, lumberjack,” you reply, noting the new layer of scruff he’s sporting on his face. Sam gives a dry chuckle and rubs his bearded chin.

“I keep tellin’ him to shave that ferret off his face,” Dean remarks. You turn to him with a grin just as he pulls you in next. 

“Aw, he looks good,” you say, giving Sam an encouraging look behind Dean’s back. The taller Winchester sports a good-natured smile. 

But you revel a bit in Dean’s warmth when he holds you tight, then let out a little breath when he pulls away, grasping your arms.

“So do you,” he says with a wink. 

You roll your eyes and playfully hit his shoulder. “Right. Eight hours of cross-country grime really becomes me.”

But you can’t help blushing a little at his smirk. Always a fucking flirt.

You turn your head to the bar in front of you. 

“What’s the deal with this place?”

“The husband of one of the victims is inside,” Sam explains. 

According to the police report, his wife returned home from a night out with her friends three days ago. She sat down in the middle of the living room, on the ground. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t eat. 

When Hector Rivera brought his wife to the hospital, neither fluids or medication helped her sleep or retain any nutrients. The official cause of death was starvation and dehydration.

It was a baffling case, both for the doctors and the police, who never found any criminal evidence to support a murder investigation.

“Okay, have you talked to Hector?” you ask. Dean raises his brows at you.

“That’s where you come in,” he says. “The guy only speaks Spanish. Neither me or Sam got the chops to Duolingo our way through.”

You can certainly believe that of Dean, but you still make sure to tease Sam on your way inside the bar. He’d studied Latin in high school, but hadn’t bothered to take Spanish? 

“Definitely a white boy move,” you tease, which Sam accepts with a chuckle. 

But you realize that the guys really would’ve been at a loss here. Most of the bar patrons are Spanish-speaking Latinos (you are a mere stone’s throw from the border of Mexico, after all). 

You ask around for Hector and find him at the end of the bar, drinking alone. He’s early forties at most, dark hair, tan skin mere shades lighter than yours. He has three shots down in front of him, and he’s working on picking up his fourth. Sam and Dean trail after you as you slide into the stool next to Hector. 

“Señor Rivera,” you greet him in your native tongue and pull out your fabricated police badge. “Good evening.”

He glances at you, then your badge with furrowed brows. 

“What do you want?” he asks in Spanish, just a hint slurring. 

“I’m very sorry about your wife. I know you’ve already given your statement, but we’re looking further into the circumstances surrounding Nina’s death,” you explain. 

He perks up at that, his brown eyes briefly lighting with something other than cold, hard grief. 

“The doctors couldn’t explain it, he admits. “They couldn’t do a damn thing. I just don’t understand…”

He glares down at his hands, at the glass of liquor between them. He fights to control himself, but you can see it’s a losing battle. You rest a gentle hand on his arm, and when Hector meets your eyes, you know he’ll find genuine sympathy. 

“I want to help you,” you tell him. “At the very least, I can look for a real explanation on what happened to Nina. Can you tell me what you know?”

A moment later, he pats your hand on his arm. And he tells you.

Dean watches from his spot behind you while he and Sam blend in, each drinking a beer. Dean admires how easily you connect with people. How genuine you are in wanting to help them. 

He knows you’ve spent years in this job. Maybe not as long as him, but long enough to get jaded. You aren’t, and you care. 

Dean thinks it’s part of the reason why you always answer when he calls. You’ve never said no to him, always been there when he and Sam need you. And that, he somehow feels guilty about.

Because what the fuck has he really ever done for you, other than put you in danger?

“Dean,” Sam says, nudging his side. 

It brings Dean back to the present when he sees you’re getting up from the bar. Despite his inner conflict, he can’t help but notice the curve of your ample ass in those tight jeans. An enticing ratio of thick thighs to smaller waist, and generous cup size to match. 

But when you turn around, it’s your sad smile that grabs his attention. You draw near, and Dean forces himself to stay relaxed when your warm hand rests on his forearm. 

It’s a familiar, comfortable thing for you to be touchy. You’re an expressive person, always talking with your hands, full-body animated when you tell stories.

Sometimes you’ll grab his wrist playfully, or brush your hand along his back when you pass by. Or you’ll grab his shoulder to steady yourself, and lean into him when you’ve had too much to drink. 

Dean likes it—all of it. In fact, he finds it endearing as hell. 

But it’s also a problem. A unique kind of torture to keep himself in check around you… 

Frankly, he doesn’t think you know what your touch does to him. 

In fact, he knows you don’t, because while you’ve got your smooth, tan hand on his arm, you’re more looking at Sam when you say:

“I think I know what this is.”

“El Sombrerón,” you repeat yourself as you flip through a book on South American lore. 

“Shouldn’t you be an expert on this already?” Dean teases as you rifle through the pages. “I thought Latin American legends were right up your alley.”

The three of you are back at their delightfully crap motel of the week. You and Sam sit at the two-seater table while Dean leans against the wall with his arms crossed.

You shoot him a wry glance. “I’m Cuban, not Guatemalan. Though apparently, El Sombrerón appears in Mexican mythology as well.”

Hector said that the night his wife went to the bar with her friends, her friend Jennine saw a man with a black jacket and a hat to match. 

She said he flirted with Nina, a sweet but introverted soul. She turned him down, of course, but he tried to cajole her, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and touch her cheek. That’s when Jennine stepped in and cursed the guy out, threatening to break his nose if he didn’t back off. 

They didn’t see him again that night, but you suspect the damage had been done the moment he touched her…

“All right, so he’s a boogeyman of sorts,” Sam says, gesturing at the vivid illustration in the book he’s holding. You peer over at the page and nod.

“Yeah, I’ve heard the cautionary tale. A man dressed in black, wide-brimmed hat—”

“Like Zorro,” Dean supplies. You give him an amused grin.

“No, not like Zorro,” you reply. “Instead of being a fine-ass caped crusader with a voice deep and gritty as sin, El Sombrerón likes to lure women into the woods.” 

Dean raises a brow at your description (Deep and gritty as sin, huh?), but you continue.

“Specifically, he’s got a fetish for long hair,” you recount. “Here it says El Sombrerón’s voice and touch are a curse, rendering his victims unable to eat or sleep. Eventually, they die.”

That falls between you all like hot lead. Until Sam voices the question you’re all thinking.

“So how do we find him?”

“For the record, I’m against this fucking idea,” Dean mutters to his brother. Once again, they’re patrons of La Cantina Libre, each nursing a beer. 

“Yeah, you’ve made that known a few times now,” Sam replies in a low whisper. “She’ll be okay, Dean. We’re right here for her.”

They’re just on standby, watching you ignore flirtations from men with a coy smile. You leave a delicate ring of red lipstick on your straw while you nurse a Tequila Sunrise. 

Dean subtly (to Sam, not so subtly) watches you. His elbow rests on the counter, chin in hand, hand over mouth, while his eyes roam down your simple black dress. Your ankles are crossed under the bar counter. The toe of your platform heel bouncing against the foot rail is the only thing telling Dean that you’re a bit nervous.

You’ve let your hair down on purpose, trying to entice the “Zorro” monster with the smooth waves running down your back.

On any other night, Dean might’ve enjoyed this place. He has a good beer in hand. There’s some live music tonight, in the form of a man playing a shiny silver guitar, crooning into the mic. You turn your head to watch for a moment, and Dean sees the way your gaze sharpens on the musician. 

The man wears a black dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, tucked neatly into his dark wash jeans. His black hair is long and a little wild, almost brushing his shoulders. While he holds out a smooth note, he looks up and finds your gaze. His lips curve on a smile.

Your face heats up at the attention, but you find yourself captivated by those eyes. They’re intense, almost black under the stage lights. And as the musician’s song comes to a close, you feel a trill of something run down your spine when he sets down his silver guitar. 

Then he makes his way toward you.

He settles into the free seat next to you and orders two tequila shots.

“I have a drink, thanks,” you say. The man only smiles. 

“You’ve been holding onto that Sunrise for two hours,” he says. “I just thought you might like something stronger, before the sun actually comes up.”

Inside, you want to roll your eyes at the cheesy line.

Instead, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, and his gaze is drawn to the motion. You notice it with mounting suspicion. 

“Maybe I do,” you reply. “What’s your name?”

“Miguel,” he says, offering a charming smile. “And yours, amor?”

You consider him with flirtatious eyes and a tilt of your head. You’re fairly certain you have your target.

You lay a hand on his arm, over his jacket. You lean in close enough to whisper in his ear. 

“Do you really need my name?” you ask in Spanish. 

Miguel smirks when you lean back. He offers you his hand to help you off of your stool. Wary of actually touching his skin to yours, you try your best to be graceful and sensuous as you slide out of your seat and onto your heels without his help. You then walk out of the bar through the back without waiting for him to follow you (hoping that he does).

Your instincts are right, however. When you make it out of the bar, Miguel is indeed closing in behind you. You glance over your shoulder, offering a coy smile. But when you look ahead, you have to utter a gasp. 

Miguel is suddenly there to grab you and pull you in by your waist. 

“When will your friends be joining us?” he asks, trailing a finger down your cheek. It makes you shudder, but you pretend to be confused.

“Friends?”

“Dumb and dumber, watching you like a hawk,” he says, raising a brow. “Oh, mi amor. I know a pack of hunters when I see them.”

Sam and Dean watch the musician run back for his guitar, slipping it carefully in its case before he takes off after you. 

“Get the guitar. Got a feeling about that thing,” Dean says to Sam. “I’ll follow ‘em.”

The moment Dean walks out the back of the bar, he stops short and draws his gun. His body tenses and his face falls into a glare when he sees Miguel holding you close (and against your will). But Miguel catches sight of Dean.

He forcefully turns you around and wraps an arm across your chest, pulling you back as you struggle. 

“Good evening,” Miguel greets with a smirk. He nods at the full moon. “Beautiful night for a lover’s serenade.”

His voice alone is a threat, Dean knows. And by the way your eyes widen, so do you. 

“Shut the fuck up, Mike,” Dean snarks. “Mind if I call you Mike?”

He raises his gun, but Miguel tsks at him. You grit your teeth as he pulls your hair back away from your cheek. His breath is hot an unpleasant in your ear, causing you to shudder.

“I do wish we had more time, amor,” he says, trailing a hand down your ass and thigh. “I like to play with my food.”

A hot lance of anger runs through Dean, but it runs even hotter through you, igniting your temper and making your patience run right the fuck out. You snap your head back and catch Miguel in the nose. He wrenches back with a pained cry.

You try to ignore the resulting ache in your head and reach for the silver knife in your thigh holster, beneath your dress. But Miguel grabs you by the hair. Suddenly his face has become grotesque, revealing its true form with a mouth filled with sharp, needle-like teeth.

You gasp as a trill of magic runs through your body from his touch. It paralyzes you as he wrenches your neck back and prepares to bite a chunk right out of your neck. 

But Dean shoots a warning shot by the creature’s head, all-too close to yours as he approaches. 

“Hey!” Sam calls out. He attracts everyone’s attention, even Miguel’s. Sam holds the silver guitar. 

“This is what you use to play Pied Piper, right?” Sam asks. Miguel’s face hardens, but before he can do anything about it, Sam smashes the guitar to smithereens on the gravel road. 

Miguel lets out an outraged hiss. While he’s distracted, Dean takes another shot that hits the creature in the shoulder. It gives you the opening you need to grab your knife and stab him in the leg.

Miguel cries out in pain, but before you can scramble away, he grabs your face. His sharpened nails bite into your skin, making you wince. You manage to kick out his knee. It forces him to release you, unless he wants to eat the ground hard. 

Sam is there to catch you while Dean closes in. He shoots, the creature evades, grabbing Dean’s wrist and punching him across the face. The hunter goes down to the gravel with hands held out to brace himself. But he has a large knife on his belt that he retrieves next, only to be knocked out of his hand when Miguel bears on him. 

He throws off Sam’s attempt to pull him off Dean, throwing him hard against the dumpster in the alley. 

While Dean grapples bare-handed with the monster, trying his best to evade gnashing teeth in his face, you find his discarded knife and bury it deep into Miguel’s back. 

He howls with pain and tries to throw you off. He manages to backhand you in the face and shove you away. You nearly roll an ankle on the small rocks rolling under your heels, and you end up on your back with the wind knocked out of you. 

But Dean’s able to kick Miguel off and finish what you started. Dean pins the man on the ground and twists the knife deeper. And he doesn’t let go until the creature below him stops twitching. 

Dean takes in deep breaths to account for the way adrenaline has set his blood pumping. He still sits on the ground with the body next to him. But then, he finds you kneeling next to him in your now dusty dress. Your eyes are worried when you grasp his shoulder and lay another hand lightly on his scuffed knee. 

Dean reaches for you on reflex, grabbing your arm. Both of you manage to ask your burning questions at the same time—

“You okay?”

“Are you all right?”

You crack first with a giggle. Dean quirks a grin and thumbs at your cheek. 

“Yeah, all good,” he says. 

Your relieved smile reaches your eyes, and it warms him. “Good.”

Behind you both, Sam hides his own knowing smile.

Sam and Dean invite you to stay over at the bunker after the hunt, instead of making the even longer drive home. You’re too exhausted to say no.

By the time you get to the bunker, you’re dead on your feet, practically swaying down the stairs. 

“I’m so fuckin’ tiiiired…”

“Come on, stop whining,” Dean teases as he helps you down. Sam has dropped your duffel bag on the ground floor and gone on ahead to shower, leaving you and Dean to figure this out. 

“Why don’t you just take off the heels?” he wryly suggests.

“Hell no,” you refuse with a stubborn shake of your head.

You don’t want to contemplate how much monster guts have glossed the stairs of this bunker, via the brothers’ boots. 

Maybe it’s a silly reason to suffer, but is it really suffering if you have Dean Winchester escorting you with both hands down the stairs? 

His hands are warm and you trust the strength of his hold, but when your heel wobbles on the edge of a step, you still go for the railing rather than sink all your weight on Dean. He laughs at you, and you maturely stick out a tongue at him. 

“At this point, it’d be faster if I freakin’ carried you,” Dean remarks. He reaches for you, but you stop him with a heel in his sternum.

“Eh-eh! Don’t even try,” you laugh. “I totally got this.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but you lower your heeled foot and manage to climb down the last few steps of the rickety staircase…at least, what your exhausted brain thinks is the last one. 

You almost go ass over tea kettle when you miss the final stair with a yelp—but Dean is there to catch you. 

His arms are like steel bands around your frame, curving around your lower back and pulling you flush against his chest. You gasp and cling to his arms. When you look up at him with wide eyes, you find his amused face…and maybe something else in his eyes. He tilts his head down at you. 

“Well, well. Look who keeps falling for me?” he remarks. 

You blush at the flirtatious edge of his tone. The gleam in his green eyes; you take it for amusement only, not realizing that he’s barely resisting the urge to claim your lips. 

“Right,” you laugh him off with a pat on his chest. “When was the first time again?”

You make sure your heels are firmly on the ground before you push away from Dean. As you thought, he doesn’t try to keep you. He still looks amused as he lets you go.

He flirts with anything, you remind yourself, when disappointment starts to carve a hole in your heart. Don’t take it so seriously.

You say goodnight before you take up your duffel bag and go to find a free bedroom (and a hot shower). All the while, you bite your lip against a deep-seated feeling of uncertainty.

Dean watches you go, and you don’t see the way his mask of a smile fades into a frown. 

After a nice hot shower and changing into your pajamas, that moment with Dean has unsettled you enough that you're not quite ready to go to sleep. Maybe you’re in the mood for a midnight snack. 

You take out a couple of supplies from your bag and head over to the kitchen. There you set up your little cafetera coffee press with water, and a generous few tablespoons of Café Bustelo grounds of espresso. While that brews on the stove, you make some popcorn in the microwave. 

You don’t realize that the rich smell reaches Dean all the way in his room. He sniffs the air in interest, then in confusion. 

She’s making coffee at midnight? 

He gets up out of bed and pads down to the kitchen where you’ve taken over. A large bowl of popcorn is ready and waiting for him to snatch a handful, while you’re checking the little metal carafe you have going on the stove. 

“What’cha up to, sweetheart?” he asks. You greet him with a smile. 

“Café con leche,” you reply. 

Coffee with milk, he mentally translates. That much, he can work out. 

“You drink coffee at this time of night?” he asks. 

“My people invented it. I’ve been inoculated to this stuff since I was eight years old,” you quip. “Want some? Believe me, you’ll love it.”

He shrugs. “Sure. But if I end up too wired to fucking sleep, be prepared to suffer with me.”

You laugh. “I’m sure we’ll figure out something to do.”

Dean’s not sure if you meant that as flirtatious as it sounded. But by your briefly widening eyes and blushing cheeks, maybe you just realized it. He smirks and draws closer while you break out two mugs from the cabinet. 

He notices your chosen pajamas with secret appreciation (a large threadbare Journey shirt over spandex shorts). You fill the little shorts out well. 

Though Dean spots several small holes in the shirt. He teasingly sticks his finger through one in your short sleeve. 

“Lose a fight with a pair of scissors?” he jokes. 

You shoot him an amused glance over your shoulder.

“You are the reigning king of dad jokes. I’ll have you know, this is my lucky shirt.”

He snorts in response. “What makes it lucky?”

You just bite your lip and focus back on your task at hand. With the coffee done percolating, you measure out two steaming shots of espresso into each mug. 

“Hey, you brought it up,” Dean reminds you. 

You sigh, and after you pour in the sugar and the evaporated milk into each mug, you turn around and lean against the counter. 

“I’ve never had a bad dream while wearing this shirt to bed,” you confess. His teasing gentles at that. 

When you turn back around to put the finishing touches on what you’re doing, Dean’s expression becomes more fond as he watches you. 

You then offer him his Batman mug with a brighter smile. 

“Buen provecho,” you say.

“What does that mean?” he asks predictably, taking the mug from you. 

“Enjoy! Like bon appetite, basically.”

“Ah,” he raises his brows before he takes a sip. Then they raise even higher as he hums in pleasure. “Ooh, it’s sweet…and strong. Shit.”

“Very,” you say with a chuckle, taking your own sip. You make a sound of delight, complete with a little “happy dance” shimmy. “Almost as good as my grandma makes it.”

Dean smiles in amusement at your antics. The two of you sit at the kitchen island, where there are three stools and the bowl of popcorn. The salty snack is just the right balance for the sweet coffee.

“She taught you how to make this?” he asks. 

You nod. “Yep! She’s an amazing cook too. Learned everything I know from her.”

“Hmm, might need to sample something of yours sometime,” Dean says, peering at you over his mug. His tone is deceptively light, but you read the double meaning in his eyes.

You hide the way your mouth falls open behind your own mug. Instead of answering, you nod and take a delicate sip. Your gaze veers away from his as you blush.

He’s in a good mood tonight, you think in bemusement. 

“So tell me. What are the best curse words in Spanish?” Dean asks. 

You have to laugh. Your head ducks as you reach for his arm. His eyes briefly go to your hand, and he smirks. 

“Of course that’s the first thing you want to know,” you tease. You take back your hand and think about his question. “Hmm…I mean, there are the basics. Coño, carajo. Like 'damn it,' 'fucking hell,' and so forth.”

“Come on, you can do better than that,” Dean says. 

“Well, yeah,” you say with a grin. “Comemierda is a Cuban fan favorite.”

“Which means?”

“Literally? Someone who eats shit,” you laugh. “A stupid asshole, basically.”

Dean’s grin deepens. “Nice.”

“The best one of all time is probably…ugh, my mom would wash my mouth out with soap for even saying it.” You cover your face with both hands, but Dean nudges your elbow. 

“Come on, give it to me,” he teases. You peek out at him from between your hands. Then you stage whisper to him.

“Hijo de la gran puta,” you say. It rolls off your tongue in such a way that, even though Dean knows it’s vulgar in some way, the ease in which you say it raises the hairs on his arms. 

“I like that,” he says. 

You giggle at him. “You don’t even know what the fuck it means.”

“Don’t matter. I just like how it sounds,” he says. “Gimme the Google Translate.”

You shoot him a narrowed look for that one. “It means son of the grand whore. Literally, the chiefest of them all. The grand poohbah of whores.” 

Dean splutters with laughter. His hand slaps the table, and you shush him, reminding him that Sam is probably sleeping by now.

“It’s literally one of the worst things you can say to somebody,” you say, though you’re also choking on laughter. By the end of it, you and Dean are chortling like fools and getting high on espresso and sugar. 

You teach him how to roll his r’s, and at his request, more slang. You explain how certain Hispanics and Latino cultures use different words for the same thing (at times, very confusing), and how something innocent to an American, like a papaya fruit, means something very different for Cubans. 

For Dean’s part, he’s genuinely interested in what you have to teach him. But he also just likes hearing you speak the language. It rolls off your tongue gracefully, effortless and sensuous without you meaning to. He likes it enough that he tells you his honest thoughts.

“It all sounds incredibly hot, I’m not gonna lie,” he says with a chuckle. You blush at that, something he finds endearing. 

“You sound like my ex,” you say in amusement. “He only went out with me to help him with his Spanish.”

Dean sobers a bit at that. “What?”

“Yeah.” You chuckle dryly. “He was trying to land some job as a strip club bouncer, but we were in Miami at the time. They needed someone bilingual.”

Dean doesn’t like the resigned tone of your voice. 

“Yeah well, the bouncer?” he remarks, trying for a teasing bump of his hand against yours. “Come on. You should at least be aiming for the owner.”

You flash him a brief smile and nod. “Ah, so I set my sights too low. Got it.”

It’s then that Dean starts to wonder about the kinds of guys you’ve gotten with in the past. Not that he has room to judge, but he can see that there was no love lost there for you. 

Dean has a thought, deep in his bones, that you deserve someone who sees how special you are. How kind, funny, loyal, caring…

“Seriously,” Dean says. “You can do better.”

“Right,” you laugh. But he’s not laughing. You raise a brow at him.

“What?” you ask.

His lips purse, but he thinks better of what he wants to say. 

“Nothing. ‘S none of my business,” he says. 

You stare back at him and frown thoughtfully. You think you’re lucky to get a date, the way you constantly move around. 

You don’t have stability, and even though you try to keep in shape, try to avoid the shittier fast food, it’s been a challenge to maintain yourself. You worry that you’ve gained five pounds in diner food alone in the past couple of months…

Okay, mostly, you’re happy with your curves. But the way Dean’s looking at you now, you can’t help a flutter of hope that rises in your chest, making your heart beat faster.  

Maybe you’re finally ready to know how he really sees you. 

“Talk to me, Dean,” you nod, and you reach out a hand to grasp his wrist. 

He looks down at your hand. After a moment, he sighs and lays his own over yours. He meets your gaze. 

“Look, I think I hear what you’re not saying,” Dean says. “And you’re sellin’ yourself short, sweetheart. That’s all.”

It takes you a moment, but a soft smile spreads across your face. It warms him in a way he doesn’t expect, but maybe he should. 

Biting your lip with a bit of embarrassment, you squeeze his hand before you get up to take the two empty mugs with you to the sink. 

“Que hombre tan pendejo, hermoso,” you mutter. “Ni siquiera sabes lo que me haces.”

You don’t realize that Dean actually hears you. He perks up, standing from his seat and approaching you from behind. 

“What was that?” he asks. 

You jump slightly, and a blush burns down your neck as you turn off the sink and spin back around. Dean is there, crossing his arms and staring you down with a raised brow. A hint of a smirk begins to edge around his mouth.

“What?” you ask.

“Oh, no. You said something just now,” he says. Like a dog with a bone, he’s not going to let this one go.

Your lips threaten to smile, but you shake your head stubbornly. “You’ll just have to invest in that Duolingo subscription.”

Dean joins you by the sink. His hand braces on the kitchen counter. 

“Well, either you’re insulting me, or you’re flirting with me,” Dean says.

His lips then edge into a smirk. “The first one I could forgive, but the second…might require some retribution.”

Your eyes slowly widen. “What, why?”

Dean has to chuckle, because your expression is all but an admission of guilt. It’s too damn adorable. 

“Because you can’t flirt with me without me knowin’ about it,” he says. “That’s just rude.”

His hands brace the counter on either side of you, trapping you in. The only way to get through him is to tell him the truth, or suffer the consequences.

You gaze up at him with wide eyes and a full flush across your tan skin. Is he actually doing this right now?

Your heart beats loud in your ears like conga drums. 

“So which is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks. His playful, but singularly focused green-eyed gaze tells you he really does want an answer.

“Well, it was kinda both,” you say with a shy, but mischievous smile. Dean’s smirk deepens.

He tucks a finger beneath your chin and lets his thumb brush your full lower lip… 

Then he leans down to kiss you thoroughly. His plush lips move over yours, hot, wet, and sinfully good. 

But it’s also short—much too short for your liking when he parts from you to gauge your reaction. He seems to like what he finds in your eyes.

“Was that the punishment?” you tease. “Kinda weak.”

Dean raises a brow. “Consider it a start.”

He pulls you into him by your waist and continues where he left off, with another searing kiss. You hum with pleasure against his lips as your fingers delve into his hair. 

His hands move down your back, making a shiver of delight coarse through you. They land on cradling your ass, squeezing and pressing you into him. 

You gasp into his mouth. You can feel his length already hard against you. That alone trills anticipation down your spine, and a dizzy feeling, the fact that your touch is turning him on. You nip at his lower lip in response, licking into his mouth. It elicits a sound deep in his throat as his touch becomes more demanding. 

He then bends down to reach behind your thighs, and before you know what’s happening, you squeal when he lifts you up on the counter. 

You grab his shoulders like a cat clinging to the edge of a bath.

Damn, he’s strong!

“What’s the matter?” he laughs. 

“I’m just not used to being manhandled,” you quip. “These hips don’t lie, but they definitely don’t fly.” 

Dean snorts. “Says who?”

“My ex, for one thing,” you joke again. Though it isn’t actually a joke.

Dean, again, isn’t laughing. 

His hands aren’t large enough to span your thighs, but it’s not for lack of trying. His firm touch burning up your parted thighs is distracting, warm over your skin, and over your thin shorts. His thumbs dip between your inner thighs, making you breathe a bit more shallowly. 

“I get the feeling that you’ve been with some ain’t shit guys,” Dean says. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lump me in with the rest of ‘em.”

Your eyes widen. Dean grins down at you and takes the opportunity to kiss you again. His hand disappears in your hair and he presses kisses down your neck. A pleasant tingle breaks out across your skin as you tilt your head for him, giving him access. 

Your fingers begin toying with his collar and glide down his chest. Unlike you, everything about him is firm, you think. But you start to think that he likes your softness, the thickness of your curves.

You didn’t take him for an ass man, but he seems very happy to get a fistful of it. It’s as flattering as it is arousing.

“I’ve wanted to get this perfect ass in my hands since the day we met,” he says. His voice is deep, full of grit and desire, but what he says next surprises you even more. 

“Wanted to ask you out that night,” he confesses. 

You pause at that. You met Sam and Dean two years ago already. The fact that he’d wanted to ask you out was one thing, but he’d been holding onto this for two years?

“Really?” you ask. 

Dean reads your incredulity, huffing a laugh. “You’re really finding that hard to believe right now?” 

He rocks against your clothed core so you can feel his reaction to you. You instinctively gasp and hold onto him. You slide your arms around his back to keep him close, even though you’re blushing. He holds you back, brushing your cheek with his thumb.

“Well, why didn’t you then?” you ask. But he hesitates to answer you. 

“Dean?” you press.

“It…never seemed the right time,” he says. “And to be honest, you didn’t seem all that interested.”

Until now, goes unspoken. But you frown up at him. 

“You don’t really believe that,” you say. 

Dean leans back a bit, so you move your hands to his chest, gripping the fabric of his undershirt to he doesn’t go too far. He looks down at you, a bit uncertain for the first time. You can’t believe that he could possibly be insecure about your interest and affections. 

“I attract a lot of crap in my life,” he admits. “Shit you want no part of.”

You soften further at that. Someone who was just going to hook up with you once and never call you again didn’t consider things like that. You grab onto the lapels of his plaid shirt and press a soft kiss to his jaw.

“Well, that’s a stupid reason,” you say. Is this the real reason he only calls you when he really needs the help?

Maybe it’s his convoluted way of protecting you…while maybe, still wanting to see you.

“It’s really not,” Dean shakes his head. “Truth be told…I’m no good for you either.”

That disheartens you. 

You’re in this job too. And while you know that Sam and Dean are often at the center of a lot of Apocalypse-level shit, you still don’t think it’s an excuse to keep both you and Dean from possibly…being happy.

His gaze is steady, until it starts to lower away from you. You take his face in your hands, picking him back up to meet your eyes. Your thumbs caress the prickly stubble along his cheeks.

“Apparently I get with a lot of ain’t shit guys,” you reply, “but you’re definitely not one of them, Dean.”

He flickers at a smile, but he still isn’t convinced you two should do this after all.

So it’s up to you, you realize. 

You bring him down to you for a kiss. It’s slow at first. You ply him with short, sweet presses of your lips to his. But then you both inhale as you deepen the kiss, tilting your head and prying his lips with your tongue. He can’t help but welcome you in, and he takes you back into his arms.

You smile against his lips, letting your hands run down his chest and under the top layer of plaid. He shrugs out of it, then the undershirt as you help him tug it up. It falls in a heap on the floor, followed closely by your hole-ridden Journey shirt, then your little shorts.

Dean takes in the sight of your flushed skin, the rise and fall of your breasts, and even the hesitant downturn of your lips. You’re a bit self-conscious, bared for him for the first time, but he doesn’t give you a reason to have any reservations. 

His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, rolling his thumbs over the hardening buds. You let out a shaky breath against his lips, and you veer away from his mouth to burn a hot, wet trail down his neck. His voice rumbles, and you smile, nipping playfully and touching him wherever you see fit. 

“Tell me what you said before,” he rasps into your ear.

You remain playfully tight-lipped as you continue to shower his bare skin with affection. But your breath hitches when a hand leaves your breast to once again slide up the inside of your thigh. 

“You’re so fucking sexy, you know that?” he says. “That’s why I need you tell me…”

You lean close to his ear and whisper. “Nope.”

Dean’s chuckle shakes his frame. His other hand cups your cheek, slipping into your hair. You hold him to you, and for the first time it’s skin to skin, with your breasts pressing against his chest. 

“All right…you sure I can’t convince you?” he asks. There’s a note of warning that you’re just a bit too slow to detect. 

His fingers swiftly bypass your panties, pushing them aside so he can tease the seam of your pussy.

You bite your lip and lean back enough to see his face, to see the mischievous edge of his smirk. You inhale sharply when two of his fingers slip in and probe in your wet heat, but don’t go further than your entrance.

“Dean,” you whine. “Please…”

“Tell me,” he insists, “what you said.” 

His lips graze your cheek, down the column of your neck. You feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin. Meanwhile, your pussy is pulsing with need, all but chasing his fingers that do no more than brush and tease. Your nails accidently bite into his shoulders in frustration.

He sucks in a pained breath. You gasp and apologize, soothing over his skin. 

Dean just laughs and noses along your throat. He knows exactly what you need, but he wants to win the game. 

At this point, you just want him.

So finally, you admit it. You confess into his ear the things you whispered in your mother tongue.  

“I said, you dumb, beautiful man,” you say, smiling with your cheek pressed against his. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

Dean grins into your neck. You really don’t realize it. But to him, your voice is rich as black velvet, and sexy as hell. Doesn’t matter what language you’re speaking.  

Two of his fingers sink deeply into your pussy. You whimper, squeezing gratefully around his hand. 

“Please, Dean…”

“I got you, baby. Just relax,” he says with a grin. 

He explores your inner channel and begins to discover what you respond to, what angles make you grip onto him tighter, make your voice keen higher, especially when his thumb circles over your clit. 

You cling to him for dear life, gripping his hair, uttering encouragements (not all of them in English), and finally praises when that hot coil within you snaps and releases. 

Dean holds you while you come over his hand. You’re squeezing the shit out of him, really, in every way possible. But when that dam breaks, all you can do is lean against him and try to catch your breath.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he chuckles. He rubs your back, pets your hair. 

“I’m…” you trail. You lean back and take his smug face in your hands, and you kiss him. You put into that gesture what your voice fails to confess. 

And when both of you run out of breath, Dean pulls back just enough to see your eyes.

“We’re not done, by any damn means,” he says. That coffee still has him wired. And at this point, his cock is throbbing with need. “But let’s head over to my room.”

“Yeah, I think I need to help you with this before you implode,” you tease him with a gentle hand along his rock-hard length. He utters a strained sound that makes you sympathetic. 

But before anything else, you caress his cheek fondly. Tonight matters to you, and you think it matters to him too. Dean flashes you a rare, boyish grin that has you smiling even harder. 

Damn it. You might just love this man. 

He helps you down from the counter, though his arms stay wrapped around you because of your jelly legs. His resolution is to pick you up over his shoulder.

“Let’s fly, baby!” With a swift spank of your ass, he carries you the rest of the way to his room. You squeal and try to stifle your giggles all the way there. 

One thing’s for sure. Sam is going to hate you both in the morning. 

AN: 😂 Well, that was fun! Please let me know what you thought.

**Just to preface, I am in fact a plus-sized Latina (Cuban, Puerto Rican and Dominican)! 🌶️🌶️

And I just want to say, I wrote a specific plus-sized body type here, but we're all different and equally beautiful in our shapes, skin tones, and otherwise outward trappings.

I like to think of us as a box of lovely assorted chocolates (not the cheap factory-made bullshit either. The chocolatier, handmade assortments that cost an arm and a leg, shipping not included).

Each delectable and unique, with something extra special inside. 😘

Keep Reading:

Yes, this has become a series! Next up is "Devour Me":

Summary: When you and Dean start to press each other’s buttons, both of your tempers ignite. To make up for it, you give him an impromptu salsa dancing lesson…one he didn’t exactly ask for.

▶️ Next Story: Devour Me (Part 1)

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Tag List:

@sleepyqueerenergy @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @theonlymaninthesky @agalliasi @venicesem @waters-2567 @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @skyesthebomb @mimaria420 @this-is-me19 @kazsrm67 @emily-winchester @tearsfortheyouth @teehxk @hobby27 @luvs4dria

[latinotiktok]

Propaganda:

Dean Winchester

-Dean y Sam Winchester. También Castiel Supernatural (ese es su apellido) y Jack Kline. Porque me gusta ver el mundo arder, cómo no - dean winchester es argentino, re gaucho tiene beef con el pomberito, a falta de comida bueno es el mate con don satur, le manda minimo un pedazo de carne a la parrilla todos los domingos si no alcanza pal asado, es bostero y peronista y se mata a birras (estoy proyectando)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted Wonderland)

Propaganda: Por favor :')

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda: Quiero mucho a mi bebo y le voy a hacer ganas al fraude umu perdon de antemano

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland)

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda: Ví que dijeron que lo mande 300 veces cuando solo fueron como 30 PERO pero no puedo llegar a tanto :'( tengo trabajo que hacer y examenes que ganar, aún así pienso meterle esfuerzo para que quede.

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda:No es mucho pero es trabajo honesto.

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda: si ven los reblogs del baneado pueden ver que los pocos que lo conocen tan deacuerdo, el niño es argentino pls

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda: If Ruggie has million fans, then I'm one of them. If Ruggie has one fan, then I'm THAT ONE. If Ruggie has no fans, that means I'm dead.

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda: Es medio animal, no solo por que tiene orejitas de hiena, si no por que pendejo no piensa, vamos, que el primer personaje latinizado sea un derivado de catboy.

Ruggie Bucchi (Twisted wonderland) Propaganda: Mi niño anda literal como un latino rodeado de gringos con la percepción de la realidad totalmente alterada, el pobre no tiene descanso de todos los desmadres que los demás países le hacen al suyo y de la corrupcion que hay. Es latino tercermundista.