#dean x y/n

[maddie0101]

𖤐 heated waters

𖤐 summary: instead of staying in another motel, you brought dean to a nice five star hotel. you suggested that a vacation would help the two of you relax, but what happens when things get too steamy in the hot tub?

𖤐 warnings: smut!!!, best friends to lovers, horny idiots in love w each other, some dirty talk, sexual tension, fingering, teasing, p in v, semi-public sex, dean having trouble breathing bc reader is in a bikini, hot tub sex, wrap it before you tap it guys.

𖤐 word count: 4.2k

Convincing Dean to take a vacation had been a fight. You only rolled your eyes as he grumbled when you checked into the fancy hotel, eyeing the pristine lobby like it might be cursed.

“Yeah, if I left it up to you, we’d be sleeping in the Impala with a six-pack and motel vending machine snacks,” you shot back, handing the receptionist your credit card.

Dean had rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. And now, after a long day of actually relaxing for once, lounging by the pool, eating real food that wasn’t from a gas station, and even letting himself enjoy a massage, you had managed to talk him into drinking in the hot tub.

You quickly rummaged through your bag for your swimsuit, excited and very pleased with yourself at the grand idea. “I’ll be out in a second,” you called over your shoulder as you disappeared into the bathroom.

Dean, still lying on the massive hotel bed, waved you off. “Yeah, yeah. Take your time, sweetheart.”

Shaking your head, you slipped into your bikini, adjusting the ties and checking yourself in the mirror. You had never really thought about what Dean would think of you in something like this. He’d seen you in plenty of different outfits over the years—blood-soaked, dirt-covered, even in a towel after hurried showers between hunts. But this felt different and you couldn't lie to yourself, you were a little excited. Brushing off the weird flutter in your chest, you finally stepped out of the bathroom.

You barely took two steps before realizing that Dean had gone completely still. He was still lying on the bed, beer in hand, but now his knuckles were white around the bottle. His mouth had parted slightly, and his eyes—oh, his eyes—had gone dark as they flickered over you.

His expression was unreadable at first, a mixture of shock and something else, something you couldn't quite read. But as quickly as it appeared, he reeled it back in, clearing his throat and gripping his beer like it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

You smirked. “Something wrong, Dean?”

Dean blinked, like he had just been pulled from a trance. “Nope.”His voice came out strained, rougher than usual. His gaze darted up to yours, then away just as fast.

You crossed your arms, tilting your head. “You sure? You’re acting weird.”

Dean let out a breath, dragging a hand through his hair. “Just—uh—didn’t expect you to—y’know—walk out wearing that.”

You raised a brow, amused. “That? Dean, it’s a bikini. We’re going to a hot tub.”

Dean let out a tight chuckle, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. “Right. Totally normal. No big deal.”

Dean's jaw locked, his knee started bouncing like he was physically restraining himself. He hadn’t taken another sip of his beer—hadn’t moved—just sat there, like if he twitched the wrong way, he might lose it. You smiled to yourself. And, okay, maybe you shouldn’t have found it so entertaining, but Dean Winchester—flustered? Awkward? Almost short-circuiting because of you? It was delicious and you were eating every second of this moment up.

You walked past him toward the minibar, feeling his eyes follow you despite his best effort. “Relax, Winchester,” you teased, grabbing a tiny bottle of whiskey. “It’s not like you haven’t seen a girl in a bikini before.”

Dean exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath. “Yeah, but not you." The words were so quiet, definitely not meant for you to hear, but you did. And your stomach flipped.

You turned just in time to see him stand abruptly, grabbing his swim trunks like they might save him. “I’ll, uh, get changed.” His voice was gruff and his movements hurried. He didn’t meet your gaze as he all but escaped into the bathroom.

But by the time the door clicked shut, you were grinning like an idiot.

By the time he finally emerged, looking as put-together as someone who just had a mini-crisis could, you were already lounging in the hot tub, sipping on your drink.

But now it was your turn to struggle. Because—holy hell. Dean walked toward the tub, rolling his shoulders, his shirt hanging from his fingers. He tugged it off in one smooth motion, muscles flexing...Your brain short-circuited.

You’d seen him shirtless before—patching up injuries, post-hunt showers, those rare summer days where he ditched the flannel. But something about this moment—the setting, the low glow of the patio lights casting golden shadows over his skin, the way his abs flexed as he stepped into the bubbling water—was unfair.

Dean settled across from you, sinking into the warmth, letting out a satisfied groan. “Damn,” he muttered. “Okay, maybe this was a good idea.”

You barely heard him over the sound of your own heart pounding. Dean cracked an eye open, catching you staring. A slow smirk crept across his lips. “Something wrong, sweetheart?”

Oh. You realized, too late, that you had been blatantly ogling him. You quickly looked away, face heating. “Nope. Just wondering if you’re gonna keep sitting there looking smug or actually drink.”

Dean let out a chuckle, bringing his whiskey to his lips. “Mmhm. Sure.”

The tension between you was thick. And you both knew it. Neither of you spoke for a moment, the bubbling water swirling between you, the night air warm and heavy. Dean stretched his arms out along the edge of the hot tub, tilting his head back with a satisfied sigh. The patio lights cast a soft golden glow over his skin, highlighting the broad planes of his chest, the water glistening over his collarbones.

You swallowed hard and quickly took a sip of your drink, focusing very intently on the dark sky above. You were not about to get caught ogling Dean Winchester, of all people. It wasn’t like you hadn’t seen him shirtless before—after years on the road together, motel rooms and shared living spaces had provided plenty of accidental glimpses. But this was different. The two of you weren’t post-hunt, covered in sweat and blood. This wasn’t some rushed moment between showers or changing clothes. This was slow. Unhurried. And worst of all? You were supposed to be relaxing. Yet here you were, gripping your glass like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to sanity, your body all too aware of the man sitting just across from you.

Dean let out another sigh, shifting slightly in the water. “Damn, I might just have to give you this one.”

You raised an eyebrow, finally looking at him again. “Give me what?”

His eyes flickered open, meeting yours with that lazy, almost reluctant amusement. “The vacation thing. I hate to say it, but this? Not the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

You smirked, lifting your glass. “I’ll take that as the highest of praises.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his own drink. “Don’t get cocky, sweetheart.”

You leaned back, letting the warmth of the water soak into your skin. “Too late.”

A comfortable silence settled between you, the low hum of the water jets filling the space. But even as you tried to settle into the quiet, you could feel Dean’s gaze flicker toward you every so often. Quick glances—barely noticeable if you weren’t paying attention.You resisted the urge to smirk. Instead, you turned your head slightly, catching him just as his eyes darted back to his drink. Busted.

You didn’t call him out on it. No, that would be too easy. Instead, you shifted ever so slightly, stretching your arms over the edge of the tub, the movement pulling your body up just enough to let the waterline dip lower.

Dean cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. You felt his gaze flicker downward again, lingering for just a second too long before he pulled his eyes away, jaw tightening. You bit back a grin, staring at your drink like you hadn’t just caught Dean Winchester actively struggling to keep his focus.

“Y’know,” Dean finally said, voice carefully even, “it’s weird seeing you like this.”

You raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence. “Like what?”

His lips parted, then pressed into a thin line, as if he’d just realized he walked straight into a trap. Dean Winchester, hunter, badass, master of talking his way out of any situation—stuck. You fought the urge to laugh. He shifted in his seat again, finally settling on, “Relaxed.”

It wasn’t what you expected. Your teasing smirk softened into something more genuine. “Yeah,” you admitted, tilting your head back. “Feels nice, doesn’t it?”

Dean exhaled, and for a moment, the playful tension faded into something quieter. “Yeah. It does.”

You glanced over at him, catching the way his shoulders had lost that constant tension, the usual tightness in his jaw gone. Dean never let himself relax. Even in moments of quiet, his mind was always running, always ready for the next fight. But here, now, sitting across from you, a drink in his hand, the warm water lulling him into something close to peace—It made your chest tighten.

You looked away before he could catch the softness in your gaze, clearing your throat. “See? Told you I know what I’m talking about.”

Dean chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Rub it in.” You grinned, satisfied.

Another silence stretched between you, but this time, it felt heavier. Charged. Dean took another sip of his drink, eyes flickering toward you again, his gaze skimming over your shoulders, down the slope of your collarbones, dipping lower—You raised an eyebrow. “Enjoying the view, Winchester?”

Dean’s hand jerked, nearly spilling his drink. He recovered quickly, clearing his throat. “Huh?”

You fought back a smirk, watching him flounder. This was fun. “I mean, you keep looking over here,” you teased, swirling the liquid in your glass. “Figured I’d check if you’re admiring the scenery or just lost in thought.”

Dean scoffed, leaning back. “Please. If I was lost in thought, you’d know it.”

“Oh? That so?”

Dean smirked. “Yeah. My face gets all serious. Broody. You’d start asking if I was about to confess some deep, emotional trauma.”

You laughed. “True. But that doesn’t explain why you keep staring at my tits.”

Dean choked on his drink. You cackled, leaning forward as he coughed, setting his glass aside. “Son of a bitch,” he muttered, wiping his mouth.

You grinned. “I knew it.”

Dean scowled, cheeks tinged pink. “You’re imagining things.”

“Oh, am I?” You tilted your head, drumming your fingers along the rim of your glass. “So, if I were to, say, adjust my top right now, you wouldn’t—”

Dean pointed at you, eyes narrowed. “Don’t you dare.”

You smirked, savoring the moment. The way Dean’s posture stiffened, the way his eyes flickered nervously between your face and the swell of your chest, told you everything you needed to know. It was like a slow-motion train wreck you couldn’t stop watching.

You smirked, almost too pleased with yourself, but you didn’t make a move just yet. You leaned back against the edge of the hot tub, feeling the bubbles massage your back as you let the tension build. Dean, on the other hand, shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His hand gripped his drink like it might fall out of his fingers at any moment. He couldn’t quite hide the flush spreading across his face, and the way his gaze darted over your body—quick, calculating, like he was trying to keep it together—was enough to make your heart race.

“Relax, Winchester,” you teased lightly. “It’s just a bikini.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat working. He cleared his throat as he finally forced himself to meet your eyes again. “Right. Just a bikini. No big deal.”

You tilted your head, pretending to look innocent. “It’s a big deal to you, though, isn’t it?”

Dean shifted in the hot tub, avoiding your gaze. The tension between you two had thickened, every passing second making the space between you more charged. The casual teasing had shifted into something deeper, a quiet understanding lingering in the air. You sat up a little straighter in the tub, casually stretching your legs out, letting them float beneath the warm water. “Come on, Dean. You’ve seen plenty of women in swimsuits. What’s so different about me?”

Dean’s eyes snapped to yours, his jaw tightening ever so slightly. “It’s not that,” he muttered, his voice rougher than usual, like he was struggling to keep his cool. “You’re… different.”

The answer caught you off guard. You expected more of the usual smartass remarks, the teasing banter you’d grown so used to. But this… this was a little too honest. It made the air between you feel even heavier, the realization that the game you were playing wasn’t just for fun anymore.

You swallowed, your smile faltering for a split second before you recovered, tossing back a sip of your drink to cover it. “How am I different, exactly?”

Dean shifted again, his knee brushing against yours beneath the water. His hand tightened around his glass, the muscles in his forearm flexing with the movement. You couldn’t help but notice how he was trying to look anywhere but at you. “You’re—” He paused, and for a moment, you almost thought he wasn’t going to finish the sentence. Then he cleared his throat, shaking his head. “I don’t know. You’re just… you.”

You raised an eyebrow, a small laugh escaping your lips. “That’s the best you’ve got? Just me?”

Dean shrugged, still avoiding your gaze. “What else do you want me to say? You’ve been my best friend for how long, and now—now you’re out here looking like that?” His voice was more strained now, and you could tell he was trying to hold it together, trying to keep the situation from spiraling into something neither of you were ready for.

You let the silence hang for a moment, watching his profile, the way the moonlight hit his jaw and made his stubble glint. The air was thick with words unspoken, but neither of you was ready to cross that line. “So, what are you saying, Dean?” you asked softly, leaning in just a little, your voice almost teasing but with an edge of something more serious. “That you’re into me?”

Dean’s head snapped toward you, eyes wide. “What? No! I—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, clearly flustered. “That’s not… that’s not what I meant.” You chuckled softly, trying to keep the mood light, even though your heart was pounding. “You sure about that?”

Dean’s gaze flickered to your lips, then quickly away. He was fighting something, something he clearly didn’t want to deal with. He muttered something under his breath, his fingers rubbing his temple like he was trying to shake off whatever was swirling in his head. “Dammit, Y/N,” he muttered, his voice low and rough. “Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

You tilted your head, raising a brow. “Make what harder?”

Dean leaned back, his chest rising and falling with a deep breath, eyes flicking to the water beneath him. “This. Us.” The words hung in the air, too raw, too real, and you both just… sat there for a moment, letting the weight of the situation settle in.

“What are we doing, Dean?” you asked quietly, your voice softer now, the playful teasing gone. You couldn’t help it. The way he was reacting to you, the way everything between you was shifting—it had caught you off guard. It felt different now. Like the lines between best friends and something more were suddenly too blurred to ignore.

Dean didn’t answer right away, but his hand, still gripping the glass, twitched like he was about to say something. He shook his head again, a small frustrated sound escaping his lips. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not yet.

“You know what we’re doing,” he finally said, his voice quieter, rougher. “We’re just… enjoying the night. This… this doesn’t change anything.”

You stared at him, taking in the way his shoulders were tense, the way his jaw was clenched like he was trying to hold himself back. It was as if he was afraid that crossing some invisible line would change everything. And maybe it would. Maybe it already had. The air between you and Dean had thickened in a way that made it impossible to ignore. The hot tub’s bubbling water swirled around you both, but it felt like the world had quieted down to just the two of you. Neither of you spoke, your knees brushing occasionally, both of you pretending it didn’t mean anything, but it only made the tension worse.

His knee gently bumped into yours, and you could feel his leg brush up against your skin. A jolt of heat raced through you, making it impossible to ignore the proximity. You glanced at him, and for a moment, you both just stared. His gaze was intense, unreadable. His lips parted slightly as if he was trying to say something but couldn’t quite find the words. You, on the other hand, couldn’t look away. You knew what this was—the chemistry, the connection. It had always been there, lurking beneath the surface, unspoken, but now? Now it was undeniable.

You shifted slightly, trying to ease the tension in your own body, but all it did was bring you closer to him. Your knees were now so close that if you moved a fraction more, you’d be pressed right up against him. Neither of you made the move to back away, though. Instead, you both stayed rooted, as if somehow afraid that if either of you acted, it might shatter the fragile moment you were both caught in.

Dean’s hand rested on the side of the hot tub, fingers curling lightly around the edge. His bicep flexed slightly, drawing your eyes to the strength in his arm, and you felt the breath catch in your throat. He caught you staring, but instead of teasing you like he normally would, he let out a low exhale, his jaw tightening. It was clear now that neither of you could deny what was happening.

The silence stretched on, your hearts beating faster with every passing second. His gaze drifted from your eyes to your lips, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was feeling what you were—this undeniable pull, this tension building between you both. You leaned just a little bit forward, your body reacting without thinking, but the movement was slow, cautious, like you were both testing the waters.

And just as you were about to close the gap, Dean shifted again, this time inching closer. His knee brushed against yours once more, and this time, the contact was more deliberate, the touch lingering just a bit longer than it should’ve.

You were so close now—barely inches apart. His breath fanned across your face, warm and slightly uneven. His gaze flickered to your lips again, and this time, you didn’t hide the way you were looking at him. You wanted this. You wanted him. The weight of the moment was heavy, the air thick with anticipation.

Dean’s lips parted, and for a second, you both hesitated. It felt like the world was holding its breath, waiting for one of you to make the first move. But neither of you did. Neither of you wanted to break the fragile balance, the delicate tension that hummed between you.

Then, in a quiet breath, Dean leaned in. His hand moved from the side of the tub to your cheek, fingers grazing your skin lightly, and you let out a soft breath at the touch. Your eyes fluttered closed just before you felt the gentle pressure of his lips on yours. The kiss was slow, deliberate—tender. Like he was savoring the moment, unsure how to move but unwilling to pull away. Your heart raced as you melted into him, responding with the same intensity, your lips moving together with the kind of quiet hunger that had been building between you for far too long.

Dean’s warm hands pull you impossibly closer and he deepens the kiss. A groan of satisfaction rumbles through his chest as you involuntarily let out a small moan. The water laps around you as he swiftly pulls you into his lap and cups the side of your face, bringing you closer. Electricity shoots through your bodies as you wrap your arms around his neck and deepen the kiss.

Just as the heat pools in your lower stomach, Dean's hands slowly slide down your thighs, working their way to the curve of your ass. You gasp into his mouth as his large calloused hands grip you, the action only causing your hips to rock. You let out another moan as Dean bites down on your bottom lip and thrusts his hips up, causing your heat to feel exactly what you're doing to him.

"Y'wanna take this inside?" You ask in between kisses and attempting to catch your breath.

"Hell no." Dean groans, "You've already tortured me enough."

You didn't even have time to react before he quickly slid your bikini bottoms to the side and thrusted his thick fingers into your heat. The gasp that left your lips was quickly covered up by Dean's mouth attacking yours. His fingers worked in and out of your heat, causing sparks to shoot through your body. Your head falls onto his shoulder, leaving light kisses as he continues to let his fingers fuck up into you.

"Come for me sweetheart." Dean's gruff voice causes you to shiver as you desperately rock your hips down on his hand. "Can't wait to see how you take me. Such a pretty little mess for me already."

His words send you over the edge. A loud moan rips through you as he continues to help you ride out your high. Dean's hand rises up from the water and cups the side of your face, bringing your lips back down to his. In between the heated kisses and the taste of whiskey still lingering on his lips, you whined again as you felt Dean's length rubbing against your core.

"Dean, I need you inside me." You managed to get out, "now." You demanded, not wanting to waste another second.

You felt Dean's lips curving into a smirk against your own. The first time he'd get to fuck you, and you were already begging for him. The thought wondered through his head of how many times you might've thought about his dick inside of you. How many times you squeezed your thighs together to get some sort of relief, and he had no clue. How many times you thought of him while an orgasm shot through your body.

"S' demanding." Dean's mouth met yours as he grabbed his length and slowly thrust himself into your entrance. The feeling was absolutely euphoric as shocks shot through your body and your cheeks burned. A loud moan left your lips as he began to move, his large hands digging into your plump thighs for support. You met him each time he thrust up into you, your foreheads rested together as your hands gripped the brick of the hot tub behind him.

"Ve' wanted you for so long." Dean admitted, "since I first laid eyes on you."

"Me too." You managed to get out between moans, "I've thought about you so many times. How good you feel."

Dean let out some low growl, his pace picking up. "Such a good girl. Taking me so well. This pussy was made for me."

The words only spurred you on, grinding down on him as you started to moan his name over and over again in his ear. "I'm close." You admitted, that familiar coil tighten in the base of your stomach.

"Come with me sweetheart." Dean's hips met yours in a more sloppy, erratic pattern. You knew he was extremely close as well.

"Dean-" you moaned his name one last time as he left a trail of wet kisses along your neck. The sensation pulling you over the edge, your walls clenching and pulsing around him. As you came, Dean quickly followed, not being able to withstand the sensation of your pussy pulsing around his dick.

You two slowly came down from your highs and finally met each other's gaze. Dean's eyes were hooded as he looked up at you. "I love you." He admitted, causing your breath to hitch. "And I'm not just saying that because I'm inside of you right now."

You giggled but quickly met his loving gaze, "I love you too, Dean. Always have."

"Good because that would have been awkward. You know admitting your feelings to your best friend who you just fucked in a hot tub..."

You smiled, shaking your head. Meeting his gaze again, your smile grew into a smirk as you grinded your hips down, causing Dean to let out a groan. Your arms hung loosely from around his neck and your fingers played with his hair as you leaned forward, brushing your lips against the shell of his ear. "Wanna move this to the bed?" Your voice came out extremely low and seductive, causing a shiver to roll down Dean's spine before he let out a mixture between a growl and a groan. "Oh we're going all night, baby."

author’s note:

I wrote this while running on 4 hrs of sleep 🥴 lmk if you would like to be tagged in future fics!

If you don’t know by now I am a slut for tension, angst, and longing. I’m not one to write a lot of fluff, lmfao. So if you guys would like more fics lmk!

If you wanna check out the rest of my work—the link is here!

Tag list:

@freeluigihesbae

[lila-lou]

✨Taking her in - Pt. 20✨

Summary: After Dean Winchester saves your life, he brings you into the safety of the bunker. As you grow older and stronger, Dean refuses to let you join the hunts, his overprotective behavior intensifying. But beneath his fierce protectiveness lies something darker—conflicted feelings he can’t face. As your 18th birthday approaches, Dean struggles to keep control, torn between his duty to protect you and emotions he’s buried for too long.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, Angst, HUGE Age Gap, Immoral, Language

Word Count: 7423

A/N: English isn’t my first language, please be lenient. 💜

That was all he needed. His lips crashed onto yours with a ferocity that left you breathless, his good hand sliding to the small of your back and pulling you flush against him. Every ounce of restraint he’d been holding onto for months seemed to shatter in that moment, replaced by a raw, unrelenting need that consumed him completely.

Dean’s lips left yours with a heated groan, his good hand already moving with purpose as he turned you around in one swift motion. You gasped softly as he pressed you forward, your chest meeting the cool silver countertop. The cold metal sent a shiver through your body, the sensation heightened by the fire roaring inside you.

“Stay still”, Dean growled, his voice low and rough with desire as his hand firmly pressed against the small of your back, keeping you in place. His good hand tugged up the hem of your (his) oversized AC/DC shirt, exposing the curve of your ass.

Dean groaned deeply, the sound resonating in the quiet kitchen as he tugged the shirt higher, exposing more of you to his heated gaze. His good hand gripped your hip tightly, grounding himself as his eyes roamed over you, drinking in the sight of your body bent over the counter for him. His green eyes darkening when he realized you weren’t wearing anything underneath. The sight of your bare skin, glistening and exposed, made his throat tighten, a low, guttural groan escaping his lips.

“Fuck”, he murmured, his voice rough and throaty as his hand tightened on your hip. His good hand slid down to brush over the curve of your ass, his fingers grazing your skin with a mixture of reverence and need. “You’ve been walking around like this?”, he growled, his tone laced with equal parts frustration and hunger. “No panties, just waiting for me to find out?”.

Your breath caught, your face heating as you clutched the edge of the counter. “Dean—”, you started, but your words were cut off by a sharp intake of breath as his fingers slid lower, teasing along the seam of your thighs.

“Don’t”, he rasped, his lips brushing against the back of your neck as he bent over you, his chest pressing into your back. “Don’t even try to explain, sweetheart. I can’t think straight right now”.

He spread his fingers over your hip, his touch firm but deliberate as he guided you to arch more for him, your bare skin flush against the cool surface of the counter.

His grip on your hip tightened slightly, grounding you as his other hand moved lower, sliding between your thighs. He didn’t rush, didn’t falter, letting the anticipation build as his fingers explored you with deliberate care.

When he slipped his middle finger inside you, your breath hitched sharply, your hands gripping the counter for support. The sensation sent a jolt of pleasure coursing through you, your body instinctively pushing back against him as a soft whimper escaped your lips.

“Shit”, Dean murmured, his voice low and filled with awe as his finger pressed deeper, curling slightly. “You’re so damn wet, sweetheart. All this for me?”.

You could barely respond, your body trembling under his touch as he began to move his finger in a slow, deliberate rhythm. The weight of him against you, his voice, his touch—it was overwhelming in the best way, every nerve in your body alight with sensation.

Dean groaned deeply, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You feel so good”, he rasped, his voice thick with desire.

Dean paused for just a moment, his breath heavy against the back of your neck as he pulled back slightly. Carefully, he braced his still injured arm beside your face on the counter, using it to balance as he reached down with his other hand. You heard the rustle of fabric as he hastily tugged his jeans and boxers down just enough to free himself.

Then, without waiting, he was pressing back against you, his movements deliberate as he aligned himself. You felt the tip of him at your entrance, and with a single, fluid motion, he pushed inside you. The edge of the counter pressed into your hipbones. Dean filled you completely, making you gasp and moan with a mixture of pain and pleasure.

“Shit Baby, you take me so well”, Dean groaned, his voice strained with the effort to remain at least kinda gentle.

Dean’s hips met yours with a soft thud, and the impact made you shiver, a strangled gasp slipping from your lips as the intensity of it overwhelmed you. The counter bit into your hips with every motion, but the sensation only heightened the overwhelming fullness, the heat building inside you like a slow-burning fire. “Shit”, you whispered, the word trembling on your lips as you adjusted to the relentless depth of him.

Behind you, Dean groaned low in his throat, the sound rough and strained. His injured arm braced against the counter near your face, and his good hand tightened on your hip, holding you steady as he moved again, this time slower, more controlled, but no less intense. “You’re so damn perfect”, he rasped, his breath hot against the back of your neck. “Feel so good, sweetheart… so tight”.

You whimpered, the intensity of his thrusts and the way he stretched you making it hard to form words. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you pushed back against him, desperate to meet his movements, to match his rhythm.

Dean’s good hand slid from your hip to your lower back, urging you to arch more for him. The change in angle sent a wave of pleasure crashing through you, your head falling forward as you let out a soft, breathless moan. “That’s it”, he murmured, his voice low and commanding. “Take me, baby. Just like that”.

His hips picked up a steady rhythm, each thrust sending sparks of heat racing through your body.

“Dean”, you gasped, his name falling from your lips in a desperate plea. You weren’t sure what you were asking for—more, faster, softer—but the way he responded, his grip tightening and his pace deepening, told you he understood.

Dean’s movements grew more urgent, his control slipping as he gave in to the storm raging inside him. Weeks of frustration, shame, and self-doubt bled into his actions, each thrust carrying a raw intensity that he hadn’t allowed himself to unleash until now. It was as if he was reclaiming a part of himself, finding solace in the one place where he felt like the man he was supposed to be—in control.

His grip on your hip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin as he pulled you back against him with every thrust. The rhythm was rougher now, less measured, and the sound of skin meeting skin filled the room alongside his low, guttural groans.

You whimpered beneath him, the overwhelming sensation making it hard to catch your breath. The counter pressed harder into your hips with each movement, the cool metal a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from Dean’s body. Your knuckles whitened as you gripped the edge of the counter for support, your knees trembling from the intensity of his pace.

“Dean”, you gasped, your voice breathy and tinged with both pleasure and surprise at how rough he was being. He wasn’t like this usually—not with you. Dean had always been deliberate, careful, holding back just enough to make sure you weren’t overwhelmed. But now? Now, he seemed consumed by the need to feel in control, to prove to himself that he still had that strength, that dominance. You asked for this after all.

Dean’s rough, urgent pace pushed you to the edge faster than you could’ve anticipated. The way he gripped you, the way he claimed you—it did something to you, something overwhelming and impossible to resist.

Your breath hitched as the tension in your core built rapidly, your body trembling as you felt yourself nearing the peak. “Dean”, you gasped, your voice cracking with need, but he didn’t slow down. If anything, his grip tightened, his hips slamming into yours with even more fervor.

And then it hit. The wave of pleasure crashed over you with a force you’d never experienced before, your body clenching around him so tightly it drew a deep, guttural groan from his throat. Your cries of release were muffled as you bit down on your fist, trying desperately to keep yourself from being too loud, but the intensity of your orgasm left you shaking, gasping for air as your vision blurred.

Dean let out a low, guttural groan as he felt you tighten around him, the intensity of your release pushing him to the brink. His hips stuttered for only a moment before he resumed his pace, rougher and more deliberate now as he chased his own climax. His fingers digging into your skin as he drove himself deeper, each thrust more powerful than the last.

You whimpered, still trembling from the aftershocks of your own orgasm, the oversensitivity making every thrust almost too much to handle.

“Almost there”, he groaned, his voice strained as his good hand slid around to your lower stomach, pulling you back against him with each thrust. The feeling of his fingers splayed over your skin, the way his body pressed so firmly into yours, sent another shiver through you despite your body’s exhaustion.

Dean’s movements grew sharper, his breaths coming in harsh gasps as he buried himself even deeper. “Fuck, I’m gonna—”. His words broke off into a low, desperate moan as his hips snapped one last time, pressing you flush against him as he spilled into you. His entire body tensed, his head dropping to your shoulder as a deep groan escaped his lips.

For a moment, the only sounds in the kitchen were his ragged breaths and the faint hum of the fridge, your bodies still tangled together as he slowly came back to himself. His hands softened their grip on you, sliding gently over your skin as he steadied both of you, his forehead resting against the back of your neck.

Dean lingered against you for a moment, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths as he tried to steady himself. His grip on your waist softened, his calloused fingers brushing over the marks he’d left there. Slowly, carefully, he pulled back, his movements deliberate as if afraid he might hurt you further.

“Shit (Y/N)”, he murmured, his voice rough but laced with concern as he stood upright, his good hand steadying your hip. “Are you… you okay? Did I—”. He hesitated, the unspoken worry evident in his tone.

You pushed yourself up slightly, your arms trembling as you steadied yourself on the counter. Your legs felt like jelly, and every nerve in your body was still buzzing from the intensity of what had just happened. Despite the exhaustion weighing you down, a faint grin tugged at the corners of your lips.

Dean caught sight of it, his green eyes narrowing slightly as his concern gave way to a flicker of relief—and maybe a bit of disbelief. “You’re grinning”, he said, almost accusingly, though his lips twitched upward in response.

You let out a soft, breathy laugh, turning your head just enough to meet his gaze. “You didn’t hurt me, Dean”, you said quietly, your voice hoarse but full of reassurance. “I mean, I might not be able to walk for a while, but… I’m okay”.

Dean’s brows furrowed, his lips parting as if to say something, but he stopped short, his smirk finally breaking through. He scrubbed a hand over his face, shaking his head as he let out a low, relieved chuckle. “You’re something else, you know that?”, he murmured, his tone affectionate despite the teasing edge.

You leaned back slightly, wincing as your hips protested the movement, but the satisfied glow on your face remained. “You’re the one who just decided to remind me exactly how much of a man you are”, you shot back, your grin widening slightly.

Dean groaned, his head tilting back as he muttered, “You’re gonna kill me, woman”. But there was no mistaking the pride in his voice, the way his gaze softened as he looked at you. Still, his good hand reached out to touch your cheek, his thumb brushing over your flushed skin.

Dean’s thumb lingered on your cheek, his green eyes soft but filled with that ever-present worry as he studied you closely. “Are you really okay?”, he asked, his voice low and gentle, laced with genuine concern. “You’d tell me if I went too far, right?”.

You bit your lip, your cheeks heating under his intense gaze. It was moments like these that reminded you of just how much Dean cared, even when he tried to mask it with teasing or bravado. “I promise, I’m okay”, you said softly, your voice steady despite the blush creeping up your neck.

Dean’s jaw tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your skin again as if to reassure himself. “You sure?”, he pressed, his voice dipping lower, his gaze flickering to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I mean, I know… well, I know me. And I know you’re still—”. He paused, swallowing hard as his free hand gestured vaguely. “You’re still getting used to… this. Us. And I’m not exactly… small”.

Your cheeks burned even brighter at his words, your heart thudding in your chest as you tried to find the right response. “Dean”, you murmured, your voice almost a whisper. “It was… kind of hot, actually”.

That caught him off guard. His brows lifted slightly, his lips parting as he stared down at you, clearly not expecting that answer. “Hot?”, he repeated, his tone incredulous but tinged with a flicker of amusement.

You nodded, the blush on your cheeks deepening as you looked up at him, your small frame still caged between him and the counter. “I mean, yeah”, you admitted, your voice growing steadier as you saw the flicker of pride in his expression. “The way you just… took control. How strong you are. It—it was hot”.

Dean’s smirk returned, slow and wicked as he leaned in closer, his good hand slipping to your waist to hold you in place. “Careful, sweetheart”, he drawled, his voice rough with satisfaction and a renewed spark of confidence. “You keep talking like that, and I’m not gonna let you out of this kitchen anytime soon”.

You couldn’t help but smile despite your blush, your heart fluttering as he tilted his head, his lips brushing over yours in a kiss that was surprisingly soft and full of affection. Dean pulled back just enough to meet your gaze again, his hand tightening slightly on your hip. “But seriously”, he murmured, his tone softening again. “If it ever is too much, you tell me. I mean it”.

You nodded, your fingers brushing against his chest as you whispered, “I will, Dean. I promise”.

His smirk returned, but this time it was gentler, filled with that unique blend of protectiveness and pride that only Dean Winchester could pull off. “Good”, he said, pressing another kiss to your temple before stepping back slightly, giving you space to breathe—though the way he looked at you made it clear he wasn’t going far. “Now, how about I get us some water before I pin you against something else?”.

A little while later, the two of you had settled in the library, a sense of quiet intimacy blanketing the room. You were perched comfortably on Dean’s lap, your small frame fitting perfectly against his. His broken arm was carefully draped around you. Both of you held bowls of cereal.

Dean leaned back in his chair, looking uncharacteristically relaxed as he took a bite of cereal. His green eyes flicked to you every so often, a faint smirk playing at his lips as you both ate in companionable silence.

Dean’s smirk grew wider as his green eyes flicked back to you, his gaze lingering for just a moment too long. You could feel the weight of it, the way it seemed to burn into your skin, and your cheeks flushed in response. You shifted slightly in his lap, suddenly hyperaware of how close you were to him.

“Stop staring at me”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you quickly took another spoonful of cereal, hoping to hide the growing blush on your cheeks.

Dean chuckled softly, the sound low and warm. “Can’t help it”, he murmured, his voice teasing but genuine. “You’re cute when you’re flustered”.

You rolled your eyes, though the corners of your lips twitched upward despite yourself. “I’m not flustered”, you retorted, though your tone lacked conviction. The heat in your face betrayed you, and you knew Dean could see right through it.

“Sure, sweetheart”, he said, his smirk turning playful as he leaned in slightly, his breath warm against your temple. “Keep telling yourself that”.

Before you could respond, you felt his thumb from his broken arm brush gently over your bare thigh, the touch light but enough to send a shiver up your spine. Your breath hitched slightly, and you instinctively shifted again, your body reacting to the simple yet intimate gesture.

“Dean”, you said softly, glancing at him with a mix of embarrassment and affection.

“Hmm?”, he hummed, his tone feigning innocence as his thumb continued its slow, lazy path along your skin. His gaze dropped for a moment, following the movement of his hand, before meeting your eyes again. “Just making sure my girl’s comfortable. That a crime?”.

You bit your lip, your cheeks burning hotter as Dean’s thumb continued its gentle stroke along your thigh. His green eyes sparkled with amusement as he tilted his head, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips.

“I still can’t believe you liked that earlier”, he said softly, his voice low and teasing. His words sent a jolt of embarrassment and warmth through you, and you opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going. “I mean, sweetheart, sex is still so new to you, and then to go and—”.

“Why”, Sam’s voice cut through the room like a knife, stopping Dean mid-sentence, “does the kitchen smell weird?”.

Both you and Dean froze, your eyes snapping toward Sam as he shuffled into the library, a mug of coffee in hand. His hair was slightly messy, and the tired look on his face didn’t quite mask the hint of annoyance in his expression. But what really caught your attention was the faint blush creeping up his neck, as if he had an inkling of what might’ve caused the lingering scent.

“What do you mean?”, Dean asked casually, though the way he cleared his throat and straightened his posture betrayed him. His good hand moved to rest more innocently on your hip, as if that would erase any suspicion.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I mean, the kitchen smells like… I don’t even know, but it’s definitely not breakfast”.

You pressed your lips together, trying to stifle the giggle threatening to escape, but your red cheeks gave you away. Dean noticed, his smirk widening as he glanced back at you before looking at Sam.

Dean’s smirk grew even wider as he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for you to hear, “For some people, it is breakfast”.

You let out a sharp gasp, swatting his chest lightly, your face heating even more. “Dean!”, you whispered, your voice half-scolding, half-laughing.

Sam groaned audibly, his shoulders slumping as he made his way to the opposite side of the table and dropped heavily into a chair. “Really, Dean?”, he grumbled, his tone filled with both annoyance and exasperation. “In our kitchen? That’s just… wrong on so many levels”.

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair, the picture of mock innocence as he raised an eyebrow at Sam. “I don’t know what you’re talking about”, he said smoothly, his tone laced with fake sincerity. “Maybe you’re just imagining things, Sammy”.

Sam shot him a look, his jaw tightening as he shook his head. “Imagining things? The kitchen smells like someone went to town in there, and you’re seriously gonna deny it?”.

Dean shrugged, his smirk never faltering. “Hey, I can’t control your overactive imagination”, he replied, his good hand lazily brushing along your side as he winked at you.

You buried your face in your hands, trying to suppress the giggle threatening to bubble up. Sam groaned again, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he were trying to will the entire conversation away.

“For the love of—Dean, you’re unbelievable”, Sam muttered, shaking his head as he took a long sip of his coffee. He glared at his brother over the rim of his mug. “Just… clean the counter… or table.. or whatever… Please”.

Dean chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Sure thing, Sammy. Anything for you”.

Sam rolled his eyes, muttering something about “never trusting Dean near food prep surfaces again” as he flipped open a lore book, determined to ignore the smug grin plastered on Dean’s face. You shook your head, a mix of amusement and mortification swirling in your chest, as Dean leaned closer to whisper in your ear.

“Totally worth it”, he murmured, his lips brushing your temple, his hand squeezing your hip gently.

After a while however, Sam grumbled, closing his lore book with a heavy thud as he set his coffee down on the table. He glanced at you and Dean, his expression a mix of frustration and reluctant amusement. “You know”, he said, shaking his head, “if I’d known this relationship would end up with… dirty stuff happening all over the bunker, I might’ve thought twice about approving it”. Still, there was a warmth in his expression that he couldn’t completely hide. Sure, he was grumbling about the antics, but deep down, seeing Dean like this—relaxed, happy, and clearly in love—did something to ease the constant worry he carried for his older brother.

Dean, for all his stubbornness and bravado, had carried so much weight on his shoulders for so long. Sam had seen him at his lowest, his most broken, and the rare moments when Dean let himself feel something good, something real, were few and far between. Watching the way Dean’s hand rested protectively on your hip, how his grin was softer and less guarded, it reminded Sam that maybe—just maybe—his brother could have something good for himself.

“I’m serious, though”, Sam muttered, though his tone was far less annoyed now, almost playful. “Keep it off the kitchen. Some of us actually eat there”.

Dean smirked, leaning back in his chair and giving Sam a mock salute. “Got it, Sammy. No counter fun. Scout’s honor”.

You chuckled softly, placing your empty bowl on the table before hiding your face in Dean’s chest, your cheeks burning from the playful teasing. Dean’s good arm instinctively came around you, holding you close as you tried to disappear into him. His shirt was warm against your skin, his chest rumbling with quiet laughter at your shy reaction.

Sam raised an eyebrow, clearly amused by the scene unfolding before him. “I didn’t peg you for something like that”, he teased, taking a sip of his coffee before gesturing toward you with a slight grin. “You were supposed to be the responsible one, remember?”.

You groaned, muffled against Dean’s chest, and muttered, “I am responsible… usually”.

Dean’s lips quirked into a crooked smirk as he looked down at you, his hand rubbing slow, lazy circles on your back. “Don’t listen to him, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth. “You’re perfect just the way you are”.

Sam rolled his eyes, but the affectionate smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You two are ridiculous”, he said with a sigh, turning his attention back to his book. “I’ll be in my room when you’re done… whatever this is”.

As Sam walked out, muttering something under his breath about needing noise-canceling headphones, Dean’s smirk turned into something darker, something primal. The way you hid against him, so soft and shy, sparked something deep within him that he couldn’t ignore. His thumb brushed over your hip, the touch firm but deliberate as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You know”, he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, gravelly tone that made your knees weak, “I like you like this”.

You tilted your head up, blinking at him with wide, questioning eyes. “Like what?”.

Dean’s gaze softened slightly, but the fire in his eyes didn’t dim. “All shy and sweet”, he said, his thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles on your hip.

Your heartbeat quickened, the familiar flutter in your chest spreading warmth through your body. By now, this reaction was as natural as breathing whenever Dean so much as glanced at you with that hungry, smoldering look. It didn’t take much—his teasing words, his rough, calloused hand skimming your skin, or the way his voice dropped just enough to send a shiver down your spine. Dean had this uncanny ability to set your nerves alight, and right now was no exception.

You squirmed slightly in his lap, your breath catching when his hand tightened on your hip, holding you still. “Careful, sweetheart”, he murmured, his voice a low warning that sent another wave of heat rushing through you. “Keep moving like that, and we’re gonna have a problem”.

Your cheeks burned as you avoided his gaze, your head ducking slightly to hide the embarrassed smile pulling at your lips. “Dean”, you mumbled, your voice barely audible, but he caught it.

He chuckled, the sound low and throaty as he tipped your chin up with his good hand, forcing you to look at him. His green eyes were dark with amusement and something much deeper, much more dangerous. “What is it, baby?”, he asked softly, his thumb brushing over your jaw. “Something on your mind?”.

You hesitated, your body betraying you as you shifted again, the tension in his lap unmistakable. His smirk widened as he noticed your reaction, his thumb moving to trace slow circles over your hip, his hand firm and grounding. “Thought so”, he murmured, leaning in so his lips were just a whisper away from yours.

“Dean”, you breathed again, your voice trembling as the air between you seemed to grow heavier.

He didn’t kiss you—not yet. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Tell me what you want, sweetheart. I’ll give you anything”.

Your breath hitched, your body arching slightly into him as his words sent a surge of heat straight through you. You didn’t have to say a word—your reaction was answer enough, and Dean’s soft groan told you he knew exactly what he was doing to you.

“You make it so easy for me”, he muttered, his voice rough as he trailed kisses along your jawline, his good hand sliding higher up your thigh. “Always so responsive… always mine”.

Your heart raced as his words settled over you, the intensity of his gaze leaving no room for doubt. “Dean”, you whispered again, barely able to find your voice as he captured your lips in a slow, possessive kiss, one that left no question about how much he wanted you.

Twenty minutes later, the library table was in no better condition than the counter in the kitchen had been earlier. Books and papers had been hastily pushed aside, your efforts to stay quiet completely abandoned somewhere in the middle of Dean showing you just how much control he still had. By the time you’d both caught your breath, the air in the bunker was thick with satisfaction and the lingering scent of your shared intensity.

Dean leaned back in his chair, his green eyes heavy-lidded with smug satisfaction as he watched you.

You adjusted your shirt and smoothed your hair, your legs trembling slightly as you tried to maintain some semblance of composure. But the dull ache in your lower belly and the soreness radiating through your thighs made it nearly impossible to mask how thoroughly Dean had wrecked you.

You bit your lip, willing yourself to straighten up and not let on how much you were feeling it. Dean prided himself on being careful with you, on not pushing you too far, but this morning had been… intense. The last thing you wanted was for him to feel guilty or pull back because you couldn’t handle what he gave you.

“Sweetheart”, Dean mumbled. “You look like you can barely walk. You sure you’re good?”.

Your heart skipped a beat at his question, and you quickly nodded, plastering on a weak smile. “I’m fine”, you said, trying to sound nonchalant even though your body protested with every movement. “Just a little sore, that’s all”.

Dean’s smirk softened, his gaze narrowing slightly as he studied your face. “A little sore?”, he repeated, the teasing lilt in his tone replaced by something more cautious. He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees as he reached out to gently touch your wrist. “You’re not lying to me, are you?”.

You swallowed hard, shaking your head quickly. “No, I swear. I’m fine”, you insisted, though your voice wavered just enough to betray you.

Dean’s brows furrowed, and he tilted his head, his concern breaking through the smug facade. “Baby”, he said softly, his tone gentler now,

Your chest tightened at the sincerity in his voice, and you felt a pang of guilt for not being completely honest. “Dean”, you began, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I’m okay. Really“.

You managed to hold it together as you walked toward the bathroom, Dean’s concerned gaze following you until you rounded the corner and disappeared from his view. The moment you were out of sight, the composure you’d so carefully maintained began to crumble. Your steps faltered, your legs trembling with each step as the ache in your lower belly sharpened with every movement.

“Damn it”, you whispered to yourself, your voice barely audible as you reached the bathroom door. You pushed it open, your hand gripping the edge of the sink to steady yourself as you closed the door behind you.

“Ugh… ouch, ouch, ouch”, you mumbled under your breath, the words almost rhythmic as you carefully removed your clothes, each motion feeling like a small battle. The soreness was a constant reminder of how rough Dean had been, and while part of you felt proud that you could take it, now the pain was undeniable.

You reached for a washcloth, wetting it with warm water before pressing it gently against your skin. The heat offered a small bit of relief, but the ache in your belly refused to subside. “Too deep… too much”, you muttered softly, biting your lip as you tried to clean yourself up without letting the tears spill over.

As you stood there, leaning heavily against the sink, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair a mess, and there was a faint redness in your eyes from the tears you were holding back. You took a deep, shaky breath, trying to steady yourself.

But the cramps came again, sharp and unrelenting, and this time, you couldn’t hold back the soft whimper that escaped your lips. You pressed a hand to your lower belly, trying to soothe the ache as the weight of everything hit you. You were in pain, and while you didn’t want Dean to feel guilty, you knew you’d have to be honest with him if it didn’t ease up soon.

Still, you weren’t ready to face him yet. Not when you knew how much this would bother him. So, you focused on cleaning up, taking your time and trying to catch your breath as you leaned against the cool counter, whispering quiet reassurances to yourself. “It’s okay”, you murmured. “You’ll feel better soon. Just… take it slow”.

Little did you know, Dean hadn’t stopped worrying. The moment he noticed how long you’d been gone, he was already on his feet, heading toward the bathroom, his concern outweighing your attempts to keep this from him.

Dean stood outside the bathroom door, his jaw clenched as he listened closely. He hadn’t missed the way you faltered as you walked away, and it gnawed at him. You might’ve said you were fine, but he knew you better than that. He could hear the faint sounds of movement from the other side of the door, and his instincts told him something wasn’t right.

With a quiet knock, he called out, “Sweetheart, you okay in there?”.

“I’m fine, Dean”, you replied quickly, your voice slightly higher than usual. “Just running a bath”.

But Dean didn’t buy it. The slight shake in your tone, the fact that you’d been gone longer than usual—it all pointed to one thing: you were hiding something. He sighed heavily, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I don’t think you are”, he said softly, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m coming in”.

“Dean, don’t—”, you started, panic lacing your voice as you turned toward the door, but it was too late. He stepped inside, his green eyes immediately locking on you.

You stood by the bathtub, completely bare, your arms instinctively crossing over your chest as you stared at him, a mix of embarrassment and frustration on your face. Steam rose from the water you’d been running, the soothing heat your last-ditch effort to alleviate the sharp cramps in your lower belly. The look in your eyes—vulnerable, caught—hit Dean like a punch to the gut.

“(Y/N)”, he murmured, his tone softer now as he took in the scene. His good hand reached out instinctively, but you took a small step back, shaking your head.

“I told you I’m fine”, you said, your voice trembling as you tried to hold your ground. “I just… needed a bath”.

Dean’s green eyes softened as he closed the small distance between you, his expression a mix of concern and frustration. He stopped just short of touching you, giving you space but making it clear he wasn’t leaving until you were honest. “Wanna try again?”, he murmured, his voice low and steady. “This time, without lying to me?”.

You swallowed hard, your arms still crossed over your chest as you avoided his gaze. The weight of his words, the quiet insistence in his tone, made it impossible to keep up the facade. “Dean…”, you started, your voice trembling slightly. “I’m fine, I just—”.

“Don’t tell me you’re fine when I can see you’re not. I know you, sweetheart. I can tell when something’s wrong”.

Your heart clenched at the sincerity in his tone, the weight of his concern making it impossible to keep up the charade. You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink for support as you looked away, your voice barely audible. “I didn’t want you to feel guilty”.

Dean let out a sharp breath, his good hand brushing the back of his neck as he took a step closer. “You think I wouldn’t feel worse knowing you’re hurting and trying to hide it from me?”. His words weren’t accusatory, but the hint of frustration in his voice was impossible to miss. “I need to know, sweetheart. I need to make sure you’re okay”.

You glanced up at him, your resolve crumbling under the warmth in his gaze. “I didn’t want you to think you’d done something wrong”, you admitted softly.

Dean sighed heavily, rubbing a hand down his face as he took another step closer. The concern etched into his features was impossible to miss, and it made your chest tighten with guilt. He studied you for a moment, his green eyes softening as his gaze dropped to your midsection.

“Your belly hurts?”, he asked gently, his voice low and quiet. He didn’t sound surprised—if anything, he sounded resigned, like he’d seen this happen before. But with you, the way he asked wasn’t casual or dismissive. It carried weight, genuine care woven into every syllable.

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the sink a little tighter. “Yeah”, you admitted finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean’s shoulders sagged as he processed your admission, his good hand rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He’d been here before—not with you, but with others—women who couldn’t take him, who’d winced or faltered under his touch. But you weren’t like them. You were still so new to this, still learning what you liked, what you could handle. And the thought of pushing you too far, of hurting you in any way, twisted his stomach in knots.

“Damn it”, he muttered under his breath, his green eyes flicking back to yours. His expression was a mix of guilt and frustration, most of it directed at himself. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve been paying attention”.

“Dean”, you started, but he cut you off, his voice soft but insistent.

“No”, he said, his tone low and filled with regret. “You shouldn’t have to tell me when to slow down. I should’ve known you weren’t ready for… for that”. He exhaled sharply, his hand running down his face. “I got carried away, and that’s on me”.

You shook your head quickly, your voice soft but steady as you interrupted his spiral. “No, Dean”, you said, stepping closer to him. “I… I liked it. I wanted it”.

Dean froze, his green eyes narrowing slightly as he processed your words. “Sweetheart…”, he started, but you cut him off again, your cheeks flushing as you struggled to explain.

“I just… didn’t expect it to hurt so much afterward”, you admitted quietly, your hands fidgeting nervously at your sides. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t want it. I did, Dean. I wanted all of it”.

His gaze softened at your admission, but the guilt still lingered in his expression. “You shouldn’t have to feel like that”, he said, his voice rough as he stepped closer. His good hand reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “You shouldn’t be in pain after something that’s supposed to feel good”.

“It did feel good”, you said quickly, your voice firm as you met his eyes. “Dean, it felt amazing. I just… I wasn’t prepared for how intense it would be, I guess”.

Dean let out a shaky breath, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he searched your face. “You shouldn’t have to push yourself like that, though”, he murmured. “I should’ve known better. I should’ve—”.

“Stop”, you interrupted, placing your hand over his to still him.

You sighed softly, the sound filled with both frustration and vulnerability as you turned and switched off the water. The steam in the bathroom swirled lazily around you, the only sound now the faint drip of water from the faucet. “That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you”, you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper.

Dean’s eyes narrowed, his concern deepening as he stepped closer. “What do you mean?”, he asked, his tone gentle but probing.

You crossed your arms over your chest, suddenly feeling exposed under his intense gaze. “Because I knew you’d blame yourself”, you admitted, glancing at him briefly before looking away. “I knew you’d turn this into something you did wrong when it’s not”.

Dean frowned, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. “Sweetheart”, he began, his voice low and soothing as he reached out to gently touch your arm. “I’m not trying to blame myself. I just—”.

“You are”, you interrupted, turning to face him fully. “And I get it, Dean. I get that you want to take care of me, to make sure I’m okay. But sometimes things are going to happen, and they won’t be perfect, and it won’t be anyone’s fault”.

Dean’s hand tightened slightly on your arm, his thumb brushing over your skin in a calming motion. “It’s not about being perfect”, he said quietly. “It’s about making sure you’re not hurting because of me. That’s not something I can just brush off”.

You softened at his words, your heart aching at the sincerity in his eyes. “I know”, you whispered. “And I love you for that. But Dean, you don’t have to carry everything. You don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes I’m going to push myself too far because I want to, and I’m going to learn from it. Just like you’ve learned to let me in, to let me help you when you need it”.

His lips quirked into a faint smile, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re pretty damn smart, you know that?”, he murmured, his hand coming up to cup your cheek.

You smiled back, leaning into his touch. “Only because I have you to learn from”.

Dean sighed heavily, the weight of the moment easing as he tilted his head down to press a lingering kiss to your forehead. His lips were warm against your skin, and the gesture was filled with affection and care. When he pulled back, his green eyes sparkled with a mixture of seriousness and teasing as he murmured, “No more sex for you, sweetheart”.

You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by his words, before a playful grin spread across your face. “Oh, really?”, you asked, your tone laced with mock innocence. “You think you can go without, Winchester? Because if I recall, you were the one who couldn’t keep your hands off me earlier”.

Dean’s brows shot up, his smirk returning as he leaned back slightly, his good hand still resting on your hip. “Careful, sweetheart”, he drawled, his voice low and teasing. “You’re already on thin ice.”

You giggled, leaning closer to him, your hands resting on his chest as you whispered, “You say that, but we both know you’ll cave first”.

Dean let out a deep chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at you with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that?”, he said, his smirk softening into something warmer.

You grinned, standing on your tiptoes to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “And yet, you love me anyway”, you teased, stepping back toward the tub and gesturing to the water. “Now, are you going to let me take this bath in peace, or are you planning to supervise?”.

Dean smirked again, his arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. “Depends. You need help scrubbing your back?”.

You rolled your eyes, laughing as you turned back to the bath. “Out, Dean”, you said, pointing toward the door.

He chuckled but didn’t argue, backing out of the bathroom with a grin on his face. “Fine, fine”, he said, raising his good hand in mock surrender. “But I’m holding you to that no-sex deal. See how long you last”.

You laughed again, shaking your head as he disappeared down the hall, already plotting how to prove him wrong.

———————————

A/N: Please let me know what you think.🥰 

-

Taglist: @blackcherrywhiskey @baby19sthings @suckitands33 @spnfamily-j2 @lyarr24 @deans-baby-momma @reignsboy19 @kawaii-arfid-memes @mekkencspony @lovziy @artemys-ackles @fitxgrld @libby99hb @lovelyvirtualperson @a-lil-pr1ncess @nancymcl @the-last-ry @spndeanwinchesterlvr @hobby27 @themarebarroww @kr804573 @impala67rollingthroughtown @deans-queen @deadlymistletoe @selfdestructionandrhum @utyblyn @winchesterwild78 @jackles010378 @chirazsstuff @foxyjwls007 @smoothdogsgirl @woooonau @whimsyfinny @freyabear @laaadygisbooornex3 @quietgirll75 @perpetualabsurdity @ladykitana90 @fullbelieverheart @chainsawsangel @zaratahir @rebecca-hvnstn @maackiimoo @mayafatimakhan @ladysparkles78 @lachelledavies-winchester @kamisobsessed @kr804573 @c1gs-coffee @fyegyall @lilbloggs @emily-

[dulcescorderitas]

parings: deanwinchester x coyote!reader

dulce's notes: part 1/?

the bar was still buzzing from the high-energy performance, the air thick with sweat, alcohol, and the lingering scent of cheap cologne and expensive whiskey. music pounded from the speakers, bass vibrating through the wooden floors as the girls behind the bar took their final bows, laughing and throwing teasing winks at the rowdy crowd.

you wiped the sweat from your brow, your crop top clinging to your skin from the heat of the night. the low-rise jeans hugged your hips like a second skin, the cut-out on the sides giving just enough of a peek to drive the right kind of men crazy—not that you did it for them. but there was one man who always had a way of pulling your attention, even when you pretended he didn’t.

dean winchester leaned against the bar, beer in hand, his green eyes locked on you with that signature smirk that said he knew exactly what he was doing. he'd been coming here for a while now, long enough that you knew the way he drank—slow at first, then faster when the weight of his world settled on his shoulders. long enough to notice the way his eyes followed you, even when he was deep in conversation with sam or another hunter passing through.

“hell of a show,” he said, voice warm and rough like whiskey over ice. “not sure what was more entertaining—the dancing or watching every poor bastard in here trying to keep their tongues in their mouths.”

you smirked, grabbing a bottle from the shelf behind the bar, taking your time as you poured yourself a drink. “they tip better when they’re distracted.”

dean chuckled, setting his beer down as he leaned in, forearms resting against the bar. “you ever get tired of teasing?”

you raised an eyebrow, tilting your head. “you ever get tired of chasing?”

his smirk deepened, the corners of his lips twitching as if he was holding back something smart. “depends on what i’m chasing.”

you took a sip, the burn of the liquor a welcome distraction from the way his gaze made your skin heat in places it shouldn’t. “careful, winchester. you might not like what happens if you ever catch me.”

he hummed, eyes darkening just a fraction. “see, that’s where you’re wrong. i think i’d like it a hell of a lot.”

you rolled your eyes, but the way your lips curled betrayed you. you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about him—more than once. but you weren’t about to make it easy for him. “cocky. that ever get you anywhere?”

he took a slow sip of his beer, watching you over the rim. “you tell me.”

the air between you was thick enough to cut with a knife. you should walk away, serve another customer, pretend you didn’t feel the pull between you and the man who’d spent too many nights here, watching you like you were the best thing he’d seen in a long time. but instead, you leaned in just a little closer, the smell of leather and gunpowder and something distinctly dean washing over you.

“keep looking at me like that, winchester, and someone might think you’ve got a thing for me.”

he didn’t blink, didn’t falter. just grinned slow and wicked. “maybe someone’d be right.”

you huffed a small laugh, shaking your head as you swirled the liquor in your glass. “you got a whole line of women who’d fall at your feet, dean. why waste your time with someone who’ll make you work for it?”

he shrugged, tipping his bottle back before setting it down with a soft clink. “what can i say? i like a challenge. besides, the easy ones? they’re fun for a night. the difficult ones? they’re friggin worth the chase.”

you arched an eyebrow. “that supposed to impress me?”

he leaned in, voice dipping low enough to send a shiver down your spine. “nah. just telling you how it is.”

you studied him for a long moment, letting the tension hang between you like the lingering smoke from the bar’s ashtrays. “bold move, winchester. assuming you’re up for it.”

he smirked, slow and lazy, and something about it made your stomach tighten. “oh, sweetheart, you have no idea.”

credits of divider @toastray

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis @whisperingdaze @cherrygirlfriend @figthoughts @sunsbaby @ambiguous-avery @sunnyteume

[supernotnatural2005]

Sexual Encounters with Dean Winchester - Sex Toys

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Exploring new kinks with Dean.

Word Count: 4.2k

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

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

Main Masterlist

SEDW Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good girl.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The love egg.

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

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

And now? Now it was happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s my girl.”

And just like that, the night begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The sensation slams into you like a live wire.

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

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

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

“Miss? Are you alright?”

You glance at Dean—big mistake.

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

Bastard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The night is torture.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The second he fills you, your body snaps.

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

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

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

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

And you do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The night was far from being over.

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

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

Dean Winchester Tag List:

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

[whimsyfinny]

Sexy F*cking Nerd

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: When Dean discovers a little secret of (Y/n)'s during a case research session he can't help but let temptation get the best of him.

Warnings: Language, Smut, Fingering, PinV, Oral (M receiving), slight angst if you squint, Dean having a glasses kink (not really a warning but not everyone wears them hahaha lucky bastards)

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 5688

A/N: It's taken a little while but here is the second competition winner from a few weeks back, the prompt provided by the wonderful @foxyjwls007 - I hope you like it!

The motel room was stuffy to say the least - that usual aroma of stale cigarettes and cheap air freshener lingering around us. There was a dripping sound coming from God knows where and the AC hummed in between the concerning clinking from deep within the vents. It was crap. So crap. But it was home for a few nights; just like all the motel rooms that came before. Dean stepped past me and over the threshold, immediately slinging his duffle and jacket onto his chosen bed. He stretched his arms above his head, the grey Henley clutching his muscular abdomen and rising enough to flaunt what lay beneath. I sighed, following him in and slumping onto the bed beside his - the musty stench from the sheets enveloping me.

“Well…” Dean started, pulling Sam's laptop out of his bag and placing it on the small table by the window.

“Well…?” My voice echoed as I focused on the ceiling fan that spun off centre.

“...This is… nice?” His statement was more of a question as he looked around with raised eyebrows. I propped myself up on my elbows, flashing him a look of speculation.

“Seriously?” A moment passed before he huffed a long-held breath and slapped his large palms on his thighs.

“No of course not, this place sucks more dick than a hooker on payday.”

“You got that right,” I flopped back down onto the bed, a small dust cloud erupting under my weight. I closed my eyes and listened as Dean pulled a chair out from under the table, slumping down into it. Then there was the familiar click of the laptop opening followed by the sound of stuttered not-quite-touch-typing, presumably he was starting work on the case that we’d come here to investigate. The tap tap tap of whatever was leaking began to drill into my brain, my patience already wearing thin with the rooms dire ambiance. I pulled myself up to sitting, criss-crossing my legs on the bed and brushing whatever that dust from the bedding was off my sweater sleeves.

“When's Sam back?” I asked, watching as Dean searched the keyboard in front of him for some long lost letter.

“Uuuh, I'm not sure. He said to work this case without him.”

“Ugghhh, I bet he's having way more fun than us right now, it's not fair,” I plopped my chin into my palm and stared past the older Winchester out the window, almost willing Sam to appear and walk in like any other day.

“It's just some dumb wedding, I doubt he's having that much fun.”

I scoffed before I could stop myself, Dean breaking eye contact with the screen to throw me a raised eyebrow.

“Look,” I collected myself, “you didn't know Sam in college. He won't admit it but he was popular. Really popular. Not the total nerd you think he is. He's absolutely having fun with these people.”

“Yeah right. So who's at this wedding anyway? Why was it so important that he just had to be there?”

I rolled my eyes, knowing full well Sam had already told him all the details. Typical Dean.

“It's for a couple of friends who he and Jess were close with back then. Pretty sure the bride was prom queen in highschool or something and the groom was a trust fund jock. Either way, not my crowd,” I sighed slightly, memories from my college days flooding my mind.

Deans eyebrows twitched into a small frown, his thoughts seeming to cloud his vision for a second before he reluctantly dismissed them. I looked down into my lap for a moment, reminiscing how I always kept my distance from Sam whilst at Stanford, but he had always been that boy that would make my heart flutter when he spoke up in class or when I'd see him on the quad with his friends. I remember seeing him with his nose in a book once at my usual desk in the library, my cheeks burning when he caught me staring. Who would've thought several years down the line I'd be sat in a bottom-rung motel room with his obscenely good looking older brother researching monster lore. At least we would be researching monster lore, if it wasn't for the small growl my empty stomach had gurgled out. I couldn't stop the small pulse of embarrassment burning into my cheeks as Dean eyed me with a grin.

“Wanna get some lunch?” He asked, standing up like he already knew my answer.

“Fuck yes. I'm feeling burgers,” I shuffled to the edge of the bed and stood up, watching as Dean shrugged on his leather jacket and headed to the door, holding it open for me.

“Now you're speaking my language.”

*

The diner was almost as sad and withered as the motel room, however the food was nothing short of spectacular. I watched in awe as Dean polished off his second burger, a small glob of sauce sticking to his stubble and threatening to drip off his chin. He must've felt me watching in wonder - or perhaps disgust - as when he looked up from his plate he shot me a questioning glance.

“What?” His tone was a little defensive through the mouthful of fries he'd just shovelled in. I took a second before asking, half-genuine:

“Where do you put all of that?”

“Put what?”

“The food - where does it go? Do you have hollow legs? Two stomachs? Does it just evaporate as soon as you swallow it?”

He grinned, wiping the sauce from his face with a napkin.

“Goes straight to the abs baby. It's muscle fuel,” he leant back in his chair, stretching a little before patting his stomach to punctuate his statement. I simply rolled my eyes.

“Yeah right, you're not that muscly Dean.”

“How would you know? You've never seen me with my shirt off.”

“I know, and I plan to keep it that way.”

He feigned a pout before returning to his fries. We ate in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, my mind absently going back to all the lore we should be trying to gather. I gripped my milkshake that had so generously been served in a thin paper cup, attempting to suck the practically solid beverage up the equally thin paper straw. Finding the nearest library would be the next task on our to-do list, despite the protesting I know I'll get from Dean.

“Hey, (Y/n)?” My train of thought was derailed at the sound of my name. The slurping of over-thickened milkshake from myself ceased.

“What's up?”

“What were you like in college?”

I eyed him with caution, wondering what part of his brain was in control right now.

“What do you wanna know?”

Catching the wariness to divulge him to such information, he smiled slightly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I'm not asking to be weird, I just-” he paused, choosing his next words tactfully, “the way you described Sam as being a totally different person - some hot-shot with the perfect grades, popular friends and a girlfriend like Jess - it just got me thinking. How would Sam have described you?”

I almost spat my dairy-goop back into the straw, my brain freezing.

“Dean,” I started before planning what I was going to say, placing my cup on the table. “Sam wouldn't be able to describe me.”

My words brought a small smirk to his lips.

“You were that hot, huh?”

“What the fuck- no- I wasn't- he didn't- Sam never- ” I stopped myself before I had an aneurysm and took a deep breath.

“I was in a totally different crowd to Sam. He was always surrounded by people and, well, I barely even had a crowd.”

“Lone wolf?”

“Bingo. But definitely not the cool, collected, stoic type. Think more, invisible to the public eye, always carrying books, and borderline selective mute because of how shy I was.”

“Oh… what changed?,” Deans tone changed entirely, genuine intrigue seeming to take the wheel. I couldn't help but laugh slightly, remembering my method to forcing myself out of my bubble.

“The only job I could get was in a bar. No one else wanted the hours and I desperately needed cash. I didn't really have a choice after that,” I paused, remembering how terrified I was on my first day and grinned slightly, grateful for the extra confidence I had now because I took that leap.

“Hey, what sort of crowd do you think I would've been in?”

I snorted, looking up into his expectant eyes - almost captivated by the glistening greens.

“What am I? A BuzzFeed quiz? I have no idea Dean, you're too much of a wildcard to predict. You probably would've fit in with anyone and everyone.”

“Even you?”

For reasons unbeknownst to even myself, my breath caught in my throat. The sudden soft sincerity of his voice contradicting his usual temperament, my heart starting to flutter in my chest. If the college version of myself had met Dean back then I just know I would have been enthralled at first glance.

“I don't think you would've noticed me. You would've been surrounded by every tall, thin blonde and brunette with perfect tits. Trust me, you would've been distracted,” I smiled an almost sad smile at the thought of him simply being on university grounds and having the time of his life - knowing it was something that he was never going to get the chance to experience in this upside down life of his. Of ours. He tapped his fingers on the table for a second, likely lost in some ludicrous thought I don't think I'd want to be privy to. I attempted another slurp of my milkshake when the paper straw gave out and flopped in half, the need to leave conversation and the diner suddenly looming over me.

“Come on, let's get to the library before it closes,” I stood and pulled my oversized sweater down so it covered my ass before reaching for my backpack. Just as my fingers touched the worn fabric of the strap it was torn away, my head snapping up to Dean who flung it over one shoulder with his signature grin on his face.

“Lead the way nerd.”

I couldn't help but beam at his playfulness. I hated the fact that he made it so easy to adore him. Hated that he completely overlooked how I was his total opposite in almost every way. How when we were talking, his eyes never left mine - how he was genuinely interested in what I was like in the past. And how, when I had his attention, he didn't even notice that the hot waitress had written her number on a napkin and left it next to him.

*

The trip to the library was about as eventful as it sounded. After checking out multiple books on cursed items, local lore and popular antiques from the seventies, we loaded ourselves back into the impala, made an all-important beer run before heading back to the motel.

The small table by the window was now totally smothered by a blanket of books, maps and empty beer bottles. Deans chin rested in his palms as he stared blankly at the screen in front of him, and I must've read the last sentence of the paragraph laid before me a dozen times without it even sinking in. The obnoxious dripping and humming of ancient appliances was starting to make me feel restless.

“It has to be the boots,” Dean groaned, draining the last of his beer.

“Either the boots or the disco ball. But my money is on boots as well,” I sighed, pushing the book away from me and standing slowly, gathering the quickly accumulating litter now scattered around us.

“I'm gonna make some coffee, my brain is fried over how fucking ridiculous this case is,” I ditched the trash in the bin before filling the coffee machine, listening to it whir to life whilst I headed to my bed. I could feel Deans gaze on my back as I rummaged around my bag in search of a specific item.

“What are you looking fo-” he'd started to ask the question but his voice died in his throat when I turned around. I quickly pushed my newly adorned glasses up the bridge of my nose, already feeling the oversized frame start to slip down as I tried not to make a big deal over them.

“What?” My tone was a fraction off aggressive when I realised he was staring. He seemed to snap out of his daze, quickly rubbing the back of his neck and turning back to the laptop screen. He cleared his throat

“I uh, I didn't know you wore glasses,” I could tell from the slight tremble in his voice that his mind was reeling.

“Is there a problem with that?”

“No! I mean, no, absolutely not. They look good. The glasses, I mean. The glasses look good. Not on their own, obviously. On your face. They look good on your face. You have a great fa-”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.”

“Sorry.”

I grabbed a mug from the cupboard and set it on the counter, filling it to the brim with caffeinated goodness. I couldn't stop the grin spreading across my lips at Deans fumbling, almost finding the whole ordeal a little charming. I sat back down at the table and pulled the books back towards me, also grabbing my pen and tattered notebook.

“The guests at the club mentioned hearing footsteps - so it has to be the boots, right? A disco ball wouldn't make that sound…” my voice trailed off when I realised that, even though Dean was looking at me, he wasn't listening to a word I was saying.

“Earth to Dean?”

He flinched slightly at his name, but felt no shame delving in with a completely off-topic question.

“So how long have you worn glasses?”

“I’ve always worn them,” I slid back into my chair at the table opposite him, not sure whether to laugh at the shocked expression on his face or whether to be concerned about his observation skills.

“What?! No way, I would’ve noticed,” He opened another beer and took a sip before tracing the opening to the bottle over his bottom lip.

“ I only wear them for concentration work, and I have emergency contact lenses if I know I’m going to be around a lot of people as I don’t particularly like how they look.”

Dean made a small disagreeable expression before averting his gaze from mine back to the laptop, taking another swig of his beer. I placed my coffee mug down and settled back into the book I was reading before, and after a few moments I could feel my skin begin to prickle - as though I could feel a pair of eyes on me. I glanced up, my breath immediately catching in my throat. Deans eyes found mine, burning with an intensity that made my heart hammer in my chest. I didn’t want to look away, but under his gaze I felt like I’d been stripped bare, unable to hide my insecurities from an eye that seemed to scorch through to my very core.

“Dean-”

“(Y/n), you should really have more confidence in yourself; I think the glasses look cute as fuck. You should wear them more,” a fierce blush erupted across my face when he spoke, his assured tone leaving no room for disagreement. I tried desperately not to let on that his words held any sort of impact over my decisions so I looked down, away from his scrutiny and simply said:

“Maybe I will.”

He hummed in approval, finally looking elsewhere and I couldn’t stop myself from breathing a sigh of relief when the pressure of his stare was averted.

The evening dragged on and an hour and a half had passed since his loaded comment. I was on the third book we’d checked out of the library, now trying desperately to find the curse that would cause a pair of 1970s glam rock boots to dance for eternity and haunt anyone who tried to wear them. This case was absurd, and I could feel myself growing restless with the small amount of progress we’d made. I huffed out a sigh and leant back in my chair, the faux leather and rusted metal creaking under my weight. Pulling the hair bobble from around my wrist I scooped my hair into a bundle on the top of my head, securing it in place; the sensation of air on my neck seemed to clear some of the fog from my brain. The messy bun was comfortably enough that I could forget it was there, and I allowed myself a stretch before leaning back over the table, grasping my pen. As I began to read the next segment, I absently traced the end of the pen over my bottom lip, running it back and forth a few times before gently nibbling on the end. I heard the shuffling of Dean moving in his seat and a ragged clearing of his throat before the sound of vigorous laptop keys clicking ensued. Without looking up at him I continued reading, the pen still tapping my bottom lip, and when I neared the bottom of the paragraph, I slowly licked the pad of my index finger. My eyes never leaving the words, I turned the page swiftly with my dampened digit, the transition from one page to the next perfectly seamless. Another shuffle from the man opposite followed by a quiet groan filled the silence between us. Pen still between my teeth, I lifted only my eyes to glance at him and noted the dusting of pink across his cheeks and the furrow in his brow. Concluding that he’d had one too many beers I decided to ignore his persistent fidgeting, returning to my previous task on monotonous reading. Several sentences in and I’d almost forgotten Deans restlessness - that was until I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth, deep in thought, that I earned myself a throaty groan and an exasperated sigh. I looked up just in time to watch him wipe a large hand down his face, momentarily masking his pained expression.

“Can you not do that? I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

“Do what?” Upon asking my question I absently took the pen between my teeth again, quickly glancing down at the book to place a mental bookmark.

“That.”

“What?”

“That. That thing you do with our mouth, and the pen, and your tongue and your finger. Can you please stop before it kills me.”

The heat beneath my skin was immediate at his admission, knowing my small, absent-minded actions were playing on his mind and making it hard for him to think straight. I instinctively crossed my legs, a fluttering in my lower belly instantly dragging my mind back to the deprived things I’d imagined Dean doing to me in the depths of night. The places I’d imagined his hands travelling, the areas his lips would touch and the sensations his tongue could create. These were deeply, deeply personal fantasies, and right now as Dean looked at me with a restrained hunger, I felt like I was wearing these fantasies for the world to see. For Dean to see.

“It doesn’t help that you’ve been sat over there like a sexy fucking librarian all evening, but every time you do that anything with that mouth - shit, sweetheart you’re driving me insane.” His voice was gravelly as he looked at me with desperate eyes across the table. The overly rational part of my brain had shut down completely, and now the part of my mind that had spent hours conjuring vivid scenes of Dean Winchester ravishing me in my entirety had taken the charge. I stood slowly, taking a moment to reason with myself - unsuccessfully of course - before sinking to my knees in front of my chair. I could see Deans strong thighs were spread wide beneath the table so I crawled forwards, across the cold tiles and placed myself between his legs. Resting my palms softly on his thighs I made him flinch at the unexpected contact. He immediately scooted his chair back, allowing a gap for me to poke my head through - his hand instantly acting as a barrier between the edge of the table and my skull. I got comfortable and allowed myself a moment to gaze up at him, to take in the strained furrow in his brow and the parting of his lips. I observed the way his chest rose and fell in apprehensive breaths, and the way his free hand clenched into a fist on his thigh - like he was so desperate yet so scared to touch me.

“(Y/n)-”

“Dean,” I spoke softly, slowly running my hands up his thighs - delicate palms against rough denim, “you’re a smart boy - you know I wouldn’t do something I didn’t want to do. So please, don’t say I don’t have to do this.”

Dean released a shaky breath the moment my fingers unclasped his jeans. I tugged them down slightly with his help, just enough so I could dip my hand into his boxers and wrap my fingers around his half-hard length. The moment my skin touched his, his head lolled back and his eyes fluttered closed with a breathy moan on his lips.

“Fuck…”

I gently pulled him from his confines, coming face to face with the cock I’d literally dreamt of again and again. I took the scene in, committing to memory the sharp outline of his jaw and the way his long lashes rested on his lightly-freckled cheeks. The way that, every time he breathed in, I could see his defined muscle tone through the thin fabric of his shirt; and with every small caress that my fingers made against his length, it made his fingers twitch and teeth clench. I licked my lips before leaning in and took his tip into my mouth, not giving him a chance to finish sucking in air through his teeth before I plunged his entire length down my throat. 

“Oh FUCK.”

His hands flew to my hair, fingers gripping tight as they loosened strands from the messy bun, causing them to fall around my face. He’d lifted his head to look down at me, pupils blown as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. He looked nothing more than enthralled. Infatuated. Entranced. I moved my head up and down, up and down, again and again to a steady rhythm, pressing my tongue to the underside of his now rock-hard cock to trace every vein and nerve-ending.

“Shit, (Y/n), I didn’t know you could suck cock, like, at all… how’re you s’fuckin’ good…” his voice was breathless as he continued to grip my hair, his head flopping to the side as pleasure started to overcome his senses. I released him with a small ‘pop’, wrapping my fingers around him and smearing the warm mixture of saliva and precum from tip to base.

“Despite everything I told you earlier, Dean, I’m not a virgin - and this certainly isn’t my first rodeo,” my voice came out more sultry than I’d expected and I could feel Dean tremble beneath my palms.

“Fuck, I wish I’d known that sooner,” I chewed on my bottom lip, quickly becoming addicted to the way he writhed at my touch. The way he moaned and gripped my hair tighter when I sucked him back into my mouth was like pure ecstasy, my insides heating up and throbbing with an ache of familiar arousal. Like a thirst that could only be satisfied by him. By tasting him, feeling him on my tongue and drinking in every sound that passed his plush parted lips. The sensation of my glasses slipping down my nose as I sped up my ministrations had me reaching to push them back up, but not before Dean beat me to it. With the rough pad of his thumb he pushed on the plastic bridge, his palm and fingers pressed to my flushed cheek in the most tender, almost heart wrenching caress. I thought my heart might stop when he tilted my face up to his; lustful eyes burning into mine with a vehemence I’d never encountered. I stopped in my tracks, all actions ceased as the spell he’d somehow put me under wouldn’t let me look away. 

“If you keep going like that darlin’ this whole thing is gonna be over before you know it,” his voice was raspy, a rawness to it from the harsh breaths and ragged moans that had been pulled from his throat. He slowly pulled his cock from my spit-slick lips and grasped it loosely, giving himself a few lazy pumps whilst his other hand never left my face. He stared down at me, taking a few moments as though he was committing the sight of me, knelt between his knees with flushed cheeks and swollen lips to memory. Once it seemed that memory was locked away in the depths of his mind, he grasped me by the arm and pulled me effortlessly into his lap, his fingers almost bruising against my skin. Immediately I felt him, in his entirety, press against me with the heat and wetness seeping through my jeans and past my panties. This time when our eyes met, there was a mutual desperation; a need to consume each other and to feel every inch of his heated skin against mine. He pulled me frantically down to him and crashed his lips against mine. 

Some people describe their first kiss with someone like butterflies in their stomach, or fireworks exploding all around them. That wasn’t at all what this was like. Kissing Dean Winchester was different - it was wild and untamed - and describing this experience in such a mundane way would be like adding water to a top-shelf whiskey. Kissing Dean Winchester was like driving the impala at one thirty with the roar of the engine drowning out the rest of the world. It was like trying to ride a wild mustang without a saddle, or daring to stand on the highest peak on Earth with nothing to tie you down. It was exhilarating in the most dangerous way imaginable - and I was now officially a thrill seeker. 

The warm taste of the beer on his tongue and the masculine scent of old leather and cologne was pulling me under. Breathing no longer mattered as long as his mouth was on mine and his fingers were in my hair, now tugging the bobble out and throwing it to the floor. As my hair tumbled free he grabbed under my thighs and stood effortlessly, moving me from his lap to the edge of the table without his lips leaving mine. I winced slightly as the corners and several books and the laptop jabbed into my rear and I fumbled to move everything aside, failing when I refused to unlock our lips. Deans patience was non-existent and with one sweep of his strong arm everything tumbled to the floor - including the laptop. I threw the remaining books from underneath me down to join them, no longer caring for their wellbeing. Before I could pull Dean back in - to allow him to do whatever the fuck he wanted to do to me - he hastily pulled off my boots and tugged down my jeans, throwing every item to the growing pile of chaos beside us. I discarded my sweater and top, but before I let his fingers touch my bra I wanted nothing more than to return the favour. 

“I guess you can forget about that whole ‘never seeing me shirtless’ thing, huh?” he smirked through the sexual fog, not waiting for a reply as his lips hungrily found mine again, his own top falling to the floor. 

“Shut up Winchester. Now are you gonna fuck me or wh- OH FUCK-”

Two thick fingers crept under my panties and plunged into me with zero hesitation, curling up and stroking the sensual cushion deep within my core with skillful precision. 

“Oh yeah? You want me to fuck you?” Even with my face now buried in the crook of his neck, I could hear the smirk in his voice, the tormenting tone going straight to my brain.

“Y-yes- fuck- please,” my knees twitched either side of him, squeezing at his hips with every push of his fingers. I gripped his shoulders tight, nails indenting his skin as I leant back to look at him better. Seeing the beads of sweat on his chest and brow alongside the raw, carnal desire in his eyes could have undone me there and then. He frowned in disapproval when I moved to remove my glasses, the fingers that were just inside me now wrapped forcefully around my wrist.

“What d’ya think you’re doing?” straight away I knew his growling question left no room for negotiation.

“I was just-”

“The glasses stay on.”

“To the end?”

“‘Til I say you can take them off.”

I did as I was told, moving my hand to grip the soft strands on the back of his neck, softly dragging my nails over his scalp and drawing a shiver from his spine and a groan from his lungs. He pulled me against him, crushing his lips against mine one more time. He swiftly pulled away and I leant back on my hands, both of us taking a moment to drink each other in - to bask in lascivious glory. I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth and looked up at him through my lashes, the lenses of my glasses starting to fog around the edges. Another deep moan rumbled from his chest as his heated gaze stayed locked to mine.

“I can’t wait any longer now that you’ve looked at me like that. Fuck.”

With a large hand gripping the soft flesh of my thigh he pulled my underwear to one side and lined himself up, slowly sinking in. Blissful moans harmonised between us, the rawness of him stretching me was unlike anything I’d ever experienced and my quivering thighs wrapped around him, pushing him to the hilt. He secured his large hands on the soft flesh of my hips and held me in place as he slowly withdrew. I could feel him; feel every ridge and vein drag out and then in, out and in, over my most sensitive, intimate, area. The slick sounds of our intimacy  began to echo around the room as he picked up speed, strong thighs working at a feverish pace. With every thrust he pushed against that one spot that made my legs jerk and eyes water, my arms almost giving out underneath me as the table rattled beneath my weight. With the ferocity of his pounding and the heightened sensitivity he’d curated between my legs only moments before, we both knew that neither of us would last long. The sounds of his ragged breaths and throaty moans alone had me clenching around him already, and I know my constricting muscles already had his hips stuttering as I sucked him in with every thrust.

“Fuck (Y/n)- You’re so fuckin’ tight-”

I chewed on my bottom lip as his desperate eyes met mine.

“Oh yeah? Well I feel like you’re cock is in my fucking ribcage- oh fuck-”

He slipped one hand between us, his large palm resting on my lower belly as his thumb drew fast circles around my clit. The immediate contact on my bundle of nerves had my whole body quivering, the knot of an impending climax already starting to twist tighter and tighter in the depths of my core. The way that Dean fucked me into the motel room table was something that I would be able to feel deep in my soul for the rest of my life - my body and entire nervous system having never been worked in such a feral way before. Dean dropped forward and crushed my body into his - one large strong arm wrapped around my trembling body and kept me pressed against him as his head dropped to the crook of my neck. Soft lips pressed hot kisses against my shoulder, teeth gently nibbling the soft flesh as the coil wound and wound, the wave of orgasmic bliss rising higher and higher as my mind emptied, leaving behind only one thought.

Dean.

He was all consuming - all I could see, taste and smell. All I could feel. Oh God could I feel him; driving me to the brink of pure bliss as he frantically sped up - desperate to seek his own undoing as well as my own. One… two… three more fervid thrusts and the peak he’d helped me ascend to shattered around me as I practically screamed his name, the white-hot euphoria scorching my insides as I clamped like a vice around him. 

“Oh shit- (Y/n) I can’t- fuck-”

I grabbed the back of his head and pushed his mouth to mine as he came undone, spilling inside me as he worked through his own white-hot euphoria. 

The kiss we shared evolved from hot and needy to soft and wanting - the sensation of hot cum running down the inside of my thigh and cooling against my skin being the only thing to pull me away. Dean continued to lean over me for a moment, looking down at me with an expression that told me he had so much he wanted to say. Instead, he looked down at his release now starting to pool on the floor beneath us, then to the books and laptop that had been thrown across the floor before turning back to face me with the most devilish grin on his face.

“You know that this mess is all your fault, right?”

I scoffed.

“My fault? How is it my fault?”

“Because, sweetheart…” he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and pushed lightly on the plastic bridge sitting on my nose.

“You put on on those fucking glasses.”

--------------------------------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung

[cuntiel]

[wildwestdean]

impetus

summary: dean gets targeted by a witch while working a case, and she curses him to yearn for what he secretly loves the most. it seems to have no effect, until it's pointed out that he can't seem to stay away from you - but what happens when he tries to fight it?

pairing: dean winchester x female reader

word count: 9.4k+

warnings: violence, hunting/working a case, mentions of murders, gore, evil witches, reader and dean get attacked, swearing, alcohol consumption, angst, fluff, yearning, mutual pining, idiots oblivious to their own feelings, magical curses, hallucinations, nightmares, depictions of death, depictions of drowning, fighting/arguments, heart-to-heart, confessions, use of [y/n], nicknames, mature themes

“Right, well, this isn’t creepy at all,” Dean declared, rolling Baby to a stop before switching into park. 

You both sat quietly as you surveyed the desolate building, a feeling of unease washing over you. 

“Maybe we should wait for Sam,” you suggested half heartedly. He was only down at the Sheriff’s station, and it wouldn’t even take ten minutes for him to meet you here, but you knew Dean wouldn’t wait. 

“No,” he said, confirming what you already knew. “Someone else is missing and this is our best lead so far. If you don’t want to go in, that's fine, but I am.” 

“I’m not letting you go in there alone,” you snapped, sitting up as tall as you could despite the pit forming in your stomach. 

“Awe, you worried about me, sweetheart?” Dean teased, turning to look at you with a grin; one that was effectively wiped from his face when he saw the look in your eyes. “Hey, what is it?” 

“I don’t know,” you said honestly, shrugging lightly. “I just have a bad feeling about this.” 

“Bad feeling like what?” he questioned, his brows knitting together. 

You thought about it, trying to pinpoint what it was you felt, but you couldn’t. “Just…. don’t go wandering off,” you ended up saying- begging, more like. 

“Alright,” he agreed easily. “We stick together, and we’ll be in and out before you know it.” 

“Right,” you confirmed with a nod. “Let’s gear up.” 

You exited the car as quietly as you could, making your way around to the back as Dean unlocked the trunk and propped up the panel to the arsenal.

“You and Sam better be right about this,” he muttered, digging out the box of witch-killing bullets. 

Your mind raced through the details of the case: An exsanguinated priest, a dead nun with her tongue ripped out, the president of the high schools abstinence club found without a heart, and various livestock missing various body parts - if this wasn’t a witch, you were a little scared to find out what else it could be. 

“We have to be,” you breathed out, loading your ammo. 

“Can you do me a favour and sound at least a little confident?” he asked playfully, lightly nudging your arm with his own before tucking his gun into his jeans. 

“Sorry,” you said sheepishly, holstering your own gun. 

“It’s alright,” he said earnestly, handing you your favourite knife (one that used to be his before you claimed it as your own). “I’m just not used to seeing you so spooked.” 

You couldn’t help but chuckle quietly as you took the knife from him. “I’m not used to feeling spooked.” 

“We’ll make it through,” he consoled, closing up the trunk. “Just like we always do.” 

“Just like we always do,” you echoed with a nod, following him towards the building. 

The overgrowth brushed your calves as you made your way up the walk, and after a quick survey of the facade, Dean swung the door open after picking the lock. 

“Wait!” you hissed, stopping him before he entered. “Sam does know we’re here, right?” 

You watched as his shoulders shrugged before stepping inside. “Probably.” 

“That’s… comforting,” you sighed, following him across the threshold. 

The two of you did a quick preliminary sweep of the main level before making your way to the top floor, finding nothing of significance in any of the rooms. Making your way back down, you both stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a clatter come from beneath you. 

“Of course there’s a basement,” Dean whispered. “Why wouldn’t the creepy ass witch be in the creepy ass basement of this creepy ass house?” 

“How do you know she’s a creepy ass witch?” you teased, raising an eyebrow at him. “Maybe she’s hot. Or a guy. Or both.” 

He faltered over his response, considering your words for a moment. “I’ll bet whatever tab you drink up at the bar once we end up ganking this bitch. She’s creepy.” 

“Deal,” you grinned, wiggling your eyebrows at him. 

You both chuckled, before another noise from the basement drew your attention back to the case at hand. Dean awkwardly cleared his throat before leading the way in search of the basement entrance, using the occasional noise as guidance. 

“God, I hate witches,” he muttered to himself, slapping away cobwebs as he descended the stairs. 

“I don’t think the witch put those webs there,” you said with a snicker. 

“No, they’re just the one turning this rotting corpse of a house into a lair of evil and despair,” he hissed. 

You rolled your eyes in response, unable to stop the fond smile from creeping onto your face as you made it to the bottom of the stairs. 

A muffled cry caught your attention, and Dean spared you a quick look before running in the direction it came from, you hot on his heels. Coming up on a corner, he slowed to a halt and peered around the wall. 

“It looks clear,” he decided after a moment. “Just be careful,” he added, continuing on his way. 

Upon turning the corner, you were enveloped in the warm glow of candles, which would have been nice, had it not been for the rest of the scene. An altar lay at the far wall, burning candelabras stood in each corner of the room, and the very person you were searching for was bound and gagged in a chair in the middle of the room, surrounded by a circle of candles. 

Dean cursed and muttered under his breath, surveying the room. “I’ll get him, you get the altar.“

“Okay,” you agreed, running across the room. Once you reached the altar, you couldn’t help but stare in shock and disgust for a moment as you took in the sight; all the missing body parts seemingly staring back at you from where they lay soaked in blood. It took Dean shouting your name from across the room to bring you back to your senses, and you quickly upturned the altar as Dean instructed the now freed man to get out as fast as possible and wait by the car. As soon as the contents of the altar were scattered, an ear piercing shriek came from behind you. 

Quickly whirling on your heels, you were greeted by a cloaked figure, who seemingly came out of nowhere. 

“What have you done?” she screamed, dropping her hood as she stared daggers into you. 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you feigned innocence. “Did I ruin your big plan?”

“You ruined everything!” she shrieked, slowly approaching you. “You’ll pay for this!” 

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Dean called out from behind her. 

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this?! How many centuries passed by until the circumstances were right? I had it! I had it all! I was one spell away from seeing my love again!” she continued to scream, advancing further towards you as she ignored Dean.

“Back off, Grunhilda!” Dean roared from behind her, drawing his gun. 

“No!” she shrieked, barely lifting her hand in order to easily swing his gun away - and stop you from drawing your own. “You stupid little gnat. You think you can just come in here and mess with things you don’t understand? You think you can take this from me?!” 

Her shouting was drowned out by the sound of your own heart pounding in your ears, your entire body feeling like it was on fire as your throat constricted, the air leaving your lungs and not returning. You felt your bones cracking beneath your skin as your feet left the floor, and you shared a look of terror with Dean before black began to cloud the edges of your vision. 

Without an effective weapon handy, Dean rushed the witch and tackled her to the floor, sending you crashing down. You met the concrete with a thud, and it knocked the rest of your senses out of you. You laid there for who knows how long, fighting off the waves of pain and nausea, willing yourself to move as you listened to the struggle happening a few feet away from you. 

By the time you managed to prop yourself up, Dean was pinned down as she advanced on him, and you desperately looked around for either of your guns. 

“Do you have any idea what it’s like?” you heard her ask, menace laced deep in her words. “To want something so desperately, to feel that desire within your very soul?!” 

Dean struggled against her hold as you struggled to pick yourself up, to at least crawl to a weapon if you had to.

“Well you will,” she sneered, cackling to herself. “You’ll know how it feels. To have what you want the very most to be so close to you, to have it at the edge of your fingertips, only to never be able to grasp it! For it to be the only thing you can think about!”

“Shut the hell up,” Dean seethed through clenched teeth, glaring at her. 

She only stepped closer towards him, cackling to herself. “Your strongest yearning, hidden deep in your heart, will nevermore be yours to part. Be it with sun or with rain, that which brings joy won’t be without pain.” 

“You finished yet?” Dean interrupted, before he had the wind knocked out of him, rendering him silent. 

Moving as quickly as you could without being noticed, you closed in on Dean’s pistol while the witch carried on. 

“Whatever you crave you cannot say, yet you’ll seek it out be it night or day,” she continued, hovering over him. “Consider yourself lucky, you useless toad. I’ve had countless lifetimes yearning to see my love again, and I’ll spend lifetimes more. At least you only have this one measly little life to yearn for what you want.” 

Grasping the gun in your hands, you carefully rose to your feet and steadied yourself to take aim. “Man, you really do talk too much,” you huffed out.

The shot rang out just as she turned towards you, though it was silenced by a roaring wind that accompanied a bright blue light. Within seconds, everything was calm and quiet again.

Fighting every urge you had to collapse back onto the floor, you trudged your way over to Dean in an attempt to help him up. 

“God, I told you she’d be creepy,” he gasped out, groaning as he stood. 

“You want a prize?” you asked incredulously, staring up at him. 

“I wanna get the hell out of here,” he said, ushering you to take leave. “Then I want those drinks you owe me.” 

After what felt like another entire day, you and Dean had dropped the victim off at the hospital, patched each other up, cleaned out the basement, showered, and filled Sam in on everything that went down. 

“So… she cursed you?” Sam asked curiously, trying to understand. 

“I dunno. She tried to, I guess,” Dean replied nonchalantly. “But [Y/N/N] put a bullet in her. No witch, no curse, right?” 

Sam shared a brief look with you, before turning back to Dean. “Yeah, but… there was no body.” 

“What?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“The witch,” you said. “I shot, but she vanished. What if she isn’t dead?” 

“Well, I feel normal, so I’m gonna say she’s dead,” Dean declared with a shrug. “Now, can we head to the bar? I’m in desperate need of a drink… or twelve.” 

Without waiting for an answer, he quickly stood and donned his jacket before looking back at you and Sam. “You guys coming or what?” 

“Oh, do I have a choice to not go?” you asked playfully.

“You can stay if you want, but your wallet comes with me,” he replied, smiling innocently. 

“Alright, let’s go,” you said with a dramatic sigh, grabbing your own jacket. 

Not long after, the three of you were sliding into a booth in the nearest dive, enjoying the lack of people; you guys seriously needed to decompress. 

“Alright, I’ll be back,” you declared, hopping out of the booth to get the first round of drinks. 

“Make sure you get a tab started!” Dean jokingly called after you. 

You flipped him off in response, taking a seat at the bar after placing your order. While you waited, Sam watched as Dean grew more restless in his seat. 

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” he finally asked, eyeing Dean as he fidgeted anxiously. 

“What?” Dean asked cluelessly, glancing around the bar. “I’m thirsty. She’s been gone for what, like, half an hour?” 

“It’s… barely been two minutes, Dean,” Sam informed him with an amused grin.  

“Yeah, well. I want my beer,” Dean mumbled, tapping his fingers on the table as he glanced around once more. “I’m gonna go see if she needs help.”

Before Sam could even reply, Dean was already halfway across the bar, meeting you just as you got your final drink. 

“Need a hand?” Dean asked cheerfully, his sudden appearance making you jump. “Sorry,” he added with a snicker. 

“Dick,” you muttered with a laugh, hopping down from the stool. “Here you go,” you added, handing him his beer.

“Awesome,” he beamed, taking the bottle from your outstretched hand. 

He followed closely as you made your way back to the table, handing Sam his drink before sliding into the booth; Dean followed suit, leaving you nestled in between him and the wall. 

The three of you had a few more rounds before Dean slipped away, determined to teach a lesson to the arrogant ass harassing players around the pool tables - just because you didn’t need to hustle people anymore didn’t mean it wasn’t still fun every now and then. You watched him fondly, laughing quietly to yourself as you watched him fumble around with his cue before making a terrible break. Harder than it looks, you could just hear him say. 

Your attention was turned back to Sam when he cleared his throat, and you were met with his questioning gaze. “Does he seem weird to you?” 

“Weird how?” you asked, face scrunched in confusion. 

“I don’t know, strange,” he replied with a small shrug. “Like- like antsy or something.” 

Your eyes flit back across the room to Dean, who was very much in his element as he upped his ante, before focusing on Sam again. “I haven’t noticed anything, Sammy.” 

He sighed in resignation, seeming to already know that would be your response. “It’s probably nothing, just forget I said anything,” he replied, shaking his head dismissively before finishing his drink. 

“If you say so,” you muttered quietly, sipping your drink as you cast a worried gaze across the bar, getting lost in thought.

By the time you each finished another round of drinks, Dean made his way back over to the table; much to the surprise of you and Sam. 

“Done so soon?” Sam questioned, raising an eyebrow at his brother. 

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, sliding back into the seat beside you.

“But you only played one round,” you said quizzically. 

“So?” Dean wondered, gulping down the rest of his beer. 

“So, you usually play a lot more than that,” Sam pitched in, shifting his gaze between you and Dean. 

Dean sighed, his bottle clanging on the table as he set it back down. “Why am I getting the third degree here? I played a game, he learned his lesson, I got over it. End of story.”

“Okay, grouchy,” you snickered, ruffling his hair a little just because you knew he hated it. Except he really did love it when it was you doing it.

“Whatever, anyone want another round?” he asked with a huff, lightly swatting your hand away. 

“No, I’m gonna call it a night,” you admitted, shifting to slip your jacket back on. 

“Yeah, me too,” Sam declared, starting to stand from the table. 

Dean stood as well, assumingly just to let you out. “Alright, let’s go.”

You and Sam both stilled in your movements at his response, sharing a shocked look with each other. “You’re… coming with us?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” he asked with a scoff, shrugging his jacket on as he looked questioningly between you and Sam. “Seriously, what the hell is wrong with you guys?”

“We just didn’t expect you to call it a night so early,” Sam explained helplessly. “Gettin’ old, huh?” he added, trying to lighten the mood a little. 

“Yeah, I mean, you barely even wracked up a tab!” you declared with a laugh, before grinning mischievously. “Drinks just don’t agree with you anymore, do they, old man?”

Dean scoffed and rolled his eyes, fixing his collar just to busy his hands. “Okay, alright, one more wisecrack and I’m leaving you both here.” 

Despite the finality in his tone, the amusement dancing in his eyes gave him away - as did the hand he extended to you to help you slide from the booth. 

“Whatever you say, grandpa,” Sam teased, patting Dean on the shoulder before walking away with laughter in his wake. “I’ll be outside!”

You chuckled in response, and the stern look Dean gave you only made you laugh even more. “Yeah, yeah. Hurry it up, chuckles,” he chided, wiggling his fingers at you. He surveyed the bar as you finally took hold of his hand, sliding out from your seat with ease and standing before him. “Ready?” he asked, gaze turning back to look down at you. 

“Yeah, I just gotta go pay,” you replied, nodding your head in the direction of the bar counter. 

“Alright,” he said with a nod. He gave your hand a squeeze, though instead of letting go like he normally would, he held it firmly as he led the way across the bar. 

You followed along quietly, trying your hardest to not read too much into it. Though when you stood before the bar and he had yet to release your hand, you gave him a puzzled look. “Did you wanna go get the car?” you asked hesitantly. 

He looked confused for a moment, as if he wasn’t entirely sure what was going on either, before he cleared his throat with a curt nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I’ll meet you out there. Don’t take too long,” he rushed, giving your hand another fleeting squeeze before shuffling away. 

Strange, you thought briefly, before shifting your attention to the bartender before you. 

As you paid the tab, Dean settled into the driver's seat of Baby, and Sam watched him impatiently drum his fingers against the wheel as he hummed along to whatever song was in his head; and he couldn’t help but snort a laugh as Dean checked his watch one, two, three times since getting into the car. 

“You’re ridiculous,” Sam chided with a laugh, shaking his head. 

“What?” Dean inquired, annoyance clear in his voice. 

“Dude, please tell me you see what’s going on,” Sam pleaded. 

Dean widened his eyes in confusion, glancing around the near empty parking lot before looking back at his brother. “What’s going on?” 

Before Sam could reply, their attention was caught by the opening of the bar’s door when you emerged from the building, a grin forming on your face as you caught sight of them waiting in the car. 

Dean matched your grin, quickly reaching for the door handle and scrambling outside. “There she is!” he greeted happily, opening the back door for you. 

“Fucking idiot,” Sam muttered to himself, staring out the window with an amused grin as you and Dean settled into your seats. 

The three of you made it back in no time, and, having to settle for a single bed when first getting to town over driving for another who-knows-how-long just to find another motel, shuffled out of the car and into your shared room with heavy feet.

“Finally,” Dean muttered with relief, shutting the door behind him as Sam took a seat. “Whoa, whoa,” Dean barked, holding up a hand. “What’re you doing?” 

Sam froze just as he sat on the bed, staring up at his brother. “What?” 

“That’s my bed,” Dean declared with a huff. 

“No, it’s not,” Sam answered with a scoff. “It’s your turn for the couch.” 

“Dude, I’m not sleeping on the pull-out!” Dean declared with finality.

“What, are you kidding me?” Sam asked incredulously. “You got the bed last time!” 

“Yeah, and I just got ragdolled by a crazy ass witch, I deserve a mattress!” Dean argued, stepping towards the bed. “Get up.” 

“No,” Sam argued stubbornly, relaxing further atop the sheets. 

“You guys are ridiculous,” you said with an exasperated sigh, walking across the room. “I’ll take the couch.” 

“Not a chance,” Dean denied, not even sparing you a glance. 

“What, why?” you asked in confusion. 

“First of all, I’m not sharing with Sam,” Dean replied, turning to look at you. “Second, you got it worse than I did. I’m not shoving you on a pull-out.” 

“Oh, please-” you started to argue, before he cut you off. 

“I patched you up myself, [Y/N]. Don’t bother trying to lie to me,” he cautioned. 

You opened your mouth to argue once more, but the look on his face stopped you short. “Whatever,” you mumbled, turning towards the bathroom. “I’m getting ready for bed. Figure this out before I get back so I can actually go to bed, please.” 

The bickering resumed as you quickly retreated, shutting the bathroom door on Dean’s disgruntled declaration of “best two out of three.”

By the time you re-entered the room, you were met with silence. Surveying the surroundings, you found Sam digging through his toiletries bag while sitting in his original spot on the bed. Your gaze snapped over to the couch, where Dean sat looking like a kicked puppy. 

“You went with scissors again, didn’t you?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him. 

He met your gaze as Sam snickered behind you, causing his face to sour even more. “Shut up,” he mumbled before standing, bristling past you with slumped shoulders. 

You chuckled quietly to yourself and grabbed the spare sheets, quickly making up the pull-out for Dean while he got ready; hopefully he’d be a little less cranky about it all if this was at least already done. 

Once finished, you made your way over to the bed and curled up under the covers. After saying a quick goodnight to Sam, you were asleep before Dean even left the bathroom. 

Fear gnawed at Dean, his body frozen in place as a cold spread through him, panic clinging to him like ice. He tried to call out to you, but all that left him was a strangled breath as his lungs seized up. He watched as the waves carried you away, further and further from where he stood. By the time his legs finally moved to carry him closer to shore, his feet were so heavy it was as though he was wading through quicksand. 

“No, no, no,” he pleaded quietly, watching as the waters edge never grew near no matter how far he ran. 

Your voice cried out to him, surging him forward even faster as you drifted ever outwards, terror seeping deeper into his bones with every futile step he took.

He couldn’t reach you. 

He couldn’t save you. 

The realisation that you were gone caused his world to come crashing down around him as he fell to his knees. A roaring filled his ears, and he didn’t know whether it was the irascible water that held you captive or the blood racing from his pounding heart. 

As he stayed there - watching the crashing waves for any sign of you, listening for a call of his name, unwilling to move for fear he’d miss you - the water suddenly crept up around him, as if to mock him. 

The sky darkened as he let out an anguished cry, his voice blending in with the storm beginning to brew around him. Yet despite the deafening howls, he heard it clear as day: your voice, calling out to him.  

“Dean.”

The world stilled around him once more, your voice ringing out in a whisper as gentle as the wind. 

“Dean.” 

He stood, frantically searching the horizon for you. He tried to call out, yet his voice still never came. 

“Dean!” you called out, voice booming like thunder from above. 

A small hand gripped his own, pulling him so forcefully he was yanked off his feet. He let out a startled cry, a spark of lightning igniting so brightly before him that he screwed his eyes shut. 

“God dammit, Dean!” 

Another force shook him, and when we reopened his eyes, he was met with the suspiciously stained ceiling of the motel room. He bolted upright, heart hammering against his chest as he looked around. He caught your worried gaze as he wiped the sweat from his brow, trying to steady his breathing as you leaned in closer. 

“[Y/N?]” he gasped out, pushing himself further upright.

His hand reached out automatically, fingers tentatively brushing against your cheek as if to evaluate your solidity. When he was satisfied that you wouldn’t evaporate, he surged forward to wrap you in a desperate embrace; the icy grip of terror finally starting to melt. 

“It was just a nightmare, De,” you soothed quietly, tracing a hand along his back. “Everything’s alright.”

“Yeah,” he said tightly, swallowing the lump forming in his throat as he let you go. “Yeah, it’s fine. I’m alright, get back to bed.” 

“You’re okay?” you questioned, concern laced in both your face and tone of voice. 

“I’m okay,” he affirmed with a nod, casting his gaze aside so you wouldn’t see the panic still swirling within him. 

“Okay,” you said softly, placing a gentle kiss upon the crown of his head before standing from the edge of the pull-out. 

Dean got up after you to grab a glass of water, his heart jumping in his chest as he remembered the sight of you being ripped away by the current. 

“Just a nightmare,” he reminded himself under his breath. “Just a nightmare.” 

Not having slept another wink after his nightmare, Dean was unsurprisingly the first one up the next morning. Taking it upon himself to get breakfast for the three of you, he found himself at the nearest diner waiting for his order. 

Drumming his fingers impatiently on the sticky linoleum counter, a burning desire to call you began to build within him. Knowing you were likely still sleeping, he decided to busy himself with a stupid game you downloaded on his phone. 

Yet the urge to reach out to you grew tenfold as he sat there, a sinking feeling that it might mean you were in danger starting to take hold of him. Just as his mind began to swirl with questions of what the hell was going on with him, he heard your voice calling his name. 

His head snapped up, expecting to see you sliding onto the stool beside him, ready to give you hell for walking here in search of him all by yourself in a random town. He figured you must’ve known he was here, and it wouldn’t have been a far walk from the motel, but it was still stupid.

Though the words died on his tongue as he realized you weren’t there, and that familiar feeling of dread trickled through him after scanning the diner and not finding you anywhere. 

Another voice called out, this time the waitress, announcing that his order was ready. He met her smiling face with nothing but confusion, her smile faltering for a moment.

“Everything alright?” she asked hesitantly.

“Huh?” he asked, before snapping out of his daze. “Oh, yeah. Just a little too early for me. Thanks-” he paused, squinting to read her name tag. “Thanks, Edna,” he charmed, flashing his signature grin as he gathered the order. 

“Anytime, sugar,” she charmed, her smile perking back up as she sent him a wink. 

With one last - albeit awkward - grin sent her way, Dean quickly left the diner; already feeling lighter for knowing he’d be back at the motel soon. His grin only grew when he glanced across the street and caught a glimpse of you staring back at him, proving that he wasn’t crazy and you really did come to meet him. 

He took a step forward, intending to call out to you, when a truck drove by and blocked you from sight. The grin was wiped from his face and the coffee tray nearly slipped out of his hand when he noticed you had completely disappeared in its wake. 

Fearing the worst once more, he scrambled into the car and quickly called you, firing Baby to life as the line rang. 

“Hey,” you answered with a stifled yawn. “Please tell me you’re getting breakfast. And coffee.” 

“Yeah, I-” he faltered in his response, having to let out a breath of relief as he realized you were safe and sound. “I’ll be back in a few, you and Sammy still there?” 

“Where else would we be?” you asked with a giggle. 

While the sound would normally bring a smile to his face, your words only caused a frown to appear. “You only waking up now?” 

“Don’t judge me,” you teased. “It’s only… ten after seven, I barely slept in.” 

“Just not used to being up before you,” he lied, knuckles turning white as he gripped the steering wheel. 

“Miracles really do happen,” you joked with a laugh. “You sound weird, is everything okay?” you added, worry tinting your voice. 

“Hm?” he wondered, not processing your question right away. “Oh, no- yeah, I-... just didn’t get much sleep.”

“Right,” you said, teetering on the edge of believing him or not. 

“Really, I’m good,” he assured, sensing your apprehension. “I just gotta catch some z’s and I’ll be good as new.” 

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few then,” you relented. “Drive safe,” you added as an afterthought before hanging up.   

The line went dead as he stopped at a red light, his stomach churning as he stared at his reflection in the rearview.

“Just need some sleep,” he assured himself. 

“Dude, would you quit it with the pacing?” Sam snapped, setting his book down on the table for sheer lack of concentration. 

Dean stopped just long enough to stare daggers at his brother before marching down the library once more. “She’s been gone too long.” 

“She’s been gone an hour,” Sam informed, hands running over his face in exasperation. 

“Exactly,” Dean replied, pointing a finger at Sam in acknowledgment. “Something must’ve happened.” 

“Dude, she’s at the grocery store. With Jack. What the hell could possibly happen?” 

“I don’t know!” Dean exclaimed, arms flailing as he whirled to face Sam. “Something must’ve! She hasn’t answered my last text and it’s been-” he paused, pulling out his phone to brandish the screen. “Seven minutes!” 

“Oh, my god,” Sam groaned, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. “I can’t deal with this anymore.” 

“What are you talking about? Aren’t you worried?” Dean asked gruffly. 

“No, Dean, I’m not worried! There’s no reason to be worried!” Sam proclaimed. 

“No reason? She could be dead!” Dean barked, his face taking on an expression of disbelief. 

Sam sighed as he leaned over the table, raising his eyebrows. “Okay, let me ask you this: why, exactly, do you think she’s dead?” 

“Oh, come on, Sam!” Dean grumbled. “We don’t exactly live cookie cutter lives here, you know. One minute she’s returning the shopping cart, and the next she’s got a damn knife in her back!” 

“Dean,” Sam soothed. “You know as well as I do that’s a load of crap.” 

“No,” Dean argued, shaking his head. “We don’t know that. We don’t know anything, you know why?” 

Before Sam could even respond, Dean waved his phone around before dropping it on the table. “Because she won’t answer her damn phone!” 

“Okay, this is actually ridiculous,” Sam declared. “How can you seriously not see what’s been happening to you?” 

“Knock it off, Sam,” Dean muttered, waving a hand dismissively as he began pacing again. “I’m fucking fine.” 

“You’re fine,” Sam repeated incredulously. “You’re friggin’ cursed, Dean!” 

“I’m not cursed!” shouted Dean. “Would you quit it with that crap?” 

“Right, because nothing’s been going on with you lately, right?” 

“Right!” Dean agreed with a huff. 

“You haven’t been, say, I don’t know…. not sleeping? Feeling stir crazy? Getting paranoid?”

“Sam-” 

“No, I’m serious, Dean! How can you not see this?” 

“Because I’m fine!” Dean argued, stalling his movements to gather his phone from the table.

After a few moments of silence, Dean rolled his eyes and found himself once more walking the length of the library. “Okay, maybe I’ve been feeling a little weird lately, but I’ve just been tired - and you know what? I survived worse. So yeah, I’m fine!” 

“Right,” Sam said sceptically.  “And have you… noticed when it is that you feel… weird?”

“I don’t know!” Dean announced frustratedly.

“Dean,” Sam chastised. 

“What?” 

“You’ve been feeling like this all week, and it’s only getting worse. You’ve been like this since that witch cursed you - and don’t say she didn’t. Use your fucking head, Dean! You’re cursed!” 

Dean’s jaw clenched as he tried to remain calm, taking a moment to formulate his response. “You’re insane,” he finally declared. 

“I think you’re the insane one,” Sam contested. “You were cursed to yearn for something, Dean. Only in this case… it’s someone.” 

“What the hell are you talking about?” 

“C’mon, Dean!” Sam pleaded with a laugh. “The only time you get like this is when you’re more than ten feet away from [Y/N].” 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Dean muttered dismissively. 

“You’ve checked your phone another five times since you picked it up.” 

“So?” Dean questioned, failing to resist the urge to check it once more. “I’m worried, not cursed.” 

“You’re worried because you’re cursed!” Sam argued. 

“I’m worried because I lo-” Dean quickly fell silent as the words died on his tongue, his brain firing into total overdrive as he laughed nervously. “I care, that’s why I’m worried.” 

Sam stared at his brother in total disbelief, trying to find a way to make him realize what was going on- or, most likely, acknowledge what was going on. 

Yet before the conversation could go any further, the bunker door screeched open and the sound of your laughter fleeted down to greet Dean, effectively turning his scowl into an affectionate grin. 

“Hope you remembered my pie!” he called out, marching to meet you at the foot of the stairs without so much as a glance back in Sam’s direction. 

“When have I ever forgotten?” you asked, feigning offence as you held out the bag which contained his pie.

“Well,” he started, taking the bag from you. “There was that time in Redford-”

“Hey!” you interrupted with a laugh. “I didn’t forget, they were out!”

“See, I still don’t believe you,” he teased, heading for the kitchen. 

“Believe whatever you want, Dean,” you replied playfully. 

“I’m still waiting for it, you know. You should get me two next time,” he joked, though he was partly serious. 

“Dean?” Sam’s voice tentatively called out.

“Yeah?” Dean replied hotly, keeping his back to Sam as he went to grab a beer from the fridge. 

“Who, uh… who the hell are you talking to?” he asked carefully, surveying the empty kitchen. 

“Hilarious, Sam,” he said dryly, shutting the fridge. “I’m talking to-”

His mouth ran dry as he turned around, being met with just his brother, who was staring with concern from the doorway. 

“[Y/N],” Dean finished weakly. 

“Her and Jack aren’t back yet, Dean,” Sam said carefully, as though talking to a lost child. 

“Yes, they are. They got back, she gave me my pie, we came in here,” Dean said fiercely, his confidence shattering when he went to gesture at the pie he set down moments earlier and found it to be gone.  

“Maybe you should sit down,” Sam suggested, not knowing what to do. 

“I’m fine!” Dean shouted, hovering over the counter. “I’m fine,” he repeated, moreso to himself than anything. 

“Okay, look, how about I try calling [Y/N], okay?” Sam offered, hesitantly walking further into the kitchen. “See when they’ll be back.” 

“They are back!” Dean barked, glaring at Sam. “She was just in here!” 

Sam didn’t know what to say, the fear and concern for his brother crashing down on him. 

“She was just in here,” Dean repeated shakily, meeting Sam’s gaze with confusion. 

“Dean,” Sam started to say, before the familiar tone of your ringtone came from Dean’s phone, cutting through the air like a knife. 

Dean pulled the phone from his pocket, clearing his throat before answering. “Yeah?” 

“Dean, thank god,” you cheered, sighing in relief. “Listen, we came out to a flat tire and I don’t have a spare because I forgot to fucking replace it and there are too many people around for Jack to, you know, try fixing it,” you rambled anxiously. “Can you please come help?” 

“You’re still at the store?” Dean clarified, looking up at Sam with frightened eyes. 

“Yeah, we’re stuck in the parking lot,” you told him breezily. 

“Okay,” he said, swallowing thickly. “Alright, I’ll be right there.” 

“Thanks, De!” you said happily, ending the call. 

Dean stood there for a few moments staring down at his unopened bottle of beer on the counter, trying to gather his thoughts, before finally lifting his gaze to Sam.

“I’ll, uh…. I’ll be back,” he told him, not waiting for a response before trudging out of the kitchen.

You found yourself yet again rushing down the hall to Dean’s room, his muffled yells waking you in the dead of night once more. 

He uttered your name as you shut the door behind you, and though it took you by surprise the very first time it happened - nearly two weeks ago, now - it was something you’ve almost come to expect. It was killing you, watching him go through this every night and not being able to fix it. You would sit with him, find ways to gently rouse him from his terror filled slumber and comfort him when he woke, but it never seemed like enough; he deserved more.

At first you didn’t think there was too much going on, figuring his shift in behaviour was just due to his lack of sleep. You didn’t believe Sam when he talked to you about it; Dean may have been acting a little more strange than usual, but it didn’t raise any red flags.

It wasn’t until the morning following your conversation that you noticed it, cluing in and realising how different Dean had been; how long he’d been different. The excess text messages, the increase in phone calls, the insistence on you not going anywhere without him and his exuberant reactions to you getting back safe when you did go somewhere without him, his constant questioning on where you were or where you’ve just been. Something else was going on, and you could only think it really did come down to the witch you two encountered.  So you and Sam called up Rowena, getting her take on the situation and figuring out what to do. 

Her words now echoed through your head as you perched yourself on the edge of his bed: “Magic isn’t simple. Some curses are anchored by the witch, ending whenever they were to die. But others are more complex, rooted not in the witch but the object of the curse itself, not breaking until their purpose is carried out one way or another. Perhaps if you can figure out what it is Dean needs, you can break the curse yourselves. If this carries on for any longer… I’m worried it will kill him.” 

While you ran your fingers through his hair, you decided right then and there that once he woke up, you wouldn’t leave without confronting him about it. You knew it would likely start a fight, and you felt a little guilty knowing you would all but interrogate him right after having another nightmare, but all that guilt flew right out the window the second Dean startled himself awake, the sight of his panic stricken face as he gasped for air nearly bringing you to tears; you’ve seen him like this too often as of late. 

“It’s alright, Dean,” you soothed, reaching out to him. “I’m right here, everything’s fine.” 

His gaze snapped to you, unable to hide the confusion and terror still coursing through him despite the relief he felt. “[Y/N]?” 

“Yeah, De,” you cooed, running a hand across his shoulder blades. “We’re in your room, everyone’s okay.” 

He let out a shuddering breath, hanging his head in his hands. “You’re okay,” he whispered softly. “You’re okay.” 

You sat quietly with him for a few more minutes, patiently comforting him as best as you could while you thought of how to approach this conversation. 

Clearing his throat, Dean was the first to speak again as he rose from the bed. “Sorry I woke you again.” 

The dejection and shame laced in his voice tore your heart to bits, and you had to put up a good fight to keep your emotions in check. “You don’t need to apologize.” 

“Yeah, I do,” he disagreed, trudging to his sink in the corner. 

“Dean, please talk to me,” you pleaded, watching as he turned on the water. 

You fell silent, waiting for him to deny you and brush you off again. You waited for him to say something, to do something, but all he did was stare at the running water. 

“Dean?” you asked cautiously, slowly getting up from the bed yourself. 

“I can’t save you,” he muttered quietly, his gaze on the faucet unyielding. 

“What?” you asked curiously, not knowing what he meant. 

“I can never save you,” he carried on. “You always just… slip away from me. Every time. It’s always the same.” 

“What’s always the same?” you questioned, moving closer towards him. 

“I try,” he muttered, seemingly oblivious to your presence. “I run, and I fight, and I try, but I can never reach you. I can never get to you.”

He seemed to snap out of his daze a little, moving to splash water over his face before turning off the tap. “You keep dying. I keep watching you die. I can’t watch you die again, [Y/N]. I can’t.” 

“This is what your nightmares have been?” you wondered. 

He fell silent again for a minute before meeting your gaze in the mirror. “Yeah.” 

“It’s not real, Dean,” you told him softly.

“It’s real enough for me,” he muttered, turning to face you. 

“And is this why you’ve been… acting differently towards me?” you asked hesitantly. 

He averted his gaze, hanging his head as he considered your question. “I guess,” he said with a shrug. “Maybe, yeah. I don’t know.” 

“Dean,” you scolded with a sigh, plopping back down on the bed. “Why won’t you just tell me what’s going on?” 

“Because everything’s fine!” he argued once again. 

“I’m not stupid, Dean!” you challenged. “I know you. I can see something's eating you alive and it’s fucking killing me to witness it. So please, tell me what the hell is going on.” 

“It’s just nightmares,” he lied, crossing his arms against his chest. 

“It’s more than nightmares!” you cried. “You’re withering away into nothing, Dean! I mean let’s face it! You’re practically a zombie nowadays with how little sleep you get, you’ve been acting like a puppy with separation anxiety, and let’s not forget how completely erratic you’ve been.”

He glared at you, jaw clenching as he decided whether or not to entertain this conversation. “Okay, so maybe I haven’t slept lately,” he admitted starkly. “But like I keep saying, I’m fine.” 

“Don’t you ever get tired of lying?” you sneered, glaring up at him. 

He rolled his eyes, averting his gaze to anywhere else as he shook his head. “No, but I’m getting tired of having this conversation all the time.” 

“Well too bad!” you yelled, abruptly standing from the bed. “Cause I’m tired of never having this conversation go anywhere! I’m tired of you brushing off the idea of you being cursed. I didn’t believe it at first either, but what the hell else could it be, Dean?” 

“Oh, come on!” he barked, running a hand over his face. “I see Sam got his hooks into you.” 

“Yeah, he did. And you need to listen to us.” 

“No, I really don’t,” he scoffed, starting to head to the door. 

“Even if it kills you?” you blurted out. 

“It’s not gonna kill me!” 

“God, look at you, Dean! It already is!” you argued, marching closer to him. “How would you feel if the situation were reversed?” 

He let out a sigh, pausing with his hand on the doorknob before turning back to you. “What?” 

“What if it were me going through all this instead of you? Would you let me get away with not even listening to you and Sam?” 

He narrowed his eyes at you, staring at you in silence for so long you expected him to turn away again. Instead, he let out a deep breath as he took a seat, gesturing for you to carry on. “Five minutes.” 

You almost went to argue before you thought better of it, knowing full well that if Dean never came around to the theory he would actually cut you off at the five minute mark. So, you did your best to recount the entire situation for him, reiterating what you, Sam, and Rowena had to say about it all in the hopes of getting through to him. By the time you finished, you knew it was well over five minutes, so you took Dean not interrupting you to be a good sign. 

“Okay,” he finally said with a small nod. “Well, I listened. Can I go now?” 

Your heart dropped to your stomach, anger and fear bubbling inside of you as you exploded. “God, you are unbelievable!”

“Well what do you want me to say?” he grumbled. “I just don’t believe that’s what’s going on.” 

“How can you not believe it?” you asked incredulously. “It’s obvious!” 

“Look, I said I don’t believe it, alright?” Dean snapped. “Why are you so hellbent on making this into some big fight? Just accept it.” 

“No!” you seethed. “I can’t just accept the fact that this could kill you. Especially not when there’s a way we could end this.” 

“No,” he disagreed, shaking his head. “You can’t fix this, [Y/N/N]. You just can’t.” 

“I can!” you cried. “Just tell me.” 

“Tell you what?” 

“You know what,” you scolded. 

“This is so fucking ridiculous.” 

“Tell me anyway.” 

“Why the hell do you care so much?” he questioned exasperatedly. 

“Because I’m fucking terrified, Dean!” you exclaimed. “I’ve watched you grow more restless and anxious every day since the night we finished that case. I’ve seen the life drain from you more and more as sleep became nearly impossible for you. And I know it’s nearly impossible for you, because I have spent the last eleven nights sitting on that bed as you got terrorised by your own mind. I don’t care if you believe in this curse or not, Dean, because I do.” 

Dean stood quietly, absorbing what you said as the severity of the situation began to dawn on him. 

“I mean don’t you get it?” you asked sadly, cutting through the silence. “If something happens to you, if I lose you… that’s not something I can come back from.” 

Dean fell silent once more, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, pacing around the room a little as he turned everything over in his head. 

“I’m scared, Dean,” you reiterated softly. “Please, just let us try to fix this.” 

“There’s some things I should tell you, then,” he admitted quietly after a moment of silence, taking a seat on the bed. 

“About what’s been happening?” you asked hopefully. 

He nodded, staring down at his hands folded in his lap. “Yeah.” 

“Okay,” you said, moving his desk chair to take a seat. “I’m listening.” 

He took a bracing breath, taking a few minutes to build the courage to speak. “Well, you know I’ve been having nightmares.” 

“I do,” you agreed quietly. 

“It’s always the same one,” he admitted, keeping his gaze cast downwards. “I could never figure out why. It didn't make sense to me why it was always the same thing. So I finally talked to Sam about it, and he had a pretty good theory. But, you know me. I didn’t want to believe it because it came back down to that witch and this stupid fucking curse.” 

He let out a bitter laugh, pausing long enough for you to speak up. “What did he have to say about it?” 

“I tried telling myself I was fine,” he continued, ignoring your question. “I was fine, at first. At first it was just not sleeping well… but then other things started happening.” 

“Other things like what?” you wondered quietly. 

“Like my blood feeling like it’s on fucking fire,” he muttered, wiping at his face. “And my skin feeling like it-… like it’s being peeled off my goddamn bones, and my face feeling like it’s melting… and how I get this- this bubble inside my chest that feels like it’s either gonna burst or suffocate me and how it all only happens-” he stopped in his rambling, taking a deep breath before chuckling in disbelief. “God, it only happens when you’re not around, [Y/N].” 

“I-... what do you mean?” you asked breathlessly. 

“Oh, come on, [Y/N],” he said bitterly. “I know you’ve noticed. I text you more, I’m almost always calling you. I just- I get this… this unwavering panic inside me when you’re not around. I keep-... I swear to god I see you everywhere when you’re gone. I catch sight of you across the street, I smell your stupid shampoo when I’m alone, I hear your voice when no one’s there. I had an entire conversation with you and you weren’t even there,” he carried on, shaking his head as he briskly wiped away an angry tear. “God, I’m going fucking crazy,” he added with a manic chuckle. 

“You’re not crazy, Dean,” you said gently. 

“That night,” he started, staring at the wall across from him. “She was trying to get back someone she lost… someone she loved.” 

“Right,” you agreed. 

“They used to drown them, people they accused of being witches,” he continued slowly. 

“Yeah, it was pretty common. Sink, and you were innocent. Float, and you were guilty,” you pitched in. “But… what does that have to do with this?”

“I think they were innocent,” he said simply. “Whoever she lost… I think that’s how she lost them.” 

“Why do you think that?” you asked curiously. 

Dean cleared his throat, staring pensively at his hands once more. “The nightmares. It’s always… you always drown. I keep-... I can never save you.” 

“I don’t get-” you started to say, before he cut you off. 

“It’s how she lost who she loves, [Y/N],” he said curtly. “It makes sense for me to see the one I love go the same way.” 

“I-... what?” you asked, too stunned to think of anything else to say. 

“The dreams, the hallucinations, the- the way I’ve been feeling… I didn’t want to admit it, I still don’t, but I can’t… I mean I can only ignore it for so long, right?” he said, scoffing quietly. “Especially with you and Sam breathing down my neck about it.” 

“Ignore what, Dean?” you asked breathlessly, your heart hammering in your chest. 

“You,” he muttered. “They way I feel about you. The way I’ve always felt about you.” 

You didn’t dare respond, his words ringing in your ears as he fell silent, each of you lost in your own thoughts for a while. 

“I’ve always known that I love you, [Y/N/N],” he carried on, slowly meeting your gaze with glistening eyes. “But this… this curse, this whatever it is. God, it’s just made it all so much worse, and I knew. I knew it was you that my entire being was screaming out for but I couldn’t… I couldn’t admit it.” 

“Why not?” you asked shakily, feeling your tears starting to build. 

“How could I put that on you?” he asked, a few rogue tears slipping down his face. “You said it yourself, this thing is killing me. It’s gonna kill me, unless I get what I want, and given that that’s you, I’m calling it game over.” 

“No, Dean, it’s not,” you denied with a sniffle, cutting through your own stray tears. “You should’ve told me.” 

“Yeah, well,” he grumbled, shrugging lightly as he looked back at his hands. “I told you now.” 

“Dean,” you sighed, wiping your face as you stood from your seat. “Do you trust me?” you asked, walking towards him.

“Of course I do,” he said quickly, almost offended by the question. 

“Okay, well, I’ll need you to trust me on this,” you replied, stopping just in front of where he sat. 

“Okay,” he said with a huff. 

“You gotta look at me, though,” you said, laughing softly. 

Sighing dejectedly, he slowly lifted his head to meet your gaze, a ghost of a smile dancing on his lips as he looked at you. 

You smiled softly at him, gently taking his face in your hands before wordlessly bringing your lips down to meet his. At first, neither of you really knew what was happening, and just when you thought to pull away you felt his lips moving against your own. His hands gripped your waist to hold you in place a moment longer before you each pulled away, staring silently at each other as you processed what just happened. 

“What, uh… what was that for?” Dean finally asked. 

“Well, it was either that or slapping some sense into you,” you said playfully. “Which I almost think you still deserve, because I can’t believe you honestly think I don’t love you back.” 

“What?” he asked, his grip on your waist loosening in shock before tightening once more. 

“You’ve had me since the day we met, Dean,” you told him softly, carding your fingers through his hair. 

“You actually…” he trailed off quietly, trying to focus his thoughts. “You actually love me, of all people?” 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I do.” 

“So I- well, I guess I could’ve saved a lot of trouble if I really did just tell you, huh?” he asked jokingly, laughing tightly. 

“I’ll give you hell for it tomorrow,” you teased, half serious. “For now, how about we try getting you back to sleep?” 

“Actually,” he said, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I have a better idea involving this bed.” 

You couldn’t help but snort a laugh, grinning fondly at him. “Oh, really?” 

He grinned back, laughing with you before taking on a more sombre tone. “Do you trust me?” 

“Always,” you said honestly. 

“Good,” he replied with a grin, laughing heartily at the shriek you let out when he tossed you on the bed. 

He stared down at you, a look you’ve never seen before painted on his face. “What?” you asked, giggling nervously.

“I love you,” he said earnestly, brushing a lock of hair away from your face. 

“I love you, too,” you replied shyly, grinning softly. 

He matched your grin, drinking you in a moment longer before crashing his lips upon yours once more. 

When Dean woke the next morning, it didn’t take long for a grin to spread across his face as he quickly realized two things. 

The first thing being that you, the love of his life, still remained tangled up in both his arms and the sheets, sleeping peacefully atop his chest. 

The second being that, for the first time in a total of thirteen days, he was able to sleep without being haunted by his nightmares. 

He felt you stir, and his grin widened as you nestled in closer, tightening your grip on him as you slept. He planted a kiss against your temple, pulling you in close as he blissfully settled in for another peaceful rest. 

Maybe witches aren’t so bad.

tagging: @roseblue373

let me know if you'd like to be tagged!

[deansbeer]

little help goes a long way ・ DEAN WINCHESTER. ៸៸៸ 𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ! ♡ pinned library

eighteen plus. minors do NOT interact.

SYNOPSIS. where you accidentally give dean a hard on during a hunt.

WARNING(S). sexual tension | fem!reader | strong language | sex innuendos | implied smut.

KARI NOTES. he's been running on my mind all day and i needed to let my thoughts run wild. so have fun readin' — you'll def thank me later!

satiated desire

the hunt had taken an unexpected turn, leaving you and dean pressed up against each other, your back flush against his chest. you shifted slightly, trying to get a better vantage point, when you felt dean's grip tighten on your hips, holding you in place.

"dean—" you began to ask, but the words died on your lips as you felt something hard pressing against you from behind. your eyes widened in realization, heat creeping up your face.

"shit, sweetheart, i'm so sorry," dean murmured, his voice strained. "i didn't mean for that to happen."

you whisper to dean in his ear, "we'll deal with this after the hunt, okay?"

he nodded mutely, your heart racing, already imagining ways to help him with his... situation. a small smile plays on your lips as he replied, "you're the best," he murmurs, hearing the mix of relief and anticipation in his voice.

"of course, dean. i've got you."

dean let out a shaky breath, his grip on your hips tightening ever so slightly.

with that, the two of you turned your focus back to the hunt, both eagerly awaiting the chance to properly address the growing tension between you.

[mariswxt]

libidinal

If Dean could curse every witch on this planet for dosing you and him with an aphrodisiac after ganking them, he would. His entire body was on fire— burning, and his mind was embarrassingly stuck on you. You, your thighs, lips, your ass. It all rattled about in his head like a broken record, and he craved you, craved the relief like crazy.

He knew that you were feeling the same things he was right now, the ache, burn, relentless want that you just couldn’t shake no matter how hard you tried. Ugh, you needed him. Like you’d die if you didn’t have him. Dean felt the same damn way — trust him — like one touch and he’d break the damn best friend code of conduct.

You’d think both of you would have more control of yourselves, considering how you were both hunters who’d faced stuff like vampires and shit. "This is gettin’ on my nerves, sweetheart," he scoffed, eyes fluttering up and down you. You were too hot for this world— and that wasn’t just the pollen talking, but his drugged up mind couldn’t stop.

"Fuck this." he slowly took off his sweat-soaked shirt, looking for signs that you’d jump him. Dean rubbed the sweat off his chest, having no damn right to look that jacked and edible right now, ugh. He can't take all of this crap, including being quarantined in this damn motel room by Sam. It’s for a reason, though.

He groaned, aching, desperate, gesturing for you to keep away so he could resist this damned pollen’s effects. "Oh, m’ gonna kill Sammy if he doesn’t find a cure for this stat." Dean covered his ears, yeah, no. He acted as if covering his ears and blocking out all noise would stop the ache for you, well, it sure didn’t.

Pacing back and forth, he took one look at you— nope, look away, you looked too hot, nope. "Yeah, I’ll kill him." He winced when he got a very R-rated image in his head— he was desperate for you, you, for some relief, mainly sex.

He felt like every second without his hands on your ass was torture— he hoped he wouldn’t go to hell.

“Oh, I’m fine.” You breathed, sarcastic, giving him a look with raised eyebrows. “Just — you know — feeling like my body’s burning alive, I’m sweatin’, my brain hurts.” Your eyes were hungrily searching his bare chest, biting your lip— no, stop, even if you felt on fire and were sweating buckets.

“You’re clearly not,” he retorted. He would’ve found it funny that you were checking him out, but the need was so overwhelming, and he had to bite his lip to stop himself from throwing you onto the nearest surface.

“So… no need to be sarcastic. M’ just trying to control myself.” He muttered under his breath, crossing his arms and keeping the distance between you. “Can’t say the same for you though, sweetheart, ‘cause I can see ya gawkin’.”

“Yeah, just quit it, you look like a five star buffet. A girl can’t help herself when she’s drugged up on an aphrodisiac.” You groaned, dabbing your sweaty-ass neck with a towel, not able to help the way your eyes hungrily drank in his chest. “I’m makin’ do with the view I’ve got while my pussy’s yellin’ at me right now.”

“Christ, darlin’.” He muttered. He felt all fuzzy inside when you said that, he hated how hungry the damn pollen made him for you, for your body. Dean’s eyes darkened, taking in the way you kept looking at him, how you were yearning for him like he was with you. His fingers gripped on the chair he was sitting on, and he leaned forward— he needed to stay on the damn chair.

“And what kinda things is it tellin’ you, hm?” He asked, voice lowering, growling almost. His cock was telling him to go over there, moan in your ear as he thrusted into you, that’s what— but he had to deny himself of such luxurious pleasures. How great.

“To throw away all sense of modern feminism and let you fuck me hard on the floor.” You breathed, moaning softly at getting the words out. “Or letting you bend me over the table. Eat me out on the bed, take me from behind on said bed.” Another desperate moan.

Shit.

Dean almost groaned out loud, damn you. You were going to be the death of him. He was so damn hard right now, and he gripped even tighter on the chair, he would break it if he wasn’t careful.

“Sweet girl, I know you’re not talkin' about feminism when you got your hungry eyes all over me right damn now.” He bit out, clenching his jaw. Dean couldn’t help the fantasies that were running through his mind, especially when you let those moans out.

“I know.” You murmured, nodding, levelling the playing field and taking your shirt off too, leaning back against the bed’s headboard. Shit. Your skin that glistened with sweat, glowing more in the shitty motel light, tits now on display for his hungry-ass eyes. Your head tipped back, eyebrows pinched together tight, lips parted ever so slightly. Shit.

“Goddamn it,” he muttered, eyes drinking in that perfect body of yours like a man who hadn’t had a drop of water in years. He’d seen you in a bikini before and almost lost it, but this view, this view was a sight for sore eyes. One that he was now staring at shamelessly.

His mouth hung agape as his eyes traveled from your chest to your face, he was desperate — all for you. “What’re you gettin’ at?” He asked, voice low and ragged.

“That I’m hot too. A woman can exist with her shirt off.” You scoffed, thighs rubbing together for any friction. C’mon, fuck, you got nothing— guess Dean’s cock was the answer, but not fucking your friend was the first cardinal rule of maintaining a best-friendship. “Oh, I’m gonna kill those witches even if they’re in the afterlife. I—” You let out a small whimper of frustration, the ache building. “God damn.”

“Damn right you’re hot, sweetheart.” he muttered, eyes locked to your thighs, practically drooling— maybe he wasn’t talking about the heat both of you were burning under. Dean’s tongue darted out and wet his dry lips, watching you as you rubbed your thighs against one another for friction. Damn it, it should be him being that friction, if that even made sense— he didn’t know, his brain was sludge. “I know, baby girl, m’ feelin’ what you are, I get it.”

He wanted to reach out and touch you so bad, but he had to get a grip. Sam could come back with a cure— maybe. Could he wait that long? Probably not.

You, however, simply did not have the patience nor the fucks to deal with Sam and his annoying lateness— you needed your best friend, he needed you, you had two holes he could put his dick into — you weren’t doing ass stuff on the first fuck — so it’s a win-win. “Dean, fuck this cure.” You whined, breath hitching as you yanked your sweats down, panties going with, pussy leaking and aching and so very empty. “Can’t wait, I can’t— c’mere. Fuck me, c’mere.”

Ok— yeah— yes, ma’am.

The sight had his eyes getting dark, nearly feral as he quickly stood up from his chair. The chair fell backwards and made a loud thud against the floor, but he couldn’t care less— not when you looked so damn delectable on the bed in front of him. Dean took quick steps towards you, practically ripping off the rest of his shirt.

He kneeled on the bed in front of you, practically pinning you to the bed. He couldn’t help himself. “M’ here, I’m here. Tell me what you want.” He huffed out, hips already bucking against the bed, moaning at the friction as he kissed over your bare tits and up your neck, licking up your neck, sweat on his tongue— yes, it’s disgusting, but he’d ponder on that in retrospect, right now he felt like an animal.

You guided his hand between your legs then kissed him, hotly, hungry, your lips devouring his, hand on the back of his head keeping him there. It was like a dam had broken, your breath harsh and heavy against his lips.

He grunted into the kiss, eyes slipping shut against the onslaught of your lips against his. His hand easily found its way down to you, the second you pushed him where you wanted him. God, his hand ached to be between your thighs.

“M’ here,” he breathed in between hot kisses. “M’ here, sweetheart, I gotcha.” The words were muffled, breathless, as he pushed your thighs apart, finding your wetness, his eyes nearly rolling back into his head. God, he was starved for you, as you were for him, it felt frantic, hazy, like relief that he was finally touching your skin that would go away instantly, as it wasn’t enough. Your scent had his eyes actually rolling back for a second, a pant and a whine leaving his mouth in quick succession as his free hand pushed sweaty hair out of your face, his own spiky from your hand running through it.

He ground his cock against the bed, feeling himself leaking — as were you — and these touches alone honestly had him feeling like he could embarrass himself right here, and come in his pants like a teenager before even getting the chance to fuck you properly.

You nodded against his lips, practically gone and inattentive to anything but him, leaning more of your body weight back against the headboard and pulling — yanking — him with you, panting, desperate. “Need you, baby, please.”

Oh, he needed you too, baby girl.

“Need you too, gorgeous.” he panted, letting you push him around between your legs and wiping sweat off his forehead briefly, wiping that hand on the sheets— shit, that left a pretty dark mark. He bit down on your bottom lip, groaning into the kiss. God, you looked so pretty, so needy and desperate, and you were all for him. He needed to mark you in some way, make you his in every possible way. He needed to.

“You need me inside this pretty pussy, baby?” He asked, his hand already gliding over your slickness, his eyes locked on yours. His fingers pushed inside you, a moan leaving both your mouths as he felt the lack of resistance on your cunt’s part, and how it sucked his fingers in — fuck, you were tight — and he worked your bra off so he could suck and flick his tongue against your nipples one at a time, moaning against the softness of your tits— mmh, that felt so good.

You nodded frantically, cause fuck yeah, moaning, lips still pressed to his as the pressure had you whimpering in relief. “Yes— yes, baby, d-don’t you stop, ok? God, feels so good.”

“I won’t, wasn’t plannin’ on it, baby doll.” he grumbled against your lips. He didn’t plan on stopping anytime soon, not when you felt this good around his fingers, when you sounded so damn pretty.

“Christ, I need you.” His words were nearly a whisper as he pushed down his jeans and boxers. He was so hard, so desperate for you, that he couldn’t hold back anymore. “You ready, baby?” Well, he certainly was, let’s put it that way. He’d been grinding on the bed the whole time he was on top of you.

“So ready.” You nodded, kissing him desperately, hotly again, panting, whimpering, the works. God, you felt like you were on fire, like it wouldn’t stop until you had him— it felt almost primal. Why wouldn’t you be ready, though? You weren’t a woman if you didn’t get soaked for Dean Winchester.

“M’ gonna take care of you, baby girl, I will.” He muttered against your lips, taking deep breaths. The words came out in a near growl and a grunt, he was hungry for you, starved, so he’d let you kiss him breathless, and he’d kiss you back just as fiercely as you.

He needed to give you the relief you needed, the pleasure, the release. He still rubbed at your pussy, all while he continued kissing you, his tongue swiping across your bottom lip.

You moaned against his lips, nails raking down his back, leg hooking over his hip— fuck the cure, fuck Sammy (though the poor guy deserves more credit), you just needed this right now, you felt like you could explode. Spontaneously combust. Lit match to gasoline. “God, don’t wait.”

“I won’t wait. Not anymore.” He grunted as he felt your nails dig into his skin, and your legs wrapped around him. He was so desperate to be inside you, and the sight of you just beneath him, the sounds coming out of your mouth, they just made him throb.

“I got you, I’m gonna take care of you baby doll, m’ gonna take care of you real good.” He panted against your neck, biting down on the skin as he slid into you, his mouth dropping open at the pure relief.

Your head fell back, a long, drawn moan leaving your mouth— you swore it felt like a cooling balm had been slapped on your bodies, or ice cold water. It just felt like a splash of pure relief, and you couldn’t stop chasing it, it felt like euphoria. “Shitfuck.”

“Oh, god,” he groaned, groaned, eyes squeezed shut. He hadn’t felt relief like this in so long, and your moans were like a damn symphony to his ears. He nearly felt like he was in heaven, that you were an angel.

“You’re so perfect — perfect.” He panted against your skin, placing kisses against your neck, your collarbone, your shoulder, as he found a pace. “Feels so good, darlin’, good girl.” It took all the effort in the world for him to not just lose himself and start pounding into you, just to say.

Good girl? You could’ve come right there. Squirted, even.

But no. Your leg hitched higher on his hip, clutching at his shoulder and at the headboard, your forehead pinched, eyes closed as you just felt it, couldn’t stop feeling, desperately letting shameless moans slip past your lips— as if you could control those.

“Yeah, that’s it — give it to me, baby.” he panted, his eyes taking in the sight of you, how you were falling apart. “Take it, take it all, just let me do all the work, yeah, good girl.” One of his hands trailed down your body, to the back of your thigh, holding it up, using it as leverage to push into you.

He wouldn’t last long, he couldn’t. Not with the sounds coming out of your mouth, the way you looked. “You’re so damn pretty when you give it up, baby.”

“Dean,” You couldn’t help but moan, over and over, paired with the occasional shameless “yes”, eventually bringing him in for a hungry, sloppy kiss, feeling the pendant on his necklace cool against your skin.

“Ah—” he groaned against your lips, his kisses almost violent, more teeth than tongue than anything else. God, his name on your pretty lips was sinful, but he wanted to hear it again and again.

His hands continued to touch you everywhere they could, not missing a curve or angle, and just taking in the pure ecstasy of it all. “You look so perfect like this — all for me.” he panted against you, the coolness of the amulet was almost refreshing against his over-heated skin, he’ll had to admit, and seeing it between your tits? God, another bonus.

Ooh, an idea. You used your leg hooked around his waist, plus some hunter training, rolling you both over, immediately gripping the shitty-ass fabric and plush of the pillow so you could begin to move up and down, hitting that angle without missing a beat. “Sh—Shit.”

Oh, oh wow, he had to take a few deep breaths. He didn’t expect you to suddenly roll the two of you over but he certainly wasn’t complaining. You looked so damn perfect on top of him, like a goddamn dream. He gripped onto your hips, helping you move, a moan leaving his lips as you kept up the pace.

“That’s it baby doll, good girl—“ he couldn’t help but babble. “Can’t keep my hands off you.” He panted, staring up at you. “Doing all the work, look at you— I ain’t gonna last, sweetheart, please tell me you’re almost there.”

“M’ almost there.” The sentence came out as a moan, seeing him in his glory, amulet on his chest, all ridges of muscle and soft skin, your other hand gripping the headboard as you moved, assisted by his hands on your hips, calloused pads of his fingers pressing into your skin. “P—Please, baby, a—almost there, so, so close—”

“Just— just come with me, please— please—” He panted, his hands gripping your hips so tight, he knew that he’d leave marks, but he’d deal with it later. Right at that moment, he was just lost in the feeling.

“Come on, give it to me, baby, I wanna see it, wanna feel it.” He was desperate, but a gentleman, he wanted you to reach it first. You were absolutely too gorgeous for words, and he was nearly going feral— his mouth went dry. “Good girl, good girl, good girl, c’mon — oh, c’mon—”

The coil in your stomach snapped as you came, pure, unbridled euphoria and uninhibited ecstasy, your eyes rolling back, hips stuttering and pressing into his hands as your thighs shook, but you kept on to get him there. “O-Oh, baby, c-c’mon, Dean, please— please—”

Sweet mother of god.

Your voice, your movements, your face, it all just pushed him over that final edge, and a loud moan tore out of his throat as he rode it out. “God, baby doll, god—” was all he could manage.

He didn’t even realise his eyes fluttered shut. He was panting heavily, his chest rising and falling, the amulet resting gently between his pectorals. “Oh god, baby girl, c’mere— come here.” He muttered, hands gripping your hips, pulling you down. He just wanted to feel you against him— wait, what? The burn wasn’t going, it just wasn’t.

“Dean.” You whined, letting out a frustrated moan. “S’wasn’t enough, I can still feel it. Still feel it, baby.” You panted, keeping yourself up. Well, of course this thing wasn’t a one-and-done. You already broke all the cardinal rules of friendship without compunction, but now you had to do it again? Wow. Great going.

“I know sweetheart, I know.” He breathed, eyes opening, and looking up at you, the corners of his lips slightly turned up. He could feel it too, it was like something was missing, and he didn’t know what it was.

He pulled you down, and held you against his chest as he caught his breath. One of his hands moved to the side of your face, and he gently guided you into a soft kiss, the other hand moving down and squeezing your ass. “God, I need you so goddamn much.”

“Mhmm. Need you too.” You whined, your kisses becoming more insistent, needier— ok, don’t blame you, it seems to affect women more. “Can you— need you t’ take over, Dean.”

A small smirk appeared on his lips as you began to become more needy. “Don’t mind if I do, sweetheart.” He growled against your lips. He pushed you off of him, and rolled the two of you over, so you were now beneath him again, and his body was above yours.

“You want me to take over, huh?” He questioned, his lips moving to your neck, leaving nips and open-mouthed kisses over the skin. “You want me to take care of you?” His hips started snapping against you, a groan leaving his lips, cause oh, Jesus.

Woah, ok, you could get used to this. Especially with how you moaned, nodding desperately, leaving red marks on his shoulders and arms, his amulet touching the valley of your now bouncing tits with every thrust again, head tipping back as his cock brushed your cervix, hearing his grunts and pants in your ear mixed with your moans.

He couldn’t help the smirk that stayed on his lips as you clawed at his skin. “Yeah, you like that, don’t you? You like it when I take care of you?” He questioned, his mouth against your neck, his hips snapping against you, desperate to hear the pretty sounds leaving your lips.

“Tell me how much you like it, baby girl, go on.” His words were punctuated by a sharp bite to your shoulder, the other hand gripping your hip.

“Love it, Dean, fuck.” You gasped, your eyes rolling back, the knot in your stomach coming faster this time, scratching at his hips, the hot-ass dip in his back— anything you could reach, really, you weren’t picky.

“That’s it baby girl, there you go—“ he panted, his hips thrusting against yours, just pushing you closer and closer, his mouth against your skin still, leaving open-mouthed kisses and harsh bites.

The sounds you were making were just pushing him closer and closer, he was just desperate for you, and he couldn’t control the words that blurted out of his mouth. “God, you look so damn perfect baby, so damn pretty, so much better than I ever dreamed—“ Sure, he just revealed that he’d thought about this, but he still put your legs over his shoulders, leaning forward, splitting you in half and thrusting into you.

The new angle made your mouth fall open in a perfect ‘o’, and the feeling just overwhelmed your brain, made your body go positively wild, and you could swear some drool dribbled from the corner of your mouth. “D-Dean—”

Christ, he’s never seen anything so pretty.

He groaned as he took in the sight of you, your legs over his shoulders. “You like that, huh? You like it when I—“ his words were cut off with a strangled moan, you were just so perfect, he was never going to be able to get enough.

He managed to make a few more noises, some of them resembling your name, before he just dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “Baby— baby, need to come again in you, can I?“

You made a noise that sounded like a moaned yes, and you’d never known that being split in half by a guy would ever feel this good, your hands braced on the underside of your thighs. Well, that was a confirmation.

He groaned as he felt you nod against his shoulder, words being lost on him after that. That was a yes, a good, proper yes. He didn’t even know what he was saying, all that he knew was that he needed to give you it. So he just gave it to you hard, and fast, not letting up an inch. “Good girl, good girl, you’re doing so good, taking it so well, baby doll—” all the while, he panted against your skin.

He groaned against your skin, his mouth pressed to your shoulder. Hearing that, feeling you around him, he was done for, he was gone— “Yeah, baby, oh, you’re so good, so good, feels so damn good, I’m coming baby, I’m gonna—“

He let out a strangled moan, and his arms wrapped around you, holding you tight as he rode it out, burying his face into the crook of your neck, panting, grunting, smoothing your hair back as he spilled into you with a low moan.

You stroked his hair, helping him come down from it, feeling tired out— I mean, at least the pollen’s fucked out, right? Just… you hated witches now. You get Dean’s point— you didn’t before, but now you do.

He let out a weary groan, breathing still laboured and his skin was still flushed. When he came to and registered that you were stroking his hair, he let his head fall onto your chest, his head against your tits. Mm, like a pillow, feels s’nice.

“God, that was intense.” He whispered against your skin. “You okay, sweetheart?” He was spent, absolutely boneless and limp, and just content to lay there and bask in the aftermath of what you’d just done.

“Better than before.” You breathed, nodding, rubbing your cheek. “S’ not as sore as I thought it’d be, if I’m bein’ honest. But now I get why you hate witches.”

He let out a chuckle, which just sounds more like a quiet scoff, and he lifted his head up to look at you, a slight smirk on his lips. “Oh yeah? You get it now, huh?” His head returned to its original position after a few moments, and he nuzzled against you, an arm wrapping around your waist. “Not sore, huh? I didn’t go too hard on ya, did I?”

“No, but, uh…” You grinned cheekily. “Being carried to the bath would be much appreciated.” Oh, the little shit.

Of course.

He lifted his head to look at you, an entertained and amused look on his face. “Oh, you’re gonna be real cute, aren’t you?” He questioned, and then in a quick movement, he picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and holding you against his chest.

TAGLIST:

@goldngguk @sweetpeachbombshell @slut-for-stiles @staple-your-mouth @daddyscrimsstuff

@dob-4-life @marcis-mixtapez @nonoreas0n @gabrielasilva1510

@lucyholmes13 @pandadork-blog1 @nicolstancu @malusinhaaaa @dybalabandolero

@a-cup-of-nightshade @tomatoessoup @sh0rtcakee @fall-06 @mckaykay-fandoms

@b3th13

@demonxangelomegaverse @deanwinchestersgirl87 @capailluiscedove @i723l-interrupted2323 @niyomiii

@all-the-fan-fic @eviekinevie8 @sunflowerlover57

@1-800-dean-winchester

@darichvep @idk-usernme @supernaturalmarvel3000 @ega2025 @deanbrainrotwritings

@targaryenluvs @bucky-hydra-hoe-barnes @leigh70 @aintnowayboi @ripoffsteveharrington

@gleefulleve @sacrosankta

@riteofpassage77 @eevvvaa @thedevilortheangel @thorsballhair @barbienotdoll

@4e1h3r @wolfieblue03 @kianaleani @vicky199625 @sassyslut2003

@impyrz

@didisull @miwp @lastcallatrockysbar @rizlowwritessortof

@zepskies @angelbabyyy99

@autisticgothic

@yourgoldengirls @deansobsessedgirl @mrsjenniferwinchester

@aylacavebear @lailawinchesterr @brightlilith @arcanaa @hobby27

@lyarr24 @ximm19

@a-girl-who-loves-disney @jeneelsworld @deans-spinster-witch @deanspinsterwitchs-readinglist @kayleighwinchester

@cheynovak

special tags for my boos: @jasvtsc @deanswidow @beausling @titsout4nicholas @figthoughts

@deansbite

[alexsoenomel]

POV: Texts from Dean

[luvergirl777]

Cleanin' Baby | Dean Winchester

Pairing | Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count | 12.5 k

Genre | Enemies to Lovers, Smut

Summary | Dean can't stand new people, especially people intruding on his life and telling him what to do. You drive him insane, Sam having to separate the two of you before fists and teeth start flying. You finally get under his skin for the last time with your dumb stunts, pushing him over the edge.

Index | Dean and reader fight constantly, Sam is the babysitter, Dean hates you because you are him, you're also incredibly hot, not that he'd admit it, perhaps maybe just a bit he admits it. Unprotected sex, wrap it up folks. Soft dom Dean, a bit of sub Dean. He's whipped and will listen to a pretty girl. Two idiots in love.

Dean is never fond of new people, it takes him a very long time to warm up to newcomers. When the two brothers find you battered and bruised, barely still alive after fending a demon off on your own, he’s a bit impressed. Upon further investigation, Sam watching over you, Dean realizes you had managed to damn it back to hell all on your own. Even more impressed, Dean is confused as to how you managed to survive. “You said it was aggressive?” Dean double checks, wondering if you somehow got lucky and encountered the impossible, un-aggressive demon. Sure, that would explain how you managed to survive on your own. 

“Are you fuckin’ stupid? You think I beat myself up after killing the damn thing?” 

“Well you didn’t technically kill it but-” 

“Oh shut up, pretty boy.” You grit, rolling your eyes as you hold onto Sam’s arm to stand up. Sam, ever so caring, nearly lifts your weight with no effort. He’s supporting all of your weight easily as you try and hobble along to safety. 

“Easy now sassy, you’re about one hit away from dying.”

“You gonna hit me?” The face you give him is unreadable, and Sam is preparing himself to jump in between the two of you if needed. You’ve stopped walking, completely turned around as you face Dean behind you. Dean, never one to back down, takes a step closer to you. 

“Guys, c’mon.” Sam intervenes, pushing his brother by the chest to create some distance between the two of you arguing. “You two sound like a couple of 5 year olds.”

Both you and Dean roll your eyes, and you’re hobbling your way out the door to get to some sort of hospital to get a check up. The pain is actually ridiculous, and if you weren’t so battered, you probably would've fought with Dean more. “Here, let us give you a ride,” Sam offers, quickly chasing you in fear you would topple after leaving his side. 

“She is NOT bleeding all over baby,” Dean protests as Sam walks you out of the door, taking you to the car. Dean closes the door behind him after glancing inside once more, still in disbelief of what the hell is happening. They burst open your door expecting to damn something to hell, and instead found you bleeding out in the middle of the floor. And now you and Dean are arguing as you hobble your way to the back of Baby. 

“You call this car baby?” You roll your eyes, “You gotta take care of her better if you’re gonna call her a fucking pet name. This thing has 2 years of fuckin’ dirt on it. Baby my ass.” Dean almost stops in place, arms raising slightly in defense, jaw dropped as he looks at Sam. Usually you're more pleasant, however, you're battered and bruised and in pain.

After absolutely giving it to Dean, you’re opening the back door and limply climbing in. You’re collapsing against the seat before Dean can jab at you. Dean wants to dish it out once again, and Sam slaps a hand over his mouth. He can’t deal with the two of you, he really can’t. Closing the door behind you, Sam’s turning around to talk sense into his stubborn older brother. “She damned a demon on her own, she could help us.” 

“Her, help us?” Dean scoffs, “Yeah, I’d rather be kicked in the balls.” 

“I’m about to if you don’t shut the hell up,” Sam shoves him around the car, “It could be good, finding someone to put you in your place every now and then.” 

That's how you met, and it’s been years already. Despite being together almost 24/7, you and Dean are still constantly at each other’s throats. If you’re not lashing out at Dean, he’s dishing some snarky shit out to you. Sam stays as uninvolved as he can, always letting you two at it before it’s clear intervention is needed. 

--- 

“You really don’t have to sit there and watch me like some hawk,” Dean’s annoyed as you perch yourself on a stool, watching as he works on Baby. It’s about a million degrees and Dean has refused to drink anything but alcohol and coffee for the past 24 hours, and not to mention it’s the middle of the day with the sun beating down overhead. “I don’t need a babysitter. “

“Sammy’s worried about you, said you’re going to have a heat stroke or pass out. Figure I’d come out here and pester you into coming back inside.” You shrug, completely unbothered as you don’t move from the stool. Your tone is nonchalant, only getting on his nerves more. Baby is technically sound and purring like a kitten on the road, Dean’s just been itching to tinker and a distraction from you waltzing around the bunker. “God know’s Sammy’s not gonna do it-” 

“Stop calling him that?” 

“Calling who what?” 

“Sammy.” Dean mumbles, already turning around from you to focus back on the engine. You’re already getting on his nerves, and if he looks at you any longer you’ll succeed in pestering him back into the house. “Go back inside and tell my nerdy little brother I’m fine out here. By myself.” 

“Sam’s not gonna take that for an answer.” You’re still calm and collected, leaning forward on the stool as you get a closer look at what Dean’s doing. You watch his hands work, nimble and quick as he easily gets into every corner he wants. There’s a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips at your thoughts, and you’re trying awfully hard not to laugh loudly. Dean can almost hear the joke writing itself in your head, and feel the smile growing on your face. “You know you’re really good with your fingers-” 

“Okay! You win!” And he’s storming back into the bunker to get water from an expectant Sam in the kitchen, already in a glass with ice. “Don’t.” He speaks to him, raising a finger to Sam. He can already hear the thoughts in his head, too. 

---

“Oh really, that’s your smart ass plan?” You mumble, listening to Dean attempt to explain the plan of waltzing into a bank and trying to sweet talk a bank teller to the vault. It would never in a million years happen, regardless of how annoying charming Dean could be. No one is that stupid, not even a bank secretary who doesn’t know who Dean is. 

“Well, if you have anything better, please enlighten me.” He’s slamming the folder down on the table in front of you, crossing his arms. 

“Anything is likely better-” When you stand up from your seat, and Dean steps toward you, Sam is quick to intervene before you two start dishing it out. 

“OKAY!” Sam basically yells to get your guy’s attention. You two calm down, you sitting down, Dean stepping away from you, and Sam finally taking a breath. 

---

Or the one time you drove Baby, absolutely full throttling her around turns as if you were a professional driver. In your defense, you didn’t crash and actually handled it quite well. Poor Sam is laying down in the back of the car, injured and praying you get to the hospital soon. But Dean was about to have a heart attack in the passenger seat of his car. He’s pressed against the door with the force you’re jerking the car around, gripping anything he can reach. 

“Never again, never again.” Dean almost prays underneath his breath, but he’s not and never will be a religious man.

---

Or the one time you were the bait for some creepy old man, needing to steal a weapon he had on display in his house. You were in the middle of his bed, about to fake vomit as he ran his hands along your waist. “Listen, I heard something you had. Something very impressive, an ancient weapon of sorts.” You purr, rolling your eyes as he goes along with it. 

“Of course I do, it’s in my office. I can show you after we’re done here.” He mumbles, and you’re swinging and clocking him against his temple, toppling him over. He lands with a thud on the hardwood floor, knocked out cold. At the commotion, Dean is bursting through the door. 

“HEY!” Dean screams, puffed up and ready for action. 

“He’s knocked out, dick for brains.” You mumble, climbing off of the bed and adjusting your dress which had ridden almost all the way up to your waist. He swears he catches a peek of the pink panties you’re wearing, but for his benefit, he’s trying to convince himself he saw nothing at all. News flash, not and never was going to work. Dean watches with wide eyes, his gaze following and trailing along your bare skin down to your thighs as you cover yourself back up. “Thanks for caring, pretty boy.” 

Dean rolls his eyes, walking over to the man that is unconscious against the hardwood floor. He’s mumbling something underneath his breath, landing one more blow onto the old bastard, before finally catching back up with you in the office. 

—-

You and Dean are on a hunt the first time he lays hands on you. You both had been separated, running and hiding in respective locations of the mouldy, broken down house. Dean’s frantic and stressed after hearing you yelp on the other side of the house, rushing over to find you and seeing no one. He's running around the house at this point, stopping for two seconds in the middle of the hallway to try and find his thoughts. 

A hand grabs his shoulder, grip hard enough to leave bruises underneath his jacket. He's whipping around before he can even think another thought, hand balled up into a tight fist as he spins. It’s too late to pull his punch when he realizes, eyes wide as he makes contact with your confused expression. He can pull it about 90%, softening the impending blow to your cheek bone. He's yelping for you when his fist makes contact with your skin, already groaning at himself. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Sorry! You scared me.” Dean’s explaining immediately, arms catching you before you even have the chance to stumble backwards from the blow. He cradles you before you can air out your grievances, one hand coming to hold your cheek in betrayal. “I thought they had you, god I thought they had you.” He mumbles as he holds you, reassuring both you and himself that you’re okay, or trying to at least. 

“Dean, god.” You groan, peering up to look at him. “Let's finish this job, please, without any more collateral damage.” You mumble, shuffling around to find your knife. “Fuckers took my blade.” 

“It's okay, I'll get them.” Dean mumbles, quickly pressing his lips to your hairline before letting you go. You stay behind Dean, this time a considerable distance, as he finishes the job and gets the both of you out of there safely. Dean has reason now, speeding out of there like hell after killing anything in his path. 

Getting back to the bunker, Dean parks the car and doesn’t move an inch. You already know why, and you already know the speech he’s about to dish out. “Listen-“ 

“It’s not your fault.” You immediately cut him off, shaking your head. You already have a bruise forming on your cheek despite Dean doing his best to pull his punch. The guilt eats him every time you look at each other and he has to divert his eyes. 

“Alrighty,” Dean presses his lips together as he thinks of another solution. “Give me one,” Dean nods, waving his hands to get you to come closer. You scoff at him, shaking your head as you fight off the laugh that bubbles. You’ve seen him and Sam go at each other like this, getting even in a way only brothers can. He taps his cheek, looking to the side. “Give me two, actually. One to make it even, one for putting my hands on a woman.” He waves you closer, dead serious. 

“Dean-“ 

“Lay 'em on me, one at a time, back to back, hard as you want, doesn’t matter, come on.” He’s still looking away from you, refusing to take no for an answer and he waits for the blows to land. He didn’t mean to, you know it, and you know he’s going to feel bad for a while. You scoff and shuffle, Dean tenses as he waits for the blow. You kiss his cheek, grabbing his face and turning it, before kissing his other cheek. 

“There, two blows, back to back.” You smile, “Now let’s go inside so I can get ice for my cheek.” 

Dean’s blushing like an idiot before scurrying after you, “I'll get the ice, you go lay down!” 

---

You had been sick for well over a week while the boys were on a job, sitting by yourself in a house and working as the information specialist for the time being. When they would call, you’d give them all the information you had been collecting within the past couple of hours. Always hours, never days, because you’d get too worried about them. Dean, not admitting it, also calls every couple of hours to make sure you’re still kicking. You sound like hell, and it’s becoming increasingly clear to him that you are not taking care of yourself while they’re away. 

Sam’s out on a home visit, and Dean is fidgeting with his phone in his hands. Pressing buttons, deleting the numbers, and the cycle repeats itself. Finally putting his big girl panties on, he dials your contact and calls. “Dean? Is everything okay?” Your voice is worried, the call slightly random from the semi-schedule you guys have grown accustomed to. 

“Hey, hey, yeah we’re good. Sam’s just out making some runs, you know.” He sounds awkward and like a loser, he already knows it. He can pretty much hear Sam’s voice mocking him. “Just wanted to call, see how you’re holding up. Taking that medicine I got? Eating everyday?” He’s interrogating you, for your well being of course. 

“The medicine you got me is like ketamine…or something.” You laugh. 

“What?! It is not-” 

“It so is! Some random pills you got from who knows where, from who knows, and you’re telling me to take them?” You’re scolding him softly, but he can still hear the humour in your voice. 

“Whatever, when we get back I’m gonna smother you back to good health.” You roll your eyes at this, Dean knows that without even being in the room with you. “Pills and all.” 

“Dean, whatever. Just don’t die and get back here soon.” You laugh softly on the other side of the phone. Dean can hear the tone of your voice, almost pleading with him. In your defense, the two of them had been gone for over a week on the job including travel time to get there. 

--- 

Dean will never admit it but after that he gets softer around you, starts looking out for you more than he lets on. He’s a softie, even if he won’t show it. The first time Dean almost dies since you’ve joined the team, it’s the first close call the three of you have had to someone actually dying. Sure, the three of you have been hurt and wounded, but nothing quite like when Dean’s guts were outside of his body for far too long to actually be okay. 

He’s been in surgery for hours at this point, Sam had left a while ago to try and put some distance in between him and his brother possibly dying in front of him. You’re left in the cold waiting room by yourself, elbows on your knees as you wait. Your face has been rubbed more times than you can count, one more and your face will come off. You curse Sam for leaving you alone, but part of you does understand as well. 

You rocket out of your seat at the beginning of “D-” whipping around to face the nurse before she can even finish his name. You’re frantic, sure, but you can’t help it. “Dean? Is it for Dean?” Your voice comes out more of a mumble, the poor nurse nodding her head softly. She leads a shaky you to his room, heart in your feet. The nurse stops at the front, stepping to the side to allow you to walk in on your own. It takes all willpower in your body to not immediately crumble to the floor at the sight. Dean’s eyes are open, squinted almost completely shut, as his head rolls over to the side to look at you. 

His eyes widen the slightest bit at the sight of you and not Sam and the tears immediately begin flowing down your face. You try hard not to audibly sob, but it’s taking a lot of effort. “H-hey, Dean.” You sound pathetic as you shuffle over to the side of his bed, almost scared that your presence alone will send him back into a near death state. As soon as you make it to the side of the bed, his arm reaches over and brushes against your leg. “You fucking dick!” You’re hysterical as he makes contact. “You can’t scare me like that! Ever! Don’t ever do that again!” Absolutely ridiculous as you crumble down onto the bed, your arms wrapping around his head. 

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay. We’re okay.” He’s quick to comfort you, arms weakly wrapping around your waist. He grunts with the effort it takes in his current state. You’re almost climbing into the bed with him at this point, not wanting to let go of him. He’s trying not to cry with your state of general mess, seeing you so upset is getting him emotional. 

“Sorry, sorry, sorry, Dean. God, I was so scared. Sorry. Sam is just out to get some air. You know how he deals with this, I’m sure they’ve called him.” You’re prying your arms away from his form, sitting down on the bed next to him. Maybe it’s the hysterics, but you’re running your fingers through his hair and gently holding his face in the other hand. Leaning forward, you place the shakiest kiss on his forehead. “You’re never allowed to go by yourself ever again.” Sam walks in on the two of you like this, you obsessively petting his head while holding his face in the other palm. Your entire face is wet at this point, tears soaking your features. 

Sam lets you sit for a moment longer, the wet patch on your shirt indication that this is needed. Eventually, he has to butt in otherwise Dean will think his brother hates him. When he finally clears his throat, you almost scatter away from Dean.  

---

Eventually, you become a part of the little family they have. It takes a long time for Dean to come around, and Sam takes less time. When Sam lets you call him Sammy for the first time without correcting you as he does everyone else, Dean knows you're in for the long haul. Technically it’s the first and only time you’ve called him Sammy in front of him, the circumstances and situation making you talk before thinking. 

Sam and Dean had been fighting the entire job, at each other’s throats for something you couldn’t quite pinpoint. Usually it’s banter and general sibling bickering, but this time it’s different. The tipping point comes when Dean mumbles something under his breath in the hotel room after a long day, Sam immediately reacting as he jolts up. Before you can even comprehend what the argument is about, fists are flying and the two are grappling each other. You’re watching with wide eyes, never quite seeing the two get this distant from each other. Sam is Dean’s baby brother, he’d do anything for him. 

“Guys, what, stop!” You mumble, trying to intervene as Sam has gotten Dean pinned by the throat underneath him. You know they wouldn’t do any permanent damage to each other, but you still feel your stomach flip at the position. “Guys, please!” Your eyes are watery and you’re trying with all of your force to pull Sam off of him. Sam, easily outweighing you, doesn’t budge an inch and is just more annoyed at you pulling him. 

“If you want to leave, leave. We don’t need you.” Dean spits, pushing at Sam’s arm that remains at his neck. Sam clenches his jaw, clicking his tongue. 

“I won’t come back this time.” Sam spits, deadly serious. You’ve never heard Sam this serious in the entire time you’ve known him, not on a hunt, not on an investigation, nothing. Dean’s about to say something before you’re slapping a hand over his mouth. You’re crying at this point, pathetically holding Sam’s arm as you rest your face against his shoulder. You can’t move him. 

“Sammy, please.” You cry, a horrid sob leaving your throat as you plead with him. Even Dean looks sideways at you, shocking him as well. At the plea, Sam steps back, releasing the pressure he’s holding Dean to. “Sammy, stop. You can’t leave us, we need you, please.” You cry softly, letting go of Dean’s face to hold Sam’s arm instead. 

“I- I’m sorry.” Sam mumbles softly, shrugging you off his arm in favour of pulling you into his embrace. “It’s okay, we’re okay. I’m not going anywhere.” Sam mumbles, trying to console you. You nod into his chest, reaching over to hold Dean’s face rather than slapping your hand over it. Dean leans into it, pushing his cheek into your palm. For the first time, it’s you being the negotiator between the two brothers rather than Sam being in between you and Dean. And for the first time, it was actually scary. 

---

With Sam, Dean doesn’t keep tally on who saves who’s ass. He’s family, it’s expected. And with you, he doesn't either. (He totally does, he just won’t admit it. However, you’re two up on him, and it kills him every time he thinks about it.) He swears to himself he’ll make it even eventually. 

---

Dean’s final straw is you washing Baby, wearing an all too small bikini as you wash the grime off of her. You had been giving him shit for it for awhile now, always quoting his dad on how he should’ve been taking better care of the car. It kills him, always being lectured about his precious baby that has been HIS car for years now. 

“What are you doing?” Dean asks, the front door of the house you’re staying in swinging open. He’s walking out just enough to watch closer, arms crossed as he stands on the sidewalk to the front door. You’re in the driveway, squatted down, washing the rims when he interrupts you. 

“Washing your dirty ass car.” 

“And why would you do that?”

“I have to ride around in the thing, it might as well look nice.” You shrug, continuing to wash. Your back is facing him when you talk, and Dean is watching almost your every move. His eyes trail down your back, over the curve of your ass, before landing on your thighs. They flex underneath your weight, a sight for sore eyes as he watches you. 

“No, smart ass, why are you doing it? Shouldn’t I be the one to wash my own car?” Dean mumbles, moving closer to you. You don’t budge, still crouched down next to his car. When he walks closer, it’s immediately a bad idea, and it’s too late before he realizes. 

“Well, you haven’t in let's say, the better part of 2 years so,” For the first time since he’s talked to you, you break your focus to look at him. Much closer to you, you have to crane your neck to look up at him. Still squatted down, in that tiny ass bikini you’re wearing. It covers enough of you to be legal, but god damn it, he’s reeling. 

“Don’t, don’t fucking do that.”

“Do what?!” 

“Acting like you don’t know what you’re doing.” Dean grits his teeth, squinting his eyes as he stares down at you. 

“What I know I’m doing is washing your car. You’re the one that came out here for whatever reason. To fight with me? Who fuckin’ knows.” You turn your attention back to the car, “You can help me, instead of sitting there and bitching. Shirt off though, that’s a requirement.” You laugh out the last part, reaching to the side and throwing soap at him. It makes his white shirt see through, showing his skin through the cloth. 

“This is ridiculous,” Dean sighs, rolling his eyes. For a moment, you don’t think he’s going to play along. For a moment,  you’re sure he’s just going to walk back into the house. You smile softly when he’s pulling his shirt off, throwing it somewhere back towards the front door. You giggle, now playing a game with him. You smile as he reaches into the bucket, taking another sponge and beginning to wash the back rim. 

In the time you’ve known him, Dean is easy to rile up. Some good banter, a few batted eyelashes, maybe even look up at him, and he’s a goner. You’ve seen him get more numbers at bars than you can count on both hands and feet, never leaving a town without one. It’s a part of why you’ve never made  a move, because you know him. And you know his type, and you know what he likes to do. Just a little bit of fun, a little playing here and there. Regardless, it’s fun. 

You giggle, moving from the rim you’re washing to the hood. You’re leaning over the hood, bending at the hips to reach the top. Dean stands up from the back, determined to watch you wash the hood. He scoffs softly, walking around to you. “You’re doing this wrong,” He mumbles. 

“You haven't washed this in years and you’re lecturing me?”

“Just, shut the hell up for a second.” He mumbles, reaching around you to move your arm. He moves the sponge in circular motions, leaning over you. His hips barely make contact with yours, only the side of his hip brushing against your ass. If he moves over a single step, he’d be completely behind your bent over form. Suddenly, it’s all too much, he’s too close, and you’re so incredibly warm. “What, you’re finally listening to me for once?” Dean chuckles at your silence. 

You’re quiet, face beginning to flush. “Not listening, smart ass. I’m just learning the right technique, according to you.” You’re pressing your ass against the hip that’s next to you, trying for the life of you to get him to move. His hand flys down to grab at your waist, holding you still. You’re still in this ridiculously small bikini, and his hand is now on your bare skin. 

“You’re a pain in my ass, you know that?” Dean mumbles, his head falling forward slightly. His forehead hits your shoulder for a moment before he’s pulling himself up. Putting some space in between you, his hand still remains on your waist. For a moment, a realization hits him at how small your waist is, especially compared to his hands on your skin. 

“If i’m not, who else would be?” You giggle, leaning further forward to reach the very top of the hood. From his teaching, you wash small circles. “You know, everyone’s out of the house until later tonight, right? Some dinner, poker match. I’m surprised you didn’t go with them.” 

“What’re you saying, hm?” Dean mumbles, once again leaning over you. This time, he’s slightly more behind your hips, giving you more leverage to press back against him. 

You smile, feeling his chest hit your back as he leans forward, head beginning to nestle in the crook of your neck as he talks, lips brushing against your ear. As his weight falls further onto you, you allow your arms to fold as he presses against your back. You rest on your forearms, the change in position pressing harder into his hips. 

“Was this your plan the entire time, hm?” Dean grits, one hand moving to adjust your jaw, pushing your head to the side to make you look at him. “Wear this slutty excuse of a bikini, walk out here and wash my prized possession, get me to join? Hm?” 

“I wouldn’t say the entire time,” You giggle. “Maybe just since you walked out here.” You shrug, whining when he adjusts his hand, allowing his hand to move from your jaw to your neck. 

“This is unfair,” Dean mumbles, softly biting into your shoulder. “My favorite girl, out here washing my favorite car, and you expect me not to take the bait?” 

He allows his hand to move, instead of holding your waist, he holds your abdomen, pushing you back against him. You can feel him pressed against your skin, able to slot his hard cock in between your folds when you move a certain way. The fabric leaves little to the imagination, and he can feel the heat in between your legs. 

“You gonna be mean, and take me right here? Or be nice and take me to the bedroom hm?” You tease him, moaning softly when he grinds against you. 

“You know me, I like it all. So both.” He smiles, and though you can’t see it, you know. His fingertips dip underneath your bathing suit bottoms, trailing down to exactly where you need him. “You’re fucking soaked,” Dean mumbles, “You were thinking about this for awhile, huh? Pretending to just be washing my car, what a load of shit.” Dean mumbles, groaning softly as his fingers slip through your folds. He rubs gentle circles into your clit, slowly building pressure. 

“You, I, just maybe.” You whimper, immediately weak in the limbs as he toys with you. The circles speed up, drawing out the softest whines and whimpers. He chases the noises as if it’s his own high, humming along softly when you let out a particularly loud whimper. 

“How long have you been thinking of this, hm?” Dean asks, snaking one arm behind you as he gently slips a finger into your pussy, slow and careful in his movements. You whine even louder, tightening around his fingers as he slips in another, fucking into you while rubbing your clit with his other hand. He’s adamant, chasing your high before thinking of himself. “Answer me,” 

“Not long, since you’re all over every single girl you can get your hands on.” You mumble, riling him up. He fucks more roughly into you, grinding harshly against your g-spot. “Just need some relief, and you’re the only one here.” You’re lying through your teeth. 

“You know all that shit is just me messin’ around, and you’re a bad liar, you know that?” Dean mumbles, beginning to kiss along any skin he can reach. “This wet? And you expect me to believe this is for anyone, hm? I bet if Sammy came out here, you would’ve immediately covered up, huh, hide all of this.” His hands reach up to pull at your bikini top, exposing your tits to his touch. He roughly gropes and feels your skin, twisting and pulling at your nipples, punishing you for riling him up. 

“Okay, maybe not Sammy.” You shrug, “I could find a cutie at the bar, though, I’m sure.” His hand moves forward to wrap around your throat once again, squeezing just enough to make your mind fuzzy and to stop talking like a smart ass. 

“But you wouldn’t, if you wanted to, you would’ve already done it.” He shrugs, you can feel the movement against your shoulders. You’re close, squeezing down around him. You don’t even have to tell him, he’s already teasing and pulling your strings before you can speak. “See, who else can rile you up like this, hm?” 

“Can you make me cum, or are you all talk Dean?” You grit, almost unable to speak with him all over you like this. Every sense of you is filled with him, he’s all you can think of. 

“Yeah, sure,” He laughs softly when you clench hard around him, teetering close. “You don’t have to tell me you’re close, I can feel it. If you keep being smart with me, I can stop. It won’t take much, you know, rip this pretty little orgasm away from you in a second.”

His fingers slow, no longer giving you the stimulation you need to actually cum. “Please, please, I’m sorry. Please make me cum.” You plead with him. 

“There she is,” He laughs, speeding up once again to allow you to fall off the edge. When you come undone, it’s violent. Your legs shake, you tighten around him, and you thank god for baby underneath you to hold your weight up. Dean forces you to ride out the high, slowing down only barely to not push you into over-stimulation. 

“Fuck me.” You mumble, roughly pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter how, you need it. “Now, Dean, unless you can’t get it up in your old age-”

He slips one of his fingers into your mouth, roughly pulling on your cheek. “A please would be nice, huh Pretty girl?” Dean mumbles, and you can hear the sound of his belt unbuckling. It’s fast and hasty, and you already know he’s pissed off with you constantly nagging him. “Just demand demand demand, whine whine whine.” Dean grits, roughly pulling your bottoms to the side, “Is that all you do, huh?” He’s pushing into you before you can react, pulling a loud moan from you as he holds your mouth open. 

“Fuck, fuck, thank you,” You whimper, squeezing around him tightly. He bottoms out, grinding against your hips as he savours the feeling of being completely inside you. His hips are rough, battering into you with little remorse. Fucking the smart ass out of you, that’s what he’s gonna do or die trying. From the mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips without your control, he feels he’s doing a pretty good job. 

“That’s more like it, there’s my girl.” Dean groans, cock throbbing at hearing you finally shut up for the first time, literally, since he’s met you. For once in his life, you aren’t spitting some sarcastic ass shit at him, and he’s not spitting it back at you. “Feels good hm, does my girl feel good?” Dean’s deep voice sends goosebumps across your skin, the vibrations running through you like a live wire as you work yourself up further. 

“Your girl, hm? That’s new.” You mumble, moaning softly when his grip moves to press down on your tongue, stopping you from talking. Drool pools around his finger, and he groans when you wrap your lips around it, tongue moving slightly underneath his touch to run along the pad. 

“Is that a problem?” 

You can’t respond, and he knows it. You clench tightly around him, a vice grip in response, and he almost genuinely laughs at how needy you are for him. His hips react immediately to you, thrusting rougher into you, chasing the pleasure the both of you are feeling. Moving his grip from your waist, he begins rubbing tight circles against your clit, trying to get you over the edge. It doesn’t take much to get you to fall over the edge, legs shaking underneath both of your weight. 

“Good girl, easy, easy, ride it out. Don’t hurt yourself now,” Dean patronizes you gently, continuing to chase his own high. 

“Cum, cum Dean, please.” You mumble around his fingers, tightening around even further. You’re so tight and just absolutely soaked that he’s spilling into you soon after, chanting your name gently in your ear as he comes undone. “Fuck, fuck,” You mumble, finally beginning to relax as he slows down his movements. 

“C’mon pretty girl, I gotta give you the second half of my promise.” Dean laughs softly, “Or not, if you can’t take it.” 

“If I can’t take it? Are you kidding me?” You smile, carefully pushing yourself up on your hands, glancing back at him. “Let’s go, your bed so I don’t have to wash my sheets later.” At this, Dean rolls his eyes, of course. Still, the second you turn around to face him, he’s hoisting you up onto his waist, pushing at your legs to get you to wrap around his torso. He carries you easily, walking through the empty house and straight to his room. Your back hits the bed, Dean toppling with you soon after. 

“Gonna make soft mushy love to me, huh Dean?” You joke with him, your legs still wrapped around his torso, arms holding his head in your palms. 

“After bending you over Baby, yeah. Best of both worlds or whatever they say.” Dean smiles, his characteristic smirk etched on his face. His head dips down slightly, softly kissing against your jaw, moving down to your neck, before sucking light marks into your chest. Far enough down not to be interrogated by Sammy later, but enough to leave a reminder of him. His head continues to trail down, hands pulling at your bikini bottoms while he bites at your thighs, once again leaving his mark on your otherwise perfect, unbroken skin. 

“Never would’ve thought I’d have you here like this, hm?” He’s rolling his eyes at you, moaning softly when your hands come to pull at his hair. Your thighs rest on his shoulders, tightening the slightest bit around his head when he draws closer, finally making contact with you. “Fuck Dean, you gonna be nice, Dean, please?” 

“To you, of course.” 

Dean is skilled, to say the least. He knows what he’s doing, where he needs to work, what strings he needs to pull, how to get you there. Dean isn’t quiet about his skills either, you’ve heard sly remarks about the girls at bars, road side pubs, and everything in between. He’s living up to his legend, your thighs clamping around his head within minutes. You don’t let him get any smart ass remarks in, pulling him closer when you know he’s about to make fun of you. You control him so easily, muscular legs holding him in place. He’s not going to tell you, you’d never let him live it down, but he’s absolutely shaking at the thought of the hold you have over him. 

“Gonna cum for you Dean, you’re gonna make me cum.” You whine, thighs flexing to grind against his face. He moans into you, caught off guard by your movement. You do it again, whimpering when you realize he likes this, he’s into this. “Cumming, fuck, cumming.” 

His hands move to run along your thighs, trying to calm the shaking underneath his touch. “Good girl, so good for me.” Dean praises. Before he can react, you’re ripping him up. You're holding anywhere you can, forcing Dean to hover over you, legs once again around his waist. 

“You gonna let me kiss you, or is that crossing a line?” 

“Are you fucking kidding me? Please.” Dean mumbles, sighing deeply when you immediately connect your lips. Your arms immediately wrap around his neck, pulling him as close as physically possible. Dean wants to melt into you, fuse with you. He’s riling himself up, he knows that, but he swears your lips on him are heaven sent, curing his soul from whatever horrors it has been forced through. Like a breath of fresh air, like he’s alive again. He’d never tell you that, he can only imagine your reaction and the shit you would give him. 

You’re kissing him as if your life depends on it, hands tangling in his hair. Dean could kiss you for hours and not complain, he could do this all day if you’d let him. He’s unsure of how long you’ve been kissing him like this, so needy and whiny underneath him, but he doesn’t care. When he pulls away to catch his breath, your lips are slightly swollen, slick with saliva. Your face has flushed a bright red from the kiss, making you look cute despite being in such a lewd state. 

“God, you’re beautiful.” Dean mumbles, pupils blown wide as he stares down at you. 

You blush softly, but you try to hide it as just flushed cheeks. “Don’t get too sweet on me now.” You smile, tightening around his waist with your legs. 

“Right, right.” Dean smiles, fighting off a laugh when you reach to unbuckle his belt. He’s kicking the jeans off in record speed, you can’t remember the last time you’ve seen him move that fast. He’s back with you just as fast. “Holy shit,” Dean mumbles, shaking as his cock slides in between  your folds, easily sliding with your slick. It’s so intimate that he’s unused to it, and there’s the smallest fear in his chest that he won’t last having you like this. “Fuck, pretty girl.” 

You whine as he pushes in, so slow that it makes you squirm underneath him. Bottoming out, he allows his head to fall forward, landing in the crook of your neck. “Dean,” 

“Just, fuck, give me a second.” 

“It’s okay,” You mumble, understanding his situation. While you’re understanding, you’re not forgiving as you clench around him like a vise. Your hands reach around, holding his back as you pull him close. You kiss along his skin, waiting until he calms down. 

Dean groans, unbelievable, it’s unbelievable how he’s stuck like this. “I can’t believe this shit,” Dean mumbles, drawing away from you to hook your legs over his elbows, folding you in half when he leans forward again. Finally having some sort of advantage, he’s able to target exactly where he needs to hit. “I feel like a fuckin teenager again.” 

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” You laugh, relishing in the moans that slip past his lips. Finally getting his wits about him, he’s able to finally move, grinding against you. Dean’s not going to last, he knows that, as he begins gently rubbing light circles into your clit. He’s gotta get some sort of leverage, something. Bending further forward, you’re covered entirely by his weight. When your lips gently connect with his, Dean thinks he could conquer the world. Kissing him so gently, so sweetly, has him absolutely reeling. 

“I love you,” Dean blurts, before he can even think to stop it. You don’t think he means it, not in any other way than being horny and worked up. “God, I fucking love you,” He mumbles again, shrugging your legs off of his arms in favour of caging you underneath him, head in between either of his arms as he kisses you. His hips don’t slow for a second, kissing you and chasing his high as if his life depends on it. He’s hitting your g-spot and grinding against your clit at the same time, kissing you as if he would die otherwise, and pressing all of his weight onto you. 

You can’t answer or speak, can’t tell him off for saying that shit mid-fuck. Maybe it’s the position that has him acting up, or it’s the softest he’s fucked in awhile and he doesn’t know how to behave. You’re pulling him closer by his back, kissing him back just as feverishly. 

“Cum for me pretty girl, please, need to feel you wrapped around me.” Dean moans, trailing a hand down in between your bodies. He’s on a mission, truly, needing to get you there before he can allow himself to. “Wanna feel you cum on my cock.” 

“Dean,” You whine, “Sensitive, ‘m sensitive.” You complain, overstimulated and worked up. 

“I know, I know. You’re doing so good for me, just one more. Come for me one more time, please. I need it, hm?” Dean pleads with you, “Doing so well for me, taking my cock so well.” Him talking you through it is almost all you need to tip over the edge, the smallest bit of stimulation you need. Throwing your head back, you can’t even look at him when you come undone. Dean kisses along your exposed neck, not leaving any marks for your own sake. 

“Please, please, Dean. Come, no more.” You whine, tightening around him from over-stimulation. You need him to cum, and have a break. You don’t have to tell him twice, hell, you don’t even have to tell him once. He’s been on edge since he brought you into his fucking room. His head is buried in your shoulder, and you whimper when he bites down into the skin. 

You’re so sore and over-stimulated, mumbling as his hips finally slow in their movement. “Y/n,” Dean is mumbling along with you, “Easy pretty girl, you’re okay,” He attempts to soothe you. “Listen, what I said.”

“Don’t do this Dean, it’s okay.” 

“I meant it, I mean it still.” Dean explains, carefully sliding out, careful to not accidentally stimulate you any further. You’re still caged underneath him, his arms around your head. 

“You don’t have to tell me that, it’s okay, really. Heat of the moment, or whatever.”

“Please, listen. I mean it.” He’s speaking so softly it’s genuinely been awhile since you’ve heard this tone, and it’s never been with you. With Sammy, likely. “I know you don’t believe me, and I wish I saved it for a more romantic moment, I do. But I do mean it.” 

“Is this what you say to every girl-”

“I haven’t been with anyone in forever, you know that. Getting a number is different, that’s just me trying to get information Y/N.” Dean speaks, pulling himself further off of you, giving you space. He’s reaching for his bag, trying to find something to cover you with. He finds a t-shirt, carefully putting it over your head. It goes down to your thighs, covering you. He’s snatching his boxers next, he’s gotta have some decency for this conversation. “I love you, Y/n. You don’t have to say it back, but you deserve to know the truth at least.” 

He’s fully prepared to be shut down, given your reaction thus far. You lean forward, and he thinks you’re about to climb away from him, move out of his bed. Your lips softly connect with his, the gentlest kiss. He’s smiling like an idiot into the kiss, almost unable to kiss you from the extent of his smile. “We can’t tell Sammy, he’ll think you’ve lost it.” Dean almost giggles at this, yes, giggles. What has gotten into him? What the actual hell is happening right now? Still, he nods along with you in agreement. 

“We can’t tell Sammy, or you don’t want to tell Sammy?” 

You’re rolling your eyes. “We don’t have to tell Sammy, he’ll know.” It’s the truth, he’ll figure it out before you or Dean even have a chance to tell him. Dean nods again, the faintest of smiles beginning to spread across his face again. It grows tenfold when you’re leaning forward, cupping his face in your palms, and once again kissing him. He’s shaking when you lean forward, forcing his back to hit the bed, your legs soon straddling his hips. You’re fully seated on his lap, legs underneath his body to give you more leverage to plant yourself against him. 

Your hands wrap around his head, pulling him into you. “Dean, say you love me again.” You mumble, diving back in to kiss him. He can barely mumble the words out, speaking with your lips on his the entire time. Not knowing it was possible, you’re kissing him harder. 

“Riling yourself up, pretty girl?” Dean chuckles softly, hands holding your waist snugly. His grip tightens when you grind against him, drawing out a strangled moan. Dean’s head falls back, face scrunching up. He can’t watch you grind against him in his t-shirt, he really can't. You’re so warm it makes him shake, completely bare as you grind against his boxers. You’re soaking through the cloth, he can feel it. He curses his old age in the back of his head, regretting he can’t recover as easily as he used to. You’re not too much younger than him, but it’s still making him frustrated as you’re ready for round 3. 

“Dean,” Your voice comes out as a whine, your body slumping forward as you curl into his warmth. Your hips continue to grind against his, lips running along his skin. You’re fighting off the urge to leave marks on his skin, losing yourself in the feeling of being close to him. 

“C’mon pretty girl, show me what you’re made of.” Dean’s already regretting his words. He knows you’re quite literally going to make him eat them. Your feet remain underneath his body, flexing as you seat yourself more heavily against him. Your hands move all over his body, finally stopping in his hair as you connect your lips with his. Deans losing his mind. He feels his thighs shake when you lift your weight up and reach down, pushing his boxers down past his hips. He assists you momentarily as he lifts both of your weight off the bed for easier removal. “Gonna make me regret my taunting?” 

“You know it.” You almost giggle, and it only solidifies his belief that he will, in fact, eat his words. You’re soaking wet as you make contact with him, easily sliding through your folds as you slowly and carefully rock your hips. Without warning, in one swift roll of your hips, he’s sheathed inside of you all the way to the hilt. 

“Fuck, fuck, goddamn it.” Dean’s head is thrown back against the pillow, muscles straining in his neck with the force he’s exerting. Your hips grind and roll against his, drawing the prettiest moans from yourself. Dean knew this was gonna happen, and yet he’s shocked that it is. “Should’ve, fuck, picked my words better.” 

Dean shuffles against the bed, sitting up so his back rests against the headboard. He easily pulls you along with him, hands securely holding you by the hips. He’s closer this way it feels like, can smell the sex and heat rolling off of your body. Your arms wrap around his head loosely, leaning down to connect your foreheads together. “Wanna cum like this Dean.” Your breath is basically a pant, grinding rougher as you chase whatever high you have left. 

“Do what you want, please, use me.” Dean’s losing it as he leans forward and marks your skin, too fucked out to even think about what he’s actually doing. You’re going to scold him for this later, something he’s almost sure of, but he can’t bring it in himself to care. You’re coming undone embarrassingly soon, clenched tightly around him as your thighs shake gently. Your hips never stop moving, riding out your high long past the comfortable point. “My girl, my good girl,” Dean is cooing, almost babbling when he watches you use him. 

He’s so overstimulated and so worked up it hurts, but he’ll grit his teeth and bare it if it means he gets to have you like this. You’re arguably more overstimulated than he is, legs shaking and small mewls or moans unconsciously slipping past your lips. He’s moving before you can react, your back hitting the bed. His hips pick up immediately where yours left off, pace barely faltering. You’re soaking wet, the sounds sending a shiver up his spine. “You’re so good to me, holy fuck, this is what I've been missing out on for years. Are you kidding me, fuck.” Dean groans, neck burying into your shoulder. 

“I just, fuck, haven’t been touched in awhile. Easily excitable,” You joke, legs moving to wrap around his torso. With the amount of effort it takes to whine that sentence out, he knows you’re lying. He huffs slightly in annoyance, a small smirk on his face at the sheer ridiculousness of the situation the two of you are in. 

“You’re so full of shit,” It’s gruff and harsh, his brows scrunching together with the effort he’s exerting. His abs have never been clenched harder in his life, torso rock solid from the over-stimulation and effort. “Even if you could quiet down and stop whining, you’d still give yourself away.” He teases you, and you know he’s right. “Wanna try it, hm pretty girl? Shhhh,” It’s gentle and soothing rather than rough, despite his situation. He gently shushes and coos to you, eventually getting your whining and moaning to mere pants. Like he said, you still give yourself away with the slick noises each time his hips roll into yours. “Do you fuckin hear yourself? Listen pretty girl, just listen.” 

You’re beyond fucked out, listening as Dean explains to you. Your lips are caught tightly in between your teeth, fighting hard to keep as quiet as you possibly can. Your head is thrown back against the bed, straining as your legs lock around his torso harder than before. “Dean,”

“Shhh, shhh, it’s okay. I know, I know. You give yourself away, hm?” He mocks, hands coming to run along your thighs, squeezing the muscle underneath. “One more for me, just give me one more and I’ll clean you up all nice and gentle.” 

“I can’t-”

“Don’t be like that.” It’s soft, but just enough to be patronizing. 

“Please, let’s cum. Last one.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly around him. It’s hard to push in, so overworked and sensitive. Dean’s voice alone works you up more than you ever realized, and having him so close, talking in your ear like this. It’s bad news. Dean’s hips are stuttering as you wrap your legs tighter around his torso, working himself up now. The noises you’re making would be embarrassing if it wasn’t Dean, who’s so beyond into it. Maybe it’s the both of your instincts being heightened from years of fighting fuck knows what, but the front door opening has the both of you immediately stilling. 

Dean has never seen your eyes widen this much, almost comical as you look at him. There’s a wicked smile on his face as he shuffles his arms around, ever so gently placing his hand over your mouth. “Quiet, pretty girl.” Dean’s whispering in your ear, hips slowing just enough to grind into you, clit grinding against his skin. You’re fighting hard to keep quiet, opting to bite down on Dean’s hand instead. He’s hissing softly, repositioning so you bite into the side of his hand. 

“C’mon, give me some slack. Cum for me, please. I need to cum pretty girl, you’re gonna make me cum for you.” Dean swears your eyes are going to roll back and out of your skull and he’s going to be permanently like this with how you’re wrapped around him. Dean’s about to beg, he can feel the words on his tongue. Plead with you, even. His silent prayers are granted when your head throws itself back, your arms moving to wrap around his biceps. With the force you’re holding him, he thinks you’ll leave bruises. He’s following you soon after, hips faltering as he comes undone inside of you. Your legs lock around him and suddenly you’re a bodybuilder with the amount of strength you have. 

Your legs are securely locked, not allowing him to rock anymore, needing no more stimulation. Like you thought, you would be embarrassed with how wet you are if it wasn’t Dean who was the one making you sound like this. “The others are back, I have to go.” You whisper, immediately faltering when your weight settles on your legs. Your bottoms are put on with the help of Dean, who keeps you upright. Too fucked out, your legs are almost unusable as you wobble your way towards the door with bikini top in hand. You have to get going before everyone comes into the back of the house, that you know. 

“You can’t even walk straight.” Dean’s right behind you, trying to keep you up on your feet. He’s trying very hard not to laugh at your condition, but you can hear it in his voice. 

“We can’t scar Sam like this.” You’re trying hard not to giggle, slowly peeling open the door. Dean catches you before you can sprint away from him, yanking you back into his embrace. He's grinning down at you, lips softly pressing against yours. You're distracted, beginning to get lost in the kiss. Reminding you, Dean begins to peel the door open slightly. Once it’s open enough, you’re making a sprint for your room. You hear footsteps soon after you make it to your room, ear pressed against the door to listen. 

“Dean, do I wanna know why I just saw Y/N sprint across the hall in your tee shirt?” 

“No, no you do not.” 

The next case you work, Sam doesn’t mention a single thing. In fact, Sam doesn’t mention anything, ever, even the next morning when you’re awkwardly making coffee in the kitchen while he sits at the kitchen counter. Perhaps you should have asked how he felt about this before you went and created your master plan of you and Baby the other day. You’re sucking in your bottom lip as you’re thinking about how you’re going to bring this up, Dean out for the next half hour or so as he grabs food. 

“Sammy?” You mumble softly, placing a mug of black coffee on the table for him. He won’t drink it with cream or sugar anymore, neither does Dean. 

“Hm?” He asks absentmindedly, thumbing through the newspaper as he reads. He’s not listening to you, you know that. When he reads, he’s entirely immersed in the information he’s processing. He fumbled around for the coffee mug, and you slid it closer to where he’s smacking the table so he can actually find the handle. 

“It doesn’t bother you, right?” You ask softly, waiting for him to process what you asked after he finishes whatever sentence he’s currently on. You don’t have to specify, you already know he knows what you’re referring to. Finally, he breaks his focus from the paper to look at you since you’ve walked into the kitchen and started making coffee. (You don’t know it, but he looked at you to make sure you grabbed his mug as well.) 

He laughs, and for a second you’re disheartened. “Are you serious?” 

“I-what?” You don't know whether to be confused or offended. You were going to genuinely hear him out, but this is not the tone you were expecting. 

“You and Dean have been at each other’s throats since you met. I’m surprised you guys didn’t jump on each other sooner.” He laughs, sipping his coffee and shaking his head softly. He laughs at you more, “You think I would care about that? Oh my god, I’ve never seen Dean run out of the house faster this morning to get you food, wide eyed and bushy tail. I think he thought he was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed.” 

“Fuck, should I go lay back down?” You genuinely wonder, making Sam laugh even harder. 

“You guys are ridiculous. You’re telling me this is the first time? I honestly thought you guys have been hate fucking since we met.” 

“Sammy, pleaseeeee.” You whine, tossing your head back. Sipping your coffee, you want to whine and pout. 

“No offense, but I don't care what the two of you guys get up to. As long as you’re happy and don’t die on a hunt because you’re distracted, it’s not a problem.” 

“Right, right. It won't interfere with hunting, I promise.” You nod your head to him, “But seriously, should I go get back into bed?” 

Sam laughs, shaking his head as he refocuses on the newspaper he’s reading. You don’t, because Dean’s walking into the door soon after your conversation with Dean. Making eye contact, his face falls completely and Sam was definitely correct with his guess of breakfast in bed. Regardless, Dean pretends he just got food and had no other motive. “Breakfast has arrived,” He announces, placing the bags on the table. “What, no coffee for me?!” 

“Oh come on, give me a break. You were nowhere in sight this morning.” You defend yourself, “Not even a BRB note, how was I supposed to know when you were coming back?” 

“Oh, but you’ll make Sammy one-”

“Sammy was sitting in here in the kitchen when I woke up-”

“In the mug you know I like-”

“What?! That’s his mug!”

“It totally isn’t! Just because he uses it more often than I do-”

“OKAY!” Sam interrupts, and he’s smiling like an idiot when you turn to look at him. Nothing has changed between you or Dean, and this just proves that. Sure, you’re eyeing him up like a starved woman, and Dean is trying hard to ignore you in your little pajamas, but nothing has changed between the two of you. “You guys gonna eat or fuck against the kitchen counter?” 

Both you and Dean groan in annoyance, sitting down at the table and rummaging through the bags. After breakfast, you guys go over the main points of the new case you’re working on. The drive makes you want to bash your face into Baby’s window over and over, and you can already feel the tiredness in your bones. You guys start the drive not long after, packing up everything and getting a jump start to the job. 7 hours in and Sam switches with Dean to drive, now in the passenger seat. 

You kick the seat when he leans it back and pins your legs to the backseat, “Don’t make me come back there!” He threatens, to which you stick your tongue out at him. Another seven hours in and you’re switching with Sam, who sleeps in the backseat. 

You and Dean talk in the front. “So, Sammy doesn’t care then?” Dean whispers, and you shake your head no. You’re whispering in an attempt to not disturb Sam, even though you think Sam could sleep through an earthquake. Giving him some type of courtesy, you try to keep the noise down to a minimum. 

“Sammy said he thought we had been, quote, hate fucking since we first met, end quote.” You giggle, glancing over at him with a sheepish smile. Dean is trying awfully hard not to howl laugh right now, and god is it hard. You giggle softly, shaking your head at him. 

“Well, in that case.” Dean shrugs, reaching over the front bench and grabbing the inside of your thigh as you drive. 

“Winchester.” You warn, genuinely warn, as your voice remains low and calm. 

“What? You said he doesn’t care.” Dean mumbles, chuckling softly. Glancing back into the back seat, Sam is passed out. He wouldn’t do that in front of Sammy, but he can push your buttons. Dean slides his hand closer to your hip, slipping down onto your inner thigh further. You give him no reaction, knowing the second you do it’ll only fuel the fire. Dean bites at his lips, trying extremely hard not to laugh at your resolute attitude. His fingers dip underneath the waistband of your shorts, making your hips jolt back into the bench. 

You’re grabbing his hand, ripping it backwards and twisting his arm. “Fuck, I love it when you’re rough with me.” Dean groans softly, a smile still playing on his features. “Okay, okay sweetheart, I hear you loud and clear.” He smiles, pulling his arm free and kissing your knuckles. 

You finally get to the motel after what feels like 2000 years, you driving the last leg of the trip. Sam shuffles into the motel without saying a word to either of you and Dean, still half asleep as he pushes into the room. He’s  falling into the bed and back asleep in no time, and you and Dean share a look. Dean has a soft chuckle, and you giggle when he slides his hand across your thigh, pulling you by your hips across the bench of Baby. 

“No, no, no pretty boy. You made me drive the shitty shift.” You mumble, shuffling so you’re pressed against him. He’s easily manipulated, allowing his body to fall back against the passenger side door. Your legs easily swing over his hips, settling down on his lap with ease. You hate driving at night, and he knows that. “And you’ve been teasing me for the past 20 miles. I’m gonna do what I want, and if you ask nice enough by the end of this, i’ll let you cum, hm?” 

Dean whimpers from underneath you, eyebrows knitting together as you speak to him however you like. When you slam your lips down onto his, he groans into it. You’re frustrated, and annoyed, and slightly angry but not exactly at him. You need an outlet, and Dean is a willing one. Your hips press heavily down into his, using your legs underneath him as leverage to seat yourself against him. Your hands are everywhere and anywhere, running all along his skin underneath his clothes. There’s a whimper that escapes him when you rip off your shirt, not allowing him the pleasure of doing so. 

“This isn’t fair-” You grip his face in between your hands, holding his chin. With the slight pressure, his lips pucker out slightly. You gently peck his lips like this, releasing some of the grip you have on his face. Dean’s hands land on your waist, gently brushing and rubbing along any exposed skin you’ll allow him. 

“Be good, Dean.” You mumble, “You’ll be good for me, hm?” You ask softly, picking your hips up enough to yank your shorts and underwear off in one swift movement. “Let me ride your fingers, baby, get me ready to take you.” You command, voice leaving zero room for disagreement. 

“Yes, yes,” He mumbles absentmindedly, hands shuffling to slip further down your hips. You hiss softly as he makes contact with your clit, well practiced and well trained at this point. He gently rubs along your clit, drawing soft, tight circles into the bud. There’s a small gasp as he slides a digit in, expertly curling and moving in the way he knows you like. You pant softly when your hips grind against him on their own, searching for any touch or stimulation he’ll allow you to have. You chase it like you need it to live, to breathe. And Dean chases the little whimpers and whines as if he’ll die without them. Another digit makes you slump down against him slightly, seeking his warmth and closeness, hips still moving against him. 

“My pretty boy Dean.” You whimper, mumbling partially against his lips as you talk. One of your hands rest behind his head, the other one running your fingers through his hair. Dean reels at the soft compliment, head pushing into your hand as he seeks for your touch. You’re using him like a goddamn toy, and he can’t help but twitch at the thought. He’d let you do anything, anything you ask if it’s from your pretty little mouth. You kiss him hungrily, breaking contact more often than he wants as you moan and pant against him. He seeks your kiss, neck craning up. 

Your hands sloppily fumble with his jean buttons, wanting them off right this second, losing your patience. You push them just below his hips, freeing his cock from his boxers. “Easy, pretty girl, you gotta let me make you cum first.” Dean mumbles, leaning forward to kiss your neck that is burning up. 

“Need you,”

“Need you to feel good, baby.” Dean mumbles, working more feverishly into you to push you past the edge. There’s a boost in his pride when you fall apart against him, arms locking around his head gently as you cum. 

“Dean, wanna fuck you. You gonna let me do that?” You mumble, carefully taking him in your hand. Dean hisses when he slips in between your folds, head thrown against baby for some sort of stability as he tries to compose himself. Cumming when she wants me too, he reminds himself. Your hands are gentle but firm, and dean’s more than aware you’re not giving up your current position on top of him. 

“Gonna let you do anything,” dean mumbles, picking his head up slightly as he watches you line his cock up. He fights to keep his head up, watching as you devour inch by inch of his length. You’re grinning wide when you catch him. 

“Gonna watch me take you? Gonna watch me fuck you, hm?” you pant softly against his lips, snapping your hips down against his. You grind and rub against his his pelvic bone, fully seated against him, tip of his cock rubbing against your cervix. Dean’s head falls back against the door, unable to watch. He can’t watch this without cumming earlier than your word. He groans when you hear the tsk sound as you kiss your teeth, whimpering when you pick his head up. 

“I’m trying to listen to you, don’t wanna cum early sweetheart.” Dean mumbles, biting hard onto his bottom lip. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches you take him, a shiver running up his spine as he tries not to think about anything for too long. You’re so tight, and wet, and just absolutely pulsing around him. He’s sure there’s a pile underneath him from how wet you are around him, his abs clenched harder than he thought possible as he fights off his orgasm. “God damn it, baby. You’re gonna fucking kill me.” he groans, reaching down and rubbing tight circles into your clit. The sharp gasp sends goosebumps up his arms, listening to your soft noises. 

“This is cheating Dean,” You moan, continuing to fuck yourself down onto him. 

“C'mon baby, lemme have it pretty girl,” Dean whimpers, doing his best to snap his hips up against you. Your weight jolts against him, allowing him more room to snap his hips up. He grins, as he finally has some advantage as he fucks into you. When you come undone, it’s shaky and messy, hips slamming down against Dean's to get the movement to stop. His hips continue to rut into you, milking the orgasm for as long as you’ll let him. 

“Being so good Dean,” You coo into his ear, your face burying itself into his neck. Dean's quite literally fraying at the edges trying to hold himself together. He could cry, eyes watering as he screws his eyes shut. 

“C'mon baby, cut me some slack,” He groans, sitting up abruptly to lean into your body. You squeal slightly at how quickly he jostles you around, your legs wrapping around his torso as he moves. 

“I like seeing you so pent up, ‘s cute,” You mumble, holding his head in your palms as you kiss him. Reaching around, you softly pull at his hair, scratching his head where you’re pulling. Your hips grind against him, doing more for you than him. Dean's hands grip your waist and thighs, moving you against him. 

“Wanna be good for you,” Dean groans, leaning forward to bite into your shoulder. 

You smile, holding him gently by his neck as you lean back, taking him with you. He’s groaning into your skin, head falling into your shoulder. “C'mon, want you to feel good,” You mumble, catching his lips gently when his head picks up to glance at you. 

“I do feel good. Feel good if you’re feeling good,” Dean grunts, hissing softly when you push his hips before pulling him back in with your heels. He almost wants to let you make him cum like this, but the shake in your thighs assured him you wouldn’t be able to. “My girl,” Dean moans softly, snapping his hips into you. Your soft mewls spur him on, groaning softly when your hands pull at his hair. Dean's losing it, moaning into the crook of your neck as he buries his face into your skin. 

His weight is pressed entirely against you, elbows digging into the seat on either side of you. You're whimpering in his ear, and he’s been holding off for what feels like years at this point. You pick his head up, pressing your lips to his. The both of you are moaning and panting so hard it’s difficult to kiss, riling yourselves up. “Feels good, Dean, do I make you feel good?” You pant against his lips, legs squeezing tighter around his waist. Your hands are all over him, touching any inch of skin you can, feeling every muscle flexing with the effort of his ministrations. “Talk to me Winchester, my pretty boy.” You moan, one particular thrust sending goosebumps across your skin. 

“I- fuck- can't.” Dean almost grunts, lips never leaving yours as he talks. “ ‘s too good, this pussy, fuck, made for me.” He groans, lips leaving yours to kiss along your cheek and jaw. Your hands settle on his biceps, trying hard to ground yourself here with him. “Never wanna leave it, never wanna leave you.” He groans, pulling you closer by the back of your neck to properly kiss you. “Fuck, please let me cum.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for you, a giant smile creeping over your face at how good he is. “Cum, Dean. Cum inside me, please, need it.” You mumble, grip tightening to hold yourself against him as he roughly fucks into you, chasing the high he’s been craving. You squeal and jerk under him as he bites into your shoulder, roughly laving over it with his tongue to relieve the pain. You squeeze tighter around him from it, making his hips falter in their place. You’re over-sensitive, beginning to squirm. “Cum, Dean, please, can’t take it.” You whine, tightening almost impossibly more. 

“Fuck, taking it so good. Just a bit more, be patient for me sweetheart.” Dean groans against your ear, thrusts becoming more erratic as he finally lets himself go. Your legs are practically numb as he buries himself to the hilt, cumming inside you. You complain softly as he lazily fucks his cum into you, enjoying the absolute mess you’re making underneath him. 

“Please-” You hiccup, pulling his hair softly. Dean slows, stilling as he kisses you properly for the first time in forever, no longer panting and moaning against you. You relish in it, not rushing as you kiss him back. 

“I think I’ll make you drive the shit shift more often.” He’s smiling, carefully getting you cleaned up. He’s proud of how fucked out you are, pride oozing from his demenor. You have the same pride, knowing the second he touches that motel bed he’ll be out for the night. 

You peck him quickly, not wanting to rile him up again. “Sure, but next time you wont cum.” You giggle, taking off before he has the wit to catch you and pin you to baby again. Running into the motel room where Sam is knocked out, you're in the shower before Dean can catch up to you. You hear a snarky remark from the other side of the door, making you giggle.

[maddie0101]

𐚁 chapter two: lines we don’t cross

𐚁 summary: reader is still fighting the overwhelming feelings for Dean but things take a turn for the worse when you go over to the Winchester’s ranch for dinner.

𐚁 warnings: worried!reader, jealous dean, idiots in love, underlying sexual tension if you squint, angry dean? half of these aren’t even warnings, lmfao

𐚁 word count: 5.4k

series masterlist previous chapter next chapter

The sun hung low in the sky, its golden light stretching across the open fields of the ranch. The crisp morning air still held the last traces of dawn’s chill, but the heat of the day was already making its slow climb. You wiped the sweat from your brow with the sleeve of your flannel and adjusted your gloves before reaching for another bale of hay.

Whiskey stood nearby, lazily flicking his tail at flies, his ears twitching as he watched you work. You patted his neck, your mind only half-present as you settled into your routine.

The ranch had always been a place of solace. The rhythm of the work, the smell of fresh-cut hay, the distant sounds of cattle lowing in the pasture—it was all second nature. You’d been raised in it, molded by it. There was something deeply grounding about tending to the land your family had worked for generations.

But today, no matter how much you tried to focus on the tasks in front of you, your mind kept wandering. Kept drifting back to him.

You sighed, tightening the straps on a saddle before hoisting it onto the fence. You had tried not to think about last night too much, but it was impossible. The way he had looked at you, the hesitation in his voice when he told you about his tattoo. The way he hadn’t shown you.

Why?

It didn’t make sense. Dean wasn’t the type to hold back from you—not about something this important. If anything, you’d expected him to shove his wrist in your face, teasing you about finally being on the road to finding his soulmate.

Instead, he’d been quiet, hesitant.

You kicked at a loose piece of dirt, irritation bubbling beneath the surface. You hated this feeling, this nagging feeling that had settled in your chest ever since he told you.

You wanted to ask him, demand to know why he hadn’t shown it to you. But you were scared. Scared of the answer. Scared that maybe, deep down, you already knew.

“Hey, darlin.”

Your dad’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. You turned to see Bobby approaching from the barn, his cowboy hat shading his weathered face. His usual sharp gaze softened as he looked at you, hands tucked into the pockets of his jeans.

“Hey, Dad,” you greeted, forcing a small smile as you grabbed another bale of hay and tossed it into the back of the truck.

He watched you work for a moment, his brows furrowing slightly. “You alright?”

You hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah. Just got a lot on my mind, I guess.”

Bobby didn’t push, but you could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced. He leaned against the truck, arms crossed, as he let out a low hum. “Saw Dean’s ride last night,” he said casually. “Took a nasty fall, but I guess he’s fine. Kid’s too damn stubborn to be anything else.”

You huffed a small laugh. “Yeah. He’s alright. Stupid, but alright.”

Bobby chuckled, shaking his head. “Ain’t that the truth.” He was quiet for a moment, then added, “Seems like he’s got his sights set on someone.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Your hands stilled on the hay bale, your breath catching for just a second before you forced yourself to move again. You willed your face to stay neutral as you pulled the gloves from your hands, shaking out the hay dust. “Oh?” you said, feigning indifference. “Anyone I know?”

Your dad shrugged. “Didn’t say exactly, but I saw them talking the other day."

The air suddenly felt heavier, the sun hotter against your skin. Dean was always flirting with other women everywhere he went, it was just something he'd always done. Sure you didn't like it but you weren't going to stop him. He wasn't yours.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, nodding as if the words didn’t send a sharp pang through your chest. “That’s… good for him.”

Bobby gave you a sideways glance, his expression unreadable. “You sure you’re alright?”

You forced a laugh, waving a hand. “Yeah, of course. Just didn’t expect Dean to be settling down anytime soon, is all.” You grimaced before turning away from your dad, hiding your jealousy. Maybe that was the reason Dean had been so off? Maybe the girl dad saw him talking to was his soulmate.

Your dad studied you for a second longer before nodding. “Well, if anyone deserves to find the right girl, it’s him.” He clapped a hand on your shoulder before stepping away. “I’ll be inside if you need anything.”

You barely registered his words as you stood there, staring blankly at the pile of hay in front of you.

Dean might've found his soul mate.

I shouldn’t care. I should be happy for him. He’s my best friend.

You weren’t supposed to feel like this—like something inside you was crumbling, like the air had been knocked from your lungs. Shaking your head, you shoved the thoughts away. You couldn't be thinking about this right now. There was work to do. There was no time for feelings that were never meant to surface in the first place.

Dean sat on the worn wooden steps of his porch, his elbows resting on his knees as he stared down at his wrist. The ink was still fresh, the skin slightly raised from where the small heart with an infinity symbol inside it had appeared.

A soulmate mark. His soulmate mark.

The one thing everyone looked forward to—the sign that somewhere in the world, there was someone meant just for you. But instead of excitement, all he felt was dread.

He rubbed a thumb over the design before tugging his sleeve down, then glanced around to make sure no one was watching before rolling it back up again. The placement was perfect, his watch covered it up completely. He wasn’t ready to let the world see it yet. Hell, he wasn’t ready to see it himself.

His stomach twisted uncomfortably, and he exhaled sharply, leaning back against the porch railing. He knew he should be happy. Hell, he should be relieved that the wait was over. He’d spent nearly a year watching other people’s marks appear, wondering when his would show up, wondering who it would lead him to.

But now that it was here, all he could feel was stress. Why?

He clenched his jaw, trying to shake the feeling, but the answer was already forming at the edges of his mind. He just didn’t want to face it.

Last night had been a wake-up call. He hadn’t been in his right mind before that bull ride, and he knew damn well why. He saw you, talking to some guy.

It wasn’t like you never talked to men, but something about the way you smiled, the way your head tilted slightly, listening to whatever the hell that cowboy had to say, it had twisted something inside of him. A feeling he didn’t recognize.

He’d been so damn distracted by it that he barely had time to focus before the gate swung open and the bull exploded beneath him. His grip had loosened at the wrong second, and before he knew it, he was airborne, his body hitting the ground hard. It wasn’t his worst fall, not by a long shot, but for the first time, it wasn’t the pain of hitting the dirt that knocked the air from his lungs. It was you.

You, sprinting toward him with wild panic in your eyes, your hands trembling as they hovered over his shoulder, your voice raw with worry. You weren’t supposed to look at him like that. Dean scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated with himself.

For years, he had shoved any kind of feeling for you deep down, buried beneath layers of friendship, stubbornness, and denial. You were his best friend. His person. There had never been room for anything else. But then last night, as he lay in the dirt, and you were kneeling next to him, breathless and terrified for him, something cracked open.

And now, sitting here, staring at this damn tattoo, the truth hit him like a freight train.

The reason he was so stressed about this mark… was because he wanted it to match yours. Dean’s stomach dropped, a mixture of panic and realization colliding in his chest. He wanted it to be you, more than anything.

He let out a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair as he tried to make sense of it all. This wasn’t like when he dated before. He’d had flings, relationships, girls he thought he liked well enough—but this? This was something entirely different. Something bigger. Something that could tear him apart if it didn’t go the way he desperately needed it to.

Dean swallowed hard, his pulse thudding in his ears. Because what if it wasn’t you? What if fate had some other plan? What if he was about to lose you in the worst way possible? For the first time in his life, Dean was scared, and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it.

The next morning, you were already up and working by the time Dean rode over from his place. You had a way of losing yourself in chores, letting the rhythm of work push everything else to the back of your mind. But today? It wasn’t working.

You had spent the rest of the morning trying to convince yourself that it didn’t matter. Dean was your best friend, that’s all he’d ever been and that’s all he’d ever could be. Even if every part of you wished otherwise.

You gritted your teeth, wiping sweat from your brow as you finished stacking hay in the barn. The last thing you needed was to get caught up in feelings that didn’t belong.

But when you turned around and saw Dean standing just outside the barn door, watching you, those feelings slammed into you anyway. His expression was unreadable, his green eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place. His sleeves were pushed up, forearms dusted with dirt, but what caught your eye was the way his left wrist was covered by his watch.

Your chest tightened. That had to be the place where his mark was.

“Morning, Dean,” you greeted, trying to keep your voice even as you turned back to your work.

Dean hesitated for a second before stepping further inside the barn. “Mornin’, sweetheart.”

Something was different. You could feel it. The easy comfort between you both felt heavier, weighted down by something unsaid. Dean lingered near the stall, one hand gripping the railing, the other tucked into his pocket.

You glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What, you just gonna stand there and watch me work?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, but there was no real humor behind it. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes, but when you turned back around, your stomach twisted. Something was wrong. You knew him better than anyone, and there was something in his stance, the way his jaw clenched just slightly, the way he wasn’t meeting your eyes the way he normally did.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, trying to sound casual. “You’ve been acting weird since the other night.”

Dean tensed just a little. “Nothing. Just got a lot on my mind.”

Liar. You studied him for a second, your pulse picking up. “Dean—”

“Did your mark show up yet?”

The question caught you off guard. Your breath hitched slightly as you instinctively glanced down at your wrist, still bare.

“No,” you answered, your voice quieter now. “Not yet.”

Something flickered in his eyes, something like relief. But before you could make sense of it, he covered it up with a quick nod, shoving his hands deeper into his pockets.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Guess we’ll see who fate’s got lined up for you soon enough.”

Your chest ached. You wanted to tell him that he was the only one you wanted fate to choose. But you couldn’t. Because Dean had his sights set on someone else and he had no idea that the person you had always had your sights set on was him. You forced a tight smile at Dean’s words, but inside, your heart was twisting into knots.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned back to your work, shoving the feelings away just like you always did. You weren’t about to let some stupid soulmate mark ruin things between you and Dean. Not when you already knew he wasn’t yours to have.

Dean, on the other hand, was watching you like he was trying to solve a damn puzzle. Something was off, and he could feel it in his gut. He hated the way his own words tasted, hated that he had to pretend like the idea of you with someone else didn’t make him feel like he’d been kicked in the ribs.

He wasn’t ready to deal with all that heavy crap, though, so he did what he always did, get on your nerves.

“Damn, sweetheart,” he grinned, tilting his head as he watched you struggle with a particularly heavy bale of hay. “You strugglin’ over there?”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder. “I’m not struggling.”

Dean smirked. “Kinda looks like you are.”

Rolling your eyes, you grabbed the bale and hoisted it up onto the stack. You gritted your teeth through the burn in your arms, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you struggle.

Dean whistled low. “Atta girl.”

You wiped your hands on your jeans and turned to face him, praying he'd just think you were hot and didn't notice the blush coating your cheeks. “You just gonna stand there all day, or are you gonna actually do some work?”

He grinned, walking over at a lazy pace. “Now, sweetheart, we both know my job is to stand here and supervise. You’re the one who gets all riled up if things ain’t done exactly right.”

You scoffed, folding your arms. “I do not.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You don’t remember last week when I stacked the feed bags the ‘wrong way’ and you nearly had an aneurysm?”

Your face warmed as you pointed at him. “You stacked them sideways, Dean. Sideways. Who does that?”

He snorted, shaking his head. “They were still stacked.”

“They were a safety hazard.”

Dean laughed outright now, the tension from earlier lifting just slightly. He loved getting under your skin like this, loved how easy it was to rile you up.

“Tell you what,” he said, smirking. “Since you clearly got everything under control, I’ll just sit back and watch. Maybe take notes on the correct way to do ranch work.”

You groaned, exasperated. “Or, and hear me out, you could actually help.”

Dean tapped his chin like he was considering it. “Mmm… tempting, but I think I’d rather watch you struggle.”

You threw your work glove at him. Dean barely ducked in time, laughing as the glove missed his head by inches. “Bad aim, sweetheart,” he teased.

You huffed, grabbing another bale and hoisting it onto the pile. “You’re so annoying.”

“And yet, you’d be lost without me.”

You shot him another glare, but deep down, that statement was entirely too true. The teasing made things feel normal again, but you could still feel the weight of something lingering between you—something neither of you wanted to acknowledge.

Dean watched you work for a second, his smirk fading just slightly. His wrist burned under his watch, the tattoo hidden away like some kind of secret. He had always thought teasing you, pushing your buttons, was just part of the way things were between you two. But today? Today, every little thing you did had him looking at you differently.

The way you shoved that loose strand of hair behind your ear, the way you bit your lip in frustration, the way you got all flustered when he teased you—it was driving him insane.

And for the first time, he didn’t want to push the feeling down. He wanted to understand it.

Maybe that was dangerous. Maybe it would change everything. But as you threw him another glare, rolling your eyes like you weren’t secretly enjoying his teasing, Dean found himself thinking…Maybe it was already too late.

The late afternoon sun dipped behind the hills, casting a golden glow over your family’s ranch as you finished getting ready. You weren’t sure why you’d put in extra effort tonight, maybe it was just nice to have an excuse to dress up a little. The Winchesters’ dinners were a tradition, something both families had done for as long as you could remember.

You smoothed out your dress, glancing at yourself in the mirror one last time. The dress hugged you just right, and the soft color added a touch of something…extra.

Not that it mattered though because Dean wouldn’t notice. Or, at least, he never had before.

You and your dad had decided to take the ranger to drive over to Winchester's, giving Whiskey and your dad's horse, Burbon a chance to eat their dinners.

The moment you stepped inside, warmth surrounded you, but not just from the heat of the stove or the smell of home-cooked food, but from the sheer energy of the Winchesters’ home.

Mary greeted you with a hug, her bright eyes crinkling with warmth. “Oh, honey, you look so pretty tonight.”

You felt yourself blush slightly. “Thank you, Mary.”

Dean, who had been leaning against the counter chatting with John, turned at Mary’s words. His easy smirk faltered for half a second when his gaze landed on you. His eyes roamed over you, just a flicker of something unreadable in his expression before he recovered. You sure were making this whole situation worse.

“You clean up nice, sweetheart,” he smiled sweetly, trying to play it cool as he ignored the odd tingling feeling in his chest.

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks, I think.”

Mary’s sharp gaze flicked between you two, her lips twitching like she knew something—something neither of you had admitted yet. Before you could dwell on it, Sam walked into the kitchen, a tall guy with sandy-blond hair walked in right behind him.

“This is Evan,” Sam introduced his friend to the rest of you, missing the way Evan's eyes scanned through the group before landing on you.

Evan smiled at you. “Nice to meet you.”

You returned the smile, being polite, but before you could even say anything back, Dean’s voice cut in, a little sharper than usual. “Never seen you around here before,” he said, eyeing Evan with mild disinterest.

Evan shrugged. “Yeah, me and Sam here just became friends. Hope to get to know all of you well."

Dean hummed like he wasn’t impressed. He already disliked the kid his brother decided to become friends with.

Mary arched an eyebrow at her eldest son. “Dean, be nice.”

Dean made a noncommittal noise and pushed off the counter, brushing past you as he went to grab plates for the table. The brush of his arm against yours sent a weird jolt through you, not that you let it show.

At dinner you found yourself seated between Mary and Sam, Dean sitting across from you, next to Evan.

“So, y/n,” Evan said, flashing you a charming grin. “I gotta ask—how’s a girl like you still single?”

You almost choked on your drink. Across the table, Dean stiffened, narrowing his eyes at the kid's audacity.

Bobby, who had been in the middle of cutting into his steak, paused, his fork hovering midair.

You laughed a little, waving off the comment. “Oh, I—”

“She’s been busy,” Dean cut in abruptly, stabbing at his food a little harder than necessary.

Evan raised an eyebrow. “Right, but everyone’s got time for a little fun, don’t they?”

Dean’s grip on his fork tightened as Bobby cleared his throat, shooting daggers into the kid's skull for flirting with his daughter shamelessly.

"Boy-" Bobby started, setting his fork down onto the side of his plate, ready to light this little asshole up.

Mary, who had been sipping her wine, hid a knowing smirk behind her glass as she glanced between you and Dean. “Oh, I don’t know,” she cut in before Bobby started. “I think Maddie’s got plenty of options. Isn’t that right, sweetheart?”

You flushed. “I—uh—”

Dean scoffed, leaning back in his chair as he cut you off. “Yeah, plenty of options,” he muttered. “Just gotta sift through the idiots first.”

The table went silent for half a second. Evan raised an eyebrow, clearly catching the insult. “You saying I’m an idiot?”

Dean didn’t even hesitate. He stabbed another bite of steak and shrugged. “If the boot fits.”

Sam let out a low groan, rubbing a hand down his face and Mary sighed but was clearly fighting a smile. You, on the other hand, nearly choked on your drink. Evan let out an awkward laugh, shaking his head. “Man, you got a problem with me or somethin’?”

Dean didn’t miss a beat. “Not with you specifically. Just don’t like guys who talk big and don’t know a damn thing about who they’re talkin’ to.”

Your stomach twisted at his words—because they felt too sharp, too personal. You shot him a look. “Dean.”

His gaze flicked to you, still hard, still unreadable. “What?” The tension between you two thickened.

Mary, of course, picked up on all of it. She just smirked, shaking her head as she took another sip of her wine. Sam, watching his brother with keen amusement, swiftly kicked Dean under the table.

Dean jerked, nearly dropping his fork. “Damn it, Sam—”

Sam just shot him an innocent look. “Something wrong?”

Dean grumbled under his breath and went back to stabbing his steak like it had personally wronged him. The whole thing made you laugh until you noticed Dean wasn’t laughing. In fact, he hadn’t smiled once through dinner. He was grumpy, more than usual and what was even weirder, he kept watching you. Not in his usual, teasing, laid-back way.

No. No. This was different.

His expression was unreadable, guarded—like he was fighting something he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight. His jaw was tight, and his gaze lingered too long whenever you spoke. There was tension there. Something unspoken, something changing, and for the first time, you weren’t sure you wanted to ignore it anymore.

After dinner, you lingered in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up as you helped Mary scrub the dishes. The warm scent of soap and home-cooked food still lingered in the air, and despite the tension that had simmered at the dinner table, you found yourself relaxing in Mary’s presence.

She worked beside you with ease, humming softly as she dried a plate. “You didn’t have to help, you know,” she said, glancing at you with a fond smile.

You shrugged, handing her another clean dish. “I don’t mind. Besides, you cooked, so it’s only fair.”

Mary chuckled. “You’re sweet, y/n. Always have been.”

Before you could respond, hushed voices drifted in from the other room. You paused, your hands still in the soapy water as your ears picked up on the low tones of Sam and Dean’s conversation. You couldn’t quite make out what they were saying, but the urgency in their voices sent a prickle of curiosity through you.

Mary must’ve noticed your distraction. “Don’t worry about whatever nonsense those boys are whispering about. You know how they are.”

You gave a small, distracted nod, choosing to brush it off. Whatever it was, it wasn’t your business. As you reached for another dish, Mary sighed softly, her voice turning wistful. “I swear, sometimes I wish you were part of this family for real.”

You froze, your hands tightening around the dish in your grip. The words hung in the air for a moment before she quickly backtracked.

“I mean—” She huffed out a small laugh, shaking her head. “Ignore me. Just an old woman rambling.”

Your heart thumped a little harder, but you forced a smile. “I’d say you’re stuck with me either way,” you teased, trying to lighten the sudden awkwardness.

Mary chuckled, setting down the last of the dishes. “That’s true. Now, go relax with the boys before Dean gets himself into trouble.”

You dried your hands and stepped onto the front porch where the cool night air greeted you. Sam and Evan were already lounging on the steps, talking about something that you didn’t quite catch. Dean, however, was leaning against one of the porch posts, arms crossed, eyes locked onto you with an unreadable expression. Before you could make it very far, Dean pushed off the post and stepped into your path.

“Come here,” he murmured, gently grasping your wrist and pulling you a few steps away from the others.

You furrowed your brows. “Dean, what—”

“What, do you like Evan?”

You blinked at him, then let out a surprised laugh, but the second you saw the seriousness in his face, the sound died in your throat. “What?” you asked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Dean exhaled sharply, clearly irritated. “I’m just saying—he’s a little too flirty, don’t you think? Lately, you’ve been getting a lot of attention.”

Your stomach twisted, and a flicker of irritation flared in your chest. “And that’s a bad thing?”

Dean’s jaw clenched. “Evan just wants to get into your pants. Plain and simple.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Oh, so now you’re the expert on what men want from me?”

Dean didn’t respond, but his green eyes darkened, his fingers flexing at his sides. Your heart pounded as your frustration boiled over. “So what? You can’t believe that men are actually interested in me, Dean? Am I that repulsive to you?”

His eyes widened slightly, caught off guard. “That’s not what I—”

“I know I’m just your best friend, but damn, that one hurt.” You shook your head at him, your voice raw with emotion, unaware that Sam and Evan had gone quiet behind you, watching the argument unfold.

Dean opened his mouth to fix it, to say something, anything—to make it better, but the damage was already done. Your throat burned as you turned away before he could see the way your eyes shone with unshed tears. “I’m going home.”

Dean stood frozen, watching you walk off into the night, his chest tight with something heavy and unfamiliar.

The second you disappeared down the path, Evan let out a low whistle. “Damn, man. That was rough.”

Dean didn’t respond. He was still standing there, fists clenched at his sides, his chest heaving. He was aware of Sam’s disapproving glare, but his mind was still on the way you had looked when you walked away from him, your back stiff and your steps quick.

“Well, that was awkward,” Evan said, his eyes flicking between Dean and the direction you’d gone. “Didn’t expect that from you two. Thought you were just friends.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his fists still clenched at his sides. He didn’t answer Evan, but the tension in the air was thick, and Sam’s disappointed gaze didn’t help.

Evan, clearly trying to lighten the mood, leaned back against the porch railing with a casual smirk. “I mean, I get it, man. She’s hot, right? You sure you don’t want to do something about it before someone else does?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you talking about?”

Evan shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t know, man. She’s cute, funny, smart. Could see why you’d get worked up over her. But if you’re just gonna stand there and do nothing, someone else might come along and grab her attention.” He raised an eyebrow, somehow indicating that he could have a chance.

Dean’s stomach churned, but he didn’t know how to react. The idea of anyone else being with you, let alone some guy like Evan—made his blood boil. “She’s not some prize to be won,” he muttered, his voice low, but tense.

Evan snorted, clearly not taking him seriously. “Come on, man, it’s not like I’m making a move. I just noticed the way she was laughing with me earlier—she’s into the attention.”

That hit Dean like a slap to the face. His vision blurred for a second, and his voice was sharp when he finally responded. “Stay the hell away from her.”

Sam, who had been watching the whole thing unfold, stepped between them, putting a hand on Dean’s shoulder to force him to take a breath. “Dean, stop,” Sam said quietly but firmly. “Just—let it go.”

But Dean wasn’t listening. He was still staring down Evan, who seemed completely oblivious to the storm brewing inside him.

Evan just smirked again. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, man. You really should lighten up.”

Sam shot him a warning look before turning back to Dean, who was clearly on the edge. “Let’s just go inside, alright?”

Dean didn’t say another word but his eyes shot back to Evan, a dangerous edge creeping into his gaze. Evan, completely oblivious to the tension, leaned casually against the railing with a grin.

“You know,” Evan said, his voice mocking, “I couldn’t help but notice how she looked at me earlier. Seems like she’s got a thing for guys who know how to have a good time.” He chuckled, clearly enjoying the way Dean was reacting. “I mean, it’s pretty clear she’s into the attention. It must be nice knowing a girl like her wants you around.”

Dean’s fists clenched so tight his knuckles turned white. His heart pounded in his chest, blood rushing to his head. That was it. No more. Without thinking, Dean shoved Evan hard, the sound of his boots scraping the wooden floor as he closed the distance between them in a flash.

“Shut the hell up, Evan,” Dean growled, his voice dangerously low, full of raw anger. “You don’t know anything about her. Or me. Or what’s going on here. So keep your mouth shut before you lose it.”

Evan stumbled back, caught off guard by the sudden intensity. His smirk faded, replaced with a confused look, but he didn’t back down. “What the hell, man?”

Dean’s eyes burned with fury as he took a step forward, his voice a low warning. “I mean it. Stay the hell away from her. Don’t ever talk about her like that again.”

For a split second, the air was thick with tension, and even Sam could feel the weight of the moment. But Evan, being Evan, didn’t seem to grasp the gravity of the situation. “Alright, alright,” Evan muttered, raising his hands in mock surrender. “No need to get all possessive over her. It’s just a little harmless flirting.”

Dean’s entire body tensed, his muscles coiling with the need to lash out. “I said, stay away from her,” he repeated through gritted teeth, the words cold and threatening.

Sam was already moving, grabbing Dean’s arm to pull him back. “Enough!” he barked. “That’s enough!”

Dean didn’t even flinch at Sam’s grip. His eyes were locked on Evan, full of anger and something else—something far deeper than just the fight that had broken out. The way Evan had talked about you—it was more than Dean could handle. He didn’t care what anyone else thought. You weren’t just some girl. You were everything to him.

“Next time,” Dean said, his voice dangerously calm, “you won’t be so lucky.”

Sam shook his head, looking at Dean with a mix of disbelief and concern. “Dean, man, calm down. You’ve gotta get control of this.”

But Dean was already walking away, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt. The anger still burned in his chest, but there was something else there too: something raw, possessive, and unrelenting. With his heart hammering in his chest and the image of you walking away burned into his mind, he finally had to admit what he had been denying for too damn long.

He was in love with you and he might have just ruined everything.

author’s note:

Hi guys! I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I would like to apologize if someone is a real cowgirl/cowboy reading this. I’m trying my best to put the right terms for everything. Fun fact about me is that I do live in the country and know a decent amount of how the country life works but I don’t own any large livestock or go to the rodeos often. I do own chickens, goats, and a few dogs though! Okay, enough ab me I really hope you guys liked this chapter and lmk what you think!

tags:

@i-love-ptv @lieutenantchaos @hollywoodxrose @pressedwater @aylacavebear

@bonbonnie88 @lori19 @muhaha82 @freeluigihesbae @muhahaha303

If you would like to be tagged please leave a comment and I’ll add you to the list!

my masterlist

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

[supernaturalfreewill]

"If getting my shit absolutely rocked by a monster is what it takes to get you in my bed, it was definitely worth it," Dean murmured, his bleary green eyes fixed on your face. You lifted the cloth you were using to dab at the wound near his hairline.

"I'm not sure sitting on the edge of the bed counts," you said with a small smile.

"Hey—I'll fucking take what I can get," he said softly, his eyes closing.

You drank in the sight of him and sighed. "You really scared us. That was stupid," you scolded him, but there was no bite in your voice.

His eyes opened again and searched your face, took in the soft pout on your lips. "You have no idea how stupid I can be," he quipped.

You couldn't help a low laugh. "Yeah, I do. And I'm still here. So, shut up and rest."

"You're staying here tonight?" he asked hopefully.

You nodded. "Yeah. Sam made up the couch for me."

"The couch? That's so far," he objected. "Why sleep on the couch when I have a perfectly available and delightfully comfortable spot right here next to me?"

You smiled and relented. "Fine. But keep your hands to yourself, and don't hog the blankets," you said.

"I'll do my best. But I'm not responsible for what happens when I'm concussed and/or asleep..."

Prompt: "You have no idea how stupid I can be." / "Yeah, I do. And I'm still here."

[dulcescorderitas]

02

parings: married!deanwinchester x married!reader

synopsis: life married to dean

warnings: no smut

the nights always ended the same way, no matter how long he’d been gone. his hands, calloused from gripping the wheel of the Impala, always found their way to the curve of your waist, pulling you close, grounding himself in your warmth. it was like he was making sure you were still there, flesh and blood and not some fleeting dream he could lose again.

when dean came home, it was like the house breathed with him. the soft creak of the door, his boots thudding heavily on the wooden floors, the rustling as he shrugged off his jacket. it was all the noise of a man who fought his way back to you, every damn time. sometimes it was days, sometimes weeks, but every return felt like the first, like he’d fought a hundred battles just to hold you again.

“you up?” his voice broke the stillness, low and familiar, a sound you’d missed more than you could admit. you stepped out of the kitchen, where you’d been waiting, and met him halfway, your arms wrapping around his neck as his settled on your waist.

“i’m always up when you’re coming home,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. he held you tighter, a sigh of relief escaping him as he buried his face in your neck, just breathing you in.

sam’s footsteps echoed lightly behind him, and you glanced over dean’s shoulder. “sam, you know where everything is. get some rest.”

“thanks,” sam replied, offering you a small smile before disappearing into the guest bedroom.

the door clicked shut, leaving you and dean alone in the quiet house. his hands slid down to your hips, his thumbs brushing over the fabric of your shirt. “missed you,” he whispered.

“missed you too.” your fingers traced the edge of his jaw, noting the rough stubble that had grown since you last saw him. “come on, you look beat.”

he didn’t argue, letting you lead him to the bedroom. the familiar sights of your shared space surrounded you—the nightstand with his gun and knife, the salt lines carefully laid at every entry point. it was a fortress, one you both had built together, knowing the dangers that lurked just outside those walls.

he sat on the edge of the bed, pulling you to stand between his knees. his eyes were heavy with exhaustion, but there was something else there too—a quiet gratitude, a sense of peace. “the road was rough,” he admitted softly. “but this… being here with you… makes it worth it.”

you cupped his face in your hands, brushing your thumbs along his cheekbones. “you’re home now. that’s all that matters.”

he nodded, pulling you down into his lap, holding you close. the weight of him, the steady beat of his heart under your palm, it all felt like home. three times a week, if you were lucky, he’d be here, his presence filling the space, his warmth seeping into you. and in those moments, the worry and the fear melted away, leaving just the two of you.

sometimes, you wished he would stay longer. that the job wouldn’t pull him away so often. that there’d be more mornings where you could wake up to the sight of him, hair tousled, eyes half-lidded with sleep, his lips curved into a lazy smile that was just for you. mornings where his hands would roam, slow and deliberate, exploring every inch of you as if he had all the time in the world. mornings where he’d whisper your name like a prayer, his lips tracing the line of your collarbone, his breath warm against your skin.

“we’ll have more mornings,” he said softly, as if reading your mind. his lips brushed against your temple, his voice a comforting rumble. “i promise.”

it wasn’t just about the sex, though God, when dean touched you, it was like the world stopped spinning. his fingers, rough and sure, knew exactly how to unravel you, to make you shudder and cling to him in the dark. but it was the way he looked at you after, like you were the only thing anchoring him to this world, that made your chest ache with something fierce and unrelenting.

you were his home. his sanctuary. and even though you wished he could be there more, you never doubted for a second that he was yours, fully and completely. every kiss, every touch, every whispered word in the dead of night was a promise—a promise that no matter how far he wandered, he’d always find his way back to you.

taglist: @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @legalmente-loca @bluemerakis

[dewwinchester]

stitches | d.w.

synopsis: dean texts you for help, and you drop everything for him.

requested by: @dingo-ate-my-hot-lettuce-crazy

pairing: pre-series!dean winchester x reader

word count: 1.6k+

warnings: fluff, some angst, john winchester, blood, wounds/injury, stitching up wounds, typical spn series warnings. no use of y/n, no pronouns used!

a/n: if john winchester has no haters, i'm dead <33 also, it's currently 12am, so if the editing is a little wonky, pls forgive me

You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles turning white as you navigated through the torrential downpour hammering down around you and your car. The rain was relentless, blinding you as it pounded against the windshield. The smell of wet asphalt filled your car as the tires slipped on the rain-soaked road. Your heartbeat pounded in your ears – a mixture of adrenaline from trying to avoid a horrific car wreck and anxiety from the message still illuminating your car in a dim light.

I need your help.

It wasn’t a message you were expecting. Normally, in your line of work, pleas for help came in the form of a frantic phone call or a scream in the dark. They never came in the form of a random text message.

And they never came from Dean Winchester.

You were having a relatively normal night, working a case and staking out a couple of vamps, when your phone buzzed with several messages from Dean. First, he asked if you were busy. Then, he asked if you were nearby. Moments later, he sent you an address to a motel. Then, came the message that caused you to leave the stakeout completely and go frantically speeding down the road.

Your tires screeched as you rounded a corner. The neon light of the motel soon appeared ahead, its reflection dancing across the many puddles on the asphalt. You pulled into the first parking spot you saw and stepped out of your car. The rain immediately soaked you to the bone, wetting your hair and your clothes, sending a chill through you, but you couldn't find yourself caring as your eyes scanned for Dean's room number.

The motel was rather seedy-looking – more so than normal. The wooden palings were splitting, and the paint was chipping off the trimmings and walls. There wasn't any other car in sight. You wondered just how bad things were if Dean had found himself in a place like this.

Once you found his room, you practically ran over to the door and threw it open, not bothering to knock. Your eyes immediately landed on Dean, who sat on the edge of one of the beds, his back to you. A wave of relief washed over you – he was alive – but the sight of his tense shoulders and the untouched beer bottle in his hand kept your anxiety simmering.

You closed the door behind you and took off your saturated jacket, leaving it next to Dean's leather one.

"Hey," you said with a sigh, "You okay?"

Dean responded with a curt nod but said nothing more. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand gently on his shoulder. He flinched at the touch, and you felt a pang in your chest. When you finally got close enough, you quickly scanned his face. The bags under his eyes were darker than usual, and his normally sharp gaze was clouded with exhaustion. HIs hair was wet and spiky, and his lip trembled from the cold.

Your eyes continued to trail down to his side, where his shirt clung to his skin, dark and wet with blood. Three jagged and deep gashes spread across Dean's side. His shirt was torn.

Your eyes widened as panic once again surged through you. You frantically looked around for anything you could use to stop the bleeding. You grabbed the first towel you could get your hands on and pressed it to his side, grimacing when Dean winced in pain.

"Jesus, Dean. What the hell happened?"

"Werewolf," he gritted out.

"I think you're gonna need stitches."

There was no first aid kit in sight, so your mind began running through alternatives. You could go to the front desk and ask if there were any supplies, but asking for anything more than a simple band-aid would cause suspicion, and the last thing you needed was someone knocking on the door asking too many questions.

You could use dental floss. You had known plenty of hunters that used it in the past and not had a problem, but you weren't sure there were any needles…

"There's a sewing kit in the bathroom."

You raised your eyebrows in surprise. "You read my mind."

“One of my many talents.” 

----

Needle, thread, dental floss, tissues, water. You looked over the supplies in front of you, mind racing at a million miles an hour. Despite being a hunter yourself, you weren’t exactly a natural when it came to stitching wounds and performing first aid. In fact, the sight of too much blood caused your head to throb and your legs to go numb.

Dean had already taken off his shirt, leaving you to see the full extent of his injuries. The gashes started at the top of his ribs and curled around to his left shoulder blade. Blood continued to trail down his back, causing your mouth to go dry. Pins and needles tingled your toes, and the room began to spin…

You shook off your thoughts and shifted your weight between your two feet, hoping to get some blood flow back there. You put your thoughts and discomfort behind you and prepared to begin. 

“This isn’t gonna feel great,” you said, trying to control the shake in your voice. 

“Not my first time,” he replied. 

You grabbed the needle and thread, and – with shaky hands – tried your best to thread the cotton through the eye. You sat behind him, deciding to start around his shoulder. With a damp cloth, you tried your best to clean around the area, whispering apologies whenever Dean flinched. 

“What happened?” you asked quietly, using your gentlest touch to guide the needle through. 

“I told you,” he said through gritted teeth, “werewolf.”

“Yeah, I know, but…” you trailed off. “Where’s your dad?” 

Dean clenched his jaw, and you immediately knew you had touched on a rough subject. Throughout the time that you had known Dean, you had learnt his relationship with his father was far from healthy. John Winchester was not your favourite person in the world. In fact, you and Dean had gotten into plenty of arguments about him in the past. 

“He’s not here.”

“That’s not what I meant,” you said, continuing your stitching. “Why isn’t he here?”

“Do we have to do this–?”

“--Yes.”

Dean sighed, scrubbing his hand down his face. The anger and tension radiating off him was palpable, his shoulders were tense and his breathing was heavy. You finished stitching the first gash, and tied the thread off with a neat little knot. Instead of immediately moving on to the next one, you moved around and knelt in front of Dean so you were eye level. You placed a hand on his right knee and traced gentle circles into his skin with your thumb. You raised your eyebrows, sending him a look that was simultaneously stern and empathetic.

You just wanted to know he was okay.

“We’d been stakin’ out the thing for weeks,” Dean began. “We finally pinpointed it to this boathouse. Dad was sure that it was in there, so he sent me in first to sweep the area.”

“And…?”

“Turns out it was a lot smarter than we thought,” Dean said, a dejected smile on his lips. “It was waitin’ there for us. Dad knew, but I didn’t.” 

“Then why did he send you in there?”

Dean shrugged. “Couldn’t tell you. But the thing had me on the ground before I even realized what was goin’ on. Put it’s claws in me and ran.”

You shuddered. 

“Dad didn’t stay,” Dean continued. “The second he realised it jumped ship, he went too. Left me with my phone and wallet… I walked here.” 

“What?” 

If Dean’s anger was palpable, you were damn-near irate. You pressed your lips together, trying to control yourself from spewing all sorts of profanities. If you had it your way, you would have marched your way up to John Winchester and given him what for. You would have knocked his lights out if Dean had let you. 

You stood and pressed the heels of your palms to your eyes.

"He – you? God!"

"Alright hot-head, calm down."

"No, I will not calm down!" You spun on your heel, turning to face him again. "Your own father left you for dead!"

"He's done worse."

You laughed bitterly. "That doesn't surprise me."

"Alright," Dean sighed, raising a hand to stop your tirade. "I'm okay! I'm still here, aren't I?"

"Oh yeah, you're the pinnacle of okay."

"Your sarcasm isn't helping."

You shook your head. Angry tears pricked the corners of your eyes, but you were too stubborn to let them fall.

"I just wish you would understand that you deserve better," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "You could leave his ass behind any time you like -"

"Oh yeah? And then what?"

You paused, and looked down to your feet. 

"You could come with me?" 

For half a second, Dean smiled. “You and I would kill each other in half an hour.” 

He was right – but you’d never let him admit it. 

“Why’d you text me then?” You asked. “If we’re just gonna kill one another–”

Dean shot you a pointed look. 

“– I’m serious.” You said. 

Dean stood up with a groan and walked over to you. You stood with your arms crossed, a slight frown creasing your brow. Nothing could be heard but the rain that battered against the windows and the thundering of your own heartbeat in your ears. 

Dean tucked a strand of your wet hair behind your ear, “You’re the first one I thought of… The only one I wanted here.” 

A blush crept onto your cheeks and you shook your head fondly. “You’re fantastic at changing the subject.” 

Dean winked, but his smooth-talking was soon replaced by a painful scowl. 

“Let’s finish this up later, shall we? I’d rather not bleed to death.” 

You helped Dean back to the bed and prepared to finish stitching him up. You knew this was far from over – with Dean, it never was – but for now, you would focus on the rain that pattered against the roof and the relief that Dean was with you, safe.