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bluemerakis · 2 months ago

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HOLY FUCKING SHITBALLS FIG

jealousy games — dean winchester ⋆˚࿔

summary: after a nasty argument, dean decides to get back at you by flirting with another woman. you take it upon yourself to return the energy.

warnings: smut (with a plot!), oral (f. receiving), jealous/angry dean, angst?, manhandling, est. relationship (dom!bf!dean x gf!reader) 18+

⋆ .𖥔˚

dean’s hand slid higher and higher up the woman’s thigh as you watched from across the bar, your lips threatening to curl into a scowl at the sight. his eyes were on you, and that stupid, proud smirk on his face had you seething as you watched the excited blonde bounce around in the seat next to your boyfriend, giggling at every word that left his lips.

you huffed angrily to yourself and turned to face the bar again, having had enough of his little display. fine. if he wants to play that game, then you’ll play too. no big deal.

you swallowed the last of your drink and slammed it back down onto the bar, eyeing the place for someone suitable. your eyes landed on two men, who were both staring intently at you from their barstools a few seats up. the men were decently handsome and looked like they could take a punch if it came to it, so you flashed them a sweet smile.

the men grinned and turned to each other for a moment, exchanging a few quiet words before standing up and making their way over to you.

“hey, pretty thing. i’m dan… and this is mike,” the taller man greeted and gestured to his friend before leaning on the bar next to you. “you drinking alone?”

you tilted your head up at them and forced out a smile, “mhm, just blowing off some steam.”

the pair nodded and checked you out, eyeing you up and down with matching grins on their faces. “so what’s your name? can we buy you a drink?” mike asked.

you gave them your name and bit your lower lip, watching the men smile in response to your flirting. “actually, i kinda want to dance,” you said, smirking at them.

“oh, yeah? dance? we can dance,” mike nodded slowly, holding his hand out for you.

you chuckled softly, shooting a glance back at dean, before grabbing the man’s hand. “great, let’s go then.”

dean’s mind had completely abandoned the gorgeous blonde sat in front of him. his eyes were glued on you, and they had been since he saw the two men first make their way over to you. dean’s jaw tensed as he watched you lead the guys onto the dance floor, his grip on his beer bottle tightening, turning his knuckles bone white.

“hey, uh— are you okay?” the blonde woman asked, her brows furrowing in confusion as she noticed the scowl form on dean’s face.

“i’m fine,” he responded curtly, his eyes not leaving your figure as he spoke.

he watched the two men circle around you as you danced, like predators stalking their prey. dean could feel the rage beginning to flood his veins. he didn’t like this. not one bit.

as you moved in rhythm with the two men, you could feel dean’s eyes boring into you from across the bar. you could sense the anger in his gaze, and you couldn’t help but smile to yourself in satisfaction; you were winning. you were beating him at his own damn juvenile game.

you moved closer to the two men and began grinding along with them to the music, feeling their hands travel over your body, demanding and brash. you shut your eyes and smiled, letting them guide you and your movements.

dean watched on from the table he was sat at, slowly sipping his beer with a sour expression plaguing his face as the blonde tried—and failed—to make conversation again.

but dean’s attention was still on you. he could barely watch as the men let their hands wander all over the places of your body that he knew so well, so intimately. the taller man leaned down and whispered something in your ear, making you throw your head back and laugh. dean’s jaw tensed again. he nearly crushed the beer bottle in his bare hand as he saw you pull the man back down and wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your chest against his.

then dean caught your eyes as you spun around to face him with a big smug smirk plastered on your face.

that was it.

dean abruptly excused himself from the woman and stood up, heading directly for you on the dance floor with heavy footfalls. you watched him, continuing to smirk as you rested your head on dan’s shoulder.

“we’re going. now.” dean snapped quietly, but firmly enough for you—and the two men—to hear over the hum of the music as he grabbed your upper arm.

“hey, man—” mike moved in front of you and dan, blocking dean from pulling you away.

“yeah,” dean laughed lowly, “i’m not talking to you, buddy.” dean let go of your arm and pulled his back, throwing his weight into a punch, landing a nasty blow on mike’s jaw.

mike stumbled off to the side, his hands immediately grabbing his jaw as he let out a deep pained groan.

“hey!” dan yelled and pushed you behind him. he stepped forward, up to dean, “what’s your fuckin’ problem, man?”

dean laughed again, darkly and unimpressed, but slightly amused by the man’s attempt to defend his friend’s honour. dean found your eyes, ignoring dan entirely, and spoke directly to you, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“i said we’re going. now.”

you laughed and shook your head, “no, i don’t think so. go back to that pretty little blonde.”

you grabbed dan’s shoulder and pulled him back to you, dismissing dean from saying anything further. dan hesitantly wrapped his arms back around you as he watched dean seethe from the corner of his eye.

“baby. now.” dean snapped, his face tightening in anger. “the ‘pretty little blonde’ was nothing. you’re doing too much now, and you know it.”

“do you know this guy?” dan asked you as he glanced between dean, mike—who was still rubbing his tender jaw with a scowl on his face—and you.

you shrugged, “not really. just some guy.”

dean scoffed and ripped dan off of you. dan grunted with widened eyes, clearly not anticipating dean’s strength. he stumbled backwards into mike, who let out another groan.

“some guy, my ass,” dean huffed and got in your face. “we’re leaving. now. let’s go.”

you rolled your eyes, despite his serious tone and expression. you glanced at the two guys with an apologetic look, “sorry, fellas. it was nice to meet you both. sorry ‘bout the…” you gestured towards your jaw.

dean pulled you towards the exit through the sparse crowd of drunken patrons, huffing angrily as you smiled back at the two men, whose faces were contorted in confusion and disbelief at the whole situation.

dean managed to pull you outside into the cool air of the parking lot and shoved you towards the impala. “you think that shit is fucking funny?” he snapped.

you flinched slightly at the roughness of his voice but continued smirking anyways, responding with defiance laced thick in your tone, “yeah, a little bit to be honest.”

“s’not fucking funny. get the fuck in.” dean growled angrily, swinging open the passenger door for you.

you did as you were told, sliding into the passenger seat and rolling your eyes as he slammed the door. dean walked around to the driver’s side and got in.

“how could you let them touch you like that? no one touches you like that but me. got it?” he started the car and turned to you expectantly, waiting for your answer as the engine rumbled in the quiet of the parking lot.

“oh, but it’s fine for you to touch that woman the way you did in there, huh?” you shot back, clicking in your seatbelt.

dean’s face hardened as he began reversing the impala, his grip on the steering wheel turning his knuckles white. “she was nothing,” he replied with a dangerously low tone.

“oh, yeah? you basically fingerfucking her at that table was nothing?” you snapped in a huff and crossed your arms.

dean pulled onto the main road and scoffed to himself. “yeah, it was nothing,” he said bluntly, keeping his eyes on the dark road ahead.

“i know what you were trying to do, dean.”

“yeah? obviously it worked,” he chuckled back mockingly, taking a moment to glance at your sullen face.

you scoffed and tightened your crossed arms, “fuck you, dean! you’re so immature, you know that? we have one little fight and you just go off and find the biggest bimbo to flirt with just to piss me off!”

“amanda isn’t a bimbo,” dean replied flatly, his tone mocking again, “she’s pre-med, actually.”

“i don’t give a fuck!” you yelled.

“yeah, you don’t give a fuck. that’s why you were practically fucking bert and ernie on the dance floor!” he snapped back in a huff, turning onto a side street.

you felt the anger begin to boil the blood in your veins as he kept speaking, acting like this whole situation wasn’t his fault, which only riled you up further. “well, maybe if you fucking treated me right, i wouldn’t have to go and find assholes to dance around with!”

“treat you ri— are you joking?!” dean scoffed in disbelief and shot you a look. “treat you right? you’re the centre of my goddamn world. i’d die without you. and you wanna cry about me not treating you right. i treat you right,” he growled lowly without taking his eyes off the road, his tone deep and venomous, your words clearly striking a nerve.

you let out a huff and looked out the window. “yeah, right whenever you want something,” you muttered angrily.

dean slammed a hand down on the steering wheel as the motel came into view further down the road, making you flinch slightly at the sudden noise.

“i do treat you right. i’m doing the best i can, damn it!” he turned to you, his expression a strange combination of anger and hurt swirling around on his tense face.

you rolled your eyes, which only seemed to visibly piss dean off more. “the best you can?” you began to raise your voice, “if the ‘best you can’ is flirting with another woman in front of me, then i don’t want your ‘best’, you fucking ass!”

dean shook his head, turning the impala into the motel parking lot. it fell silent as dean pulled the keys out from the ignition. his eyes dropped to his hands in his lap.

dean took in a sharp breath, “get inside.”

you turned your head to him, looking at his tensed jaw and the way his chest moved from heaving out rough breaths. you opened your mouth to begin speaking.

but you were interrupted by dean, “now.”

his voice was low and unsettling. it was disarming, having dean speak to you in a way that you’d rarely ever seen, let alone been on the receiving end of. okay, so maybe you pushed him a little too far with your antics. you knew about dean’s jealousy issues when it came to the people he loved, but to see it play out in real time had your heart racing.

“okay.”

was all you said, before hopping out of the car and walking to the motel room. dean followed quickly behind you and shut the door. he looked at you, his eyes now darkened and his mouth pressed into a firm sneer.

“i don’t wanna talk. i want you to take your clothes off and get on the bed,” dean said, his tone still disarmingly low and calm.

you swallowed softly and nodded—you couldn’t disagree. hell, you didn’t even know if you wanted to. your fingers found the hem of your shirt and you pulled it over your head whilst kicking off your shoes. dean watched as you silently undressed yourself, and he began pulling his clothes off too, still watching your every move like a damn hawk.

dean followed you onto the bed and grabbed your jaw with his rough hands, yanking you towards him. he met your lips with fervour, forcing your mouth open and shoving his tongue against yours, completely and utterly claiming you, reminding you that you’re his. and his only.

his grip on your jaw was tight, and it stayed that way as his other hand travelled down your body, ending up between your thighs. his fingers flicked over your clit, making your hips jerk in surprise as a gasp fell from your mouth.

“no, keep fucking still,” dean muttered against your lips before diving back in, tangling his tongue with yours again.

you couldn’t help the moan that escaped you. dean’s fingers began rubbing your core, forcing a wave of heat to fall over your body and pool in your stomach. he worked his hand between your thighs until he could feel your cunt drool and your folds puff up under his fingers.

he was rough and unforgiving with his hand, rubbing your heat quickly, like he was trying to channel his anger from the car and turn it into pleasure. you whined and whimpered into his mouth, and your legs began to shake from holding yourself up.

dean could feel you beginning to lose composure as you twitched against his hand. he didn’t let you break the kiss or pull away from his touch; his tongue kept dominating your mouth, lapping up your sweet taste mixed with the lingering flavour of alcohol on your tongue.

you hit your climax and moaned slurred mumbles into his mouth as a wave of pleasure crashed over you. he hummed as he felt your wet cunt quiver against his fingers.

dean pulled back from your lips and panted down at you, his free hand still holding your face, keeping you looking up at him. his face was still tense, and his pupils were completely blown out by desire. you could feel the anger and need radiating off him in thick heavy waves.

“you really think i treat you like shit, huh?” he huffed out, pulling his wet hand away from your cunt and roughly shoving you back onto the bed.

you fell back onto the pillows and looked up at him with wide eyes. “dean, i—” you started.

“no,” he interrupted, “that was a rhetorical question. i’d die for you, you know that? a-and you go and say that i’m a bad boyfriend. that i treat you like shit. that i’m not good enough.”

your eyes stayed wide as you took in his anger and the venom—that was barely just disguising the hurt—in his voice. dean shook his head at your silence; he knew his words were cutting deep, but he wanted you to understand how much they’d hurt him.

dean forced your thighs apart, letting his gaze fall upon your puffed up cunt, which was practically begging to be split open and used.

“yeah, a bad boyfriend,” he quipped to himself, shaking his head at how quickly he’d gotten you worked up like usual and how you still don’t even realise how good he is for you, especially like this.

you frowned up at him, watching the anger pull tight at his features. “dean, please. i didn’t mean—”

dean met your eyes again and sneered, “no, i don’t wanna hear it. you don’t say a thing to me, alright? you keep that mouth shut.”

he was dead serious. his chest rose and fell as he kept his hardy gaze on you, his eyes boring into yours.

you scoffed and rolled your eyes, trying to lighten the tension between the two of you. “dean, c’mon—”

he shook his head and delivered a quick smack to your cunt, the hit stinging your sensitive bud, forcing a whimper to escape from your mouth as your hips bucked.

“i said not a goddamn peep,” he repeated. his eyes continued to bore into yours, waiting for you to comply with his words—or not. he was ready to smack you again if he needed to, and you could tell.

so you nodded, not really knowing what else to do with this new side of dean you’d accidentally unlocked. it was unnerving, but exciting at the same time—the way he breathed through his gritted teeth and tensed his jaw, and how his darkened eyes travelled over your form beneath him, almost shrinking you down with his unwavering gaze.

dean swallowed and nodded back at you, “good. i’m not listening to another word of your bullshit. i’m not a bad boyfriend. i fucking love you.”

as soon as his words left his lips, his mouth had found its way between your thighs, attaching itself to your slick cunt. you mewled at his warm tongue lapping at you, and you watched as he worked at your core with fervour once again, practically smushing his face into your wet heat. he worked at you like he had something to prove, like your words held a truth in which dean didn’t want to admit and therefore had to disprove, not only to you but to himself.

he held your thighs apart with his hands, letting the fat of them surround his head, muffling the mewls and moans he was pulling from you.

you watched his eyes flicker up to meet yours for a second. he still looked angry, and it was almost like he was telling you off with his gaze. lay there and take it. let me show you how fucking good i am for you.

dean soon shut his eyes, falling into the pleasure of lapping up your sweet taste on his tongue, desperately pulling your core closer to his face like a man who’d just struck gold between your thighs. he moaned against you, at your taste and the way your hips began to buck up into his face, pleading for more. he held you down against the mattress with his strong grip, his mouth chasing your heat every time you tried to buck back up.

he’d managed to pull two orgasms straight from your core, his tongue licking up your sweet nectar every time you let go against his stubbly jaw. it was like he wasn’t even doing this for you anymore, but instead now doing it for himself, like he couldn’t get enough of you, like he never wanted to let you go, like he was in some sort of trance.

“d-dean…. please,” you whimpered out, trying to buck your hips against his face and shove his head away from you, your fingers pushing against his sandy locks. “please, baby. can’t take— take anymore.”

his eyes darted up to your glazed over ones staring right back at him. he took in the way your face was all flushed and your chest heaved like you’d just finished a marathon. pride surged in his chest; a bad boyfriend? yeah, right.

he nipped at your clit, earning a cry from you, and finally pulled away, sitting up on his knees. the lower half of his face glistened with your slick arousal coating his stubble and lips.

you panted out weak whimpers as you looked at each other. it fell silent, and an uneasy tension filled the air around you both. you stared at him cautiously, your eyes flickering between his. you didn’t know what to say.

dean licked his lips and sighed, a heavy tense breath that added to the thick air surrounding you both. “right…” he cleared his throat and shuffled closer to you. he grabbed ahold of his furiously red cock and swiped some precum from his tip, lubricating his shaft as he gently began pumping himself. a gasp fell from his lips, and he looked down at you, watching the way your eyes nervously met his as you awaited his next move, unsure of where his temper sat.

his warm calloused hand grabbed your leg, hoisting it up against his abdomen, your thigh pressing against his soft tummy. you grunted as he tugged you up and watched as he swiped his tip along your slit, earning a breathless moan from you.

“you want this?” he asked, teasing your folds with his member, tapping your bud with his tip.

you bit your lower lip and nodded.

“words. i want you to tell me you want it. that you want me,” he said firmly.

“i want you. ‘course i want you,” you murmured, your eyes flickering between his in earnest.

dean scoffed. your brows pinched together slightly at the sound, and a small strum of hurt moved through you.

“yeah…” was all dean said before he plunged himself into your wet cunt quickly, bottoming out inside you with a rough breath.

a pained moan flew past your lips, and you felt your pussy flutter around him, trying to accommodate the large new intrusion inside you.

dean’s hand gripped roughly at your leg, still holding it up against his torso, keeping you spread open for him. he leaned forward a little and kept his eyes on your face as he pulled his hips back, before slowly thrusting into you again. he watched as your flustered expression morphed into a look of pleasure—despite the lingering twinge of nervousness in your eyes that betrayed your true feelings.

he held you up against him tight, almost painfully so, as he built a rhythm, pumping in and out of you as loud squelching sounds bounced around the room. your already overstimulated cunt wept around his dick, sucking him in like he belonged there, like you couldn’t bear to feel him go.

rough grunts fell from dean’s lips, and his face scrunched up, his hazy green eyes locked on where you two connected. you couldn’t help your own sweet sounds from escaping as he pounded into you quickly.

dean pulled you up against him more, his free hand now grabbing at your lower hip, keeping you up at the perfect angle. his fingertips pressed into the fat of your thigh and his dick pistoned into you, hitting all those gooey spots that had you clutching at the sheets and whimpering at every thrust. his tip pounded against your cervix; it was rough, and you were sure you were going to be bruised in the morning, but the look on dean’s face and the way he throbbed inside your walls made it hard to care.

“d-e-ean!” you cried out, tears forming in your eyes from his harsh strokes. you felt that dizzying warm feeling in your stomach start to grow as you watched the absolute beast of a man above you rut into you like an animal.

dean’s droopy darkened eyes flickered down to yours, and you swore, just for a second, you saw a flicker of that usual dean softness slip through the angry exterior. he kept hissing and grunting with every thrust, not taking his eyes off yours, falling back into that pussydrunk trance.

“take it. just fucking take it. i fucking love you…. and you love me,” he managed to grunt out, his voice winded from plowing into you like a fucking rabid animal.

“i do! ‘course i do! please!” you whined, feeling your body begin to turn to jelly in his grip.

your weak pleas fell on deaf ears. dean didn’t let up his rough thrusts; he continued to piston his swollen angry dick into your sweet cunt. sweat beads formed on his forehead, and his heavy breaths began to turn into deep guttural groans, the sound only soaking you more.

“you fucking love me,” he moaned out, “but you tell me— tell me i don’t treat you right.”

you whimpered, not only at the feeling of your release quickly approaching, but also at dean’s words. he looked so pained as he rutted into you, his features pulled tight in a way you could tell didn’t come from just pleasure alone. the impact of your words in the car had stung him more than you could’ve anticipated, and his face showed that.

“i didn’t— i didn’t mean it! dean, please!” you moaned out hoarsely, feeling guilt begin to stab at your chest.

“i treat you right!” he snapped, adjusting his harsh grip on your thigh, pulling you closer to him—if that was even possible, and you had no doubts your hip and thigh would be speckled with pink bruises tomorrow.

“i know you do!” you cried out at the new angle.

“say it!”

“i— you— mmm,” you sputtered out, barely able to comprehend anything beyond the warm feeling bursting through your core.

“say. it.”

dean’s voice was low and downright scary. you’d never once had dean be so demanding and sinister towards you, or been fucked so roughly by him either. it made your heart race and your body shiver.

“you treat me right, d-dean!” you moaned, letting the hot tears in your eyes finally fall.

“that’s right, i do, baby. i love you. that’s why we’re so good together, yeah?” he replied breathlessly, now with an air of desperation dancing around in his words.

you nodded pathetically at his words, your scrunched up face mirroring dean’s as you both veered on the edge together. dean turned his head and pressed a gentle kiss to your ankle and then leaned his head against it as he looked down at your pitiful self. you could feel the sweat from his hairline on your skin and the sparks erupting from the minuscule contact he was finally allowing you to have.

“so close, sweetheart, aren’t you? squeezing me like crazy. just let go. i’ve got you,” he huffed out, his voice a touch softer than before, but still gruff and winded.

his softened tone forced the band in your stomach to finally snap, sending a shockwave of pleasure flooding your body. your pussy fluttered around dean’s cock, clamping down on his throbbing member, triggering his own release. he spilt his pearly white load into your gummy walls, finally slowing down his harsh unrelenting thrusts into a mess of weak movements.

“fuck— fuck, sweetheart,” he moaned gutturally and finally came to a still inside you, “fucking love you.”

dean pressed another hot kiss to your ankle before carefully dropping your leg back down onto the mattress and collapsing on top of you, letting your sweaty bodies finally press against each other. your chest surged with a warm feeling at his weight on top of you, finally feeling his body against yours. he buried his head into your neck, his heavy breaths tickling your skin as you panted together, coming down from the overexertion.

“i love you too,” you mumbled weakly, barely coherent as you shook beneath him. you wrapped your arms around his torso—there was no way you were letting him go, not when it felt so right to finally have him against you like this.

“i know you do, baby. i’m so sorry for today… m’so sorry,” dean murmured weakly into your neck and began pressing gentle kisses just below your ear, his soft earnest words tugging at your heartstrings.

“it’s okay,” you managed to get out, letting your head loll back with your eyes closed. one of your hands found its way to the hair at dean’s nape, and you gently threaded your fingers through it. “i’m sorry too. let’s— let’s not even worry about it, okay? let’s just be here… like this.”

“mmm,” dean hummed against your skin, “can do…”

you hummed in return and laid beneath him, trying to calm down from the high you’d both just reached. your racing heart began to slow down into a steady rhythm, and dean’s breathing against your neck began to settle.

after a short beat of silence, dean spoke up in a soft but playful tone, “hey, sweetheart? i just have to say it. i’m not sorry for punching that asshole in the face.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at his words and the cheeky grin you could feel against your neck. he was back. your dean was back. all the previous anger and tension from before had been stripped away completely, and dean’s raspy laughter filled the air with yours.

“yeah, ‘course you’re not, macho man,” you teased quietly, your voice saccharine and soft as you played with his hair.

dean lifted his head to look down at you, his green eyes flickering between yours. he looked almost boyish in his expression; no more creased brows, no more curled lips, or narrowed eyes. just dean. your dean.

“i’d do anything to protect you… to keep you, you know that? i’d punch any asshole in the face for you.”

“well, you know technically it wasn’t for me, it was—”

you grunted as dean’s lips met yours, shutting you up with a gentle kiss, much softer than the rough demanding ones from earlier. you felt him smile into it, and you knew all the animosity had been set aside and forgotten, which in turn, made your own lips curve into a smile.

fig yaps: posting this on valentine’s day feels wrong omg anyways i literally wrote the first two thirds of this in like… november i wanna say???? shit lives in my drafts too long LOL i loved writing angry/angsty dean tho like he just wants to be loved PLS my sweet little lovebug he’s so hot BYE

feedback and reblogs are welcome and appreciated! thank yaaa <3

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#bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #fig ⋆.˚࿔ :･#dean winchester #dean winchester x you #dean winchester x reader

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bluemerakis · 5 months ago

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𝚋𝚕𝚞𝚎𝚖𝚎𝚛𝚊𝚔𝚒𝚜 𝜗𝜚

who i write for ─ currently, I have been writing for young!coriolanus snow, but I can expand into other characters

requests ─ open

◜ 𝚈𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙶!𝙲𝙾𝚁𝙸𝙾𝙻𝙰𝙽𝚄𝚂 𝚂𝙽𝙾𝚆 ◝

𝙵𝙸𝙲𝚂

ོ young!coriolanus snow x district!reader

i. paper trails

ii. ─

𝙾𝙽𝙴 𝚂𝙷𝙾𝚃𝚂

ོ i’m the guy mothers warn you about

𝙳𝚁𝙰𝙱𝙱𝙻𝙴𝚂

ོ

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bluemerakis · 1 month ago

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WHY WAS THIS SUCH A KAT FROM 10tihay MOMENT AHHHH SHES SO ICONIC

title: flashing sam

warnings: 18+, language

you’re both soaked in sweat and grime, adrenaline still sharp in your veins, lungs burning from the sprint through the darkened corridors of the abandoned house. sam’s pacing, hands on his hips, jaw clenched so tight you hear his teeth grind. he’s pissed. at you.

“what the hell were you thinking?” his voice is low but edged, dangerous. that’s the voice he uses when he’s trying not to yell. “you jumped in front of a fuckin' bullet, you could’ve—”

“saved your ass,” you cut in, breathing hard, heart still hammering. the words don’t really help. his nostrils flare, his fists clench and unclench, his whole body tense, radiating heat and frustration. he looks like he wants to shake you. maybe strangle you. definitely lecture you to death.

but fuck that. you’re still alive. he’s still alive. and right now, all that pent-up frustration is curling in your gut in a way that makes you all types of horny.

so you do the first thing that comes to mind. you grab the hem of your grimy, blood-speckled shirt and yank it up, flashing your tits at him, bare skin gleaming under the dim fluorescents, nipples tightening in the cold air.

“are we still fighting?” you ask, voice saccharine, and defiant.

sam makes a noise—somewhere between a strangled inhale and a full-body malfunction. his gaze snaps down, eyes going wide, mouth parting like his brain just short-circuited. for the first time in ten solid minutes, he’s silent.

“that’s what i thought.” you drop your shirt back into place with a smirk, turning on your heel, heart racing for an entirely different reason now. “next time, maybe say thank you.”

behind you, sam finally finds his voice, but it’s wrecked, hoarse. “you’re out of your goddamn mind.”

maybe. but you’ve def won this round.

tags: @soldiersgirl @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @bocadelinfierno @sunnyteume @bejeweledinterludes @k-slla @lunaleah @pieandflannel

#soul’sscribbles𑁍#bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #mar ⋆ ࣪ ִ☾˚.#sam winchester #sam winchester x reader #supernatural

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bluemerakis · 18 days ago

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oh i love her

INTRODUCING.. SWEETHEART!READER ₊˚⊹♡

pure soul. doe-eyes. polka dots. red nails. dreamer. vintage. coffee and vanilla. mini skirts. lace trim. dating single!dad!rafe.

SWEETHEART!READER who is a 25 year old waitress at rosie’s diner, a charming old-school spot with checkered floors, red vinyl booths, and a jukebox that still plays rock ‘n’ roll classics. she’s been working since she was barely a teenager, hustling to escape a rough home. she earned the nickname sweetheart from the regulars—not just because she’s got a kind spirit, but because she has a way of making everyone feel seen.

SWEETHEART!READER who is warm and generous, but still nobody’s fool. she’s learned how to handle the flirty old-timers at the diner with ease, shutting down their bad pickup lines without losing her charm. she’s got a backbone of steel when it comes to standing up for herself and others, especially the new girls at the diner who might not have found their voice yet.

SWEETHEART!READER who has a deep love for music. she plays the guitar—and sings with a voice that could stop time. but she’s shy about performing, only letting a few close friends hear her. she also never leaves the house without her dainty gold heart-shaped locket necklace, which was the last thing her granny gave her before passing away, leaving her all to herself.

SWEETHEART!READER who has always been careful with her heart. she grew up seeing what happens when love turns into something heavy and painful, so she promised herself she’d never settle for anything less than the real thing. and then rafe and his little girl walked into her life, giving her security in a way she has never known. and despite their age difference, she softens the edges of his world in a way no one ever did before.

coming soon…

.ᐟ layout credit/inspo: @rafesangelita

tags: @gibson-g1rl @dearapril @rafecami @fawnhart @isasweetie @beausling @angellocket @rafesbowbunny @rafesangelita @chris444evr @drewsephrry @littlelamy @sturn777 @bradshawed @cherrygirlfriend @trusweethrt @inspiredangel @whinyangel @et6rnalsun @luckycrys @bluemerakis @figthoughts @rafeysbangs

#dollys !readers `♡´#bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #jenna ʚɞ .˙⋆#sweetheart!reader x single!dad!rafe ᥫ᭡#rafe cameron x reader

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bluemerakis · 1 month ago

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oh. my. god.

still got the blues.

OR on one quiet night spent in the bunker, you discover that the notorious, god-fearing, big, bad ‘n scary, six-foot badass hunter that is dean friggin’ winchester (aka one of your closest friends) isn’t as tough as he seems.

well.

in bed, at least.

my masterlist

「 pairing 」 : sub ! dean x fem ! reader

「 word count 」 : 8.8 k. (FAITH BE NORMAL CHALLENGE LEVEL: IMPOSSIBLE)

「 content / warnings 」 : MINORS 🤺🤺🤺 GET BACK! AWAY!later seasons sub dean winchester x fem reader (yes i have a problem, no i don’t care thank you!). masterbating, handjob, unprotected sex. yeah this may be the horniest thing i’ve ever written in my life.

you have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

HELLOOOOO THE LONG-AWAITED SUB!DEAN SMUT IS FINALLY HERE 🙂‍↕️🙏‼️ shoutout and thank you to @supernotnatural2005’s drabble / oneshot for the inspo on this one <3 because i think we all want to catch dean like this— which is why i wrote about it!

ALSO @figthoughts’ post from the other day too… yeah idk guys we’re just horny and ovulating connected or something when it comes to mr. jensen ackles and his characters. love you figgy pudding!

𖤐 ─────────────────────────

being on the road with sam and dean for god knows how long now, you’d gotten used to all the sounds each idiot knucklehead brother would make in their sleeping state as you passed their rooms— so much so that it was basically white noise at this point, and you just tune it out.

yeah, tonight was different, though. sam had left much earlier— he and elieen were finally going on a real, live, actual date, much to your joy. which meant you and dean were alone in the bunker together. that doesn’t happen often, but when it does, you usually stay up watching 80s movies and arguing over niche things like whether or not they used real flames in back to the future (they didn’t).

that was yet another reason why tonight was different: you hadn’t seen dean all day, much less tonight. he’d been out doing god knows what— and you barely even heard him come back a few hours ago.

but you didn’t push. actually, you didn’t dare to set foot past dean’s door— taking the long way down the hall to get to the kitchen or the library throughout the evening, secretly hoping he wouldn’t come out of his room or even acknowledge your existence.

because… honestly?

living with two other men?

who the hell were you kidding. you could use a night to yourself.

and not to your knowledge or anything, but so could dean.

no disrespect though, because dean really was wishing you were there— or, rather, he was imagining you with him, which was the only acceptable option at the moment.

…but this was definitely a new low. even for him.

see, while you were actually attempting to be productive with your night, dean was not.

like, at all.

while you were doing your laundry, putting clothes away in your room, watching a show on your laptop with your airpods in— thank god, otherwise this whole thing would blow up in dean’s face…

…for the most part, figuratively.

because dean— and how does one say this without sounding like a complete and total creep?

well, dean was jerkin’ it in his own room.

fappin’.

beatin’ da meat.

whatever the male version was of flickin’ the bean.

oh, and the (best) grossest part?

he was thinking about you while doing it.

yeah, yeah, it’s sick, it’s definitely wrong on so many levels— and it sure as hell feels downright illegal and a sin to be doing it while you’re in the fucking bunker.

it’s the lowest of the low. weird. pathetic.

but then again, dean’s always been a little… pathetic when it comes to you.

don’t let anyone know you know that, though.

so, back to dean being pathetic and horny. he’d been at the bar in town for hours earlier tonight, trying to find someone to satisfy the strain on his pants— and that someone needed to look a whole lot like you to get the job done.

how hard could it be?

well, apparently, in lebanon, kansas, finding a look-alike clone of your best friend so you could fuck them silly? it’s really goddamn hard.

and so was dean.

so here he was—did i say pathetic already?— jerking off in his bedroom like some horny teenager. he’s on his fourth, maybe fifth time cumming to the thought of purely just you.

that’s right, no porn, no nudie mags, not even a goddamn picture in his free hand— because dean was wound up so freakin’ tight, he didn’t need anything. just his hand and his filthy imagination.

it’s humiliating. dean’s literally bucking his hips up into his hand as of right now, imagining it’s yours and not his— all while letting out these little noises that do not sound like they’d be coming from a six-foot, tough as nails hunter. but they are.

and they’re all for you.

dean winchester does not whimper. hell, no. but the broken sound that rips from his throat, tossing his head back on his pillow after he tugs a little too hard on himself was anything but.

and maybe dean should be making less noise— but he knew you so well, too well— you’d have your airpods on noise canceling, anyway. and he can’t even think about if you didn’t. he’s too wrapped up in a haze right now. he’s so distracted. by-god intoxicated.

because dean’s imagining you after that one hunt in virginia. yeah. the moon had been out that night, and god, the way it hit you— a combination of this deep blue and silver and it just lit up your skin, illuminating you like you were one of those ancient goddesses, like the ones he’s only read about in old myths and legends when he’d been so bored he actually did research in the library.

dean’s imagining you, just you, right there with him, and it was your hand, not his. imagining you pulling those sounds from his throat while he’s breathing so heavy, his chest heaving up and down. and the sheets covering only his bottom half were shifting with him as he was moving what seemed like his entire bed along with him as of now.

dean was trying to be quiet.

but his body was not letting him.

and poor you— oh, sweet, innocent you. because as far as dean knew, you were completely oblivious to what was currently occurring in his bedroom at the moment.

but what dean didn’t know was that your airpods had died over an hour ago.

and you’d made the mistake of not taking the long way back to your room this time, thinking that dean had gone to bed due to the late hour.

you had stopped in your tracks in the hall coming back from the kitchen— because you heard dean. heard his little broken groans, damn close to whimpers.

and you genuinely believed that dean was just having a nightmare at first— because hell, with the shit you guys encountered on the daily, it wasn’t uncommon for any of y’all to make a goddamn racket in your sleep.

drawing that conclusion— because it was the only one that was realistic, you start towards your room again, already starting to tune out dean’s weird-as-hell noises.

but before you even take two more steps past dean’s room, you hear something else— a little muffled through the door, but clear as day. because it sends a jolt straight through you.

your name.

he’s having a nightmare, you remind yourself. he could be just calling out to you in that sense, because that would be logical. but then he says your name again. and again.

and it’s just your name.

not sam’s.

not cas’.

just. yours.

and dean sounds like a man possessed at this point. his eyes are squeezed shut, as if he’s trying to banish the image of you from his mind.

but he can’t. and he never would.

he just can’t do it. can’t keep himself in check anymore.

so that’s why dean groans your name at the next motion of his hand on his dick— saying it for the fourth time since you’ve been stopped outside his door.

and it wasn’t a ‘i’m-in-so-much-pain-and-scared’ groan, the kind when someone has a nightmare— no, dean’s groan sounded like a ‘oh-that-feels-so-fuckin-good’ groan, like the kind someone makes when…

oh.

dean knows he sounds pretty close to, if not completely pathetic. not at all like the good ol’ badass hunter of lore, not that you’d believed him to be. you’d think he’d sound more in control, or at least not whimpering.

dean’s battled both heaven and hell. purgatory. angels, demons, monsters, even sometimes, just people, you name it— he’s fought it and kicked its freakin’ ass, even god himself.

and his one fault? his only weakness?

you.

it’s always been just you. your stupid pretty face. the way you laughed at his jokes, even when they weren’t that funny. the way you stood by him and his brother’s side— and in the hunting world, associating with the winchesters meant a death sentence. you didn’t care, though. you never did. it was in the way you were always there, especially when it counted.

and here he was. jerking off and thinking about you.

this had to be rock bottom. right? if not that, purely a whole new level of scumbag. even if you couldn’t hear him.

oh, but you could. and you’re lingering outside dean’s door— because you didn’t even have to put your ear on it to hear the noises he was making, clear as day.

dean feels like he’s drunk, delirious. this always happened whenever he fantasized about you. a pathetic, groaning and whimpering mess. hell, in this state, he’d damn well beg.

and oh, he was.

“fuckin’— please— god, i need you, please—”

damn, you could almost see it— dean’s hand, hidden by the dark of his room, but the way the sheets move makes it obvious just where his hand is. and it’s a blur.

yeah. there was no more holding out, no more being strong. not now.

because dean feels like he’s on the edge of his own personal hell.

and you? you’re stuck.

dean was… well, fucking doing that. and you’re just… stuck. you would have just kept walking past his door, putting your pillow between your ears and teasing him about it tomorrow morning.

because instead crying or groaning out the name of some random girl or even farah fawcett— dean was currently begging.

for you.

and you’re still stuck. dean feels like he’s losing his goddamn mind. he’s gonna cum again, he knows it. he also knows he should be quiet, but the words and your name just keep spilling out of his mouth, and he’s too far gone to stop them.

“ah— fuck. please. please, please, goddamn it, i need you, i need you, i need you…”

yeah, dean’s brain’s not in charge anymore. honestly? it hasn’t been since he met you all those years ago— with your stupid pretty hair, and your stupid pretty mouth, and the stupid soft sounds you make in your sleep that drove him insane whenever you used to share a motel room.

dean needs you.

and you needed a fucking cold-ass shower.

because the way dean was sounding right now? he only sounded like that in your dreams. your deepest, darkest fantasies. it was making your knees buckle.

yeah. there’s absolutely no way any of this was real. this was straight out of a porno. this had to be the trickster’s doing, or something.

because the real dean didn’t act like this. and yet, here he was. and here you were, your stomach flipping each time a sound leaves dean’s mouth and bounces off the wooden door that was still splitting you two apart.

and right then and there, you wished you had the balls to just open it.

because you wanted to be right there next to dean, pulling those noises out of him yourself.

“need you—need you right there, need you, right, right, oh, god, there—”

even in dean’s own fantasies, the ones that drove him to insanity like right now, he’d always thought about this. you actually being there, him actually saying all this to you.

dean would’ve given anything, then. anything. just to have you right next to him in his bed.

yeah, well, you’re still just stuck.

because what the fuck do you do.

do you walk back to your room? pretend you didn’t notice? pretend it never happened? not listen to the sounds dean was making?

or, do you open the door? go in his room and just show dean how you’d really felt about him— for years now?

and lately, it seemed like you all you could think and dream about was being in the same bed with dean, touching every part of him.

because if you were in there right now, you’d touch dean’s skin that you yourself had deemed forbidden, because it’d be seen as crossing a line, breaking a boundary.

hello? reality check, anyone?

come on. dean was your friend.

but the noises he was making in your name— because of you? that was anything but.

yeah. if you were in there, you’d start with your hands on dean’s chest, going lower, and lower, until he started making the sounds he was making now, gasping and begging right in your ear for you, not stopping until he completely just—

yeah, that was it.

you knew your answer.

and dean needs exactly what you’re about to do. because god, he’s thought about it. in the dead of night, when he was alone, or when you’d been just out of reach sitting next to him in a dive bar, he’s wanted this. wanted you.

dean wanted to know the way your hands would feel against his skin, how your body would feel against his own. he’s thought about it. hell, he’d dreamed about it. fantasized— just like he was doing now.

and dean was still fantasizing when you throw away every single rational thought you had at the moment and manage to open his door without making a noise— thank you, hunter skills.

this was crazy. right?

eh. you’ve done crazier.

no. not like this.

and not with dean.

but still, you managed to cross the threshold of dean’s room— and you even sit down on the edge of his bed.

okay, the more you thought about it…was this awkward?

maybe.

oh, but dean doesn’t even notice you— his eyes were screwed tightly shut, mouth parted and huffing out pants and broken noises as one of his hands continues to move fervently. his hips are wild, bucking into his hand— and his body is shaking his entire bed frame.

dean’s too far gone to notice anything, lost in a fantasy that’s been haunting him for longer than he’s willing to admit out loud. the only thing that could even remotely stop him would be—

hold on.

dean’s hit by a familiar scent— the one he’d been imagining this whole time. but that really does smell like— and its now so close, so real, it practically envelopes him. and his eyes open to—

you.

right there. in his bed. within reach. looking at him like he’s always wanted you to look at him.

and there’s no disgust or anger on your face as you look down at dean, still frozen in place. no, just a hint of amusement, mixed with something else—

something dangerously close to pure want.

you don’t say anything, even though you know you should by now. because now dean knew that you knew exactly what he’d just been doing— more importantly, you were now aware of who the focus of it all was.

and goddamn if the look on your face doesn’t have dean pausing, too. he’s never seen it on your face before. and it’s too dark in his room for him to really make it out, but he thinks he sees—

you weren’t disgusted. you weren’t grossed out, or even angry.

you’re just… looking at him like the fantasy he’s been chasing isn’t a goddamn fantasy anymore— but instead something he could reach out and touch. feel.

dean has to swallow whatever excuse he could come up with to talk himself out of what you’d just walked in on. what you’d just heard. and his mouth is dry.

a part of you wants to pounce onto dean right now. to kiss him silly, touch him everywhere and make him gasp your name again— only with you being the sole instigator this time.

but the annoying other part of you halted that urge.

and why?

because of your stupid morals.

your goddamned feelings.

and you had to ask dean, had to know— even if the answer hurt you.

“how long?”

dean’s brain almost completely flatlines for a long moment. though, he knows what you’re insinuating, of course.

how long dean has been thinking about you in that way? how long and hard had he fantasized about his hands on your body, his mouth on your skin, and his dick buried so deep inside you, he gets hand cramps almost every night he’s alone?

yeah. it scares him, just how goddamn long it’s been.

“…years.”

that was all you needed. in reality, you don’t actually pounce or anything, but you do move closer to dean on his bed, tossing one leg over both of his to straddle his lap before meeting his gaze again.

“you have no idea,” your voice is barely above a whisper to dean as you keep his gaze, making yourself comfortable in his lap. “how much i wanted to hear that.”

and dean can’t help the groan he lets out, at feeling your weight, your body, straddling his lap. he’s spent too many nights dreaming of exactly this. his hands automatically go to your hips, as if they’re on autopilot.

because he’s not in charge anymore.

and honestly?

he doesn’t think he ever was when it came to you.

and a small smile tugs on your lips when you feel dean’s hands on your hips— your own fingers start to trail from his wrists and up his arms, your pace slow, but deliberate.

because you were going to memorize every inch of dean that you could.

oh, dean’s just barely managing to keep his hips still, to not buck up underneath you. he can feel you, now that you’re straddling him, the heat there, where he’d wanted to feel you for so, so long.

and when your fingers trail up his arms, dean shudders. because it’s so gentle, tender. he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him this way, if at all.

your hands eventually reach dean’s face. oh, his gorgeous face. you cup both sides, taking in everything: those green eyes of his, the freckles you could see only if you were up close dusting on his nose and cheeks—his features were illuminated only by the dim light of his desk lamp, but you could see so much because of how close you both were now.

the slight smile is still on your lips as you look at dean— because you were still a little sure you were going to wake up at some point.

but this wasn’t a dream, you had to remind myself. dean was under you. he wanted you, in the same way you’d wanted him for as long as you can remember.

and dean feels like he can’t breathe properly. he’s been slapped, punched, cut, beaten, tortured, everything violent under the sun done to his face— but no one’s had their hands on it like this.

he feels too exposed, too vulnerable, but he doesn’t move.

because it’s you. it could only ever be you.

dean keeps his gaze locked to yours, even as he has to stop himself from just completely melting into the palms of your hands on his face. he wants to look at you for forever, keep you just like this— and his expression is so open, so bare.

your thumbs gently graze across both of dean’s cheeks as you hold his face in your hands.

and you can’t look away.

so you don’t.

but you do lean a fraction closer to dean in his lap, breaking the silence in a hushed whisper— because there goes your stupid doubts and feelings, again.

“you want this?”

even though he almost wants to, dean can’t laugh. not when he knows you’re being serious. it kills him, a little— that you’re still doubting it.

because how could he not want this? you?

“god, yes.” dean’s not even sure if he says that out loud, or just thinks it— but he’s nodding regardless, and with the movement bringing his face even closer to yours.

and your gaze softens almost completely when dean says that— but there’s one doubt that sticks, even when his words wash all the others away from your mind. the one that’s been there almost the entire time you’ve known him.

“de, i…” you don’t take your hands off of dean’s face when you try to speak again— but the words die in your throat. you swallow a little, averting your gaze.

and god, when dean hears you hesitate, he’s already on edge.

dean doesn’t know what you’re about to say,— all he’s aware of is that you’re now looking away from him. and he can’t have that, so he brings his hand (non-jerking, of course) to your chin, gently but firmly, forcing you to look at him again.

he tries to keep his voice even, but he can’t.

“tell me.”

you’re forced to keep dean’s gaze when his hand touches your face— and his fingers are so warm, you almost lose your train of thought completely.

you’ve wanted dean for so long— but you had to make sure he fully felt the same way you did.

not just lust. not something to walk past awkwardly the next day.

“i— i can’t do this… just for tonight,” you swallow hard again, your voice barely above a whisper as your eyes flick between dean’s. “but i… i think you know that.”

even with the worry that had been coursing through his veins, dean couldn’t help but be impressed at the fact you think there’s a chance in hell he’d be able to have you once and just… let you go afterwards. his hand on your chin drops a fraction, resting on the side of your throat instead. he swallows, then finds his voice.

“i know.”

your gaze softens a little— and it’s a little embarrassing how much weight felt completely lifted off your chest when dean says that.

you had denied your feelings for dean for years now. and now knowing that he felt the same way, it was getting harder and harder to control the urge to just do what you wanted.

“well, good,” you bring your hands to tilt dean’s head up more to you as you’re in his lap, eyes flicking down to his lips— because you so needed to know what they felt like. “that’s— that’s good.”

and damn, if dean isn’t already struggling. nothing’s even happened yet, and he’s trying his best just to keep still, to resist all his natural impulses and desires to just grab you and never, ever let you go. when your eyes flick down to his lips, his follow suit almost instantly. his voice is almost a damn croak when he responds.

“yeah?”

all your senses were filled with just dean. and you needed more. you’d denied your feelings for far too long— years now, in fear of him not reciprocating. but you couldn’t deny your feelings or your urges anymore.

“yeah,” you echo back in an exhale, your thumbs grazing on dean’s cheeks. your gaze is still on his lips, but you look back up at him. “you— you’re all i’ve ever wanted.”

hot damn.

dean feels like he’s going to wake up at any second at those words that just came out of your mouth. because he never dared to let himself hope that you could feel the same way he did. and it’s been so, so goddamn long of wanting you with every fiber of his being, wanting to touch you and hold you and never, ever let you go.

oh, he’s too far gone to even feel sheepish about how he’s almost shaking now, hands trembling and breath coming fast as he’s barely keeping the reins on his self-control.

dean’s trembling sends a shiver down your spine. even after you just said all that, he still wanted this.

you might die.

or you were already in some version of heaven that jack made up.

because dean wanted you.

“just lemme kiss you,” dean would be embarrassed of how desperate and out of breath he sounded if he could give two damns. he says your name again: “please—”

dean can’t even think straight anymore. yet, never could when it came to you. his hands go to your thighs, gripping tight like it’s all he can do to resist the urge to just flip you over right that moment.

you can’t hold back anymore.

neither can he.

so you don’t.

you close the final distance between you both, taking his mouth in a kiss that’s hard, desperate and full of years’ worth of emotion.

and dean’s lips felt like home. and that’s a weird thing to say, but it was true. you’d never kissed him before this, but it really was him that you’d been missing all this time.

your hands on dean’s face trail into his hair, and you could feel yourself completely melting into him when you pull myself closer to him in his lap, hips fully slotting with his own— and you both groan a little at the feeling.

dean kisses you like a goddamn starving man, his hands gripping at your thighs so hard he’s afraid he’s leaving marks. but he can’t bring himself to care, because he’s finally kissing you. finally having you in the way he’s only dreamt of.

dean hasn’t been touched— kissed like this, ever.

like he’s something precious. to be loved. it makes him feel weak. but he can’t really bring himself to care about that, either.

all you could think about was how good dean smelled. and as his lips danced with yours, he even tasted good. like whiskey and something you couldn’t place— but it sure as hell was definitely dean.

and god, it’s perfect. dean’s trying to swallow the little noises his mouth is threatening to make again as you kiss him back, kissing him like you feel the same— he thinks he’s losing his mind for what felt like the millionth time tonight.

dean’s grip on your thighs tightens even more. he couldn’t help it anymore— he rocks you against his lap, his hips bucking up against yours in an involuntary but much needed movement. and a little sound pretty close to a whimper does escape him this time, hitting your lips as you grind your own hips down onto him.

you had to break your lips from dean’s to get stupid air, but your forehead rests against his as one of your hands unlatches itself from his hair, trailing downward on the fabric of his henley as you’re in his lap.

and you’d tease him about the noises he’s making— if it wasn’t leaving your underwear a complete and sopping mess because of it.

dean’s mind is hazy, lost in the feel of you against him and in his lap, his mind trying to keep up with all the things happening.

he’s a hunter, goddamn it.

he needs to get a freakin’ grip.

but he can’t.

because of the way your kiss felt like a drug. the way you’re so close he can feel your breathing, and the way you’re grinding up against him like you mean it—

and then dean feels your hand on his shirt, sliding further down past his stomach, and he feels like he’s about to go insane. he’s hallucinating, under some sort of spell that shows you what you’ve always desired. that’s the only plausible explanation.

but this was real. oh, so real.

dean’s hands were still holding on for dear life on your thighs, but your own was still going farther and farther down the fabric of the henley he was wearing, stopping at the hem and tugging on it, talking against his lips—

“put your arms up f’me, dean.”

goddamn, if that doesn’t make him literally shiver when you say his name like that, all breathless and pretty.

and dean follows the instruction, raising his arms and letting you pull the shirt over his head, revealing his the skin underneath.

he’s not even embarrassed of his scars, the marks on his body from over the years. not with you. the uneven skin told their own tales he wouldn’t dare open his mouth about, even after three whiskeys deep.

you discard dean’s shirt somewhere in his room without another thought when he lifts his arms up.

you’ve actually only seen dean shirtless twice— once after a hunt, and if you count that one time when that motel room with shitty air conditioning that got too hot last summer. you kept your eyes glued to the lore in front of you then, not daring to look.

this time, however, you couldn’t look away.

not even if you tried.

your lips are parted in what could only be described as pure awe while your eyes and fingers rake over every inch of new skin revealed while still in dean’s lap. first trailing a path up his exposed arms as your eyes continue to drink in all the details of him you’d never thought you’d see.

dean has never, ever been looked at the way you’re looking at him right now.

your fingers continue to trail up dean’s arms, fingertips grazing on the scars you could see in the dim light of his room. you actually knew some of them— having been there when he sustained the wound that made the scar, but a lot were new to you.

and you wanted to memorize it all.

it’s almost embarrassing how he feels like something to be worshipped under your touch. like someone to be taken care of. to be cherished.

as your fingers trail up his arms, he has to bite down on a whine in the back of his throat— forcing himself to keep still under your gaze as you rake your gaze over him. his voice is rough and hoarse when he manages to speak, but all he could get out was your name.

your hands found themselves resting dean’s shoulders while you take in the breathtaking view that is him under you, meeting his gaze when he says your name, voice just as quiet as his.

“yeah, de?”

your touch feels like dean took the jumper cables he had in the back of baby and put it against his skin. but it’s so soft, so gentle. it’s also making his whole body ache, yet he just wants more. and he can’t keep his eyes off you, either. the way you’re looking at him, at his scars like they’re nothing to be ashamed about… it’s almost safe.

dean swallows, hands coming to rest on your waist now that he’s topless. his voice sounds wrecked, broken.

because he’s begging.

“touch me.”

dean’s hands on your waist were making your heart beat all out of rhythm— and you almost completely lose your train of thought looking into his green eyes, wide and blown out.

for you.

you just nod at dean’s words— and your fingers continue their journey downward from dean’s shoulders, trailing over his skin until you eventually reach the waistband of his boxers, and you keep your hands there on the fabric when you look back up at him.

because you still needed to know:

“can i take these off?”

oh, for the love of—

dean nods rapidly before you’re even done asking, because he’d do anything, anything, to have you touch him like he had been not just a few minutes earlier— in fact, he’s already lifting his hips off the bed to make it easier for you, because he’s not about to hesitate. he needs you. he’s needed you for too goddamn long.

and when you manage to pull off dean’s boxers, discarding them in one fell swoop after he confirms and lifts his hips for you, your eyes widen at the sight of him completely exposed beneath you on his bed— and a quiet ‘jesus christ’ escapes from your lips before you can stop it.

and your reaction makes dean’s breath hitch. because it’s not a disgusted one— it’s the exact opposite. he feels vulnerable like this, exposed to you in a way he’s never been to anyone else. he should feel embarrassed. but he doesn’t, oddly enough.

his voice is so goddamn quiet when he bites down on another whine.

“please.”

and you just nod again. then both your hands find dean’s chest once more— and you start trailing a path down his lower torso with your fingers.

dean can’t help the way he lets out a strangled moan at your touch against his bare skin. with no clothing in the way to block it, he’s so much more sensitive. every single touch makes his breath hitch, his head spinning with how perfect it feels.

it’s too much.

and yet, he needs more.

dean’s hands find your hips again, gripping, trying to get you even an inch closer to him.

and as your fingers get lower and lower on dean’s stomach, you hesitate your hands. not because you weren’t sure— but it felt… well, wrong not to at least ask him for permission first.

so you look back up and meet dean’s gaze, eyes searching his again as you whisper, shifting closer to him in his lap.

“can i go lower?”

and at your question, a sharp shiver wracks through dean’s whole body— he’s half convinced he’s going to to just cum right there, even if you don’t end up touching him.

dean’s practically trembling under you now, hands gripping tighter on your hips. he tries to speak again, to say something— but his voice comes out in a strangled moan.

all he can do is nod against his headboard.

a soft exhale escapes you when dean confirms. you nod— and don’t hesitate again.

not when he was like this.

you take all of him in one of your hands— but you don’t even try to look away from his face while you do so. because you had to see his face for this.

and dean feels like the air’s getting ripped from his lungs at how good your touch feels. he’s never felt anything like this before. it could be the fact that he hasn’t had actual sex in a while (apparently, he’s considered old now), or purely just because of you.

yeah, but dean’s never been touched like this before. so goddamn gentle. but it’s still perfect. his eyes are still locked to yours, and his expression looks pained. it’s all too much, after wanting this for so long.

and all he can do is whisper your name before your hand starts to move.

you start starts slow— not too slow, though, because dean had already fucked his palm tonight more times tonight than he’d like to admit.

dean’s eyes actually flutter shut for a moment when your hand starts to move, a moan catching in the back of his throat. because it’s barely even started, and it’s so good. too good.

dean’s hands on your waist are close to shaking now, but he has to speak— even as it comes out in a hoarse croak.

because he needs—

“more. jesus, i need—”

you don’t even entertain the thought to tease dean or not do as he asked— because the sounds he was desperately trying to keep in were making you want to keep going, to not stop.

so you don’t stop. your hand speeds up, going back and forth on dean’s dick— and your gaze still doesn’t leave his while in his lap, touching him in the way you’ve always wanted to for so long.

and when you pick up the pace, dean’s breath hitches even more— god, it’s so good, but he still needs more. his hands are shaking as they grip tight on your waist, and his eyes somehow keep your gaze, even as his head feels like it’s spinning right into his headboard.

dean manages to get out his next request, in a begging whisper of a breath. he’d be ashamed if he wasn’t so desperate.

“please— please, i need—”

“its alright,” you nod before he can finish this time, leaning your head and pressing a kiss on his cheek. “i gotcha, de.”

and that’s it. you say those words and dean feels like he could cum right there. he’s already so close, just from your touch, the way your hand’s moving so beautifully up and down on his dick. the way you’re looking at him. he tries to keep his eyes open, too— to keep looking at you, but everything you’re giving him is starting to overwhelm him, he can hardly even breathe anymore.

dean glances down at your hand between both of you— big mistake, because the sight of your fingers around his dick and covered in him makes him let out strangled whimper. he bites down on his lip hard, his head falling back against the headboard and his eyes screwing shut. because it’s embarrassing how close he is to cumming in your hand.

you notice, of course— your hand doesn’t let up, but your other hand on dean’s shoulder goes to the side of his face, thumb grazing on his cheek. it’s a stark contrast to what you’re doing to his dick.

“de, its okay,” you reassure dean as his breaths become more and more unsteady, eyes flicking over his face. “you can let go if you wanna.”

and that’s it. that’s all it takes.

as soon you give him permission, dean’s gone.

his body suddenly goes rigid, then he’s bucking his hips into your hand so erratically and sloppily you would’ve been knocked from your position on dean’s lap if he hadn’t buried his face in your still clothed chest, tightened his arms fully around you and pulled you closer to him. he cums loud and hard, a mixture of soft groans, whimpers, swears and pants of your name spilling into the fabric of your shirt.

you’d never heard him like this before, ever.

but dean winchester— the man, the myth, the hunter god, was whimpering as you’re in his lap.

for you.

because of you.

and because it’s all too damn much— the way your hand feels, the touch of your thumb against his face, the look in your eyes when you said that it’s okay for him to let go of the tight rein he’s been holding onto for so long.

dean can feel himself shaking and still coming apart under you as you guide him through it, his face buried in your shoulder as you pull every last bit of pleasure out of him that he has with your fingers. he’s never felt so goddamn free before. he’s never come apart, not like this— not completely exposed like this.

dean’s hands are still shaking as they rest your waist, his entire body almost trembling with it being still so overwhelming. but it was perfect. and he needs to say that, to tell you that it was everything he’d ever wanted—

“please— please, just kiss me.”

and that comes out of dean’s mouth instead. you’d barely started to wipe your hand when the words spill out in a plea— a beg into your shirt. you’re a little surprised that was the first thing he said post-orgasm.

but still, you lean back just enough after dean says that, bringing your free hand to the side of his face while still in his lap, your gaze flicking between his in the dark of his room for just a moment before you lean back in, pressing your lips onto his again.

dean doesn’t hold back now. he doesn’t care about the mess he just made, the way he sounded, or the fact that he begged you to kiss him after you just made him cum.

he kisses you like a starved man, like the air he was breathing needed to come from your mouth and not any other source. his hands move to the back of your hips, gripping your shirt tight and pulling you even closer to him on his lap, now that your hand wasn’t between you both anymore.

dean tears his lips off of yours— and he is still just barely coming back to himself. his brain still hazy from pleasure, from you, but he tries to get out words because he needs to tell you how much he still wants, needs you. his hands grip tight on your hips, like he’s afraid you’ll just get up and leave if he lets go. his voice is still wrecked when he only manages to whisper your name again.

you don’t move out from dean’s lap, though. you stay pressed against him, his skin so warm and flushed against your own. neither of you had to say anything to know how intimate this all was. dean should be attempting to at least do something besides burying his face back in your shirt.

but you don’t let dean stay like that for too long. your hands go to the sides of his face, holding his head as you tilt it back to look up at you, searching his gaze as you continue to straddle him. and your own voice is a whisper, too.

“y’okay?”

and god, dean feels like his entire body’s just come apart again at that single word, because how do you answer a question like that.

dean has to take a breath, because he still feels the aftermath of it. everywhere. he nods, once— because he’s better than even alright. then again, because he has to tell you that, too.

“yeah,” he manages to get that out, and it’s still so damn wrecked, so out of breath. “more than okay.”

“okay, good,” your gaze softens and you nod when dean confirms that he was okay— and your other now-clean hand finds the side of his face when he looks up at you. a small smile tugs on your lips as your thumbs graze on his cheek. “just checkin’.”

dean’s blown-out eyes are still locked to yours as you brush your thumb against his skin, and he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of feeling you touch him like this.

it’s so tender. so soft.

and dean’s just… lost. in you.

but dean does finally manage to speak again, his voice still hoarse as his hands release from your hips start to trail down, calloused fingers rubbing gently on your exposed thighs and saying your name like a prayer. “god, i need—”

you keep dean’s gaze still— but not before glancing down to see his hands on your bare thighs in his dimly-lit bedroom as you straddle him.

dean’s hands looked like they belonged on you.

felt like it, too.

one of your own hands reaches down from dean’s face to his on your thigh, grasping on his fingers with yours.

“tell me what you need,” your voice is still a hush of a whisper, but remains completely and utterly genuine as you search dean’s gaze. “de, tell me what you need me to do, and i’ll do it.”

holy goddamn.

dean’s breath actually stutters a little at that, because you sound so ready, so willing— he can’t help but let those last three years of pining, of wanting you, of hoping show as he looks up at you.

“ride me. please.”

the words come out in a half-choked plea. dean’s so damn desperate for you, he’d beg. hell, he was begging in the darkness.

and you weren’t about to say no.

your hands take themselves off of dean’s face and hand, lifting your leg to discard your sleep shorts, then your (soaked) undies— then going to the shirt that you’d still been wearing, grabbing the hem of it and tearing it off, discarding it somewhere in his room before reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

and when that finally comes off, too, dean’s entire damn body tenses. because he felt like the air had just been ripped from his lungs.

again.

he’s seeing you more exposed to him, for him than he’s ever seen you before— and the sight of you like this is goddamn perfect. you’re so perfect.

dean’s hands tighten on your thighs, his eyes taking in the view of you like a man starved.

“holy—”

there’s a thousand words he has for you right now. things like beautiful, perfect, mine. but he can’t get them out yet. because his brain is still trying to catch up from the fact that you’re actually here and naked in his lap.

both of dean’s hands reach for your hips as he’s still staring up at you in awe, his fingers gently but almost greedily gripping on you— because he wants to touch you so bad that he wants to let out a goddamn sob. because no one has ever felt like this for him.

because no one has ever come close to the way he craved you.

your eyes meet back up to dean’s green ones once again. you didn’t have to tell him anything or even say something else.

so that’s why you just nod, then reach down between you both once more, starting to fully sink yourself on dean’s dick— all while still keeping his gaze while you let your hands rest on his shoulders, a exhale escaping you both.

you not even halfway on his dick, and dean thinks he might bust again right then and there. his fingers dig into your hip, all while a groan escapes his parted lips: “ah, shit—”

and oh, he’s big. it takes you a second, but you sink down completely on top of him, your pussy sucking him all up— dean feels like he can’t breathe. again. the sight of you like this is gonna fuel his jerk off sessions for the rest of his goddamn life.

dean’s not sure if it’s possible, but he uses his hands on your hips to gently just pull you even closer against him— which ended up being a mistake, because you involuntarily clench around him. his head drops in between your tits at the action.

and.

he.

whines.

“f— fuck—”

yeah. dean just whined at the feeling of being inside of you, eyes screwed shut and everything as he buries his face deeper between your breasts— you can feel the pant of air and his lips on your skin.

dean’s fingers lace together with yours fully, holding your hand tightly while his other is still gripping tight on the meat of your hip, finally taking his face off of you to look up at you above him.

and oh. you’re a goddess, at least. not something heavenly though, because angels are dicks— but you look unreal as you look back down at dean, your mouth just a little parted from feeling him.

dean twitches a little inside you as he tries to find words, just a few, to tell you how much he wants this— or at least to tell you to move.

all he can get out, though?

“p— please.”

you don’t have to ask for clarification.

you know what dean’s asking for.

so you give it to him.

you grind your hips—and dean whines a little again at that— down onto his just once, testing the waters before you find a rhythm.

and dean feels his entire brain just go on complete and total motherfucking overdrive. because this is it. he’s finally getting the most intimate part of you, the part he’s been wanting for so damn long— he literally can’t see straight anymore. that’s how good it feels. how good you feel.

dean’s head goes in between your tits again, still holding your hand as you move your hips on top on him, grinding down on his dick. his other arm goes around your waist, pressing himself against you and gripping you tight in an attempt to steady himself— but it barely helps. his eyes screw shut again, and he’s letting out another whimper before he can stop it.

“fff— oh, fuck—”

a moan drops from your mouth, too, but it’s nothing compared to the sounds dean’s making, gasping and groaning into your skin as he fucks up into you, meeting your movements. his dick is brushing on that spot that makes you groan— and kickstarts your urge to go faster.

so you do.

dean can’t control anything right now. his hips are bucking up into you erratically, the movements only being stunted a little due to how strong your thighs were around him as you straddle him.

your hand not holding dean’s goes into his hair as you’re both pressed together for a better grip— and dean almost sees stars. he groans a little again, his breaths coming in hard pants on the skin between your breasts.

and the praise falls from your lips onto dean’s ear before you can stop it—

“you’re doin’ so good, de.”

dean feels like he’s gonna cry. just from how perfectly good you feel on top of him— and he’s making the most delicious noises that sound like words but it’s just broken moans mixed with whimpers. his hand on your hip tightens to the point it’s almost painful, but you don’t mind all that much.

“ah, don’ worry, i gotcha,” you whisper against dean’s ear again, your hand tightening on his as you let out a rough exhale, chest heaving rapidly against his as your movements don’t falter once. “you’re doing so good f’me, dean.”

dean’s not in control of the sounds that come out his damn mouth anymore— the praise goes straight to his dick, straight to the familiar burning building low in his tummy. it’s just all swearing, sounds of your name and incoherent begging being said into your skin.

“ah— shit, fuckin’— please—”

dean’s not even trying to stop the words from rushing out of his mouth right now, even if he sounds pathetic. because it all feels so goddamn good, and he’s being so good— for you.

and dean can feel nothing but you right now, in every sense possible. everything else has been long gone, and he’s been so goddamn wrapped up in how good your pussy feels around his dick.

dean gasps for air, because wants to tell you that you’ve ruined every living thing for him in the entire goddamn universe forever.

he wants to tell you that he’s about to cum— again.

“jesusfuckin’christ— oh, please—” is what comes out of him instead.

the words are barely intelligible, and dean’s whole body is starting to tense underneath you as he manages to choke out a ragged cry of your name. your hand is still gripping hard onto his own, the other burying itself deeper his hair. you needed to hold onto him right now. shit, you needed a sec.

because dean winchester was begging to cum inside of you.

you almost stop grinding down on him for a second— the keyword being almost.

you just nod against dean’s head still buried in your tits, holding him against you as you talk into his ear again.

“go ahead, baby.”

dean almost sobs again when you say that. he lets go completely just as before, his hands’ grips becoming painful on you as his whole body shakes and convulses against yours, the movements of his hips becoming so erratic once more as he’s painting your walls with his… sixth? seventh? load of the night— only this time, it’s inside of you. and he’s making every sound in the book: whimpers, groans, a whine here and there, too.

you came, too— but honestly, if you didn’t, you would’ve been fine either way. seeing and hearing dean come apart like this was enough to last you a lifetime.

you don’t know how long dean and you stay like that, pressed into each other and panting, fluids mixed together, spilling out and sticking all over your thighs— but even as you pull back just enough to look down at him, dean’s still trembling under you, long after both your orgasms had surpassed their high, melting into a thick haze between you two.

dean can’t look at you— or won’t, but either way, your hand in his hair trails to the side of his face, and you gently force him to look up at you.

dean swallows hard, and his face flushes. the embarrassment was finally, finally starting to set in now that he’d fucked you and himself out. he braces himself for the teasing, the jokes— and the look on your face.

but you weren’t looking down at dean like he was pathetic, or weak. you never did— and you sure as hell weren’t about to start now, after he’d just shown you every side you’d wanted to see of him.

no, you just smile a little, eyes flicking between dean’s as your thumb grazes on his cheek. he can’t help but lean his head into your palm as you exhale your next words out in a breath—

“that was really fuckin’ hot.”

───────────────────────── 𖤐

you now have two ( 2 ) new messages from the author ! ↓

heyyyyyyy guys… soooo how we doin’? LMFAOOOOOOOO this has got to be the longest i’ve ever spent on a fic (only for dean wbk!)

and i know i said this last time, but on a real note: if you have stayed to the very end— first, THANK YOU FOR READING! and second, if you enjoyed, please consider SHOWING ME THAT ( reblogs / comments / etc ) because this took me FOREVER to write (again). i would love to know if my efforts are worthwhile!

my master taglist (so far): @blossomingorchids @bluemerakis @ambiguous-avery @maddie0101 @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @sunsbaby @emeraldcrs @h8aaz @honeyryewhiskey @supernotnatural2005 @cowboysandcigarettes @soldiersgirl @figthoughts @mostlymarvelgirl @amaris444 @kaz-2y5-spn @littlesoulshine @starzify @velvetparkerx @eggggggggggggggggggggsblog @fuckedupfate @liiiilsss @angelblqde @vmiina + i missed anyone OR if you want to be added/taken off, please let me know! <3

#they call her faith bc in her we trust to DELIVER #i hope your pillows are cold always #faith’s works . . . @bejeweledinterludes!#bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #faith ⋆. ✩˚.#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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bluemerakis · 2 months ago

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he called us pretty girl guys

ೇ WORTH EVERY PENNY. ☆

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

📖 LIBRARY !

PAIRING. dean winchester x f!reader.

SYNOPSIS. he ruined your other sheer lace bra last time while cleaning baby, so you bought a new one. when he sees you in it, though, all he can think about is sliding his cock between your tits—you don't stop him.

KARI TALKS. the link below is what inspired me to write this filthiness. listen !!! do not come for me !!! or i'll shoot u w my glock <3 because 🖕🏻 n e ways … i love smookums SO bad !!! he's such a lil slut <3 + this is lowkeyyy ass … but in bree's words! fuck it we ball.

🔗 P LINK.

dean owes you a bra. or at least, he owed you a bra.

but instead of whining about it—because let's be honest, you didn't actually care—you just went out and bought a new one. a better one.

it wasn't like you couldn't afford it.

your dad was loaded, ran a huge company known around the world, and you were his only daughter. money was never an issue. but when he made you choose between your inheritance or dean, the choice was easy.

you cut him off without a second thought.

and yeah, maybe that pissed off dean at first—because he had his whole pride thing going on—but you didn't give a shit. you were happy. you had him.

and right now? well, right now, you had his full attention.

"jesus, sweetheart. that's new."

you're lying on your back, your arms bent at the elbows, biceps pushing your tits together, giving him a perfect view of the new sheer lace bra wrapped around you.

it's delicate, expensive, barely even there.

dean's staring. openly. shamelessly. his green eyes dark, his tongue swiping across his bottom lip like he's already imagining all the ways he wants to ruin you.

and honestly? you love it.

"figured i deserved a new one," you say, tilting your head, acting all innocent. "since you completely soaked my last one."

he smirks, kneeling beside you on the bed, his hands already reaching for you. "not my fault you looked so cute all wet and pissed off."

"you drenched me, winchester."

"and you loved every second of it."

you roll your eyes, but you don't stop him when his fingers slide along the lace, tracing the curve of your tits, palming them through the fabric.

he exhales hard, cock already hard in his boxers, straining against the fabric.

"baby," he mutters. "this thing's barely even doin' its job."

you grin. "good."

he groans, squeezing a little rougher, thumbs brushing over your nipples through the thin material.

"you know," he starts, voice dropping, "i've always wanted to try somethin'."

you raise an eyebrow. "yeah?"

dean nods, his smirk turning downright filthy.

"lemme fuck these pretty tits."

you don't even hesitate. "whatever you want, baby."

dean looks too good, sitting back on his knees, muscles flexing, his cock heavy and hard in his hand.

he groans at your response, muttering a low, "fuck, you're perfect," before reaching over to grab something from the nightstand.

you hear the pop of a bottle cap, and then suddenly, his hands are lathering something warm and slick over your skin—oil, maybe?

whatever it is, it makes his touch glide like silk, his fingers sliding over your tits, spreading the shine, making them glisten under the dim motel light.

you hum, arching into his hands. "this your thing now, winchester? oiling me up?"

he chuckles, but his voice is strained. "nah, just wanna make sure i can slide in nice and easy, sweetheart."

you bite your lip, heat pooling between your thighs.

he positions himself, straddling your waist, his cock nestled right between your tits, the tip red and leaking, aching for friction.

"press 'em together for me, baby," he murmurs.

you obey, pushing your oiled-up tits around his cock, squeezing just right.

dean chokes out a groan, his head tipping back, hands gripping your ribs as he thrusts for the first time.

"yeah," he breathes. "just like that, sweetheart."

dean is a mess.

he starts slow, watching himself slide through the tight, slippery space, his cock disappearing and reappearing between your tits.

his breathing is ragged, his jaw clenched, his hands gripping the headboard behind you as he picks up the pace.

"jesus—fuck—"

his words send a shiver down your spine, and honestly? you're just as turned on as he is.

the sheer lace bra does nothing to hide the mess—his cock gliding between your slicked-up skin, the fabric barely covering your hard nipples, everything shiny with oil and precum.

dean loves it.

his eyes are blown out, fixated on the way your tits bounce with every thrust, his groans getting louder, rougher, more desperate.

"so fuckin' good—"

you giggle breathlessly, looking up at him. "you're really into this, huh?"

his eyes snap to yours, his hand is on your chin, tilting your face up.

"you have no idea," he rasps, before spitting right onto your tits.

you moan, clenching around nothing, the slick mess making everything even filthier.

"fuck, fuck—baby girl," he groans, thrusting harder now, his abs flexing, his hips snapping sharp and fast.

you love seeing him like this—wild, desperate, completely wrecked over you.

then—he loses it.

"shit—gonna cum—"

dean pulls back at the last second, his cock twitching, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he finishes all over your tits and that expensive, see-through lace bra.

he groans, long and deep, his head dropping forward, his body shuddering as he coats your skin in thick, warm ropes of cum.

you watch him, breathless, your thighs clenched, your own body aching for more.

"damn, baby," he mutters after a second, blinking down at you, his chest rising and falling.

you glance down at yourself, sticky and shiny, your new bra absolutely ruined.

"well," you hum, amused. "guess i'll be needing another one."

dean snorts, flopping onto the bed beside you, still catching his breath.

"yeah?" he smirks, glancing over. "that means i get to ruin another one, right?"

you roll your eyes, turning to straddle him instead.

"only if you make it up to me first."

he grins, grabbing your hips, pulling you down against his already half-hard cock.

"pretty girl," he murmurs, voice dripping with promise. "y'know, i can do that."

꒰୨୧꒱ SPECIAL TAGS. @titsout4jackles @daylighted @bluemerakis @beausling @aileenunfiltered @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @lacydollette @starzify @ultravi0lence14 @soldiersgirl @sunsbaby @abox-of-rocks @whisperingdaze @eepwtf @deanswidow @voidsuites @jasvtsc @cowboysandcigarettes @stereotypicalbarbie @unfortunate-brat

#kari ily never die #your writing is always phenomenal #bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #kari ☕︎ . ݁₊#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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bluemerakis · 4 months ago

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Dean if you don’t get your shit tg rn istg…

CASUAL , TWO ⸻ dean winchester

warnings dean winchester x fem!reader, unrequited love, fwb, smut, p in v, unprotected sex, praise, explicit language, angst, arguing, dean being a scared lil bitch, nsfw, 18+, ꒰ part 2 of my ‘casual’ mini series ꒱

Dean knew he was asking for a lot the moment he hit the call button. He leaned against the creaky wall of the random, rundown motel room he had booked. His mind was racing, though he wasn't really sure why. He just needed a distraction, something to pull him out of the mess inside his head, and you—well, you always knew how to make him feel better.

He'd heard that you were on a case nearby, and now, here he was. Again. Calling you like it was nothing, like your last time together didn't feel... different.

While on the other end you had stared at your phone for what felt like an eternity, your thumb hovering over Dean's name. You knew what he wanted. You always did. It wasn't a mystery why Dean was calling you up out of the blue at 1am.

Your first instinct was to ignore him. You didn't need this—didn't need to be his go-to when he needed an escape. Lately, every time you thought of him, it felt like your heart cracked a little more. And despite his emotional distance you couldn’t help yourself.

"Dean?" You voice crackled through the phone as you picked up the call.

"Hey, uh... You still in the area?" he asked, trying to sound casual. You sighed on the other end, and Dean could already feel your hesitation. "Yeah, I'm around.”

"Good. There's this motel a few miles off the highway. Thought maybe you could, I don't know, come ‘round?"

"I don't think I can," you said, your voice softer now, but firm. "I'm busy."

Dean frowned, pushing off the wall and pacing. "C'mon, y/n. Just a couple of hours. It's not like we haven't done this before."

A sarcastic chuckle left your lips, sounding almost bitter. "Exactly, Dean. We've done this before. Too many times."

"Yeah, but—" Dean started, then stopped, running a hand through his hair. He wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to say to that. It wasn't like he could argue with you. You both knew what the deal was. Casual, no strings, no messy emotions.

But still, he found himself pushing. "I just need you, okay? For tonight. Just to get out of my head." Dean could feel his heart thudding against his ribcage.

It wasn't supposed to be that complicated.

You wanted to say no. You should say no. You knew that you’d leave feeling emptier than when you came, like you always did, yet the thought of not seeing him at all—that was even worse. You hated it. Hated yourself for it. It was ridiculous, really, how you kept giving in, knowing how things would end.

"Fine," you finally said. "I'll be there."

When you arrived at the motel, the familiar sight of Dean's black Impala parked outside brought a lump to your throat. You’d convinced yourself on the way over that you’d keep your guard up this time, that you wouldn't let him get under your skin. But the moment you walked into that damn room and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, all your defenses began to crumble.

He stood up, giving you that same tired smile you’d seen a hundred times before. "Hey."

"Hi," you echoed, crossing your arms over your chest, trying not to let your frustration show. You weren’t here to fight—not yet, anyway. But the weight of everything unsaid was suffocating you.

But Dean wasted no time, stepping toward you and pulling you into his arms, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both urgent and needy. You wanted to push him away, tell him this wasn't what you wanted anymore, but damn it, your body betrayed you. You kissed him back, letting yourself get lost in him for a moment, because it was easier than dealing with the truth.

You two fell back onto the bed, lost in each other like you had countless times before. For a little while, you could forget. You could pretend that this wasn't just about the physical, that maybe, just maybe, there was something more between the two of you. But deep down, you knew better.

Dean’s body pressed more firmly against yours, his chest solid and warm as it met yours, adjusting himself just enough so that he was hovering above you. His tongue pushed gently against your lower lip before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

You moaned quietly, hands finding his hair, tugging lightly at the nape of his neck as his hands traveled down your sides, leaving goosebumps all over your body.

You could feel his growing erection pressing against you, slowly grinding himself back and forth on your core. The urgency in his movements made you feel wanted, desired, but at the same time you felt empty, just wanting it to be over.

Dean tugged at the waistband of your jeans, pulling them off within a matter of seconds before he freed himself from his own clothes, leaving you both bare.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous.” He mumbled, the words leaving his lips almost unconsciously. Of course he thought that you were stunning, but maybe it meant a lot more to you than he realized.

You inhaled sharply as you felt Dean’s finger teasing your entrance, smirking as he felt how wet you’ve gotten over the course of a few seconds. You surely couldn’t deny the fact that he turned you on.

“Soaked already?” He chuckled, making you nod hastily.

Grabbing your hips he secured you onto the mattress, pressing you down gently before he pushed his aching tip past your entrance, a loud moan escaping your lips. Your walls clenched around him almost immediately, making him groan.

“Fuck sweetheart, that tight cunt ‘s sucking me right in.”

You let out another moan, eyes fluttering shut as you felt his cock filling you up to the brim, a perfect fit. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he almost pulled himself out completely before slamming right back in, hitting your sweet spot over and over again.

“Hngh..shit—“ you hissed, your nails digging into his back, skin slapping against skin echoing through the motel room.

Dean's hand moved to cup your ass, his fingers digging in slightly as he pulled you closer with each thrust, craving every single inch of your body. As he continued to fuck you at a steady pace you felt yourself getting closer, clenching around his thick cock.

Dean was quick to redirect his hand in between your bodys, finding your clit, and circling the sensitive nub to drive you completely over the edge. You could feel your body tensing up, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level.

“Dean, I’m gonna—“ you whined out before the band in your stomach snapped, cumming hard all over his cock.

"That's it, baby.” he murmured, his voice thick with desire, not even noticing the little petname that had slipped past his lips.

He gave you a few more hard thrusts before letting out a loud groan himself, feeling his dick twitch as he came deep inside of you, painting your walls white with his cum, and leaving both of you breathless.

Dean fell down beside you in the quiet aftermath, the soft glow from the motel's flickering light casting shadows on the walls, staring up at the ceiling like he always did. It was so routine by now that you could almost predict his every move.

But tonight, something felt different. The silence between you was heavier than usual, and you felt a knot forming in your chest. You waited for him to say something, anything, but when he finally spoke, his words cut through you like a knife.

"You’re so good at this stuff. It’s like you were made for it.”

You froze. Made for it? Your heart sank. The casualness of his words, the thoughtless way he dismissed whatever connection you two had, made you feel sick. You sat up quickly, eyes burning with anger and hurt. "That's all I am to you? A fucking hooker?”

Dean turned to you, clearly confused. "What? That’s not- Why are you suddenly acting like this?"

Your anger was burning up, but so was your pain. It wasn't just this moment; it was all of it. Everything you’d been holding back for so long, everything you’d swallowed down, was bubbling to the surface. "Why wouldn't I act like this, Dean? Last time we met, we literally had dinner with your brother, and you fucked me in the bathroom like some random slut who’s hopping on anyone’s dick. And now you wonder why I'm bitter?"

Dean blinked, caught off guard. "That was just... it wasn’t—You know how it is with us."

"No, Dean," you shot back, voice shaking. "I thought I knew how it was. But apparently, I've been fooling myself this whole time. I hate that I let this drag on so long, and now, I hate myself for it."

Dean sat up, running a hand through his hair. This was exactly what he was afraid of. "I thought we were on the same page here, y/n.”

This was just how things were, right? Casual. No complications.

"I'm not just someone you can call when you're bored or need to get out of your head," you continued, voice breaking. "I deserve more than that, and the fact that I've let this go on for so long—it kills me. Because I hate that I've let myself care about someone who clearly doesn't care about me."

Dean's heart sank at your words. He'd always known you were more than just a quick fix for his demons, but hearing it laid out like that? It stung. And for the first time in a long time, he didn't know how to fix this.

"y/n...I-" Dean began, his voice soft, almost pleading. "I didn't mean to make you feel like that. I didn't—"

You cut him off, shaking your head as tears welled up in your eyes. "It doesn't matter, Dean. What's done is done. I just... I can't keep doing this. Not like this."

The room fell silent again, the weight of your words hanging heavy in the air. Dean stared at you, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to wrap his head around what was happening. He wanted to say something, anything to make it right, but the truth was, he didn't know how.

But what he knew was that the thing between you two wasn’t as casual as he pretended it to be, and that scared the shit out of him. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.

You stood up, heart pounding in your chest as you began putting on your clothes. You couldn't stay here—not when everything felt so raw, so exposed. Dean watched you, the guilt etched on his face, but he didn't say anything to stop you.

"I need to go," you said quietly, pulling on your jacket and heading for the door. You could feel his eyes on you.

"y/n.." Dean called after you, his voice almost too faint to hear.

You paused at the door, your hand resting on the knob, and for a brief second, you thought about turning back, thought about giving him one more chance. But you didn't. Instead, you opened the door and walked out, leaving Dean alone in that empty motel room.

He sat there, staring at the door long after it had closed, the weight of everything he hadn't said pressing down on him like heavy rain. He had no idea if you’d come back. And for the first time, he wasn't sure if he wanted you to. Because you deserved better than what he had to offer.

coming from first hand experience 😁 anyways..

feedback and requests are greatly appreciated !!

tags 🏷️ @gibson-g1rl @beausling @angelicjackles @deansbite @figthoughts @deansenvy @chevroletdean @rubyvhs @sugardean @figurantedefilme @cosmicanakin @sammyluvr @nuemanfilms @titsout4nicholas

#bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #this man needs to get over his self loathing and bag a bad bitch already PLS #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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bluemerakis · 17 days ago

Text

i… felt so many things

─ BITE THE PILLOW, dad's best friend ! jackles

jensen's been breaking a lot of his rules and traditions for a little more time with you -- and he's getting less and less inclined to care.

warnings. ( 18+ ! ) pls for the love of god don't interact with this series if you're a minor. hefty age gap. unprotected p in v. daddy kink. dirty talking. manhandling. he whimpers you're welcome. he actually pulls out this time good for him! aftercare. <3 word count. 4.6k

sneak into his room here!

SATURDAY NIGHTS AT YOUR HOUSE WERE always for one thing and one thing only: football. it was a tradition for as long as you could remember: the living room would fill up with your dad's rowdy friends, slinging ice cold beers back and forth from their spots on the couch, a mountainous pile of pizza boxes piling up on the coffee table.

some things never changed. your parents go apeshit downstairs over a sports game in the living room, you stay very far away from downstairs as long as you can.

not that you didn't show your support in some little ways. you avoided your family and their antics and the chaos of it, but you still wore the blue and white of the dallas cowboys; you weren't crazy.

it was one of those instances where you couldn't just avoid going downstairs, needing to eat something before the night wrapped up. you could only stay locked away in your bedroom with the sound of muffled shouting and drunken cackling through your bedroom door for so long.

"hey, sweetheart," your mom says the second you hit the bottom floor, which completely zilches the attempt you'd been making to get in and get the hell out without being noticed. "comin' to watch halftime with us?"

your face falls, exasperation dropping your jaw and leaving your mouth hung partly open. "it's only halftime?"

"sorry," she apologizes like she personally had a say in how long this game felt like it was stretching, which brings a little bit of a smile back to your lips. "your father started his little indoor tailgating party earlier since jensen's here for the weekend. that's probably why you thought it'd be over by now."

even better. jensen was in the other room, kicking the shit with your dad and uncle tom, probably drunk off of his ass. not that you cared what he did or got up to or anything, it just made the fact that you'd only thrown on one of your dad's old dallas cowboys jerseys on and nothing else a hell of a lot more interesting.

"is there any pizza left?"

your mom leans against the doorway from the kitchen to the living room, hand braced on the wall as she looks. "yeah, the top box at least has a few slices," she says, patting your shoulder warmly. "they've been talking about you."

you try your absolute best to pretend like that isn't a terrifying thought, what with who the three men in mention were. "why?"

"well, jensen asked about your studies, i think, and your dad and uncle couldn't help but start bragging on you." heartwarming as it was, you could only focus on one part of that explanation. jensen asked about your studies. after the conversation you'd had with him last night on the patio, you didn't think you liked the thought or reasoning behind that very much.

instead of pressing, you just smile at her. "oh, that's nice." it was, too, and it sucked that the only thing you could think about was how he'd use the fact that you were acing your classes without a blip on your record against you.

"go say hi to uncle tom," your mom urges, nodding you in the couch's direction, "he missed at your party when you ran off, wanted to congratulate you face to face."

you very much did not want to go say hi to uncle tom, since that meant being in close vicinity to jensen. sometimes, things were out of your control, like the fact that the reason you missed saying hi to uncle tom was because of the other of your dad’s visiting friends.

your little life was beginning to get big complications.

still, your say in the matter was naught, because your mother was nudging you in that direction already by your jersey-clad shoulders.

and there isn't any way that you can do this subtly, either, without more attention than necessary drawn to you, because you make it half a foot from the arm of the cream-colored couch your dad and his friends are spread out on, and uncle tom is on his feet.

"here she is!" he exclaims, like he hasn't seen you in weeks when, really, it'd just been a couple of days, if you counted your party. if you didn't, it'd only been a few months while you were away at school, and your dad provided you with many occurrences where he'd been with tom and he said hi.

uncle tom tosses his arms around your shoulders, tugging you tightly into his chest. he smells like beer and tomato sauce from the slice still held in his hand. he plants a big kiss on your forehead, and you can't even find it within yourself to be angry because of the dopey grin on his face when you pry yourself from his grip.

"didn't come say hi on thursday," he says, dropping back down onto the spot of the couch he took up space in, right next to an arm that you refused to look at who belonged to. you knew. that tattoo was pretty recognizable, unfortunately. "thought i pissed you off or something."

"no, i was just tired." the lies come easier now, which only makes your stomach churn just a little. you shouldn't have had to lie to your family about what you'd been up to, but you certainly weren't telling them that you'd been charmed by a devil to dance with him. "jetlag and all."

there's a reason he was your godfather. he looks relieved at that, like the prospect of you being easy on yourself and resting instead of talking to him two days ago was something he supported. he wouldn't if he'd known what you really were up to that night.

nausea churns in your gut, but you shove it down with force. the best you can do in this situation is avoid the man that'd caused it, which you were doing a wonderful job of doing.

"well," you say on a sigh, snatching the top pizza box with a little smile, very carefully dancing your eyes across the couch and skipping over jensen's in the middle, "i'm gonna go back upstairs, now. have fun with..." you wave your hand aimlessly at the tv screen. "that."

you can hear uncle tom's and your father's voices saying something, but everything is a blur outside of the tunnel vision you have for getting the hell out of there. the stairs are only a couple feet away, and you restrain from straight out running to them.

"hang on," you hear jensen mumble from the middle of the staircase, the clink of a bottle being sat down, "m'gettin' a call, i'll be back."

you literally could not move faster trying to slip into your bedroom and get the door shut before you had to cross paths. sure, he'd be on a call, but you purposely avoided his gaze entirely for a reason. he could keep up this facade with ease, but it was starting to weigh on you.

your door half-latches by the time his voice crests the top of the staircase, and you leave it, hoping he takes it as an invitation to bypass it entirely.

"yeah, i can come by monday," you catch from your spot in the center of your bed, pizza box haphazardly open next to you. you aren't even thinking about eating right now, not when you're so focused on making sure jensen walks past your room and goes to the guest one. "any time good? good."

there's a light tap on the other side of your door, and you're certain that you can feel the blood drain from your body. two more light taps, and the door pushes open slowly. jensen has his phone to his ear, a half-quirked grin on his mouth. "quick thinkin', ain't it?"

you blink your confusion. "what?" your lips mouth, not wanting to interrupt his call.

jensen flashes the blank screen of his phone at you for a second before pressing it to his ear again. "not a real call, pretty girl," he clarifies, the amusement evident in the lilt of his voice. "but you're real cute for bein' respectful about it."

the confusion melts away into exasperation. "you're ridiculous."

"you wouldn't look at me," he says, giving you an exaggerated pout that, just as fast, becomes indifference. "got a little creative."

"why?"

"don't play stupid, pretty girl," jensen steps fully into your room, closing the door behind him. the big fingers that dwarf his phone drop the facade, slipping it into his back pocket. "you're too smart for that."

you cross your legs beneath you, adjusting the end of your jersey over them — an action that jensen very blatantly tracks with his gaze. "you wanted me to."

"good girl," there's a part of you that's thankful he isn't examining your frozen-in-time high school bedroom, and another that wishes he had any indication that he wasn't just using you for a quick fuck while he was in town, because he bypasses everything to get to your bed, moving the pizza box over to the desk perpendicular to it, "and why do i want you to?"

your chin raises in defiance. "because you've been fucking me underneath your best friend's nose, and it's more fun for you to test the limits of that."

jensen's eyes flash with something, enough that his expression flattens, but that carefully constructed mask of indifference is back. "wrong." his weight sinks the edge of the mattress beneath him as he sits. "wrong twice, actually. c'mon, baby, don't make me spell it out for you."

you turn in the bed to face him, fingers folded in your lap. "how is that wrong twice? you are."

"i fucked you once." his smile is bitter and saccharine-sweet at once, a combination that almost makes you want to shrink away. you'd seen a couple sides of him before — the side that flirts with you and death at the same time and the side that pushes you and the limitations you've put on yourself, no matter how cruel it feels — but you've never seen the wolf that crowds you into a corner with his teeth bared. "i've just thought about it more than a few times."

his eyes are dark, the green swallowed by blown pupils that only serve to make him look more predatory. he leans over, his body looming over yours enough that you're forced to lean along with him, spine grazing the pillows behind your back.

"i want you to look at me," he whispers it like it was a secret, and from the look in his eyes, you didn't think he'd repeat them again, "because i wanna see those cheeks flush all pretty pink tryin' to pretend i haven't spread you open before."

you swallow thickly, unable to look away from him. he's got you held captive both in the cage of his arms he's put you in, and the intensity of his eyes. "you just wanna see me squirm. that's not fair."

"no, i want to see you scream my name, but we all can't have what we want." he tips your chin up with his index finger, caressing your jawline with the knuckle. "sometimes life ain't fair. sometimes you gotta take what you can get, when you can get it."

his expression shifts again, less predatory and more gentle, even though the dark of his pupils never pull back from their drowning of the green. "tell me to go away, and i'll go away."

and you should tell him to go away. this was becoming more of a pattern than you wanted it to be, bordering on a desperation that would do nothing in the end besides get one, or both of you, into deep waters you couldn't get out of.

but you think back to last night, how it'd felt to hear that so much of your life was kept in a tight-knit box, never straying loose from what was expected of you.

so you kiss him.

you kiss the taste of beer off of his lips, kiss the scratch of stubble that tickles against your own mouth, kiss him with your hands wound into the strands of his hair, tugging him down on top of you further so you could melt into the pillows behind you.

jensen doesn't hesitate to rise up onto his knees and move to lay over you, held up by one palm sinking into the springs of your mattress, the other pressed lightly against your chest, fingertips tracing lightly over your collarbones. it's just enough pressure to make you shiver, the callouses on his fingers leaving goosebumps peppered across your skin.

they slide down, down, down until they lift underneath your jersey and brush across the soft fabric of your panties. "i knew it," he laughs breathlessly against your mouth, hooking a finger into them and tugging, "naughty girl, prancin' around in front of me in just this."

"you weren't supposed to still be here," you say in answer, though it sounds weak in your mouth. everything sounds weak when he's pressed to you like this, daring you to open your mouth wide enough for him to invade it with his tongue.

jensen's palms flattened on your sides beneath the elastic of your panties, his fingertips pressed into the curve of your ass like he owns it. he probably does at this rate. you're so quick to melt into putty in his hands. "thank fuck i was, then," he rasps against your mouth, and then suddenly, you're on your stomach, your cheek resting into the pillows.

you don't even have time to process it, not before his hands are working so much more carefully than you'd expected from him, tugging down your panties. the cold air of your bedroom sends another wave of shivers down your spine when it breaches the newly exposed skin, wet with desire that never seemed to fade when you were with him.

jensen doesn’t waste any time, erasing any moment for you to feel vulnerable or nervous about your body being exposed — he licks a slow stripe up the slit of your folds, deliberate enough to make your toes curl into the thick muscles of his thighs.

"christ," he swears under his breath, closing his fingers around your thighs to pull you further against him. one of his palms moves to flatten on your spine, pressing it down until your back arches and pushes your ass higher into the air.

there’s the sound of a zipper and the shuffling of jeans behind you, and you writhe beneath him, a low mewl in the base of your throat. his laugh is breathless, breath ghosting over your ear as he bends down. "as pretty as you sound right now," he murmurs, his voice deep and gravely, "m’gonna need you to bite down on that pillow for me, baby girl."

you get two seconds to process the implications of that request before he slips into you, gliding effortlessly between your gushy tight heat. you understand instantly why he asks that of you when you gasp sharply, your mouth hanging open as it presses into the pillowcase.

"shh, what did i say?" jensen grunts into your ear, still sheathing the entire length of his thick cock between your tight walls. "c’mon, princess, what’d i say?"

"bite the pillow," you echo back to him, your voice wavering as he stuffs you full of him.

his fingers stroke through your hair, twirling the strands around his fingers affectionately as his hips start to rock. "good girl. you gonna do that for daddy? keep quiet for him?"

your fingers curl into the sheets, managing a nod despite the shudder that trembles like electricity through your veins. "mhm."

the hand in your hair gathers it into a ponytail and clutches it in his fist, tipping your head back. his lips graze your ear as he whispers, "doesn’t look like it to me. i wouldn’t push me, baby girl. i don’t know if you’ll like me mean."

it felt like a challenge, in its own way. he was still moving slowly inside of you, your fluttery walls stretching around him with each shallow, painstakingly slow movement. he’d chastised you for your blind obedience; did he want you to fight him on this?

you tip your head back to meet his gaze, a fire in your gaze that makes jensen grin wolfishly. you don’t say a word, but you hold the eye contact as you moan, a sound that makes his own green eyes flare.

"oh, you want daddy t’be mean, that it?" he releases your hair to push your upper back down into the mattress again, sliding his palm up to shove your head into the pillows. "always knew you were naughty, baby. someone’s gotta fuck that out of you."

you couldn’t move your face if you tried. each little noise you make in the back of your throat is muffled by the fluff of your pillows. only then does he start to quicken his pace, not as much as you want, but enough to make his heavy balls slap against the sensitive skin of your full cunt.

his one hand stays on your cheek, the other grips your hip, guiding you back against his shaft to take him deeper, hard enough for you to feel the imprint of his fingerprints in your thighs.

"you’re so goddamn tight," he hisses through his teeth, finally beginning to sound ragged and breathless himself, "i love your pretty pussy, baby, y'know that?"

you nod against the pressure of his hand, your fingers flexing at your sides after they'd started to go numb from how they'd clutched at the sheets. you'd been doing really good keeping the sounds to a minimum, but the faster he started to pump himself into you, the less inclined you were to try.

you didn't want to give into his request so easily, but you couldn't help it. your parted lips close around the fabric-covered pillow and you teeth clamp down on it, each moan and mewl from your mouth completely swallowed by the fluff inside of the pillow.

finally, his palm relents from your face, smoothing the back of his hand down the side of your face. "good girl," he murmurs, and he stops touching you and instead, grabs the polyester in his fist to jerk you harder down the aching length of his cock. each thrust is hard enough for you to push forward into the bed, deep enough for the tip of his cock to bruise your cervix.

your legs tangle around his behind you, and he shifts closer to you, making it that much more intense as he buries himself balls deep inside of you. "i'd stay inside you all fuckin' night, if i could," he pants behind you, rugged voice muffled by the soaked sound of him fucking into you, "don't got that kind of time though, do we? never have enough time for me to fuck you stupid."

you weren't so sure on that. every single time you'd been alone with him, you seemed to stop thinking entirely; obviously, considering you always ended up with some part of him inside of you. "m'not gonna last with you behavin' for me like this," he actually whimpers in the rough of his voice, the sound going straight to the ache between your legs, the building pressure of pleasure that you were so close to cresting over.

the pace jensen had set speeds up, and it's clear that he was just as close as you. you were bucking your hips against him, each noise in your throat getting more ragged and desperate. he releases your hip with his one hand, dropping it to clutch your fingers in his.

there are tears in your eyes when you finally reach your breaking point, stinging the corners. you barely manage to keep your mouth around your pillow as you cry out through the clench of your teeth, your legs shaking as he keeps going, keeps going, keeps going.

there was something raw about him like this, fucking into you with reckless abandon, enough so that his groans wavered into little whimpers. you're about to squeeze his hand to get him to stop, to slow, before the tears pooling in your eyes become overstimulated sobs, when he pulls out.

the feeling of the loss is immediate, almost as overwhelming as the feeling of his balls hitting against your clit, over and over. you gasp, lifting your head just in time to see him spilling in your previously discarded panties, the fabric fisted around his cock as white hot streaks seep through it.

jensen's eyes reopen after a couple of moments, a thin sheen of sweat coating his forehead, making the jersey he wore cling a little tighter to his arms and shoulders. he laughs, somewhat sheepish for how you usually see him, waving your panties like a white flag. "tryin' to be responsible." a joke followed by a curve of his lips.

"i'm gonna throw those away," you rasp, just as teasing as he was.

he raises an eyebrow, and you mimic the action right back at him. "i don't think you will," he hums, tossing them aside onto your hardwood floor. jensen crawls over top of you, all but crushing you under his weight as he looses a deep sigh. "jus' gonna stay like this for a minute."

"long call, then," you whisper into his ear, trying to shift underneath his heavier weight to get more comfortable. it was comforting to be so wrapped up in him.

he huffs a laugh, lifting his head to press his forehead against yours. "yeah. long call. i'll tell 'em downstairs i was talkin' to my bank or somethin' important."

his fingers brush across your cheek, tucking the strands back behind your ear. jensen leans in to press a kiss to your forehead, lips lingering for much longer than needed to be. it was this that kept you letting him into your room — the gentleness that only ever came in the aftermath, when you could believe you were more to him than just a convenient fuck.

"wasn't too rough?" he pinches your cheek affectionately, then brushes the pad of his thumb over the bone.

you shake your head, the smile on your lips lazy and sated. "no, but you're real cute for being respectful about it."

this time, his laugh is full and hearty. jensen sits up, reaching across your bedroom space to snatch the pizza box off of your desktop. "probably cold, now, but..." he settles back onto the backs of his legs, setting it between the both of you. "you should eat."

"mmm, not hungry anymore."

jensen shoves the box open, snatching a cold piece of pizza from it and shoving it in your direction. "mmm, don't care." he waves it adamantly until you take it with a dramatic huff. "you got a towel in here? lemme clean you up."

it was a striking difference to the closed-off jensen you'd gotten the first time you hooked up. he was on his feet, tucking himself back into his jeans as he genuinely searched your room for a towel or something.

you take a bite from the pizza slice, nodding toward your closet door. "it's my shower one," you feel the need to explain, though you don't really know why. you're not used to small talk with him. little details and small talk never really came up when you were together.

jensen grabs it and quirks a half-smile over his shoulder at you. "not anymore." his footsteps echo on the hardwood as he makes his way back to your bed. he hooks his fingers around your ankle and drags you closer to the edge of the bed, startling a gasp out of you, and nudges your legs open with his other hand. he wipes the towel gently up and down the inside of your thighs, glancing up at you through the short strands that fall in his eyes. "keep eatin'."

"you're distracting me." and he was. it was domestic, in a way, how gingerly he held your ankle and how careful he was with the towel between your legs.

jensen shrugs. "don't care," he repeats, though he follows it with a warm, teasing smirk, "keep eating or i'll start."

what kind of masochist were you if that sent a renewed thrill down your spine? jensen catches the sparkle in your eyes and shakes his head, tossing the towel in the same direction as your defiled panties. "you are becoming a little fiend."

you give him a toothy smile. "your fault."

"oh, my fault?" he leans in like he's going to kiss that smile, and at the last second, turns his head to steal a bite from your pizza. you gasp in surprise, laughter bubbling out of you before you can stop it. "i think i'm just pullin' the deviant out of you."

"you're pulling something out, alright," you shoot back through the fit of laughter, and he is utterly captivated by it. it makes you all too aware of how close he is, of each sweep of his eyes over your expression.

jensen leans in to kiss your forehead again, another lingering one that eases the slight tremor in your muscles still. "you'll be okay if i head back down?"

you don't want him to, and the grimace on his lips makes you think he doesn't want to, either, but you nod regardless. as he'd said before, the moments you had together were fleeting and weighted. "i'll run you a bath in the bathroom, when i head out. should be warm by the time you finish eatin'," he says, brushing your hair back out of your eyes, "and no one down there will hear the water runnin' for a few extra minutes over your uncle tom's damn shouting."

"he loves football," you say in his defense, ignoring every other bit of information he tells you so that you don't do something stupid like take it anyway else but face value. he probably wouldn't be like this again next time. there probably wouldn't be a next time. he had one day left at your house, and then he'd go back to wherever he lived, out of your life.

jensen's face falls at whatever is reflected in your eyes, and he kisses your cheek this time, the stubble tickling the skin around your lips. "you can come down after, if you want," he offers, pressing his forehead against yours. "i'll behave."

you smile, settled again from the bout of unease. "if i'm not too tired."

"i'll save you a seat."

jensen slips away, then, steps slow and reluctant like he was waiting for you to invite him back in, even though both of you knew he couldn't. he keeps the door gapped again just like you'd had it before his arrival with one last look over his shoulder at you, something unreadable and soft in his eyes.

moments later, you hear the water start to run in the bathroom at the end of the hall, and you smile to yourself.

maybe you lived as prominently in his head as he did in yours. maybe, you'd started to unravel the elusive mystery of his closed-off exterior, one day at a time.

notes | sigh i love them. they r everything 2 me. i am so excited 2 finally get this out of the drafts! ───ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤfeedback & reblogs appreciated <3 !!

tags | @soldiersgirl @seven7lee @deansbeer @titsout4jackles @winchestersbgirl @tinas111 @bejeweledinterludes @lonelylonelybaby @mourningthewicked @ultravi0lence14 @1-imbroglio @hughesinthebox @angels-silhouette @blossomingorchids @chris444evr @cassiecourtemanche @writtenbyhollywood @adrienneleclerc @losers-clvb @bluemerakis @fuckedupfate @legalmente-loca @k-slla @fxckingjo @blueschevy @fitxgrld @viluren @youdontknowe @sizzlingcheesecakepanda @cupidluvzz @lanasgirlfr @h8aaz @coralfacecrown @doublecrazyyymofo @1ghxstt1 @mahi-wayy @narniabusinessbitch @zqarax @angelicjackles @arcannaa @am0rem @sthefferrete @v1v1-3 @spxideyver @suckitands33 @beausling @pieandflannel @briisbananass @cowboysandcigarettes @deanswidow @aurevina

#BYE I LOVE HIM WHEN HE’S ALL MEAN IN THE SHEETS AND SOFT AFTERWARDS LIKE HE COULD NEVER HARM A FLY #I NEED HIM MY HOLES NEED HIM MY HEART NEEDS HIM #dahlia's ☆ journal #bluemerakis recs ᝰ.ᐟ #dad's best friend!jensen #best friend's daughter!reader #jensen ackles #jensen fucking ackles #jensen ackles smut

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