#SPN Fanfic

[wvyik]

wrapped in ya’ d.w. ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

dean winchester x fem! reader

summary; after a hunt, you slip into dean’s flannel, but when he sees you in it, the heat between you two ignites, and it quickly turns into something much more tempting.

warnings; mdni! smut, explicit content, rough sex, dom/sub dynamics, steamy chemistry, oral sex, (both receiving) unprotected fun, fingering, heavy praise kink, use of pet names, light breeding kink (👀), dirty talk, safe word check-in, long ass descriptions, porn with some plot? pre-established relationship, flannel fueled chaos, too much heat— someone call the fire department.

notes; hiya lovelies!! okay so.. this one gets spicy real fast. gawd i feel so shy about posting smut bahaha. but i tried my best. i need some tips (pun intended) though! i adore reading ur comments guys, seriously. thank you so much for the support! <3

words; 5128

The night had been long, the hunt brutal, but now, back in the bunker, the weight of exhaustion had settled into your bones. But there was one thing that made everything a little better — Dean’s flannel, slung over the back of the couch. You didn’t think twice before pulling it on, the soft fabric engulfing you, his scent instantly wrapping around you.

You had a second of peace, just standing there, breathing him in, when you heard the unmistakable sound of Dean’s boots behind you. You turned slowly to see him standing in the doorway, eyes dark, smirk curling on his lips.

“Really?” His voice was thick with amusement, but there was a layer of something else beneath it, something hungry. “Stealing my clothes now, huh?”

You shrugged, crossing your arms over your chest, the oversized flannel making you feel like you were drowning in it— but it felt damn good. “It’s comfy,” you said, teasing him, but the heat in your gaze was unmistakable.

Dean’s eyes scanned you slowly, taking in every inch of the way the flannel hung off your body. He stepped forward, the air between you crackling with tension. “Comfy?” he repeated, voice dripping with sarcasm, but his eyes were anything but joking. “You look fucking irresistible in it.”

You bit your lip, feeling the heat rush through your veins at his words. You could feel the tension building between you, that magnetic pull you couldn’t fight.

“You gonna keep stealing my shirts now, sweetheart?” Dean said, his voice rough, low, sending shivers down your spine as his hand reached out to trail down your arm. “Or do I get to make you forget about it?”

You swallowed hard, looking up at him. “Maybe I like it. Maybe I like you seeing me in your clothes.”

Dean smirked, and before you could blink, he grabbed you by the waist, pulling you in so close that you could feel the heat of his body against yours. His lips were on yours before you could even react, hard and demanding. His hands slid under the flannel, grazing your skin, his fingers burning a trail up your sides.

You gasped into the kiss when his hands slid lower, cupping you through the fabric of your jeans, the heat between you two growing unbearable. His mouth moved to your neck, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses as his hands began to work the buttons of your jeans.

“Dean,” you moaned softly, your hands pulling at his shirt, desperate for more contact, for more of him.

“Don’t say my name like that,” he muttered against your skin, his breath ragged. “You want me to fuck you right here, in my clothes?”

You felt your body tremble at the thought. His words, the way he was looking at you like he couldn’t wait to strip everything away, made you ache.

“Please,” you whispered, fingers tugging at his belt.

Dean growled, his hands gripping your hips as he lifted you effortlessly, pushing you up against the nearby wall, your legs wrapping around his waist. His mouth claimed yours again, with an unrelenting pace.

His eyes darkened, lips brushing against yours, "You're so damn perfect. You know that?"

You shivered at his words, the combination of his raw, dominant tone and the sweetness of his compliments sending a rush of heat through your body.

"De.." you murmured, hands slipping beneath his shirt to explore the muscles of his back, skin burning with every touch. "I need you so bad, please,"

Your touch sent a jolt of desire coursing through his veins, his breathing growing heavy as he ground against you, the hard length of him pressing against your hip, the friction driving him wild.

"You feel that?" he asked, his voice rough, "That's what you do to me, sweetheart."

You gasped softly, feeling the evidence of his arousal straining against his jeans, your body responding involuntarily, arching against him in search of more of that delicious friction.

"Bed?" you managed, the word barely a whisper. "Need you in a bed, not against a wall.."

The corners of his lips curled into a smirk at your desperate plea. He wanted you too, craved you like the air he breathed, but he loved teasing you, pushing you to the brink before giving in.

"Not yet," he murmured, his grip on you unrelenting. "We're not finished here."

He dipped his head, his mouth trailing a path down your neck, nipping and sucking at your sensitive skin, his hands roaming over your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

You writhed under his touch, your body alive with sensation, every nerve ending singing. "Dean, please," you whimpered, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

He savored the sound of your breathy pleas, relishing in the way you came undone beneath his touch. "I know, baby.. Love hearing you beg for me like that," he whispered against your skin, his voice roughened by arousal. “Enough of that, though. Get on your fuckin’ knees.”

Your knees almost gave way at the command, a sharp gasp slipping through your lips. "De—," you protested weakly, but there was no real resistance, just a trembling anticipation.

"Do as I say," he insisted, his grip unyielding as he guided you to the floor, your knees hitting the carpet with a soft thud. He stood above you, his eyes burning with intensity as you knelt before him, your face level with the obvious bulge in his jeans.

"Take my belt off," he ordered, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Your hands trembled as you reached for his leather belt, your fingertips brushing against the cool metal of the buckle. It took you a few attempts to undo it, your fingers clumsy with desire.

Once the belt was undone, he caught your wrist, his grip firm as he guided your hand to the zipper of his jeans. "Keep going, sweetheart."

Your heart was hammering in your chest as you unzipped his jeans, the sound of the zipper loud in the otherwise silent room, your fingertips brushing against the fabric of his boxers.

"Now... pull them down, slowly." His words were a command, a challenge, but beneath the dominance, there was an underlying tenderness, a hint of vulnerability that only showed itself in moments like these.

You obeyed, your hands reaching for the waistband of his jeans, fingers trembling with anticipation as you shimmied them down his hips. The material was rough against your hands, and the sound of denim sliding over his muscular thighs sent a shiver down your spine.

He stepped out of his jeans, leaving him in nothing but a pair of black boxers, the fabric strained by his arousal. He looked down at you, his eyes roving over your body, taking in the way you knelt before him, soft and submissive, ready to do whatever he asked.

He reached down, cupping your chin and tilting your face up to meet his gaze. His thumb traced your lower lip, his touch tender despite the commanding tone of his voice.

"You trust me, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes searching yours, a hint of vulnerability in his expression.

"Yes," you whispered, the word escaping your lips without hesitation. You did trust him, implicitly. He had seen you at your most vulnerable, your darkest moments, and he had never once taken advantage of it. Instead, he had been your pillar of strength, your protector, your safe harbor in the storm.

His thumb continued tracing your lip, a gentle smile curving his mouth at your response. "Good girl," he murmured, the praise sending a jolt of desire through you, his approval filling you with warmth. “Now, open that pretty lil’ mouth for me.”

Your heart skipped a beat, the simple command igniting a fire within you. Without hesitation, you parted your lips, your eyes locked on his as you waited for his next command.

His thumb slipped past your parted lips, tracing the outline of your tongue. “Suck it,” he demanded, his voice low and sensual.

You obeyed without hesitation, your tongue swirling around his thumb as you sucked it into your mouth. The action was both submissive and rebellious, your eyes defiant even as you yielded to his command.

Dean groaned, his eyes darkening as he watched you. "That's it," he said, his thumb withdrawing from your mouth with a wet pop. "Look so good on your knees for me, baby."

He threaded his fingers into your hair, his grip firm as he angled your head to look up at him. His eyes bore into yours, his expression a mix of tenderness and dominance.

"You know what I want, don't you?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

You nodded, a wordless affirmation that you understood exactly what he was asking for. Your lips were parted, your breath coming in heavy pants, your body already trembling in anticipation.

He ran his hand over your hair, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the rough command. "Go on then, touch me," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your hand trembled as you reached for him, your palm sliding over the rough cotton of his boxers, feeling the heat and hardness beneath. Your touch was tentative at first, but as you heard him draw in a sharp breath, your confidence began to grow.

His hand tensed in your hair as your touch grew bolder, your fingers tracing the outline of his arousal through the fabric. "Mmm... that's it," he murmured, his voice thick with pleasure, "Just like that, sweetheart."

Your hand cupped him more firmly, massaging him through the fabric until he was practically vibrating with need. "F-fuck... you're so good for me, aren't you darling?"

Your response was a strangled moan, your body responding to his praise like a flame to gasoline. You were on fire, consumed by a desperate need for him, the ache between your thighs growing with every passing moment. "Please," you gasped, looking up at him, your lips parted, your cheeks flushed. "Dean, please... I need you."

His jaw clenched at the view of you. It was a sight that never failed to get him going, his control almost at its limit. "Yeah? You need me that bad, huh?" he teased, his fingers tangling more tightly in your hair.

You nodded, your tongue darting out to wet your lips. "Yes," you breathed, your hand still massaging him through the fabric. "So bad, Dean. I need you. Please."

The desperate plea in your tone and the way you were touching him pushed him to the edge. He was already struggling to hold back, and the sight of you on your knees, begging for him, was almost too much.

"Then take what you want," he commanded, his voice a hoarse rasp, "Cmon, angel.. you know what to do."

Without hesitation, you reached for the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down with a swift motion, freeing him from the last barrier of fabric. You swallowed hard as you took him in, your hand wrapping around him, the weight and heat of him feeling like the missing piece to a puzzle you hadn't known was incomplete.

He let out a guttural groan as you touched him, your grip firm and sure, almost worshipful. "Fuck.. just like that, sweetheart," he gasped, his eyes closing for a fraction of second before refocusing on you, watching your every move. "You know how to drive me crazy.."

The praise from him sent a shiver down your spine, your body arching towards his, your hand moving in a steady rhythm. You loved the way you could make him lose control, the way he looked at you now, completely undone by your touch.

"Yeah, just like that.. just keep touching me, babe," he whispered, his hand tightening in your hair again, guiding your mouth towards him. "I need you, sweetheart. I need-"

You didn't hesitate, your tongue darting out to taste him, the saltiness of his skin making your head spin. He groaned, his breath hitching as he watched you, his grip on your hair becoming almost painful. "You're perfect.. so damn perfect..," he murmured, his words interspersed with ragged breaths. "Just like that.. don't stop, sweetheart.. please don't stop.."

You quickened your pace, your tongue swirling and tasting, desperate to drive him over the edge. You wanted to give him everything he needed, to show him just how much you wanted him.

"Oh, I'm close... keep goin.." he gasped, his hips canting forward automatically, seeking more of the pleasure you were giving him. "Just a little bit more, sweetheart.. you're so good.. so perfect.. I'm gonna-"

You knew he was close, you could feel it in the way his body tensed, the way his breath came in ragged gasps. You looked up at him, your eyes meeting his gaze, and that was it.

His release was sudden, his body shaking with the intensity of it, a hoarse cry passing his lips. He held on to you tightly, the grip on your hair probably painful, but you didn't care. You loved seeing him lose control, the way his face showed every emotion, the way he let himself be vulnerable around you.

He panted heavily, his chest rising and falling, his eyes dark and satisfied as he looked down at you. "Goddamn, sweetheart," he muttered, his voice still thick with arousal. “Think you—fuck—think you might need a reward for that, huh?”

A mixture of pride and exhaustion filled you as he spoke. You were trembling, your body almost as spent as his from the intensity of your actions. But the thought of a reward made your eyes gleam. "A-a reward?.." you asked, the word almost a purr.

He chuckled, the sound deep and rough. "Yeah, sweetheart, a reward," he confirmed, his hand moving from your hair to your face, his thumb tracing the lines of your face. "You did so good.. you deserve something special."

His touch was gentle, tender even, a stark contrast to the dominating way he had been moments ago. It always surprised you how he could switch between the two, one moment being demanding, the next tender. But that was just who he was. A man of contrasts.

Dean helped you up, steadying you on your shaky legs before leading you over to the bed. He sat you down on the edge, pulling you onto your back, your legs in between him. He held you close, his arms wrapping around you with a possessiveness that was both comforting and arousing.

He kissed you, slow and deep, his tongue moving against yours, tasting and exploring. It was a gentle, almost loving kind of kiss, one that belied the intensity of the moment. He pulled away after a few seconds, his gaze roaming over your body hungrily.

"I could ravish you right now," he murmured, his hand roaming over your body, "But I don't want to rush this.. I want to take my time with you, baby. I want to make you feel as good as you made me feel."

Your breath hitched at his words, anticipation building in your chest. You knew he meant every word, and the thought of what was to come made your body tingle. "I want that too," you whispered, your hands coming up to toy with his hair. "I want you, Dean. All of you…"

He smiled at your words, his fingers tracing patterns over your skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps. "And you'll have me, sweetheart," he promised, his tone confident. "Every part of me.. yours to do with as you please."

He leaned down, pressing a trail of kisses down your neck, his stubble scraping against your skin. Each touch was slow and deliberate, as if he was mapping out every inch of you. His hand slid up your side, his fingers playing lightly at the hem of your shirt before tugging it up, slowly baring more of your flesh to him.

He pulled the shirt over your head, tossing it aside before leaning back to look at you. He took his time, his eyes roaming over your body, drinking in every detail. "So damn gorgeous," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "I never get tired of looking at you."

His hands began to wander again, exploring territory that was both familiar and exciting. He traced your collarbone, his thumb gently brushing over the sensitive area, before moving down to your breasts. His touch was light, teasing, his eyes fixated on your face to gauge your reaction.

You gasped as his thumb brushed over your nipples, the fabric of your bra the only barrier between you. He smirked, noticing your reaction, and did it again, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through you. "Mmm... so sensitive already." he murmured, his voice low and teasing. He let his fingers go down your back, undoing your bra with skill.

Your breathing hitched, your body arching involuntarily under his touch. His words, combined with the sensations he was eliciting in you, were almost too much to handle. "Dean.. please.." you gasped, your body craving more of his touch, more of him.

He smirked at your plea, his hand tracing down over your stomach, stopping just above the waistband of your shorts. "What do you want, darlin’? Use your words," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

You swallowed hard, your mind fuzzy with desire. "More.." you managed to gasp out, your hips lifting slightly in a desperate attempt to get more of the contact you craved. "Please, more.. I need more.."

He chuckled at your desperate tone, amused and turned on by the effect he had on you. "Such a needy little thing, aren't you?" he murmured, his fingers still teasing at the edge of your shorts. "I love how impatient you get for me, sweetheart.. it's almost endearing."

He leaned down again, his mouth finding a sensitive spot on your neck, his teeth nipping gently before soothing the sting with his tongue. His hand was more demanding now, his fingers slipping down the fabric of your shorts, now dancing along the edge of your underwear.

Your body was on fire, your skin overly sensitive to every touch and kiss. You whimpered, your thighs clenching as his hand continued to tease you. "Please.. I can't take much more of this," you gasped, your hands gripping at the sheets beneath you.

"You can take it," he murmured, his mouth trailing down to your chest, his tongue darting out to taste your skin. "I know you can, sweetheart. And don't worry, you'll get everything you want in just a minute.. if you behave."

You knew exactly what he meant by behaving. You'd be obeying him tonight, and he was reminding you of that fact. You shivered beneath him, the anticipation building. "I'll be good," you promised, your voice almost a whine. "I'll be so good for you, just.. please, Dean."

His hand moved lower, his fingers slipping beneath the fabric of your underwear, teasing the sensitive flesh there. "Fuck," he murmured, his eyes glued to your face. "So wet for me. You got that wet just by sucking my cock?.."

You couldn't help the moan that escaped your lips, the sound almost embarrassing in its neediness. "Yes," you admitted, "Just from that. Just from you."

He groaned in approval, his fingers moving gently over you. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, "That's my good girl. You're just full of surprises, aren't you?"

You nodded, your body shaking as his touch became more demanding. "I—I just wanted to make you feel good," you managed to gasp out, your hips lifting slightly in time with his movements.

"Oh, you did," he murmured, his voice rough with arousal. "You made me feel so good, sweetheart. But now it's my turn to return the favor..."

His mouth moved down your body, his teeth scraping against your skin, his tongue trailing a wet path towards your thighs. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire, a smirk on his lips. "You want me to take care of you, sweetheart? Want me to taste you like you tasted me?"

You nodded fervently, your breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "Yes," you gasped, the word almost a sob. "Please, please, I need you, Dean."

He chuckled, the sound low and dark. "That's what I wanted to hear," he murmured, his hands gripping your thighs, spreading you open before him. "Just relax, princess. I'm gonna make you feel so damn good."

His tongue was hot on you, his touch firm and sure. He tasted and teased, his mouth working you into a frenzy. It was almost overwhelming, the way he knew all your sensitive spots, the way he knew exactly how to touch you to drive you wild. You writhed beneath him, his finger curled up in you.

"So damn sensitive.." he murmured, his mouth moving against you, his words sending vibrations through your body. "You're so damn reactive to everything I do to you, sweetness.. it's so goddamn hot.. I could do this all night.. I could do this until you're a shaking, sobbing mess beneath me.. begging me for more..."

You were close, your body tensing, the coil inside you ready to snap. "Dean-please—" you gasped, your back arching off the bed, "I'm--oh God, I'm so close-just-just a little bit more—"

His tongue flicked over you, his pace picking up, his fingers digging into your thighs. "That's it, sweetheart," he murmured, "Cum for me. I want to hear you say my name, I want to feel you let go for me.."

And with his last words, you shattered, crying out his name as pleasure crested over you. You shook, your body arching, your hands gripping the sheets tightly. The intensity of it was mind numbing, the sensation washing over you.

He didn't stop, his mouth working you through it, prolonging the sensation. You moaned, your body trembling, your senses overwhelmed. It was too much, yet somehow not enough. You clutched at him, your hands running through his hair, needing something to ground you.

Finally, he pulled away, his mouth trailing kisses up your body as he moved back up to your face. He looked at you, his eyes dark, his expression satisfied. "You're incredible, baby," he murmured, kissing you deeply, his tongue slipping into your mouth.

You tasted yourself on his lips, the realization making you shiver. You wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer, your body still humming with aftershocks of pleasure. "That was.. that was amazing," you managed to gasp out, your voice hoarse from screaming his name.

He smirked at that, his ego clearly boosted by your words. "Damn right, it was," he said, pride evident in his tone. He ran a hand through your hair, his touch surprisingly tender. "And we're far from done."

Your eyes widened at his words. Far from done? You weren't sure you would be able to handle much more, but the heat in his gaze told you that you didn't have a choice. You swallowed hard, your body already responding to his touch.

He chuckled at your expression, his hand rubbing small circles on your thigh. "You look like a deer caught in headlights, sweetheart," he teased, his smirk growing. "Don't worry, I'll take care of you. I just need you to do one thing for me."

You nodded, your body already responding to his command. "Anything," you replied breathless.

He leaned in, his mouth close to your ear, his tone dropping. "Beg for me, doll. I want you to beg me to fuck you."

Your cheeks flushed, a mixture of embarrassment and arousal. "Please," you whispered, your eyes meeting his. "Please, Dean, I need you to—" you stopped, the words almost stuck in your throat.

He chuckled, his hand moving lower, his touch teasing. "Come on, sweetheart, you can do better than that," he encouraged, his eyes dark and demanding. "I know you want it. I know you want me. Just let yourself say it. Beg for it."

You felt a thrill run through you, the combination of his words and his touch pushing you over the edge. "Please," you whispered, "Please Dean, please - I need you. I need you inside me. I need you to take me, to make me yours. Please, please, please just—just—" you couldn't finish, your words strangled by your own need

His lips crushed yours, silencing your words with a bruising kiss. "That's what I wanted to hear, pretty girl," he murmured against your mouth, "Fucking hell, you know how to get me worked up."

He pulled back, his eyes roaming over your body, his expression hungry. "Now, let's see how much more you can take."

With that, he steadied himself against you, slowly teasing his hard arousal against your wetness. You gasped, the sudden movement catching you off guard.

"You good, sweetheart?" he murmured, his voice low. "Color check."

You took a deep breath, your mind still fuzzy with desire. "Green," you managed to gasp, your body begging for more.

He smiled, satisfied with your answer. "Good girl," he said, his hands gripping your thighs, he lifted your legs up over his shoulders. "Just relax, angel. I'm gonna take good care of you."

He leaned down, his mouth finding a sensitive spot on your neck. As he sucked and nipped at the skin there, slowly, agonizingly slow he pushed into you. Your head fell back against the bed, a low moan escaping your lips.

You could feel every inch, your body stretching and adjusting to him. He filled you completely, the friction sending sparks of pleasure down your spine. You gripped his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin. "Dean, please..," you whimpered.

"Please what, sweetheart?" He murmured against your skin, his voice hoarse with need. "You know you have to use your words."

"Move," you gasped, your body shaking with need. "Please, just.. just move. I need you to move."

He chuckled, the sound a mix of amusement and arousal. "Bossy, are we?" he teased. But there was a hint of satisfaction in his tone. He pulled back slightly, before slowly pushing back in. "Like this, baby?"

You gasped, your back arching against the sheets. "Yes," you managed to gasp, "Just like that, yes. Please, more."

He set a steady rhythm, his movements deep and sure. He knew exactly how to touch you, where to touch you, which spots made you shudder, which made you moan. His hands gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your flesh. "So damn tight," he groaned, his breath ragged. "You feel so fuckin’ amazing.”

His words, combined with the sensations he was eliciting, were almost too much. You were quickly unraveling beneath him, your body aflame with pleasure. You pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair, needing something to ground you.

"Look at you, sweetheart," he murmured, his mouth finding your ear. "You're so damn perfect like this. All needy and desperate for me."

His words sent a thrill down your spine, his tone filled with hunger. You could feel him everywhere, his body pressed against yours, his scent surrounding you. It was all too much and not enough. "Don't stop," you gasped, "Don't-ah - don't stop, please, f-faster."

He groaned at your words, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate. He was losing control, his grip on you tightening. "You— you feel so damn good," he gasped, his forehead resting on your shoulder. "I'm not gonna last much longer angel, you're driving me insane."

You were close, the coils inside you about to snap. You needed more, you needed it to last just a bit longer, even though you didn't know if you could take it. But Dean knew what you needed, he was always so in sync with your body.

"Cum for me one more time sweetheart," he murmured in your ear, his voice rough and commanding. "I want to feel you come all over me. I want to hear you say my name. Just let go for me, my beautiful girl."

And with his words, you were lost, your body seizing as pleasure washed over you. You gasped, your hands clutching at him, his name a strangled cry.

Dean felt you tighten around him, and it was too much, he bit down on your shoulder, his own release hitting him like a wave. He shuddered, his body tensing, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Fuck," he groaned, his voice hoarse. "Sweetheart, you're gonna make me cum again, ‘gonna cum all in you.”

It was then you felt it. He slowed, stilling, his body shaking slightly. He looked at you, his expression a mix of satisfaction and exhaustion. "That.. that was…" he trailed off, his voice slightly raspy.

The room is still thick with heat, your body boneless against the mattress, breath coming in slow, uneven pulls. The last echoes of your moans still hang in the air, mixing with Dean’s heavy exhales as he finally— finally—collapses beside you.

For a moment, neither of you move. His arm is still hooked around your waist, his grip loose now, but his fingers are still there, brushing over your skin like he’s making sure you’re real. Like he’s not ready to let you go yet.

Then, in that low, raspy voice that makes your stomach flip, he murmurs, “You good, babe?”

You make a sound— half a hum, half a sigh— and barely manage to nod. That seems to be enough for him. He chuckles, voice still rough around the edges, and leans in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to your temple. “Yeah, I gotcha. Just breathe for me, baby.”

His hands move without thinking, smoothing over your back, tracing lazy circles into your skin, as if mapping out every place he touched, every mark he left. When his fingers ghost over a spot he might’ve grabbed too hard, he tuts under his breath. “Shit, hope I didn’t go too hard on you.” His lips follow where his hands were, warm and soft against your shoulder. “Might owe you a damn back rub after that one.”

Eventually, he grumbles and pulls away— just for a second—to grab the water bottle from the nightstand. He presses it into your hand, watching you with that lazy, smitten smile as you take a few slow sips. “There we go,” he murmurs, brushing a few damp strands of hair from your face.

And then, without another word, he tugs you against his chest, settling you into the warmth of his body like you belong there. Like he needs you there.

His breath is warm against your hair as he mumbles, half-asleep already, “M’not moving. You’re stuck with me, sweetheart.”

So much for stealing a fucking flannel.

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[zepskies]

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 3

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: All right, diving into some muddy waters here...

Jacklesverse Bingo24 Prompt: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “You Go to My Head” by Tony Bennett

Word Count: 6.5K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Angst, (technically cheating—it’s complicated), hurt/comfort, and smut.

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Part 3: A Moment

Dean sat with you in silence on the bus. While you were still beautiful in your black dress, hat, and veil, you didn’t have the vivacious spark in your eyes like you did back at the club. There, when he held you in his arms, he earned your breathless, giddy laugh by turning you too many times under his hand.

Now, you looked like you were in mourning. Maybe you were.

“You hungry?” he asked. 

You didn’t even raise your gaze as you picked at a stray seam on your dress.

“I don’t think I could eat anything,” you replied. 

As if on cue, the thought of food made your stomach percolate, uttering a rumble. You froze. Your eyes widened as you bit your lip in mortification, but you were unable to stop yourself from glancing at Dean.

He cocked a brow at the sound. Then, his lips twitched at a smile.

“I think I know a place,” he said.

You were blushing too hard to argue.

And so, you and Dean got off the bus early. You ended up sitting across from him at a steakhouse. It was nice and quiet. Softer piano music played, and you were perusing the menu, trying not to feel guilty about it.

You had to remind yourself that your husband was betraying your marriage in far worse ways than you right now, and in the grand scheme of things, this was nothing. Dean was just paying you a kindness by taking you out for dinner.  

“Get whatever you want,” he said, gesturing towards the menu in your hands. 

You gave him a measured look across the table. Sure, he could say that, but you still felt bad. He was a soldier no longer on a soldier’s salary.

So you tried to be discreet while you were eyeing the steak side of the menu. Seeing the state of these prices—more than a little outrageous, in your opinion—you turned to the other side. The server returned to your table shortly after.

“Are we ready to order?” he asked.

Dean gestured for you to go first. You once again glanced down at the tiny printed words next to the fancily scrawled prices, biting at your lower lip.

“I’ll have the roast chicken please,” you said.

Dean rose his brows at you. “You sure that’s what you want?”

“Sure. I’m happy with anything,” you said.

A smile played on his lips. “So you really want to have chicken at a steakhouse?”

His amusement was infectious. You couldn’t help but begin to smile too. He leaned in closer across the table, as if conspiringly.

“I’ll get you whatever you want, and I mean that,” he said. Then, adopting a more joking tone, “I may not have a job lined up yet, but I’m not penniless.”

Your smile fell. “Oh, Dean, I know that—” 

“Then order something good,” he said, raising his brows. “I dare ya.”

Your lips began to purse, trying not to succumb to the annoyingly charming gleam in his eyes.

“How about the Salisbury steak?” the server suggested. “It’s very popular right now.”

Dean looked to you for confirmation, again popping his brows in teasing askance. You offered a weary smile of defeat. 

He ordered two steaks with all the fixings.   

Dean was the more natural improvisor, but Sam had become just as good at finding the right role to play in situations like these. With Michael Milligan and his friends, that role was mostly himself: a bachelor, a businessman, but also being “the new guy in town,” looking for friends and a good time.

So Sam was wearing his newest suit and his best watch—a graduation present from his father—and had made sure he looked sharp before leaving the apartment tonight. Though he undid a couple of buttons on his dress shirt and ran a hand through his hair to tousle it up a little, making himself look casual enough to match these guys.

Seeing the shine on his wrist, Michael was generous enough to invite Sam along when they traveled behind the velvet curtain with Dolores Daye and the Cotton Club’s esteemed host, Brady Johnson.

Johnson. Sam recognized the name with an internal jolt. He’d seen it scrawled in Michael Milligan’s handwriting across several checks, dated between 1944 to 1945.

Brady Johnson had a crooked smile that was supposed to be charming as he led the group into a darker, cozier room. It smelled like the smoke of cigarettes and cigars, coupled with the faint must of perfume and cologne. There were a couple of pool tables, a fully stocked bar, and a big round table where he gestured for them all to sit.

Dolores took a seat right on Michael’s lap. There she gave the man a kiss that likely tickled his tonsils.

Sam pretended to be discreet when he looked away, but really, he was trying to sneak his little Canon camera out of his jacket. He stiffened to attention when Brady slapped a hand on his shoulder.

“What’re you drinkin’, Winchester?” he asked. “Scotch? Whiskey?”

“Aren’t those the same thing?” Sam said, injecting some good humor into his smile.

Brady thought about it, popped a brow, then levied a finger his way. “Damn it, when you’re right. You’re right. I’ll get ya both then.”

He reached out and touched Dolores’s side meaningfully, getting her to stop “greeting” Michael and detach from his face.

“Sweetheart, why don’t you get our guests something to drink, huh? Then you can go back to making Michael here feel comfortable,” Brady said, slapping a congenial hand on Michael’s back.

Dolores gave Brady an easy smile and practically hopped out of Michael’s lap with a graceful two-step. She caressed his face as she made her way around his back and away, heading towards the bar. Michael followed the careening path of her hand as she half-turned his head, and he shot her a wink. She giggled indulgently, making him smile.

Then he turned his attention to the game of poker at hand. One of the other men was dealing the cards. Sam glanced at his hand before he looked over at Michael. Specifically, Sam noticed the gold band on the man’s left ring finger.

Michael seemed to feel Sam’s eyes on him, and he followed the path of Sam’s gaze. Michael flexed his hand and tucked it into his pocket.

“So Sam, what’s your poison?” he asked.

“I’m a whiskey guy, I guess,” Sam said, glancing around the room. There was probably an exit out back, but otherwise, the place was secluded and well-contained. So far he didn’t notice any other back rooms, besides a door to what was probably a dressing room. Michael had probably gotten that tour a time or two.

“This is a nice place,” Sam remarked, offering Dolores a polite smile when she set down a fifth of scotch in front of him. She gave him a charming wink before she served Michael his whiskey on the rocks next.

“I don’t come here all that often,” Michael said, adding a quirking grin. “Just on payday.”

The men shared a chuckle. Sam’s gaze was a hint sharper.

“Well, the drinks are good. I imagine the company’s better,” he said, his brows raising slightly when Dolores passed by to serve one of the other men a drink. Michael cocked a finger at him, congenial, but still warning.

“Yep, she’s a sweet one, all right. Sweet for me,” he said, grinning.

Sam nodded in understanding.

“I get it. She’s happily occupied,” he said, though he casually gestured to Michael’s left hand when he used it to bring his drink up to his lips. “Sorry for your loss.”

Michael gave him a look of confusion while he sipped, but when he noticed Sam pointing at his wedding ring, he had to pause and clear his throat.

“Excuse me?” he said.

“Ah, I’m sorry. I assumed you were a widower,” Sam said. He quirked a smile and sipped at his own drink.

Michael hesitated. He rubbed at his left ring finger, over the shining band.

“Yeah, well, sometimes I forget that myself,” he said. His blue eyes dimmed. “It, uh…hasn’t been all that long since she passed.”

Sam almost shook his head. If the man was going to lie, he could at least put some effort into it. He was beginning to understand your pain even better than ever.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry,” Sam offered.

Michael smiled tightly. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“All right, we good?” Brady said, now that the cards were dealt. Dolores came back over to sit on Michael’s lap. Sam didn’t get out his camera just yet; the position was incriminating, but not hard proof of an affair. He’d have to wait for a better opportunity.

“Who’s betting first?” he asked.

After the meal, you realized you weren’t quite ready to go home, despite the late hour of the night. Picking up on your reluctance, Dean suggested taking a walk. You held onto his offered arm and led him a couple blocks away to Central Park. You guided him through the walkways you almost knew by heart, even in the shrouded dark of the night.

You were beginning to feel an odd prickle zip across your skin. Deep down, you knew you walked on a thin edge teetering between right and wrong.

He’s just being kind, you rationalized. You were battered enough inside to crave his kindness, more than you would’ve ever liked to admit.

“Thank you again for dinner,” you said, “and for staying out with me. I just…didn’t feel like going home to an empty apartment.”

Dean’s lips twitched up at one side, ruefully. “I kinda know what you mean. We could, uh…catch a picture show or something.”

“Oh no, Dean. It’s all right. Far too late for that,” you said, releasing his arm to wave a dismissive hand. Really, you just wanted to dispel the idea of him treating you to anything more tonight. By the way he was as dinner, you just knew that he wouldn’t allow you to pay for your own ticket to see a show. Nor did you want to eat into his pockets anymore. 

Your hands were gathered in front of you now as you walked, holding your purse. A cold rush of wind pushed at you both from behind. It popped up the collar of your winter coat. Dean fixed it for you, laying it back down above your shoulders. You murmured your thanks again as you felt the brush of his fingers across your back and shoulders.

Afterwards, he slid his hands back into his coat pockets. He looked up at the tall trees and nicely trimmed bushes, their little red flowers having opened up.

“This is the only part of the city worth seeing,” he remarked, knocking a small rock ahead of him with his foot.

You turned to him with a frown. “Come on, now. There are a lot of interesting things in the city. There’s the Statue of Liberty and Rockefeller Center, not to mention museums, restaurants, Radio City, plays, and movies too, remember?”

“Okay, aside from Radio City and a couple of old buildings, we’ve got all that back home too,” he said, with a cutting motion of his hand.

“Has Sam shown you everything? Or have you been exploring on your own?” you asked. The question was a bit deceptive though. In your mind, you were thinking of what Sam had told you…

He’s not usually wanting for company.

“On my own, for the most part,” Dean replied. “Sam’s been hard at work. A bit too busy for his hanger-on older brother.”

You looked over at him with furrowed brows. “Dean, I doubt he sees it that way.”

The man shook his head. “Look, I’m…I’m proud of him, don’t get me wrong. He’s trying to build something for himself, and that takes time and a lotta work. He’s created a life here. I’m just trying to catch up, I guess.”

You considered Dean for a moment. Like you, he seemed to be at a crossroads.

“What was it like for you two, growing up? You’re from Kansas, aren’t you?” you asked.

He nodded. He hesitated, but he surprised you by opening up a little, telling you more about his life before the war. It was always before and after. You knew it always would be.

You learned that his mother passed away when he was young, rather tragically due to an illness that came on suddenly and swiftly. He still remembered the deep blue of her eyes, her blonde hair. But most of all, he remembered her voice, kind and pretty when she sang to him until he fell asleep.

John, his father, had become a harder man after her death. Quieter, and stoic. Dean hardly remembered him without a glass of liquor in his hand after that. John had been a factory worker before he enlisted in the Navy. He died a decade later at Pearl Harbor, during the war.

That news came through with a military officer knocking at the front door of their family home. Dean answered it, and so that news hit him first. Afterwards, he had to sit his younger brother down and tell him.

That afternoon, both of them enlisted.

Dean told the story matter-of-factly, but you felt and saw the emotions hidden behind his eyes. You saw the weight of responsibility on his shoulders, both as an older brother, and as the eldest son. You had to quickly swipe away a tear before he turned your way. He offered a small smile.

“Ah…enough about all that. What about you?” he asked. “How’d you grow up?”

You took a steadying breath, and you told him.

“Well, I’m from a small town in South Dakota. Sioux Falls,” you said. “Mom’s a schoolteacher. Dad works in a steel mill, and my Uncle Bobby owns an automotive towing company there.”

“Well, that’s a decent job,” Dean said.

“Have you thought about what you want to do?” you asked. He nodded, and the two of you stopped to sit together on a bench in the park. You had a view of tall skyscrapers like Empire State in the distance, and the night sky above the arching trees.

“Yeah, a lot actually,” he said, carding a hand through his hair absently. “Like, uh, talking about cars, I’ve always liked them. The hum of a good engine. My dad could hear a car running from a block away, and he could tell you what was wrong with it, just by the sound of it.”

He punctuated his words with a sweeping gesture of his hand. You could imagine a road laid across the path of it, along with a rumbling car and his father’s perceptive, judging eye.

“Heh, matter of fact, we used to take his old Chevy apart, put it back together again,” said Dean, smiling a little. “I like working with my hands, I guess.”

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile widened, showing teeth. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that. He wasn’t offended, just amused at the way you got embarrassed, even though you didn’t take it back just to save face.

He appreciated your support and the way you talked, straightforward and earnest. There was nothing frivolous about you. You meant every word you said, and you said it with conviction.

“Do you enjoy your work then?” he asked. You dimmed a little.

“Well, I’m a secretary. I work in an office,” you said, chuckling slightly. “Nothing exciting there.”

“You mean, compared to being an army nurse,” Dean pointed out.

You nodded begrudgingly. He saw through you too well.

“It was never boring,” you joked, even if it was a weak one.

A sigh escaped you. The truth was, you saw things on the battlefield that revived behind your eyelids every time you went to sleep. It kept you up some nights, and it made it incredibly difficult to sleep alone. Sometimes you’d craved Michael’s arms around you, even if he was too deep in sleep from being drunk the night before. Sometimes it was too hard to be alone all night in your bed, even if you wanted to be.

“That’s how Michael and I met,” you confessed. “I was trying to stitch him up after his plane was shot down. He was lucky to be alive, frankly. Had a nasty head wound. I also helped the doctor set his shoulder, horribly dislocated…”

You two fell in love in that one month you were stationed in the same town together, where France was falling apart. The combined forces of French, British, and American units were able to finally liberate Paris from being occupied. Michael was honorably discharged due to the wounds he’d sustained there.

The next time you and Michael had shore leave at the same time, you got married here in New York City: October 10, 1944.

“I wouldn’t have minded if you were my nurse,” Dean said, breaking you out of your thoughts. You sent him a wry, sidelong smile.

“You can’t help yourself from flirting, can you?” you quipped.

The way he waggled his brows made you laugh, and then duck your blushing face. He was too much.

“I’m serious though,” he claimed. One of his hands went to his right shoulder. “I’ve still got a twinge over here. Think I tore some kind of muscle from hauling ammunition, but it never really healed right.”

Your head tilted in concern. The nurse in you couldn’t help it. You turned to him more fully on the bench.

“That shoulder?” You pointed at his right one. Dean nodded. You got up and moved to his other side, and he made room for you on the bench.

“Can you peel back your jacket for me?” you asked.

“Not a problem,” he said, with a note of sensuous teasing in his voice that you chose to ignore. He revealed his white dress shirt, black waistcoat and brown leather suspenders. That was a familiar sight, but you tried to ignore the feeling of defined male muscle underneath your hands, instead focusing on finding the problem. You knew you struck it when Dean flinched, uttering a reflexive grunt of pain.

You murmured an apology, massaging the spot of muscle deep in the joint of his shoulder through his clothing. A fellow nurse with more experience in the medical field had taught you about each muscle in the body, and how to relieve tension around scar tissue. After a while, the stiffness in Dean’s frame began to relax. His neck lolled to one side as he groaned in relief.

Then he chuckled. “You some kind of miracle woman?”

“I might be,” you said. The corners of your mouth inched upwards. 

When he was fully relaxed, you stopped your ministrations and let your hands fall away from his shoulder. Dean stood up from the bench along with you, yanking his jacket back on. Soon it was the two of you standing together in near darkness.

“Thanks, sweetheart. Feels much better already,” he said. There was something warm, and a hint gentler in his voice. Even he realized it afterwards, not knowing quite how to feel about it…until you looked up at him with that smile. His heart thudded a bit harder in his chest.

“What should I charge for a miracle?” you asked.

Dean pretended to think, humming in consideration. He knew what he wanted to give you in exchange, but he settled for something more gentlemanly.

“How about you let me take you home?” he offered.

You nodded. “That works for me.”

You continued walking with Dean through the park back to the entrance, with only a few scattered lampposts and the stars above to light your path.

Once again, you and Dean made it to the front porch of your apartment building. Despite your better judgment, you invited him in for a night cap and a snack. To be fair, he would have a long way home. You just wanted to repay him at least a little bit for his kindness.

He followed you up the stairs to the second floor, Unit 21B. Inside was a modest, cozy living room, a hall leading to the kitchen, and further down, the bedroom. You poured two glasses of whiskey and sat beside him on the couch.

“Didn’t take you for a whiskey girl,” Dean remarked.

“Yes, well, it’s one of those nights, I guess,” you said. You didn’t quite smile as you took a small sip.

By now it was past midnight. You wondered if your husband didn’t intend to come home until the morning. It had happened before, but it still made you so very angry now that you’d seen it with your own eyes. You drowned out that sick feeling with more whiskey and conversation.

Within the hour, you and Dean had nearly polished off the bottle. You were more than a little tipsy.

You laughed a bit harder than you should’ve at Dean’s stories, but he liked the sound of your laughter and the way you were letting loose around him. It was the first time he’d seen you smile so much, and it was a good look on you. He was glad to be able to get that out of you.

“I almost missed my own birthday party when I was ten,” he said, laughing a little. He was spurred on by your infectious grin. “Sam and I, we got it into our heads to jump off the roof of the shed out back. See, I had a towel tied around my neck.”

“A cape,” you giggled.

Dean pointed a finger at you. “Exactly. So I can fly.”

You shook your head. “Naturally.” You could imagine him as a precocious child, with ruddy cheeks and small freckles spread across them.

“My brother had a ‘cape’ too, but he was a skinny kid at six years old. Small for his age for a long time, if you can believe it.”

“A-huh…” 

“Well, I jump off first, and I manage stick the landing, just shaking a little when my boots hit the ground,” Dean said, making a show of wobbling his legs a little. It looked odd while sitting on the couch, but you could imagine it so clearly, it made you smile harder.

“Sammy, not so much. Poor kid broke his arm,” he said.

Your smile dropped.

“No,” you gasped, a hand flying to your mouth. 

Dean nodded. “I had to take him to the clinic on my bike. He rode on my handlebars all the way there. We agreed not to say a word to our dad, you know, but of course, it’s kinda hard to hide sling.”

“What did he do?”

“He took one look at us, at me. Mom was fretting over Sam, and Dad just shook his head.”

“Was he mad?”

“Of course he was, but at least he never took it out on us. Not with his hands, at least. He cussed up a storm about us damn kids and had to walk it off.” Dean chuckled and swiped a hand through his hair. “That was some birthday.”

You erupted into more giggles. He smirked at you, but it slowly faded. 

“You know where I was on my last birthday?” he asked.

You sobered along with him, sensing his tone.

It took him a moment to continue. He didn’t know why he started to open his mouth about this. After he set foot in his house again after the war, he resolved to leave all that behind him, try not to think about it or talk about it, if he could help it. But after what you’d told him, he thought you might understand.

“I was in Eastern Europe. Knees deep in snow and blood in the Ardennes, caught somewhere between Belgium and uh…Luxemburg, they told us. The weather was sh…it was terrible,” he corrected himself before he caught himself saying something too vulgar. It had been a while since he’d had to watch his mouth around a lady, even though he had a feeling you’d heard it all in the crumbled depths of France.

“But it finally let up enough that we could start fighting back for real,” he continued. “It was grueling. A knockout, drag out dog fight in the worst cold I’d ever been through in my life…”

You listened to the rest of his story with rapt attention, your chin held in hand as you leaned against the back of the sofa. Not only did you like the sound of his deep voice washing over you, but you realized that he was trusting you with something; with a part of himself.

When his story was done, he seemed to be reliving it all in his mind. His gaze was far away. You rested a hand on his arm to let him know that you had listened, that you had heard him, and that he wasn’t alone. He’d taken his coat off long ago, so you felt the warmth of him under the fabric of his rolled up dress shirt.

Dean came back to himself. He looked at you and grasped your arm back in thanks. But that small connection slowly began to change into something else. His hand slid up your bare arm, over the black sleeve, and across the neckline of your dress. He leaned in closer.

He smelled good, of a woodsy cologne and of spicy whiskey. He was sporting a couple days’ worth of stubble, but as you took in his face, you realized that it looked good on him. You’d only ever been taken with clean-shaven men before. This man, however, was continuing to be a pleasant surprise.  

Dean cradled your cheek in his hand. You allowed him to draw even closer. You subconsciously leaned forward yourself, until his plush lips were one warm breath away from yours.

Dean held himself back though. He knew there were more things muddling your mind than the whiskey. But you held his hand to your cheek so he wouldn’t let you go just yet. You tried your best to blink back the sting of tears. 

“Please,” you whispered. You weren’t exactly sure what you were asking for. At the very least, you knew you couldn’t stomach another rejection. “At the risk of sounding entirely brazen…please, don’t kick me while I’m down.”

Dean sighed. His stomach twisted in both conflict and desire. He soothed his thumb across your soft cheek.  

“Sweetheart, I’d love nothing more than to kiss you. Believe me,” he said. His voice was low with grit and tinged with longing. “But I gotta wonder if this is really what you want.”

Your mouth trembled. Your heart was battered and frayed, your mind spinning with this isn't right. And yet, you had a fire in your belly, familiar, though you hadn't felt it in so very long. It churned a heady blaze when you stared into his eyes. Something compelled you to reach out and touch his lips with gentle fingertips. 

“He doesn’t…touch me anymore,” you confessed, swallowing. “It used to be, whenever we passed each other in the house, it was a touch. A moment.” 

Your hand ghosted over Dean’s chin, down his neck, and shoulder, and down his chest over wrinkled fabric and buttons. He had to try and calm down his own breathing, the heavy patter of his own heart in response to your touch.

“Like I had an anchor, reminding me that I was loved, and that mine was appreciated,” you said. Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “But now it’s…it’s rushed. Everything is rushed, and distant, and forgetful. That’s if it happens at all. No matter how much I work at my job, and cook, and clean, and take care of him, it isn’t enough. He’s not the man I thought I knew. That’s what hurts the most.”

Dean’s heart clenched under your palm. He was angry for you. He was sad for you. But most of all, he was starting to hate the thought of you sharing the same bed with that man, being touched by him, and worst of all, him taking from you without satisfying you. 

“Rushed, huh?” Dean asked, his fingers curling to brush against your jawline. You nodded. He took your chin between his thumb and forefinger, and he raised his brows. “Everything?” 

Your watery eyes met his as you bit your lip. You released it with a trembling breath. 

“Everything,” you said.

Dean couldn’t help but treat you gently, drying your tears and kissing your cheek. He hadn’t known you long, but he knew you didn’t deserve what you were going through. He saw that you weren’t just pretty. You weren’t just tenacious and headstrong. You had a soft heart behind that iron wall.

So he took your chin and guided you to his lips, and into his kiss. You inhaled in a sharp breath, but you soon melted into him with a faint moan. He cupped your cheek and kissed you again, this time a firmer touch.

You matched his intensity and gripped the front of his shirt for balance, especially as his hand began to slide down your arm and around your waist. He pressed at the small of your back, bringing you flush against his chest. You had no choice but to take his face in your hands and meet his seeking tongue with your own.

A groan sounded in the back of his throat at your eagerness. He pushed you down to the end of the couch, where you laid on a few throw pillows. There he found his way between your legs and took your heels off, one by one.

Then his touch was heavy and warm across your hip, running down your thigh. After a while, he veered away from your lips to kiss his way down your neck. It earned your shallowing breath. Your hands roamed his shoulders, slipping down his back as far as you could reach. You wanted to feel more of him.

And the feeling was mutual. His kisses blazed a path along your collarbone and between your breasts, dipping below the neckline of your dress. His hand came up to gently palm one of your breasts, thumbing at your nipple hardening under the fabric. You whimpered, clinging to him tighter.

“Can I touch you?” he asked, his own breathing labored as well.

“You are touching me,” you whispered.

“You know what I mean, baby,” he said. For a moment his usual grin took over his features, but he leaned up to steal a kiss, nice and slow. “Want to make you feel good. Give you something to remember me by.”

You found yourself nodding and uttering a broken moan. It almost didn’t matter to you what he meant. His hands and the weight of his body on top of you felt so very good, you would take whatever he wanted to give you.

Your breath hitched when you felt his hand slipping upwards along your inner thigh. His thumb brushed between your legs, across the dampened fabric of your underwear. You whimpered, nodding again.

Dean reassured you with a kiss. Then he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your pantyhose, along with the silk and lace covering you underneath. He slid them down carefully, as not to rip anything (even though he’d like nothing more).

When it all bunched around your ankles, you kicked the rest of it off. The wad of sheer fabric and satin panties fell across the coffee table, over the forgotten drinking glasses. You giggled against his lips. Dean smiled too, though he gently nipped your lower lip to keep your attention. Your fingers curled up into his hair, nails grazing his scalp. The sensation made a shudder run down his spine.

He decided to return the favor, now that he was able to feel your bare thigh under his hand. He stroked your skin while he waylaid you with deeper, sloppier kisses. But all the while, his hand slid higher, closer to your throbbing core.

Finally, his fingers brushed between your legs against the bare seam of your sex. You inhaled sharply against his mouth. “Dean…”

“I gotcha, sweetheart. Promise,” he said, just a whisper of his lips with yours.

Two of his fingers slipped inside you first. You were already wet and pulsing around them when they sunk into your heat. You whimpered in his ear, especially as his fingers began to explore you, working you open, and curling upward against the most sensitive of places within your inner walls. You cried out gratefully, clenching a hand in his hair. Your core was already beginning to flutter around his fingers.

“Hmm, right there, huh?” Dean said. His voice was a bit rough; his own desire was straining in his pants, begging to be touched, but he was focusing all his efforts on you. He wanted to see you come apart, hear you gasping his name like it was the only thing you were able to remember.

His thumb began to massage tight circles over that small, sensitive bud above your entrance. You moaned and writhed against his hand. Your voice in his ear was heaven, especially when he got what he wanted. A few more deliberate strokes deep inside, and you were gripping him tight, throbbing from the inside, and coming all over his hand. He felt the rush of wetness, but he still kept pulsing his fingers inside your quivering walls, drawing out your release.

You cried out his name and fairly trembled against him. Your lower belly clenched as another wave hit you, making your inner walls flutter tightly around his fingers again.

His heart was beating as fast as yours when it all finally subsided. You fell back against the pillows, gasping for breath. Dean raised his glistening fingers up to your mouth. You were shocked to see the evidence of your own release there.

He pressed the pads of his fingers to your lips. It was downright obscene, but you gave into the urge to slide your lips over his fingers, tasting yourself when you sucked around his digits.

Dean’s green eyes were dark with arousal and satisfaction as he watched you. Feeling your tongue around his fingers made him imagine another use for your pretty mouth, making his cock throb in the confines of his slacks. But for now, it was enough to see the remnants of your lipstick come off on his mostly clean fingers.

He licked off the rest from his fingers himself, then bowed his head to kiss you thoroughly. Your hands began to explore him, the expanse of his chest over his shirt, and traveling down, below the belt. Dean slowed the pace of things, grabbing one of your hands.

You frowned in confusion. “You don’t want me to return the favor?”

Dean groaned, and he chuckled. He pressed a kiss to your hand.

“I’d go for that in a heartbeat, I really would. But tonight’s about you, sweetheart,” he said.

What was more, he didn’t want to take advantage of you. You’d had quite a lot to drink. You both had.

But I want to do this right.

That thought stopped him for sure. It surprised him, even if it was the truth. He just didn’t want to examine it too closely just yet.

He swore you looked disappointed though. It was even more difficult to make his arousal subside. He took in a deep breath, clearing his throat as he shifted off of you. He helped you tug your dress back down your thighs and tried thinking of anything that might help him calm down.

Picturing that time he accidentally walked in on his father in the bath ultimately did the trick, accompanied by a small body shudder.

“Are you cold?” you asked, rubbing his arm.

“No, I’m just fine,” Dean replied. He gave you a smile and tucked a wily strand of hair behind your ear. “You feel okay?”

Your smile was more demure, almost shy. If he were a betting man, he’d say you were blushing.

“More than okay,” you murmured.

He chuckled and swiped his thumb across the apple of your warm cheek. 

With a more genuine smile, you leaned up and checked your watch resting on the coffee table. Your eyes widened.

“Michael could be coming home any moment,” you said.

The thought rekindled the wellspring Dean’s anger. His brows furrowed with a frown. He’d like to be here when Michael came home. Maybe Dean would get the chance to sort the man out, get one or two good hits in.

Instead, he let out a heavy breath. He got up and allowed you to walk him to the door, where he grabbed his coat and straightened up his clothes. He paused at the door when he glanced back at you.

You looked too damn much. Your lips kiss-swollen, your dress sleeves hanging further off your shoulders, your hair a tousled mess. He slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you back in for a kiss goodbye. You breathed in, then you melted into him, your fingers slipping through his hair. That kiss was everything.

However, like this night, it had to come to an end. You pulled away first, slowly. You touched his chin with gentle fingers.

“Go,” you whispered, “before I lose myself.”

Dean chuckled. “You took the words right outta my mouth, sweetheart.” 

He forced himself to break away from you and step out of the apartment. Releasing a sigh, you shut the door behind him.

AN: Okay, you're probably having mixed feelings lol. I don't blame you! Honestly, I'm not advocating cheating here (even if we think Michael deserves it). It's just an added layer of complexity to the story in this case. �� Get ready for more of that in Part 4, where we catch Sam's side of things...

Next Time:

“Well, you could say I’ve inherited a business of my own,” he said. “I run a meat packing plant down in the district.”

Sam’s attention piqued. There had been a meat rationing throughout the war, even some rumors and propaganda about “meatleggers,” black market operators.

“How’s it been with the rations?” Sam asked. “Been hard to even find a good carton of eggs lately.”

Michael gave him a slight smile. “Been on the turnaround, actually. I’ve been able to make some connections with vendors outside the city. A little grease on the palms makes a little go a long way, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. A little grease on the palms, huh?

“Do what you gotta do in the times, ‘s what I say,” Sam agreed.

Michael snorted. “Now you’re talkin’. That’s all we can do, you know. Try to make a thing work, with whatever scraps we get. Try to stay afloat.”

“Try to stay alive,” Sam rejoined.

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[strawlessandbraless]

If you could recommend any destiel fic to Misha Collins what would it be? 📖 💙 💚

Drop a link and I’ll compile a list!

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 1

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 3.3k words

Chapter Warnings: angst, language, masterbation, references to physical abuse & references to sexual assault/non-con, injuries to reader

A/N: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming support and interest when I posted the Masterlist for this series.

Please double check the warnings there and at the top of each chapter before you read - I can’t stress this enough!

I hope you enjoy the ride! - Beth ❤️

Next Chapter

The thing about mates was, Dean didn’t want one. His knot was satisfied with the occasional one-night stand to warm his bed and the movies he kept on his laptop that warmed his hand, and he, well…he simply didn’t deserve one.

All his life, people had come and gone, whether by choice or other means, and he understood why. He was far too dangerous, a grunt - he’d learnt both time and time again. From his mother, to his father, to Bobby, the list went on. No matter the person, they always got hurt or worse, and he didn’t need that risk. Hell, he didn’t need the responsibility.

So when he encountered you during a hunt, he was, to say the least, surprised.

You were everything he could ever want in a mate, if ever he’d allow himself the pleasure. But it was what you embodied, not who you were. He didn’t know a lick about you, and even if he could get close enough to learn, he wouldn’t, because you belonged to somebody else.

The mark was clear on your scent gland. Then again, so was the soul mark that connected him to you.

His eagle eyes couldn’t miss his initials sitting right there below your clavicle. They appeared the second he’d touched you, making him thankful for all the layers he wore on the job.

He could still see them, and you, in the rearview as he drove away from where he and Sam had dropped you off. Your scent still clung to the back seat, and him, mixing your spiced cinnamon with the leather, gunpowder and motor oil he surrounded himself with.

It was wonderful until it wasn’t. The constant reminder of what he was allowing to slip through his fingers soured his already pissy mood. Yet he didn’t want you. Nope. Nuh-uh.

“You good?” Sam asked from the passenger seat, still stealing his own glances like some unclaimed omega at a bar, pre-heat. It was getting weird, and Dean chose to focus on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” he said, though his hands gripped the leather-bound wheel tighter, turning his knuckles white as the bone beneath them. He was good, and the sooner they left this shithole of a town, the better.

He cranked up the stereo, stopping only when the dash shook to the bass of Metallica’s Enter Sandman. His car, his music, his rules. It was everything he needed right now at that moment. It was all he could do to drown out the tingles and pangs that continued to churn in his gut and make his knot twitch.

The second he’d put Baby in park, he was up, out, and crossing the lot, heading straight for the dive they were staying at.

Sam’s heavy footsteps chased after him, but his were much faster. He swung open the door, marched across the tattered carpet of their twin room, and slammed the bathroom one behind him before Sam had even stepped off the gravel.

The force of the frayed timber hitting the frame unfixed decades-old dust, sending the particles nowhere but down and straight into his nose as he tried deep breathing to calm himself. It wasn’t working. Nothing was.

“Dammit.” He thumped the wall with his fist, only to inhale more crap as Sam’s voice filtered through the cracks, calling out his name. He just wouldn’t drop it.

“I’m fine,” Dean spat. Of course he wasn’t. Sam was right there on the other side when all he wanted was a moment to himself to collect his thoughts, vent his frustrations. Deal with the strain in his pants, fast becoming painful, and…fuck it. His damn instincts were actually worse than Sammy.

He fumbled with his buckle and popped the button. Moisture already pooled at his tip and when he pushed the denim down and reached in to fist himself, his fingers ran straight through the warm sticky mess with a satisfying tug.

He moaned. Cursed inwardly because of it. Sam’s funk still lingered on the other side and he was bound to notice the pleasurable sound and give him shit for it. So Dean held his breath.

"You know I saw it too," Sam said.

“So?” ‘Course he knew. It was right fucking there. The vamps had torn your clothes, leaving little to his imagination. Your neck. Your claim. The edge of your rack.

"So. She's your soulmate. It's normal to…have these feelings."

Feelings? He didn’t have feelings. “She’s nothin’ to me.” His alpha just wanted its knot wet. Just because you were his soulmate didn’t change a thing. He couldn’t have you. Any piece of wanting he had for you was superficial. Pure lust at best.

"Okay. Go have fun with your hand, then. See if I care," Sam said, right on cue.

"Shut up, bitch," Dean whispered.

And, "Jerk," came the usual retort.

He rolled his eyes.

With his palm still holding the weight of himself, he stepped over to the shower and turned the handle as far as it would go. The taps gurgled and air spat from the spouts in the metal head before the hot stream of water burst through.

His brow quirked. He wasn’t the only thing pent up around here.

His boots were the first to go, kicking them off to thud against the tiles. Followed by his socks, pants, boxers and top layers. A heavy jacket, his current favourite flannel and black undershirt to match. All discarded to reveal the thing he’d been dreading to see.

A soul mark. Your initials there, as expected, above his anti-possession tattoo.

He stepped up to the basin and the small rectangular mirror covered in rot and took a closer look. His fingers traced the surrounding skin, still holding a reddish hue.

It didn’t hurt, but it wasn’t unnoticeable either, which meant yours was, too.

Had you felt them yet? Seen them? Touched them? Had your mate?

His heart thumped deep in his chest. If he had a mate and she came home with another alpha’s initials on her body, how would he react, ‘cause he doubted he’d be happy. Angry? Maybe. Calm? Definitely not.

But he couldn’t think like that. He wouldn’t do that to himself. In his mind, you were loved and well taken care of by whoever he was, just as you deserved and he didn’t.

Whatever his name, he wasn’t angry. Whatever his name, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t bothered to find out thirty minutes ago, and he never would. Allowing himself to keep only your image and your scent that lingered on his clothes.

What was wrong with him?

Under the warm pressure, he washed the blood, sweat and dirt from the hunt off his broad frame. A generous amount of Sam’s body wash helped.

He closed his eyes and brought his soap covered fingers back to pump his hardened flesh as visions of your mouth wrapped around it urged him on.

He twisted his wrist and grunted. He’d seen your hands. That unscathed skin and pretty manicured nails would look better than what he was working with. Your tongue, licking his head and shaft just the way he liked it in tandem, more so.

He’d grip his hands through your hair and encourage you to take him deeper. His tip would hit the back of your throat and you’d gag, but damn, it’d be sexy. Sweet like velvet.

Fuck.

Dean braced himself against the tiles and pumped harder. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. His knot was thickening already, and grunts escaped his mouth in time to his long and precise strokes.

His hand would grip your hips over the wall he was using. The way you’d swayed them, mesmerised him, carrying you well. Those legs they were attached to would lift nicely over his shoulders, or squeeze perfectly ‘round his waist. He’d pump into your tight, slick-lined channel either way.

You’d moan for him. In that silky smooth way you’d spoken to him when you’d thanked him for saving you. Your body would exude a comforting warmth, just as it had in his arms when he’d rescued you.

The hunt had been rough on his body, but you’d be gentle - when you wanted to be.

Your hands would explore every inch of him. They’d pinch his nipples with soft fingers, rolling and twisting, pulling when you dared. Those same manicured nails would dig into his skin and leave perfect crescent moon shapes along his back.

His own fingernails dragged down his chest to mimic his mind. Over the tiny nubs they went, moving down to dance around his navel. They teased the taut flesh of his hips and scoured back over his shoulders where he imagined you’d cling to him.

If he could reach his back, he’d trail them down his spine. He’d grab his ass with both hands if it weren’t for one being occupied with drawing out the toe curling sensations on his dick.

Your scent would take over the floral notes in the soap. Dean had experienced nothing like it. He wanted nothing more than to be surrounded by it and you. If he could help it, his favourite flannel would remain as it was, unwashed, but cherished forever.

He’d save it for the next time he allowed his rut. When his balls grew heavy and his skin flamed molten hot.

If only he could sink his knot into you just once. His hand just wasn’t the same. He knew it, and the strokes he made were now shallow and sloppy as he neared his release.

“M’mega,” Dean panted. Ears hopeful to hear you calling him Alpha in return. Just once.

His fingers fumbled over the base he’d push inside you, forcing his knot as deep as it would go. He’d groan, and you’d moan as you clamped down around him, and only when you’d taken your own pleasure would he spill into you. Thick ropes of cum would paint your walls and mix with your slick. Lock you in place. Maybe give him a pup or two.

“Fuck,” he growled, spraying the tiles before him. Pups? No, he didn’t need that, and the remainder of his load thankfully dribbled over his fingers, dripping down to the shower floor below.

It wasn’t how he wanted it to be or how he thought it would be with you, but it was the relief he needed to get him through the thought that he’d be leaving this town, and you, the next day.

When Dean stepped out of the bathroom, he didn’t even look Sam in the eye to start with.

He dumped his clothes on the bed and headed straight for the fridge in the front corner of the room where the six-pack he’d bought that morning still waited for him to take another load off.

He twisted the cap, flinging it at the trash, and took his first swig before slumping into the closest chair opposite Sam. The stale air in the cushion squeaked under his weight and he smirked at the sound. “Sammy. What’d you eat?”

“Great,” Sam muttered over the top of his computer screen. Though his tone was anything but. “You ready to talk?”

“Nope.” Dean was indignant, and he popped the end of the word in finality. He took another swig and kept the lip close to his. If he was drinking, he couldn’t be talking, and that suited him fine.

Out of sight, out of mind? Out of mouth, out of… no wait. That wasn’t quite right either, and he flicked his head and the thought away.

Sam leaned back in his chair and scratched at his long locks. “You’re wearing the same shirt you gave her.”

“Okay, mom.”

Mary was still a sore spot for both of them, but when Sam insisted on talking about this fresh one, he had it coming. Who was he? The clothes police? “She only borrowed it. It’s still clean.” Dean shrugged.

“Smells like her, too.”

And he’d had enough. He clunked the glass bottle on the table and leapt to his feet. The beer would have to wait. He suddenly needed air, and the cheap brew was shit, anyway.

He walked back to the bed and snatched his jacket, flinging it around his shoulders.

A wave of your scent lifted to his nostrils as it settled on his back, and he closed his eyes.

Dammit. It was only cinnamon. Nothing special. A simple spice. So why the hell was it affecting him? Soulmate or no, he didn’t even know you, and he scowled and turned on his heels.

“Where are you going?” Sam asked, but Dean was already on his way out the door.

It slammed in response as he stepped out into the night and looked around.

Now what?

Getting away from Sammy was one thing, but there was nothing to do in this town. He’d checked out the local nightlife the first night they’d arrived, and there was none… but you.

Haha. Nope. He saw what he did there.

This was fucked. He was fucked. No. Wait. He’d jerked you out of his system.

His hands tugged the collar of his jacket up around his neck, then found their way into its pockets. They fumbled over loose change in one and Baby’s keys in the other.

She was waiting for him on the other side of the lot. Her sleek black paint beckoned him to sit behind the wheel, but he turned the other way. He wasn’t one to wallow in self pity, but he would tonight.

He sunk further into his clothes and stomped across the gravel, moving towards the road.

The air was cool and crisp in his lungs. The light from the broken street lamps dim in his eyes and barely enough to show him a way, but it was perfect. Closed shop fronts meant fewer people and fewer people meant less crap to impede your scent on his clothes.

Your scent.

Yeah, okay. He was fucking stupid. Delusional even. Wallowing like this over someone he’d just met? He didn’t know you besides what he’d read on the police report, and that was a fat load of nothing.

A mate, a job, an apartment. Parents interstate.

He wouldn’t have even met you if he and Sam hadn’t taken this case. Wouldn’t have known his soul mate was mated. Wouldn’t have realised he had one. Him. Dean Winchester? With an omega as respectable and normal as you?

Yeah. This was working well. Why not think about what you were doing right now? Imagine you with him, curled up beside him on a nice comfy couch in your cozy apartment? A bed. Your nest? Warm blankets and all that other fluffy crap omegas insisted on buying themselves. The scowl he’d been wearing since Sam had tried talking to him deepened.

He wasn’t right for you, but he was a mate just the same. Your mate. And you deserved one when Dean didn’t want you. When he couldn’t afford to have you in his life. Yet, his mind kept drawing him back in. Teasing him, taunting him, dangling the golden carrot before him. Tempting him to seek you out.

Stupid brain. He should’ve bailed the second he’d dropped you off. Collected the gear and headed straight home for the bunker, but no, he just had to jack off. He’d caved. And now he was wandering around this god forsaken town because he refused to man up and just talk to Sam about it.

He couldn’t turn back, though. Not now. He couldn’t face his baby brother, just like he couldn’t face the truth that continued to dangle just beyond his conscience’s grasp.

So he continued wandering instead because that was helpful. He’d solve everything by scuffing his boots over the gravel, cement, and the odd patch of grass that covered the ground, dragging his bow legs and pride behind him.

His feet directed him left, then right. Everything he passed looked the same.

Buildings merged. Blurred in the darkness. White paint turned grey along with everything else that wasn’t lit by storefronts and their after hours emergency lights. He had no idea where he was besides having Baby’s scent behind him, and more crappy town in front.

But then an apartment block came into view that was familiar, even late at night.

Yes. The street. That car. The park on the other side of it. Fuck. How’d he even manage it? Of all the places he could’ve gone, he’d arrived back where he’d last seen you, only he wasn’t looking at a reflection in the rearview.

And he was no longer alone, either.

Forever the hunter, Dean sniffed the air, scenting the figure he’d spotted on the bench under the tree, and straight away, cinnamon collected in his nose. But so did the metallic tang of blood.

No, no. ‘No fucking way.’ You had a couple of scratches earlier, some bruising maybe, but this was different, and Dean’s fists clenched. Nails dug into the callouses lining his palms. This was fresh and teed with the stench of an alphas knot.

‘M’mega,” his inner alpha rumbled, and dammit, he’d worked so hard to keep the son of a bitch at bay. But just as it would if Sam were injured, or anyone else in their accidental pack, the scent of your blood infuriated him, and he found his feet tumbling underneath towards you.

He raced down the sidewalk. Rushed across the road. His boots pounded over the cement and bitumen with thuds that slapped his ears and jolted his legs.

What the hell were you doing out here? You shouldn’t be out here after what had just happened to you. Most civilians knew nothing of his world and the job he did in it, but you did, and you should know better. Know the dangers of being out here alone at night and…and…crying?

A lump formed in his throat. Why were you crying? Why hadn’t you showered, for that matter? Your clothes were the same ones you’d worn earlier. He noticed that the second he pulled up in front of you.

No jacket, no sweater. Shirt torn and dirt covered, but this wasn’t you. This wasn’t the omega on the police report. She was radiant and confident, even at the rundown factory. Yet now, besides the scent and the outline of your body, you were no longer there.

Why?

“Where’s your mate, omega?” Dean cursed under his breath the second the words left his mouth. His inner alpha could gnaw away at his resolve as much as it liked, but you’d never be his.

“What’re you doing here?” Your sniffle was quick and quiet. You wiped your eyes with your sleeve and looked up.

He didn’t like the tone in your voice, nor the fear that spiked in your scent when he’d mentioned him. “I asked you first,” he said and moved closer to examine your features.

Your eye was bruised and would turn black. Your mouth, barely lit in the shadows, still shimmered with blood from the cut on your bottom lip.

You didn’t have these injuries before, and though he was seething under the skin, he did his best to rein it in. With a shaky hand, he reached for your cheek. Brushed the tear you’d missed away with his thumb, and though he knew the answer, asked, “Who did this to you?”

He clenched his jaw when you shook your head.

“No one. I fell,” you said. Sucked at lying, too, but it wasn’t the time. He needed to get you outta here before your dickbag mate showed his face.

“Do you have pups?” Minus traces of an alphas ball sack, yours was the only scent surrounding you. He hoped its ‘cause you had none.

Your eyes were sullen when you shook your head,l again, and Dean’s heart raced.

For the second time since he’d known you, he lifted you in his arms and brought your tense form to his chest. You were chilled and weary. Not the way his beautiful omega should ever be around him.

His?

Fuck.

Dean was playing a dangerous game, yet his feet moved under him, towards his motel, and further away from the park where somewhere nearby, he knew you lived with the other alpha.

He didn’t want a mate, but he was fine with taking someone else’s.

Consequences be damned.

Next Chapter

We’ll be following Dean’s perspective for some time, but we will get into the readers head eventually, too. It takes two to tango after all 😉 I hope you enjoyed chapter one!

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Chapter 2: Harbouring - 28/02

“I still don’t know your name.” His boyish chuckle tethered off as your lip curled. “I’m Dean. The, ah, W stands for Winchester.”

He should’ve known yours would suit you. Everything else about you had him enamoured, so why wouldn’t it? It was perfect, swirling through the spaces in his mind and touching his lips with a pleasurable rumble when he repeated it back to you.

“Will you let me clean you up?” When you nodded, he gave you a single one back. “Then we’re gonna need a few things first.”

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[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Sex Toys

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Exploring new kinks with Dean.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings/tags: SMUT! (18+ONLY!) sex toys, graphic descriptions of sexual activities, swearing, semi-public, fluff!

AN: A third instalment in this little anthology series, where we see Dean take (kinda) the reigns this time 😜🔥 I hope you guys enjoy! Fans at the ready 🪭

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The soft hum of the bathroom light flickers gently as you smooth the sleek red dress over your curves, your fingers brushing over the silk fabric as you adjust it in front of the full-length mirror. The dress is just the right fit—mid-thigh, hugging you in all the right places, the spaghetti straps resting delicately over your shoulders. 

You can’t help but admire how the colour complements your skin, how the cut enhances the confidence you feel tonight. Your hair is styled in soft curls, framing your face just the way Dean loves it. You reach for the hem of your dress, making a few final adjustments, your heart racing as the evening draws near.

Just as you’re about to turn away, you feel his presence behind you, warm and steady. Dean slides his arms around your waist, pulling you closer against him, his chest brushing your back as he presses his lips against your ear. 

"You’re going to kill me in this dress, you know that?" Dean murmurs, his voice low and husky, his arms tightening around you as he leans in closer. His eyes scan your body in the reflection, almost possessively, before meeting your gaze. "You look fucking perfect.”

Your heart flutters and you feel your cheeks heat. It didn’t matter how long you two had been together, fighting the good fight and even how bold your extracurricular activities between the sheets had been lately, Dean could still make you feel bashful.

“You sure about this?" He speaks after a brief pause, his voice low, almost uncertain, the protective side of him creeping through despite the playful glint in his eyes.

You smile, finding his concern endearing. You meet his gaze over your shoulder, bringing your hand up to brush your fingers over his jaw, feeling the rough scrape of the scruff that’s grown in the last week or so. It feels a little scratchy against your fingertips but sends a shiver down your spine.

“You’re asking me that now? After everything?" You tease, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "I’m more than sure.” Dean’s gaze softens, but there’s still a flicker of doubt in his eyes, though you can tell it’s more about his need to ensure you're comfortable with everything. 

He leans in, capturing your lips in a lingering, careful kiss—mindful not to smudge the deep crimson stain across your mouth, though the contact alone makes your body hum with heat. When you pull away, breath uneven, he nudges your jaw with his nose, guiding you back to the mirror.

A slow burn ignites in your belly as his lips graze along your shoulder, the delicate strap of your dress sliding slightly under his touch. He trails kisses up the curve of your neck, each one sending tiny shocks of anticipation through you, your body instinctively melting into his.

Then you feel it—his palm, warm and rough, gliding along the hem of your dress, fingertips ghosting over your soft thigh. Your breath stutters, your lashes fluttering as you lock eyes with him in the mirror. The mischief in his smirk is unmistakable as he watches your reaction, taking his time, revelling in the way your body reacts to him.

The air between you thickens when his hand disappears beneath your dress. His fingers brush over your bare skin, inching higher, and then—oh.

Dean exhales a low, satisfied groan at what he finds. “Look at you,” he murmurs, voice thick with approval at your lack of underwear. His fingers tease over your heat, barely touching, just enough to make you shudder. “Such a good girl. All ready for me.”

Your knees threaten to buckle as he drags slow, deliberate circles over your clit, his movements lazy, teasing. You press back against him, a whimper slipping from your lips as he watches you, enthralled.

“Eyes up, sweetheart,” he reminds you, his other hand gripping your waist, steadying you. “I want you to watch.”

You force your gaze back to the mirror, taking in the sight before you—the way Dean towers behind you, his suit crisp and commanding, a stark contrast to the sinful way he’s touching you. The way his eyes are darker now, pupils blown wide as he watches your reflection, drinking in every little reaction.

He plays with you, alternating between featherlight touches and firmer strokes, keeping you teetering on the edge but never quite giving in. Your breath is coming faster now, your hands gripping the arm wrapped around you for support as you push into his touch, silently begging.

Dean chuckles lowly. “So needy,” he muses, voice dripping with affection and control. “Think you can come just like this?”

Your body answers before your lips can, hips rolling into his hand, chasing friction. Dean groans, and this time, he gives in—two fingers slipping inside, stretching you with an ease that makes your head spin. The slow, measured thrusts, the slick sounds mingling with your ragged breaths—it’s all too much and not enough.

He sets a rhythm meant to undo you completely. His fingers work you over with perfect precision, the heel of his palm grinding against your clit as he pushes you higher and higher, his praises tangled in your skin, your name a hushed reverence on his lips.

And when you finally shatter—when your body tightens and trembles in his arms—Dean holds you through it, his grip unrelenting, his eyes burning with something possessive and completely, utterly devoted.

“Good girl.”

Dean’s voice is a low rasp against your skin, thick with satisfaction as he peppers soft, lingering kisses along your jaw, down the column of your throat, and over your shoulder. His fingers remain curled around your waist, steadying you as the last waves of your orgasm pulse through your body. Your legs feel like jelly, thighs trembling slightly, and he chuckles, clearly pleased with himself.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, smoothing his hands over your hips before finally—reluctantly—pulling away.

You barely have time to process the loss before your gaze catches on him—Dean, standing before you, bringing his glistening fingers to his mouth, his eyes locked onto yours in the mirror as he sucks them clean, slow and deliberate. A quiet, pleased hum vibrates in his chest, and your breath stutters, heat pooling low in your belly all over again.

He smirks, straightening his suit like he hadn’t just unraveled you entirely. There’s a heat in his gaze as he looks at your reflection once more, admiring the flush painting your skin, the way your chest rises and falls as you catch your breath.

Then, with one last squeeze to your hip, he steps back. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

You barely manage to nod, still reeling as he disappears into the bedroom. Your hands grip the sink, fingers flexing as you work to regain feeling in your legs. The room feels too quiet without his presence, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin.

When he returns, you glance up and the second you see what’s in his hand, a fresh wave of heat pools between your thighs.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips as your gaze flickers between the small pink toy and the dark, heated look in Dean’s eyes.

The love egg.

Your stomach flutters in anticipation. You had agreed to this the night before—Dean’s suggestion murmured against your skin as you lay tangled in bed, his voice husky with arousal as he painted the image for you. His fingers teasing over your body as he explained exactly how the night would go.

How he’d slip the toy inside you before dinner. How he’d keep the remote in his pocket. How he’d watch you squirm while he sat there, completely composed, while you struggled to keep it together in public.

And now? Now it was happening.

You press your thighs together instinctively, biting your lip as you meet his gaze.

Dean leans casually against the doorway, the small pink toy held between his fingers, his gaze locked onto you with a mixture of heat and uncertainty. “You still sure? You can still back out.”

Your heart thuds at his words, but there’s no hesitation, no second-guessing. Instead, you step toward him, reaching up to cup his face, your thumbs brushing over the rough scruff along his jaw. His breath is warm against your lips as you press a soft, lingering kiss to them.

“I’m sure,” you whisper against his mouth, your voice steady, filled with trust.

Dean exhales slowly, his hands smoothing over your waist, holding you there for a moment as he revels in your certainty. Then, pulling back just slightly, he lifts the toy between you both, his expression playful. “Then may I have the honour?”

You giggle, the sound light and breathless as you nod. That’s all he needs.

Without another word, Dean sinks to his knees before you, his hands soothing up the soft flesh of your legs, fingers grazing over your thighs, taking his time to savour the moment. When he reaches the hem of your dress, he hooks one of your legs over his shoulder, his grip firm but gentle, keeping you steady.

His darkened eyes flick up to yours, silently seeking one last confirmation, and you give it to him with another nod.

Dean hums in approval, his breath hot against your bare skin as he presses the toy against your heat, gorging himself on every tiny reaction—the way your lips part, the slight stutter in your breathing, the shiver that rolls down your spine. He takes his time, teasing you with the pressure, feeling you grip onto his shoulders for balance.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs, rubbing slow circles over your skin as he finally, finally pushes it inside.

Your body clenches around the stretch of the toy, your breath catching in your throat at the sensation, but there’s no discomfort—only anticipation, only the thrilling realisation of what’s to come. Dean stays there, his hands firm on your thighs, watching you, ensuring you’re still with him.

When you give him another breathy nod, he presses a kiss to the inside of your thigh, smirking against your skin.

“That’s my girl.”

And just like that, the night begins.

The restaurant is a far cry from the diners you and Dean usually haunt—no sticky vinyl booths or fraying menus, no jukebox humming in the background. Instead, the air is filled with the rich aroma of garlic, basil, and simmering sauces, blending seamlessly with the quiet hum of conversation and the soft notes of a live pianist tucked in the corner. Low-hanging chandeliers cast a golden glow over white-clothed tables, the polished silverware gleaming under the delicate light.

Dean holds the door open for you, his hand warm against the small of your back as he guides you inside. He’s a gentleman when he wants to be, and tonight, he’s putting in the effort—pulling out your chair, even indulging in a fancy bottle of wine to start the night, making the whole scene look effortless, natural. But even as you sip your drink and try to focus on the conversation, your mind is somewhere else.

The whole drive here, he’d left you simmering in anticipation. Every time he shifted gears, every time his fingers drummed against his thigh, you wondered—was he reaching for the remote? Would he push the button, send a jolt of pleasure through you before you could stifle your reaction? But he never did. He only smirked when he caught you staring, fingers deliberately grazing his pocket, a silent reminder that he held all the control.

Now, seated across from him in the dim glow of the restaurant, you take a moment to truly look at him. The years had changed you both — worn you down in some places, sharpened you in others. But through it all, Dean had never stopped surprising you. Whether it was indulging in your fantasies—or his—whether it was his unwavering loyalty or the way he loved you without hesitation, he always found a way to make you fall for him all over again.

Your lips curve into a small, private smile, warmth blooming in your chest as you tilt your head.

"What?" Dean asks, brows raising slightly, the corner of his mouth already twitching into a smirk.

You shake your head, reaching across the table to toy with his fingers, tracing the familiar callouses—the ones that had held you, protected you, learned every inch of you. "Nothing," you murmur. "I’m just happy."

Dean’s smirk softens, understanding flickering in his gaze. His grip tightens just slightly, his thumb stroking over your knuckles, and for a moment, the world outside this little bubble ceases to exist. No hunts, no threats, no looming shadows. Just him, just you—just the quiet affection that doesn’t need words.

Conversation flows easily after that, weaving through old stories, hunting mishaps, and teasing recollections of moments you’d rather forget. Laughter warms the space between you, the unusual stillness of the night wrapping around you like something fragile, something rare.

Then, the moment is interrupted by the arrival of the waiter.

A well-dressed man with a professional but welcoming demeanour, he introduces himself and lists off the specials with a rehearsed ease. You listen attentively, nodding along as you skim the menu, taking your time to decide.

You finally settle on something, fingers grazing the edge of the menu as you glance up. “I’ll have the—”

The sensation slams into you like a live wire.

It’s not a tease, not a slow build—it’s a direct jolt of pleasure that catches you completely off guard. Your breath stutters, your body jerking slightly before you can stop it, knees knocking together beneath the table as heat sears through you.

The waiter pauses, eyes flicking to you in mild concern.

You force your lips shut, fingers gripping the tablecloth as you struggle to school your expression, every nerve ending alight. The sensation dulls just enough for you to breathe, settling into a steady, maddening pulse that has your thighs pressing together on instinct.

“Miss? Are you alright?”

You glance at Dean—big mistake.

His green eyes glint with amusement, the picture of casual ease as he sips his drink, feigning innocent curiosity. But the smirk is there, tugging at the edges of his lips, smug and infuriating.

Bastard.

“Yeah—yes, I’m fine,” you manage, voice thinner than you’d like. You clear your throat, swallowing down the whimper threatening to escape as another pulse rolls through you, sharper this time.

Dean shifts slightly, his hand dipping into his pocket. The second he does, the intensity spikes.

A sharp gasp punches out of you before you can swallow it down, your grip tightening on the table’s edge as molten pleasure ripples through your core. Your eyes flutter, lower lip caught between your teeth in a desperate attempt to maintain control.

You don’t dare look at him again—you know if you do, you’ll shatter.

“I’ll have the lobster ravioli,” you say, breath hitching mid-sentence, your voice just a little too breathy.

Dean hums, tilting his head. “That does sound good, sweetheart.” His tone is warm honey, thick with faux innocence.

The waiter eyes you warily but nods, jotting down your order before turning to Dean.

Then—just as the waiter opens his mouth—the vibrations stop.

The absence is almost worse than the sensation itself, leaving you winded, overheated, and wildly frustrated. You inhale sharply, blinking rapidly as you struggle to ground yourself, your body still wound unbearably tight.

Dean, for his part, orders smoothly, completely unaffected, as if he hadn’t just unravelled you in public with the flick of a switch.

When the waiter finally walks away, you grip the table, exhaling a shuddery breath, your hands still trembling slightly.

"You’re an ass.” Your eyes snap to Dean, burning with a mixture of frustration and arousal. 

He only grins, leaning forward slightly. "Better get used to it, baby. We’ve got the whole night ahead of us.” 

The night is torture.

Dean keeps the remote hidden in his pocket, a constant, smug glint in his eye as he watches you squirm, shifting in your seat, your thighs pressing together in a desperate attempt to keep some semblance of composure. The vibrations never settle into a predictable rhythm—sometimes it’s a sharp jolt, ripping the air from your lungs, your fingers tightening around your fork as you try not to whimper. Other times, it’s a slow, maddening throb, stretching over minutes, leaving you breathless and aching, the heat between your legs becoming unbearable.

Your body is a live wire, every nerve on fire, slick pooling between your thighs, coating the skin between. Your attempts to mask your reactions are futile—your breathing is uneven, your lips swollen from biting them, and your posture stiff yet restless. Dean drinks it in with a lazy smirk, sipping his whiskey, pretending to be enraptured by the conversation, but his eyes flicker to you every time you tremble, every time your lashes flutter from another pulse of pleasure.

The worst of it comes when he cranks the intensity to full, the sudden jolt so powerful that you choke on a gasp, your nails sinking into the fabric of your dress as your back arches slightly. The couple at the next table glance over, but you force a tight-lipped smile, gripping the edge of the seat, your body clenched so tightly you might break. 

Dean only chuckles, pretending to wipe his mouth with his napkin as he murmurs under his breath, “Y’alright, sweetheart? Look a little flushed.”

If looks could kill, he’d be a dead man. Instead, he keeps teasing you through dinner, watching your frustration build until you’re on the verge of snapping. By the time the bill comes—paid with another fraudulent credit card of one, Mike Burns—your entire body is thrumming, slick and desperate, your patience long since shattered.

The moment you step outside, you don’t even give him a chance. As soon as you reach the Impala, shaded in the back lot beneath a large tree—almost like he’d planned it—you shove him against the car, hands fisting in his shirt.

“I swear if you don’t fuck me right now, Winchester, I’ll kill you and do it myself.”

Dean barely has time to let out a chuckle before you’re dragging him into a kiss, all teeth and tongue, filthy and desperate. He groans into your mouth, hands gripping your waist, pulling you flush against his body so you can feel just how worked up he is, just how much he’s been affected by watching you suffer all night.

You don’t wait—you yank open the back door and slide in, your dress riding up as you sprawl out beneath him, panting, eyes wild with need. Dean follows without hesitation, caging you in, his mouth hot against yours, kissing you deep and messy. His hand slips beneath your dress, fingers trailing up your trembling thighs, and when he finally cups you, he groans loudly, his breath ragged against your lips.

“Jesus, sweetheart,” he growls, fingers sliding through the slick coating your inner thighs. “You’re drenched.”

You can barely think, barely breathe. “No more teasing,” you beg, hips canting up against his touch.

Dean nods, his own restraint crumbling as he grabs the end of the silicone tag and slowly, carefully slides the egg out of you. Your back arches as you cry out, pleasure crashing over you in a shuddering wave. When your vision clears, you see Dean holding up the soaked device, his green eyes dark with something between awe and pure, primal hunger.

Then you’re on him again, your lips crashing against his as you crawl into his lap, your fingers working frantically at his belt. He groans as you unzip his pants, helping you push them down his thighs, his cock springing free—hard, thick, aching. You don’t hesitate. You wrap your hand around him, guiding him to your entrance, and with a desperate moan, you sink down onto him in one fluid motion.

The second he fills you, your body snaps.

The orgasm crashes over you instantly, violent and uncontrollable, your walls clenching around him like a vice as you cry out, your whole-body trembling. Dean’s hands fly to your hips, his breath punching out in a curse as he squeezes his eyes shut, struggling to hold on, to not lose himself right then and there at the sheer force of your pleasure.

He holds you through it, his grip firm, grounding you as aftershocks pulse through your limbs, your forehead dropping against his shoulder as you gasp for breath. He presses kisses against your temple, murmuring something soft, something soothing, as your body slowly relaxes.

A breathless chuckle slips past your lips, the sheer intensity of the night catching up to you in waves of pleasure and disbelief. Dean’s chest rises and falls beneath your fingertips, his own breath ragged, but the moment you shift—just the slightest roll of your hips—the thick, aching fullness of him still inside you sends a fresh pulse of need through your body.

Dean feels it, too. Feels the way you tense, the way your breath hitches, the way your fingers dig into his shoulders like you’re already chasing the next high. A knowing smirk tugs at his lips as he nips at your throat, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin before he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, “Take what you need, baby.”

And you do.

You plant your hands against his chest and begin to move, slow at first, savouring the stretch, the delicious drag of him inside you. But the hunger is insatiable, your body greedy after being tormented all night, and soon you’re riding him hard and fast, chasing the fire coiling tight in your core.

Dean groans, his head falling back against the seat, hands gripping your hips tight, guiding you, grounding you. His mouth finds your pulse point again, sucking dark bruises into your skin before trailing lower, his lips hot and wet as he tugs the top of your dress down, wrapping his mouth around one stiffened peak. The sensation sends another shudder through you, your hands yanking at his hair, scratching down his shoulders as you use him for everything he’s worth.

His grip shifts, hands sliding lower, grasping your ass in large handfuls as he helps lift and pull you down onto him with each thrust. The Impala rocks with the force of it, the windows fogging as heat and desperation build between you. Every thrust, every roll of your hips, sends you higher, closer, faster.

“That’s it, baby,” Dean pants into your skin, his voice thick with raw desire. “Fuck, look at you—so goddamn perfect, taking me so well.” His fingers dig into your flesh, his lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your throat. “You were made for this—made for me.”

A shudder rips through you at his words, your nails sinking into his shoulders as you chase your release, the thick stretch of him hitting you just right.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he urges, his breath hot against your ear. “Be a good girl and cum for me again. Let me feel you.” 

Your body locks up, a sharp gasp punching from your lips as you shatter again, muscles clenching tight, waves of white-hot pleasure ripping through you. It’s blinding, overwhelming, your mind going blank as you tremble in his arms.

“Fuck—yeah, that’s it, baby,” Dean groans, his grip tightening as he thrusts up into you, chasing his own release. “So tight—so fuckin’ good—”

A strangled groan leaves him as his grip tightens, his hips snapping up into you one last time before he spills deep inside you, his whole body shaking beneath yours. His face buries into the crook of your neck, a choked whimper escaping against your skin as he pulses inside you, holding you as tightly as you hold him.

For a long moment, neither of you move, both spent, hearts hammering against each other. Slowly, your breathing evens out, the haze of pleasure fading into something softer, something warm. Dean presses a lazy, open-mouthed kiss against your shoulder, then your jaw, then finally your lips—slow, lingering, tender.

A quiet hum rumbles in his chest as he cups your face, fingers stroking over your cheek. “Damn,” he murmurs, voice rough, smirking against your mouth. “Think I might’ve killed you a little.”

You laugh, shaking your head, utterly blissed out. “You wish.”

Dean grins, pressing another slow, lazy kiss to your lips, his thumb brushing over your swollen and lipstick-smeared bottom lip as he pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His eyes are dark, still burning with something insatiable, something dangerous.

“Good,” he rasps, voice thick with promise, his hands gripping your waist, rolling his hips just enough to make you gasp. “Because I’m not done with you yet.”

A shiver runs through you at the sheer hunger in his tone, at the way his fingers flex against your hips, holding you there like he’s not ready to let go. His eyes drag over you, dark and heavy with intent, already mapping out the ways he’s going to unravel you all over again.

The night was far from being over.

AN: In these last couple of fics, I don't think I've written this much smut in all my writing life! But it's with Dean so I enjoy it too much 🤭. I hope you guys liked this one? It was a new thing for me to explore. If you guys want to see any specific kinks between these two, feel free to suggest any 😘

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 @crooked-haven @chevroletdean @paganvamp @stoneyggirl2 @deans-baby-momma @spnaquakindgdom @ladykitana90 @lyarr24 , @impala67rollingthroughtown @jackles010378 @riteofpassage77 @spnaquakindgdom @cevansbaby-dove @shadysoulangel @piptoost @star-yawnznn @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @shadysoulangel @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse

[maddie0101]

𖤐 no escape (demon!dean x fem!reader)

𖤐 summary: when dean turns into a demon, the bunker becomes a hunting ground. sam isn’t the only one running, you’re caught in the middle, forced to confront the monster your best friend has become… and the feelings you’ve both been running from.

𖤐 warnings: gore, sexual tension, demon!dean, choking, reader almost dies, anxiety, brief pain, guilt, this fic is pretty emotional, somewhat dark?

𖤐 word count: 4.5k

Your breath came in short, panicked gasps as you pressed yourself against the cold metal shelving in the bunker’s storage room. The flickering light overhead buzzed, casting shadows that seemed to stretch and twist, just like the thing hunting you.

But it wasn’t just a thing, you reminded yourself. It was Dean. But that wasn’t really true, was it? Not anymore.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” his voice drawled from somewhere in the hallway, thick with amusement. “You really think you can hide from me?”

Your fingers clenched around the blade in your grip. It was barely steady. You hated that. You’d hunted monsters before, fought things way worse than this—but this wasn’t some random creature. This was him. Dean, your best friend, the man you’d spent years shoving your feelings down for. The man who always had your back. The man who wasn’t supposed to be the one you feared.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, trying to shake off the memory of Sam’s warning before everything went to hell: Stay out of sight. If he finds you, run.

“Not very fair, is it?” Dean’s voice was closer now. A little too close. “Me, having all the fun while you’re stuck hiding like a scared little girl.”

The sudden clank of a pipe hitting the ground made you jump. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“You know, Y/N, I always thought you had more fight in you.” His tone shifted, something darker slipping in. “Or maybe you’re just waiting for me to find you.”

You took a slow, careful breath. He was toying with you. Drawing this out because he could. Because he enjoyed it. And despite the terror curling in your stomach, you couldn’t ignore the way his voice—smooth, teasing, wrong—sent a shiver down your spine.

This wasn’t Dean. It wasn’t.

—but it was.

You peeked around the corner just as he stepped into view, and your stomach twisted. His green eyes, once full of warmth and mischief, were now black pools of endless night. His mouth curled into a smirk when he spotted you.

“There you are.”

You bolted.

The bunker’s halls blurred past as you ran, adrenaline burning through your veins. You could hear his footsteps behind you, casual, unhurried. He knew you weren’t getting away.

You rounded a corner, aiming for the weapons room—maybe you could grab something, salt rounds, anything—when a strong hand wrapped around your arm and yanked you back.

You barely had time to gasp before your back hit the wall. Dean caged you in, one hand braced beside your head, the other curling around your wrist. He was too close, heat radiating off him in waves. His breath ghosted across your face, and you swallowed hard.

“Running?” he murmured, tilting his head. “That’s cute.”

You glared up at him, ignoring the way your pulse betrayed you. “Let me go, Dean.”

He chuckled, dark and low. “See, that’s the problem. I don’t really feel like it.” His grip tightened slightly. “You’ve been avoiding me, sweetheart. Hurts my feelings.”

“Yeah? Guess you should’ve thought about that before you went full psycho.”

Dean grinned, but there was nothing soft about it. “You always were a mouthy little thing.” His eyes flickered over your face, lingering just long enough to make your breath hitch. “Gotta admit, though… I missed you.”

Your stomach twisted. “You don’t miss anything, Dean. You’re not you.”

He hummed, considering that. “I don’t know. Feels like me. Feels better than me.” His fingers lifted to brush a strand of hair from your face, and you flinched. His smirk widened. “Still the same guy underneath it all, sweetheart.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh, but I am. And you wanna know the real kicker?” He leaned in, lips a whisper away from your ear. “I remember everything. Every little moment. Every time I caught you staring when you thought I wouldn’t notice. Every time you got jealous over some girl at a bar.” He pulled back just enough to lock his gaze with yours. “Every time I wanted to kiss you but didn’t.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He smirked. “That’s right, sweetheart. It wasn’t just you.”

Your body betrayed you, a shudder rolling through you despite every instinct screaming to fight. Because it was him. The same Dean who had driven you crazy for years, the same Dean you’d secretly wanted for just as long. But now, he was something else entirely.

And that terrified you. “You’re lying,” you whispered.

Dean exhaled a quiet laugh. “Am I?”

His fingers skimmed down your arm, slow, deliberate. You hated how your skin burned where he touched. How your body still knew him, still wanted him, even when you knew he wasn’t the same.

His head tilted, studying you. “Y’know, if you ask nicely, maybe I’ll let you keep running.”

You clenched your jaw. “Go to hell.”

His smirk widened. “Been there, sweetheart. Wasn’t all that fun.”

Then, without warning, he let go. You stumbled forward slightly, eyes snapping up to his.

“Run,” he murmured, voice full of amusement.

You hesitated, pulse hammering.

“C’mon, Y/N. Make this fun for me.”

Your fists clenched, anger flaring through the fear. You wanted to wipe that smug look off his face, wanted to scream at him for twisting everything between you into some kind of sick game. But you knew better.

So you ran.

And behind you, Dean just laughed.

Your legs burned as you sprinted down the bunker hallway, lungs straining for air. Every muscle in your body screamed at you to keep moving, keep running, but it was useless.

The hallways twisted like a labyrinth, but you knew them like the back of your hand—better than that. You and Sam had spent hours mapping every inch of this place, making sure you had an escape plan for anything. Except for this. Except for him.

You rounded a corner too fast, nearly slipping—And slammed right into a broad chest. A hand clamped over your mouth before you could scream. “Shh! It’s me,” Sam whispered, his grip firm but careful.

You exhaled sharply as he let you go. His eyes were wild, his hair damp with sweat. “Are you okay?”

You shook your head. “No. He’s coming.”

Sam swallowed hard, gripping the demon blade tight. “I know. We have to keep moving.”

A slow, mocking clap echoed through the hallway. You and Sam froze.

“Oh, look at you two,” Dean’s voice drawled, smooth and lazy, like this was fun for him. “Working together. Just like old times.”

Your blood ran cold.

Dean stepped into view, and the sight of him made your stomach twist. His green eyes, the ones that had always been so full of warmth, were black as the void. His lips curled into a smirk, dimples flashing like this was some big joke. Except it wasn’t. Not to you. Not to Sam.

Dean twirled the First Blade between his fingers like it was weightless. “Y’know, this is kind of sweet,” he mused. “The two people I loved most, standing side by side.” His smirk sharpened. “Too bad I have to kill you both.”

You barely had time to react before he moved. One second he was ten feet away. The next—Sam shoved you aside just as Dean lunged. The brothers collided in a blur of movement, Sam’s blade flashing, Dean’s grin widening. You scrambled to your feet, heart hammering as they fought, the sound of metal clashing against metal echoing through the hallway.

But Sam wasn’t winning. Dean was only toying with him. You knew Dean’s fighting style better than anyone. He always fought with purpose—every move calculated, every strike meant to end things fast. But this? This was different. Dean was dragging this out, laughing between attacks, dodging at the last second just to piss Sam off. He was enjoying this.

Sam swung the demon blade at Dean’s ribs, but Dean caught his wrist mid-strike and slammed him into the wall. Sam grunted in pain, dropping the knife.

“Sam!” You surged forward, but Dean turned his head, giving you a look.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he tsked, holding up the First Blade. “I’ll get to you in a minute, sweetheart.” He pressed the Blade against Sam’s throat. And for the first time since this started—Dean stopped smiling. Something dark flickered behind his eyes. “You always wanted to save me,” he murmured. “And look where it got you.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Dean—”

“That’s not my name anymore.” The words were low. Dangerous. Your stomach twisted. Dean pressed the Blade harder, just enough to break skin. Blood beaded along the edge.

“No,” you choked out, stepping forward. “Please.”

Dean’s jaw tensed. His grip twitched. For a split second, you thought he was going to do it. Kill the person he loved most in the world. Kill his brother. And then—He turned his head, locking eyes with you.

“…You’re crying,” he murmured, almost fascinated.

You hadn’t even realized it. Tears streaked your face, your whole body trembling. Not from fear. Not from anger. From him. From watching him like this.

Dean tilted his head, studying you. Something in his expression shifted—just slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. And then, slowly, he smiled. “Oh, sweetheart.” He sighed dramatically, stepping away from Sam like he was bored now. “If you wanted my attention that bad, all you had to do was ask.”

You stiffened as he took a step toward you. Then another. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears. “Stay away from me, Dean.”

His grin widened. “Make me.”

He lunged. You barely had time to react before he slammed you against the opposite wall, knocking the air from your lungs. His hand wrapped around your throat—not cutting off air, just holding you there, keeping you still. Keeping you his.

Your breath hitched as his body pressed against yours, his strength caging you in. His free hand trailed up your arm, his fingers grazing your pulse.

“God, you’re shaking,” he murmured. “I love it.”

“Dean,” you whispered.

For a split second, something flickered in his eyes—something almost human, but as quickly as it came, it soon disappeared. His smirk returned.

“You know what I think?” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your ear. “I think you like this.”

Your whole body stiffened. “I hate you.”

Dean chuckled. “Mmm. Keep telling yourself that.”

His grip tightened just slightly—not enough to hurt, just enough to remind you he could. That he had all the power here. Sam groaned from the floor, struggling to move. Dean ignored him. His black eyes locked onto yours. “I could kill you,” he murmured, tilting his head. “Right here. Right now.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs and Dean smirked. “But where’s the fun in that?” Then, before you could react—before you could even breathe—he moved.

Pain exploded through your ribs as Dean slammed you back against the wall, his grip tightening around your throat. You choked out a strangled gasp, fingers clawing at his wrist, but he was too strong, too cold—too gone.

“Let—go—” Your voice came out hoarse, barely a whisper.

Dean only chuckled, tilting his head as he watched you struggle. “You know,” he mused, almost thoughtful, “I always wondered what you’d look like under me. Writhing. Squirming.” His grip flexed, just enough to send a sharp spike of fear down your spine. “Begging.”

Your nails dug into his wrist, but he didn’t flinch. He didn’t even feel it. He leaned in, his breath ghosting over your cheek. “C’mon, sweetheart. Give me something. A scream, a sob—anything.”

Your vision blurred at the edges, black creeping in. Your pulse pounded in your ears, and you couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t—

A low, broken gasp forced its way from your lips.

And Dean—Dean shivered. “Fuck,” he exhaled, voice rough with something dark. “That’s it. That’s it.”

You hated him. You hated him so much it burned. But your body was weak. And he knew it.

His grip tightened—And then, just as the darkness nearly swallowed you whole.

“Dean!” Sam’s voice rang out, sharp and furious, and then—CRACK.

Dean jerked as something slammed into his head—a crowbar, swung with everything Sam had left. His grip loosened, just enough for you to suck in a ragged breath, just enough for Sam to shove him away from you. Dean stumbled, blinking, his cocky smirk faltering for the first time.

Sam grabbed your arm, pulling you up. “You okay?”

You coughed, nodding weakly, your throat throbbing.

Dean’s smirk returned, but this time, there was blood in his grin. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth. “Atta boy, Sammy,” he drawled. “I was wondering when you’d finally get back in the game.”

Sam positioned himself in front of you, demon blade in hand. His chest rose and fell in quick, angry breaths. “We’re not gonna let you win, Dean.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Win? Win?” His smirk sharpened. “Sammy, this is me winning.”

Then he lunged. You barely had time to react before Dean tackled Sam, sending them both crashing into the wall. The knife skidded across the floor, out of reach. You scrambled for it, but before you could move, Dean punched Sam across the face, the sickening crack of bone echoing through the hallway. Sam grunted, his head snapping to the side. Dean grabbed him by the collar, pulling him close. “Y’know, little brother, I gotta say…” His fingers dug into Sam’s shirt. “I always knew you’d be the one to break first.”

And then he threw him. Sam hit the opposite wall with a thud, sliding to the floor with a pained groan. Your stomach dropped. Dean turned to you and this time, his smile was gone. He stalked forward, his black eyes locked onto yours, the First Blade tight in his grip.

“No more games,” he murmured.

You grabbed the demon blade and lunged but Dean quickly caught your wrist mid-swing and twisted. A sharp cry tore from your throat as pain shot up your arm. The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering to the floor.

Dean laughed. “Nice try,” he cooed. Then his grip shifted—from your wrist to your hair—before yanking you forward, dragging you against him. You gasped, your hands flying to his chest, trying to push him back. He didn’t budge.

“God, you’re stubborn,” he murmured, his nose brushing your cheek. “That’s what I always liked about you.” You trembled, anger and fear battling inside you.“You’re a monster,” you spat.

Dean grinned. “And yet…” His hand slid down to your waist, grip firm, possessive. “You still can’t look away.”

Your stomach twisted. You hated that he was right.

Dean tilted his head, his lips barely inches from yours. His grip tightened. Your breath hitched as his fingers dug into your waist, his body pressing against yours, keeping you trapped. His black eyes were locked onto yours, filled with something dark, something hungry.

“You’re shaking again,” he murmured, his lips ghosting over your cheek. “God, I love that.” His grip tightened further, and before you could react, before you could even think, he moved. A sharp, searing pain tore through your stomach. Your lips parted in a silent gasp.

Dean exhaled softly, like he’d just taken his first real breath in years. His forehead rested against yours, his smirk softening into something almost… tender. “There we go,” he whispered. “Took you long enough.”

You blinked, struggling to focus, your hands clutching at his shoulders—at him—as warmth bloomed beneath your ribs.

Dean pulled back just slightly, his gaze flickering down. The First Blade was buried deep in your stomach and it was still in his hand. Your fingers trembled as you curled them around his wrist. “D-Dean—”

But a sudden gust of wind roared through the bunker.

Dean’s smirk vanished.

Bright, blinding light filled the room, illuminating the darkened bunker like lightning striking at midnight. A deep, commanding voice echoed through the space.

“Let. Her. Go.”

Dean was suddenly yanked away from you, violently thrown back by an unseen force. He crashed into the wall with a grunt, the First Blade slipping from his grasp as invisible restraints pinned him in place. The moment his body left yours, your knees buckled. A strong pair of hands caught you before you hit the floor. “Y/N, I’ve got you.”

You could barely lift your head, your vision swimming, but you knew that voice anywhere. “Cas—” you rasped, your fingers clutching weakly at his coat.

“You’re going to be okay,” he murmured, easing you down carefully. His blue eyes flickered over your wound, his jaw tightening. “I need to heal you.”

“No,” you croaked, shaking your head. “Not yet. Get—get Dean first.”

Castiel hesitated, his gaze darting to where Dean was still struggling against the angel’s hold. Dean snarled, his black eyes burning with rage. “Let me go, you feathery son of a bitch!”

Sam didn’t waste a second. He grabbed the syringe from his jacket and slammed it into Dean’s neck. Dean jerked, eyes going wide, his entire body going rigid as the purified blood surged through his veins. His breath hitched, a choked noise leaving his lips. His body trembled violently, black veins creeping along his skin.

Sam stepped back, watching him carefully, his own chest heaving. “Come on, Dean,” he muttered under his breath. “Come back.”

Dean gritted his teeth, a strangled growl ripping from his throat. His body convulsed, his hands clenching into fists, and for a moment, you thought…

But then his entire body shuddered and the black bled from his eyes. Dean’s head snapped up, his gaze wild—his green eyes wide and panicked as he gasped for air, as if breaking the surface after drowning in darkness. Then his gaze locked onto you and every single ounce of breath in his lungs vanished.

“Y/N?” His voice was hoarse, almost broken. His expression crumpled the second he saw you slumped in against the wall, blood soaking through your shirt, your body trembling from the pain.

Dean’s entire world stopped. “No.” His voice was barely a whisper, barely even a sound. “No, no, no—” Dean collapsed forward, catching himself just in time to crawl toward you. His hands shook as he reached out, as if afraid to touch you, as if afraid you’d break. His fingers hovered over your wound, barely brushing your skin. “Oh, God,” he rasped. “Oh, God—I—I did this.”

His breath hitched, his whole body trembling. His hands curled into fists, his knuckles white.

“Dean—” you tried to say his name, but your voice was too weak.

He wasn’t even listening. “I hurt you,” he choked out. “I—I almost—” His jaw clenched, his eyes shining. “I almost killed you.” His hands finally landed on you, gripping your arms, his thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to keep you here, keep you real.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so—so sorry.”

You managed a weak, shaky breath. “Dean, it wasn’t you—”

“Yes, it was.” His voice cracked. His forehead dropped to yours, his fingers tightening their hold. “It was me, sweetheart.” His breath was warm against your cheek, his whole body trembling. “And I can’t take it back.”

You swallowed, your eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion threatened to pull you under.

Dean’s grip tightened in you, worry wracking his body.“Cas!” His voice was raw, desperate. “Fix her!”

Castiel placed a firm hand on your shoulder, his other hovering over your wound. A soft, golden glow emitted from his palm. Your body jolted as warmth flooded through you, the searing pain easing just slightly.

Dean’s eyes never left your face but as seconds passed your eyes remained shut. You weren’t moving. You weren’t even stirring. The color in your face was too pale, and your body was too still. His grip on you tightened. “Cas.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but it carried every ounce of fear that was ripping through his chest. His throat was tight, his hands shaking as they brushed over your cheek. “Why isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel remained quiet for a moment, his gaze steady as he observed you.

“Cas,” Dean snapped this time, his panic rising. “She should be awake—why the hell isn’t she waking up?”

Castiel sighed, his expression unreadable but calm. “Dean, her body needs time to heal.”

Dean shook his head, jaw clenching. “No—no, you fixed her. I saw you. She should—she should be okay.” His fingers brushed against your forehead, then your wrist, searching for anything—any twitch, any sign of you coming back to him.

“She is okay,” Castiel reassured. “But she went through immense trauma. Her body is simply resting. She will wake up.”

Dean let out a sharp exhale, but his panic didn’t ease. His hands framed your face, his thumbs stroking your skin as he muttered, “C’mon, sweetheart. You’re stronger than this. You’re—” His voice cracked, and he swallowed hard, trying to force the lump in his throat down.

Sam stepped forward cautiously. “Dean—”

“Don’t,” Dean cut him off, his voice raw. “Just… don’t.”

He bent down, pressing his forehead against yours, eyes squeezing shut as he let out a shuddering breath. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Don’t do this to me.”

Sam and Castiel shared a look but said nothing. They knew there was nothing they could say. Dean stayed there, holding onto you like you were the only thing keeping him tethered to this world. His fingers curled into your shirt, his breath uneven as he muttered apologies over and over again. “I swear,” he whispered against your skin, “when you wake up, I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.”

Two Days Later

The bunker was quiet. Too quiet. Dean sat slumped in a chair beside your bed, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together in front of him. His head was bowed, his shoulders tense, and his face was drawn with exhaustion and guilt. He hadn’t left your side since Castiel healed you. Two days.

Two days of watching you sleep, of waiting, of replaying every horrific thing he’d done under the demon’s control. The image of you bleeding out in his arms was seared into his brain. The memory of your broken voice saying his name in a weak, rasped breath haunted him like a goddamn ghost. And the worst part? He did it. Demon or not, it had still been him.

Dean let out a slow exhale, dragging a rough hand down his face. His jaw clenched as he stared at the floor, unable to look at you, unable to face what he’d done. He’d almost lost you. He should have lost you.

If it weren’t for Cas, you’d be—Dean swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut. The chair creaked as he leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. His fingers curled into his hair, his chest tightening.

And then—A soft sound. A quiet, barely-there groan. Dean’s head snapped up, his breath catching in his throat. His eyes darted to you, heart slamming against his ribs.

Your fingers twitched against the sheets. Then, with a slow, exhausted inhale, your eyes fluttered open. For a second, you just stared at the ceiling, dazed and unfocused. But then—your gaze shifted, landing on him.

Dean sucked in a sharp breath. “Sweetheart?” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

You blinked sluggishly, your lips parting as if trying to form words. Your brows pinched together slightly before your gaze finally sharpened on him. “…Dean?”The sound of your voice—soft, fragile, but alive—hit him harder than a damn bullet to the chest.

Dean let out a shaky breath, gripping the edge of the mattress like he needed to ground himself. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he rasped. “I’m here.”

You swallowed thickly, your throat dry, and tried to shift, only to wince at the dull ache in your stomach.

Dean was instantly on his feet, leaning over you, his hands hovering—like he wanted to help but didn’t know if he should. “Easy,” he murmured. “Don’t push yourself.”

You blinked up at him, confusion flickering across your face as you took in his disheveled appearance—dark circles under his eyes, unshaven stubble, the way his shoulders were practically hunched under invisible weight. “…How long?” you croaked.

Dean let out a small breath of relief—because you were talking—before sinking back into the chair. “Two days.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “Damn.”

That almost made him smile. Almost. But then, reality crashed back down, and the guilt returned with full force. Dean swallowed and glanced away, his jaw tight.

Your gaze softened as you studied him. Even without him saying a word, you could see it. The self-hatred. The way he was drowning in it. “Dean,” you whispered.

His throat bobbed as he clenched his fists. “I almost killed you.” His voice was rough, raw. “You shouldn’t even be—” He cut himself off, shaking his head. “Cas saved you, but it doesn’t change what I—”

“Dean.” Your voice was a little stronger this time, but still soft.

His green eyes flicked up to yours, filled with nothing but pain. You swallowed, forcing down the lump in your throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Dean let out a dry, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “That’s what they all say.” His fingers curled into his jeans, his whole body wound tight. “That it wasn’t me, that it was the demon, but I remember it. Every damn second of it.” His voice cracked as his gaze locked onto yours.

You felt your heart ache at his words. Dean exhaled sharply, running a rough hand over his face. “I hurt people. I hurt you.” His voice lowered to a whisper, like he hated even saying it. “And I don’t know how to come back from that.”

You took a slow breath, gathering what little strength you had, and reached out, resting your hand over his.

Dean froze. His eyes darted to where your fingers curled over his own, then back to your face, his breath hitching slightly. “You already came back,” you murmured.

Dean swallowed hard, his thumb twitching under your touch. Dean stared at you, like he didn’t understand how you could even look at him, let alone forgive him. For a moment, the room was silent. But then Dean turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours, gripping your hand like it was the only thing keeping him here. His gaze softened, raw with emotion.

“I almost lost you.” He murmured.

“You didn’t,” you whispered back.

Dean took a slow breath, staring at you like he wanted to memorize every detail of your face. Then, after a long pause—“I love you.” The words were so quiet, you almost thought you imagined them. But the way Dean’s grip tightened on your hand, the way his eyes stayed locked on yours, made it real. Your breath caught in your throat.

Dean exhaled, a small, almost broken smile tugging at his lips. “I do,” he whispered. “I don’t know why the hell it took me so long to say it, but… I do.” His thumb brushed against your skin, gentle, reverent. “And I swear to God, sweetheart, I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you.”

Tears burned the back of your eyes, your throat tightening. You gave him a soft smile, squeezing his hand. “Dean Winchester,” you murmured. “You are a damn idiot. I love you too. ”

A surprised chuckle left him, the first real smile cracking through his grief. And then, with what little strength you had, you tugged his hand toward you. He leaned down, his lips ghosting over your forehead in a gentle, lingering kiss. And for the first time in days—He finally breathed again.

author’s note:

I finally posted it! This fic has been sitting in my drafts for over 2 weeks. I feel like I’ve posted so much this week already. I hope it doesn’t bother anyone 😅 I’m also thinking about writing for soldier boy soon. (Even though I haven’t watched the show yet but I plan on watching it this weekend!)

Anyways, I was going to continue the story with some smut at the very end but decided not to. Ending on a softer note is not usually my forte but we’re trying something new! Lmfao

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear

If you would like to be tagged in all dean fics please lmk! drop a comment and I will add you to the list! ☻

my works

[zepskies]

Aww Dean def shows love through his actions. Love the spectrum of the way he kisses here. 💓💓

⤷. dean winchester. ₊ ˚. ⊹. ⋆

꒰ PAIRING : bf!dean winchester x reader ꒱ 𐔌 . ⋮ mci .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Dean showed his love and emotions in how he kissed you.

It was like its own language— where his hands were, how fast he breathed, how gentle he was with you— he said it all. Lucky for you, it was a language you were well-versed in, from the simplest brushes to him kissing you until you couldn’t think anymore. It was an art form, really, one which was so valuable it was priceless to you.

See, usually he didn’t show his emotions to anyone— he was an open-shut book to anyone who didn’t know how to communicate with him or even talk to him like he was anything but John’s son or a machine. But you knew it every time his lips touched yours.

If he was upset, or sad, he’d lean in slowly, hand on your cheek and he’d kiss you soft and slow, but only for a brief moment before he gently let you two separate. Even then, he’d still move a little bit towards you again, like he needed another hit of his favourite drug, which of course you gave on instinct. He’d breathe out slowly in the kiss, and his whole body would relax the moment your fingers touched his skin like a calming agent, a fire dwindling to a flame on a wick.

If it was anger, his hand would be in your hair, messing it up while his other would squeeze your waist and then your thigh like you’d run if you didn’t. His lips would be hot, fast and demanding, shutting off your brain, and it wouldn’t be all one press of his lips to yours. It’d be over and over again, sharps breaths in between— yeah, you were his favourite stress relief.

If he was happy, it’d feel like he was sweeping you into his arms, hand on your hip and the back of your head to support you as he kissed you so passionately that he was half dipping you before pulling you back up. If it was a peck, well, he wouldn’t stop at one. He’d go two, three, four, grinning and talking between every one, preferably about how gorgeous you looked.

Right now, he’d just given you a small, lazy peck. His jawline illuminated in the embers of the fire, green eyes looking at you like you hung the stars, lips turned up gently, and this one was your personal favourite. It was when you had nothing to do, when he just felt like it, with no pressure on his shoulders and it was just a precious moment. You knew what that one meant.

That he was comfortable with you. That he was relaxed. It translated to I love you.

©️ to: ꒰ mariswxt ꒱ ˎˊ˗

[sofreddie]

Live to Die Another Day

Summary: On a hunt involving amateur witches, Y/N gets hit by a spell, and Dean is determined to help.

Characters: Dean Winchester x F!Reader, Sam Winchester

Warnings: NONCON/DUBCON, Consensual Sex, Spell, Fuck or Die, Angst, Fighting, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Outdoor Sex, Creampie), Fluff, Love Confessions

WC: 5,616

A/N: Another story that just came out of nowhere. I swear, I try to work on my current projects, but sometimes you gotta take a break and get the other ideas out of your head so you can keep going on your current WIPs. So, have a thing!

My Masterlist

The motel room door closed with a soft click that sounded louder in the confines of the small, rented room. Y/N slowly made her way to the closest of the two queen beds and gingerly sat on the edge. Dean eyed her cautiously as Sam settled at the little kitchenette table and opened his laptop, beginning to research what he could remember.

They had been hunting witches - pretty nasty ones at that - and had managed to kill them all. Well, not before the last one - a real amateur among them - threw a Hail Mary by tossing some red powder at Y/N and chanting Latin before Dean put a bullet in her head. 

Sam focused diligently as he typed the Latin he heard and the circumstances of the spell. Dean sat nursing a beer, concentrating solely on Y/N, not knowing what magic effects would affect her or what might happen. Y/N did everything cautiously - moving, talking, sitting, thinking - but she felt no different. Just a little gross from the hunt and a bit itchy from whatever that powder all over her contained.

"Sam, I feel fine. Honestly," Y/N sighed and smiled at him for reassurance. 

"Pretty sure it's a lust spell," Sam muttered, still focused on the laptop and taking a sharp inhale. "Looks like it's fatal if not appeased." He glanced at Y/N, then Dean, before returning to his computer. 

Dean felt his heart sink into his stomach. It made sense, considering the witches seemed to be experimenting with different sexual and lust-related spells and curses, hexing local citizens, most of whom died, but none of which had the same kind of spell or ingredients involved.

More than that, Dean swallowed hard at the thought of Y/N having to go through something like that. She'd need a partner, someone she trusted to help her. Dean tried not to get excited, to jump up and volunteer at the notion. However, he was still scared and worried that she could die or, worse, wouldn't take his help if offered. 

They were friends, hunting partners, and Bunker roommates. She'd been with them for over a year since they found her, saving herself from a nest of vampires that had tried - and failed - to make her a victim. Despite not having a hunting background, the Winchesters took her under their wing, immediately recognizing her talent and potential. 

It didn't take long for Dean to start falling for her. He'd flirt occasionally, wink and smirk, and enjoy her giggles, eye rolls, and flushed cheeks. But he was too nervous even to try, feeling way beneath her, unworthy of her, not wanting to taint her with him. 

"Fuck or die?" Y/N scoffed. "Seriously? I don't feel anything though. Maybe Dean shot her in time, and the spell didn't have time to take effect." 

She wasn't even sure Sam had heard her or was listening as he reached for one of the books he'd taken from the witches' place and scanned for more information. When his face went a few shades pale, she swallowed hard in worry. 

"Sam?"

"Looks like the witches mixed up some of their Latin conjunctions," he muttered, jotting down the words he remembered versus the spell. As he looked over everything before him, it all became clear. "I think they were going for aggressive lust. As in, the person would become consumed with lust and just take whoever they wanted. But they messed up the wording. So it makes them need to have sex to live but aggressively fight against anyone who touches them or tries."

"Wait," Dean stared at his brother as the gears turned in his head. "So that's why half the vics were mauled to death? Because the lusting party beat them to death for trying to have sex with them?"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, leaning back in his chair and running a hand through his hair, avoiding Y/N's eyes as he concluded. "Which means, to have sex to break the spell, someone has to fight her, overpower her, and…a-and." Sam huffed, his pleading puppy eyes looking up to Dean,  silently begging not to have to say it. 

"Fuck," Dean groaned, glancing at Y/N and surprised when she started laughing.

"No. No way, Sam," Y/N chuckled. "You're saying I have to fight and be assaulted by some dude or die? I feel fine! No arousal, no anger, I'm fine!"

"No one's touched you," Sam pointed out. "If someone touches you, that'll probably set it off."

Dean couldn't help but think over the whole case and their current situation and just how monumentally fucked up it all was. But he didn't want anyone else touching her, let alone fucking her. He really didn't want to get mauled trying to help her, either. 

Y/N was a good friend, but she'd meant more than that to Dean for a long time. He already considered her his, even if they'd never been together or taken that step. He had wanted to - God, so many times - but he'd never dared to take that leap. 

Now, everything felt like a nightmare of anything he ever wanted with her, but he simply could not let anyone else touch her that way.

"Okay, well, let's test that theory then," Dean said, stepping towards Y/N and extending his hand for a shake. 

Y/N was trying her best to be brave, but internally she was freaking the fuck out. She wasn't lying before, she didn't feel anything - no lust, no anger - but she was still scared shitless that could change at any moment. She knew what happened to the victims, and she saw the bodies. She didn't want to do that to anyone, and she really didn't want to die.

When Dean stepped forward with an extended hand, offering to shake, she couldn't help the sudden wave of arousal that washed over her. Dean always had that effect on her. She had wanted him and to be with him as more than just friends, but she was too afraid of rejection and pained by her past to take a chance. 

Now, however, that familiar arousal seemed much more intense. She hoped Sam was wrong and told herself it was probably okay to shake hands. Besides, if everything did go to shit, she knew she could trust Dean to care for and save her.

Y/N shook her head and laughed, thinking he might be joking, but Dean stayed firm and waited for her. With a groan and an eye roll, she rose from the bed and shook Dean's hand. Almost immediately, her grip tightened to near-painful levels as pure, fiery-hot rage surged through her veins.

"Don't fucking touch me!" she growled - actually growled - at Dean as she yanked her hand from his, looking feral and on the edge of attack. 

Dean was caught off guard, not expecting such a strong reaction, or any reaction, for that matter. He jumped back several feet, and Sam stood, raising his hands and stepping between them. 

"Hey, Y/N?" Sam tried drawing her attention to him, and she instantly relaxed since he hadn't touched her. "No one's going to hurt you. Dean won't touch you again, okay?" She didn't respond but backed down, keeping her eyes trained on Dean like a predator watching its prey. It sent both shivers and heat down his spine.

As Y/N sat back on the edge of the bed, she stifled a moan from the pressure against her core. She felt unbearably aroused, like a stiff breeze could nearly make her come. But her body and mind were reacting as if she was pissed Dean had aroused her - which she sort of was. She suddenly needed to be fucked, like really, truly needed it. But she knew if anyone touched her - which you kind of have to do for sex - it would make her as pissed at them as she was at Dean. 

Then there was Dean. Usually, the idea of him haunted her dreams, leaving her wet and aching in the morning. Usually, his proximity had her begging for any touch from him, even an accidental graze. But they were friends and hunting partners. Despite the constant flirting, he did that with many women, so she knew she wasn't special. It didn't matter with the spell anyway, as an utter loathing for Dean replaced the affection she typically carried. Instead of yearning, she felt only abhorrence and disgust.

She would rather die than let him touch her.

Dean and Sam talked in the corner, and she couldn't quite make out what they were saying, but Dean's eyes were locked on hers from behind Sam's shoulder. His gaze was dark, almost as if he was as needy as she was. She felt more wetness pool in her panties at the heated gaze, and it made her growl at him again, ready to pounce and rip his throat out with her teeth.

Dean couldn't - wouldn't - take his eyes off of Y/N. She looked downright feral, the fire in her eyes making his hunter instincts spark to life, ready for a fight. But the desire and hunger swimming in the depths, the way she squirmed in need subconsciously, made his cock begin to swell in interest. Sam was trying to talk to him about logistics, but he wasn't paying attention; his focus was entirely on Y/N.

Lucky it was, as she grew tired of the tension and jumped from her seat, her gaze and anger solely focused on Dean. Tossing Sam aside - who landed against the door with a loud thud and a hissed 'dude' - Dean readied himself for Y/N's attack. She came at him, wild and enraged, but Dean could easily defend against her. 

However, she twisted from his grasp and attacked again, catching him off guard. Maybe he had taught her too well. He growled at the hits she landed before his muscle memory took charge. The next few seconds found Dean not only fending off her attack but launching her away from him and onto the bed with a roar. 

Sam, seizing the opportunity, grabbed his older brother and dashed out of the motel room, slamming the door behind them and holding the knob in case Y/N tried to follow. Luckily, it seemed to quiet down, and she never went for the door. Sam exhaled and turned to look at Dean, who seemed equally concerned and angry.

As soon as the door slammed shut, Y/N froze, staring at the wooden portal as if something might jump out and attack her. Her energy and anger slowly drained, leaving her with only the lust racing through her veins. She forced herself back to the bed, every step causing her thighs to rub and graze against her sensitive core. Fucking witches!

When Sam was sure Y/N wouldn't follow or keep attacking, he relaxed and released the door, turning to his flustered older brother.

"You okay?"

Dean scoffed and shook his head, "This is fucked up. I could have hurt her."

Sam just nodded, "So, what are we going to do? It's not like we can find some random guy to help her. And any guy willing to do that to her isn't someone I want around."

Dean nodded and huffed, his hackles rising at the thought of some random person touching Y/N. She was their friend, their hunting partner, their family. Dean glanced at Sam and knew he could never do that to Y/N. They were close friends, but autonomy was significant to Sam, and Dean knew his little brother couldn't bring himself to fight and fuck Y/N - especially not like this. 

That left Dean, and as much as the thought made his stomach churn, he knew he couldn't let her die. He cared about her - more than he was willing to label - but their situation was a mockery of anything he ever entertained in his mind.

"I'm gonna have to take her somewhere," Dean began, seeing Sam's confused look. "We can't trust anyone else. I'm not about to let her die, but I can't do it here."

"Witnesses," Sam confirmed with a nod. 

"Right, I'll wrangle her in the car and take her somewhere. Then I'll do what I have to do."

They were both fighting off the rising disgust and nausea as they formulated a quick plan of action. The idea was for Dean to enter the room and restrain Y/N, getting her into the car and to the middle of nowhere. She would undoubtedly put up a fight and scream, but they couldn't afford to draw attention. Dean was willing to have another dark mark on his soul if it meant saving her life. He just hoped she'd understand and forgive him.

Plan in place, Dean took a deep breath and was in the mindset of a hunt before he burst into the motel room with urgency. Y/N's gaze shot to him, and she immediately turned from concern to anger, standing from her seat and taking a fighting stance. Anticipating her attack, Dean quickly avoided her initial charge, dodging to the side and ending up behind her. She spun quickly, and Dean blocked a barrage of punches she threw at him, growling and snarling the whole while. 

A well-landed blow on her part caught Dean off guard, but as he recovered, he was more determined. As she launched her next attack, Dean overpowered her, tackling her to the ground and using his size and weight to keep her from kicking or hitting him. Reaching into his pocket, he retrieved a set of handcuffs and clicked them into place, binding her wrists behind her back. 

With a huff, he rose to his feet, then pulled her up by the arms. She continued to struggle and fight, but Dean simply perp-walked her to the backseat of Baby, lacing the buckle through her cuffs to keep her in place.

"She's pissed off," Sam commented as Dean slammed the back door of the car a little too harshly.

"You think?" he scoffed, more than a little surprised by how strong and efficient a fighter she'd become. He was glad neither seemed hurt much but knew it was still far from over.

Sam watched Dean go to the driver's door, prepared to leave with Y/N. He wanted to say something, to encourage or reassure his brother, but he couldn't find any words to help their current situation. As Dean pulled out of the space and drove off to who knows where, Sam sighed and returned inside the motel room, hoping they'd both be okay.

-

Dean drove fast, in a hurry to get to a secluded area and help Y/N before she tore herself apart, trying to get out of her restraints. She was handcuffed, her arms pinned behind her back, and he had looped the seatbelt through the cuffs to hold her back in the seat. He didn't need her trying to attack or bite him as he drove. 

Once the light pollution from civilization faded, Dean relaxed as he pulled off onto a dirt path through thick woods. Far from anything, the stars and moon were the only lights. Dean parked the Impala and took a breath before climbing out.

Y/N began thrashing and shouting again as he approached the rear door. He'd chew her ass later for kicking the back of his seat as much as she could in the confined space. As he opened the door, he was met with a kick to the stomach, her leg bent at a weird angle to strike out at him. Having had more than enough, Dean growled and hastily undid the seatbelt, dragging her roughly from the car. 

"Look," Dean growled as he pinned her against the side of the car. "I know the spell makes you fight, but I am trying to help you."

"Fuck you," Y/N spat.

"That's the plan," Dean sneered, spinning her around and bending her over the trunk. "Now, if I remove these cuffs, you gonna be nice?"

"I'm gonna rip you to pieces," she chuckled darkly, and Dean couldn't help but swallow hard at the threat. He now knew she could probably go head-to-head in a fight with him, and he didn't want to.

"I guess I'll just keep them on then," he responded, holding her in place and looking her over.

A large part of him couldn't help but be aroused. He had wanted Y/N and thought about her many times but kept it inside, content with their close and cherished friendship. Seeing her bent over his Baby, her plump ass in the air, had him hardening in seconds. That's when he noticed the seat of her pants was soaked through, and she was squeezing her thighs together. She may not want him, but she certainly needed him.

The thought of just friends - now or after this - seemed to blow away in the wind.

"I'm gonna take care of you," Dean whispered soothingly as he unfastened her jeans, tugging them and her underwear down to her thighs.

"No, don't!" she growled, trying to move and getting nowhere more than squirming under him. 

She knew what was about to happen, and her mind was screaming to stop, to prevent him from taking her. But her body was desperate for it, for him. She'd wanted Dean - in the back of her mind, she knew that - but never like this. She wanted him to fuck her, and she wanted to kill him for daring even to touch her.

"No?" Dean questioned as his fingers teased over her core before rubbing against her swollen clit. She gasped and let out a wanton moan, her hips bucking against his hand. "Seems like your body disagrees."

Y/N still tried to fight, to get out from under his control, but Dean pinned her in place as he hastily unfastened his jeans and pulled out his fully-hard cock. Just the sounds - his zipper, his clanking belt buckle, his huffed breaths as he rushed - amped up her arousal until it was pooling at her entrance and spilling over down her thighs, making her moan and swoon despite the rage at Dean and the unwanted assault that was about to occur.

The sight of her slickened folds, dripping down her thighs, her delicious moans from his simplest of touches, had Dean hard enough to cut glass. He hesitated, reassuringly touching her hip and trying to still his nerves.

"Dean, please, don't. Don't do this," Y/N begged, almost making Dean call the whole thing off. Except, he knew she would die if he didn't. He'd rather have her alive and hating him than dead and gone entirely. 

"I'm so sorry, Y/N-" Dean apologized, knowing it would only be the first of many apologies "-but I have to. Forgive me."

Throwing aside his feelings and determined to 'get the job done,' Dean slid deep within her with one harsh thrust, making them both shout moans into the night air. He began fast and hard, focusing on working her towards her high, knowing it wouldn't take much for him to follow. 

Y/N tried to squirm out of the cuffs and tried to vocalize her rejection, but it all died out in the presence of her utter need. Her core clenched around his every intrusion, and moans and gasps ripped from her throat as he drove her toward her climax at an alarming rate. 

As soon as his hand reached around and rubbed her clit, she was gone, cumming hard around his shaft. As she clenched around him, he groaned, his own need imminent. But he wouldn't let himself cum, not considering the circumstances. He just wanted to help her and cure her, not violate her further. 

Dean stumbled back, pulling up his jeans but leaving them open and undone as he retrieved the key and unfastened the handcuffs around Y/N's wrists. She moved her arms with a hiss, and Dean tried to ignore the mess he made between her legs as he pulled up her pants for her, then quickly stumbled away from her again.

Y/N rubbed her wrists, sore and raw from her struggling. The spell over her had broken when they both climaxed, and she could feel the lust and anger ebbing away. What remained was the utter embarrassment and horror at the situation, at what Dean had to endure to save her. She was horrified at how she acted and that finally getting to be with him seemed like a nail in the coffin to ever being with him.

"Are you okay?" Dean asked as she turned around and leaned against the side of the car, only flashing him a glance before looking at the ground or anywhere but at him.

As everything settled over her and the spell's effects wore off, Y/N decided she was definitely not okay. Her mind was in turmoil, torn between what Dean did for her and what he had to do to her. She had wanted him, wanted to be with him, for so long, but now everything was just wrong. She fought back her tears and attempted to bottle up her emotions inside with all the rest. She could see on his face how destroyed he looked, and she didn't want to add to his pain.

Instead, she nodded and swallowed hard, tears springing to her eyes. "Dean, I'm so sorry."

"What?"

"I-I'm sorry," she tried again, the tears falling despite her efforts. Once the dam broke, she couldn't stop. "I'm so sorry you had to do that."

"You shouldn't be sorry," he spoke, and through her tears, she could see he was just as broken as she. "I'm sorry. I did this to you, and I know I had to save your life, but I feel awful about it."

Y/N nodded in agreement, sniffling and wiping her face in vain as the tears continued to fall. Both her body and her mind felt shattered. As she wondered if she and Dean could even survive this, if their friendship could last beyond this awful thing, her heart broke further. He was her closest friend, an ally and hunting partner, and a man she knew she had fallen for long ago.

"I forgive you," Y/N insisted. 

Dean shook his head against her words, "You should hate me, hit me, something."

"I hate the witch," Y/N said. "I could never hate you, Dean. I just couldn't," she shrugged, afraid to say more. But she knew he was beating himself up, which would only worsen. "It's okay," Y/N promised as she cautiously approached him. 

Dean shook his head again but didn't stop her as she wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, and they fell to their knees in the grass and dirt, still in each other's embrace, as they sobbed and apologized. 

Neither was sure who moved first, but their lips connected in a deep, sweet kiss despite their tears. As they both desperately sought redemption from one another, Y/N ended up in his lap and his arms. 

Every kiss, every touch, was laced with tears and apology; for what had happened, how it had happened, for the ugliness built into the spell by that damn witch.

Dean leaned into the kiss, using the momentum to lay her on the grassy ground gently. Words weren't needed, and the moment was too severe and heavy. Instead, they spoke with their bodies, through their kisses, through their hands as they removed clothes and caressed skin with fingertips. Y/N surprised him, rolling them over and grinding her hips down onto him before finally granting him reentry.

As Dean slid within her a second time, they were both ready and willing. The air was silent save for their breaths, the gentle slapping of their skin, and the sounds of nature alive under the full moon above. Still, it didn't hold the romanticism one might expect from such a moment, tinged with their sorrowful apologies against each other's skin, mending the hurt that came before.

Pushing him back onto the grass, Y/N sat atop his hips, grinding slowly and flexing her walls, paying attention to his every expression and sound. She wanted to show him that it was okay, that she forgave him, and thank him for what he did to save her. Leaning forward, she moved down his neck and across his chest, kissing apologies and forgiveness into his skin. 

Dean couldn't help but feel more than that - feeling appreciated and, dare he say, adored. The combination of sensations sent his mind reeling and his body hurling toward another climax. Moving a hand from her hip to her clit, he rubbed tight circles that had her cumming hard and dragging him over the edge with her.

As they climaxed, one after the other, they seemed to melt into each other—a sense of relief, forgiveness, and cleansing washed over them. Y/N rolled off of him, laying on her back beside him as she caught her breath and eased the ache in her thighs.

Y/N was sure their friendship was intact and mended, but she didn't know where they stood. She was afraid to ask, especially after what he endured because of her - for her. They shared quiet and awkward smiles as they lay under the stars, catching their breath. 

It was romantic, but she tried not to let her mind go there. Dean helped her, and she thanked him. She figured that was enough for him. But she couldn't get up and dressed until he moved first.

Dean felt awful after the first encounter, but the second time seemed to soothe that ache. He wanted to look at and enjoy her, and he wanted her to see him doing so. He thought, maybe now, despite everything, that this was his moment to show her how he felt.

Leaning over, Dean placed a delicate kiss on her collarbone. Sitting back on his knees, his eyes wandered over Y/N - splayed out on the grass, thoroughly fucked, the moonlight shining off her skin and his cum dripping from between her thighs - and the scene left him breathless. 

For Y/N, there was no misunderstanding of Dean's touch or thoughts. He was very precise in that and good at it, too. She knew what he was thinking because it was the same feeling and thought she had. And now she was more than eager for it, for Dean the way she'd always wanted him.

Dean's heart raced, and his breathing picked up as his gaze traveled over her body and met her eyes. Somehow, after all the twisted events of the night, this moment finally felt like the one he'd been waiting for—dreaming of—for quite some time. The look in her eye matched him, her desire present, her body squirming for more as he admired it. 

"You are stunningly beautiful, Y/N," Dean whispered reverently.

He wasn't sure how he was hard again after coming twice - other than the fact that it was Y/N - but he wasn't about to complain as he leaned over to kiss her. Her thighs parted, and he settled against her comfortably, kissing her deep and thorough like he always wanted. He needed to take his time to kiss, feel, and taste all of her. 

He felt an urgency between them that drove him to prove himself and tell her everything through his touch. Time didn't exist; all thought and sense outside of the two of them disappeared as Dean took his time to worship her entirely. 

With hands and mouth, Dean sought out every curve, ridge, and line as he mapped out her body and committed it to memory. His lips skimmed from her lips to her jaw, loving the soft moan she gave as he kissed behind her ear.

As his mouth encased a nipple, his fingers danced delicately across her dampened folds. Her hands flew to his head and tugged at his hair as her body arched into him. He slid a single finger slowly and deeply into her core, smirking when she moaned and spread her legs wider. After a moment, he added a second, and she ground her hips down against his hand, seeking more.

She was driving him insane in the best of ways. Her sounds, movements, and the way her body responded to him made his need to taste her urgent. He kissed his way down her body until he reached her core, his fingers still buried inside of her, stroking her walls. He kissed her clot gently before licking at it, sucking it in his mouth to torture it with his tongue. 

Y/N gasped at the sensations as she tugged harder on his hair, holding him right where she needed him. She briefly worried about hurting him, but he gave no indication. Instead, he was focused, moaning into her pussy; his fingers and tongue worked in sync to drive her higher and higher. Once he found that special spot inside her, he grinned, and everything turned up to eleven.

Y/N came hard, wailing into the night. Dean removed his fingers and replaced them with his tongue as he hungrily and eagerly drank down her juices, moaning along with her and rutting into the air. She was amazed at what he did and how he made her feel. 

She tugged at him in an attempt to get him back to her lips and kissed him fiercely when he complied. Reaching between them, she pumped his hard cock before lining him up and urging him forward with one hand on his ass and the other on his lower back.

As he bottomed out, they both gasped into each other's mouths at the feeling of him sliding home. Despite having fucked twice already, this time felt brand new and long-awaited. Dean wanted to give in to his urges, to pound her hard and hear her begging him for more. 

Instead, he went slow and steady, wanting to feel all of her and have her feel all of him, drawing it out as his hands and mouth never ceased. Y/N couldn't help but be loud, unable to keep quiet under Dean's attention and actions. But she figured it didn't really matter since he'd taken her to the middle of nowhere.

"Dean," Y/N moaned like a pornstar, too deep into her passions to even attempt to control herself. "Please, go faster," she begged, trying to rock her hips and urge him.

She was getting close again, her body still sensitive from their last rounds, and having Dean with her, inside of her finally, made her stamina near nothing.

"No," he mumbled against her throat, sucking a mark and maintaining his pace.

As she continued to buck, he pinned her hip down with one hand, staring her in the eye as he kept the same consistent, steady, and slow pace. He was just as desperate, but more importantly, he was on a mission. He wanted to prove himself, show her how he felt, and enjoy how he wanted their first coupling to be. He hoped there would be more times after this. He couldn't bear the thought of never having her again, not after this.

"Wanna feel you come for me," he spoke against her lips, kissing her hard as he rubbed her clit in time with his thrusts.

She gasped and bucked before she clenched hard around him. Dean followed behind, the two of them riding out a climax that damn near had them crying from the intensity and emotion held within. Dean collapsed against her with a sigh as her arms and legs wrapped around him, holding him close.

Groaning, Dean slowly withdrew and got to his feet, his body popping, cracking, and aching as he did so. Y/N grinned and giggled, accepting his offered hand as he helped her to her feet.

"We have to get back," Dean said before pecking her lips. "Sam's probably worried out of his mind."

They stole glances and giggled as they found their clothes and redressed. Dean took her into his arms again, kissing her soundly. With a sigh, he dropped his forehead to hers. He held her hand against his chest before raising it to kiss her knuckles.

"Ready?"

Y/N nodded and let him lead her to the Impala, climbing in through the driver's door and sliding to the passenger's as Dean climbed in behind her. The drive back was quiet, but they held hands on the seat space between them. Y/N's cheeks were hot, and she bit her lip as she realized they were moving forward together toward something more. 

After parking at the motel, Dean helped her out of the car and walked hand-in-hand into the room. Sam immediately looked up, catching sight of their grins and interlocked hands. He breathed a sigh of relief and offered a lopsided grin.

"So…the spell's broken?"

"Yep," Y/N responded.

"And this," he gestured between them, "Is this a thing now?"

"Yep," Dean answered with a grin, squeezing her hand.

Sam's grin mirrored his brother's, knowing things could have been a lot worse, but in the end, it turned out better than either he or Dean could have hoped. Knowing how long he'd pined after Y/N, he was happy for his brother. He was also glad that she wouldn't mope about over his brother any longer. 

"Good,” Sam smirked. “Live to die another day.”

FOREVERS:

@lyarr24

@hobby27

@kazsrm67

@maliburenee

@440mxs-wife

@writercole

@spnbaby-67

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@leigh70

@laycblack

@kr804573

@nancymcl

DEAN WINCHESTER:

@slamminmine

@deandreamernp

@awkward-and-indecisive

@akshi8278

@mimaria420

[t1red-twilight]

masterlist d. w. masterlist blurbs

“no, dean.“ you breathed out a laugh. “that is not where that piece goes. that’s the flipped piece that goes on the opposite side.”

dean stopped to examine the two similar pieces of the dining table that you were assembling your new house. moving in was not a milestone that either of you really thought that would or could come, but none the less, here you were.

“are you sure?“ he asked. the confusion that flooded the expression on his face was borderline comical. neither of you were particularly familiar in assembling furniture. you would spend that last however many years staying in semi-awful motels.

you took an extra look at the two pieces. the wooden legs of the table were slightly curved in opposite directions. “yeah, i think so. look at how they curve in different directions? i think that one would go on the left side, and that one would go on the right side.” you pointed at the corresponding wooden pieces.

dean took took another look at the two leg pieces encompassed in his grip. he nodded. “that makes sense. it would look better, i think.“ dean’s voice was calm, a peace that you had not heard very often from him very much in the past. more recently, it was occurring more and more. he proceeded to attach the legs to their corresponding corners.

the two of you looked at your completed task, your hands on your hips and his arms crossed. task completed. you turned to look at him and you smiled. his arm closest to you snaked around your waist and pulled you close into his side.

after a long many years of hunting, the reality of settling into a white picket fence life was incredibly comforting. the two of you were excited to settle into a normal life, just like you had wanted for dean (for yourself, too admittedly) for many years.

“hmm,” he hummed. his fingers tapped in a rhythm on your waist.

your head craned to look at him. “what’re you thinking?”

he nodded for a moment, and pursed his lips. “just about all the wonderful steak and pie that we’re going to have here.”

[castielhoney]

Ok so I was digging in my notes app and found this narration from the finale from December 12 2023. Here you go

In a strong step back, his shoulder blades collide against a wood column... and a metal rebar.

A huff leaves his lips, ripped from his lung. "Huh," he calls to Sam -- a plead, a question, a confession. His fists clench. "Huh."

Sam clambers over, weapons dropped and focus locked. "We can call, we can- Ambulance-" he stutters.

Castiel, dean cries. Or he thinks he does.

Please, Cas.

In the dark, in the empty, there is no echo. No reverb, no recoil against his shoulder. There is no feather falling to the ground and there is no fist cleched. No lips to glance at, no rustle in the air to watch. No bed to examine the folds of once he gets up (the absence of you has to be as good as the reality of you.)

And yet he prays. He lets tears gather and he lets blood stain because what does it matter now?

He wonders what he's supposed to say when no one is listening. He wonders what he's supposed to say when God is.

Fuck you.

Yeah, there you go. That's as good as anything.

"Dean?" Sam's fingertips are bruising Dean's bicep, or they would be if the blood could pool there instead of his ribcage, pulled apart.

Dean would smile if he had the muscle control. He'd cry if he had half the mind. Sam drops his grip to call the police

and Dean lets him.

He can't hear the ringing, and he can't hear the dial tone when the phone remembers it doesn't have signal.

Since when do phones have to remember about things?

Since you're bleeding out, Cas says. Or Dean thinks he does.

Right, that.

Somewhere distant, somewhere miles away, Sam is calling 911. Miles and miles and getting further by the second.

Dean squeezes his fist. or at least he thinks he does.

Castiel, he begs.

If you asked him, he'd tell you he was begging to live, to stay here with his baby brother. If you asked him, he's asking for Cas to push him back to life.

If you're honest, he's asking to be pulled to the empty. If he has to die, so be it, but even in the dark, he'd rather have his angel, cursed or not.

for @dolomitedarling ily

[supernotnatural2005]

Holy smokes 🥵

This was absolutely phenomenal 😍

“Please, Dean, I want to feel you,” you say, and he groans. “Darlin’,” he says, tone a little warning but it’s tough to be authoritative with him leaking against your thigh.

Oh the visuals 🥵. I'm so glad he foregoes any common sense because damn was the smut that follows worth it.

“You’d look so beautiful with my babies inside you,” he almost groans and you wrap your arm around his neck, pull him close.

Yes we would Dean. Yes we would!

He pushes himself up a little, towards you again. Then, for the grand finale, he takes his still hard cock in his hand, crowds in close to you and runs its head against your entrance to collect what has run out of you. Then he pushes back into you again.

Ngl this part just about killed me ^ 🥴

All in all absolutely loved this fic 👏🏻💕

Filled (Dean Winchester x female reader)

Dean and you are out of condoms, but that doesn’t mean you’re not going to give in to temptation.

Read it on AO3

My 2024 Kinktober series

Rated E. 1.3k words. Unprotected sex. Breeding kink. Pies (of the cream variety)

It’s damn stupid and you know you shouldn’t do it, at least that’s what your brain is telling you, but your brain isn’t in the driver’s seat right now. How could it be, after Dean has made you come not once, not twice, but thrice with his fingers and mouth.

You’re about ready to pass on to the great hereafter, but still somehow, inexplicably, you have the overwhelming need to feel Dean inside you. You agreed that you wouldn’t, agreed that you would simply get each other off, but you don’t think you’ll last another five seconds without outright begging him to fuck you.

It’s this damn case, that has you miles and miles away from the next town. You packed everything, food, clothes, goddamn books that Dean hasn’t taken a single peak at, but not condoms, because you thought you’d be too busy to need them. Dean disagreed from the get-go, but you thought the small stash he always carries in his wallet would be enough.

You’re on day five, solved the case on day two and ran out of condoms on day three. It’s another day until you’re set to be picked up by Sam, and you’ve been getting each other off for almost all of that time since, without Dean entering you with anything but his fingers and tongue. But yeah, you’re not sure how much longer you have the self-control for that to be enough.

“You can just pull out,” you mutter against Dean’s cheek, while his hard cock is pressed against the outside of your thigh and you run your hand over him. Dean’s eyes are closed, and he’s frowning a little, looking pretty as a picture.

“Too risky. Can’t believe I paid more attention in sex ed than you did,” he says, voice a little cracked and you grin, snuggle closer to him.

“Please, Dean, I want to feel you,” you say, and he groans.

“Darlin’,” he says, tone a little warning but it’s tough to be authoritative with him leaking against your thigh.

“Come on, a girl can’t live on come alone,” you say, voice slightly petulant, referring to the egregious amount of blowjobs you’ve given him in the last 48 hours. Dean huffs, then opens his eyes, looking into yours only a few inches from him.

“Fuck it,” he says and rolls you over on your back, gets on top of you, making you squeak. He kisses you, hard and needy, and then he’s pushing your legs apart. He presses against you, your thighs tensing from how sensitive you are, and when he notices he goes slower.

That means you get to watch his face, get to see every detail of his expression as he enters you bare for the first time.

“Holy shit,” he says and then looks down at where your bodies are meeting. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

You want to say something about how cussing like that will send him to hell, again, but you can’t, because he’s right. It’s different and it’s better and it’s everything you’ve been dreaming of. You raise your head so that your forehead meets his as you whimper, the sheer feeling of his skin directly against your most sensitive parts overwhelming.

You look at Dean’s lips as he slowly continues pushing into you, then pulls out almost all the way again, before pushing back in until you can feel his pelvis pressed against you. You lift one leg up high and Dean hooks it against his side, allowing him to go deeper.

“Oh God, you feel so amazing,” you stutter, and Dean barely manages to nod.

“Don’t know how long I can keep this up,” he says, voice cracking. “You feel too damn good, gonna come in no time.” He picks up his pace a little, and you sling your free leg around him instead of answering, pull him closer.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he says, voice warning, and you know he’s not far off.

“Come inside me, Dean,” you whisper, and his eyes go wide for a second. “Don’t care, I just want to feel you, feel your come inside me.”

“Fuck,” Dean groans, and instead of pulling away, he goes faster, making your head drop back and moan his name.

“Want me to fill you up, is that it?” he asks, and his words send such an intense flash of arousal through you that you clench down on him. Dean groans, but he isn’t done with whatever magical dirty talk he has for you. “You want me to get you nice and knocked up?”

You don’t, not really, but the way he is saying it, the risk and the primality of it make you desperately pull at him.

“Yes,” you huff, moving your hips to meet Dean’s movements, your leg still keeping him close to you. “Yes, oh God, yes, Dean!”

It’s not clear if he expected what he’s saying to have that kind of effect on you, but he looks damn happy with the results. His hips move faster, and with one hand he cups your face, steadying you so that you can’t turn away from him.

“You’d look so beautiful with my babies inside you,” he almost groans and you wrap your arm around his neck, pull him close.

“Fuck, Dean, just—don’t… stop!” is all you can say before you are coming, your lower body bucking up, high pitched whines leaving you.

Dean keeps thrusting into you, uncoordinated now and then he stills, pressing his face against yours as he pumps his come into you. You can actually feel the spread of warmth and it’s the goddamn nicest thing in the world.

Dean’s head falls forward, and he rests on your shoulder, grinding into you a few more times to ride out his high, and it makes his spendings seep out of you, and that’s a sensation you’re not likely to forget anytime soon. He gives one more groan, and then both of you are quiet. You absent-mindedly run your fingers through the short hair at the back of his head.

After a few seconds, Dean needs to pull out and roll off you and you gasp as you feel more of what he left you with leaks out of you. It makes Dean look down at you, and he raises his eyebrows.

He pushes himself up a little, towards you again. Then, for the grand finale, he takes his still hard cock in his hand, crowds in close to you and runs its head against your entrance to collect what has run out of you. Then he pushes back into you again. You whimper at the feeling, the sensitivity, but also at the warmth.

“Oh fuck,” you whine.

“That… is very hot,” he says, and looks back up at your face when you chuckle.

“Yeah?” you ask, voice a little broken. “How hot is it going to be when we have to ask Sam to get me the morning-after pill before he comes here tomorrow?” Dean chuckles, drops his head down. He pulls out of you again, the emptiness disappointing, but then he opens his arm for you to move in, lay your head against his chest.

“I’m sure Sammy will love that,” he says, and you grin. Dean’s hand lands on your shoulder, and he caresses it for a while, before turning his head towards you, his mouth close to your ear.

“Or we risk it?” he whispers to you. “Could be fun.”

You grab for a nearby pillow and swing at his face. Dean raises his hand in time but it makes him laugh.

“You are a damn fool, Dean Winchester,” you say and Dean pulls you close, pins your arms and throws a leg over you.

“Just saying,” he says as you snuggle against him. “I meant what I said. You would look hot pregnant.”

[zepskies]

Hey! I just wanna start with saying that I read, I think, nearly every work you posted (all the Jensen’s ones at least) and I absolutely loved all of them. I mean the writing and the storylines are really amazing and I think you’re an incredible writer!! <3

Now I myself want, maybe not publish, but even just to write for myself a story. A Dean’s fanfic to be exact. I have an idea in my head of the story that I’ve slowly been building for the last year through imagining. I even wrote down a few bullet points ideas so I’ll have something to begin with, but I have no idea how to continue from here.

When it comes to verbal expressions, I have no idea what to do, or developing a plot, also clueless. Just the whole writing process no fucking idea, but I really want to learn.

So I was really hoping if you could give me some advices on how to write a story, how to develop the plot, how to write characters, original ones or ones that already exist in the media, without you know the story sounding like an AI wrote it or a 13 yo on wattpad.

Thank you very much ahead and have a lovely day!!<3 <3

Wow, thank you very much! I'm glad you enjoy my writing. It always makes me so happy when people give me feedback on my stories. 🥰🥰 And that's awesome that you want to start writing your own story with Dean!

You're on the right track with the bullet points -- it sounds like you're starting to create a loose outline. If you want to know a bit about my writing process, that's exactly where I start after creating the initial idea/paragraph synopsis of the story I want to write.

There are two kinds of writers, in my opinion:

Architects: writers who outline.

Adventurers: writers who freeform.

(More on this, my process, + some of my favorite creative writing resources and tips below the cut):

In most respects, I consider myself an Architect. My brain craves structure. So the way I beat writer's block while working on a project is by having a roadmap of what's going to happen next. That's thanks to my outline.

Even if you find yourself more of a freeformer, you can develop some kind of pre-writing plan, whether that's creating a list of character bios, starting with the basic 3-Act triangle, or writing out a handful of bullet points to get you going.

For my personal process, I'll go from creating the basic premise/summary, to some loose bullet points of the story structure, to then fleshing out into full outlining of each chapter and scene, and finally drafting (and editing).

While I'm outlining, I'm also doing research and fact-checking as needed to get me through to the next scene and the next, until the end. My "roadmap" tends to be very detailed, so when I get to the drafting part, all I should have to reference is my outline.

Now, this doesn't mean that plot points won't change, or get switched around, or get chucked entirely. But if I have the blueprints of the house, I can change a window or a door, or even a whole support beam here and there, so to speak.

As far as the actual development of plot, character arcs, and good dialogue, I would really recommend you take a creative writing class! There are probably free ones online, but there are also a lot of other great resources. Here are a few I can share with you:

On Storytelling:

Save the Cat - Blake Snyder's theory on storytelling is one of the most popular across screenwriting and novel writing, and you can apply it to your fanfic. Above all, story is story, no matter the medium. Pay special attention to Snyder's Beat Sheets. You can begin to figure out the plot of the story using that as a guide.

11 Plot Types to Build Your Novel - linked this earlier in the post, but putting it again here.

5 Tips for Beating Writer's Block - One of my posts that could help you get unstuck, if/when you do get stuck (we've ALL been there).

Joseph Campbell - The Hero's Journey - Very common in coming of age stories, origin stories (as in superheroes), and high fantasy.

Narratology - Mieke Bal - One of my favorite books on narrative elements and technique. Literally a study of narrative.

On Dialogue:

Good scenes are built with a balance of smart and necessary dialogue, and exposition (what's happening in the scene, description of the characters' actions and thoughts/inner monologues, and any atmospheric details).

Dialogue is about how the characters are interacting with each other. It's about creating a moment where subtext is important -- meaning that what isn't said is just as important as what is being said. A scene can shift in tone from humor, to angst, to hurt/comfort, to fluff, etc. For me, these shifts most often happen when I'm writing the characters' dialogue with each other.

Characters should have distinct voices. When writing fanfiction, I'm always trying to make sure the canon characters sound like themselves in their dialogue and inner thoughts, as well as act like they would, based on their personality traits (including strengths, weaknesses, and insecurities).

How to Write Great Dialogue (Masterclass article)

Tips for Writing Dialogue

How to Write Dialogue in Fiction

How to Write Good Dialogue in a Novel

On Creating Compelling Character Arcs:

This goes hand-in-hand when you're developing the plot, because in my opinion, the best stories are character-driven. Meaning that their choices shape how the narrative moves. On the whole, things don't just happen to characters -- they made decisions that have either positive or negative consequences.

Characters have a goal that they're aiming for, and of course, there should be obstacles that try and prevent the main characters from getting that thing.

Torment Your Hero in 8 Steps

Joseph Campbell's Hero Journey (linked above) can also help to craft an epic character arc. Note: you don't need to include all those steps in a story.

The Structure of Romance - a basic structure of the genre (basically of romantic comedies), but not the end-all-be-all of writing romance stories. Reread or rewatch your favorite romances! Take a look at the structure and see what similarities you find and what aspects you want to include in your own story.

Basically, there's nothing new under the sun, but you can still create your own story with your own unique voice based on the aspects of relationships, character archetypes, worlds, genres, and tropes that bring you joy! 💜

Thanks for dropping into my inbox, hun! Let me know if any of this helps. 😉

[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 4

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.

(4530 Words)

Divider credits: @dollywons, @anitalenia, @selysie

(y/n) had woken up, She felt something warm next to her only to realize when she adjusted her eyes a sleeping Dean. She relaxed on her respective side worrying if she even touched him he might jolt awake. Her thoughts were winding over the memories from last night, the people were right. He is a sex god as people assumed. She quietly got up from bed and put on his dress shirt to cover everything up, she buttoned up the buttons halfway and rolled up her sleeves. As she began walking out the door the bright light made her squint. She looked down her legs to get her face away from the light, when she looked down she saw many Hickeys on her inner thighs. She didn’t even want to think about that. Her heart began racing the more she saw on her lower chest. She took a deep breath, adjusted her eyes to the bright sun, and walked to the kitchen. (y/n) wasn’t much of a cook but she sure knew how to make a “good breakfast” as Jess calls it. 

It took a while for (y/n) to look for the proper things she needed to make the food, like pans, utensils, and all that junk. When she opened the fridge she saw many ingredients for cooking. She smirked knowing she had everything she needed. When gathering all the items she found a radio so she didn’t hesitate to turn it on and lower the volume so Dean wouldn't hear the ruckus going on down in the kitchen. The only thing (y/n) knew from this house was that she was poor. He had so many mechanical uses in the kitchen it felt like deciphering a code. It couldn’t be this complicated. She took her phone and looked up the certain uses for the stove. This stove to her looked like the fucking space shuttle for all she knew. Then she began cooking, cutting up some chilies for spice, and adding some seasonings for that nice flavor. She turned on the radio and began tapping her feet to the beat and swaying her hips softly to the rhythm while humming. 

Dean heard some clattering in the kitchen and the smell of fresh breakfast around the room. He looked to next him and saw the empty side, he silently frowned. Why did he have this sudden urge last night that he was almost looking forward to waking up next to her? He put on some sweatpants and a random shirt he had lying on the floor. He came out of the room and heard some slight clattering and music. “Whole Lotta Love” By Led Zepplin was playing softly around the kitchen, he saw her putting the vegetables in a glass bowl while she was shaking her body softly. Dean smirked and sat down at the kitchen island with his arms resting on the table. She turned around and jumped. “You’re awake?” she asked still a little shocked he suddenly showed up. He smirked and scoffed, “You seem very energetic this mornin’ sweetheart.” He said. “Sorry to intrude, just wanted to make you a nice breakfast.” she smiled hoping he would be okay with it. He nodded while looking up and down her body only wearing his dress shirt with nothing underneath. 

“It’s alright, I don’t really make a lot for myself anyways just diners, especially the ones that look like are hanging on by a thread and looks like it hasn’t been certified by the FDA are the best in town.” He smiled. “So what are you makin’?” 

(y/n) smiled, “Well I’ve just finished making omelets, sausage, and bacon. What did you want?” she asked holding up an empty plate with one hand and a utensil in the other. Dean was almost starstruck, no woman he’s ever had this contract with has ever really done this for him. He smiled with his green eyes and told her he wanted everything. She immediately took note and began serving his plate, Once she put it down in front of him she poured some orange juice in a cup and placed that next to him before she served for herself. As they sat side by side together they never spoke about last night. As amazing as it was she couldn’t say anything. What was she even to say after he basically signed her to be his personal submissive and took her virginity? Thank you?  “How is it?” she asked him while chewing on her bacon. 

“This is delicious,” he said with a full mouth of eggs. She laughed at the scene and used her napkin to wipe some egg off the side of his mouth, “You know for a multi-billionaire you are pretty messy.” she said giggling. When Dean swallowed the rest of his food he smiled. When breakfast was finished and (y/n) was gathering up the dishes Dean stopped her. He took her hand and led her to the bathroom “Let’s get you cleaned up.”. Dean took off his shirt and sweatpants, (y/n) immediately took the signal slowly unbuttoned the shirt she had on, and stepped into the tub of warm water. Dean stepped in behind her as took a clean sponge and began cleaning her back slowly. His hand came upon her waist. Hi shand went lower and lower till his fingers were at her core. She gasped from the sudden sensation, Dean put the sponge down and leaned her against his chest. Her head laid back on his shoulder as his fingers began going in and out of her pussy. Her hand went to his wrist but he immediately grabbed it and pinned her hand behind her. “Oh fuck, don’t stop, don’t stop. She moaned quietly. He went faster and curled up his fingers to hit her G-spot. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he released his fingers before she was about to cum. He got up from the bathtub and gave her a towel before getting his own. He led her to his bedroom and told her to wait. He went to his closet and opened a drawer. This drawer had cubicles that stored his ties, one particular one struck out. It was a nice grey tie with a few dark blue stripes coming down the tie. He came back to her only a towel wrapped around her. “Do you trust me, Princess?” he said to her roughly. 

“Yes,” she breathed out. He took the towel off her and laid her down on the bed, “Give me your wrists.” he demanded. She did what she was told and tied his tie around her wrists making them bound. He got on top of her and placed her hands above her. He began nipping at her ear down to her collarbone while his other hand was groping her tits. His open mouth kisses went down to her breast and he started sucking her nipple. Her gasps from the sudden pleasure echoed in the room. She began twitching her hands wanting to grab something, his hair or his back. “Be a good girl and stay still,” he whispered in her ear. “Okay.” she moaned out. 

“Dean!” yelled out “Dean get out of bed I know you’re still asleep!” Yelled out women from the distance. (y/n) was confused, “who’s that?” she asked panting as Dean grabbed her wrists and began untying the bound. “Ellen, a family friend,” he said. She began giggling at the situation, “I’m here on your bed naked.” she whispered. Dean smirked at her while he softly threw his shirt and her jeans from last night. “Get dressed,” he said before kissing her forehead. (y/n) quickly threw on a bra and buttoned up the shirt like she did this morning. As she put on her jeans the voices were getting louder. “

Ellen was waiting at the entrance of the penthouse looking for Dean, she knew damn well he was probably sleeping, especially at this hour. “Ah, good morning sleeping beauty.” She joked. Dean smiled and hugged her, “Hey Ellen, what brings you by?” 

“I can’t stop by? Your father’s brains soaked into that pretty head of yours or what?” she said. (y/n) walked out of the hallway and into the room, “Hi.” she smiled politely. Ellen looked almost shocked to see a girl in Dean’s house. “Oh my god…” Back when Dean was a teenager he would hook up with every girl in town whenever he moved schools, but when he became serious about his business and had a reputation to uphold he stopped and hasn’t introduced the Winchester family to any women in years. Not since… 

“I didn’t know you were seein' someone, Dean you dog. And you didn’t say she was pretty.” (y/n)’s smile widened, “Oh thank you so are you.” She said shaking her hand. “Well I really just stopped by 'cause I was in the neighborhood,” Ellen began walking out while Dean followed her. “Well, Sam just got a promotion and we’ll be havin’ a celebratory dinner at your dad’s house. You’re more than welcome to join us.” Ellen said to (y/n). (y/n)’s phone rang in the middle of the conversation, “Go ahead take it, Ellen I’ll walk ya out.” he said gesturing to her phone. (y/n) nodded and mouthed ‘thank you’ before walking into the hallway and answering the phone. “Hello,” she answered. 

“So, you stayed the night, how’d it go?” Jessica responded smugly. (y/n) laughed, “I can’t talk about it right now Jess,” She said, “I’ll call you back ok?” she said before hanging up. As she walked down the hallway, she walked into the room that was ‘hers’ like Dean had mentioned last night. As she sat down on the vanity, took her thumb, and licked her finger, she then began taking away the mascara that was under her eye and began fixing her hair which was still a bit damp from the bath and activities earlier. She saw Dean in the reflection of the mirror. (y/n) kept a straight face as he came up behind her. “Tell me the truth…how many women have been in this room?” she said looking at herself in the mirror. 

“15,” He said, “I can understand if you want out-” 

“I don’t want out.” she clarified. “It’s just, not looking forward to getting smacked and whipped in your red room of pain,” she said quietly looking at him through her reflection. “The room is more about pleasure…I promise. Try to keep an open mind sweetheart.” He took her chin and turned her away from the mirror to face him, “If you agree, then I will be fully devoted to you…no one else. This is what I want And I want it with you.” he said. (y/n) got up from the vanity and began pacing the room from thinking, “But what about sleeping together, we slept in the same bed last night what makes other times so different?” she asked, Dean took a small breath, “Try not to get so beat up with the sleeping arrangements, if you do this you’re gonna want your own room.” He said. (y/n) looked down and scoffed, “Why? Cause I���ll just be used for sex?” she said. Dean pinched between his eyebrows in frustration, “Let’s not talk here, let’s discuss downstairs.” he said taking her arm which she immediately snatched back. “I would like to use the rest of my freedom thank you,” she said before walking away. “Actually no, I want to go home. Take me home.” she smiled before getting her jacket and walking out. Dean secretly smirked. She was feisty, she was not all the way submissive to him. He liked the game she was playing and wanted to play more. 

A couple minutes later Dean took her to the garage. It looked like a parking garage you would find in those shopping malls. It was lined up with beautiful Classic Cars, including the Chevy Impala he drove her in. “All these are yours?” she said in disbelief. “Yes,” he responded. He took her to a 67, Mercury Monterey and opened the door for her, she got in the car and Dean began making the long drive back to (y/n)’s apartment. After a few hours (y/n) was asleep peacefully, Dean looked to his side and found her leaning on the window. So he decided to tell her someplace special. He took her to a small pit stop, He took some hair away from her face and she began moving and opened her eyes. “C’mon, let's go for a walk,” he said. (y/n) stretched out her arms and legs and got out of the car. As they began walking through the small trail she smiled, “Is this the place where you’re gonna kill me or something?” she joked. He didn’t say anything so her smile went down. After a few minutes of quietness she spoke up, “Why did you decide to do this anyways?” she asked. 

Dean became tense, “My father was always controlling of my brother and me. When my mom died he treated us like soldiers when I was 6 and it never stopped, all I wanted for once was to tell him what to do, tell people to do my bidding like he did, He was my father, and I looked up to him. So…apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. No one, not even Sam knows about this part about me” (y/n) was a bit shocked yet afraid. “So he introduced to be a leader? Mr. Sergeant.” she half-joked. Dean chuckled, “I'll tell him you said that.” he said. They stopped walking when they found a small river and a bench. (y/n) sat down on the bench and looked out the view. Dean sat down next to her. “He still sometimes treats me like a mini him, but I’m sure he did it only to protect me and my brother. Listen (y/n), I know this plan is very intimidating I understand.” 

(y/n) looked at him, “I’ve never asked Benny to take anyone in the Helicopter, never had sex in my own bed, and never slept next to anyone…but you.” She looked at him and smiled softly. “Well isn’t that comforting.” she sarcassed. Dean pushed her strands of hair back behind her ear and kissed her lips softly. When they broke apart her eyes were still closed and opened them up slowly for Dean to look at her and kiss her head. He took her hand and led her back on the trail and into the car to take her home. 

An hour later they finally arrived, Dean went to her side, opened the glove box, and took out a yellow file slip filled with a packet. “Here is the contract, read it carefully. E-mail me if you have any questions.” He said. “Dean I already told you my computer is acting all weird.” 

“Just consider it ok. I genuinely hope you say yes,” he said. (y/n) nodded and got out of the car.  “Thanks for everything,” she said. “Later’s darlin’” (y/n) smiled whenever he mimicked it brother. When she opened the door to her apartment. “Alright, and you are all set.” a male voice echoed the apartment. (y/n) immediately walked into the living room and saw a man in a polo shirt on her laptop, “Your roommate let me in.” he smiled 

“I just figured you forgot to tell me someone was coming to fix up your computer, do I look okay?” Jess said. “Wait Jess hold on, I’m sorry I think you may have the wrong apartment,” she said. The man looked into his clipboard “(y/n) (l/n)?” (y/n) looked a little shocked yet confused. “Sign here please,” he asked. She took the pen and signed the paper. “Thank you enjoy,” he said walking out the door, 

“So, another gift. Whatever happened to flowers, teddy bears, and chocolates?” Jessica laughed. “Tell me, I’m dying to hear about last night. And this time let's speed this up because Sam is taking me to dinner in 10 minutes and then we’re seeing a movie” she smiled. “Oh I almost forgot, James called you like three times yesterday and one time this morning.” (y/n) let out a breath.” Hey, you got a package or something?” she asked looking at the yellow folder in her hands (y/n) panicked but kept it smooth. “Oh no, Castiel wanted me to go over a few articles before we publish them so he sent me a sample for this month’s issue,” she said. Jess had a worried look on her face, “That seems like a lot. Want me to help you?” she asked. (y/n) shook her head. “Oh no, no, it’s ok I got it.”Jess smiled, “Well anyways here’s yesterday's mail.” she said gesturing to the small pile of envelopes for (y/n). (y/n) began going through them while Jessica just smirked at her. (y/n) looked up and laughed, “What? Why are you looking at me like that you weirdo.” she said. “I’m going to ignore that insult. But you look different, in a good way,” she said genuinely. The girls turned their heads to the window when they heard a car horn. Jessica went to the window and saw Sam waiting downstairs for her. She smiled and gave him a small air kiss. She immediately got her purse and ran to the door. “I’ll see you later (y/n), I might stay late so don’t hold up,” she said before closing the door. (y/n) saw her laptop on the table and went to it. It was fixed and looked almost brand new. Until she found out it was new, the box for it was underneath her chair. A ping from the laptop went through. It was from Dean. 

Thank you for a very interesting weekend, This laptop is yours and yours only. I’d like you to use it for research. 

 -Dean

(y/n) bit the inside of her cheek trying to think, she began typing back. 

So this is how it’s going to work out? You order me around?” 

After a few minutes, he responded 

Yes, and there’s more, you’ll like it. 

(y/n) smiled to herself. She looked to her side and saw the folder. She pushed the laptop away and opened it. It was a small packet which was the official contract. As she was reading it she got undressed and onto her bed. 

The following are the terms of a binding contract between the dominant and the Submissive. The fundamental purpose of this contract is to allow the submissive to explore her sensuality and her limits safely. The dominant and the submissive agree and acknowledge that all that occurs under the terms of this contract will be consensual, confidential, and subject to the agreed limits and safety procedures set out in this contract. The submissive will agree to any sexual activity deemed fit and pleasurable by the dominant excepting those hard activities outlined in Hard Limits. The submissive agrees to procure oral contraception from a physician of the dominants’s choosing. The submissive will not enter into sexual relations with anyone other than the dominant. The submissive will eat regularly to maintain her health and well-being. The submissive will not excessively drink, smoke, or take any recreational drugs. The submissive shall always conduct herself in a respectful manner to the dominant and she’ll address him only as “sir” or “Mr. Winchester.” or such other title as the dominant may direct. The submissive may not touch the dominant without his express permission to do so. The safeword “yellow” will be used to bring to the attention of the dominant that the submissive is close to her limit. When the safeword “red” is spoken, the dominant’s action will cease completely and immediately 

Does the submissive consent to being restrained, with hands bound in front?

Does the submissive consent to being blindfolded? 

Does the submissive consent to being gagged?

(y/n) put the packet away in the folder, she took a deep breath and decided she would think about it. A few days later she and Jess were cleaning up and packaging boxes in their offices to move to the floor up. “So have you been speaking to your little friend,” Jessica asked. (y/n) smiled, yes I have, it’s been casual mostly.” Jessica smiled, “Well I'm going to the cafe to get us a small break coffee.” (y/n) nodded and took out her phone to text Dean. 

Dean was with his brother and John at a shooting range. He felt the vibrations in his pocket and saw the message, 

“Currently busy packing for that new office. Missing that tie.” Dean smirked and liked the message. But there were no other messages for (y/n) accepting the contract. “Dean let's go!” John ordered. He put his phone away and pulled out his gun to shoot some rounds. 

After a few more days, Dean was in a business meeting and saw no other messages from (y/n). Later that night (y/n) was in bed watching a movie while Jess was out with Sam. 

“I’m not getting any younger. Have you read the contract yet?” (y/n) liked that he was impatient, and thought she would give him a taste of his own medicine. Although she was pleased she wanted to search up more of the submissive stuff. So she looked it up online and saw the many examples. She immediately blushed and closed the laptop.

The next day at work she got a new email. 

“Growing impatient. Have you thought about it?” (y/n) smiled. 

“Yes. It was nice knowing you,” she responded in a teasing manner. When Dean saw the message his jaw clenched.

When (y/n) went home Jessica was gone. She and Sam have been going on so many dates she basically lives with him. (y/n) decided to do a little spring cleaning and clean her room. She was humming a song while she was bringing in a basket full of laundry. Dean came in with a bottle of his own wine brand and two glasses, wearing his regular getup of flannel and jeans But when she turned around she gasped out in fear putting her hand on her chest, “God Dean you scare me. H-how did you even get in here?” she smiled. 

Dean had on an angry look, “It’s been knowing me?” He said in a low voice clearly angry. He put down the cups took her wrists and pulled her close to him. His hands went to her hair and down to her back. “Let me just remind you how nice it was princess,” he said slowly.

He pushed her onto her bed and climbed on top of her. He pulled out the same grey tie. “This is what you wanted, I’ll give you what you want,” he growled. (y/n) put her wrists out for him and tied the tie to her wrists and onto her headboard. He began getting off her and took off her leggings and panties in one go. “Don’t even make a sound,” he said. She looked at him and nodded. He climbed back on her and lifted her shirt up to her face to cover her eyes. He began massaging her tits and kissing her collarbone. He got off her and took off his shirt and pants. He took some wine and drank some before getting back on top of her. He began kissing her roughly before grabbing a piece of ice from an empty wine glass and holding it in his rough hands before putting it in his mouth. He dragged the cold ice from her collarbone to the nipples of her tits. She gasped at the sudden sensation trying to keep quiet like he told her to. He continued dragging it down to her lower stomach before stopping. “Is this nice?” he said. 

Before (y/n) could answer he flipped her like she was nothing, and smacked her ass hard before grabbing her hips and lifting her legs making her arch. He grabbed a condom and ripped it open with his teeth and put it on himself. His rough hands smoothed over the skin of her ass before he inserted his dick through her glistening wet folds. He began going rough, his thrusts were like he promised, it was quick. She moaned out loud but she covered her mouth with the pillow underneath her. Dean fanned out his hand and placed it on her back to push her more into the mattress which made her arch even more from pleasure. “‘M fuck, go harder.” she pleaded. Dean smirked giving her what she wanted, It was almost primal the way he fucked her. The sounds of skin slapping against each other echoed echoing her small bedroom

"fuck, sweetheart," he rasps, voice thick. Her legs were shaking unable to hold onto herself much longer. He was relentless at this pace she begged for. She couldn’t say anything anymore except for broken whimpers and half moans she could barely let out. Dean pulled out, took off the condom, and cummed on her back and her ass. He let out a groan as he saw the ropes of cum land on her lower back. She let out a moan once more as Dean cleaned her up. He flipped her on her back and untied her. 

A few hours later Dean was in her bed at night, their legs were entangled together as his hand was on his chest. They just were looking at each other not making any small talk. It was a comfortable silence. “That was nice.” she smiled. Dean could only smirk and look at the features on her face. “I don’t know what you’re doing to me,” he said softly. (y/n) put her hand on his cheek and ran her fingers through his messy hair. Dean put his hand on her wrists and put her hand down. She looked down for a bit. “Sorry,” she whispered. She looked at his chest, it was sweaty from a few minutes ago, besides the flashy tattoo on his peck she saw scars on his body, they looked like burn marks and scratches. “Are you ok?” she asked touching his chest in worry. Before she could even put her full-on hand on him he stopped her. She gasped at the sudden movement. “I’m sorry, is it breaking the rules?” she asked. Dean looked at her softly, “Have you made up your mind yet.” he asked. 

“I-I don’t know yet” he didn’t let her finish, he got up and took her legs off him before getting dressed. “You’re not staying?” she asked covering herself up. “I told you I don’t sleep with anyone.” He said. “I’ll negotiate that.” She responded. Dean smiled and kissed her cheek before walking out the door. When she heard the door closed she immediately sighed and fell back on her bed. She had a plan.

Taglist: @applelovesposts @ladykitana90 @cevansbaby-dove

A/N: First of all, my bad for keeping this chapter hostage. I promise I'm writing it's just lots of stuff going on right now so I've just been putting this off. Forgive me lol. Anyways, yay new chapter, so fun. Hope you guys enjoy this one, and once the first book is finished I will be posting a master list of all my stories so you guys have easy access to find them. bare with me yall. Hope you guys enjoy this chapter let me know if you like it! :)

[my-stories-vault]

Damn. Let the scavenger hunt began!

Soulmates? Yeah, right, pft. - Ch. 3

When you turn sixteen, and your soulmate's name doesn’t appear anywhere on your body that you can find, you figure you had to be the only person on the planet who didn’t have one. Most of the town shuns you, so you stick close to family. Your Aunt Ellen raised you after your parents died in a car crash when you were two, but what happens when the Winchesters return to town and buried secrets begin to come to light?

Pairing: Mechanic Dean Winchester x OC Reader/You

Word Count: 1960

Warnings: Angst, Past Trauma, Alcohol.

A/N: This is my non-Supernatural fic I'm attempting. Please let me know what you think, as I always love hearing from my readers. Not sure when this one will be up and available to read yet. Just getting the chapter list started for it.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 3

The next few weeks were odd, but at least things had gotten into a rhythm at the garage. With Dean there, the other four stopped treating you like they would have if he weren’t there. It was something you wanted to ask him about but had refused to ask questions that were too personal in your mind. 

John came around, a lot, and it made you slightly nervous that first week. His presence was unsettling, and if it hadn’t been for Jodi, you probably never would have relaxed around the man. She just had a way with people, and you loved watching how she interacted with them. 

Sadly, Sam had only stayed for a few days before he went back to California for school and to his soulmate. Dean told you about her. She seemed like a nice girl, and for some reason, you were intrigued, wanting to meet her one day, but you weren’t entirely sure why.

When the third week started, Bobby assigned you and Dean a project. One of the locals had gotten into an accident, and the car was all but totaled—barely. The owner was sentimental and wanted it restored, so you knew you’d be busy for a few weeks with this one, until you learned Dean would be your other hand on the job.

“Looks like we’re working together, Sweetheart,” Dean smirked, joining you as you made mental notes on the list of things you’d need to order.

“I don’t mind,” you answered nonchalantly, more focused on your mental list than him.

You finally grabbed the pad for the parts list and started jotting down the obvious items before opening all the doors and the hood. Dean just watched you, intrigued by your process and smitten by the tender attention you gave the car. He wanted to help, but he also didn’t want to get in your way either.

When you slid under the car, he crouched down so he could continue watching you. Your hair was pulled back in a braid to keep it out of your face, even if there were a few loose strands that he noticed. The way your expression gave away how the wheels turned in your mind, and your fingers seemed to dance along the parts, silently mouthing words before you’d grab your pad and write something down.

After sliding out from under the car, you looked over at Dean, who was still watching you, “Could you give this list to Bobby, please?”

“Sure,” he replied with a smile, taking the pad from you.

Since you and Dean were working together, you took your breaks together. You found it odd that Dean didn’t take his breaks with the boys, though. When you asked him about it, he said he wanted to get to know you better. So, the two of you talked, about all sorts of things. 

By day three, the two of you were joking around while you worked on the car. You didn’t want to admit it, but it felt nice to have someone to talk to, joke around with, and hang out with. Then, there was everything that the two of you had in common. That surprised the hell out of you.

You never thought of Dean as anything other than a co-worker and eventual friend. The man was attractive, but it was all his other qualities that made you know he’d make his soulmate happy when he found her. He was kind, sweet, funny, and he even acted like a kid sometimes. The way he smiled in so many different ways, revealing what he felt when paired with the look in his eyes, was beautiful beyond words.

The days passed quickly, with the two of you tackling the car together, and the conversation between the two of you made it seem as though you’d barely begun work by the time the shift was over. You were finally able to relax around him and be yourself, which you hadn’t gotten to do around anyone who wasn’t family.

When the two of you finished the job, you stood before it, beaming with pride, looking down at the car. Dean, though, had his eyes on you. Benny’s whistle pulled your attention as he walked over. Dean quickly looked away from you and at Benny.

“Looks good. You two team up nice,” he stated while admiring the car.

“Thanks,” you replied a little shyly. 

It was the first compliment Benny had ever given you, and you weren’t entirely sure how to take it. 

“Thanks, Benny. Couldn’t have done it without her,” Dean replied proudly, giving you a gentle pat on your shoulder. “She’s skilled when it comes to cars. Might even let her help me with Baby one day.”

Your head snapped up, and you looked at Dean, shocked but also confused. You knew he never let anyone touch his car, just like you with yours. They were both your pride and joy, and neither of you trusted anyone else to give the love deserved to work on them. You also weren’t sure how to respond.

“So, we celebratin’, since she’s finished?” Benny asked, his hands on his hips, still looking at the car.

“Drinks at Harvelle’s tonight, say around seven?” Dean answered with that smirk of his.

“I’ll tell the guys,” he replied, now sporting a smirk of his own before he walked away.

That was when Dean looked down at you, “Do you want to come too? It’s something the five of us used to do when I worked here before. I’m buyin’.”

You sighed silently and looked away from him, “I’m pretty sure they’d enjoy it more if I wasn’t there, but thanks for inviting me.”

Dean set his hands on your shoulders and gently turned you so that you were facing him. “You did more than half the work. You deserve to celebrate, too. The guys might surprise you, but…” he trailed off and sighed, then let his hands fall to his sides. “If you don’t want to go, I understand.”

Looking up at him, he looked so dejected, and you felt bad for declining his offer. “Tell you what. I’ll go, but if things get weird, I’m gonna head out.”

He instantly smiled like a happy kid, which made you chuckle a little, “Then I’ll see you tonight, Sweetheart.”

“See you tonight, Dean,” you chuckled, finding him fairly adorable.

You headed to Bobby’s office, but stopped just outside the door, hearing not only Bobby but also John and Jodie. You hadn’t noticed either of them come into the garage earlier, as your entire focus had been on finishing the car.

“We’ve only got three months left. Have you found anything out on your end, John?” Jodi asked, frustrated.

“Sam’s been trying. We know it wasn’t an accident. So far, there’s no way to fight the contract. The lawyers that drew it up were good with wording the fine print,” John replied with a heavy sigh.

“I’m not letting that monster have her, John. I’ll shoot him if he shows up,” Bobby growled.

“We still can’t find the original document. That would nullify the one that monster has,” Jodi added.

“Sam’s trying. We don’t know where Y/P/L/N’s hid it. There are only a handful of people that this has happened to. At least she and Dean are friends, so there’s some hope,” John sighed.

Your heart felt like it not only stopped but was also going to pound right out of your chest. For a moment, you were frozen in place but quickly composed yourself and put on that fake smile again. With a deep breath, you knocked on the door.

“Car’s done,” you told them loud enough so they could hear through the closed door.

“Come in, kid,” Bobby told you.

The air in the room seemed thick with tension, but they all had those faked smiles on, and you knew it was for you. Jodi was standing next to Bobby, who was behind his desk. John in the chair across from it. “Here’s the keys. The owner should be pleased with the work,” you smiled, setting the keys on Bobby’s desk.

“Thanks, kid. Why don’t you take the rest of the afternoon off, relax a little? You’ve been workin’ hard the last two and a half weeks,” Bobby told you, but you saw the concern of something in his eyes.

“Sounds good. Nice to see you, Jodi, John,” you replied, still giving that fake smile as you headed out of the office, closing the door behind you.

That smile instantly faded, though, as your chest tightened and your thoughts ran rampant. Swallowing hard, you couldn’t manage a deep breath and headed toward your car. Dean watched you, frowning, but he didn’t follow you. Instead, he went to the office without knocking just as you reached your car.

I’m the only she Dean has been hanging out with, and we are friends. What legal stuff is connected to the two of us and not just to Dean? Why did they go silent when I went into the office? What the hell aren’t they telling me? The only other thing happening in three months is my birthday.

Is something going to happen to me on my birthday? Who would Bobby have been calling a monster? What does that have to do with me? And to top it off, what the hell does this have to do with my parents?

There were far too many questions, and no one you could even ask for answers. They circled through your mind like a tornado while you drove, while you showered, and even when you attempted to relax. Near five, after spacing off and on for the last three hours, you went to your room, sat on your bed, and picked up the picture frame that held a picture of your parents. Your mother was holding you, with your father standing behind her. Both of them looked happy. The one-year-old child in their arms was sporting a happy smile as well. 

I wish I could have gotten to know the two of you.

You sighed and flipped the frame over, unclipped the backing, and pulled out the almost twenty-five-year-old piece of paper you’d hidden there, years ago. It was a letter your mother had written to you a couple of days before you were born. You’d found it shortly after your sixteenth birthday when you were going through things in the house. It had been hidden well.

Y/N, You’ll be here soon, and you won’t understand this until you are much older. Just know we both love you more than words will ever say. This home is yours. We would have loved to raise you, but we know that we won’t live to see your third birthday. Let this home be your sanctuary away from the world. It has many hidden things that you’ll find over time. Think of it like a scavenger hunt. Each thing you find will help you heal from what is going to happen to us. The more of these things you find, the more things will make sense. I can’t put too much here, in case this is found by someone else. We love you, and we’ll be watching you from heaven. Trust your family. They’ll be there when you need them. Love, Your Parents

You’d read the letter numerous times and searched the house more times than you could count. But after hearing the three in the office today, you had a new determination growing inside. It was like a tiny ember that was quickly growing into a raging fire.

Time to search this place again. Only this time, I need answers to keep myself safe.

----------------------------------------- Chapter 4

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[supernotnatural2005]

The Arrangement - Part Three

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: You and Dean come to an arrangement to navigate what is happening between you. However, is it just a sure fire way to complicate things even more?

Word Count: 5.9k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!(18+ONLY!!!) like double smut 😅, fluff, the usual idiots in denial, mentions of non-major character death.

AN: Here we are with chapter 3, we finally meet the readers family and delve a little more into her background, as well as her situation with Dean. I hope you all enjoy 💕

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Series Masterlist

You woke with a soft sigh, the morning light flittering in through the gap in your curtain, almost blinding you as you peeped an eye open. You rolled over onto your other side and found Dean still sleeping soundly. 

Your stomach twisted.

For some reason, seeing him still here, sprawled out in your bed like he belonged there, sent something unwanted crawling beneath your skin.

It wasn’t supposed to feel different.

It wasn’t different.

After your initial coupling the night before, where the arrangement was made—a deal in which you both could take advantage of whilst adhering to the other’s wants—it had been simple. Strictly sex without the strings. Some would call it a friends with benefits situation, but you found that term a little tasteless, too on the nose.

You’d come up with some rules, boundaries if you will, to ensure things didn’t become complicated. (Not that that ship hadn’t already sailed, but whatever.)

Either of you could call it off whenever you wanted. No hard feelings.

No sleepovers (though last night was an exception).

And most importantly, no matter what, you wouldn’t let this ruin your friendship.

(Though, if you were being honest, that ship might’ve already sailed too.)

But then, somewhere between setting the terms and conditions, one thing had led to another, and before you knew it, you’d been tangled up in him all over again.

There was just something about Dean that made you reckless, made you lose yourself completely. By the time you finally passed out, thoroughly spent, it had been well into the early hours of the morning, the scent of sweat and sex lingering in the air.

And now, Dean was still here. Right beside you, fast asleep, snoring softly.

You swallowed hard, your eyes tracing over him before you could stop yourself.

You had never really had the chance to admire him like this. Sure, you always knew Dean was attractive—it was an objective fact, really—but now, after having him in every way imaginable, it was something else entirely.

The sharp angles of his face, softened by sleep. The light freckles dusting across his nose. The way his hair stuck up in messy tufts, still showing evidence of your fingers tangling in it hours ago.

You shouldn’t be looking at him like this.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this.

You tore your gaze away, exhaling slowly.

This was fine. It was fine.

So what if something in your chest ached? So what if, for one stupid second, you wished this could be more?

It wasn’t. It wouldn’t be. And you knew that.

Dean was still free to date, to go out and find the girl of his dreams. And you?

You’d just be the best friend he screwed a couple of times and nothing more.

That’s what you agreed to.

That’s what you wanted.

Right?

As if on cue, a sign to quell your spiralling thoughts, Dean shifted slightly, his breathing hitching as he rolled onto his back, and your eyes drifted down before you could stop yourself.

The blanket had slipped low on his hips, and beneath it, you caught the telltale shape of his arousal, hard and curving upward beneath the fabric.

Instinctively, your thighs pressed together, and then an idea formed. A bold, shameless, possibly reckless idea.

But the whole point of this arrangement was to indulge in each other's needs, wasn’t it?

Slowly, carefully, you slipped beneath the covers, inching closer until you settled between his spread thighs. The warmth of his skin met your lips as you brushed a kiss along his hip bone.

Dean stirred with a low groan, but it wasn’t until you wrapped your fingers around him - admiring the warm, velvety weight of him before you took him into your mouth - that he truly woke up.

"Shit—" His voice was hoarse, thick with sleep as his hips jerked up. One of his hands tangled into your hair, his fingers flexing, holding rather than pushing. "You tryin’ to kill me, sweetheart?"

You hummed around him in response, sending a shudder through his body as your mouth slid up and down his length, suckling and licking along his shaft. His grip in your hair tightened, and his abs flexed beneath your fingertips. But you kept going, taking your time, savouring every reaction he gave you. 

Dean never stood a chance.

With a strangled groan, he came, his muscles going taut as you eagerly swallowed everything he gave, before he finally slumped back against the pillows, chest heaving. You pressed a final, teasing kiss to his hip before emerging from beneath the covers with a smirk.

Dean ran a hand down his face, chuckling breathlessly. "Damn. I think I could get used to this.”

You chuckled as you went to move away, when Dean’s hand caught your arm. You paused and met his dark gaze. “Where d’ya think your goin’?” 

You arched an amused brow at his tone. “To shower?” 

Dean shook his head, and before you could react, he was dragging you up his body, shifting you until you were kneeling either side of his head.

Your breath hitched, heart pounding as realisation settled in.

His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you—at the most intimate part of you, on full display for him.

His hands slid up the backs of your thighs, palms firm as he cupped your ass, squeezing appreciatively.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his voice thick with want. “Look at you.”

Before you could form a response, he leaned up, dragging his tongue in a slow, broad stripe between your folds.

Your head fell back with a sharp gasp, fingers grasping for the headboard as he did it again—this time, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as he tasted you.

“You can lower yourself, sweetheart,” Dean murmured against your skin, his grip tightening as he tugged you down further.

You hesitated, the vulnerability of the position making you self-conscious. But Dean wasn’t having it. He tugged you the rest of the way, making you gasp as you fully settled over his mouth.

Then he went to work.

Dean ate you like a man starved, his grip firm, his tongue relentless. Your hips rocked on instinct, a breathless moan slipping from your lips as the pleasure built, as he guided you exactly where he wanted you.

He groaned beneath you, the sound vibrating against your core, sending another sharp pulse of pleasure through your body.

You barely had time to think—only to feel, only to chase the high he was so determined to give you.

Your thighs trembled around his head, your grip on the headboard tightening as pleasure coiled tighter and tighter in your belly. Dean's tongue worked you over with practiced precision, flicking and circling before dragging slow, deliberate strokes through your folds. His fingers dug into your hips, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, guiding you into a slow grind against his mouth.

The pleasure was dizzying, a fire licking up your spine, consuming every inch of you. Your breaths turned to gasps, then whimpers, then broken cries as the pressure built, threatening to snap.

“D-Dean—” His name came out in a desperate whine, your body caught between the need to get closer and the overwhelming intensity of his touch. He groaned in response, the vibrations shooting straight through you. And then, with one last flick of his tongue over your clit, the coil inside you shattered.

Your whole body tensed before a violent shudder rocked through you, your vision going white as the pleasure exploded, wave after wave crashing over you. Your hips bucked against his mouth as he held you there, drawing out every last aftershock, every last ounce of pleasure he could wring from you.

Only when you whined in overstimulation did he finally ease up, pressing one last slow, lazy kiss to your swollen, pulsing centre before releasing his grip on your hips. You slumped forward, chest heaving, bracing yourself against the headboard as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean chuckled beneath you, his hands smoothing up and down your thighs, giving them a playful squeeze. “Now that,” he rasped, voice thick with satisfaction, “is one hell of a way to wake up.”

You huffed out a laugh, your body still buzzing in the aftermath as you carefully climbed off him, rolling onto your side beside him. “No kidding,” you murmured, still breathless. “And here I was, thinking I’d be the one in charge this morning.”

Dean turned his head to look at you, a smug grin on his lips, his face still glistening with the evidence of what he’d just done. “What can I say? You inspired me.”

You smacked his chest lightly, making him chuckle. “Well, I think we just broke, like, half of our rules before we even got out of bed.”

Dean stretched, arms resting behind his head, utterly unbothered. “Eh. Rules were made to be bent a little.”

You gave him a look. “Bent?”

He smirked. “Okay, maybe broken.”

You shook your head with a laugh, finally forcing yourself to sit up. “Alright, I need a shower. A very long, very cold shower.”

Dean hummed, reaching over to give your hip a squeeze. “Or… I could join you, and we could keep breaking rules.”

You groaned, throwing a pillow at his face. “Dean.”

He just laughed, catching it with ease. “What? Just putting it out there.”

Shaking your head, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed and stood, feeling his gaze trailing over you as you walked toward the bathroom. You paused in the doorway, glancing back at him with an arched brow.

“Stay put, Winchester,” you warned playfully.

Dean held his hands up in surrender, that damn smirk still on his face. “No promises, sweetheart.”

Rolling your eyes, you stepped into the bathroom, shutting the door behind you. And even as the water rushed over your skin, washing away the evidence of the morning’s activities, you couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, you were in way over your head.

By the time you had reappeared, showered and dressed for the day, Dean was - thankfully - fully clothed and plating up some eggs and toast in the kitchen. 

He gave you a lazy smile when he spotted you, and placed one of the plates down in front of you when you took a seat at the kitchen island. 

“Thanks.” You told him gratefully. After the past twenty-four hours, having arguably the most sex you’d had in almost a year, you’d definitely worked up an appetite. Dean took a seat next to you and you both dug in. 

Breakfast passed by surprisingly smoothly. If you were being honest, you’d expected at least a little awkwardness now that you’d both left the bedroom and returned to some semblance of normalcy. But there was none. The easy banter and casual conversation flowed just as it always had, and what had transpired only 30 minutes ago was never brought up. 

Not that it needed to, this was how you’d hoped for it to be. Maybe you underestimated yours and Dean’s ability to be actual grown ups about this. 

“So, I’m driving down to pick up Sam tomorrow.” Dean told you as he gathered your plates and took them to the sink to wash. 

“Drive? Is he not flying in next week?” You asked. Christmas wasn’t until the weekend and Sam was all the way out in Stanford. You assumed flying was the only logical, quicker way of getting home. 

Dean turned on the faucet, rinsing off a plate. “He tried, but the earliest flight he could get was the twenty-seventh.”

You scoffed, shaking your head as you got up to help dry and put things away. “Does the kid not know how to pre-book a flight or something?”

Dean chuckled, hands deep in suds. “You’d think with all those brains to get into a school like Stanford, he’d be smarter.”

“Maybe he’s got girl brain.” You teased. “Is he still seeing that Jess?” Sam had mentioned a girl he’d started seeing on his last venture home, he’d seemed pretty smitten then. 

Dean nodded, handing you the last dish. “Yeah, I’m picking her up too.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. “Wow. That serious, huh? Guess it’s the real deal if he’s subjecting her to us lot.”

“Hey, speak for yourself. I’m a delight.”

You snorted. “Oh, please. You’re the worst of us all.” You said as you picked up your steaming cup of coffee.

Dean gaped at you in mock offence. “The hell I am!”

You hid a chuckle behind your coffee cup as Dean poured himself another. The playful bickering continued, and despite how nothing about this situation was normal, it somehow felt like it was.

“Well, with you gone for the next day or so, that gives me time to wrap gifts. And yes, that includes the ones you got for your family,” you cut in before he could even ask.

“You’re the best,” he grinned, looking way too pleased with himself.

You rolled your eyes. Wrapping Dean’s gifts had become an annual chore—one you’d taken on after watching everyone struggle through layers of newspaper and duct tape one too many times. Now, that particular misfortune was yours alone.

"Alright, I should get going. The old man’s been hounding me long enough," you huffed, slipping on your boots and grabbing your winter jacket from the wall rack.

Because of the lead up to Christmas, everything had been extra crazy at work. Dick Roman, your boss, was very anal about things, your office was probably about the only one still open the week leading up to the holiday’s. 

So, for that fact, you hadn’t had much time to visit Bobby lately. And with Christmas bound to be pure chaos—thanks to both your family and Dean’s—you knew today was your best shot at a real catch-up before the holiday madness set in.

“Right, yeah” Dean agreed and looked as if he wanted to say something but thought better of it. 

“You got any plans?” You enquired, noticing his hesitancy and he shook his head.

“Nah, I’ll probably just work on the car, maybe pack a bag. Long drive tomorrow.” He hummed and you nodded. 

“Sounds depressing.” You deadpanned and Dean shot you a look. 

“Alright, Singer. Get outta here.” He shooed you out the door hearing your laughter as he closed it behind you. 

The moderate drive to your family home was a one loaded with thoughts of a certain green eyed man. You knew you were screwed, setting yourself up for heartbreak. However well you and Dean were handling things now, you believed it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. You were a pessimist, after all. 

But did that mean you’d stop it before it got to that point?

Not a chance.

Not when you’d just had four mind-blowing orgasms in the span of a few hours. Not when Dean had ruined every other man for you. Because even if this was just an arrangement, how the hell were you ever supposed to let anyone else warm your bed after him?

You’d well and truly screwed yourself. And you had no one to blame but you.

Meanwhile, back at the apartment, Dean wasn’t faring much better.

Why the hell did you agree to this again?

Oh, right. Because you’re a goddamn idiot.

Dean sighed, dragging a hand down his face as he leaned against the counter. He’d let his downstairs brain do the thinking instead of the one that actually mattered. And now? Now, he was in deep shit.

Because, yeah, this whole arrangement was supposed to be no strings, just fun. But how was that possible now he actually got to have you. Before he learned just how amazing being with you was— how it was better than he ever could’ve imagined. 

Dammit. 

He had no one to blame but himself. 

The familiar crunch of gravel under your tires sent a wave of nostalgia rolling over you as you pulled up to your childhood home. A modest, two-story farmhouse, nestled a little out of the way, but still standing strong despite the years. Out back, your dad’s pride and joy stretched across the property—the scrap yard, a graveyard of metal and machinery that had once been your playground.

Memories stirred—hot summer days spent weaving through rusted-out shells of old cars, hands stained with grease as Bobby taught you the difference between a carburettor and an alternator. At first, it had been just you, running wild with an overactive imagination. 

Then Jo came along, and suddenly, you had a partner in crime. And when Dean joined in, the three of you were unstoppable, turning the yard into your own personal jungle gym, crafting make-believe adventures where you were pirates, outlaws, or world-class race car drivers.

But for all the warmth those memories carried, a familiar pang of sadness settled in your chest as your eyes drifted to the front porch. You had only spent a small part of your life here with your mother before she got sick. She had died when you were five—too young to remember much, but what you did recall was vivid. She was beautiful. She was warm. She loved you. That much, you knew for certain.

Your father had spent the better part of a decade alone after she passed, never so much as looking at another woman. But then Ellen came along—not as a whirlwind romance, but as something steady and unshakable. She had been your distant neighbour for years, and when he told you they were together, it hadn’t been a shock. It had made sense. The kind of deep, unspoken sense that settled into your bones.

Ellen had filled a space in your life neither you nor your father had realised needed filling. She didn’t try to replace your mother, but she became something else entirely—something just as important. And with her came Jo. Not a sister by blood, but one in every way that mattered. You had both lost a parent, and in return, gained a new one through your father and Ellen’s love for each other. It was one of the few things in your life you were endlessly grateful for.

You barely had a second to step out of your car before Bobby’s voice grumbled through the crisp mid-afternoon air.

“Took you long enough to show up,” he muttered, wiping his hands on an old rag as he straightened up from under the hood of a car - that had clearly seen better days.

You smirked, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Traffic,” you deadpanned. “And also, I like to make an entrance.”

Bobby huffed, but the corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. He had always appreciated your sharp tongue—probably because you’d inherited it from him. But beneath that tough exterior, you had your mother’s heart—open, vulnerable, and full of a quiet kind of strength that even Bobby, for all his gruffness, had always recognised.

“C’mere,” he grumbled, his voice as gruff as ever, but his eyes warm. You barely had time to react before his arms wrapped around you, pulling you into one of his signature bear hugs. You melted into it, breathing in the familiar scent of motor oil and worn leather.

“Ellen’s put on a lasagna since she heard you were stopping by,” he said as he pulled back with a knowing smile.

You chuckled. “That woman spoils me.”

Bobby scoffed. “Ain’t that the truth.”

“Hey.” You chuckled, nudging him in the side as he guided you into the house with an arm around you.

The second you stepped through the door, the rich aroma of Ellen’s home-cooked meal wrapped around you like a warm blanket. Your stomach grumbled in response, and mouth watered.

“Man, that smells good,” you hummed.

Ellen turned at the sound of your voice, her face lighting up as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and made her way over.

“How you doin’, darlin’?” she asked, pulling you into a tight embrace before stepping back to cup your face. She gave you a once-over, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re lookin’ a little thin. You eatin’ alright?”

You rolled your eyes, waving her off. “Yes, woman.”

She arched a brow, smirking. “Alright, alright. Just after the other night, I wanted to make sure you’re in good spirits, is all.”

Your stomach twisted slightly. She was, of course, referring to the night you had stormed into the Roadhouse after your disaster of a date with Gary, drowning your frustration in whiskey shots with Jo until the night spiralled completely out of control. 

The night you kissed Dean.

It was only two days ago, but it already felt like a lifetime had passed, so much had happened since, and your mind was still trying to make sense of it all.

Bobby cleared his throat, drawing your attention. “Yeah, I heard about that,” he muttered, disapproval evident in his tone, though it wasn’t directed at you. “Glad to hear you gave that jackass what was comin’ to him.”

You smirked. “He shouldn’t have worn white.”

That earned you a chuckle, and as the mid-afternoon bled into the evening, conversation flowed naturally. The usual check-ins—how work was going, plans for Christmas, updates on Jo’s training at the academy. She was top of her class, and you couldn’t be prouder.

Then, they asked about Dean.

You stiffened for just a second—so quick that anyone else might have missed it. But not Ellen.

You kept your answers short, careful. You brought up how the Winchester brothers had already been pestering about Ellen’s famous stuffing, which seemed to distract her enough. 

Ellen shook her head with a small, fond smile, despite the way she tried to maintain her hard exterior. “Those boys sure know how to butter me up,” she muttered, shaking her head.

By the time Jo came barreling through the front door, you were well past starving, but the sight of her wide grin made you forget about food for a moment.

“Well, well, well. Look who finally decided to show their face,” she teased, dropping into the chair beside you with an easy familiarity.

“You act like it’s been years.”

“Felt like it,” she shot back with a dramatic sigh, earning a scoff from you.

“I saw you two days ago.”

“Yeah, and I don’t remember it,” she admitted with a chuckle. The two of you had always been terrible influences on each other whenever alcohol was involved.

You laughed, shaking your head, then Jo straightened up, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Anyway, now that you’re here, I’ve got some prime gossip.”

With an exaggerated flourish, she tossed her blonde hair over her shoulder like she was about to spill the juiciest secret in the world.

You arched a brow, smirking. “Oh?”

Jo didn’t waste a second before launching into a dramatic retelling of her ongoing rivalry with some guy named Cole. The way she spoke about him—full of exasperation, plenty of complaints, but with just a little too much intensity—made it obvious. She either hated him with every fibre of her being, or she was in complete denial about the fact that she might actually like the guy.

“Let me guess,” you interjected, smirking. “Classic ‘annoy the girl because you secretly like her’ situation?”

Jo scoffed. “What? No! He’s an ass.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He is! He’s—he’s cocky, and thinks he’s the best at everything, and—”

“And you like him,” you finished smugly.

Her mouth snapped shut, cheeks tinting the slightest bit pink.

Ellen chuckled. “I’d say she’s onto somethin’, kid.”

Jo groaned, dropping her forehead against the table as Bobby snorted into his beer.

The house hummed with warmth and familiarity, a stark contrast to the mess in your head. For a moment, just a moment, you let yourself breathe—pushing aside the tangled thoughts of Dean, of what had happened, of what it might mean.

You would deal with that later.

For now, you were home.

It was nearing 7 p.m. when you finally said your goodbyes, somehow getting roped into making a dessert for Christmas. You knew Mary was already bringing her famous apple pie, but Ellen had scolded you at your whining, reminding you that it was only right to have more than one.

The drive home wasn’t long, but with every passing mile, anticipation curled tight in your chest. It was a new experience, in some ways, it excited you—the not knowing, the spontaneity of it all. But at the same time, it killed you, leaving you on edge.

When you stepped inside the apartment, Dean was nowhere to be found—at least, not at first. You set your bag down and were about to call out for him when the faint sound of running water caught your attention.

The shower.

And just like that, an impulsive thought struck you again—one you didn’t bother fighting. Maybe you just had a ridiculously high sex drive all of a sudden. Or maybe it was just Dean, but you found yourself standing before the closed bathroom door, teeth sinking into your lip as you hesitated. 

Maybe it was too much. Too soon. But there wasn’t exactly a rule in place limiting to how many times you could fuck.

So, without another thought, you quietly slipped inside.

Steam curled in the air, thick and warm, and through the frosted glass, you could make out Dean’s silhouette. His broad, muscled frame, the way water cascaded down his skin—it had your body heating with need in an instant.

He was humming to himself, the tune unmistakably Metallica, as you made quick work of your clothes, letting them pool at your feet until you were completely bare.

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside.

Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise.

“What the—”

Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes.

Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned.

When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you.

Perfect.

“Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked with a hint of uncertainty, though his eyes didn’t refrain form dragging over every inch of your bare skin, in a way that made you shiver.

“I needed a shower,” you shrugged, trying for innocence, but the way you bit your lip and the heat in your gaze said otherwise.

“Is that right?” Dean hummed, stepping closer, his body crowding yours in the already confined space. Your breath hitched, your eyes flickering from his to his lips, down his chest, and lower to where he was already hardening for you.

Your pussy clenched at the sight, the memory of how good he felt inside you hitting like a lightning strike.

“Just trying to save water,” you added, voice breathless.

“Yeah, smart thinkin’,” Dean murmured, his voice thick with amusement and something deeper. Darker. His fingers brushed along your waist, slow and teasing, before you couldn’t take it anymore.

You crashed together, mouths colliding in a searing, desperate kiss that was all heat and hunger, lips clashing, tongues tangling, breaths turning ragged as the steam curled around you both. 

The scent of soap and Dean's skin filled your senses, warm water cascading down his broad shoulders, sliding between your bodies, making everything slicker—hotter.

Dean’s hands roamed, calloused fingers gliding over wet skin, gripping your hips, tracing the curve of your spine before gripping your ass, pressing you closer until you could feel the hard, throbbing heat of him against your stomach. The contrast of his rough hands against the smooth slide of your skin sent a shiver down your spine.

The shower’s spray pelted against your shoulders, rivulets of water trailing between your breasts, down your stomach, before pooling between your thighs—where you already ached for him.

Dean groaned into your mouth, his grip tightening. “You’re fucking dangerous, you know that?” His voice was low, wrecked, barely a breath against your lips.

You smirked, pressing yourself even closer, deliberately dragging yourself along the rigid length of him, slick heat meeting hardened steel. Dean let out a low growl, hands tightening on your hips, fingertips digging into your damp skin.

"You're playing with fire, sweetheart," he rasped, but there was no warning in his tone—only pure, molten desire.

"Then burn me," you murmured back, your lips grazing his jaw as your nails raked down his back.

Dean inhaled sharply, his resolve snapping like a thread. His hands slid down, one gripping the swell of your ass, the other venturing lower, teasing through your wet folds. The moment he found your clit, you gasped, fingers clutching at his shoulders.

"Already so fucking wet," he groaned, slipping a finger inside you, slow, testing. Your walls fluttered around him, greedy, eager for more.

Your breath hitched, head falling back against the shower wall as he added another finger, stretching you, thrusting them in and out in a steady rhythm, curling just right.

"Dean," you whimpered, clinging to him, your hips moving of their own accord, chasing the friction, the heat.

Dean watched you like a man mesmerised, his green eyes dark, hooded with lust as he pumped his fingers deeper, faster, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit. "That's it," he coaxed, voice rough, filled with awe. "Let me see you come."

The fire inside you built to an unbearable peak, and then it snapped. A sharp cry tore from your lips as you came around his fingers, body trembling against the tile, your walls pulsing around the thick intrusion. Dean groaned at the sight, watching every shudder, every twitch, as if committing the moment to memory.

He eased you through it, dragging out every wave of pleasure until you were panting against him, boneless. Then, slowly, he pulled his fingers from you, bringing them to his mouth, licking them clean with a satisfied hum.

"Fuck," you breathed, still reeling, still burning.

Dean smirked. "Tastes even better straight from the source."

That snapped something in you. With renewed hunger, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his, your hand slipping between you to wrap around his cock. He groaned into your mouth, bracing a hand against the wall as you stroked him, firm and slow, feeling the way he twitched, the way his breath stuttered.

But before you could take things further, Dean growled, gripping your wrist and pulling your hand away.

"Sweetheart," he warned, voice strained, his restraint hanging by a thread.

You pouted playfully. "What? Just trying to return the favour."

Dean huffed a breath, shaking his head with a smirk before gripping your thighs and lifting you in one smooth motion. You gasped as your back hit the cool tile, the contrast between it and his heat making you shiver. Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, and as he adjusted his hold, his cock brushing against your bare pussy, sliding through your slick folds.

Dean froze, sucking in a sharp breath. "Shit," he muttered, realisation dawning in his heated gaze. "Condom—"

"I'm on the pill," you panted, barely able to think past the need consuming you. "And I'm clean."

Dean met your eyes, searching, his chest rising and falling against yours. "Yeah?"

You nodded, desperate. "Yeah."

Dean exhaled, pressing his forehead to yours, a small chuckle leaving his lips. "Me too. Clean, I mean.” With that, he adjusted his grip, angling his hips, and slowly, deliberately, pushed inside.

A ragged moan left your lips as he stretched you, deeper than before, bare and hot and thick. The sensation was overwhelming—so intimate, so raw, nothing between you to dull it.

Dean let out a broken groan, his head falling against your shoulder. "Fuck—" His grip on your thighs tightened, his breath ragged against your skin. "You feel... Jesus, you're so fucking perfect."

You clung to him, nails biting into his shoulders, drinking in every inch as he filled you completely. "Dean," you gasped, already shaking, the feeling of him bare inside sending electric pleasure through your veins.

"Not gonna last long like this," he admitted, voice wrecked, strained, his hips pressing flush against yours. "You feel too damn good."

You tightened around him in response, and he cursed under his breath, pulling back just enough before thrusting in again, slow, deliberate.

The drag, the friction—it was maddening. He set a steady rhythm, rolling his hips, each movement deep and slow, making you feel every inch of him. His lips found your neck, sucking, biting, as he moved, claiming you in every way possible.

The hot spray of the shower poured down his back, running between your joined bodies, making every slick movement even more intoxicating. Every thrust sent sparks of pleasure racing through your body, winding you tighter, making you tremble against him.

Dean groaned against your throat, his breath hot and ragged, hands gripping your thighs as he drove into you harder, deeper. The wet sounds of skin meeting skin mixed with the steady patter of water against tile, the air thick with steam, with heat, with the intoxicating scent of him.

“Goddammit, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice wrecked. “You feel so fucking good—so tight, so perfect.”

Your only response was a choked moan as he adjusted his angle, his cock hitting that spot inside you that had you arching against him, nails biting into his shoulders. Your body clenched around him, and Dean cursed, a deep, guttural sound that sent another wave of arousal crashing through you.

His hand slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit, rubbing firm, teasing circles that had you gasping.

“That’s it,” he murmured against your ear, voice thick with need. “Let me feel you, baby—wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

Your body was already unraveling, fire burning hot in your core, the pleasure too much, too good. His fingers worked you in time with his thrusts, his pace quickening, desperate now, chasing that high.

“Dean—fuck—”

“I got you,” he promised, voice rough, desperate. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

And you did.

Your orgasm hit like a tidal wave, crashing over you, pleasure tearing through your body in hot, rolling pulses. Your walls clenched around him, gripping him tight, making him groan, his movements stuttering as he chased his own release.

“Shit—” Dean cursed, his head falling against your shoulder, his thrusts turning erratic, rough, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pants.

Then, with one final, deep stroke, he was gone, a shudder wracking through him as he spilled inside you, warmth flooding deep, his groan low and wrecked against your throat.

For a long moment, neither of you moved, bodies locked together, chests heaving, steam curling around you. Dean pressed his forehead to yours, eyes still dark, lips brushing against your damp skin.

“Jesus,” he muttered breathlessly, a lazy grin tugging at his lips. “That was—”

You exhaled a soft, breathless laugh, fingers tangling in his wet hair.

“Yeah,” you murmured, just as dazed.

Dean let out a breathless chuckle, still holding you close as he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. Then he pulled back just enough to glance at the shower-head, feeling the now lukewarm water cascading over both of you.

“I think your idea of saving water was a damn fallacy,” he teased, with a breathy chuckle.

You laughed, still trying to catch your breath, resting your forehead against his. “Yeah, well… in my defence, I wasn’t really thinking about the water.”

Dean groaned dramatically. “Jesus, you’re gonna kill me.”

AN: Okay this was a steamy one, I hope we're all okay after this one? 😅 Please let me know how you're liking the story so far? And are you just as frustrated as I am with these two? Feed back is much appreciated 💕

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 @fangirlingfromdownunder @cevansbaby-dove @star-yawnznn @piptoost @shadysoulangel @deansimpalababy @megara0224 @hobby27 @idontwannabehere7 @maddie0101 @kr804573 @mrs-nesmith @zepskies @ohheyguyss @suckitands33 @ultimatecin73 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @arcannaa @aylacavebear @bobbdylann @waynes-multiverse @jaredpadonlyyyy

Next Time...

As you neared the building, Charlie shoved her hands into her coat pockets. “You coming to the company Christmas party tomorrow night?” You blinked, nearly having forgotten about the annual bash Roman Enterprises threw right before everyone was released for their so-called ‘Christmas break.’ “Shit, I completely forgot about that,” you admitted, your breath visible in the air. Your mind had been preoccupied with... well, other things. “Well, I’m only going if you are. I can only tolerate these people when I’m getting paid for it.” You laughed at that, shaking your head. “I mean, I guess it’d be the decent thing to show our faces, right?” You shrugged, considering it. “And I do have to admit—Dick throws a damn good party.” “Right? And there’s always a chocolate fountain,” Charlie said, eyes lighting up. You hummed in agreement. “Fuck it. Let’s go. I can grab a new dress on my way home later.” Charlie grinned, clearly pleased. “Oh! You should invite Dean. It’s been a while since I saw that knucklehead.” That made you hesitate. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to invite Dean, but an office Christmas party wasn’t exactly a casual setting. And inviting him made it feel a little too much like... a date. But then again, Charlie would be there. It wasn’t like it would just be the two of you. Three friends hanging out. Totally normal.