#SPN FANFIC

[redbird-tf]

Wild dog

dean x little sister

synopsis; A vampire hunt goes horribly wrong, leaving you injured in more ways the one, by the person you'd least expect.

inspired by

Word count; 2.6k (officially my longest story, please dont let it flop)

Warning: hurt/comfort, injury, john, violence, language

No no no, this couldnt be happening. You all knew taking on a vampire nest was a dangerous mission, but this mistake should have never happened. Now, here you lay on the cold, hay-covered floor of an old barn. Pain pulses through your body, your mind teetering on the edge of consciousness, and Dean looming over you.

The barn was crawling with those nasty blood-sucking monsters—20, maybe more. You three had been tracking them for weeks and prepared well. Hiding in the bushes, you waited until the nest was deep in slumber before making your move. You had to move quietly. Killing as many in their sleep as possible until one awoke. Its shrill scream shattered the silence, jolting the rest of the nest awake. "Split!" Dean's voice rang out, and in an instant, you all scattered.

Dean skidded to a stop as he faced a dead end. His grip tightened around the machete, turning to face the vamps closing in. “come get it you sick son of a bitch” he growled. He swung in every direction, blood soaking his clothes. When Dean got like this he turned into a killing machine. No thoughts just, swing-hit-kill, swing-hit-kill. A vamp hurled down at him from the ceiling, yet without flinching Dean grabbed it by the throat slamming it against the wall behind him and slicing its head clean off. Only when the head rolled past his feet did he take a breath and allow his shoulder to slump.

The sound of fast footsteps made him whirl around, swinging his machete wildly, his fist connecting with the creature's face, sending it crashing to the ground. “Dean stop!” Sams horrified voice rang pulling Dean from his soilder like state. Deans eyes widened in shock and the machete slipped from his hand. “Oh my god” his voice broke. It was you. You who was running up on him. You who’s side he sliced into. It was you who lay in front of him now.

Dean collapsed to his knees, and his hands came up to cradle your face “Sweetheart, sweetheart can you hear me” he begged with desperation. You let out a painful groan, and Dean let out a heavy sigh of relief. Sam lifted your shirt, inspecting the cut that was pouring blood. His concerned gaze met Dean, “What?” Dean demanded, panic rising in his chest. “We can’t stitch this dean, we need to take her to the hospital now” Sam replied with quick urgency. He pushed Dean aside, scooping you into his arms. You let out another agonizing moan. “Sorry bug” Sam whispered. “And say what?” Dean frantically snapped while darting toward the car. “I don't know Dean, let's worry about that when our sisters insides aren’t visible!” Sam shouted in frustration.

————-

When they reached the hospital, Dean shouted for help, and within seconds doctors surrounded them, lifting your limp body from Sam's arms and onto a bed. Deans eyes never left you as you were wheeled away, only breaking when pushed past white doors. It was then the adrenaline wore off and guilt flooded his body. He stood frozen, Sam’s voice was mumbled trying to convince the nurse it had been a bear or something.

“Sir, sir, SIR” Dean's trance was broken by the nurse's voice. “Does your hand feel alright?” She asked kindly. Dean furrowed his brows in confusion, then looked down at his fist. His knuckles were bruised and the image of his fist connecting with your face made his lip quiver.

Dean and Sam sat in the silence of the waiting room. Dean's head hung low, his thumb rubbing over his bandaged hand. Sams head jerked up at the sound of heavy footsteps, “what the hell” he muttered. Deans eyes widened at the sight of John. They both quickly stood from their seat “Dad what are you-“Sam was cut off. “What the hell happened?” John asked sternly, gazing between the brothers. There was a tense pause before Dean spoke up “It was me… she ran up from behind me. i should have been more careful…” Dean spoke quietly, half to keep the nurses from hearing and half because he couldn’t raise his voice without the risk of breaking down. John sighed heavily “How many goddamn times have i told her not to do that-“John started “It's not her fault” Dean quickly rebutted. John opened his mouth but fell silent at the sight of a nurse approaching. “How is she?” John asked, his body tensed, bracing for the worst. “Shell be alright” the boys shoulders dropped. “Shell have to take it easy for a few months to prevent tearing stitches….” The nurse paused, hesitating to continue “Her injury was very severe, it's a miracle she's still alive” The room fell silent again. “Can we see her?” Sam asked in an urgent tone.

The three of them hurried to your room. Sam and John rushed to your bedside, except for Dean who stood frozen in the doorway, watching you slowly gain consciousness.” what happened?” You asked groggily. Sam spoke softly to you but the Anastasia still weighed heavy, making it hard to understand his words. A shiver ran through your body and your head cocked to the side catching a glimpse of Dean. Dean jumped out of sight, pressing his back against the wall. He swallowed sharply, his heart hammering in his chest. “De…” he heard you call. “Dean” again, and again. A moment later John stepped out, “she's cold. She wants a jacket” he stated firmly. Without a word, Dean shrugged off his jacket and pushed it into John's hand. “Go home. We’ll talk later” he ordered. “Yes sir,” Dean said lowly, his hand dragged down his face, then he turned his heel.

—————-

“What do you remember?” Sam asked, sitting at the edge of your bed. You thought for a moment, your mind capturing bits and pieces. A look of shock came over your face. “I was running to Dean and then…” Your breath hitched and your hand clutched your side “he didn't mean to” you whispered with turned-up brows. Sams brows furrowed in contrast “Of course he didn’t” he reassured you, placing his hand over yours. “Here you go kid” John stepped forward, passing Dean's jacket to you. “Where's Dean?” You asked. “Let's get going before the cops get here” John continued ignoring your question. “He didn't mean to Dad! It's my fault” you blurted out. Johns's gaze sharpened “you were reckless. and he acted like a goddamn wild dog. This is on both of you, i hope you've learned something. Now come on” he snapped coldly, turning his back.

——

The drive back to the motel in John's truck was silent with unbearable tension. When John pulled into the lot you noticed Dean's impala was nowhere in sight. “I'll check into another room. You two go to bed,” John said gruffly, pointing between you and Sam before walking off. Sam carried the bags into the room as you limped in behind him. “Where Dean?” You asked, turning to Sam with a confused look. “He’s probably just grabbing a drink” he explained, while unpacking his bag. “Can we call him, just to make sure” you nervously fidgeted with your fingers, “let's just give him some space right now,” Sam spoke quietly, giving you sympathetic eyes.

You had been tossing and turning for hours. Unable to sleep thanks to the pain meds wearing off. You stared at the ceiling until the glow of headlights flickered into the room. You listened closely to the squeak of brakes, followed by the jingles of keys. You quickly closed your eyes pretending to sleep. Footsteps crept their way into the room, then faded back out. You peeked around the room, seeing nothing changed. Slowly you sat up, cradling your side as you pushed yourself from the bed. Grabbing Dean's jacket from the nightstand, you tiptoed to the door making sure not to wake Sammy while you slipped out.

The wind bit at your cheeks. You quickly draped the jacket over your shoulders, pulling it tight. The Impala was parked in front of you, but no still dean in sight. Your eyes scanned the lot. It wasn't until you squinted your eyes that you spotted a figure in the distance, sitting on a bench, beneath a large oak tree. After a few minutes of limping, and grunting, you finally reached the bench. Dean swung around at the sound. “I got your jacket…” you said awkwardly. “Keep it,” he muttered after giving you a once over and taking a sip of his drink. You slowly took a seat next to him. The rustle of the tree blowing in the wind surrounding you two. “I shouldn’t have run up on you-“ you tried to reason “It's not your fault” Dean cut you off, his voice firm, eyes locked on the ground. “You've told me over and over again not to “ “so i should have known. I shouldn’t have looked before…” his voice strained.

Another silence settled. “I don't blame you Dean” you stated softly. “Well, i do.” He replied sharply, taking another swing of his drink. You watched him for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head on his shoulder. You could feel him relax beneath your touch. “You know when we were younger, I'd come home from school and Dad would be gone, but you'd be there.” You kept your voice steady. “Then Sam left, and i was sure you would to…but you never did. You've always been there for me Dean” you spoke softly. You saw his grip tighten around the bottle. “You know what hurt most of all” your voice barely a whisper. “when i called for you from the bed…and you didn't come” Your voice wavered before you could stop it and you bit down on your lip. Deans body stiffened. For the first time that night, he looked you in the eyes. His green eyes were a storm of emotions. “I'm sorry, kid” his voice painfully sincere. He lifted his hand to cradle the side of your face, his thumb smoothing over the bruise beneath your eye. “Dean i know you won't forgive yourself, but can you make me a promise” Your voice shook terribly, trying to keep your tears at bay. Dean nodded immediately. “promise you'll always come when i call you” you pleaded. Dean's face cringed realizing the pain he caused you, some worse than the physical. “I promise, baby” His voice was firm, unwavering. A gust of wind cut through the air causing you both to shiver violently. “We should go in now” Dean suggested to which you quickly nodded, earning a soft chuckle from him.

As You both stood up, a sharp pain radiated down your side, stopping you in your tracks. Dean turned to you in an instant, hearing you wince. “what's wrong?” He asked concerned. “My side” you breathed out, clutching at your ribs while bent over. Dean crouched down in front of you “How about i give you a ride” Dean recommended. You couldn’t help but smile as you wrapped your arms around his shoulder, allowing him to slowly lift you off the ground. His warmth engulfed you. Your eyes grew heavy, sleep pulling you in as you rested against him. until his voice pulled you back. “You know I'll always protect you too. Even if that means from me sometimes” he said quietly, but his voice laced with a sense of seriousness. You pressed your face into his shoulder, letting yourself relax again before softly murmuring.

“Dean Winchester, my own wild dog”

[my-stories-vault]

Soldier Dean feels befitting, somehow?

I mean, he was always treated like one - it feels like it should be about time he was respected, paid, and loved like one, aimrite?

That's how I feel, at least. Feels lighter this way 🙃🫠 - like a great opportunity for happiness to come!

Can't wait for the next chapter, Zep! Nailed it, as always ❤️.

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: My day tomorrow is going to be a bit packed, so I decided to release this a bit early for you guys! So here we go! The first chapter of yet another new series, my first ever 1940s AU. 🥰 I hope you have fun on this one, because I sure did. Again, very much inspired by The Clock (1945), starring Judy Garland and Robert Walker. 💜

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: For this chapter it’s “Cry Me a River” by Ella Fitzgerald

Word Count: 3.9K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, mentions of cheating, PTSD, historical tidbits

✨ Series Masterlist

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Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

Dean idly read the pamphlet stacked with others on his brother’s desk, which advertised his new and successful enterprise.

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

What do you know? His brother had his own office, his own business, and his name on a pamphlet.

Dean couldn’t help but curl a finger around a steel ball on the abacus sitting at the head of the mahogany desk, right next to Sam’s nameplate.

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other.

Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

“So this is what you do, huh?” Dean remarked, crossing his arms.

Without his jacket, his suspenders were on display over his shoulders. His red pinstripe tie was still in place, but his white dress shirt was rolled up to the elbows. Meanwhile, his brother preferred to keep himself more presentable with his sleeves down to his wrists. Jacket on.    

Dean glanced around the office, nodding at the line of bookshelves behind Sam, framing him as the bookish academic he’d always been. There was limited seating in here though, just a spare chair in front of the desk, and another to the right of it. Dean stood on the opposite side.

“If you’re bored, all you have to do is say so,” Sam said. “Which is strange, considering we’re smack dab in the middle of a city that never sleeps.”

He was right, Dean could concede. His little brother had given him a veritable list of things to do in New York City: visit the park, go to the zoo, see a picture show, visit a nightclub, or sample a host of restaurants that Sam knew Dean would probably enjoy.

He’d seen a lot of this place in the week that he’d been here visiting Sam, but a good deal of it he’d either spent alone, or with any willing young lady Dean came across, thanks to the demands of this office. If he was honest, entertaining young ladies was eating into the wallet in his trouser pocket, and the hustle and bustle was starting to be a little much for him.

“You don’t get tired of it?” Dean asked, gesturing to the out there beyond them. “The, uh…the lights, the noise, all the people?”

Sam picked his head up from his paperwork to consider the question. “No, I like it. Keeps my mind busy, and…I guess it makes me feel alive, you know?”

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

Sam wasn’t fooled though. He thought he could tell what was running through his brother’s head, watching him fidget, and turn his head a bit sharply when a bus honked loudly outside the office’s glass doors as it thundered past.

It had only been two months since the end of the war. Two months since he and Dean met back in their family home in Lawrence, Kansas after three years fighting on two different fronts, in two different countries.

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end.

Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

Now, Sam saw the signs. Dean seemed a bit jumpy, overstimulated, but willing to be here to spend a little more time with Sam before he went back home. Guilt prickled in Sam’s gut. 

“I’ve got some work here to finish up, but afterwards let’s go to dinner,” he suggested. “Maybe see a show?”

Dean’s lips flickered at a smile. “You’re burning both ends of the candle. You know that, right?”

Sam opened his mouth to reply, when there was a knock on one of the glass doors—at the entrance to the small building. Their heads turned, and through the open door of his office, they spotted you standing there in the evening light. You wore a wide-brimmed hat on your head and a scarf underneath, wrapped over your hair and under your chin to shield your face. You knocked again with a hand covered by a leather glove, more persistently.

Cocking his head in confusion, Sam stood from his desk and left the room to let you in. Dean hung back and sat on the corner of the desk to wait. He withdrew a cigarette from the pack and a lighter from his pocket as he did so, but he heard you talking with his brother by the door.

“I’m sorry. We’re closed, miss,” Sam informed you.

“It’s still two minutes until closing. At least, according to my watch.”

“…Well, I suppose you’ve got me there.”

“So can I come in? I need to speak to a lawyer.”

“You sure it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I’m afraid it can’t, sir.” Your tone was firm, and it more than implied that you wouldn’t be moved. Sam paused then, perhaps to take a steeling breath.

“All right. Come with me, please.”

You later followed behind him through the hallway and into the office. With a lit cigarette between his fingers, his arms crossed, Dean took note of you. He subtly glanced down at your crème-colored blouse, neatly tucked into the long, burgundy skirt (with lipstick to match), your modest, classy heels, and the way you wore your hair. His brows subtly raised. He’d met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn’t seen a lady like you in quite some time.

Should’ve shaved this morning. The thought was accompanied by the way he swiped a subtle hand over his prickly chin.

You gave him a cursory glance in turn, and offered a polite, “Hello.”

He stood from the desk and switched his cigarette to his other hand, so he could shake yours.

“Hey there. Dean Winchester,” he said. He offered a smile with no small amount of charm. “Pleased to meet you…”

You dutifully gave him your first name only. He found that a little strange, but you soon slipped your hand out of his and focused on the nameplate on the desk, followed by Sam himself.

“So you’re brothers,” you realized. “Do you work together?”

Dean scoffed. “Nope, I’m just here to distract him.”

Sam tossed him a sidelong glance. There was a subtle edge of bitter truth in there somewhere, and you didn’t seem to miss it. You looked between the two men, a hint wary.

“Well, as I said, I’m here to speak to the solicitor,” you said. 

“That would be me,” Sam nodded. He went to his desk and sat down behind it, gesturing for you to do the same in front of him. You obliged him, smoothing your hands down your skirt once you were seated. “How can I help you?”

You met his eyes with a directness that surprised him a little.

“I want to divorce my husband,” you said.

To say it shocked the room would be an understatement. Behind you, Dean gave his brother a pair of raised brows. Sam didn’t allow himself to react too much in order to remain professional, but he still tilted his head, blinking, before he focused on you again.

“What’s your husband’s name?” he asked.

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

“Why do you want a divorce, Mrs. Milligan?” 

Here, your gaze fell to the folded hands in your lap. 

“I have reason to believe he’s been unfaithful,” you quietly replied.

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sam said. His sympathy was genuine, because he could see the way you’d hesitated to say the words, like they embarrassed you, shamed you, and saddened you all at once. 

“But I have to ask,” he added, “do you have proof?”

Dean glanced his way, his brow raising once again. Sam knew what he was thinking, just as he saw how you frowned as well. But there was a reason why he asked, and it wasn’t to be unkind.

You sighed. “What kind of proof?” 

“Pictures. Letters. A witness. Something of legal standing that we can use as leverage and as grounds to grant you a divorce, whether he wants it or not,” Sam said. 

You let out another heavy breath through your nose. “No, I don’t have anything like that.”

“Then what makes you so sure he’s steppin’ out?” Dean chimed in. By now he was leaning against the wall, off to the side where he could smoke with the window cracked open. It let in the sounds of cars and distant honking, people traversing the sidewalks. 

You turned in your seat to give him a tight look. “If you must know, there’ve been…signs. I won’t trouble you with the details, but I’m sure.”

You met Dean’s gaze, and then Sam’s firmly. 

“So will you help me?” you asked him. Sam nodded.

“Yes, I’ll look into your husband and try to find some evidence of his…extracurricular affairs.”

Your lips pursed. “And how long will it take?”

Since you were being so direct, Sam levelled you with honesty.

“It may take time,” he said. “Realistically, we’re looking at months, even after I find what we need… It would be easier to legally separate.”

You had been slowly deflating the more he spoke, but now your expression became stony.

“Mr. Winchester,” you began. “I don’t want to just be separated. I don’t want to live in our apartment, let alone share his bed or wear his last name.”

Despite your best efforts, your voice began to shake. Tears welled up and stung in your eyes.

“I don’t want anything from him, other than his signature on the damn papers,” you said. “The case is that I can no longer tolerate that man in my sight, much less in my life. Will you help me? Or should I look for another lawyer who will actually do his job.”

Sam and Dean shared a glance. For his part, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he heard a woman curse. Despite your outburst, the tears clinging to your lashes stirred both men.

“I understand, Mrs. Milligan,” Sam said. “I’ll help you. Don’t worry.”

He began to look for his handkerchief, but you retrieved one of your own from your purse and quickly dabbed at your eyes, sniffling. You were embarrassed.

“What about your fee?” you said, withdrawing your checkbook. “I, um…I have a little money stashed away. I’ve always worked, you see.”

Sam nodded and went over what his rate would be going forward. Once the two of you came to an agreement, you signed the first check right then and there, even though he felt bad for even taking it from you.

You were still sniffling, and twice you dabbed under your eyes to make sure your face was dry. When you handed over the check, your hands shook, just a little. Sam wouldn’t tell you that he discounted his usual rate.  

Again, he mentioned that he would need some time first to investigate your husband and begin collecting evidence for your case. He asked you for any documents you could safely bring him of your finances, for example. You agreed to do an investigation of your own.

“Just be careful,” Dean cautioned. He was getting an idea of what kind of man your husband was, but Dean couldn’t be too sure of what the man was capable of. He’d hate to hear of a girl like you getting hurt over a few papers.

Dean put out the bud of his cigarette on the ashtray lying on the windowsill. He pushed off the wall to approach where you and Sam were getting to your feet. You gave Dean a nod of acknowledgement.

“I will,” you agreed. “Thank you both. I’m sorry I’ve taken up so much of your time, but I’ll be heading home now.”

“Did you take a bus or a taxi?” Sam asked.

“Oh, I walked,” you replied, and you checked your watch as you gathered up your purse. You headed for the coatrack, but Dean got there first, helping you into your beige wool coat. It went nicely with the burgundy you had on, namely on your painted lips.

“Thank you,” you said to him, but you still didn’t smile. You were a hint demurer now. It seemed with Sam’s promised help, the fire had dimmed behind your eyes and your tongue.

“How about I give you an escort, make sure you get home okay?” Dean found himself offering. “It’s getting pretty late on a Friday.”

Sam shot him a knowing look, but Dean ignored him, instead focusing on your face.

You hesitated. “It’s a bit far though. Out of your way, I’m sure.”

“All the more reason that you shouldn’t go it alone at this time of night,” he argued.

You considered his offer, and him, with a quick perusal. You seemed to be judging for yourself if he was trustworthy. Dean kept his posture straight, yet relaxed. Maybe he’d liked what he saw the moment he took you in, but after hearing your situation, he felt for you. It really was just an honest offer to walk you home.

“Where did you serve?” you asked. “The Army, the Navy, or the Air Forces?”

The question took him off guard for a beat, but he answered you.

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

You looked at him a little more shrewdly, then you relaxed.

“I might’ve guessed,” you said. “All right, Sergeant. Let’s go then.”

You buttoned up your coat and turned to leave the office. Dean shot his little brother a raise of his brows and a what do ya know? kind of smile. He grabbed his dark brown jacket and hat and followed you out.

Sam’s smile was more reserved, with a shake of his head. He closed the door behind you and Dean and locked it. He still had some work he wanted to finish before tomorrow, and Dean’s little show of chivalry would give him time to do it.

Dean had his hands in his coat pockets as he walked with you down the long city sidewalk. Night had drawn into the November sky, but with all these lights, he couldn’t see many stars. It was also cold as all hell. The frigid wind slapped at him every time they turned the corner of a building, snapping right into his bones.

Still, he supposed there was a kind of attractiveness to the city at night. The stores and their signs were all lit up gold and other neon colors. Couples and families walked together, all done up nice for wherever dinner reservation or movie they were trying to get to. It begged the question of what your husband was doing right now if he didn’t notice his wife out at this time of night.

“Where’s your husband tonight, if I might ask?” said Dean.

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

“He claims to be working late virtually every night of the weekdays,” you said, “but he usually comes home stinking of alcohol.” Your eyes dimmed, even with the pretty lights shining in them. “He was in the Army as well. A corporal. He’s had a hard time adjusting to being back home, and I know that… He doesn’t sleep very well. And do you know, he had a hard time finding work for a while too. Luckily, he has his father’s business to fall back on.”

Dean tried not to show how much your words resonated with him. He didn’t think it a good thing to have common ground with your husband, if he was the kind of man you said he was.

“Yeah? What’s his business?” he asked.

“He manages a meat production plant, of all things,” you said.

“Ah, located in the Meat Packing District, I presume?”

“You’d presume right.”

Dean nodded. “I get it. I inherited the family home back in Lawrence. I just need to figure out what’s next.”

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

“Oh, the Midwest,” you inclined your head. “What’s it like there?”

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

You almost laughed at that. At least it earned him your first smile of the night.

“Do you have an idea of what you’ll do for work?” you asked.

Dean chuckled. “Not just yet. Didn’t plan that far, you know?”

“Why not?” you asked.

“Hmm. Guess I didn’t see the point,” he replied with a mild shrug. It hid a deeper, darker well inside him. The part of him that hadn’t thought he’d make it back home after the war.  

You turned to him then, and you saw it behind his eyes. The two of you walked in silence for a little while as the neighborhood blocks began to shift and change, becoming somewhat quieter, more residential. Dean put himself between you and the sidewalk when a taxi zoomed by too close to the curb, resting a hand on the small of your back for protection.

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far.

But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman.

Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

“I was a nurse,” you said eventually, earning his attention. “I was there when they liberated Paris.”

Dean turned to you with newfound interest lighting his green eyes. “You were at Normandy.”

You nodded. “For a while. Almost a year before D-Day.”

Dean let out a short, if humorless chuckle, running a hand through his hair.

“Well, that’s where I was. At that time, at least,” he said. You gave him a similar look; respect, and perhaps finding a kindred spirit.

“I did what I could do before, during, and afterwards,” you said. “I think that’s all we can do now, Mr. Winchester.”

“Call me Dean,” he said. “If you like.”

A second smile almost tugged at your lips. You nodded in agreement.

“Dean,” you said.

In another ten minutes, he was walking you up to your porch at your apartment building. You travelled up the four small steps, while Dean stopped at the second one. For the first time, you had the vantage point above him as you turned on your heel to face him. You were about to thank him when he shook his head, scoffing.

“This guy must be dumb, deaf, and blind, sweetheart,” he said.

Your face warmed in a blush, and you gave a rueful smile when you realized what he meant. He was looking up at you like someone who couldn’t understand your plight. You knew the feeling.

“That’s kind of you, but you don’t have to do that,” you said.  

His brows furrowed. “Do what?” 

“Try to make me feel better,” you said, scuffing the toe of your sensible heels against the brick platform. Dean crossed his arms. 

“Why not?” he asked.

“Because the fact of the matter is, Sergeant, words don’t move me anymore.” You picked up your gaze from the ground, and you met his. “Flattery is just a pretty way of lying, and I’ve grown to really, truly hate lying.” 

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

“I guess that’s fair,” he said. He had to stop himself before he proved your point with a smart word on your pretty smile. Although, it wouldn’t have been a lie. He tipped his hat up. “Goodnight then, Mrs. Milligan.” 

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice. 

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

He gave you a charming grin and a more casual soldier’s salute. Then he stuck his hands back in his pockets, turned on his heel, and began to walk back the way he came. You couldn’t help but watch him go for a second or two. His legs were slightly bowed under his slacks, you noticed.

With a blush, you shook your head to rid yourself of those silly thoughts. You closed the door.

That night, Michael came home late, as usual—this time at two in the morning. He reeked of alcohol, also per usual, but this time when he rolled over towards you in bed to say goodnight, you stiffened. He also smelled like a woman’s perfume. Expensive stuff. 

This was one of those signs you hadn’t wanted to tell Sam Winchester. Frankly, it was crude and embarrassing.

“Sorry it’s so late, darling. Got held up,” he said, kissing your shoulder through your nightgown. His fingers played with the ends of your hair while you laid facing away from him.

You squeezed your eyes shut. You were fighting every instinct you had inside you that wanted to recoil from his touch and bolt out of the bed. When just a few months ago, his touch was all you craved, almost desperately so. 

“Where were you?” you asked. Somehow, you kept your voice steady and calm. “You weren’t at the office all this time.”

“Had a couple of drinks with the guys after,” he said with a shrug. “Sorry. The night got away from us, but, uh…I’ll be home on time for dinner tomorrow.”

With your back turned to him, you were able to roll your eyes.

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked.

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly. 

“Hmm. No real loss there then.” 

Your teeth clenched. “If I thought you were actually going to be home when you said you would, maybe I would make a rump roast with all the fixings.” 

Michael paused, but then, he grasped your shoulder, slowly turned you around in the bed until you were facing him. His face was sterner. 

“Excuse me?” 

You remained quiet. Your gaze travelled downwards, avoiding his.

Michael huffed, shaking his head. “Sometimes you got a real mouth on you. One of these days, you just might regret it.” 

He turned his back on you, laying on his side. You did the same while trying to stem your tears.

When did this become your life?

AN: Oof, sorry for all that angst at the end there, but I hope you liked the first chapter! Did you enjoy soldier!Dean and soldier/lawyer!Sam? Do you want to find a dark alley for Michael yet? 😅

And are you ready for what's coming up next? 😘

Next Time:

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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[j2archives]

ponyboy ⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆

content warnings pwp, lowercase intended, unprotected piv, bottom!sub!sam, top!dom!fem reader, established relationship, hair pulling, morning sex, praise

sam’s hands roamed over your curves, tracing the swells of your breasts, the dip of your waist, the flare of your hips. he looked up at you as if you were the most precious thing he’d ever seen. and he sure thought so.

watching your lips part to moan his name as your hips grinded down against his pelvis again, sam didn’t think he’d seen anything better. he marveled at the way you fit so perfectly in his arms, how the faint sunlight peeking through the curtains illuminated your features. sam knew he’d do anything to make you happy in a heartbeat and there was no changing his mind about that.

feeling your heat squeeze his length so perfectly had sam letting out a moan, it felt perfect being nestled inside of you like this. his tip hitting your g-spot over and over again. your fingers then snuck down to the back of his head, tugging at his brown locks.

his hips bucked up involuntarily at the sudden action earning a loud and wanton cry from your kissed, swollen lips. sam’s hands slid up from the possessive grip he held on your hips to your chest, holding the mounds in his hands.

“fuck, you’re so perfect. you keep squeezing me so good, i love you, god- i love you so much, just like that.” his voice was strained as he praised you. as much as he wanted to flip you over and take what he wanted, sam knew to act better than that. he was supposed to stay still, let you ride him to your satisfaction. and he did, he wanted to be good for you.

it felt as if sam was getting impossibly deeper, earning a gasp from your lips, “you’re so good, sammy. letting me ride you, take what I need. so pretty, baby.” your voice was breathless, starting to lower like a whisper. but sam could hear you.

when your hips stilled, his hands rushed to keep you steady. his eyes never drifted from where he was connected with you, watching your release drip down onto his skin and the rustled sheets. the sight was enough for him to let go, filling your cunt up to the brim.

it was so messy, but that was just how you both liked it.

[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part One

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean has a conflicting dream about you, his best friend, that has him questioning feelings he'd never allowed to see the light of day before. However, he might not be the only one…

Word Count: 7.7k

Warnings/Tags: Swearing, feelings, some spicy times, nothing too heavy...

AN: Happy Release day!!🎉 Honestly, i can’t thank you all enough for the excitement around this series since announcing it! I've fell in love writing this story 🥹 and I hope you all enjoy reading it as much as I have writing it ❤️

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Dean smiled lazily as he felt a warm palm slide up his chest, the body behind him pressing closer. Soft lips trailed kisses along his neck and shoulders, sending a shiver down his spine. He hummed in contentment and shifted onto his back, his tired eyes opening to the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen.

Her eyes sparkled with warmth and mischief, her lips curving into a playful smirk before she leaned down, peppering gentle kisses along his jaw. His eyes fluttered shut again as she sucked lightly at his pulse point, his breath coming quicker. A low groan rumbled from his throat as he gripped her waist, pulling her up into a heated kiss.

Her tongue caressed his, her touch sending fire through his veins. Her hand slid down his abdomen, fingertips grazing lower and lower beneath the sheets, his pulse pounding—

"WAKE UP, LOSER!"

Dean's eyes shot open, his body jolting as the blaring shriek of an airhorn filled his room. He yanked the covers tighter around himself, his heart racing from both the rude awakening and the remnants of his dream.

"What the hell, Y/N?" he growled, glaring at the culprit as he covered his ears. You grinned triumphantly and finally put the airhorn to rest.

Dean huffed, flopping back down on the bed and throwing an arm over his face, trying to will away the heat rising to his cheeks.

What the fuck? Was all he could think, his sleep-addled brain scrambling to make sense of why he’d just had a sex dream about you.

You, meanwhile, were way too chipper for his liking. 

"C’mon, Dean-o, up and at ’em." You patted his leg, and he flinched like you’d just burned him. You shot him an odd look, but he ignored it, shifting slightly to make sure the blanket hid the… Predicament he was currently dealing with.

"What’s with the drill sergeant wake-up? Can a guy not sleep in on a Saturday?" He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep, and other things.

You pouted. Actually pouted. And Dean had to force himself to look away from your lips—lips that had just been doing unspeakable things to him in his dream.

"You promised you'd go Christmas shopping with me.” You reminded him, completely unfazed by his mood.

Dean frowned. "That doesn’t sound like something I’d promise."

You hit him with your classic 'don’t bullshit me' look. And, yeah, okay, he remembered now. He'd offered last week, wanting to help you survive the chaos of last-minute shoppers—and use the trip to grab gifts for his own family.

"Fine, yeah. Just give me ten minutes to wake up, alright?" He relented, desperate for you to leave so he could deal with his little… Issue.

“Thanks, Buddy." Your voice was smug, like you knew he’d never actually say no to you. Because, let’s be honest, he never did.

Dean sighed as you closed the door behind you. He let his head fall back against the pillow, running a hand down his face.

What the hell?

Why was he dreaming about you like that? You were his best friend. You’d been inseparable since fourth grade. Sure, you were beautiful, but that had never been an issue before.

…Had it?

Dean groaned, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes. Nope. Too early for a deep dive into that mess. He rationalised it away—one, you were attractive. Two, you were close. And, statistically speaking, didn’t most guy-girl friendships eventually veer into weird territory at some point?

Yeah. Totally normal. No big deal.

Except… Two hours later, standing in the middle of a lingerie store, Dean realised he was totally screwed.

Before that, he’d spent the last two hours hauling around a bunch of your shopping bags like a damn pack mule. Only one of them happened to be his, with his completed gift purchases for everyone he needed to buy for. Though to be fair to you, your arms were just as full. He was bewildered at your ability to buy so much for so little.

Your immediate family only consisted of three people—Bobby, Ellen, and Jo—but you had argued that you had your friends, his family, and him to buy for. The latter of which, he’d told you not to do.

However, it fell on deaf ears as always. Every Christmas and birthday, it was the same. But Dean couldn’t fault you for it—you always got people gifts that were meaningful to them, and you got so much joy from giving that he could never say anything other than thank you.

What he wasn’t thankful for was your complete inability to stay focused. Every shop you entered, you’d get distracted by little knickknacks, convincing yourself someone needed them, rather than the original item you came for. It made the day so much longer, but despite the fatigue in his arms and the chaos of holiday shoppers, he was enjoying himself.

Though, that was a given with you.

You were naturally a people pleaser, but knowing how much Dean hated shopping, you’d made it your mission to keep him entertained. You’d made him laugh—laugh to the point his belly ached and tears were shed. The day had surprisingly become enjoyable. But then you'd dragged him into this store, and his brain short-circuited.

The window displays alone had him spiralling, lace and silk-covered mannequins taunting him with thoughts he really didn’t need to have. About you. And then you, completely oblivious, pulled a matching red lace bra and thong off a rack, holding them up for inspection.

Dean swallowed hard.

He’d done your laundry before. You two split chores in the apartment, and he’d handled your underwear plenty of times; never thinking twice about it. So why the hell was he suddenly imagining you in them now?

Was this really because of the dream? It had to be.

And then, like you hadn’t already sent him into cardiac arrest, you giggled, holding up another pair. "Hey, check this out—crotchless panties."

Dean barely choked back a groan as you stuck your fingers through the open section like it was the funniest thing in the world. His brain, on the other hand, provided a detailed mental slideshow of all the things he could do to you in them.

Jesus Christ.

He needed air.

"I—uh—I gotta step outside. Promised Sammy I’d call about a gift for Mom," he lied, voice tight.

You barely glanced up. "Okay."

Dean bolted like his life depended on it, shoving through the doors and inhaling the crisp winter air. "What the fuck is wrong with you, man?" He muttered under his breath, dragging a hand down his face.

A passing woman gave him a scandalised look as she walked by with her kid. He shot her an apologetic smile before leaning back against the brick wall, blowing out a heavy breath.

He tried to clear his mind, but every time he pushed the R-rated thoughts away, softer images replaced them. The way you smiled. The way you laughed, head thrown back, eyes crinkling. That stupid fluttery feeling hit his stomach again.

Dean frowned.

Was he sick? Hallucinating?

The worst part? You were always the person he talked to when he was confused about something.

But now you were the one person he couldn’t talk to about this.

Another half hour crawled by before you finally emerged from the store, a small bag swinging from your wrist. Dean’s eyes locked onto it like it held the answers to the universe, his mind immediately spiralling.

What the hell did you buy?

He told himself he didn’t care. He really didn’t. But his brain clearly had other plans because now he was picturing you in every single thing you could’ve possibly picked out.

Lingerie? Pyjama's? Something sheer, lace- nope!

He swallowed hard and forced himself to focus on literally anything else, but it was a lost cause. By the time you both made it back to the apartment, he felt like his brain had been put through a damn blender.

You, however, were completely unbothered, tossing your bags onto the floor with a content sigh before flopping onto the couch. "Pizza should be here soon. You wanna pick the movie?"

Dean blinked, barely processing the words. Right. Normal best friend things. Hanging out. Eating pizza. Watching a movie. That’s what you two did. That’s what you’d always done.

Maybe that’s all today was—a momentary lapse. A weird, fleeting thing brought on by lack of sleep, the stress of shopping, and, most probably, the objectifying dream he’d had of you. It didn’t have to mean anything more than that.

Yeah. He could shake this off. No big deal.

Letting out a slow breath, he dropped onto the couch beside you, snagging the remote. "Fine. But if I pick, you’re not allowed to bitch about it."

You hummed, already scrolling through your phone. "I make no promises."

A small smirk tugged at Dean’s lips. This was normal. Easy. Just like always.

And for the first time since this morning, he let himself believe it.

The following Friday, Dean found himself at the Roadhouse with Benny, Cas, and Gabe. It was the kind of place that felt like a second home.

The Roadhouse wasn’t fancy—hell, half the decor was older than they were—but it had its own charm. The regulars, the outdated rodeo-style décor, the worn wooden bar top that had seen more spilled whiskey and thrown punches than anyone cared to count.

The walls were lined with old beer signs, neon lights buzzing softly under the hum of conversation. The jukebox in the corner cycled through rock classics, always a little too loud, but that was part of the place’s charm.

Dean and the guys had been coming here for years—long before they were even old enough to drink. You had, too. Being Ellen’s stepdaughter meant you practically grew up in this place, and while Ellen had a strict no-bullshit policy, she wasn’t blind to the fact that teenagers would be teenagers.

As long as you and the guys stayed under her watchful eye, she let you each have a beer or two when you were younger, making damn sure no one got carried away. And if anyone so much as thought about sneaking more? Well, Ellen had a way of shutting that down real quick. She was tough, sharp as a whip, and had a stare that could make a grown man fold—but she cared, more than she’d ever admit.

Jo helped out too, working the bar some nights in between her law enforcement studies. She’d been slinging beers and rolling her eyes at the group’s antics since she was old enough to work behind the counter, always quick with a sarcastic remark when any of them got out of line. 

You and Dean had spent countless nights here, watching as the Roadhouse shaped who you all became.

Benny leaned against the pool table, lining up his shot with an easy, practiced confidence. Dean had seen him do it a hundred times—his friend had a natural ease about him, a steadiness that made him damn good at their job. 

They spent most of their days working maintenance for RHP Properties, fixing busted pipes and dealing with tenants who thought every flickering light meant the world was ending. Benny made the long hours bearable.

Cas sat nearby, nursing a whiskey, his sharp blue eyes scanning the table like he was analysing some historical battle strategy. He always had that serious, thoughtful air about him. It made sense—he was a history teacher, working his way toward becoming a professor. His brain just worked differently.

And then there was Gabriel, though he liked to go by Gabe, Cas’ cousin. Though you’d never guess it just by looking at them. 

Where Cas was serious, methodical, and downright broody at times, Gabe was his exact opposite—carefree, unpredictable, and always ready with a joke. The contrast between them was almost comical, like night and day, order and chaos.

Currently half-draped over the bar like he owned the place, Gabe was laughing at something Rachel, the new bartender, had said. She was easy on the eyes—exactly the kind of woman Gabe set his sights on. And judging by the way she giggled and blushed under his usual blend of wit and charm, he’d hit his mark.

Gabe had always been that guy—the one who could talk his way into or out of anything, a natural-born trickster with a grin that could disarm just about anyone. No one was entirely sure what he did for a living, some mix of marketing gigs and side hustles that somehow kept him afloat. According to him, it was all about “the art of persuasion.”

Dean just called it bullshit.

The night had settled into an easy rhythm—drinks flowing, pool games stretching long enough to become more about talking shit than actual competition. Gabe, as always, had the floor, spinning some ridiculous story about a one-night stand gone wrong.

“I’m telling you; she had three snakes. Just slithering around the damn apartment like it was normal,” Gabe insisted, gesturing wildly with his beer. “One of ‘em was watching me, man. I swear it knew.”

Benny chuckled, lining up his next shot. “I think the real question is, why the hell did you stay?”

Gabe shrugged. “What can I say? I have a hard time walking away from an adventure.”

Cas, who had been nursing his whiskey with a bemused expression, finally spoke up. “It’s a wonder you haven’t been killed yet.”

“Give it time,” Benny muttered, sinking his shot.

The conversation shifted, everyone throwing in their own weird hookup stories—bad timing, embarrassing moments, things they wished they could forget. Dean had been mostly listening, chuckling at their dumb-assery, when the thought that had been nagging him for days finally slipped out.

“Is it, uh… normal to have a sex dream about a friend?”

Benny didn’t react at first, too focused on sinking his shot, but Gabe, ever the opportunist, caught onto it immediately. “If it’s about Y/N? Yeah, totally.”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What? No—it’s not—”

Gabe grinned, tilting his head like he was enjoying watching Dean squirm. “Not what? Not about her? Or not just a dream?”

Dean scowled, scrambling to recover. “Jesus, Gabe, I didn’t say it was about her. It was hypothetical.”

“Uh-huh.” Gabe leaned against the pool table, twirling the chalk in his fingers. “Sure, man. Hypothetical.”

Dean exhaled sharply, trying to shake off the weird, twisting feeling in his gut. “Just saying, dreams don’t mean anything, right? Just… brain static.”

Benny chuckled, finally looking up from the table. “Depends on the dream, brother.”

Dean glanced between them, suddenly feeling like he was the only one missing something. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Gabe smirked, eyes twinkling with mischief. “It means you’ve been making googly eyes at her since we were, what—fifteen?”

Dean’s stomach dropped. “The hell I have.”

Gabe ignored him, tapping his chin. “Honestly, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner.”

Benny sighed, shaking his head as he sank another shot. “Sorry, brother. Gotta agree with the gremlin on this one.”

Cas, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, his voice calm and matter of fact. “It’s always been very obvious.”

Dean stared at them, mouth opening and closing. “You guys are insane.”

Gabe shrugged, completely unfazed. “Denial’s a hell of a drug. You’ll catch up eventually.”

Dean gripped his pool cue a little tighter, his next shot suddenly feeling a lot more difficult than it should have.

Benny, ever the voice of reason, leaned on his cue. “Ain’t anything bad, Dean. You two have known each other since you were what? Nine. Been joint at the hip since. You know all her family, she knows yours. Hell, she’s practically—”

“If that were true, something would’ve happened by now,” Dean cut in, shaking his head.

Gabe snorted, swiping Dean’s beer before he could stop him. “Not if you’re in denial, my friend.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, frustration curling in his chest. Their words were ringing too damn true, and it was freaking him out. “You’re all outta your damn minds.”

Gabe just smirked. “Keep telling yourself that, Winchester.”

The conversation haunted him. All the way back to the apartment.

He’d walked the couple of blocks from the bar to your shared place, his friends’ words swirling around his mind, needling into places he didn’t want to acknowledge.

Dean knew he cared about you—he always had. But wasn’t that normal after knowing someone for so long? You were practically family.

His thoughts drifted back to the first time he met you. Fourth grade. The old, rusted swing set at the park near his house.

He’d been shoving loose gravel around with the toe of his sneaker when he heard a loud laugh—sharp and unbothered. Looking up, he saw a girl launch herself off the swing at its peak, landing in a heap on the ground with a thud.

He winced. That had to hurt.

But instead of crying, you rolled onto your back, a grin splitting your dirt-smudged face as you stared up at the sky. "Holy crap, that was awesome."

Dean frowned, more confused than anything. "You just busted your knee."

You sat up, inspecting the scrape with a shrug. "Eh, I’ve had worse."

Then you looked at him—really looked at him—and grinned. "Think you can jump higher?"

Dean, never one to back down from a challenge, snorted. "Duh."

And that was that. A competition was born.

For the next hour, you and Dean had taken turns swinging as high as possible before flinging yourselves off, measuring who could get the most distance. By the time the sun dipped low, both of you were covered in dirt and scrapes, laughing like idiots.

When his mom finally called him home for dinner, he’d hesitated before brushing off his hands and looking at you. "Same time tomorrow?"

You grinned, teeth flashing. "You’re on, Winchester."

And just like that, Dean had found his best friend.

Now, years later, that same friend was tangled up in his head in a way he couldn’t ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him.

“Honey, I’m home!” Dean called out as soon as he stepped into the apartment. The words left him out of habit, that same old teasing lilt in his voice. It was an inside joke that had stuck over time—born the day you’d both moved in together after college, a decision fuelled by practicality more than anything else. 

Splitting rent was cheaper, and as best friends, it had made perfect sense. Somehow, though, the whole thing had felt oddly domestic from the start, and Dean had cracked the joke that first night—throwing open the door with a smirk, announcing himself like some sitcom husband. You’d groaned, thrown a pillow at him, and it had just stuck. Something easy, something comfortable.

From somewhere deeper in the apartment, your voice called back, warm and casual. “Hey!” You greeted him as he shrugged off his worn leather jacket and toed off his boots with a sigh, rolling his neck to ease the tension there. 

“How were the guys?” You called out again.

"Yeah, they're all good," he answered absentmindedly, trying not to think about that last conversation he’d had with them as he headed straight for the fridge, already contemplating his options.

His hand gripped the cool metal of the handle as he swung it open, his face falling at the sad excuse for groceries staring back at him—half a six-pack, expired milk, some takeout containers he didn’t even remember ordering.

Right. Grocery shopping. Definitely overdue.

"Hey, you feel like ordering in tonight?" He called out over his shoulder. "Pizza? Chinese? Maybe both, live a little?"

But before he could get an answer, movement in the corner of his eye pulled his focus, and his breath caught in his throat.

You stepped out of your room, and just like that, Dean forgot how to breathe.

His hand slipped from the fridge handle as his entire focus tunnelled in on you. You weren’t just dressed up—you were knockout gorgeous. 

A sleek, black dress hugged your figure in a way that should’ve been illegal, the fabric clinging in all the right places before tapering off mid-thigh. Your legs—long, smooth, and so much more on display than he was prepared for—were accentuated by the sharp cut of your stilettos, heels so high they had no damn business being on your feet, yet somehow, you walked like you owned the world in them.

Dean swallowed hard.

His gaze flickered to the subtle details—the delicate chain resting just below the hollow of your throat, the way the dim lighting in the apartment caught the shimmer of your earrings, how your makeup was just enough to highlight what was already perfect. 

You smelled different too—a new perfume perhaps? Something subtle but undeniably you.

The air in the apartment felt thick, like it was pushing down on his chest.

You didn’t even notice his staring. Instead, you were focused on the couch, leaning over slightly as you grabbed your purse, your fingers quickly checking through its contents. "I can't," you said lightly, barely looking up. "Got a hot date, remember?"

Dean blinked, your words cutting through his haze like a blade.

“Date?"

His stomach twisted.

You straightened up, finally glancing at him with a smirk. "Yeah, with Gary from marketing?" You prompted, slinging your purse over your shoulder. "He asked me out last week—I told you about it?”

Gary from marketing.

Dean’s brows furrowed as the memory came rushing back—how you’d offhandedly mentioned it while he was distracted with something else, how he’d muttered some half-assed response at the time, maybe even made a joke—

"The guy with the tragic haircut?" he muttered, the words coming out before he could stop them.

You laughed. "That’s the one."

And just like that, it hit him.

He’d been so caught up in his own damn thoughts about you lately—trying to reason with himself, trying to make sense of the way things had shifted between you lately—that he hadn’t even thought the world would still be turning for you.

He’d been sitting in the passenger seat, clueless, while you’d been steering your own damn life without him.

And now?

Now, you were standing there, looking like that, all dressed up for some other guy—some idiot named Gary, who got to pick you up and take you out, who got to be the reason you put on that dress, who got to see that smile meant for him tonight.

Dean’s chest felt tight, a slow, bitter realisation creeping in.

This wasn’t like all the other times.

You’d gone on dates before. He knew that. He’d teased you about them, had even tossed out protective big-brother-ish warnings to guys who had no clue the words felt foreign in his mouth. But he’d never felt anything about it before.

Not like this.

Not like his chest was caving in.

Not like a bitter, ugly heat was curling around his ribs, settling deep into his bones.

Not like he wanted to throw his jacket back on and hunt down ‘Gary from marketing’ and make damn sure he knew he wasn’t good enough for you.

His hands curled into fists at his sides.

"Right." His voice was quieter than he meant it to be, rough around the edges as he forced the word past the lump in his throat.

He watched as you did one last check in the mirror by the door, smoothing your hands down your dress, adjusting your lipstick in a way that made his stomach tighten even more. You looked excited.

Dean clenched his jaw.

And just like that, the jealousy settled deep in his bones, hot and unyielding.

He didn’t want to picture it—you laughing at some stupid joke Gary made over dinner, Gary sliding his hand over yours, maybe leaning in close at the end of the night, lips hovering over yours.

But the thoughts came anyway.

And it wrecked him.

You shot him one last glance, oblivious to the storm raging inside of him. "Don’t wait up, Winchester."

And with that, you were gone.

Dean stood there for a long moment, staring at the closed door.

His chest felt tight. And then the bitter realisation hit him. 

His friends had been right.

Dean couldn’t sleep.

For the past two hours, he had been tossing and turning, alternating between staring at the ceiling and squeezing his eyes shut, willing sleep to come. It never did.

How the hell could he sleep when his mind was torturing him with images of you—with Gary?

His stomach churned uncomfortably at the thought of it, bile rising in his throat. His mind painted vivid, unwanted pictures: Gary’s hands on you, his lips on your skin, your soft laughter, the way you might be looking at him right now—the way you should be looking at Dean.

He clenched his jaw, shaking his head as if it would shake the thoughts loose. It didn’t.

With a frustrated exhale, Dean sat up, rubbing a hand down his face. This was pointless.

There was no way in hell he was going to get any rest like this, not with his heart pounding and his mind running laps. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, stretching his sore muscles before making his way into the living room.

His feet carried him straight to the kitchen, to the cabinet under the sink where he kept a bottle of whiskey for special occasions.

This qualified.

He poured himself a shot and downed it in one go, barely wincing at the burn as it slid down his throat. The second one went down just as easily, a bitter warmth settling in his chest, but it didn’t quiet the storm in his head the way he hoped it would.

His eyes flicked toward the clock on the microwave.

1:37 AM.

You were still out.

Another shot. Another slow burn in his chest.

Dean knew he had no right to be this worked up about it. He wasn’t your boyfriend. He wasn’t anything to you except your best friend—your roommate. That was the problem.

He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard.

When the hell did everything get so complicated?

It wasn’t just the dream. Sure, it cracked something open in him, but if he was honest with himself, there had always been something simmering underneath. He could see it now—in the way his past relationships never worked out, how no one else ever seemed enough because in the back of his mind, he was always comparing them to you. The way he told you things he didn’t tell anyone, not even his own mother.

Seventeen years.

You had been in his life for seventeen years. That was longer than most marriages. 

Damn, he really was an idiot. How could he have been so blind to it, so ignorant to what was staring him right in the face the whole time? 

Then, he heard it.

The distinct jingle of keys outside the door, followed by a clumsy, muffled “shit" breaking him out of his reverie.

Dean sighed, setting his glass down before pushing off from the counter. He made his way to the door just as he heard another "fuck", then a quiet thud—like something hitting the floor.

Through the peephole, he spotted you crouched down, fumbling for your keys, struggling to fit them into the lock.

You were clearly drunk.

Dean shook his head with a smirk, unlocking the door from his side just as you managed to steady yourself, one hand braced against the door handle. The moment he pulled it open, you stumbled forward, nearly toppling over—until his arms caught you.

You crashed into his chest with a soft “Hmph.”

Dean's arms instinctively wrapped around you, holding you up as you melted against him, giggling into his shirt. The scent of alcohol clung to you, a mix of whiskey and whatever fruity drink you had been sipping on all night.

“Jesus." You huffed, pushing off him, though you wobbled as you tried to find your footing. Dean kept his hands out, ready to catch you again if needed.

"You good, sweetheart?" He asked, raising a brow as he took in your dazed smile and glassy eyes.

You grinned up at him, your expression pure blissed-out drunkenness. "I'm just perfect, Dean’o."

Dean smirked at the nickname, but before he could say anything, you reached up and grasped his jaw between your thumb and fingers, squishing his cheeks slightly.

“Okay, alright—enough of that.” He groaned, peeling your hand away. You didn’t seem to realise your own strength at the moment, and if you squeezed any harder, you were gonna leave a dent in his damn face.

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed, before your attention drifted over his shoulder. Then your expression dropped into something heartbreakingly close to a pout.

“Awww,” you whined. “You’re drinking without me?”

You sounded genuinely upset, your lower lip pushing out in an exaggerated fashion. Before Dean could respond, you made a clumsy grab for the bottle on the counter.

But Dean was quicker.

Before your fingers could wrap around the neck of the whiskey bottle, his hand closed over yours, pulling it away with ease. “Yeah, no. You’ve had enough,” he said firmly, setting the bottle behind him and out of reach.

You frowned up at him, your brows knitting together like a scolded child. “You’re no fun.”

Dean smirked, amused at how downright grumpy you looked, like a kid being denied dessert. He leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “You need some water, sweetheart. Not more booze.”

You huffed dramatically, crossing your arms over your chest. “I don’t want water, I want whiskey.”

“Tough,” Dean said, already turning to grab a glass from the cabinet. “You’re getting water.”

Your pout deepened as he filled the glass from the tap, sliding it toward you. You eyed it like it personally offended you before reluctantly picking it up and taking a sip—your way of conceding to his demand, albeit with an exaggerated sigh.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. You were something else.

Once you were distracted with your water, he leaned against the counter again, crossing his arms over his chest. He could still feel the tension coiling in his gut, the jealousy he’d been drowning in all night, and he couldn’t hold it back any longer.

“So,” he started, keeping his tone casual, but his fingers clenched against his biceps. “How was it?”

You blinked up at him, confused. “How was what?”

Dean gave you a look. “Your date.”

At that, you scoffed, setting your glass down with a little more force than necessary. “Oh, that.” You waved a hand dismissively. “It was awful.”

Dean raised an eyebrow, surprised by how quickly you admitted it. He’d expected you to defend the guy, maybe try to convince yourself it had been a good time. But no—just flat-out awful.

“Yeah?” He prompted, keeping his voice even, but he could already feel his chest loosening just a little.

You leaned against the counter, your drunken state making you extra expressive as you talked with your hands. “First of all, the guy is so uptight. Like, I swear, he’s never laughed in his life. I tried joking around, and he just blinked at me like I was speaking another language.”

Dean snorted, already picturing it.

“And then,” you continued, eyes wide with disbelief, “all he did was talk about himself. Nonstop. Like, dude, I asked him one question—one—about his job, and suddenly I was stuck in a TED Talk about marketing strategies. Like I don’t work for the same company.” You threw your arms out in a ‘are you kidding me’ gesture.

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Sounds like a real winner.”

“Oh, it gets worse,” you said, holding up a finger. “So, we order food, right? And I get a cheeseburger, because, you know, I wanted a damn cheeseburger.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “Good choice.”

“Right?” You gestured wildly, as if proving your point. “But Gary—freaking Gary—looks at me and goes, ‘Are you sure you wanna eat that? You should really watch your figure.’”

Dean froze. His smirk disappeared.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he couldn’t believe the words had actually come out of your mouth.

Then his expression darkened, jaw tightening. “Tell me you’re kidding.”

You rolled your eyes. “I wish.”

Dean’s grip on his bicep tightened, his teeth grinding together. That prick. He had known from the start that Gary was a tool, but this? This was another level.

“So,” you continued, a mischievous glint in your eye, “I did what any rational, level-headed woman would do in that situation.”

Dean arched a brow. “And that was?”

You grinned, leaning in like you were about to tell him a secret. “I threw my drink in his face and left.”

Dean stared at you for a beat, then—He laughed.

A deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest as pride swelled in him. “No shit?”

“No shit.” You grinned, clearly pleased with yourself. “Right in his smug, stupid, judgy face.”

Dean shook his head, chuckling. That’s my girl, he thought, though he would never say it out loud.

“But instead of coming straight home,” you continued, twirling your glass of water between your fingers, “I didn’t wanna deal with your I told you so—”

Dean smirked. “I would’ve said it.”

You shot him a look. “—so, I went to the Roadhouse instead. Had a few drinks, bitched about my failed date to Jo and Ellen. Ellen cut me off and called me a cab.” Dean huffed. That sounded about right.

For a moment, he just watched you, taking in the way you had perked up again, the lingering frustration in your eyes slowly melting into something softer.

You were here.

Not out with Gary. Not waking up next to some guy who didn’t deserve you. Not letting some self-important idiot tell you who you should be.

You were home. With him.

And as much as he wanted to tell you that he had been losing his damn mind all night, picturing you with someone else—he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against the counter, arms still crossed, and smirked.

"Well," Dean said, tilting his head with a smirk. "At least you got a good story out of it."

"Yeah, I guess." You hummed, swirling the water in your glass. The initial amusement faded as your shoulders dropped slightly. Dean caught the shift immediately, his brows pulling together.

"C’mon, you can’t really be cut up about a guy with an Edward Scissor-hands haircut and zero game." He teased, hoping to pull you out of whatever downward spiral you were heading into.

It worked—your laughter bubbled out, a full, belly-deep laugh that made the tension in his chest ease. But then you sighed, the sound quieter this time, more pensive. "It’s not him I’m cut up about."

Dean watched you carefully as you traced the rim of your glass with your finger. "I just feel like I can never meet a good guy."

Something inside him twisted.

What about me?

The thought came unbidden, sharp and intrusive, and he shoved it down before it could take root. Instead, he nudged you with his elbow.

"That’s not true." His voice was lighter now, teasing again. "What about Mikey? The guy with the lisp?"

His grin widened as he mimicked a lisp, knowing damn well you’d dated the guy for barely two months in your sophomore year before his clinginess drove you up the wall. The look of horror that crossed your face had him biting back a laugh.

"Oh my God, Dean!" You gawked at him before landing a solid punch to his arm. "That is so mean!"

"Ow," he complained through his laughter, rubbing the spot you hit. "I’m serious, though! He was a real sweetheart.” He exaggerated the lisp again, barely dodging your next swing.

"I swear to God—" You huffed, turning to stomp off, but before you could escape, he caught your arm gently.

"Okay, okay, I’m done. Scouts honour." He held up three fingers in a mock solemn gesture.

You gave him a look—like you absolutely did not believe him—but still, with a huff, you reclaimed your spot opposite him and took another sip of water.

Then, almost absentmindedly, you sighed. "I mean, it has been a long time."

Dean’s brow furrowed. "A long time since what?"

You hesitated for a brief second before shrugging your shoulders, brushing it off like it wasn’t a big deal. "Since I’ve had sex."

Dean choked on his own damn saliva.

You frowned in concern, but he quickly waved you off, reaching for his whiskey to cover up the way his throat had suddenly gone dry.

You leaned back against the counter, lost in thought, completely oblivious to the war you’d just started in his head.

"I just—I don’t even need romance, you know?" You shrugged. "At this point, I’d settle for a little fun. I even bought new lingerie for tonight, just in case, and now"— you gestured vaguely to yourself, "totally wasted."

Dean swallowed—hard.

His mind was already in dangerous territory, but now it plummeted straight into the gutter.

You’d bought lingerie? For tonight?

His gaze instinctively flicked down for half a second before he caught himself, before he could let himself really think about what you were implying. Because if you had planned for tonight—if you were wearing it right now—

God help him.

The image hit him like a freight train. You, laid out in something lacey and delicate, something sheer enough to tease but not reveal, maybe even those crotchless panties you’d pointed out the other day in that damn store—his stomach twisted, his fingers curling around his glass with a little too much force.

And the worst part? Some other guy was supposed to see you like that tonight.

That thought sent something hot and possessive burning through his veins.

Dean exhaled sharply, gripping the back of his neck as he forced his gaze anywhere but at you.

"Gary didn’t deserve to see you like that." The words left his mouth before he could stop them, his voice lower than before.

You scoffed. "Yeah, well, no one else is seeing it either, so it really doesn’t matter."

It matters to me.

Dean forced himself to take another sip of whiskey, as if that would drown out the thoughts swimming in his head.

With a stretch and a yawn, you set your empty glass down and pushed off the counter. "Alright, I’m gonna head to bed. Thanks for making me drink water, Mom." You teased, because Dean was always more like a mother hen than a strict father.

Dean smirked, watching as you stepped closer. He expected you to give him a casual pat on the arm or maybe ruffle his hair like you sometimes did when you were feeling particularly annoying.

Instead, you leaned up on your toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

Or, at least, that’s where it was meant to land.

At the last second, whether it was the whiskey in your system or just bad aim, your lips caught the corner of his mouth.

You gasped softly, your breath fanning over his lips, and then you giggled. "Shit—sorry."

Dean didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Because you were still right there, inches away, your body just barely brushing his, your eyes flicking down to his lips.

Something in the air shifted.

The easy playfulness between you dissolved into something else—something warm and electric, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

Your smile faded, lips parting slightly as you lingered, hesitating just a second longer than necessary.

Then, before he could say a damn thing, before he could even think—

You leaned in again.

And this time, you kissed him.

It was soft at first, hesitant, your lips pressing against his in a way that felt like a question. Like you were giving him the chance to pull away, to stop this before it could turn into something neither of you could take back.

Dean’s entire body locked up. His mind screamed at him to push you away, to remind you that you’d been drinking, that this was just a moment of drunken impulse, that tomorrow you might regret this.

But then you pressed in closer, deepening the kiss, your fingers skimming up his arm, and his resolve shattered.

A low, quiet sound rumbled in his throat as he gave in. Completely.

His hands found your waist, gripping tight, pulling you against him as he kissed you back. And not just kissed you—devoured you. All the tension from the past few days, all the frustration, the longing, the confusion—it poured out of him like a damn breaking.

Your lips were warm, soft, intoxicating in a way no drink could ever compare to. He let himself get lost in it, let himself feel it—how perfect you felt against him, how natural this was, like it had been inevitable all along.

You sighed against his mouth, your fingers sliding up into his hair, and Dean groaned, tilting his head to deepen the kiss even further.

He didn’t know when his hands had moved, but now one was tangled in your hair, the other splayed against the small of your back, pressing you flush against him. And fuck, you felt good. Too good.

This was dangerous.

And when you finally pulled away, lips kiss-swollen and breaths unsteady, Dean couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. His heart pounded like a war drum; each beat a sharp, insistent reminder of the storm raging inside him.

He should say something. Do something. But every word he might’ve spoken tangled in his throat, choked by the weight of what had just happened.

“Woah,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Your eyes flickered between his and his mouth, never quite settling, like you were just as caught in the moment as he was. Your cheeks were flushed, heat radiating from your skin, and the ghost of your breath still lingered against his lips, dizzying and sweet.

Dean didn’t move. Didn’t dare move. The air between you crackled, fragile and electric, holding him captive in a moment he wasn’t ready to break.

He was waiting for you. Like always.

Your breath ghosted against his lips, and that was all it took.

You kissed him again, this time with more heat, more purpose, fingers tangling into the front of his shirt as you pulled him in. Dean let out a rough sound—somewhere between a groan and a sigh—before his hands found your waist, gripping tight as he backed you up against the counter. The edge dug into your lower back, but you barely noticed, too caught up in the way he was pressing into you, solid and warm and overwhelming in the best way.

His hands slid down, grasping the backs of your thighs, and before you could fully process it, he lifted you effortlessly onto the countertop.

A surprised gasp left your lips, but Dean was already there, swallowing the sound as he kissed you again, deeper, slower, his fingers digging into your hips. You pulled him in, locking your legs around his waist, desperate to feel more of him, and his hands wandered—exploring the soft, bare skin of your thighs, gliding higher, pushing the hem of your dress up as he went.

He trailed kisses down your jaw, moving to your neck, and when his lips found that one spot—the spot—you let out a soft moan, your head tipping back instinctively.

Only to smack it straight into the cabinet behind you.

The entire moment shattered.

You winced, immediately bringing a hand to the back of your head. Dean jerked back, eyes wide with concern.

“Shit—are you okay?” He cupped your jaw, scanning your face for any sign of real pain.

For a second, you just blinked at him—then, out of nowhere, you started giggling.

Dean frowned, still searching your eyes, but when you kept laughing, it broke him. He snorted, shaking his head, then let out a deep, full-bodied chuckle, forehead dropping against your shoulder.

“Jesus, sweetheart.” He pulled back, still grinning, rubbing a hand down his face. “That’s gotta be a sign, right?”

You sighed dramatically. “That the universe hates me?”

Dean smirked, his hands settling on your hips. “That you’re not sober enough for this.” His answer was loaded, a heavy realisation for himself that you were in no state of mind to be making any rational decisions right now, and that he should've known better than to take advantage of that. 

You pouted slightly, but you both knew he was right. Still, there was something soft in his expression as he helped you down, steadying you with warm hands on your waist. The moment your feet hit the ground, you swayed a little, still a bit disoriented.

Dean caught you instantly. “Okay, yeah. You need to lie down, sweetheart.”

You groaned but didn’t fight him as he led you to your room, making sure you didn’t trip over your own feet. Once you were settled, he disappeared briefly before returning with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, setting them on your nightstand.

“You’re a saint,” you mumbled, already sinking into the mattress.

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not quite. Just don’t want you becoming a pain in my ass in the morning when your head’s pounding.” He said as he helped pull off your shoes and settled you under the covers.

You cracked one eye open, looking at him with something unreadable, something soft. “Could never hate you, Dean.” You mumbled half asleep. 

He looked at you, lingering for a second too long. Then stood, with a small exhale.

“Call me if you need anything.” He told you as he walked to the door. You hummed your acknowledgment, and with that, he left, shutting the door quietly behind him.

Dean barely made it to his own room before he collapsed onto the bed, dragging both hands down his face.

What the fuck just happened?

The feel of you, the taste of your lips—it was burned into him now, like some kind of cruel brand.

It was just a kiss. Just a few incredible, amazing kisses. But now he knew for sure, no one would ever compare now.

And that thought terrified him.

Because tomorrow, you might not even remember. And if you did, would you be embarrassed? Regret it? Or worse, hate him?

Dean stared up at the ceiling, jaw tight, mind racing.

Yeah. He was so fucked.

AN: There we have it folks, the first chapter! It was a long one 😅 I know, but I'd love to hear your thoughts/feedback etc ❤️

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

@bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom

Next Time...

Your gaze dipped—just for a second—betraying you as it flickered to his mouth. You could still feel it, the way he kissed you. Rough but deliberate. His lips, the taste of whiskey, the way his hands— Dean cleared his throat, stepping back. "I’m gonna head to the store," he said, voice a little too casual. "Grab some food." You blinked, snapping out of it. "Oh. Yeah, okay." He hesitated, like he was about to ask you to come with him, but then his lips twitched. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… you kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.” Your head shot up, levelling him with a glare. "Ass." Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone." And with that, he grabbed his keys and walked out the door, leaving you alone in the kitchen. Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow. Yeah. You were so screwed.

[maddie0101]

guilty pleasures pt.2 ౨ৎ

౨ৎ summary: you get a text message from dean saying he needs to talk to you about something, so you leave class to meet him—only you don't make it to the lockers and neither does dean.

౨ৎ warnings: smut (mdni). fingering. dean’s got a dirty mouth. unprotected sex. wrap it before you tap it kids. p in v. semi public sex. dean’s got it bad for the reader. besties to lovers. lmk if I missed anything.

౨ৎ word count: 1.5k

haven’t read part one yet? link is here!

You honestly tried your best to pay attention in class but ever since you and Dean had that moment back in study hall, you couldn't think straight. Dean had always been flirty with you but you never imagined that he might feel the same way as you did. Was he about to kiss you back in study hall? Surely not, considering the two of you were in class and around other people. Right?

A sudden buzz of your phone quickly caught your attention as you reached down into your purse and hid the device under your desk. Tapping your fingers on the screen your eyebrows furrow as you read a text message.

Need to talk to you asap.

Meet me by our lockers.

Is everything okay? You texted back, chewing on your bottom lip and waiting for him to reply.

Yeah, just something I have to talk to you about.

Your eyebrows furrowed into confusion. What the hell was so important that you had to leave class? Sighing and shaking your head, you raised your hand and asked the teacher if you could use the restroom. Once dismissed you quickly started walking to where your and Dean’s lockers were.

Not even halfway to the lockers you suddenly gasped as a hand latched onto your bicep and pulled you into a room. A hand covered your mouth before you could scream, and your back slammed against the door as you felt the body warmth radiating off the person holding you.

Suddenly the person flicked on the light and you relaxed as you realized who it was.

“What the hell, Dean?!” your voice came out muffled before whacking his hand away from your mouth. “Why are we in a janitor’s closet?”

“Because I needed to talk to you in private.” Dean responded, seeming a tad nervous. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion as you watched him sigh before running a hand through his hair out of stress.

“Okay…and we gotta talk in a janitor’s closet?” you giggled but noticed how Dean wasn't going to relax anytime soon. As you realized he was either stressed out about something or sad, your smile faded into a frown.

“Dean?” your voice was soft, just above a whisper. “Are you okay?”

Dean sighed again before dropping his hand. “Yeah, I-” he stopped himself as he tried to think of the best possible way to confess his biggest secret. Deep green orbs finally burned into yours for the first time since study hall.

Dean’s shoulders relaxed as he took in the sight of you. A small amount of pink dusted your cheeks and the way you were looking at him with those big beautiful eyes caused Dean’s heart to flutter in his chest. Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Dean fought against the voices in his head before he couldn't take it anymore and muttered a “fuck it”

Surprise and confusion flickered over your features before Dean rushed forward, cupped both sides of your face, and smashed his lips down onto yours. Shock initially caused your body to stiffen before you realized that you were kissing the guy you’d been in love with for years. Dean’s lips were soft and the butterflies in your stomach caused your body to feel electric.

Finally, you kissed him back and instantly melted into the kiss. Dean groaned into your mouth, thankful that he hadn't just ruined everything. Sparks ignite in both of their bodies as their lips move against each other. It's slow and extremely sensual at first but quickly develops into a sloppy and desperate exchange.

Dean’s warm hands pull you impossibly closer and he deepens the kiss. A groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest as you involuntarily let out a small moan. The noise was like music to his ears and was better than what he’d dreamed you’d sound like, fueling the fire already burning inside.

“God sweetheart, I've been wanting to tell you for so long.” Dean managed to confess in between kisses, completely drunk on the taste of you. “I’ve been in love with you since we first became friends.”

“Me too.” you managed to get out in between kissing Dean and catching your breath. “Fuck I always thought about you while reading my books.”

Dean let out a mixture of a growl and a groan at the thought of you reading such dirty little things and imagining him doing those things to you. Only now he could get what he wanted and he was going to get it today whether or not the whole school heard you scream his name.

Reconnecting their lips in a desperate and messy effort, Dean snaked his hand down and popped the button to your jeans loose. Your eyes immediately rolled into the back of your head as his fingers made contact with your clit.

A moan filled the small space as you threaded your fingers through Dean’s hair, tilting your head to the side a little as his mouth placed kisses along your neck.

“Is this all for me?” Dean asked, groaning at the feeling of the amount of you coating his fingers. “If I would’ve known you were so turned on at the thought of me fucking you, I would've done it a long time ago.” Dean admitted but you only responded with a moan as he slipped a finger inside your entrance.

You rocked your hips down on his hand wanting nothing more than to relieve the ache between your legs. A second finger slipped inside of you before you could even manage to get a word out. The only word you managed to get out was Dean’s name as he fucked you with his fingers.

“I’m almost—” You started to whine and tell him that you were close but before you hit your high he quickly pulled his hand out of your jeans.

“I've waited too long for this.” Dean reconnected his lips to yours before breaking away and fiddling with his belt. “I wanna watch you come for the first time around my cock.”

Your eyes immediately locked into his and he worked his way out of his belt. You could only clench your thighs together as you watched him take the belt off with one hand before Dean gripped the side of your hip and spun you to face the door. Gasped at the feeling of being pressed up against the door and Dean right behind you. The rustling of his jeans sounded from behind you before you felt his large hands reach in front of you and pull your zipper down. Gripping the jeans on either side of your hips, Dean yanked your jeans down to your ankles and slipped them off but left your panties on.

“We’re gonna leave these on.” Dean’s voice sounded gruff as he placed a hand down on your back, bending you over.

You instantly gasped as you felt the tip of him brush over your folds, causing you to whine as he teased you. “Dean don't play with me right now. I need you.”

You heard no reply before he suddenly slammed into you. Gasping as he stretched you out, you melted as he started thrusting in and out of you. The feeling was absolutely euphoric as he continued, causing you to say his name over and over again like a prayer.

Dean groaned as he felt you clench around him, knowing you were close. Quickly pulling out and spinning you around, he slammed you up against the door and whispered “Jump.” Tapping both sides of your hips to encourage you. You jumped and he caught you. Immediately he pushed himself back into you and fucked up into you. “Wanna see your pretty face when I see you make a mess around me.” Dean’s words fueled the fire within you and caused your ache to grow.

“Dean.” you moaned, not able to think of any other words than his name. The coils in your stomach tighten before you finally come undone around him. Dean finds your lips fast, picking up his pace to ride you through your high. The feeling of her pulsing around him sends Dean to fall out of rhythm as he sloppily snaps his hips against hers. His face buries into her neck as he feels himself unravel inside of her, the feeling of warm liquid filling her insides as the two turn into a moaning mess, painting her inner walls white.

“I love you,” Dean admits as he connects his lips to yours gently. “I’m in love with you.”

A drunken smile lazily spreads across your lips as you watch Dean’s eyes soften and stare at you with hooded eyes. “I love you too, De.” You confess, still feeling the butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, tickling your insides.

“So you wanna recreate some of those scenes from your book later?” Dean’s small smile shifts into a smirk as he recalls googling the rest of the smut scenes in your book. He'd been curious to know what other things you’d read besides the small snippet he skimmed across.

“Actually, I’d love nothing more.” A smirk of your own spread across your lips, matching his energy. “I have a few different scenarios I wanna try.”

Dean’s eyebrows raised at your new attitude. “I’m so happy I caught you reading sex scenes.”

You giggled before informing him of the term. “It's called smut, Dean.”

“Whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes before bringing his lips back down onto yours.

more of my works here!

tag list: @freeluigihesbae @lieutenantchaos

[ribbonsncherries]

The Contract

Warnings: Lots of smut, P in V, Oral (both m and f receiving), BDSM!, Sexual Assault, Stalking, Angst, Alcohol mentions, Dominant and submissive plot, Drug Mentions, Virgin user, mentions of drugs.

Chapter 3

Pairing: CEO!Dean Winchester x inexperienced! User

Summary: When her roommate and work partner gets sick, she is in charge of interviewing famous billionaire businessman Dean Winchester for his new bar's grand opening which leads to a passionate and tumultuous affair where she discovers his dark sexual desires, marked by control and dominance. The one catch? He doesn't do romance.

Based on the trilogy Fifty Shades of Grey.

(4500 words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

The next morning, (y/n) woke up to the sun brushing through the curtains. The sounds of the city burst through the walls. She groaned in pain from the massive hangover that she was stuck with. She turned around in bed to see herself in a hotel room. She doesn’t know where she is, which immediately makes her panic. She sat up and brushed her hair away. She looked on the bedside table to see some Tylenol and orange juice waiting for her with the notes beside them that said “Eat me” and “Drink me.” She took the pill and began chugging the orange juice from wanting something more than alcohol in her system. While chugging the juice, she heard a keypad sound from a short distance, almost as if someone was trying to get in. She got up from the bed and grabbed a vase. Lo and behold, Dean Winchester shows up with takeout boxes in his hand in a casual black tee and jeans. “Good morning (y/n).” He said casually. “It’s you? she asked, still holding the vase. He approached her slowly, “Surprised?” he said with a smirk, “How are you feeling?” He asked, his hand wrapped around her wrist. He brought down the arm that had the expensive vase. “What..?” she responded, still confused and intimidated by how close he was to her. She had to look up at him from how tall he was, his broad shoulders seemed to look down upon her. 

“I asked how you’re feelin’ sweetheart,” he asked once more. (y/n) nodded, “A lot better thanks…” She carefully snuck past him and sat down on the bed; she realized her clothes were much different, Her clothes she was wearing yesterday were carefully folded on a chair. She looked down again and saw she was wearing a regular white shirt that was a little too big for her, and when she realized she had no pants, she immediately covered herself with the sheets. “Did you put me in here?” she asked, looking around towards him. She saw him with the takeout box and fork; he started chewing on some bacon and eggs. “Mm-hmm.” he hummed. Dean sat down on a small sofa next to the bed, he began taking a clean fork and put down some toast and eggs on a new plate. “And you undressed me?” she asked confused.

Dean looked up at her while still chewing, “Didn’t have much of a choice, darlin’ it was either that or puke-stained jeans and shirt.” he said. (y/n) immediately had her hands over her mouth in shock. “Oh my god…” she mumbled to herself. Dean then got up from the sofa and carried a plate to her; he placed it on her covered lap, along with a fork and napkins. He sat down on the sofa and continued eating like nothing. (y/n) looked around the hotel room and saw she was in the only bed, and the sofa he was on was way too small to fit anyone. “Where did you sleep?” she asked. Dean gestured his hand next to her; she saw a messy side next to her with the blankets messed up. “Oh god did we…?” she trailed along. Dean immediately shook his head, 

“No, Necrophillia's not my thing,” he said immediately. (y/n) took a deep breath, “So we just slept…got it.”  (y/n) awkwardly saw the plate of toast and eggs on her lap and picked up the toast Dean got up and went to a different room, he came back a few seconds later with a fresh clean folded clothes, “I asked Benny to bring you some new clothes,” he stated putting them next to her on the bed. “Thank you, you didn’t really have to do that,” she said quietly. She continued eating her toast slowly with a slight hesitation. “I did, you shouldn’t have drank like that in the first place,” he grumbled. Dean began drinking his cup of orange juice when some had spilled onto his shirt. “Shit,” he mumbled, he took off his black shirt leaving (y/n) a whole view of his chiseled toned chest with a unique tattoo. “W-well, I like to test my limits when it comes to alcohol,” she said chewing on her toast. 

His eyes roamed at her with a grumble, “Test your limits…you put yourself at risk last night.” He said. He began to place his hands on the bed and began slowly making his way toward her, almost like a lion reaching for a lamb. “I know…” (y/n) said softly, mesmerized by Dean, she couldn’t move or get away, it was like she was trapped. Softly in a low tone, he said, “If you were mine, you would be able to move from the bed, let alone walk…” he got closer and closer to her. “Huh?” she said quietly, not knowing what to say. Dean leaned lower to her hand and bit the rest of the toast off, he looked up at her and held her hand, then began sucking the powder off her fingers slowly. Her breath hitched, and she immediately tried hiding the fact her thighs were clenched together.

He looked down at her with his piercing green eyes. “I’m gonna go take a nice shower, don’t wait up,” he said before getting up from the bed and gathering his clothes. (y/n) let out a long breath before turning her head towards him. “Dean, why did you bring me here?” she asked. He came out of the other room and looked at her, “You’re here because I’m incapable of leaving you alone.” she looked up at him up and down, “Then don’t…you didn’t want me with you anyways, why did you send me that album and shawl anyways? Pity or something?” she asked. Dean came closer to her “I thought because of the way I acted towards you I owed you an apology.” 

“For what,” she stated. Dean sat down on the edge of the bed and looked at her. “For letting you believe that…” he took a deep breath. “Listen, I don’t do romance, I don’t do the hand holding, movies, dinner.” “Why?” she questioned. “My tastes are very particular; you wouldn’t understand if I told you,” he said. “Try me. Enlighten me for all I care,” was all she could say. Dean brushed his rough hand on her cheek and then to her lips. Her eyes try to mimic the stare he gives him. 

After a few hours, Dean had already showered and was in fresh, new, casual clothes. (y/n) came out of the bathroom in the clothing that Benny had picked out. “Tell your friend he’s got good taste,” she said. She looked forward to seeing Dean writing some stuff down in his notebook. (y/n) gathered her clothes while Dean stood up and leaned on the desk. “What are you doing later, darlin’?” he asked. “Well, I have to go to my job till either 8 or 9, but besides that, nothing. Why?” she asked. Dean could only look her up and down. “I’ll have Benny pick you up,” he said. He came a little closer to her and softly touched her hair down to her lips. “The way I kill a million monsters to be able to kiss those lips,” he said. (y/n) looked up and stood still “I think I would like that too.” she said softly. Dean backed his hand away “I’m not going to touch you…at least not until I have your written consent.” he said. She tilted her head (y/n). “Written?” she asked, confused. “I’ll explain later, cmon let's get you home,” he said to her. 

As they both got on the elevator, (y/n) backed up to the back of the elevator while Dean stood beside her, “fuck the contract.” he said before immediately beginning to roughly kiss (y/n). Her hands were on his shoulders, but he grabbed her wrists and pinned them above her while his other hand was down to her waist. Just as (y/n) was about to softly release a moan, the ting of the elevator alerted them. They both got away from each other and acted like nothing happened. (y/n) released a few short breaths and calmly combed her hair with her fingers before the door opened to businessmen. Dean looked down at her and smirked. 

When (y/n) and Dean got to her apartment, (y/n) heard music coming from inside. As she opened the door, they both widened their eyes to see Sam and Jessica halfway naked on the couch. Sam and Jessica immediately looked up from the couch. (y/n) turned her head to look away. “Samuel you dog, he had a good time last night. Clearly.” Dean said to (y/n), who was still looking away. “Dean shut it,” Sam said, picking up his pants. Jessica laughed as she looked at the situation. “Hey, you must be (y/n),” Sam said, holding his hand for (y/n) to shake. She awkwardly shook it “Nice to meet you.” she said. “Yeah, sorry for meeting me like this. I got a little sidetracked,” he said looking over at Jessica. (y/n) smiled “Oh no, it’s ok.” 

“Sammy, find your shoes, and let's get goin'.” Sam and Jessica had one more goodbye kiss before telling her, “Later, darlin’.” Sam then walked away from her to leave the apartment. “I’ll make sure to email you if anything comes up. You can also email me whenever you want to. I’ll see you tonight,” Dean said. (y/n) took a deep breath “My computer is acting weird; I can’t use it.” she said. “Alright, you have my number. Call me whenever you can. Later, darlin’,” he said, mimicking Sam, he then left the apartment and closed the door. “So Sam seems like a nice guy.” (y/n) giggled. 

“Nooo, don’t even start with that. If you’re seeing him again that means something must’ve happened.” Jessica teased. (y/n) could only sigh and walk slowly to her room tossing her house keys to the small bowl where Jessica’s were. “(y/n) you have to tell me what happened!” She squealed. “We have to get ready for work Jess!” she ignored the questions and kept going. “No, no, no, (y/n), I’m your best friend even if it’s TMI, just spill.” she encouraged. (y/n) smiled “You really wanna know?” Jessica nodded excitedly expecting (y/n) to say they had sex when in reality she said “We just kissed.” She nodded expecting more to come out of her. “Uh huh and then.”

“And then what? That was it,” she said. “That’s it?! Only once?! That's super weird.” (y/n) could only hum a yes. She began walking down the small hallway, “And I can tell that’s a new shirt, You never dress in those colors.” she said. 

(y/n) was typing away once again, focusing sternly on her computer, Jenna her secretary came in with a smile. “Hey (y/n), I made some lunch for myself last night and accidentally made too much. Thought you might want some, it’s your favorite.” she smiled. (y/n) took the container from her hands. “Thanks, Jen.” Before Jenna was about to leave she remembered something, “Oh I almost forgot your mom sent messages.” Jenna began going through the small sheets of paper. “She said ‘(y/n) I hope you’re doing well, Richard and I miss you and we came to tell you that Flora is graduating middle school in June and we would like you to come to the graduation party. Hugs and Kisses Mom and Richard.” (y/n)’s face scrunched, “As much as I love Flora’m not sure how to feel about the step monster” she giggled.

Jenna looked at her with her eyebrow up. “(y/n) I’m saying this as a friend, man up, I get it Richard kicked you out and your mom never defended you but your sister is 13, she needs her older sister, especially at that age, facetime, and text messaging isn’t enough. Besides you’re a badass editor and journalist for the biggest fashion magazine in the nation.” (y/n) smirked and nodded, “You’re right, I just hated that guy with every bone in my body since I was 16.” she said. “Any other messages Jen?” she asked. “Yes, another from Mr. Winchester.” (y/n)’s eyes widened as she got up, closed the door to her office, and dragged Jenna to her desk to sit down. “What did he say?” she asked. Jenna still a little surprised gave (y/n) the paper to which he wrote down the message. 

Hello, Ms. (l/n). I wanted to follow up regarding the agenda we discussed during our last meeting. As we agreed, it’s crucial to ensure we stay on track with the upcoming deliverables. I’ve attached the updated project plan, which includes all the necessary timelines and responsibilities.

Let me know if there’s anything else you need from my side before we proceed.

Best regards, Dean Winchester.

“Everything ok (y/n)?” asked Jenna. “Me? Oh yeah yeah, I’m fine. Is that all the messages?” she asked. Jenna nodded rapidly and got up from the chair to the door, “Thanks for lunch by the way.” (y/n) said. “Anytime.” (y/n) looked at the small sheet of paper and smiled. 

When she got out of work, Benny was standing next to a black car with tinted windows. (y/n) smiled and walked up to him, “Hi, Benny. Where’s Dean?” she asked. “He will be meeting us at your destination,” he said as he opened the car door. She climbed inside before saying thank you. As they made their way to a corporate office building Benny helped her out as he led her to an elevator. (y/n) ran her fingers through her hair in nervousness. As they reached the top her eyes widened when she saw a helicopter but no Dean. “I thought he was meeting us at our destination.” asked (y/n). As they began walking towards the helicopter Benny leaned a little to her ear and whispered “Don’t tell him I said this but Mr. Winchester is a bit of a wimp when it comes to flying.” He said. (y/n) looked up to him and smirked. “Do you know where I’m going?” she asked him. “You’ll see.” he sighed. (y/n) was being helped by the pilot to buckle in and adjust the headset on her head.

As they flew she was amazed by the sights of the city. The beautiful lights and buildings that look like they are coming up at her. When they landed there he was, Dean, was wearing a casual-looking tux with a white dress shirt with a regular black blazer. When the Helicopter had stopped the engine Dean went up to the doors and saw (y/n) coming down the helicopter, he took her hand as he led her downstairs. 

She walked down a dim hallway into a penthouse. Her steps are the only sound echoing along the room. Dean separated from her and went to a wine cellar only a few meters away. (y/n) curiously let herself wander around. She saw rows of guitars, some electric, and lots of acoustic. She ran her fingers softly along the strings. “You play a lot?” she asked turning towards him, he had wine glasses and a bottle of a newly unopened wine. “Yes, I’ve been playing for as long as I can remember,” he said. He placed the two wine glasses down on a glass table. But when she saw him opening and pouring the wine, there were sheets of paper gathered in a single spot on the table, curiosity took over and she came up to him slowly. “What’s this?” she asked. “It’s a nondisclosure agreement,” he said as he finished pouring the wine and sat down next to her at the head of the table. “To summarize it that means you can’t tell anyone anything about us. To anyone.” (y/n) looked up at him as she clicked the pen. “I don’t say anything other than ‘he was alright.” Her eyes looked into his for a quick moment before the sounds of the pen scratching the paper were lilting to their ears. She set the pen down and looked at him “What now..?” she asked softly.

She was still nervous, afraid to say something wrong that might upset him and kick her out. He leaned forward towards her and told her “Two things, I don’t make love…second I make pleasure, I fuck hard and rough to a point you won’t know your name and can only scream out mine.” she swallowed and let out a soft breath, all she could do was nod and look at him. He got up from the seat and offered his hand for her to take. “I’ll show you,” he said. (y/n) looked at his hand for a quick moment before taking it. He led her down the long hallway before stopping at a door. He looks at her and says “It’s important to know you can leave at any time and the both of will never talk of this again.” He said. (y/n) was confused for a moment, “What’s in there?” she asked. “I said I control people, I like it when people do my bidding, what's beyond here, lies upon that statement. Just know the helicopter is on standby to take you whenever you want to go.” 

“I can handle it, Dean open the door,” she said sternly. Dean looked into her eyes for a quick moment making sure she was serious, he took a deep breath before inserting a key into the door and turning it for the door to unlock. When he opened the door and stepped inside she was surrounded by darkness before he turned on the lights. The room was red and dim like his bars but inside lay toys..sex toys. “Oh my god,” she said under her breath. There wasn’t your typical dildo or vibrator. More like whips, buckles, and handcuffs, As she began walking around her eyes ran along the red room, or ‘playroom’ as Dean likes to call it. “Please, say something,” Dean said. She stopped at a row of whips lined along the wall. “Do women do this to you or-”

“No, I do this to women,” he said in a low tone voice, “with women, women who want me to.” he clarified. She started making her way around as he followed right behind her. “So what are you?” she asked turning to him curiously. “I’m a dominant,” he said. “What does that even mean?” she asked.

“It means I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, and follow everything I say, to please me,” he said. (y/n) scoffed in shock, “To please you? Are there rules for this or something?” she said sarcastically, her smile dropped when she saw Dean’s seriousness on his face. “There are rules. If you follow them I’ll reward you, if you don’t you get punished. Simple as that sweetheart.” he said. “So, you’ll punish me, with these?” she asked. Dean simply nodded “Yes.’’

She looked around for one more moment, “So what’s in it for me?” she asked. Dean smiled at her with a grin. “Me,” he said in a low rumble tone. As they got out of the room (y/n) was still concerned yet somehow excited. Dean took her hand as he led her to the back of the hallway he opened another door to a room with a queen-sized bed, a vanity, and a huge window. But she stopped at the record player sitting on the bedside table, it resembled the one her mother broke on purpose since it used to be her dad’s. “Now, if we were to do this…this would be your room, you can decorate it however you like.” She crossed her arms and looked at him “So..you want me to move in with you?” she asked.

Dean shook his head “No, not full-time, only Friday through Sunday. We can negotiate the particulars. You know I don’t sleep with anyone, So I won’t sleep with you, I’ll only be down the hall.” he said. He took her hand in his once more and led her downstairs back to the living room where they sat on a couch. “So what if I decide to back out?” she asked. “I would understand it completely, but as I said, we will never speak of this to anyone ever.” (y/n) looked at him and observed his face before looking back to his eyes, “And…we won’t talk to each other again?” she asked. “No, I don’t do relationships, I told you…It’s just the way I am,” he said. Dean sighed as he looked back at her “I have a contract prepared, it’s all in there, you would review it and we negotiate from there.” he said. 

“Well, what if I’m not sure what to pick?” 

“Well, was there a time you had sex with someone and there was anything that you didn’t like doing?” he asked. She could only clear her throat and looked away. “We have to be honest princess for this to work,” he said. For years (y/n) was a bit embarrassing for her to say she was a virgin. She's done stuff to herself and masturbated a few times but that was it. She's never had time for love and relationship until now. “Well, it’s a bit complicated cause…I” Dean tilted his head in curiosity. “Cause what?” She looked at him once more and said “I haven’t done..it.” she mumbled. Dean was taken aback, “You’re still a virgin?” I just showed you-” 

“I know. I just, I’ve..done some stuff just not that,” she said. Dean leaned in closer to her and took her cheek with his hand. “Men must throw themselves at you, sweetheart,” he said roughly. She looked into his eyes and all she could see was lust. “No one caught my eye,” she responded. Dean leaned forward and kissed her. She had no hesitation to kiss back, Before she knew it Dean helped her up and walked her to his room, “Where are we going?” she asked. 

“We are going to fix this problem.” 

“I’m a problem?” 

He led her to a dark room, it was a regular bedroom, and no sign of the toys in sight. Dean’s hands slowly caressed her body, the lower she went the more he started bending down. His fingers unraveled the buttons on her jeans and brought them down slowly to show her lace panties. He kissed her thighs one at a time, the more he kissed her the closer he got to her wet core. He stood up and slowly lowered her down to sit on the edge of the bed. (y/n) looked up at him as he was doing the work, His fingers looped around the seam of her shirt pulling it up to take it off. As they kissed once more Dean moved his fingers to her back to unclasp her bra that was trapping her breasts underneath the white lace. He pulled the bra forward to take it off her, with her, her breasts now spilled out for him to see. He growled under his breath when he saw them, He leaned into the crook of her neck kissing and nipping at her neck, and (y/n) moved her head away for more access to skin. She moaned at the sensation of him kissing her sweet spot. He backed away and slowly pushed her down to the bed. She lay on the bed as Dean kissed her inner thigh and kissed her cloth-covered puss, his hands running up and down her thighs.

She moaned out his name softly and tilted her head back as she closed her eyes. Dean stood up and removed his shirt showing her once more his chest. He took off his pants and boxers and climbed onto the bed on top of her. He kissed her once more as his hands traced down to the valley of her breasts, to her stomach, then to the edge of her panties. He slowly took them off her and threw them to the floor where their clothes were lying. His hand went up her waist and cupped her breast slowly teasing her nipple. He leaned closer to her, trapping her against him and the mattress, his cock was running along her wet folds and finally, he pushed himself inside her. He let out a sharp gasp from the pain of his thick cock stretching her out. But she couldn’t help herself, she wanted more. Her hands went to his shoulders but he quickly took them off and pinned her hands above her. The sounds of sex were filling the room, “C’mon sweetheart you can take it.” he groaned out. Her back arched in pleasure and the new sensation she was so desperate for. Dean began sliding in and out of her pussy filling the room with squelching sounds from her pussy making contact with him balls deep. “So fucking good f’me.” His hands began tightening around her wrists which were still above her. He began going a little faster which made her tits bounce and her moaning rapidly.

His tip was hitting her g-spot just right she felt a knot in her stomach wanting to unravel. She could feel his cock twitching inside her as he felt her walls tighten. As her orgasm finally let go, liquid came out of her like a faucet. He let go of her wrists before pulling out to spill his cum all over her stomach. His neck leaned back in pleasure before looking down at (y/n) who was panting. He leaned down once more and kissed her softly. “You ok sweetheart?” he asked. She looked at him and nodded. He quickly got up and grabbed a wet towel, cleaning her stomach and her thighs. Quickly she fell asleep. 

She was awoken by the strumming of a guitar. (y/n) looked to her side to see no one but unraveled blankets and sheets. She grabbed a blanket and covered herself before heading outside to see where the music was coming from. She took a peek and saw Dean who was only in sweats strumming a guitar in the middle of the night. (y/n) came up behind him and kissed his neck slowly before going up to his jaw. Dean smirked putting down the guitar and taking off the blanket. He led her to his lap where his hands went up and down her body, he kissed her roughly before picking her up and fucking her once more. The sounds of moans and yelling out his name were all they heard for the next hour before they both fell asleep. 

Taglist: @applelovesposts @ladykitana90 @cevansbaby-dove

A/N: @steviespookie here damn don't chop chop me. (Im jk ilysm!) ok for once I focused on my school work instead of writing this so that's why it came out a little late today. But yay it's done, I'm already starting for the next chapters ahead so I can just post and write. The comments thoughhh omg yall are so sweet you're making me kick my legs. Hope you guys are staying safe and thank you for the notes and reblogs, and to more followers hello your first a/n on my blog! also if you have some advice on how to spice up my smut scenes PLZZZ LET ME KNOW. other than that thanks for reading and I'll see you guys next week!

[spnbangbang]

Starting tomorrow!

Smutentine's Day is upon us!

Join us for Smutentine's Day! Create anything you want (art, stories, amvs, interpretive dance) based on one or more of the prompts below and tag #Smutentines or this account. All Supernatural ships are welcome with two mod personal boundary-based content restrictions (no incest, no underage). We look forward to seeing what you create!

(AO3 Collection if you post there: https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Smutentines_Day_2025)

[shadowww-bunny]

「Breath」 (Dean Winchester/fem!reader)

❥ You have a panic attack during the hunt, but Dean is always there.

❥ hurt/comfort, establish relationship, panic attack comfort

-------------------------------------⟡---------------------------------------

You didn't think it would be that bad.

It was supposed to be an ordinary vampire hunt, but now you're standing in the middle of a nest of these bloodsuckers and you realize it really was shitty. The bodies of vampires and their victims are scattered in the old house. The metallic smell of blood hits your senses sharply and the blade falls out of your hand, falling to the ground with a loud thud.

You look around for Dean, but all you see are dusty walls with prominent scarlet spots and overturned furniture from your fight. You run your fingers through your hair and try to take a deep breath, but the air suddenly becomes thick. Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. Each blow seemed louder than the previous one, filling the ears with a dull rumble.

This is a situation that you are very familiar with. You should have left. Right now. However, you're not moving. All your senses were on edge, your body tensed like a taut string, ready to snap at any moment. The anxiety was overwhelming, like an ocean that threatened to swallow you whole. You felt like you were drowning in a sea of your own thoughts. You felt trapped, like there was no way out.

Suddenly, you feel someone's touch on your shoulder, and you shudder, instinctively recoiling back. Your legs are wobbly and you stumble and hit your back against the wall. You were still shaking like a cornered animal when you heard Dean's voice bringing you back to reality.

His firm voice calling your name, breaks the endless cycle of panic for a moment. You wanted to say something or do something, but your eyes fall on your hands and the feeling of sticky blood on your palms makes you tremble even more. Your breathing is getting short again, and tears are burning your eyes.

You hated this helplessness and weakness, and you hated that you couldn't do anything about it.

However, before you completely broke down, Dean's arms wrapped around yours, squeezing tightly, as if trying to get your attention. "Eyes on me. Now." It wasn't a request, it was a command, and you obeyed. The determination and protectiveness in his emerald eyes were obvious.

Dean knew how all these hunts affected you, even though you tried not to show it, and he knew he'd always be there for you when you needed him.

He cupped your chin and you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "You're safe, I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you." Dean's thumb stroked your knuckles, soothing you.

"Breathe. Slow and deep." His hand came down on your back as additional support, and the hunter began to take deep breaths, waiting for you to follow his example.

You swallowed and tried to pull yourself together. After a few restless attempts, you managed to get your breathing back to normal.

That was progress. Noticing that you were feeling a little better, Dean's gaze softened. "Yes, that's it." He whispered, making sure you focused on him while he gently wiped the blood from your palms.

The next second, you were already sitting on his lap, one of the hunter's arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding your trembling figure in place, and the other was buried in your hair, stroking the soft strands and massaging your scalp. "Shhh…You're doing great, baby. Keep breathing, I'm here, I'm not going anywhere."

Dean's hand slid to your face, caressing your skin, and you instinctively reached for his touch, trying to distract yourself from the surroundings and the obsessive thoughts that threatened to consume you. The hunter gently stroked your face, his lips pressed against your temple in a soft, soothing kiss and a silent promise of care and protection.

It's only when you're in the arms of a hunter that you feel the affection you needed. Your trembling fingers cling to his jacket like a lifeline, afraid to let go even for a moment. Dean gently kisses your hair, strokes your back, banishing the remnants of your worries. "I know it all sucks, but you can do it, we can do it."

He stays in this position for a while longer, rocking you and giving time to pull yourself together and calm down. When the last sobs die down, Dean stands up, not letting go of you.

He pulls you closer, allowing you to hide your face on his chest, as if it's your refuge from all the bad things in the world. And, in a way, it was. Carefully holding you in his arms like a porcelain doll, he carried you to the car.

The hunter puts you in the passenger seat and, after making sure that you have finally relaxed, even if not completely, he smiles slightly.

"Don't worry, I'll take care of you." As if to confirm his words, he squeezed your knee and covered your lips with his in a gentle, encouraging kiss that seemed to dispel all fears, and you leaned forward, losing yourself in the moment.

[the-fluffstiel-bang]

Fluffstiel Promo #21 | In a Pinch

Title: In a Pinch

Written by: @golby-moon

Art by: @anyreiart

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags: no warnings apply, creature cas, nymph cas, protective cas, protective dean, lonely cas, scheming rowena, witch curses, magical transformations, dean is a crab, like an actual crab, cas doesn't understand humans but he loves them :0

Summary: As a water nymph, it's Castiel's self-appointed duty to watch over all the creatures that stray near his lake, so when a hermit crab in need of a shell wanders close, he takes it upon himself to help his new little friend in any way that he can. He just isn't sure what role a missing prince plays in all this…

Coming to an Ao3 Near You on March 6th, 2025!

[redbird-tf]

Sick

Sam x little sister

Synopsis; In your weakened state, Sam's care becomes the only comfort you need.

Word count: 630

Notes: short and sweet compared to my last post

Warnings: illness

You rolled over once more, had it been an hour or two? You drifted in and out of consciousness so many times that you started losing track. One moment, You would kick your sheets off desperate to cool down then the next pull them tight to soothe your shivers. Your breath was hot as you heaved. You brought your palm to smooth over your forehead, attempting to rub away your skull-splitting headache.

Just then, you heard soft footsteps padding past your room. “Sammy” you breathed out as if your weak voice could somehow reach past the door. A moment later, You heard the click of his bedroom door shut, and you let out a defeated sigh. With an aching arm, you reached for your phone on the nightstand and with trembling hands pressed the call button.

The phone barely rang once before Sam's voice answered “Too lazy to walk five feet?” He teased playfully. You groaned “Sam…” you stopped, one word draining the little strength you had. His tone quickly shifted. “What's wrong?” You could hear the rustling sheets on the other end. “I don't feel well,” you whispered. “I'll be right there, bug,” he said before the line dropped. You fell back on your bed and listened to the sound of his door shutting and his footsteps approaching, then faded. You furrowed your brows in confusion but remained sprawled out, too exhausted to investigate.

After what felt like forever, your door creaked open and the incoming light made you squint. “Hey,” Sam greeted, nudging the door closed with his heel as his hands were full. You watched silently while he set down a bowl and a few other items on the nightstand. The bed dipped under his weight when he sat at the edge. The back of his hand pressed lightly against your forehead. “Your warm” he mumbled, replacing his hand with a damp cloth. The cool sensation made you immediately relax.

“I brought you some soup. I tried to find Dean since he makes it better, but he isn't around…” his rambling was only making your headache worse. Slowly you raised your index finger and pressed it to your lip. he paused then softened his tone to a whisper. “sorry”. He held the bowl out for you, closely watching your reaction. You pursed your lips and shook your head. His shoulders slumped and set the bowl back down, now offering you water. You shook your head again. “You need to, bug. It’ll help with your head and fever” he tried to remain firm in his whisper. You sighed and weakly pushed yourself upwards, sams had come up to your head to keep the compress in place on your forehead. You took a few slow sips before passing the bottle back to him.

“Thanks, bug, you sure you don't want any soup?” He asked once more. You shook your head and weakly shifted under the covers. Sam adjusted your blanket, making sure it wasn’t too tight while he tucked you in. “I'll be right outside if you need me” he whispered. His fingers brush stray hair strands from your face. “Thanks, Sammy,” you said with a small tired smile. “anytime” he smiled back. On his way out he made sure to leave your door slightly ajar before disappearing down the dim hallway.

With the sound of Sam's fading footsteps, a sense of calm washed over you. Your body still ached and, your head still pounding, but the lingering warmth of Sam's presence eased the worst of it. You let your heavy eyelids shut. Even as your fever burned, knowing Sam was nearby made it bearable, letting sleep take over. Somewhere between the haze of wakefulness and dreaming, you heard his voice “Get some rest, bug, I've got you”

[rubyvhs]

show me love [ dean w. ]

SUMMARY . you and dean’s friendship (of both platonic and sexual nature) falls apart when his father goes missing TAGS . 0.7k words, cliffhanger, all texting, heavy angst LAILA’S NOTES . y’all I’d apologize but this is the first thing i’ve written in years so if anything we should be happy.

February 2003

Dean: Hey, sweetheart.

Still in Georgia?

You: Yeah, why? Are you thinking of passing by?

Dean: Something like that. 

I’ll be there in two days, maybe. 

You: That sounds great, D. Text me when you’re here.

+

August 2003

Dean: Look outside. 

You: You’re a real piece of work, you know that? 

Rocks at my windows was sexy a century ago.

Dean: Still worked though, didn’t it?

You: Yeah, asshole, I’m awake at three in the morning.

Dean: Does that mean you’re not gonna open the door?

You: Fuck you. I’m getting dressed.

Dean: No point, gonna take it all off anyway.

+

You: You left suddenly, didn’t know I was a one night stand, asshole.

Dean: Sorry, sweetheart, Sam called and I didn’t wanna wake you up. We can grab something to eat tonight, how’s that?

You: Is that a promise you actually plan on keeping?

Dean: Swear on my life.

You: I’ve seen it, ain't much to swear by.

Dean: Ouch.

You: Miss you, pick me up at seven.

Dean: See ya then, baby.

+

June 2005

Dean: Hey

You: Hi, D. Been a while.

Dean: Yeah, I’m sorry

You: It’s okay, I never expect much from us anyway. What’s up?

Dean: Do you think I’m a bad person?

You: No. Why would you say that?

Dean: I’m gonna ask Sam to come back, I can’t find dad.

You: Why didn’t you tell me? And it doesn’t mean you’re a bad person. I mean, I would advise against it, Sam deserves a good life and you know that, but the fact that you’re asking before doing it says everything I need to know.

Dean: What does it say?

You: That you have a pure heart, D. Don’t ever doubt it, okay? 

But also incase you were actually thinking of it, please don’t go get Sam. He’s out, he’s finally out of the life, Dean.

I text him every week and he’s happy and in love, don’t do it.

Dean: I’m sorry.

You: Answer the phone.

Dean answer me.

Stop ignoring my calls

You suck

You: You’re still not a bad person.

+

August 2005

You: I will never forgive you.

Ever.

Dean: I didn’t know you’d be here.

You: Fuck you. You disappeared on me for months and stop answering my calls you fucking asshole and then I try talking to you and you walk away in front of everyone.

Do you understand how fucking humiliating that was for me? My sister’s asking if I’m okay, that’s how bad it is.

Dean: I’m sorry.

You: You’ve never once meant that, Dean. 

Not fucking once.

You’re a dick.

And one day, you’re the one who’s gonna regret it, not me.

+

September 2005

Dean: Hunted a Djinn today.

Wanna know what my perfect life looked like? 

You: Oh now you wanna talk?

Real nice of you.

Dean: You know what it was

You: And yet I don’t care

Don’t text me again

Dean: You would’ve blocked me if you meant it.

It was you, sweetheart.

You: Good night, Dean. 

Dean: Night.

+

Sam: Hey, darling.

You: Sam!!!!!!!

I’ve missed you endlessly 

Literally haven’t seen you in ages

Sam: Yeah, sorry about that.

Dean told me that he met you at the gathering.

You: Yeah why weren’t you there?

Sam: Just didn’t feel like it.

But I do miss seeing you, send me your location?

You: Virginia, what about you?

Sam: Close. About a day out.

You: You don’t have to, we can meet up when we’re closer.

Sam: Ah, so you don’t wanna see me?

You: No no no I do, just don’t bring Dean.

Please, Sammy.

Sam: Sorry, sweetheart but if I drive him around then I get to go wherever he does.

You: Dean?

Sam: Yeah, Sam’s in the bathroom. We’re on our way.

You: Don’t text me.

Sam: Heard that threat before.

Sam: Hey, sorry, I didn’t know he would do that.

You: I’m wrapping up my hunt, won’t be in Virginia when you get here.

Sam: No no, please.

You: Sorry.

+

January 2006

Sam: Hey.

You: Hi.

Sam: Dean’s dying.

You: What are you talking about?

Sam, answer the phone.

Sam the last thing I told him is to not talk to me please answer the phone

Sam: We’re at Bobby’s.

You: I’m on my way.

[studiogrimm810]

Full Moon

pairings/characters: (established) sam winchester x gn!you

summary: after a cramming for finals, a late night walk back to your dorm leads you to discover what sam really left behind before coming to stanford

warnings: werewolf attack, description of creature and it being killed, kinda bloody but not too graphic

word count: 1,971

A/N: quick one shot with minimal editing becuase i LOVE this idea :,)

———————

Finals week. God, you could just scream. You had just logged in another 10 hours at the campus library and despite the lack of knowledge you still felt you had, you had to go back to your dorm and at least try and get some rest.

All week you’ve been taking any time you could find to study- in between classes, on your walks to and from destinations on campus, and even sneaking in some note cards during the particularly boring classes. And after all of that hard work, you still felt it wouldn’t have been enough if Sam hadn’t been helping you out. You always considered yourself a smart student- prepared and logical- but Sam was a kind of smart that made you question him sometimes. It just came to him so naturally and if he wasn’t so damn sweet and helpful, you’d almost hate him. He’s one cocky attitude away from being a rival that you don’t have the time for like you did in high school.

Walking back to your dorm, the sky is dark, freckled with stars and dotted with a vibrant full moon. It had rained earlier today so you side-step a worm or two on the sidewalk and avoid the puddles. The air smells nice, clean, and refreshing. You savor this moment because you know once the rush of finals is over, you're stuck in your dorm for the holidays. You weren’t close with your family and that often left you alone during school breaks. That was something you and Sam had in common, you two never discussed it in detail much but you both understood the isolation of the lack of family in your lives.

This is your third year at Stanford and you couldn’t believe how long you had gone without knowing Sam Winchester because now you couldn’t imagine life without him. You missed him tonight for a study sesh but he said he had other matters to attend to and you were too wrapped up in a study-fried frenzy that you didn’t think to ask if everything was okay. It was too late to call him now, but you made a mental note to check with him between classes tomorrow.

Halfway to your dorm now, your exhaustion is really getting to you. The walk is peaceful, but almost too peaceful, and it only makes you more sleepy.

Until it’s not.

A loud crash echoes from up an alley between two lecture halls and you jump. Life on campus was almost boringly bland and uneventful, so you're more startled by the loud noise than afraid. You duck your head down the path and call out.

“Hello? You okay?” You ask, worried that maybe a night shift staff member was hurt. When only complete silence returns your beckon, you decide that it must be fine given the alley looks empty. Also because your prior sense of blissful ignorance is now frozen into a jagged unease of anxiety that gives you goosebumps.

You take a few steps back and bump into someone, letting out a small yelp at the contact. You spin to face Sam.

“Sam? What’re you doing out this late?” You ask, clutching your chest and laughing off your spook to try and seem calm and collected. His eyes scan over your frame and his face is serious- more serious than you’ve ever seen it. His hands reach out to hold your shoulders and he looks behind you, into the alley.

“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asks, bringing his attention back to you. Your brows crunch in confusion.

“I-I’m fine. It’s stupid,” you chuckle nervously, catching your breath. “Just thought I heard something.” You swallow with a confident nod.

“Get back to your dorm- lock the doors,” he says, leading you away but you shake your head, working against his steady, but firm, shove.

“No- what? What’s wrong?” You ask, taking a step back so he isn’t holding you anymore. You miss it already.

“Please, just trust me and go back,” he practically begs. There’s something you’ve never seen in his eyes before- fear. He’s afraid.

“Sam, are you okay?” You search his face for any hint at his immense distress.

A low growl from the alleyway makes you look behind Sam, trying to see what’s going on. Sam goes stiff, turning back to the alley and tucking you behind him.

“Don’t make a sound,” he whispered over his shoulder, his hand on your arm to hold you in place.

Scraping footsteps echo from the alley and out emerges this creature. You gasp, gripping the back of Sam’s jacket and you feel just how tense he is. The creature looked human, a large row of dog-like teeth lined its lips and its eyes were a sickening mix of neon yellow and green. God, and its mouth was smeared with crimson red that made you gag.

Sam reaches behind him, pulling a shiny, silver blade from a sheath on his belt loop. Your eyes widen at the size of it and he readies it in his dominant hand. The creature growls and pounces but Sam is quick and meets it in the middle, fighting the creature with a skill you’d see in some action movie a dad would boast over.

You stumble back a few steps, watching in horror. The creature is winning, throwing Sam across the walkway and he skids in the damp grass, landing with a grunt. You call out for him, keeping your eyes on Sam and wanting to go and help him but your feet are planted in place. You still can’t comprehend what this creature is or how it’s even real.

But it is, and it snaps its head to you, snarling as it slowly progresses to you. Its chin slick in bloody slobber, growling as it gets close enough to close the distance with a leap. The creature grabs you, slamming you into the brick wall of the alley.

The impact makes you go dizzy and you try to catch your breath.

You struggle, doing your best to hold it back but the creature is unnaturally strong. You cry out, putting all of your weight into trying to keep the creature back but its snapping jaw gets closer and closer. Suddenly, the creature is ripped off of you and a burst of pain erupts in your elbow as you land into the cement.

Sam is wielding the blade again, this time having the upper hand, yet covered in mud that dampens his clothes. You wish you looked away before Sam sinks the blade deep into the creature's chest with a scowling grunt. He yanks the blade back out and stands to his feet, huffing and staring down at the creature for a moment before turning to you. Your eyes are locked on the creature, barely even registering Sam’s presence, that is until he starts towards you and you instinctively flinch back.

He stops in his tracks and holds up his hands in a steady manner. There’s blood splattered on his face and his lip is bleeding. He’s hurt. There’s something else though, his face is twisted- pained. He looks like someone just kicked his damn puppy and is now mocking him for it.

You didn’t mean to flinch, it’s just that with what you saw and how you were attacked, you were scared. But not of Sam.

Never of Sam.

“You're bleeding,” he says, looking down at your arm and sure enough there’s a scratch that has ripped your favorite jacket. The blood is steadily flowing though, more than you’ve ever seen seep out of your own body. You close your eyes and turn away, trying to settle the dizziness.

“What w-was that?” You keep your eyes screwed shut.

“Werewolf.”

You scoff.

“Jesus,” you groan, sitting up fully and leaning against the wall, your arm really hurts now. You finally reopen your eyes and Sam is taking cautious steps towards you.

“Can I take a look at that?” He asks, pointing to the wound, his hands still braced. You nod because of course he can.

“Please,” your voice cracks. You’re bad with blood and he knows it too. He’s quick to crouch down next to you, grabbing your arm to inspect the gash. You swallow down a whimper, trying to steady yourself against the cold brick behind you.

“You’ll be okay, shouldn’t even need stitches,” his words exhaled with his previously bated breath. “Look at me,” his hand cups your cheek to pull you towards him, holding gently to allow you to dictate when you want to move your head.

As you face him, your eyes crack back open and you catch a glimpse of the creature's lifeless form on the pavement.

“No, no,” he uses his hand to guide you fully to him, “don’t look.” His eyes are softer than usual, like melted pools of hazel. He’s worried about you, that’s obvious, but he looks so torn too.

“How did you know?” You ask and his thumb brushes away a stream of tears you didn’t realize were flowing. His gaze dips down like he’s ashamed but he seems to settle on something as he returns his eyes to yours.

“Family business,” he echoes the simple explanation of when you asked why he ran from home. Your shock and fear morph into confusion and a little annoyance.

“Wait- this is what your dad and brother do? The same ‘family business’ your dad ‘trained’ you for? What the fuck is wrong with him? How the fuck is that- thing even real,” your eyes catch a glimpse of the corpse again and your fear starts to return. “Why is that real,” you whisper, your heart racing. It starts to drizzle.

“We should go,” he urges gently, looking around to make sure no one new is nearby. Your eyes close again and you shake your head.

“God,” you groan, the pain in your arm really taking over your train of thought.

“C’mon, I’ll get you fixed up,” he says, standing and raising you with him. His arm snakes around your waist and you can almost guess that the reasoning isn’t just to help you walk but to keep you close to him out of whatever protective instinct took over during the fight. “You’re okay, you’ll be okay,” he says and you can also deduce it’s for his benefit.

Your legs are shaky as Sam leads you away from the scene, keeping you secure and going slow enough for you to not get too disoriented.

“So,” you start, “you’re telling me that you ditched me to hunt a werewolf? If you’re sick of explaining appellate advocacy you coulda’ just said so,” you chuckle awkwardly. He scoffs and meets your laugh, the sound rattling through his chest and you can feel the rumble into your side.

“Shut up,” you can almost hear his eyes roll. His hold on you lightens up and you can feel some of the tension melt away. But the dead look in the eyes of that thing burns back into your eyes and you feel sick.

“Thank you- for being there,” you say seriously.

“Thank you for hearing me out,” Sam’s thumb absentmindedly caresses your hip.

“Still debating that,” you shove lightly.

“Yeah, yeah,” he smirks, flashing a canine that you get a glimpse of as you look up at him. “I’ll explain as much or as little as you want to hear.”

Yeah, you’ll have to mull that over a bit too. But right now, as Sam leads you by your hips and the throb of your arm makes you bite your lip so hard that now you're bleeding in two separate places, all you can even fathom is each next step your feet take.

Rationality will be your friend tomorrow. Tonight, you plead plausible deniability.

———————

thank you so much for reading!! <3

>pictures are not my own, i have the originals linked here (pinterest) >>check out my other works here

[supernotnatural2005]

😂😂 It’s definitely it’s own kind of weapon 😍

Thank you though, Alex! ❤️ i’m glad you enjoyed it💕

The Hiatus Beard

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Dean grows a beard during your much needed R&R, and it does things to you.

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: SMUT!(18+ONLY), swearing, Dean's beard 😍

AN: I thought I'd release a little something before the first part of my series: The Arrangement, this Friday. Scruffy Dean/Jensen is just 🤌🏻 and does things to me. So enjoy this little one shot that got away from me 🫣

Masterlist

For as long as you’d known Dean, he’d always been a minimalist.

Whether that was with his cut-and-dry humour, his “kill first, ask questions later” attitude on a case, or his appearance. The way he dressed—a simple jeans and t-shirt combo with a flannel thrown over. And then there was his hair, short, neat, a quick run-through with some gel, and he was done.

And it had always been the same with his face. Clean-shaven, jaw sharp, lips unobscured. He had a routine. No scruff, no fuzz, just Dean as he always had been. Until now.

The moment the world stopped burning for a minute, when the fight against Michael had finally ended, Dean had agreed to take a break.

A real break.

You and him up at Rufus’s cabin, away from the bunker, away from the weight of saving everyone. Sam had all but shoved you both out the door, telling Dean to let himself breathe for once.

And maybe that was what made it happen. Because, for the first time in forever, Dean let go. He let himself sleep in. He let himself do nothing. He even let himself grow a beard.

It had started as stubble, nothing unusual, just a sign of taking a day off from shaving. But then a day turned into a week, and the neat, smooth skin you’d grown used to gave way to something rougher, wilder. A thick layer of golden-brown scruff covered his jaw, making him look different.

It shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. It was just facial hair. And yet…

You couldn’t stop staring at him.

Dean with a beard did something to you, something primal, something that made heat coil low in your stomach every time you looked at him.

Maybe it was the contrast, the way it softened him but somehow made him look rougher all at once. Maybe it was how it made him look even more like the hunter he was, like the kind of man who could haul you over his shoulder and take what he wanted. Maybe it was because it was just so damn new.

And then there was the way he felt when he kissed you. The scratch of his beard against your lips, the roughness dragging along your skin in a way that made your breath stutter. Every kiss was different now, leaving a burn that lingered, that reminded you hours later that he’d been there. That he’d touched you. And it only made your mind wander further—how would it feel against your throat? Down your stomach? Between your legs?

The thought had haunted you for days, simmering under your skin, making it harder and harder to focus on anything else.

Whatever it was, it had you in a chokehold.

It didn’t help that Dean seemed utterly oblivious to it. He wasn’t doing it to be sexy. If anything, it was the opposite. The man had taken to walking around the cabin in old sweats and a stretched-out Led Zeppelin t-shirt, scratching at his beard like he was still getting used to it, completely unaware of what it was doing to you.

Until he noticed.

It was one night after dinner, sitting by the fire, both of you with beers in hand. Dean leaned back, stretching, and his eyes caught yours. You must have been staring—again—because his lips curled into a slow, knowing smirk.

“Alright, what gives?” His voice was low, rougher with the rasp of relaxation. “You’ve been looking at me weird for days.”

You blinked, feeling heat crawl up your neck. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Dean chuckled, setting his beer down. “Oh, sweetheart, you definitely do.” He rubbed a hand over his jaw, the sound of fingers over scruff making your stomach tighten. “It’s the beard, isn’t it?”

You swallowed. “Maybe.”

Dean’s smirk deepened. He shifted forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he levelled you with a gaze that made your breath hitch. “You like it?”

You could have played coy. Could have brushed it off, made a joke. But screw it. You were tired of pretending.

“Yeah,” you admitted, voice quieter than you meant it to be. “I do.”

Dean’s eyes darkened just a bit, his smirk flickering into something else. Something hotter. “That so?”

You nodded, fingers tightening around your beer bottle. “Yeah.”

Dean didn’t say anything for a second, just let the weight of the moment settle. Then, slowly, he leaned in, eyes locked onto yours.

“What have you been thinking about?”

Dean’s voice was a low murmur, rough and coaxing, but there was something dangerous curled beneath it—something that sent a shiver racing down your spine. His gaze was locked onto you, sharp and unrelenting, like he was already inside your head, already picking apart every filthy thought you’d had about him.

Your breath hitched. You could lie. You could change the subject. But what was the point? He’d see through it. He always did.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, pulse hammering like a war drum in your chest. “I’ve been wondering how it would feel.”

Dean’s brows lifted slightly, intrigue flickering through the storm in his eyes. “Where?”

Your stomach clenched, heat pooling low, so heavy it made your thighs press together involuntarily. “Between my legs.”

Everything in the room shifted—thickened. The air became stifling, charged, the space between you crackling with something untamed.

For a beat, he didn’t move. He just stared, breathing slow and deep, jaw clenched tight like he was barely restraining himself. And then—

He snapped.

In an instant, Dean was on you.

His mouth crashed against yours, rough and claiming, his beard scraping deliciously against your soft skin. His kiss was brutal, messy, all tongue and teeth, like he couldn’t get enough, like he needed to taste you, to consume you.

His hands gripped at you, dragging you against him, pressing your body into the hard lines of his own. You could feel him—all of him—thick and aching beneath his jeans, grinding against the heat of your core.

A whimper spilled from your lips, and that sound—it did something to him. A guttural groan tore from his chest as he wrenched his mouth from yours, only to drag it along your jaw, your neck, his teeth scraping, his scruff burning against your skin in a way that made you tremble.

“You wanna feel it, sweetheart?” His voice was a rasp, breath hot against your throat as he nipped at your pulse, making you gasp. “Then let me give you exactly what you’ve been thinking about.”

Before you could respond, he was hauling you up into his arms like you weighed nothing, moving with purpose, raw determination burning in his gaze as he carried you to the bedroom.

Dean didn’t waste time. He laid you out on the bed, broad shoulders squared, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths as his eyes dragged over you—hungry, dark, wild.

And then, with agonising patience, he began undressing you. Deliberately.

He peeled away your top first, taking his time, letting his fingers linger on newly exposed skin before his mouth followed. Every inch of you was tasted, kissed, sucked—his beard scraping, the contrast of soft lips and rough scruff making your body writhe beneath him. He worked his way down, his mouth hot and open over your ribs, your stomach, the curve of your hips.

By the time he reached your jeans, you were a trembling mess, already lightheaded from the way he touched you, the way he took his time like he was savouring you.

But when he finally stripped you bare, something in him snapped again.

His hands slid up your legs, fingers pressing into your skin with a bruising grip, parting you for him. His breath hitched as he took you in, eyes darkening to something animalistic, something primal.

“Jesus.” His voice was low, almost reverent, but there was nothing holy in the way he looked at you.

Then he was moving, surging forward, his mouth hot and wet as he kissed up your legs—starting at your ankle, his beard scraping along your sensitive skin, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His hands gripped your thighs, thumbs digging in as he worked his way higher, pressing kisses, nipping at soft flesh, until—

He reached where you needed him most.

The first swipe of his tongue was slow, deliberate—a tease—but the effect was devastating. Your back arched, a breathless moan escaping you, and that sound shattered what little control he had left.

Dean growled, deep and low, the vibration sending a shockwave of pleasure through you. Then he dived in.

There was nothing gentle about it. He devoured you.

His tongue was relentless, flicking, curling, pressing deep as his scruff burned against the delicate skin of your thighs. The rough drag of his beard was intoxicating, every pass sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core. He gripped your hips hard, holding you in place, refusing to let you squirm away from the onslaught of sensation.

When your thighs clenched around his head, he groaned, the sound filthy, desperate. “Fuck, baby—give me that.” His voice was a growl, muffled against your slick heat, and then he buried himself deeper, sucking your clit into his mouth, his beard scraping in the best, most deliciously punishing way.

You shattered.

Your orgasm crashed through you, white-hot and endless, and he didn’t stop—not when you cried out, not when your fingers yanked at his hair, not when your body shook from overstimulation. He just held you tighter, kept licking, sucking, fucking you with his tongue, dragging it out until you were wrecked beneath him.

Only when you were trembling, spent, did he finally pull back, his lips glistening, his breath ragged as he gazed down at you—his work of art.

And you knew, with just that look, he was nowhere near to being done with you.

AN: I hope you guys enjoyed this one.❤️ And I can't be the only one, who's thought about this, am I right? 👀😂

If you would like to be tagged in my future works please respond to this >form< so I can add you to the character's you'd like 😊

Dean Winchester Tag List: @bettystonewell , @nancymcl , @happyfxckinghorrors , @ambiguous-avery @jollyhunter @tbgfvfdcb @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom

[entropyofnuance]

What if I. Write a fic where Zachariah brought back John Winchester in season 5 to be Micheal’s vessel instead of Adam. Sam and Dean and Cas and Bobby and John. Ooooh and Adam’s name comes up anyway and there’s. Well there’s angst of course. Lmk how we’re feeling.

[spnfanficpond]

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