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ultravi0lence14 · 3 days ago

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ABANDONED GARDENS

COLLEGE!DEAN WINCHESTER X GOODGIRL!READER

WARNINGS: drug use, crude language, angst

SUMMARY: as the good girl on campus, no one would expect to see you wandering around the area’s where the stoners hung out, but not dean winchester, he knew you too well.

WORD COUNT: 1.5k

autumn air whirled around the uc berkeley campus, blowing your hair in 40 different directions. finishing your last class of the day should’ve elicited a happy feeling in your stomach, but knowing that your boyfriend mark was waiting for you at your apartment sent a shiver down your spine.

mark was a product of what your parents wanted, what everyone viewed you as; the good girl, straight A student who was going to uc berkeley to become a doctor. your family was wealthy, way too wealthy for even yourself to imagine, and they kept you on a tight leash when it came to how you were portrayed in the public.

they set you and mark up, sent a generous donation to berkeley so you could get into their medical program. nothing you ever did in life was at your accord, and you hated every second of it.

an escape was all you needed sometimes. just a small one though, one that allowed you to feel the liberation of freedom before the reality of your life came crashing down on you. the spot behind the abandoned flower garden was perfect for that. it was pretty far away from the main campus, and it had a beautiful willow tree that you enjoyed to sit and read under.

so that’s where you went. you didn’t tell mark you wouldn’t be showing up until a little while later then expected, and you didn’t really plan on it. he’d end up blowing your phone up, begging you to come keep him company.

which usually resulted in you lying on your back, pretending that the fingers he put inside of you gave pleasure other than boredom.

when you sat yourself beneath the weeping willow beside the abandoned garden, you felt your tense shoulders fall, the turmoil in your stomach settle, and all the stress and worries lift off your shoulders.

the feeling might not be permanent, but it was a good feeling for a little while.

with a book perched in your hand, you smoothed down the material of your black skirt and shifted the creme coloured sweater on your shoulders. as comfortable as you could get, the words on the page engulfed your senses as you found yourself taking a deep breath; letting all the nerves and stress leave your body.

you’d been too engrossed in your book, to lost in the story it provided, that you didn’t notice the group of three wander behind the abandoned garden.

they weren’t quiet, yet somehow your keen concentration and lack of care when it came to that group garnered you unaware to the three boys sharing a joint a couple of feet away from you. it wasn’t until one of their voices called out that you snapped your head up and noticed who was intruding into your safe space.

“well, well, well. if it isn’t the virgin mary herself.”

immediately, your head snapped up at the voice, mouth opening like a fish out of water when you made direct eye contact with dean winchester.

you knew him — obviously, for his name always floated around campus; and not for the right reasons.

as cliche as it sounded, he truly was the bad boy on campus. always with a cigarette between his lips, you never understood how dean even got into a school like uc berkeley. apparently he was apart of the business program, yet you couldn’t see him being apart of anything that didn’t contain weed, smokes, or aggressive violence.

he was always picking fights with someone. always found outside brawling with the poor sap who decided that a fight against dean was a good idea.

you loathed the man. he was everything you wished you had; freedom. you didn’t subscribe to his life choices, yet you wished you grew up with parents who gave you a semblance of individualism.

clad in dark washed jeans in a tight fitted black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dean winchester looked everything that came out of a girls dreams. while at the same time holding a tongue that came out of one’s nightmares.

“oh, fuck off winchester. why don’t you go find a jail cell to rot in?” you spat. just because you had a good reputation didn’t mean you couldn’t stick up for yourself. a backbone was important to have, and it was one thing you learned not from your parents but the real world. they wanted you to sit back and look pretty, you thought that was a wad of shit.

smirking at you, dean ignores the snickers from his two friends and quirks his eyebrow up at you. “who knew immaculate mary had a tongue on her? must be when that dope of a boyfriend isn’t around. trailing after you like a fly to shit.”

“did you just compare me to shit?” you sneered, watching in disgust as he pulled a drag from the cigarette dangling from his lips.

“if the shoe fits, sweetheart.” his words were condescending, and the urge you had to smack that smug look off of his face was getting stronger and stronger.

shaking your head, you don’t even register the scoff that leaves your lips before you are grabbing your book and backpack and walking away from the walking migraine. he was always hassling and jeering at you when he had the chance, and it always contained something about your status, your relationship with ‘mark the asshole’, or how your legs were so tightly clamped shut not even a the strongest of men could pull them open.

you didn’t care that you were a virgin, and you didn’t seem to understand why dean cared either. in all honesty, you had no idea how he even knew, but in the end, his words and blatant insults just got annoying rather than hurtful.

having sex or not was your business, and it would be a cold day in hell before you allowed dean winchester to get under your skin about the notion.

“hey, wait up princess, i wanna keep talking to you.” scampering away from his three smoking buddies who you vaguely remembered as max and stephen, dean continued following after you like a dog to his owner. “does that posh asshole of yours know you’re hanging around the burnout area? or is he too busy with his head in between camille silvers’ thighs to realize.”

it was no secret that your ‘perfect’ boyfriend mark had a wandering eye, and it was no surprise to you when rumours started spreading that he was shacking up with his childhood best friend camille.

usually in these situations, the person being cheated on would be devastated, immediately breaking up with their significant other and weeping over how they broke their heart.

in your case, you really didn’t give a fuck.

if it was anyone other than mark, there is a high chance you would be upset and fly off the handle. but again, it was mark, and he was the furthest thing from your endgame in life.

the front your parents wanted you to show everyone was far from who you actually were, and mark sadly had to be apart of that front. as much as you wanted to rip his nuts off and shove them down his throat.

halting in your steps, you turned around and crossed your arms over your chest, giving dean your weariest glare imaginable. “i don’t believe that is any of your business dean. it doesn’t involve weed or screwing over random girls, remember?”

throwing his head back in laughter, dean’s face leaned closer to yours, the smell of cigarette smoke wafting from the stick in his left hand. “aww. is the princess mad that i haven’t given her a chance?” his words were followed by his pointer finger twirling around a strand of your hair, and you had the urge to upchuck all over both of your shoes.

“i’d rather shit in my hands and clap than sleep with you.” the words came out of your teeth gritted, and when your hair was coiled tight around dean’s finger, you saw him smirk as his eyes stayed put on the silky strand of hair around his finger.

letting the tendril loosen from his finger, dean used his free hand to push the strand behind your ear before speaking to you with an even bigger grin on his face. “well, when your mind inevitably changes, you know where to find me.” his hand waved aimlessly around you, and with the move followed a cloud of cigarette smoke around the two of you like a grey haze.

you knew he was insinuating the abandoned garden, but you didn’t really care. this area always had a special place in your heart, and it didn’t matter how many potheads and junkies came to ruin that. when it was just you, it was peaceful, and you enjoyed that semblance of calm.

“don’t worry,” you spoke through a sickly sweet smile. “it won’t.” with that you turned around, hair whipping with you as you strutted away from dean winchester.

shaking his head, dean walked back over to max and stephen, both men looking at him with matching smirks on their faces. “what was that about?” max voiced around a joint, head tilting in the direction you just walked off in.

“yeah,” stephen chimed in, confusion etched on his face. “by the looks of it, you seemed like you wanted to mount her right here and now.”

“that girl man,” dean huffed, taking in a long drag of his cigarette. “she drives me fucking crazy.”

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @sunsbaby @beausling @deanswidow @deanangel @gibson-g1rl @haunteres @honeyryewhiskey @figthoughts @florchids @adrienneleclerc @dulcescorderitas @slyregg

NAT BABBLES: i’m picturing dean looking like jensen in dark angel for this series🙏🙏

#nat writes ˚౨ৎ˚#fall from grace #ultravi0lence14 #dean winchester x goodgirl!reader #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #imagine #supernatural x reader #fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester series

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impala-dreamer · 1 day ago

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Like Heaven

A Supernatural Story

~Y/N’s request might throw him off for a second, but he’s never going to deny her, not when it feels so good in her arms…~

Dean Winchester x F!Curvy Reader

1,302 Words

Warnings: NSFW, Spanking, Dean POV, Sex

For @jacklesversebingo “What, you afraid you might break me?” | Originally published to Patreon Dec 2024

Impala-Dreamer’s Masterlist ~ Patreon ~ Published Works

I’ve been to Heaven.

I have shared a beer with God.

But I have never seen anything as holy, as awe-inspiring, as fucking beautiful as when she’s riding me.

She’s usually shy, but fuck, when she gets going, when she really lets herself relax, she’s incredibly sexy. She lets her full weight drop down on me, and it’s some kinda magic because I lose my mind feeling all of her softness. The curves on this woman would drive a person to tears and they have gotten me more than once, I ain’t gonna lie. Her skin is the softest thing I’ve ever felt, and when she’s this close, I can’t take my hands off her.

Her lips are like goddamned magnets for mine; her mouth is like a drug. I physically can’t stop touching her, kissing her, tasting her. I would spend all night between those thick, juicy thighs just lapping at her sweet pussy if she’d let me. I would drown happily in her cum. Not even joking.

The noises she makes while I’m down there are so fucking hot, half the time I’m just rutting into the bed for some relief. She gets me going so fast, gets me so hard just with those fucking whimpers and moans and fuck- when she says my name in that high pitched, breathless kinda way, I am fucking done for.

Part of me wants to flip her over and go back to town on that beautiful cunt, but she is working some kinda spell on me right now. I feel like my brain is broken. I can't stop staring at her tits as she bounces on my cock. Up and down, it’s fucking mesmerizing. And her ass- so plump, slapping my thighs with each downward push. I can’t help but grab a handful, dig my nails into her cheeks.

Oh, she likes that. Got her biting her bottom lip. Fuck, I love that. Don’t hold back, baby…

“Dean…”

Fuck. I can’t take much more. She’s squeezing my cock like that’s the only thing she was born to do and I am not fucking complaining. Jesus. She’s so wet I can hear it. So fucking warm the rest of me feels cold.

“Fuck, Dean!”

God, she’s rolling her hips, grinding down. Fuck. If reincarnation is real, I wanna come back as her dildo so I can feel this every night. I could spend eternity like that… shoved deep into her cunt, being used to make her cum. Sounds fucking perfect.

She slams down and tightens on me and my cock is throbbing so hard it’s making every other muscle contract. I dig my nails into her ass again and she lets out a sharp moan.

“Yes! Fuck!”

Her jaw drops, her head falls back and I squeeze her ass again. A shiver runs through her, shaking her fully and I’m losing my mind. I wanna see her eyes roll back, wanna hear her scream.

“Please…”

I almost don’t hear it, her whisper’s so soft.

“What’s that baby? What do you need?”

She shakes her head like she can’t think, and sweetheart, that makes two of us.

I slide my hands from her ass to her hips and hold tight. I love how my fingers dent into her softness, making dimples of flesh. So fucking hot.

“Tell me what you want,” I say, holding her tight and taking over for a second. I jerk my hips up into her and I swear it looks like she’s about to fall apart. “Tell me.”

She takes a breath and looks down at me. Her eyes are heavy and hazy, her lips parted. If I could reach, I would suck on those pretty lips, hold her close until we’re breathing for each other.

She seems nervous but I buck up again and she moans it out, letting go of her worry.

“Spank me…”

Time freezes for a second as I wrap my head around her request. Sure, I’ve spanked a few chicks in my day, but she’s never asked before. I didn’t think she’d be into it.

Her palms hit my chest as she falls forward. “Please…”

Now, I am nothing if not a people pleaser, so I give her a little wink before slapping her left cheek.

She tenses up on impact and fuck if it doesn’t make her pussy even tighter.

“Harder…”

I kinda hover over her ass debating how hard I should go. Gotta remember, I can knock a demon right out of a guy with a good right hook, so I need to be careful.

She sucks in a breath and I spank her again. I can feel the sting on my palm so I know she’s feelin’ it too.

A shudder goes through her straight into me and I bite my lip so I don’t say something corny or sexist. But fuck if there’s not some porn level filth runnin’ through my head.

“Harder,” she says again, curling her fingers into my chest. It feels good but her nails are so long I’m afraid she might scratch off my tat.

I hit her again and she smiles a bit, but still wants more.

“Come on, Dean! Hit me!”

Two taps this time and she groans.

“What, you afraid you might break me?”

Now she’s got my blood boilin’ all over again and I let her have it. My hand cracks over her ass and I’m sure for a second I’ve gone too far but she melts like butter on a biscuit.

“Fuck… yes…”

Her entire body tingles and her pussy swallows me down. Fuck, she’s so tight I’m not gonna last much longer.

“Again. Please!”

I can’t see it, but I’m sure I’m leaving a handprint on her backside. I slap the same spot and she falls down, her tits crushing against my chest.

“Yes…”

She’s licking at my lips and I crack her plump ass again.

“Fuck, Dean!”

I spank her again and she muffles a scream in my chest.

She’s bouncing on me even faster now, getting wetter with each crack. I swear to God my vision’s going blurry and my heart is beating so fast I feel like I’m gonna have a heart attack but what a way to go.

Suddenly, she’s up again and I’m stuck there, somewhere between death and an orgasm. She leans back, puts her hands on my thighs and stretches herself out over me. She’s using me like a goddamned fuck toy and I am loving every minute of it.

She bites her lip and I slide my hand over her soft belly, turn my fingers down and tap on her clit.

She shakes like she’s being electrocuted so I do it again.

“God, Dean!”

Now, I’m far from being the Almighty, but I’ll take it in the bedroom setting.

“Yeah? You like that?” I ask, rubbing at her little nub and watching as her thighs start trembling.

She nods, so far away from being able to speak anymore.

“You gonna cum on my dick?”

As soon as I say it, it’s like I pressed a button and she does. She fucking cums hard on my cock. Her insides are pushing and tugging on me like some kinda damned finger trap and I can’t hold on any longer.

She’s still pulsing and I sit up and grab her, bury my face in her tits. She’s barely holding on but I got her, keeping her right there as I jerk up into her a few final times until I’m fucking broken. Cumming. Done.

I can’t let her go. Not just yet.

She’s wrapped her arms around me, got her fingers running along my scalp. I can hear her heart beating, feel her breath slowing down.

It’s fucking heaven here with her and I never wanna leave.

2025 Tag List:

@alwaystiredandconfused @caplanbuckybarnes @cevenasdove-baby @cosicas-cuquis @deanwinchesterswitch

@feelmyroarrrr @foxyjwls007 @illicithallways @Jackles010378 @k-slla

@luvr4miya @Mxtansy @nightxcreature @peytongoose @shadyloveobject

@somebrokeartstudent @the-wounded-healer05 @zepskies

Add Yourself To The List

#spn fanfiction #curvy reader #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester/you #supernatural fanfiction #jacklesversebingo 25

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zepskies · 2 days ago

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Wow, what an interesting twist on the “sex pollen/sex curse” trope! Love what a “good man” Dean is in this. 🥹 I could really feel his desperation to save her, especially when she wouldn't let him help her at first, and again when he’s praying that it worked! 😭

Also, holding off on Dean's confession until the ultimate moment was a great way to build that suspense. 👌🏽

And of course, Sam helping them figure things out from the sidelines lolll.

I really enjoyed this! ❤️‍🔥

What You Do

Main Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Love Confessions, Smut (p in v, oral both receiving, fingering), light angst, light fluff, sex pollen, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this.

But the asshole is still going to try.

Author's Note: Back on my (not) sex pollen bullshit. Enjoy!

Title from Shadowboxer by Fiona Apple

Word Count: 7.6k

Sometimes you wish Dean was just a little bit worse of a person.

He seems to think he’s a worse person. He thinks he’s a bad person.

He’s not.

Because a bad person would have left you to writhe and moan on the floor after you got hit with this stupid curse, snapping at you to stand up and pull it together. But Dean had fallen to his knees at your side, brushing away your hair and wiping sweat and blood from your skin. With his hands. Big hands. Big, warm, rough hands with strong, deft fingers that always move so deliberately, that can bruise and mark your skin and fill you up and-

You wished you’d had the strength and mind to push him away in that moment. To grab those hands and shove them away from your face, because where they were usually sparking fireworks, they were setting off nuclear explosions. You wished you’d screamed at him in that moment to at least stop cradling your face, brushing his thumbs over your cheekbones and sending lighting through your blood and into your gut.

But you hadn’t understood what this was. You’d really thought that you were just high on adrenaline and Dean’s touch, the combination making you hornier than usual.

You’d been so fucking wrong. And now Dean won’t stop being a good person, and it’s going to kill you.

He’d insisted on carrying you. You’d taken two, shaking steps, your knees had bucked in an attempt to relieve the pressure between your legs, and Dean had simply refused to let you fall.

“Dean, I can get it, I just need to keep-“

“You say trying,” He’d snapped your name, hooking his arm under your knees and hauling you up his chest. “I’ll fucking shoot you.”

Normally you would’ve protested—insisting that you did need to keep trying, and Dean was just being dramatic—but he’d been warm and strong around you, muscles flexing and shifting as he walked back to the Impala, and your face had come into dangerously close contact with his neck.

You’d bitten through your lip in order not to brush soft kisses over his jaw, suck a spot on his neck, or bite him and see what he’d do to get you back. You’d only made it to the car—and later, into the motel—because you’d been able to bury your face in his skin, and it had tided you over. The smell of Dean—evergreen and spice and gunpowder and something you knew to just purely be him—acting as an anesthetic. Dulling the stabbing, throbbing, and aching pain between your legs and in your gut, soothing your heart back down from the franticly paced rhythm it had set since you’d been hit by that spell.

When he’d set you down on the bed, there had been a brief moment of relief—no more reason to worry about accidentally jumping on him at the worst possible time—before it had all gotten worse. Dean had drawn away, and everything had become a white-hot flame on your every nerve and a sore, blistering cold on your skin. You’d screamed, Dean had rushed back to your side, and he’d started to touch you again. Looking for a wound or mark on your body that he could blame.

There wasn’t one. This was entirely the curse. And every time Dean drew away it was worse—sweat staining your clothing and shivers moving up and down your spine—so you’d agree for him to just stay near you. On the edge of the bed, not touching you because that made everything worse in a different way. Proximity was the best he could offer.

But it wasn’t a fool proof. You were still going out of your mind with desire. And Dean was not helping. He was still being a good fucking person, and he wouldn’t leave you alone. You’d been rolling and moaning into the sheets, whining and humping the air, and Dean had just sat there.

His arms had been braced on his knees. You’d almost started crying as the memory of those knees being shoved between your thighs had sent a newer, stronger wave of desire through your body.

Just another reason Dean needed to go. He’d been refusing to look at you—only staring at the floor like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen—and that makes your lungs feel like iron in your chest because why. Why wouldn’t he look at you.

It could be is that he was disgusted by the sight of you. That he’s only ever seen you like this in low, glowing darkness, and when you’re cast in the shifting sunlight between the blinds, he can’t pretend you’re just another body in a bed. Maybe this is making that too real for him. That you’re the one that makes those desperate sounds that always make his hips stutter. You’re the one who grinds like this onto his dick, and who scratches at his back the same way you’ve been scratching at the mattress.

But then sometimes Dean would look at you, and it was far worse. You couldn’t read that expression, either because he didn’t want you to, or because nothing existed outside of Dean when he looked at you. Things like reading him—studying his every breath and shift in the chair—didn’t matter. He was so handsome. Strong jaw and tanned skin, small freckles you could map in your sleep—you’ve certainly done it before, in the dead of night when he couldn’t know—and green eyes that were almost too pretty. They were like falling stars. Bright and colorful and never yours to just reach up and take. Passing by you in the night. Never colliding with you in a way that would leave a damage you’d love to suffer through.

Dean would look at you, and you’d get lovelorn and drunk on his attention, and then you’d make a lewd sound you couldn’t swallow and buck off the bed.

And he’d cough, sit up a little taller—more vigilant, like he could just defend himself for the horrible sight of you—and look away.

And you’d be left in pain and want again.

He’d kept trying to talk to you, while you waited for Sam to call him back with a name for this curse, and a way to cure it.

“So, uh.” He’d cleared his throat, the sound had been gravely and rough, and you’d almost flown out of your skin. “We’re gonna have to stick around for a few days, to make sure this isn’t a coven situation, but we can do whatever the hell we want. Long as we’re in town. I was thinking, I saw a movie theatre-“

You’d gasped, something jumpstarting in your chest and shooting into your gut at the idea of going to see a movie with Dean. His hand on your thigh in the dark, wandering up your leg and tracing pattens, leaning down to your ear to whisper bad jokes, chuckling when you told him to shut up, but fully laughing when you’d joke back-

“Shit, are you-“

“I’m fine.” You’d said, and you don’t think he’d believed you. Fuck, you hadn’t believed you. “Movie sounds good.”

“Yeah, uh, I saw a diner too. We could do a movie, and get dinner.”

You hadn’t been able to see him. You’d started to lie flat on your back a few hours ago, and Dean had been nothing more than a deep, strong voice that sounded like rainfall and crackling fire in your head. Drowning you in the sound and echoing it around your skull, ravaging through you with just noise and igniting an iridescent light on every part of you he’d touched before.

He’d touch you everywhere before. He’d touched you at a diner. Bumped his foot with yours under a table, raised his brows in a silent question, and smirked when you’d given a small nod. He’d knocked on your door that night. He’d been gone from your bed the next morning.

And dinner and a movie wasn’t what you and Dean did. You did things like that.

But Dean had been suggesting it. Saying it casually in that impossibly powerful voice. You’d had to bite down a scream at the idea of getting to lean over the table in the diner—wiping some crumbs off his lips as he grinned at you—and he’d still been talking-

“Then I saw an awesome looking carnival a town over, we could check that out-“

You’d passed out.

When you’d woken up, Dean was hunched at the side of the bed, muttering low words into his phone.

The first one you’d been able to make out was Sam.

You’d never moved faster in your life.

You’d grabbed the phone out of Dean’s hand, ignoring his grunt of protest and how touching his hand had made you a little dizzy. “Sam Winchester, if you can’t tell me what the fuck is wrong with me, I’m going to throw your fucking hair mousse-“

“I don’t- Uh-“ Sam had cleared his throat through the speaker. “How did you know about-“

“I get bored and snoop.” You’d snapped. “Nothing gets past me, Samuel, and I swear to god I’m going to take all the razors you hid and let Dean shave your head-“

“Jesus,” Sam had muttered your name, and it hadn’t been a good sign that the didn’t sound mad or annoyed. He’d sounded like he pitied you. It had made your whole body tense. “It’s really that bad, isn’t it.”

You’d frowned into the air. “I don’t-“

“The curse. You’re really pissed, Dean says you get like that when you’re, um…“ Sam had trailed off, and you’d scowled.

“When I’m what?”

“I don’t wanna say it.”

“Sam-“

“Pent up.” Sam had muttered, the words clipped through the speaker, and if the thought of him dead didn’t make your heart fracture and splinter, you would’ve killed Dean right there. The asshole.

He’d still been sitting on the bed. If you’d leaned a little closer, you would’ve collapsed over him. He’d needed to stop looking so fucking worried. Being so warm you could feel it radiating from his body and seeping into your skin and stoking that need-

“Sam,” you’d whispered, your fingers curling in the sheets and your nails pushing into your skin. “What’s going on?”

He’d let out a long breath, only static silence on the phone for a long moment before he spoke. “I think it’s a famine curse.”

“Oh.” You’d said, then blinked into the air as the words actually sunk in. “What?”

“Look, just so you know, I told Dean it was a sex curse. This isn’t really my thing to tell him, and it’s not technically a lie, but you are going to have to tell him or this, it will kill you-“

“It will what?” Your voice had cracked, and Dean had frowned.

“Are you-“

You’d given Dean a thumbs up, lowering your voice to a hushed, nervous whisper. “Sam, please just say it, I don’t know what going on and I’m so tired and it hurts-“

“It’s-“ Sam had sighed, his voice far too fucking gentle. “The thing you’ve been starved off and craved the most, you need to have it, or you’ll die.”

You’d shaken your head, falling flat onto your back. “I don’t know what I-“

“Yeah, you do.” Sam had said, and now you understood the sympathy. The pity. The rambling and awkwardness.

Because Sam knew. You’d gotten really drunk and cried about the thing to him a year ago. He rarely mentioned it, but he knew.

And this wasn’t going to get better. Not until you made it better.

Until Dean made it better.

So you were fucked.

“What do I do?” You’d whispered into the phone, closing your eyes to pretend Dean wasn’t only a few feet away. “This isn’t going to- There’s nothing that will- Sam, what do I do-“

You’d started to cry, Dean had moved to hold you in a flash—taking the phone and muttering to Sam that he’d deal with it before hanging up—and after your breathing had steady back to a ragged rhythm, you’d gotten a text from Sam.

Tell him.

You’d stared at the screen, ready to throw it across the room or smash it to pieces so you could just die in peace, and another message had come through.

Please.

And now you’re here. And Dean’s still being a good person, and you can’t do this.

He thinks it’s a sex curse. Sam had apparently said that you needed intimate connection, Dean had taken that to mean sex curse, and Sam hadn’t correct him. In Dean’s defense, it really does seem like a sex curse. You’re twisting and grinding and moaning on the bed, your skin long bare because clothing stuck to your skin and felt acidic on your body, and you’re pretty sure he can smell your arousal, but you don’t crave sex.

Dean offers you plenty of it. You haven’t wanted for sex in almost three years.

What you want is going to be impossible to have. Because Dean Winchester doesn’t do love.

And he still won’t stop being a good person.

He tells you it’s okay to rub one out. He cares so much that you’re comfortable. He keeps putting water on the bedside table so you don’t pass out again, and he coaxes you out of bed for food with slow, firm words.

“You need to eat.” He mutters, reaching for your body but flinching back at the last second. You have to bite down a whine. “You look like shit, sweetheart, and until you let someone help you, we’re going to need to keep your energy up.”

You shake your head, burying your face in a pillow and bunching the blankets between your legs, managing to relieve enough pressure to speak. “I don’t wanna.”

“Don’t wanna-“

“Move.” You mumble, rubbing your thighs together. “It hurts-“

Dean says your name, his voice low and rough and not at all helpful. “I’ve told you I’m okay dealing with this-“

“No.”

“Why the hell not? It’s nothing I haven’t done before, and you know we’re good together-“

Your gaze goes a little blurry, and you almost pass out again. He can’t keep saying shit like that.

“Dean, I-“ You roll onto your back to glare at him, and it’s a mistake. He looks concerned. And handsome. And a little flushed as he watches you hug your chest and fuck the mattress.

You can’t look him in the eyes.

You can’t really do anything at all.

“Please just drop it.” You curl further into yourself, praying he’s started to stare at the floor again. “Please.”

Dean lets out a long breath, but he does. He drops it, on the condition that you eat. And when you do, he keeps trying to talk to you, and you’re too exhausted to tell him to shut up.

“What’d you mean, when you told Sammy you snoop?” He asks, and it takes three steady breaths to answer him.

“Sometimes you guys go out, I stay behind, and I get… bored.”

“Bored?”

You nod, fidgeting with your fingers and trying not to hump your chair. “I go around and find where you’re hiding things.”

“Like...” Dean pauses and you can hear his confused frown. He’s probably making an adorable face. You wish you could look at him and not moan. “Hair gel and razors?”

“And romance books. And a secret laptop for personal use.” You drop your brow to fully rest on the table, raising your voice. “And a Taylor Swift cassette tape, and a very soft blanket, and three emergency pies-“

“Alright, alright I get it.” Dean chuckles, and the sound rolls right through your body. “You’ve really just poked in our business, huh, sweetheart?”

“You poke in mine all the time, Dean-“

“I don’t know where your secret stash of shame is-“

“And you never will,” you mumble, a small smile pulling at your lips. “I hid it where even demons wouldn’t want to go.”

Dean hums. “Sammy’s room.”

“No.”

“Your room?”

“That would be a terrible hiding spot-“

“My room?”

You’re silent for a second too long, and Dean’s tone becomes disbelieving.

“You hid it in my room?! What’d you do that for?!“

“Shut up.”

“Nah, baby, you’re gonna have to explain that one-“

“Dean!” You snap, glaring up at him. “Shut up!”

You’re looking at him. His eyes are darkened. And you’d misread his tone. It’s awe on his face. Awe and confusion.

You fall out of your seat with a moan.

Dean catches you.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, half dragging you back to the bed and placing you carefully on the mattress before digging through his jeans. “If you’re not going to let me help you, I’m calling Sam and he’ll- fuck- he’ll do it-“

“Dean, no-“

“Yes.” He snaps, shooting you an almost violent glare. “I don’t know what the fuck I did that you don’t want to touch me, and I’m not gonna cross that line, not for nothing, but we’re still fixing this. You don’t want me, you get Sam. You don’t want Sam, I’m calling Cas. You don’t want him, you better start brainstorming, sweetheart, because I’ll be damned if I’m going to just fucking sit here and watch you die-“

You’re going to start crying again. It’s all too much. He sounds angry and your cursed and addled brain can’t handle it. You’re burning up from the inside. You’re breathing and it doesn’t feel like oxygen because Dean’s mad and you can’t do anything-

“Please don’t call them.” You mumble, pulling your knees up to your chest. “They won’t be able to help.”

Dean shakes his head, his focused, furious determination not breaking. “Then what the hell will help?! Because you’re going to have sex! You’re not allowed to clock out on me,” he shouts your name, and now he just sounds pained, and it’s worse. “I don’t- I’m not- If I can’t be the cure for this we’re finding someone who can-“

“It won’t work-“

“Yes, it will! Sam said you needed to fuck, you’re-“

“That’s not what Sam said.”

There’s a long pause as Dean blinks at you, and then-

“What are you talking about.”

“He said I needed an intimate connection.”

“Yeah, sex-“

“No-“

“It’s a fucking sex curse, baby-“

“Stop saying that!” You scream, and the room seems to be spinning a little bit. “Stop calling me baby! It’s not fair, and I- I can’t- You’re making it worse, Dean! Just stop being so fucking nice!”

The silence is going to suffocate you. It’s like oil and gasoline leaking into your lungs and surrounding your body, and you’re going to drown in what feels like nothing at all as Dean’s just silent-

Dean says your name, his every word slow and measured. “What kind of curse is it.”

“Dean-“

“You said it’s not a sex curse.” He snaps. “So what the hell is it.”

You swallow, and you’re too far gone now to push back. “Famine curse.” You whisper. “I- I need something that I’ve been starved off. And craved.”

You can hear his frown. “But we fuck all the time-“

“We do.” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut and pressing your palm over your pussy. It doesn’t really help. “It’s not just about the sex. It’s- I need more.”

“More…” Dean trails off, and you’re defiantly crying now. “More intimacy? Would we like, need to cuddle or something-“

You let out a dry, humorless laugh. “More than cuddling. It’s- You’d have to- I-“

Dean says your name in a low warning, and you might break that hand between your thighs. ‘What-“

“You’d have to mean it. You’d have to, um, fuck me and-“

“And mean it? I always mean it-“

“You have to love me!” You almost scream, your mouth moving faster than any sense of self-preservation or will, and you’ve fucked it.

You’d said the thing. You weren’t even supposed to think it. You’d trained yourself to keep it only a ravenous, deep and insatiable feeling inside your body that picked up and rioted when Dean was around you and grew bitter and heavy when he wasn’t.

But you’d said it.

And he’s not gone. He didn’t fly out the door or scramble off the bed with wide eyes. He’s not reminding you in gentle but firm words that that is not what you two are supposed to be.

But what he does is worse. He leans over your body to look at you, takes your face between his hands and scans over your slack, open features, and says your name.

You pass out again.

It’s not hard, waking up. This time it’s simple and slow, a comfortable weight draped around your shoulders a sense of ease filling your whole body.

There’s a strong arm wrapped around your stomach, and a warm thumb rubbing small circles on the bare skin of your waist, and nothing is aching or painful at all.

Oh.

Oh, no.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is low in your ear, and you almost moan again. He’s not naked behind you, but he’s changed into sweats, and his shirt is gone. You can’t stop the frantic grind of your ass back into him, or the desperate sound that leaves you when Dean’s grip tightens, stopping any further attempt to move on him.

“Please,” you whisper, squirming against him, because if you’re going to die from something as dumb and pathetic as this, you might as well go out with Dean buried inside you. “Dean-“

“None of that right now.” He mutters, completely pinning you against his chest. “Not yet. We gotta talk first.”

“Dean-“

“You want me.”

“Yeah.” You mumble, and Dean hums, his voice slightly hoarse.

“You love me?”

“I love you.” You can’t stop the words, and he’s still not gone.

His hand starting to drift lower. And when he speaks, and his voice is almost a growl, and you’re going to implode or explode or something. Burst into flames somehow, because that’s his I’m going to fuck you so good, baby, voice.

“You need me to mean it?” He mutters in your ear, and you nod weakly.

“Yeah, Dean, but you don’t have to-“

Dean grabs your chin and angles your head back, slamming his lips into yours with a bruising but careful force, and you don’t explode. You melt. Molding against his body and going slack in his arms, leaning your head back to try and devour the taste of him. Cheap coffee and mint and that purely Dean thing that’s always been like a drug. Always hooked you and dragged you right into him.

This won’t be different. It might end in your heart literally breaking, but you’ll still be chasing him until your legs give out. If he catches you, he catches you. If he doesn’t-

There are worse deaths that this.

“Sit back, sweetheart.” Dean murmurs against your skin, dragging his thumb over your lower lip. “I’m going to mean it so hard you’ll see stars.”

“Dean, I- It’s more than that-“

He cuts you off with another kiss. He needs to stop doing that, because now he’s being soft and sweet, running his tongue over your teeth and letting you melt all the way into his touch without thought. Teasing you with a deep hum that you can feel in his chest behind you, making your eyes flutter close as you let yourself get lost in him. How good he is, how he good tastes, how good his hands feel as they start palm at your tits-

You gasp as he pinches and rolls a nipple between his fingers, and you’re already so overstimulated from nothing at all that it’s like being slammed with a freight train. A good freight train. A freight train that’s made of Dean’s mouth starting to wander down your neck, and his thumb rubbing soothing circles around the peak of your breast.

“I know, baby.” Dean keeps speaking against you, and it only stokes the borderline maddening need for him in your body. “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

He’s got you. You’re drowning in this almost primal need for him, and he still hasn’t said the thing that would save you, but he’s got you.

And you’d trust him. With everything you have, you trust Dean. Every single shadowed and scarred and mauled part of you has long known that, even when you have nowhere and no one, you have Dean. Not the way you want, but at your side in the day and above you in the dark. He can be a protector and a secret. You really could’ve lived with both, if it wasn’t for this stupid fucking curse.

But Dean says he’s got you, and you can’t think of anything to do but believe him. Especially because this isn’t the dark. There are lamps on, and he can see you. All of you, naked in his arms, and making lewd sounds as his knee shoves between your legs and his mouth starts to suck small marks on your neck.

He’s never done that before. Dean’s only marked you between your thighs and on your breasts. You think he’d liked that only he would be the one to see them. He’d been possessive every time he’d put laid them there, muttering low praise and gripping you tight enough to bruise your hips, tracing rough fingers over the dark spots with a gleam in his eyes you’d never allowed yourself to read into.

He’s being possessive now, too. Every time he moves to a different spot on your neck, he kisses the mark he’d just left, and he’s trapping you against his knee with an arm over your stomach, growling as you grind against him and throw your head back on his shoulder.

“Dean,” you gasp, your nails digging into his skin as he flicks your nipple. “God, please, I- I need- Need it-“

“’S alright, pretty girl.” He mutters, and your hips jerk against him. “Just let go, I’m here-“

You scream as you cum, and Dean grabs your chin, keeping your head against him as he swallows the sound with a groan.

“There’s one.” Dean smiles against your lips, and your wiggle against him as he rubs his knee back and forth on your cunt. “Good work, baby.”

For a second, everything is okay again. Dean’s kisses wander over your jaw, he’s still holding you, and the bliss in your body is only a clear, dazed light in your head and gentle warmth in your gut.

But then the light becomes blinding and searing in your skull, and the warmth becomes fire. Leaving blisters on your organs and making your skin spiked and wired and burnt-

You barely have a moment to shriek before Dean’s kissing you again, and it dulls everything but the pleasure. Just Dean’s tongue pressing onto yours, his hands gripping you by your hips and rolling you onto your back, his body covering yours entirely as he pulls away with a wide, almost boyish grin to look at you.

You’re a mess. You must be a mess. You’re wet in every possible sense of the word—arousal leaking between your thighs you know he’d been able to feel on his knee, sweat pressing your hair to your brow and staining the sheets below you—and you’re flushed and panting and a little fucking dizzy as you hang on the edge of. This isn’t how you’d want Dean to see you. Not like this, not for the first and last time, not when your breathing is ragged and you’re already wrecked and he looks like a god-

“You’re so fucking hot,” he mutters, shaking his head like he almost can’t believe. “Shit, baby, you’re gorgeous.”

You whine, because it’s all your mouth can manage to figure out how to do, and if you’re hot Dean’s volcanic. His nostrils are flaring as he scans over you, his skin looking like it fucking glows and his body carved from your deepest desires, and his cock is big and proud and poking on your thigh, and his eyes-

There’s a gleam in them. The possessive gleam you’ve never seen in full light. It’s intoxicating, and aimed at your soul like the barrel of a gun.

Dean starts to move again, and all you can do is let him work. Let him leave those same marking kisses down your chest—between and across your breasts, briefly sucking each nipple between his lips and flicking it with his tongue before moving on—and over your stomach, trailing feather-light touches over your torso and arms and waist, driving you out of your mind as you focus on breathing. Just breathing as your body starts to roll and rush with pleasure, and your head just spins around Dean. Everything smells like him, and you can hear him groaning against your skin, and you can feel him everywhere.

He’s reached your abdomen. And when his mouth finally drops lower, all he does is press one, soft kiss right over your clit before drawing back. Letting two broad fingers run over and between your pussy lips, spreading your folds wide for him to see and pressing his thumb right over your cunt without breaching inside.

“So fucking wet,” Dean says your name, and you really wish you could see his face right now. See if he looks as awestruck as he sounds.

You make a strangled sound that’s supposed to be his name, and he chuckles.

“Jesus, babygirl, you’re fucking soaked. Bet this pussy is ready for a proper fucking.” He presses his thumb slightly down, and if you had the energy to spring off the bed, you would. “But I think you’re going to need to hold it for a second. Let me get you nice and ready to take this cock.”

Your fingers curl in the bedsheet as you try to figure out how to scream at him to just take you, to stop being so fucking good and just fuck you, but you can’t. All you can do is listen to Dean’s deep, lustful drawl and hope you look half as pretty as he pretends you are.

Dean drags your hands from the sheets to tangle in his hair, and all you get is a small squeeze of your thighs before he’s shoving them fully apart and burying his face in your cunt.

It’s unfair, how good Dean is at this. He can’t be handsome and funny and able to ruin you with just his mouth, but he is. He knows exactly how to touch and taunt and toy with you, how to play with your pussy until you’re higher than fucking heaven. He tongue-fucks your cunt with an almost brutal fervor, and his strong nose rubs back and forth of your clit, and fuck, his hands are teasing at your thighs and keeping your legs split open for him to devour you.

You’ve never made these sounds before, and it’s spurring him on. Dean starts to circle your clit with his tongue, licking and sucking and rolling until you’re in a frenzy, and his stubble is perfectly soft and rough on your skin, and his teeth are grazing you ever so slightly-

You don’t scream this time. You moan and choke on air as you cum, and a flood of warmth rushed through your dripping cunt as you tug at Dean’s hair.

He rises up, wiping his face of something shiny and wet that you might have put there, and grins at you with bright, sparkling eyes.

“I didn’t know you could squirt.” He examines his fingers, looking back to you with a wide grin “We’re gonna have to figure out how to make you do it again, though, because that was fucking hot.”

You didn’t know you could squirt either. And you’d linger on how you might not have an again, but this relief is lasting longer, and Dean decides it’s a good idea to lick his fingers clean.

You’d had just enough strength to push up on your palms. You almost collapse back down at the sight, the ache starting to reignite between your legs.

But it’s not enough to hurt, though. This orgasm seems to be cresting, tiding you over for a little until the curse regains its hold on your body, and you plan to take full advantage of that. Dean’s still hard. And massive. And fucking throbbing.

You need him. Now.

When you move to your knees, crawling forward on the bed, Dean’s eyes widen.

“Shit, wait, sweetheart-“

You surge up when you meet him, crashing your lips to his and hanging off his body as he holds you upright. Thank god, he lets you have this. Dean groans into your mouth and ruts into your thigh, tugging on your hair to grant himself further access to your lips and throat.

You lower yourself to your knees and take Dean’s cock in your hands, slowly pumping him as he keeps a hand in your hair, shaking his head slightly.

“Baby, you don’t have to-“

“I do.” You whisper. You have to. Not for the curse, but for you. He needs to feel good too. You have to taste him, feel him heavy on your tongue and hear him groan when you touch him-

“I-“ He lets out a low groan as you run your thumb over his already weeping slit, and God, he’s so handsome. “Are you feeling-“

“I’m good. I promise.” You stroke him one last time before leaning back, rising your arms over your head as you hold his gaze. “Please.”

“Jesus,” Dean mutters your name, rubbing his jaw. “You’re- shit, okay.”

You smile at him as he moves to straddle your chest, bracing one hand on the headboard and the other in your head.

“Don’t know what the hell I did to deserve you, baby.” He mutters, pressing his dick on your lower lip and grunting when you part for him. “So fuckin’ pretty. Gonna fuck your mouth until you scream, sweetheart, so you need to-“

You grip Dean’s thighs, fully opening your mouth in a silent invitation, and his eyes flash, his hand tightening in your hair.

It’s all the warning you get before Dean shoves his cock between your lips and starts to rut into your mouth. He’s bumping the back of your throat and groaning your name above you, and he looks divine and tastes like salt and earth and Dean.

“God, you feel so good,” his words are fully slurring, low and almost a growl as you hollow your cheeks. “Shit, babygirl, you’re a fucking sin, look so beautiful suckin’ my cock, so fuckin’ good-“

He’s so fucking good. Dean’s head thrown back and his eyes hooded and trapped on yours, his biceps flexing as he leans forward and angles your head, and the ache is starting bubble over again so you drift a hand between your legs, and every time his hips jerk you whine and swallow around him-

“Fuck-“ Dean hisses, and he pulls away from you with a pop and groan, grabbing your wrist and pinning it back above your head. “Can’t do that yet, I told you we need to hold on-“

“Please,” you whisper, the pain starting to become overwhelming again. It’s worse this time. You feel like you’re being flayed alive every second Dean’s skin isn’t pressed to yours, and you don’t know how much longer you can hold on for. “Dean, I need you, please.” You almost sob, and his jaw clenches. “I’m sorry, I just, it hurts-“

This is the softest kiss so far. Just a press of his lips on yours, the type of kiss you’d give a real lover, just to assure them you’re there. That you’ve got them and you’re never letting go.

“I know, sweet girl, I know. I’m gonna take care of you.” Dean scans over you, his voice so painfully gentle. “How do you-“

“However you want.” Your voice is barely a breath, and you spread your legs as wide as you can, praying he’ll just take what he wants.

But he’s a good person. So he doesn’t. Dean presses one last kiss to your brow, rolls you above him, and guides you down onto his cock.

You make a loud, shameless sound of relief as he bottoms out. You’re in a daze of pure Dean—filling you up and pressing deep inside of you and so good—and when you start to rock your hips, he lets you. Dean just watches you grind onto his dick with a dark, slightly glazed expression, grunting when you roll in a circle and holding you upright by your waist.

He lets you set the pace, lets your hands wander over every scar on his chest and your body writhe above him.

“Dean-“ You gasp, falling forwards to kiss him deep and desperate into the pillows. “I- you’re- God-“

He sucks on your upper lip, his voice only a growl that rumbles right into your cunt. “Say it again.”

“Dean-“

“No.” His hips jerk up, his grip tightening slightly. “Say the thing.”

“I love you,” you moan, and this time there’s no panic. He already knows. And whatever he asks of you, you’ll offer. Anything to stay here. Stuffed with Dean’s cock, a little high on how he’s watching you like you’re the first sunrise. “I love you, Dean, you’re- fuck, you’re so good-“

The sound that leaves Dean is feral, and he flips you over without effort. Pulling out briefly to reposition you beneath him, slapping the head of his cock on your clit, and shoving back into you with a groan and deep, rough kiss.

His pace doesn’t change from what you’d set. It’s almost in perfect time, rolling his hips to press against the deepest part of you and kissing all over your face as he drags you right back up to the edge.

“Look at you, baby. Takin’ this cock so fuckin’ good,” he grunts in your ear, his skin slapping against yours. “So pretty, such a tight, sweet pussy, so good, all mine-“

You moan, squeezing around him, and Dean groans, speeding up just enough to slam against at gooey, needy spot inside of you.

“There we go, sweetheart, gimme one more-“

You shake your head, clinging to his shoulders as he starts to rub furious circles on your clit. “Dean- I can’t-“

“You can. I know you can, baby, you gotta cum-“

“Dean-“

“C’mon!” He growls your name, and he sounds almost desperate. “I’ve gotcha, baby, I’m here, you just gotta cum for me, fuckin’ cum-“

You think you scream his name. You’re not really sure. Pleasure numbs your every other sense as your orgasm hits, and all you can hear is your blood pounding in your ears and Dean’s voice, right next to your ear.

“I love you,” he says your name, and you really wish the world wasn’t just light and hazy warmth right now. “So much, and I- fuck- I need you. Please.”

The next few moments are utter oblivion. You can’t tell if you’re cured or not, because all you can smell and feel is Dean and warmth leaking between your thighs, but all you can hear are Dean’s words bouncing around your head, and all you can see is white.

He loves you.

He needs you.

And when you come back down, your vision clearing and every bit of pain evaporating into the air, you feel good.

Dean’s no longer above you. He’s moved you into his lap, and he’s holding you to his chest as if you’re a stuffed animal. Your face his pressed into his neck, and his voice is low enough you can’t make out exactly what he’s saying, but it sounds like he’s praying.

You wait a second as your mind returns to your body, and he’s not praying. He’s mostly just saying your name, over and over again, but his tone is heavy and rough, and it sounds like a prayer.

“Dean,” you whisper, pushing slightly off of his chest to meet his wide eyes. “I-“

He kisses you. But this isn’t one of the soft, reassuring kisses, or the heady, lustful ones. It’s long and deep and careful, and it feels like he’s trying to push his breath into your throat. He’s holding you like you’re fragile and—when he pulls away and presses his brow to yours—looking at you like just his gaze might turn you to mist in his hands.

“Did it work?” His voice is strained, his fingers digging slightly into your skin like he’s trying to tether you together, or drag you into his body. “Are we good?”

You nod, pressing a small kiss to the corner of his mouth because you can’t help yourself. “We’re good.”

“Thank fuck.” He lets out a long breath, his eyes squeezing shut. “Son of a bitch, I had the three orgasms down, but Sam said you I’d have to say it during climax, and he didn’t say if it would be mine or yours so I had to take the gamble-“

“Sam said?!” You lean away from him, gaping slightly. “When did you ask Sam-“

“After you said you love me, then passed out.” Dean gives you a flat look. “You weren’t going to be helpful, sweetheart, and I needed to know how to fix this.”

“You-“ You swallow, flushing as you force yourself to hold his gaze. “Did you- Did you know you could fix it? After I told you how?”

Dean nostrils flare, and he nods. “Yeah.”

“And did you mean it?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “Curse wouldn’t have worked if I didn’t, sweetheart.”

You roll your eyes, whacking his arm. “Shut up, I’ve had a long day-“

“You’ve had a long day?” Dean raises his brows, his grin becoming shit eating. “The girl I love almost just died because she would just let me fuck her-“

“Well how was I supposed to know you loved me! You’d never said it-“

“Neither had you-“

“Yeah, but- you-“ You scowl at him, even as you drop your brow back to his. “You never fucked me with the lights on.”

“You never asked me to fuck you with the lights on.” Dean lets out a long breath, tracing his thumb over your cheekbone. “I thought you just didn’t want me to.”

“Oh.” You sigh. “Well, fuck.”

Dean chuckles in agreement, nodding. “Also, did you tell Sam and not me-“

“By accident-“ You pause, your eyes widening on Deans. “Wait, he didn’t know that you-“

“He was the only person that knew. The little bitch.” Dean grumbles, and you giggle, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Sam is not little.”

“He’s gonna be little when I’m done with him. Letting me think you didn’t love me when he fucking knew-“

“I did tell him not to say anything.” You offer. “There were threats of stabbing.”

“He shoulda risked it.” Dean snaps, and you just hum against his skin.

You could get used to this.

You really need to make sure it’s real, and that the oblivion wasn’t actually death, and you’re not just in heaven right now. You probably wouldn’t actually make it to heaven, but it could also just be a really creative hell, so you have to check.

“Dean?”

He grunts, tracing pattern on your hips, and you let out a slow breath.

“How long have you… loved me?”

“I-“ He sighs, not quite meeting your eyes. “A while.”

“How long is-“

“Long enough that I don’t remember.”

“Oh.” You mumble, and he lets out a dry chuckle.

“How about you?”

“Forever.” You whisper, scanning over his face to figure out if you can find what you’d somehow missed before.

And there it is. In the light, it’s easy to see. Clear, soft and solid love written on Dean’s every feature, all of it designed for you. It’s not really in his eyes or the curve of his lip, or how he’s holding you or shifting to keep you comfortable above him. It’s all of it together, spelling out so obviously that Dean loves you.

You wonder if he can see something similar on you. If that’s why his eyes flash and his lips part, his hands stilling on your body and his voice growing rough.

“Are we- Is this it?”

“This-“

“Us.” He mutters, and you’ve never seen him nervous before. Bowing his head as he blushes, leaning a little closer to your body like he could move into you forever. “Together.”

“I-“ Your fingers trace over a scar on his abdomen, and you take a long breath. “Do you want to do this? Us?”

“More than anything.”

“Oh.” You swallow, and Dean looks up at you with an almost panicked expression.

“Do you- I get it if you don’t, Sammy and I don’t have a great track record, but I fucking swear, baby, I’d-“

It’s your turn to cut him off with a kiss. And when you pull back he looks a little dazed, and you smile.

“I want you, Dean. More than anything.”

Dean drags you into a deeper longer kiss, he really is the best person you’ve ever known.

A worse person wouldn’t hold you like this. A worse person wouldn’t say they love you and make sure you feel it in your bones. A worse person could never smile like Dean does—wide and toothy and bright—or light up your whole world with just his presence and voice.

“You and me, baby?”

“Okay.” You smile back, and he’s so good. “You and me.”

“Awesome.”

End Note: Is it even porn if it isn't emotional??? Am I even me if I don't make it emotional??

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@deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco @elle14-blog1

@impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @itsdearapril @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused

@arcticwisteria @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch

@ilovedeanwinchester4 @sleepykittycx @immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101

@chi-raz @lori19 @wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh

@woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber

#Good Man Dean #good assist from Sam lol #dean winchester #dean winchester fanfiction #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #sam winchester #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester smujt #zepskies reads

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sunsbaby · 20 hours ago

Text

༝༚༝༚

ּ ֶָ֢ 𓍯𓂃 dean winchester x cupid!reader | valentines day special 18+ |

You'd met Dean when he was at his lowest, in which you pulled him up with soft gentle hands. Filling his heart with the love you normally struck within others. He was in debt to you, even if you told him it didn't matter.

"Let me take care of you, baby." He said pleading you with those eyes, his hands were glued to your hips. It was Valentine's day, and Dean wanted to show you all the love you deserved.

He already started the day showering you with chocolates and flowers, everything he found with hearts on it—you had. Now, as the sun set and the moon's light slipped past the blinds, all he wanted to do was take care of you. Just how you took care of him.

"Dean, you've done enough today, it's all perfect." You said, your hands moving to toy with his short locks. Gentle eyes looking up towards his.

His lips found yours in a passionate kiss, shushing you as his body pressed against yours. Slowly walked you towards the bed until the two of you dropped down on top of it. His hands find their way onto your thighs, pulling the flesh apart.

"Please, baby." He practically whined—Dean whining, you couldn't say no. Especially when he gave you those puppy eyes, all love-sick and sweet. So, you gave him a nod, watching as he moved between your thighs.

You hadn't been wearing shorts nor pants, seeing as the two of you stayed home all day. You didn't mind of course, wine and movies with your love was all you wanted. Dean's breath fawned on your clothed pussy, cooling the damp spot that had formed.

He nipped at the inside of your thighs, leaving little teeth marks in his wake. He sucked and gripped them tight as he got closer, hickeys littered the flesh. His fingers teased the fabric of your panties, slowly pulling them away and off of you.

As soon as they were tossed somewhere on the floor to be forgotten about, he dived in. Eating your pussy like a man starved. He lapped at your juices—pulling moans and mewls from you like nothing. He didn't falter, his grip on your thighs keeping you from closing them.

Your hands grasped onto his hair, hips bucking against his face as his nose hit your clit perfectly. Noises fell from your lips and struck his heart like one of your arrows, they fueled him on. His hips bucked against the mattress as his own groans slipped past his arousal coated lips.

A knot formed in your lower belly as your head fell back, the grip on his hair tightened drastically, now chasing your own release with no mind to how he feels. But, Dean was having the best night of his life. Tongue deep in his little cupids pretty pussy, drinking in your juices like a glass of whiskey.

"Dean!" You shouted as you came, which he obviously lapped up like a dog. He continued his attack on your clit, even as your high crashed down on you.

"There's my pretty baby." He murmured against your thigh as you came, he pulled away from your now swollen cunt. Planting a soft kiss to your soaked slit he moved back up to face you. "Y'still think I had 'done enough?'" He asked, a stupid smile etched onto his features.

He stared at your fucked out expression with such love and admiration he'd never shown to anyone else. Yet, as he lay next to you, tangled up as you slept on his chest all he could think about was how much he really did care for you and love you. Dean didn't think he could love, all he did was hurt.

You changed something inside him, in that moment Dean Winchester realized, you were just what he needed in life.

sunny yaps! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY EVERYONE!!(I POSTED THIS BEFORE VALENTINES 😽) heres a Dean smut for you all! AS I'VE SAID MANY TIMES I AM NOT THE BEST AND THIS ISN'T PROOF READ PLEASE DONT BEAT ME UP!! I LOVE YOU ALL 💋 KISSES!!

special tags! @figthoughts @bluemerakis @dulcescorderitas

#sunnys drabble ⋆˚｡#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean x reader #dean x you #supernatural #jensen ackles #supernatural x reader #dean winchester x cupid!reader #dean x cupid!reader #cupid!reader #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester smut #supernatural smut #valentines day

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starzify · 1 day ago

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patch you up — dean winchester

pairing dean winchester x fem!reader

warnings smut | foreplay | unprotected p in v (do not try at home 😱😱)

SPN MASTERLIST

The last vampire went down after a brutal tag-team effort, Dean landing the decapitating blow with a grunt of satisfaction. He turned to you, ready with some cocky remark, but froze when he saw the gash along your shoulder, blood seeping through your torn sleeve.

“We need to get out. Now.” His voice was sharp, harsher than he meant.

“There’s still more,” you argued, glancing around the dark room.

“I don’t care.” He grabbed your wrist, checking for injuries before pulling you toward the door. “We’ll handle it later. Move.”

—

He’d offered you his jacket, but you’d declined. This was not how he’d dreamed it. You sat in the passenger seat of his baby, your dress torn and bloodied, your face sour, refusing to look at him. He heard you take a deep breath and braced himself for your snide comment.

“What were you thinking? You could have gotten us killed.” You didn’t even sound mad, you stated it like a fact.

He couldn’t help but do a double take as he processed your words. “Me? We had a plan, and that wasn’t it. What were you thinking, going off alone with them?”

“I had to think on my feet, and it was going perfectly until you barged in and fucked it all up. God I am so sick of you.”

“Perfect my ass! Putting yourself in dange-”

“I was fine, you put me in danger.” He opened his mouth to interject but you continued, going full rant. “They saw you sniffing around the club, and when you broke in, they saw you on the CCTV. It wasn’t exactly hard to put two plus two together. You always do this, you underestimate me. I am not some damsel in distress, I can handle myself.”

The air was thick with bitter tension as he drove the rest of the way to the motel in silence. He didn’t like you going off alone like that, but maybe you had a point. Hunting wasn’t exactly the safest of jobs, and you’d made it this far without him. He should have apologised or tried to smooth things over, but instead, he asked, “Well, princess, will you at least let me patch you up?”

You watched with furrowed brows as he cocked his thumb to point at his room. He’d expected you to ignore him and head for your own room, but you agreed with a nod and crossed your arms as you followed him inside.

He didn’t try getting you to sit in his lap. You sat yourself on the end of the bed as he located his makeshift first-aid pack.

“Should I put the TV on?” He asks, knowing it’ll likely be a long, quiet process if not.

You glare, and he knows he shouldn’t be, but he’s reminded of the look you’d given him across the dancefloor earlier and everything else he’s associated with it. Eventually, you answer. “Whatever.”

He sighs, switches on the TV, and begins patching you up in silence. He tries to be gentle, but the alcohol makes you hiss and groan as he cleans you up. Every moan evokes an indecent image that makes his skin burn with inappropriate arousal. He wonders if you sound the same in bed.

When the worst of the damage is patched up, he starts cleaning up the excess blood, checking for any he might have missed. Blood from the cut across your chest has gathered and congealed in your cleavage. He hooks a finger on the low neckline of your dress and looks to your face for approval. You’re unbothered, eyes fixated on the TV screen with such distaste he wonders if inanimate objects can take offence.

He tugs at the dress, not enough to expose anything but enough to get your attention. You glance down at his hand, then to his face, and shrug before diverting your attention back to the TV. Taking that as permission, he pulls your dress down, almost certainly too far. He takes an involuntary moment to soak in the image, blood and bandages included, you were a vision in your lacy black bra.

Your deliberate coughing brought him back to the present, and he made quick work of cleaning your chest, avoiding your gaze as he worked. When he was done, you pulled your dress back up without delay. You made no move to get up, and he made no effort to move you. Instead, you continued to sit in awkward silence. Both of you too stubborn to speak first.

When you finally broke the silence, you didn’t sound angry anymore, just tired, worried. “The rest of the nest is gonna be on our trail.”

“I know.” He conferred, trying to match your energy. “But it’s almost sunrise, we have time to rest and regroup before tomorrow night.”

“And will I be allowed to fight them, or would you like to cover me in bubble wrap?” Your voice still lacked malice, just sarcasm.

Without taking the time to think through his words, Dean replied. “You can do whatever you want. Just don’t blame me when you get yourself killed, or worse turned.”

“There you go again.” You leaned away from him, rolling your eyes, exasperated. “All your mouth does is talk dumb shit.”

“My mouth does plenty, thank you very much.”

“Like what?” You ask, tone defiant as you watch him through your lashes. The words were wrong, but the intense gaze matched his fantasy. He half expected you to reach out and pull him in for a kiss. When you don’t, he does it for you. You taste like salt and booze, but your lips are so soft, they melt right into his.

When you pull away, he braces himself for you to yell, or punch, or leave, but instead, your eyes rake over his face. He notices the heat in his cheeks when you comment, “Are you blushing, Winchester? Because of me?”

“No, it’s hot in here.” He replies curtly, still not wanting to give you the upper hand.

“Funny.” You aren’t laughing as you look around the room. “I’m pretty cold.”

“You lost a lot of blood. That’s one of the symptoms.”

“Isn’t delirium also a symptom. If it’s that bad, are you taking advantage of me?” You raise brows at him, challenging him.

In return, he shoots you with the most puppy-dog concerned face he can muster. “Are you? Delirious? Should we stop?”

“No, get back over here and kiss me.” Now you reach for him, placing both hands on his cheeks and pulling him closer until your lips lock again. Mid kiss, you straddle him, holding him still with your arm around his neck as you begin to grind against his clothed erection.

He paws at the skirt of your dress until you get the hint and pull it over your head. He only gets a second to enjoy the view before you return the gesture, lifting his shirt up until he finishes the job for you. By the time he’s done, you’ve removed your bra as well. He greets the unobstructed sight of your breasts by planting himself between them, lavishing them with his mouth, sucking and nibbling at your nipples as you roll your hips against him.

Offering you reprieve, he pulls back to watch you as he dips his hand into your panties, happy to be greeted by the slick between your folds. Not bothering to tease, he plunges a finger straight in, enjoying the way your heat immediately clenches around him. He pumps the solo digit a few times before adding a second and a third, and you take each one perfectly. The sounds you make are just how he’d dreamed it, but also somehow better.

The best sound is the squeal you make as he quickly retracts his fingers and switches your position, laying you flat on your back as he straddles your thighs. You take it in your stride, however, and plant your hands on his shoulder before slipping them down his chest to hook into the waistband of his jeans. You work together to undo his belt and jeans. Dean shimmies them down just low enough to expose his dick. You must like what you see because he notices the way you lick your lips at the sight. He makes a mental note to see about putting your mouth to good use at a later time.

Your whole body seems to shiver when he runs the tip of his hardened cock between your slit, deliberately circling your clit.

“You like that?” He coos.

You respond by pushing him off you. He concedes, rolling onto his back and letting you mount him once again. “Shut up.”

He laughs but otherwise does as he’s told, barely able to keep his composure as he takes in the sight of you. You grip his cock, pumping a few times before you start lining him up with your entrance, and he prays you don’t mock his blushing again.

You don’t say anything, but you lock eyes with him as you slide his cock between your lips and sink down onto him. Fuck, you feel so fucking good, better than he could have imagined. Your walls are tight and wet around him, and he can’t help but grip onto your hips, not to force you down, but to make sure you don’t retreat.

When you reach the base, you seize all movement, presumably allowing yourself to adjust, but he can’t help rocking his hip beneath you. You both groan in sync at the feeling.

“Impatient.” You scold, but your voice is soft and dreamy.

“Can’t help it.” He returns, thrusting up again and enjoying the way your eyes roll back in response. “You feel too good, you take it so well.”

You glare at him, challenging him as you reposition your feet, readying to start, and he bites his lip in anticipation.

With no further warning, you start riding him, setting a fast, reckless pace, and releases your hips to fists at the sheets, trying to distract himself from the fact he’s already about to blow his load.

“I think I’m gonna-”

He’s cut off by the immediate narrowing of your eyes. “Don’t you dare, not until I’ve cum first. You owe me.”

“Fuck. Yes ma’am.” He groans through gritted teeth as you continue to fuck yourself on his cock.

It’s agonising, watching you sway above him, taking what you want from his body. He watches with bated breath as you start to play with your clit, pleasuring yourself. His whole-body jerks, trying to hold back when he feels your walls squeeze around him. You lol your head back, moaning to the ceiling when you finally hit your climax.

Your body slows as you try to catch your breath, but it’s Dean's turn. He sits up, lifting you by your ass just enough to ease the process of him rutting up into your leaking cunt.

“I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum deep inside you.” He chants.

You nod, blasé and tell him; “Do it.”

As if on demand, he shoots his load, spilling inside you with a loud, animalistic groan.

Your weight falls on him, your head resting against his shoulder. He feels his own energy slowly draining as well, but that doesn’t stop him from placing absentminded kisses on the back of your neck as he carefully falls back against the bed, taking you with him. Of everything that had happened that night, cuddling was the most surprising to him.

After a few minutes he speaks up, shifting to guide you back up. His soft cock slips out, and he feels his own cum drip back onto him. “We should get cleaned up.”

“Yeah.” You nod, taking his queue, standing from bed, and heading for the bathroom to get cleaned up. “And we should really start working on a plan nightfall.”

“Maybe we should get some rest first. Regroup when we're not both exhausted.”

“Are you kidding.” Your head pokes out of the bathroom door. “They could be on our trail right now… What?”

“Nothin’.” He shrugs. All the tension you’d just released together was already building back up. “You just don’t ever fucking change.”

tags: @ultravi0lence14 @beausling @bluemerakis @chevroletdean @dulcescorderitas @deansbeer @figthoughts @florchids @haunteres @h8aaz @j2archives @rafespreciosa @sunsbaby @soldiersgirl @sunsettsam @titsout4jackles @turnerrst @whisperingdaze

cassie chats: i was gonna make this a lil drabble but my freaky ass got carried away 💔💔

#cassie writes 𐙚˙⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #supernatural #spn #jensen ackles #jackles #jensen fucking ackles

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hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog · 1 day ago

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New fanfic author to watch out for- 🥵🔥

| STRESS RELIEF - DEAN W.

NOTES . . . I have to be up in around 2 hours to work a full day at the barn and I'm too anxious to sleep so I wrote some smut 🙃 strawberry girl is still in the works but this is just a quick thing to pass time

WORD COUNT . . . 845 exactly.

SUMMARY . . . After a stressful day of driving for hours on end hunting down a monster, you and Dean indulge in some much needed stress-relief. (y'all fuck).

WARNINGS . . . literally just smut so MDNI!! f!reader, unprotected sex (don't do this irl), cowgirl, soft sex, petnames, a little bit of cockwarming, basically no plot, I think that's it but lmk if I missed anything, written in regular text under the cut cause I'm blind as hell, NOT proofread

The bedsprings of the motel room's mattress creaked in rhythm with your movements, groaning underneath the shared weight of you and Dean. Your breaths came in soft pants, eyes shut in bliss as you fucked yourself on his cock, the tip nudging that spongy spot inside of you that your fingers never managed to reach. You both had been going at it for a while, a creamy ring forming on the base of his cock — a mess created from your shared orgasms. Dean's eyes were glued to your breasts, watching the supple flesh as you bounced on him. Your thighs were aching, shaking slightly from the effort it took to keep yourself upright. You were already tired to begin with, the stress of the long day wearing you down, but that wouldn't stop you.

Dean seemed to notice your silent struggle, the way you weren't riding him as smoothly as you were just moments ago. Your hips stuttered, nails digging into his chest where your hands once lay flat for support. A choked, desperate little whine escaped you, and he took that as his cue to step in — despite how pretty you looked, skin sweaty and features twisted in a mix of exhaustion and pleasure.

“Shh, I got you, baby,” Dean spoke, voice breathless, as his hands clasped your hips. When he squeezed the soft flesh, the coldness of his ring was a contrast against your heated skin. His gripped tightened, his brows furrowing as his lips parted in concentration. He lifted you up, and down, slamming you back onto his cock. You cried out in pleasure, stars bursting behind your eyelids as he let out a low moan of his own. “Y'need me to help, huh, sweet girl?”

“Yes, please, De-”

Dean interrupted your breathy plee, planting his feet flat on the mattress. His grip on your hips tightened, fingers leaving indents in the fatty flesh, and using it as leverage to lift you up and down. His hips buck wildly for a moment, but it only takes a few seconds to work into a rhythm that has you both moaning in pleasure, hips thrusting up in time with his movements dragging you down. You collapsed against his chest, moaning in his ear as you clenched around him, walls fluttering in response to the new deep, quick pace.

“Mmh, there we go,” Dean cooed, his own eyes falling shut, lashes kissing against his freckled cheeks. The cheap metal headboard thumped against the wall, sounding off in tandem with your little whines and gasps. Dean's hands eventually left your hips, arms wrapping around you to hold you close, one hand cradling the back of your head as it rests against his chest.

The fire in the pits of your lower stomach grew, walls fluttering and clamping around his cock like a vice. “Fuck, baby-” He hissed, brows furrowing again. He knew you were close, and he was determined to get you there before he broke. “C'mon, baby,” Dean grunted, the hand he once had on your back sliding across your ribs and to your front. His middle and ring finger find your swollen clit, calloused fingertips rubbing the sensitive bud in circles.

The shrill moan you let out makes his heart skip a bit, his cock throbbing inside of you. He cursed again. “You're gonna be the death of my, baby.” His voice is whiny, and his thrusts stutter, faltering as he works hard to get you to the edge.

“De- Dean! Holy fuck, ‘m gonna…”

“You gonna cum, sweetheart? You gonna cum all over my cock? C'mon, baby, do it. Let go.”

And with that, you did. His cock nudging your g-spot, his fingers on your clit, warm breath against your ear and the creaks of the bed down to the wet squelch of your pussy made your orgasm hit you like a tidal wave. You scream out in pleasure, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Dean's hips come to a stop as he spills himself inside of you, the seed from his earlier climax slowly seeping out of you and down his cock, to his balls.

It was quiet, heavy breaths mingling together as you both basked in the aftermath of pleasure. If Dean wasn't so tired, he might've been a bit worried about just how loud you were. A noise complaint was worth it. He panted, arms wrapping around you tightly as he softened inside of you. One of his hands stroked your head, shaky lips pressing a kiss against your temple.

“You with me?”

“Mhm.”

“Good,” He whispered, carefully lifting you off of him to lay you down on the bed. Dean was quick to press a kiss to your forehead when you winced as his cock slid out of you, sticky white seed spilling out of your spent hole. “Did so good for me, baby,” His voice is soft as he speaks again, pulling you close to his chest. Dean knows he needs to get you cleaned up, but a short moment of peace was well-deserved.

#my first fic on here yay!!!#noelle's writing !#dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x f!reader #dean winchester smut #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural x reader #jensen ackles

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wendichester · 2 days ago

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୨୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅ just a little flu,

summary. dean’s got a cold, and he swears he doesn’t need help. but somehow, he still ends up in your arms.

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 281

"You’re sick."

"I’m fine."

"Dean." You cross your arms, standing over where he’s sprawled on the motel bed, blanket haphazardly tossed over him. His nose is red, his voice is hoarse, and you’re pretty sure he’s running a fever.

He glares at you from beneath the covers. "It’s just a cold. I don’t need a damn babysitter."

"Right," you deadpan. "That’s why you look like you got your ass kicked by a flu monster."

He groans, turning onto his side, tucking himself further into the blankets. "I’m a grown man. I don’t need soup and tissues and—" He cuts himself off with a sneeze so violent it practically shakes the bed.

You just raise an eyebrow.

Dean grumbles something under his breath, rubbing at his nose, refusing to meet your gaze. You sigh, shaking your head as you sit beside him, reaching out to brush your fingers over his forehead. Too warm.

"You need rest," you murmur. "And fluids. And maybe a hug."

He huffs. "Don’t want a hug."

"You sure?" You drag your nails gently through his hair, and he practically melts, leaning into your touch despite himself.

"...Maybe just a little one."

You smile, shifting to lay beside him, and the second you do, he’s pulling you into his chest, arms locking around you like a furnace. His face buries in the crook of your neck, warm breath fanning over your skin.

"You’re the worst patient," you tease, running your fingers through his hair again.

A low, content sigh rumbles in his chest. "Yeah, yeah," he mutters. Then, after a beat—soft, mumbled, like he doesn’t want you to hear it—"Thanks for takin’ care of me."

Your heart swells.

"Always."

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @taurus0queenie33 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn ⋆ @bluemerakis ⋆ @titsout4jackles ⋆ @lyarr24 ⋆ @hauntedrose555 ⋆ @chevroletdean ⋆ @dulcescorderitas ⋆ @blackmarketfruitrollups ⋆ @impala67rollingthroughtown ⋆ @rulesareshadesofgrey ⋆ @nervoussystems ⋆ @daryls-luvrr ⋆ @sunnyteume ⋆ @drakelover78 ⋆ @angelblqde ⋆ @mostlymarvelgirl ⋆ @whisperingdaze ⋆ @funkenniffler ⋆ @bossyblondie ⋆ @lieutenantchaos ⋆ @iluvnewtie ⋆ @dyhsversion ⋆ @lovewolfspirit ⋆ @kayleighwinchester ⋆ @s0urw00lf ⋆ @cursednevermore ⋆ @img14 ⋆ @onelonelybitch ⋆ @americanvenom13 ⋆ @iluvdeanwinchester ⋆ @idk6505 ⋆ @devilslittlehelper ⋆ @cloverleaf20 ⋆ @giggles1026 ⋆ @idontwannabehere7 ⋆ @beakaleak32 ⋆ @ocelotlist51 ⋆ @lelapine ⋆ @pwin098

#dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester fluff #dean winchester fic #supernatural #.docx

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figthoughts · 22 hours ago

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jealousy games — dean winchester ⋆˚࿔

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

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

⋆ .𖥔˚

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that was it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i said we’re going. now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i don’t give a fuck!” you yelled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

but you were interrupted by dean, “now.”

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

“okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you bit your lower lip and nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“say it!”

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

“say. it.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

✩ taglist: @chevroletdean @fitxgrld @jasvtsc @bluestrd @1-imbroglio @titsout4jackles @faithfulsofi @tortureddarkstar @abellmunsonmovie @legalmente-loca @theoneandonlystonedspiderman420 @manicjk @aileenunfiltered @minettacreekk @winchester-whiskey @emeraldcrs @freyabear @daylighted @cosmopolitan-thedrink @jwritestuff @suhnisideup @spookyysinsanity @kimxwinchester @bleuatlas @deansbbyx @angelicjackles @deansbeer @artemys-ackles @bluemerakis @misatxox @star-yawnznn @ambiguous-avery @starzify @dulcescorderitas @jays-bonnie-on-the-side @deanswidow @psychicnatural @ghostlyaccurate @k-slla

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wchswift · 2 days ago

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─── wearing a skirt | d.w

pairing: dean winchester x reader

summary: the first time dean sees you in a mini skirt.

warnings! suggestive, slightly smutty 𖤐 mdni 18+

notes: I wore a miniskirt yesterday and I thought about how I wanted dean to see me in it 😔

── english isn't my first language :)

You were a hunter. Your life basically revolved around that, and that also included your style. Something you always tried to maintain even with the clothing limitations that came with the job.

You rarely managed to dress in something bolder, different, or not so practical. That was why, when you had the chance, you took it—and god, it had been a while since you wore a mini skirt.

You had recently bought one at a street thrift store near one of the motels where you and the boys stayed on a hunt. And tonight, for the first time in ages, you were finally going to wear it. The three of you had planned to go out, blow off some steam, and celebrate a win against the never-ending sea of crap that was your lives. A few drinks, some good music, and a night where you didn’t have to worry about angels showing up and telling that you had to save the world, again.

But patience had never been your strong suit. The second you were dressed, long before it was time to leave, you were already walking around the bunker in your outfit—mini skirt, fitted top, the whole deal.

You weren’t expecting an audience. Not really. But the moment Dean walked into the kitchen, his usual confident stride faltered, and his mouth opened just slightly before he caught himself.

"Damn, sweetheart, is there a dress code change in the bunker I didn’t hear about?" His voice was teasing, casual. But his eyes? His eyes were hungry.

You smirked, turning just slightly to grab something from the table, knowing full well his gaze would follow the movement. "What? A girl can’t dress up every now and then?"

Dean scoffed, stepping closer, his fingers brushing along the hem of your skirt. "Yeah, but usually, dressing up doesn’t involve testing my damn self-control."

You bit your lip, enjoying the way his voice had dipped lower, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to touch more—do more—but was still holding himself back.

"You like it," you teased, tilting your head up to meet his gaze.

Dean let out a breath that sounded suspiciously close to a groan. "Oh, sweetheart, liking ain’t the problem. The problem is getting through tonight without punching some poor bastard for looking at you the way I do."

That was all the warning you got before his hands finally landed on your hips, gripping you tight as he pulled you against him. Your breath hitched, heart racing when you felt just how affected he really was.

"We should go," you murmured, though the words held no conviction.

Dean exhaled a slow, measured breath before dragging his lips along your jaw, stopping just at your ear. "Yeah. We should."

Neither of you moved.

His fingers curled against the bare skin of your thighs, his lips grazing just beneath your ear, and just like that, the last bit of restraint snapped. You barely had time to register the way he hoisted you onto the nearest surface before his mouth was on yours, all heat and urgency.

Dean's hands roamed, fingers digging into your thighs, pushing up the hem of your skirt as he pressed you further into the hard surface beneath you. His lips left a trail of heat down your neck, teeth grazing, teasing, before he crashed back into your mouth, kissing you like he had all the time in the world.

Your hands found their way into his hair, tugging just enough to draw a low, needy growl from deep in his chest. He responded by gripping your tights and pushing them apart, rolling your hips against his, making you gasp into his mouth.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, though the way he was devouring you made it clear he was hoping you wouldn't.

"Not a chance," you whispered, breathless.

Dean let out a deep chuckle, hands slipping beneath your top, thumbs tracing slow circles against your bare skin. "Yeah, babydoll. That's what I thought."

At that moment, a distant voice echoed through the bunker. "Are you two coming or what?"

Neither of you moved.

You gasped for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you clutched at his clothes. "Dean… We should go now." you breathed out.

Dean grinned against your mouth. "Told you we weren’t making it out that door."

Sam was going to be waiting a long, long time.

𖤐 reblogs and feedback are appreciated! requests are also welcome, ty!

taglist: @lyarr24 @cowboysandcigarettes @chevroletdean @bettystonewell @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing (if you want to be removed or added let me know <3)

#꣖ ີ ꣓ writes.#dean winchester #dean winchester 🪽#supernatural #dean winchester x reader #dean supernatural #dean winchester x fem reader #jensen ackles #dean winchester drabble #dean winchester fic #dean winchester smut #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural dean #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural drabble

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doeinlace · 2 days ago

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hii bri! just wanted to ask a quick question: what would soldier boy and dean get lamb!reader and bambi!reader?

hii love! okay, so—

soldier boy + lamb!reader – oh, he’s the absolute worst about gifts. like, he’ll pretend he doesn’t care, that it’s stupid, but then he’ll catch you looking all soft and expectant, and suddenly he’s at some overpriced boutique, scowling at the salesgirl while picking out the daintiest little lace set in the store. he won’t even wrap it, just tosses the bag on the bed like, “go try it on, sweetheart.” and when you get all shy, mumbling about how it’s too much, he just grins, tilts your chin up, “nah, looks just right to me.”

dean + bambi!reader – oh, baby, he spoils you. he acts all gruff about it, like he doesn’t have time for sentimental shit, but the man notices things. you mention offhandedly that your favorite perfume is almost out? there’s a brand new bottle sitting on your dresser the next day. you get cold easily? he’s wrapping you up in one of his flannels, muttering about how “can’t have my girl shivering, bambi.” and if you so much as glance at something in a store window too long? yeah, you’re getting it. he won’t even say anything, just smirks when you realize and says, “what kinda boyfriend would i be if i didn’t take care of my girl?”

#little angel writes ◜🗒◞#little angel answers ◜🗒◞#soldier boy #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy smut #soldier boy one shot #soldier boy drabble #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester smut #dean winchester oneshot #dean winchester drabble

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supernotnatural2005 · 3 days ago

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The Arrangement - Part Two

Pairing: Dean x reader

Summary: It's the morning after, you and Dean are both reeling, respectively, from the previous night. Can you both overcome the incident, or is more trouble awaiting?

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings/Tags: SMUT!!! (18+ONLY!!!) The usual angsty thoughts, will these two ever get it? Swearing

AN: Happy hump day! 🐫 We're still only just brushing the surface with these two, but I hope you enjoy ☺️.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist < Catch up here!

The next morning, you woke with a painful groan, the pounding in your skull like a jackhammer. Even with your eyes still shut, you could feel the dull, relentless ache radiating through your entire head. When you finally pried them open, you grimaced at the sticky sensation of last night’s makeup clinging to your lashes.

Rolling onto your back, you immediately regretted it—your stomach lurched in protest, reminding you exactly why you were never drinking again. Not this time. Not after this hangover. The night felt like a blur, fragments slipping through your fingers as you struggled to piece them together.

The first thing that came back was your awful date. Monday was going to be awkward as hell at work, but you didn’t regret a damn thing. The look on his face after you ruined his expensive white dress shirt with that tasteless glass of rosé— the one he ordered for you—was worth it. A smirk tugged at your lips at the memory.

Then you remembered heading to the bar to see Jo and Ellen. Like always, you and Jo went one drink too far.

Something nudged at the back of your mind, a strange pulse in your chest as you reached for the rest of the night. The fog lifted slightly as your phone buzzed on your nightstand, but it wasn’t the screen that caught your attention. It was the bottle of Tylenol and the glass of water sitting beside it.

And just like that, everything came crashing back.

Oh God.

You kissed Dean.

Your headache surged as if your body was punishing you for your stupidity. You kissed your best friend. Were you really that desperate? That starved for affection that you had to go and make a move on Dean of all people?

But then—amidst the spiral of regret and sheer mortification—another thought surfaced.

Dean had kissed you back.

And not in some startled, accidental way. No, he kissed you like he meant it. Like one of those cocky heroes in the guilty pleasure romance novels you kept hidden on your bookshelf. Hands gripping you like he couldn’t bear to let go. Like he wanted to devour you.

Your stomach flipped. For a second—just a second—you let yourself remember the way his lips had felt, the roughness of his stubble, the way he had pulled you closer, like—

Nope. Absolutely not.

You shook your head, pushing the thought away. It wasn’t a big deal. It couldn’t be.

You’d had too much to drink. You were disappointed, frustrated, and let’s be real—desperately overdue for a good lay. And Dean? Well, he was there. Familiar. Safe. Willing.

That was all.

It wasn’t some deep, long-suppressed thing. It wasn’t because you’d been secretly wondering about him for years, how the way he touched you, kissed you, made every single rumour you’d heard about him feel a hell of a lot more believable.

The whispers. Those hushed conversations in the school hallways. The restroom stalls where Karen Jones once gushed about your best friend’s talented mouth and fingers.

How on the rare occasion Dean had brought someone home, well… you weren’t proud to admit that the muffled sounds through the walls had left you pressing your thighs together, wondering just what he was doing in there to make them moan like that.

No. Nope. Dean was your best friend. That was sacred.

The idea of being anything more? Terrifying.

And besides, he’d been drinking, too.

That’s all it could be.

Dean didn’t look at you like that. Not really. He would’ve done the same with any other girl, right? It wasn’t special. It didn’t mean anything.

And the best thing to do now? Pretend it never happened. If Dean brought it up, you had the perfect excuse—"I was drunk, I had no idea what I was doing."

Yeah. That would work.

You sighed, scrubbing a hand over your face before reaching for the Tylenol. The mirror across the room reflected the mess you’d become—wrinkled dress, tangled hair, smudged makeup making you look half-raccoon.

First things first. A hot shower.

Then, you’d figure out how to face Dean without losing your goddamn mind.

Stepping out of the shower, you felt marginally more human—though your headache still throbbed behind your eyes, and the exhaustion clung to your bones. You wrapped yourself in a towel, rubbing at your damp hair with another as you padded into your room. Every movement felt sluggish, like you were wading through molasses.

Maybe coffee would help.

You threw on a pair of sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, too drained to care about much else. The smell of freshly brewed coffee drifted into your room as you cracked open the door, coaxing you toward the kitchen like a siren’s call.

Dean was already there, leaning against the counter with a mug in hand, his gaze unfocused. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast a soft glow on his face, highlighting the faint crease between his brows. He looked deep in thought, his fingers curled around the ceramic like he needed something to hold onto.

Then he spotted you, and just like that, the quiet weight in the air lifted. A slow smile tugged at his lips, easy, familiar—but there was something behind it. Something you couldn’t quite place. Uncertainty? Hesitation?

"She’s alive," he teased, breaking the silence.

You rolled your eyes, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. See? This is fine. It’s normal. We can handle this.

"Barely," you muttered, shuffling toward the kitchen island.

Dean pushed off the counter, already reaching for another mug. "Figured you’d need this."

He poured you a cup and slid it toward you as you climbed onto one of the barstools, elbows resting on the counter, head in your hands. You let out a low groan, still feeling like death warmed over.

"I swear to God, I’m gonna kill Jo for encouraging my alcoholism," you grumbled.

Dean huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah, good luck with that. She’d take you down first.”

"That’s fair," you sighed dramatically, taking a careful sip of coffee. The warmth seeped through you, dulling the sharpest edges of your hangover.

Dean leaned his hip against the counter, watching you over the rim of his mug. “Sam messaged me this morning, reminding me. Is Ellen still making her famous stuffing for Christmas next week?"

You perked up slightly, grateful for the normalcy of the conversation. Okay, good. This is good. Normal.

"Yeah, of course. She said she’s already prepping. Swore up and down she’s gonna outdo last year."

Dean smirked. "Doubt it. That was peak stuffing."

"You say that every year."

"And I mean it every year." He took another sip of coffee before tilting his head. "Bobby still threatening to deep-fry the turkey?"

You snorted. "Always. But Ellen put her foot down after the ‘grease fire incident of 1999.’"

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Man, that was a hell of a year."

"It was a hell of a mess," you corrected. "We were still finding soot in the kitchen in February."

"Yeah, but it was worth it. Best damn turkey I ever had."

"You say that every year, too."

"And I mean it every year," he shot back, grinning.

For as long as you and Dean had been friends, your families had celebrated Christmas together. It started when you were kids, when Bobby and Ellen realised how much easier it was to combine everything into one big gathering.

Every year, you’d alternate whose house hosted—one year at the Winchesters’, the next at your place. It became tradition, something that felt as much a part of the holiday as presents under the tree.

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched. The back-and-forth was easy, natural—like it always was. The conversation wrapped around you like a familiar blanket, momentarily pushing away the lingering awkwardness from last night.

See? This is fine. It’s fine.

Then the silence settled.

And suddenly, you were aware of everything.

The space between you—too small, too charged. The way his fingers curled around his coffee mug, his knuckles flexing just slightly. The way his shirt stretched over his shoulders, like you hadn’t already memorised the broad shape of him years ago.

Your eyes met his, and the second they did, your stomach twisted.

Dean didn’t look away.

And neither did you.

Your breath hitched, but you forced yourself to stay still. No sudden movements, no giving anything away. But then your gaze betrayed you—just for a second, barely a flicker—dipping down to his mouth.

Shit.

Because now you could feel it again.

The way he kissed you, rough but deliberate, like he had wanted it. The taste of whiskey, the heat of his hands, the way his fingers had curled into your hips like he was holding on for dear life.

Dean cleared his throat. Stepped back.

"I’m gonna head to the store," he said, too casual.

It took a second for the words to register. "Oh. Yeah, okay."

He hesitated—like he might ask you to come with him—but then he smirked instead, lips twitching. "Would’ve invited you, but, uh… You kinda look like the walking dead. Don’t want you cramping my style.”

Your head shot up, glare locked and loaded. "Ass."

Dean just grinned. "Try not to die while I’m gone."

Then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Your fingers tightened around the coffee mug as you exhaled, long and slow, staring at the door like it might offer some kind of answer.

Yeah. You were so screwed.

By the time Dean strolled back in through the front door, the afternoon sun was already dipping beyond the horizon, casting the sky in deep hues of amber and violet—a telltale sign of the short winter days.

In his absence, you'd done your best not to dwell on the events of last night. Dean hadn’t brought it up, and you figured it was best you didn’t either. Did that stop your mind from running through every why, how, and what if on repeat? No. But for now, distraction would do.

So here you were, sprawled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching reruns of Friends while feeling sorry for yourself in more ways than one.

“Hey,” Dean greeted, kicking the door shut behind him, hands full with grocery bags. He dropped them on the island, his keys clinking against the counter. “Sorry I took so long. Had to deal with a work emergency before I could hit the store.”

You peered over the back of the couch, blinking sluggishly. “S’all good. I crashed for a bit after you left anyway.” You stretched, groaning. “I am starving, though.”

After Dean had left, for a much-needed grocery run - as you too discovered the disastrously emptiness of your fridge, all you’d eaten were two pop tarts you’d found in the back of the cupboard.

“Well, if you’re up for it, how about I whip us up some burgers?” Dean smirked, already putting things away. Your stomach growled at the suggestion. You practically salivated at the thought. Dean could grill a mean burger, and he damn well knew it.

“Oh My God, yes.” You practically moaned. Dean chuckled as you hopped up and shuffled to the kitchen, immediately snooping through the bags. Your eyes lit up when you pulled out a tub of rocky road ice cream.

“Ohh, heck yes!” Dean turned just in time to see you clutch it to your chest like treasure. Rubbing the back of his neck, he shrugged it off.

“Yeah, well… figured you’d want it. Hangover ritual and all.”

It was such a simple thing—something so Dean. But it made your chest squeeze a little tighter. Maybe it was in light of recent events, but for some reason it touched you more than it should have. And in that moment, you realised just how much Dean had always taken care of you.

Whether it was remembering your favourite ice cream, patching up your scraped knee when you fell off your bike as a kid, or offering you a shoulder when you needed one.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat. “Thank you,” you murmured, and you meant it.

Dean just smiled.

You cleared your throat, shaking off the sudden wave of emotions. “Need any help? I may be half a step into the land of the dead, but I am still good with my hands.” You wiggled your fingers in his face, only for Dean to swat them away with a laugh.

“Nah, I got it. But in exchange, you could give me a scoop of that.” He nodded toward the ice cream.

Your grip on the tub tightened. “But—”

Dean arched an amused brow.

And just then, as if on cue, the TV blared Joey Tribbiani’s infamous line: "Joey doesn’t share food!"

You pointed blindly in the direction of the TV. “What he said.”

For a second, there was silence—then both of you burst into laughter.

“Alright, alright,” you relented, wiping at your eyes. “You can have one tiny scoop.” You winked and left him to it.

Dean rolled his eyes, but his grin never faded as he got to work on dinner.

“Seriously, dude, you should open your own burger bar or something,” you groaned, sinking into the couch as you took another blissful bite.

Dean snorted around his own large mouthful, shaking his head. He watched as you practically melted into your seat, eyes fluttering shut, cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk. It was equally parts disgusting and endearing.

You had no shame when it came to food. Talking with your mouth full, letting sauce smear your chin, completely oblivious to how you looked to others. It warmed him at how comfortable you must be in his presence to not care about such things.

Like right now, you sat cross legged on the couch, your hair thrown up in a messy bun, a worn-out, oversized t-shirt, that looked vaguely familiar, hung off your figure, and you had on a pair of sweats one size too big. Your face was makeup less but even so, you were beautiful.

After devouring your burgers, you moved on to dessert, despite claiming minutes earlier that you were “way too full.”

“Theres always extra room for something sweet.” You’d claimed, giving Dean a proper bowl of ice cream instead of the pathetic spoonful you'd originally offered.

You sat side by side watching some comedy, he didn’t remember the name of. But it was all the same, a storyline he’d seen a million times but, even so, there was the odd chuckle-worthy moment.

Not long after, you reached over, setting your now-empty bowl down beside his on the coffee table and as you sat back, he noticed it.

“Hey, you got a little—” He gestured to the corner of his mouth.

“Hm?” You wiped at the wrong side.

“No, here.” He pointed again. You missed it.

Dean huffed before leaning in, swiping his thumb against the chocolate smudge himself.

You stilled.

Your wide eyes flicked up to meet his, and suddenly, he realised just how close he was. His hand still cupped your cheek, thumb lingering at the corner of your lips.

The air thickened. Your breath mingled with his.

Dean’s tongue darted out, wetting his lips out of habit. Your gaze flickered down to the motion, and his stomach clenched.

And then—he wasn’t sure who leaned in first but suddenly, your lips were pressed to his, soft and warm, more confident than last time.

Dean didn’t think—he just reacted.

One of his arms wrapped around your back, the other tilting your chin as he deepened the kiss. You melted into him, fingers threading through his hair, nails scratching lightly against his scalp.

A low, guttural groan rumbled from his chest at the sensation. You tasted like chocolate and marshmallows, sweet and sinful, and fuck—he was already addicted.

Then, as if kissing you wasn’t enough, you shifted, climbing into his lap, pressing yourself against him like you had no idea what you were doing to him. Had he died? Was this some fever dream?

Before he could fully process what was happening, before he could stop you, before he could stop himself, you settled in his lap completely. And there was no hiding what you’d stirred beneath his jeans.

But you didn’t pull away.

Instead, a soft moan escaped your lips, vibrating against his own, and fuck.

He was done for.

His arms tightened around you, pulling you impossibly close, and then you moved. A slow, testing rock of your hips, then another, then a third—more confident, more deliberate. Dean groaned, eyes dark and hazy with lust.

Alarm bells blared in his head, warning him to stop, to think—to rationalise what was happening, why it was happening again. But how the hell was he supposed to think straight when you were rubbing against him like that?

Fuck.

His hands slid down your back, gripping your hips like he was holding onto his last thread of restraint. And then you did it again. A shudder ran through him at the friction, his head tipping back against the couch as he looked up at you. His expression was raw, wrecked—like you had all the answers, and he was desperate for them.

Your movements slowed as you leaned in, your lips grazing his jaw, then his ear.

“Are you down for some fun, Winchester?” you husked, your voice dripping with temptation. You nipped at his earlobe, making his eyes snap shut, his grip tightening on your hips.

“What kind of fun?” he asked, playing dumb, but mostly because he needed to hear you say it.

“The naked kind.”

Dean exhaled sharply, fingers flexing against your hips, his cock aching beneath you.

“I’ve always been curious about you,” you murmured, your lips trailing back to his, teasing, just brushing.

“You have?” His voice was rough, uneven. His heart pounded, not just with lust but something deeper—something dangerously close to hope.

“I grew up with the rumours,” you admitted, pressing a slow, torturous kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’ve heard the women you’ve brought home… wondered.” Another kiss. “I’m curious.”

Dean nearly groaned. The idea of you—you—wondering about him that way, thinking about what it would be like between you… Jesus.

And then you kissed him, slow and deep, and Dean was gone.

“I don’t want to think about politics right now,” you confessed breathlessly against his lips. “I don’t want to think about consequences, or what’s right or wrong. I just want you—right now. If you want me too?”

Dean knew there should be a pause, a moment to reconsider, but the second the words left your lips—combined with the way you were looking at him like he was something to be devoured—every logical thought went out the window.

Fuck it.

Instead of answering, he kissed you—hard. And when you moaned appreciatively against his mouth, all bets were off. This wasn’t about feelings or what-ifs. This was heat and need, two people chasing a high neither of them was willing to resist.

With a firm arm around your back and the other gripping your thigh, Dean stood effortlessly, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. You gasped, clinging to him, arms around his neck, legs wrapped tight around his waist. He felt everything—every inch of you pressed against him, driving him insane.

Your lips never broke apart as he carried you toward your room—the closest out of the two.

And maybe, deep down, there was a nagging voice whispering about consequences. About what this meant. But right now?

Right now, he wasn’t listening.

And neither were you.

Your mind was screaming at you.

What are you doing?

This is Dean.

But you couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. You were too wound up, too sexually deprived, too drawn to the way he looked at you—like you were something sacred, something he had to taste, to touch, to have. And he was right here. Willing. Eager. His hands gripping you tight as he carried you into your bedroom, lips never leaving yours.

The door barely clicked shut before he was lowering you onto the bed, his weight settling between your legs, pressing you down into the mattress. His mouth moved over yours with aching precision, slow but deep, savouring, like he had all the time in the world. Like he wanted to take his time.

It was intoxicating.

Dean groaned as you arched up into him, his hands skimming down your sides, exploring, memorising. His lips broke from yours just long enough to kiss a trail down your jaw, your throat, sucking lightly where your pulse pounded against your skin. It made your head spin.

And then lower.

He lifted your shirt inch by inch, his calloused fingers dragging over your heated skin as he peeled it up and over your head. His breath hitched.

“Jesus.”

Dean’s eyes darkened as he took you in—bare from the waist up, nipples hardened from both the cool air and the sheer intensity of his gaze.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be perfect,” he murmured, running his hands over your stomach, thumbs grazing just beneath your ribs.

Then his mouth was on you again.

Soft, open-mouthed kisses along your stomach, a flick of his tongue just above the waistband of your sweatpants, then back up. Slow, torturous. His lips followed the curve of your ribs, his nose brushing against the underside of your breast.

Your pussy throbbed, desperate and aching, as he finally took one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking lightly, swirling his tongue around your hardened peak. Your back arched, a needy sound escaping you. He took his time, learning every sensitive spot, making you squirm, making you need.

And then he was moving again.

Dean took his time undressing you completely, peeling away your sweatpants, your panties, his hands exploring each new inch of bare skin like he was memorising a damn map.

He wanted to remember this, wanted to carve the image of you into his mind—the way your body responded to him, the way you trembled under his touch.

He shoved down any nagging thoughts, anything that whispered about how this might mean something. Not tonight. Tonight, all he cared about was this.

You.

Dean settled between your legs, kissing his way down again, teasing at your hip bone, the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You gasped as he nipped at the sensitive flesh, as he breathed against your aching core, so close yet so cruelly far.

“Dean,” you whimpered, hands threading through his hair, nails scraping lightly at his scalp.

He groaned at that, and then—

His mouth was on you.

Your whole body jerked as his tongue flicked against your clit, hot and wet and perfect. He took his time, using slow, deliberate strokes before sucking you into his mouth, making your thighs twitch, your fingers tightening in his hair.

You had never felt anything like this.

But now you understood.

Now you knew exactly what all those women had meant, why they couldn’t stop coming back for more.

Dean Winchester could ruin a girl.

And right now, you were happy to be wrecked.

Your thighs threatened to squeeze around his head, but his hands gripped your hips, keeping you open, keeping you at his mercy. He worked you relentlessly, alternating between slow, teasing licks and firm, dizzying pressure. The coil in your stomach tightened, higher, hotter—

“Dean—”

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice husky against your slick folds. “Let me taste it.”

That was all it took.

Pleasure crashed over you in waves, stealing the air from your lungs. You cried out, arching off the bed as your climax ripped through you, your entire body shaking. Dean groaned against you, drinking in every last bit, licking and sucking you through the aftershocks until you were trembling beneath him, completely undone.

When he finally pulled away, his lips were slick, his pupils blown wide.

And then he was kissing you again, deep and desperate, letting you taste yourself on his tongue as he pressed you back into the mattress.

All too soon he pulled back, shifting onto his knees. You blinked up at him, dazed, still trembling from your release, but your breath hitched when he removed his t-shirt in one fluid, over the head motion. And then you watched in anticipation as his hands move to his belt.

He made quick work of it, the metal clinking softly in the quiet room before he popped the button of his jeans, dragging the zipper down. He didn’t look away from you as he shoved them down his hips, along with his boxers.

Your mouth went dry.

Dean Winchester was beautiful.

Broad shoulders, toned stomach, strong arms lined with freckles and old scars. And lower—your thighs instinctively pressed together at the sight of him, long and thick, already so hard, flushed, the tip glistening.

Heat surged through your body, desire burning anew.

Your hands moved on their own, reaching for him, fingers wrapping around his length, feeling the weight of him in your palm.

“Jesus,” you breathed, stroking him experimentally, watching how his abs tensed, how his jaw clenched.

Dean groaned, low and guttural, but his hand shot out, gripping your wrist and stilling your movements.

“Don’t,” he gritted, his eyes almost wild as they locked onto yours. “Not now. I—” He swallowed thickly, exhaling a shaky breath. “I won’t last.”

The admission sent a fresh wave of arousal through you, and the way he was looking at you—so desperate, so wrecked—made you dizzy.

Dean inhaled sharply, trying to compose himself, then rasped, “You got a condom?”

You nodded, reaching for the drawer in your nightstand. Your hands fumbled slightly as you pulled one out, but before you could tear it open, Dean’s fingers brushed yours.

“Let me,” he murmured, his voice like gravel.

You swallowed hard, watching as he ripped the foil, rolling the condom down over his length with practiced ease.

The sight alone had you clenching around nothing.

And then he was over you again, bracing himself on his forearms, his lips hovering just above yours. His eyes searched your face, softer now, less frantic.

“You sure?” he asked, his voice quieter, rough with restraint.

Your heart thundered.

But there wasn’t a single doubt in your mind.

“Yeah,” you whispered, brushing your lips against his.

Dean didn’t hesitate.

The first push was slow, stretching, filling, overwhelming. A deep, strangled groan rumbled from his chest as he sank into you completely, his forehead pressing against yours, his arms trembling as he held himself still.

“Fuck,” he rasped. “You feel so good.”

You clung to him, breathless, nails digging into his back.

He gave you a moment, then started to move—slow, steady rolls of his hips, pulling out just to push back in, his cock dragging against all the right places. The pleasure was immediate, sharp and electric.

Dean’s lips ghosted over yours, his hands gripping your hips, his movements deepening.

You could feel everything.

Every inch of him, every shuddered breath, every lingering trace of restraint slipping away with every thrust.

Your body arched into his, overwhelmed by the way he filled you, stretched you. The heat coiling in your stomach wound tighter and tighter, your nails digging into his shoulders as he drove into you at just the right angle.

“Oh, God—” you gasped, head tipping back against the pillow, eyes screwing shut.

Dean groaned, dipping his head to press his lips to your throat, sucking at the sensitive skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped, his breath ragged against your neck. “You feel so fucking good. You—” His sentence cut off with a sharp inhale when you clenched around him.

Your whole body was alight, buzzing, your mind a mess of sensation as he thrust deep, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“Dean—” His name tumbled from your lips, needy, desperate, and that was all it took.

Like a snapped tether, pleasure crashed over you, stealing the air from your lungs. You clenched around him, back arching, hands fisting the sheets as wave after wave of ecstasy ripped through you.

Dean groaned at the feel of you squeezing him so tightly, his rhythm faltering.

And then he was right behind you.

His movements turned erratic, rough, as he buried himself deep with a strangled curse, his muscles going rigid. His breath stuttered, and then he was gone, undone, spilling into the condom with a deep, shuddering groan.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the room were your heavy breaths, your hammering hearts.

Then, Dean collapsed on top of you, panting hard, his body heavy and warm, his face buried against your neck.

You felt like you were floating. Like something inside you had fundamentally changed, but you shoved the thought away, fingers absently trailing through his damp hair as you both struggled to come back down to earth.

Dean let out a breath, his lips ghosting over your collarbone. After a moment, he shifted, bracing a hand on the mattress and rolling onto his back beside you.

A beat of silence.

And then you exhaled a breathless laugh.

“Wow.”

Dean chuckled, running a hand down his face. “Yeah.”

You turned your head to look at him, still gloriously naked, his chest rising and falling steadily, his skin flushed, his hair thoroughly mussed.

There was a something beginning to bubble in your chest, something unwanted, as you looked at him and so you forced yourself to push it down. And then a thought came to mind, a very reckless, possibly disastrous, thought, but you went with it.

“So…” you started, rolling onto your side, propping yourself up on an elbow.

Dean turned his head toward you, his expression unreadable. His hair was still a mess from your fingers, his skin warm where it brushed against yours. Too close. Too easy to want more.

“What now?” he asked, his voice rough, like he wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.

You swallowed. Don’t think about how it made you feel. Don’t think about what it meant.

“Well,” you said carefully, forcing a smirk, “that was… really fucking good.”

Dean huffed a quiet laugh, mirroring your smirk. “Not gonna argue there.”

You hesitated, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sheet beneath you. Then, before you could lose your nerve, you pushed forward.

“I have a thought,” you murmured, glancing at him from beneath your lashes. “A proposition, if you will.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift, but he hummed in acknowledgment, silently urging you to continue.

You bit your lip, playing it off like it was nothing. “We’re obviously… good at this,” you said, your voice light, teasing—though the weight in your chest begged to be acknowledged. “And we’re friends. We trust each other, right?”

Dean frowned slightly, tilting his head. “Yeah?” he drawled, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

You shrugged, forcing yourself to sound casual. “I was thinking… maybe we don’t have to stop.”

His brows lifted in surprise. That was not what he was expecting. Hell, what was he expecting? This whole situation was... He didn’t even know at this point.

Dean didn’t say anything at first, and the silence made your stomach twist. You felt the need to fill it—to justify.

“The way I see it, neither of us wants the hassle of a relationship,” you continued, keeping your tone light, matter-of-fact. “I mean, you’ve said it yourself—you don’t do relationships. And I’ve kind of… given up on the idea.” You gestured vaguely between you. “So why not just—enjoy this? No strings, no expectations. Just… fun.”

The words felt wrong in your mouth, but you ignored it.

Dean’s fingers flexed where they rested against the mattress. His gaze stayed on you, unreadable, and for a second, you thought he might laugh in your face. Call you crazy. Tell you this was a terrible idea.

Instead, he exhaled softly, nodding.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You let out a breath, relieved. Ignoring the tiny voice in your head screaming this is a mistake.

Dean didn’t want more.

And if you pretended you didn’t either, you could have some part of him, at least.

Better than nothing.

You had no idea he was thinking the same damn thing.

AN: I hoped you guys enjoyed this part, things are really stating to get moving 😅, there is a lot more of this story to come, more of these two idiots not realising what is so obvious! 🥲 As always I'd love to hear what you all think? ❤️

Side note: The scene I had in mind 😂 👇🏻

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

Dean Winchester/series Tag List:

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Next time...

Slowly, you padded across the floor, stopping just outside the shower door. With one last exhale of doubt, you pulled it open and stepped inside. Dean startled, his head whipping toward you, eyes wide with a mixture of alarm and surprise. “What the—” Before he could finish, his expression twisted in pain, and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Shit.” He hissed, rubbing furiously at them as soap trickled down into his lashes. Biting back a laugh, you reached for his arm and guided him under the spray, watching as the water rinsed the suds away. Okay, maybe this wasn’t quite as sexy as you had planned. When he finally blinked his eyes open, he turned to you, first in disbelief—then in something far more dangerous. His gaze darkened, sweeping over you from head to toe, and fuck. He could never get used to this. To you. Perfect. “Well, this is somethin’,” he smirked...

#the arrangement series #supernatural #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #dean winchester x you #dean winchester au #dean winchester smut #dean x reader smut #dean x you #spn fanfic #spn imagine #spnfamily #dean x y/n #jensen ackles #spn #spn fanfiction #abbalina writes

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lamentationsofalonelypotato · 2 days ago

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@zepskies

You have no idea how excited I am to finally jump into the first installment of this series! I absolutely love historical au's and the 1940's so I am SO ready for this!

He let it fly. The abacus began to clack as one ball hit the other. Sam looked up from the deposition he was writing to give his brother a wry brow raise.

Right off the bat we get the classic and hilarious brother dynamic between the two of them. And of course, Dean being Dean. He just couldn't resist. 🙄 Not to mention the fact that Sam literally gave Dean a list of things to do in NYC other than bother him 😂

Both of them had enlisted, but Sam had spent most of his time in London while he was deployed, helping British Intelligence. Dean had clawed his way out of Normandy, and later, out of the Ardennes—the last offensive before the end. Their experiences might as well have been worlds apart, but one thing remained the same: it had been three years in which neither brother knew if they’d see each other again.

I love this little bit of world-building, because right off the bat you are introducing little things that will divide Sam and Dean. It builds the scene, shapes the characters, and introduces the idea that, yes both men enlisted, but at the same time there are other sides/fronts to the war and those experiences shaped these two men in different ways. I also like that you made them be in different places in the military, because their personalities are so different and it fits that Dean was the one who saw combat and has a little bit of shell-shock, but then you see Sam who is able to keep a stable job and merges well into the hustle and bustle of NYC.

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

Man already can't keep his eyes to himself. 👀

"He'd met quite a few girls this week, but he hadn't seen a lady like you in quite some time."

I'm dying with this line. I love it so much. Oh boy... I already feel like this fic is going to destroy me in the best way.

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

You know what Dean, you can come distract me any time you want. At least I'll appreciate it more than Sam lol.

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

Aww Sam 😭 I'm also dying that Dean walked her home, my word, what a man.

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

You don't gotta ask what it's like sweet pea, you're gonna be out there soon enough with a ring on your left hand that actually MEANS SOMETHING to the man who gave it to you (DEAN)!

Part of you trilled inside at the small touch, but you immediately beat that reaction down. Dean Winchester was an attractive man, to be sure. His hair was a lighter brown than his brother’s, and shorter too. He had an air of roguishness about him, even though he’d been perfectly pleasant so far. But by the way he eyed you when you came into the law office, you had a strong feeling he was a flirt. You had no room for that in your life, and not only because you were still a married woman. Yet, there was something about him that…well, made you curious.

Girl please be curious for all of us 🤣

But I will say I like that she still upholds her side of the marriage even though her husband is literally a human trash can filled with Raccoons. As Dean put it earlier, she's a lady.

Also I love that you made her a nurse and that she and Dean were in the same area, so they're able to connect on that level, and it's not just Dean being flirty. I think that giving the reader that particular background also will help her navigate how to help Dean, if she's seen other soldiers with shell-shock and PTSD.

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

Oh my sweet goodness she's the best. Did she stutter?! I think not!

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

“What’d you make tonight, outta curiosity?” he asked. “Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly. “Hmm. No real loss there then.”

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

You know what Mike, if you keep talking you're gonna regret it. Your wife might be a lady, but Dean isn't. And Dean will go full Lorena Bobbitt on your ass while you're asleep for doing the twisted tango with another woman!! 😡🤣

Alex this chapter was amazing! I can see how much research and hard work you put into it my talented friend! I can't wait to see what else is in store for Dean and this reader 🥰

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 1

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

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

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

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

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

Word Count: 3.9K

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

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Part 1: Legal Grounds

November 2, 1945

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

Law Offices of Winchester, Bialystock & Bloom

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Dean supposed he could understand that, so he nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“All right. Come with me, please.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael. Michael Milligan.”

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

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

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

Once again, there was a pregnant pause.

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

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

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

You sighed. “What kind of proof?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Army,” he replied.

“Your rank?”

“I was a sergeant, ma’am.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shot him a look, reading between his lines.

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

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

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

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

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

“You’d presume right.”

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

“Lawrence?”

“Kansas.”

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

Dean scoffed. “Dusty.”

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

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

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

“Why not?” you asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Dean,” you said.

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

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

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

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

His brows furrowed. “Do what?”

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

“Why not?” he asked.

It took him a moment, but Dean nodded.

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

You stopped him from leaving with just your voice.

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Egg salad sandwiches,” you replied flatly.

“Hmm. No real loss there then.”

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

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

“Excuse me?”

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

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

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

When did this become your life?

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

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

Next Time:

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

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

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

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

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