#jensen ackles x reader insert

[godmadeaterribleerror]

I'll Crawl Home

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, memory loss, angst, pining (unrequited love but not really), smut (blowjob, fingering, p in v sex, creampie), love confessions, no use of y/n

Summary/Warnings: You don't know who these men are, but they seem to know you. Your body seems to like the Handsome one a lot. But the more you manage to remember, the more lost you feel.

Author's Note: This might be one of my favorites. Enjoy!!

Title from Work Song by Hozier

Word Count: 8.6k

You don’t know who these men are. 

There are three of them, all gathered around you with frowning faces and drawn brows, and they seem worried. The tall one in the middle keeps saying your name and asking the one in the tie and trench coat if he can figure out what’s wrong with you. Trench Coat keeps snapping variations of no, he can’t, because the object was guarded against outside interference. 

The third one is silent. He’s a little behind you and wearing flannel like Tall, but his hair is shorter, he’s less lanky, and he’s touching you. His hand is on your arm, his grip so tight it almost hurts, and you’d… barely even noticed. Not because he’s almost inhumanly handsome, or because when he does grumble something in his voice is deep and soothing to your mind, but because your body hadn’t seemed to really register it. And if it had, it hadn’t been worried at all.

But you’re worried. As your brain starts to kick into gear—dragging itself out of an odd, hazy sludge—you are very worried about why Trench Coat, Tall, and Handsome are so close to you. Why Trench Coat keeps saying you’re sick—you’re tired, but overall you feel fine—and why Tall knows your name. Why Handsome is still touching you, why he’s so quiet, why when he looks at you your skin heats and your heart does a little, happy hum.

Why when you yank your arm from Handsome’s grasp, he blinks at you in confusion. Why he says your name so slowly. Why when he reaches back out to you, your body leans forward of its own accord. 

“No!” You shout, and it’s more at yourself, but Handsome’s whole face falls, and he looks like he’s been shot, stabbed, and bled out.

“Shit, she’s talking- Hey,” Tall says your name, reaching to grab your shoulder, and you start to crawl away from him. “Can you- Wait, where are you going-“

“She seems to be experiencing panic.” Trench Coat tilts his head, glancing over your shoulder. “She is likely trying to get to Dean.”

You follow his gaze, and your body is moving to where Handsome—Dean?—had backed away.

“Fuck!” You try to scramble to your feet, ready to run for your life, but you barely make it to your knees before darkness clouds your vision and your head starts to spin.

All three men shout your name, but Dean’s deep voice is the loudest, and when the world grows clear again, he the one who’s holding you upright.

Your body is slumped into him. It’s the same way you’ve slumped into your bed. The same way you used to slump against you mom when you were a kid, because you never thought she could hurt you. Because she’d felt like the safest place to be in the world.

But you don’t know Dean. 

“Don’t- don’t touch me-“ You try to shake him off, but he doesn’t let go. He just lowers you carefully down and moves away, staring at you with an expression that makes your heart ache for reasons you don’t understand. “Who are you people?!”

Tall says your name again. How the fuck does he know your name. “It’s just us, it’s-“ Tall moves to touch you, and frowns when you flinch away.

At least you still know how to flinch away. 

“I don’t knowwho the fuck you are,” you hiss at him. “Or what the fuck is happening, but I want to go home.” You hug yourself, everything suddenly cold, your voice growing small. “Please let me go home.”

Trench Coat nods. “I am able to-“

“Cas.” Dean grunts from behind you, and Trench Coat—Cas—frowns at him. “Don’t.”

“She has requested something I can assist with-“

“She doesn’t fucking know who you are.” Dean snaps, stomping past you, never looking down. It makes the ache in your heart worse. “What the hell do you think is gonna happen when you zap her back to a home she doesn’t remember?”

Tall shakes his head. “We don’t know that she doesn’t remember the bunker-“

“Yeah? Hey,” Dean says your name, his glare and tone firm. Your body has a very confusing reaction to it, your thighs squeezing together as your stomach fills with heat. “You believe in angels?”

You blink. “Like, with wings?”

Dean gives Tall a pointed look, and Tall just shakes his head again.

“That doesn’t prove anything-“

“It proves enough, Sammy.” 

“No, it doesn’t!” Tall—Sammy—crosses his arms, glaring at Dean. “She remembers her own name, it’s not unreasonable to think she might remember her home!”

“That’s cause her name is her name! She doesn’t remember who we are! She’s not going to remember anything else-“

“It may be productive to find out what she does remember before we make assumptions.” Cas cuts Dean off with clipped words, and barely flinches as Dean glowers at him. You’re impressed. Dean seems scary.

Even if your body doesn’t seem to agree. 

“Good idea, Cas, let’s just-“ Sammy drops to the floor in front of you. “Hi, I’m-“

“Sammy?” 

“It’s actually Sam- wait.” Sam blinks at you. “You remember my name?“

“No.” You shake your head, nodding up to Dean. “He said it.”

“Oh.” Sam follows your gaze with a small frown. “Do you know his name?”

“It’s Dean.” You whisper, and another strange expression flashes over Dean’s face. “But I don’t remember it, I just heard it. I’m sorry.”

Dean’s jaw clenches, and Sam sighs.

“Don’t apologize, we’re just- It’s complicated.” Sam runs a hand through his hair, scanning carefully over your face. “Can I ask you a few questions?”

You nod—you don’t seem to have a choice, and you’re not nearly as panicked as you should be—and Sam swallows.

“Okay, you know your name, so how about- What year is it?”

You tell him, and he nods slowly. It goes like that as he asks you the date, the president, how old you are, and when your birthday is. It only flips when he asks you where home is, you answer, and all three men gape at you.

“What’s wrong?” You look between their identical expressions of worry. “That’s where I-“

Sam says your name carefully, his voice tense. “You haven’t lived there in almost six years.”

You blink at him. “No… I- I live there now.”

“No, you-“ Sam lets out a long breath. “How about this, do you know what your job is?”

“Yeah, I’m a librarian.”

That was clearly not the answer they wanted, but Sam pushes on. “Okay, what kind of car do you drive?”

“I don’t drive.” You glance up at Cas and Dean, and they’re exchanging a taut look. This is so fucking weird. “I, um, I take the bus.”

“Fuck!” Dean shouts suddenly, throwing his hands in the air. He sounds agitated. It’s making you agitated. “Goddamnit, she doesn’t remember anything-“

“Actually, she seems to remember selective things.” Cas lowers down as well, his gaze seeming to drive right into your soul. “Are you aware of how you arrived here, in this room?”

You aren’t. You try to remember, and it hurts. Your whole head lights up with pain and you double-over, but that seems to answer the men’s questions all by itself, and they exchange low, tense words as you lay on the floor.

Dean keeps looking at you. He’s not speaking to you, but he keeps staring at you, and your body always seems to respond to it. His jaw clenches as Cas helps you to your feet, and your legs want to walk right into him. Dean scowls as Sam explains that you do know them—that they’re your friends, and you’re cursed, and they’re taking you somewhere safe to help you—and your skin prickles under the feeling of it. As they move you into a sleek black muscle car and take off down the road, Dean keeps glaring at you in the rearview mirror and you want to reach out and touch him. You think it would be really good to touch him.

You really want to touch him. He’s beautiful, in the shadows and low lights of the highway, and right now it’s really just Dean in the whole universe. 

Just Dean. Here. With you.

The wind is cold in your hair and loud in your ears, but the Impala is warm, and the music is louder.

Dean is louder. Singing at the top of his lungs and drumming a little off beat on the wheel, his eyes alight and his smile wide. 

He’s warm, too. You giggle and roll your eyes when he makes a terrible joke, and he grabs your face with a strong, rough, warm hand to pulls you into a kiss, all as the road keeps rushing past you-

Cas says your name, and you blink at him. You’re not sure what the fuck just happened.

“Are you experiencing memory recall?”

“I, um, what?”

“Your eyes.” He says, and you notice Sam twisting around to watch from the passenger’s seat. “They began to move in a manner similar to human REM sleep, however you remained awake the whole time. Were you thinking of something you had previously forgotten?”

“I, uh,” you glance in the rearview mirror. Dean’s suddenly fixated on the road, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Have I been in this car before?”

“Yeah, you have.” Sam’s words are cautious, his eyes trained on you. “A lot. Cas, you don’t think-“

“I do. I believe it may be our best shot.”

And that’s how it begins. The moment you return to the bunker—a strange, underground building they claim you’ve lived in for years—you’re rushed through the grand tour in the hopes of triggering just a little more of your memory.

You’d consider it useless if it wasn’t working. If your hands didn’t already know how to sort through their strange classification of books. If you didn’t get flashes of laughter and visions of Sam and Dean around a table in what they call the War Room. If Sam doesn’t show you the kitchen, and suddenly your brain is washed over with a memory of sitting at the table, across from him and Dean.

Dean winks at you as Sam tries to show you something on his laptop. You’re going to kill him. He’s being obvious, and a little mean.

It doesn’t stop you from following him out of the kitchen only minutes later, even though it snaps your dignity in half.

“You’ve got something?” Sam’s almost jumping in front of you, and you give him a small smile. 

“You drink smoothies.”

“They’re healthy.” Sam shrugs, his voice raising to a shout. “Cas! It’s working!”

Dean shuffles into the kitchen, barely glancing at you. “Cas left. Said he’s going to look for a better fix.”

Sam frowns. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He told me. And you should bring her to her room.”

Your eyes widen as Sam nods, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“Shit, yeah, good idea. C’mon,“ Sam says your name, walking to the hallway. “This should be good for you.”

When you see your room, it does seem like your room. It’s decorated how you’d decorate it, clothing scattered on the floor that you recognize, the walls painted how you’d paint them, but there’s also a shotgun on the dresser and a knife on your bedside stand.

“Shit, sweetheart, this is an awesome gun, where’d you find it?”

You look up at Dean from your bed, fidgeting with your blanket between your fingers. “It was in one of the storage rooms. I can show you later, I think there were a few more.”

“Hell yeah,” he aims it at the wall, his smile easy and boyish. It’s adorable.

You wish he’d stop.

“Dean?”

He hums, still turning the gun in his hands, and you take in a long breath.

“Are we going to talk about it?”

Dean freezes, his eyes wide and almost panicked on yours as he sets the gun back down.

“I don’t think there’s anything to talk about. I mean, it’s us. We can be cool.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah, cool. You have a problem, I take care of it. I have a problem,” he gestures between your bodies with raised brows, and you sigh.

“Okay.”

“Awesome.”

“Yeah.” You smile at him, and this might consume and destroy you. But fuck you, you’re going to let it. “Awesome.”

“You got anything?” Sam asks, and you nod. You might have too much. 

And none of it is making any make sense at all.

The week passes like this. More small memories come to you in visions, your head pounds and stabs with pain, Sam hangs over your shoulder and shows you countless places you can navigate but don’t recognize—their dungeon, their gun range, a place called the Dean Cave, a field, and a corner store down the street—all as Dean swirls around your head, but remains just out of sight. Barely crossing your path, looking like a deer in headlights when he does.

But you think you’ve sat with your legs over his lap in the Dean Cave. You’ve trailed after him—holding onto the sleeve of his jacket—in the corner store. You’ve had his body wrapped around yours in the gun range, his voice low and teasing in your ear as he guides your hands.

And the most memories come in your bedroom. Sitting on the mattress with him towering above you, lying on the floor with him under you, giggling as he pins you against the door.

He still won’t look at you. He doesn’t even acknowledge you anymore. He’s locking himself in his room, only coming out to get food, sort through the library, or take his car and leave for hours on end.

Sam is worried.

“This… isn’t like Dean.” He tells you, frowning at the door Dean had just disappeared through. “I don’t know what’s up with him, but you guys were really good friends before. Like, really good.” He gives you an odd look. You’ve been getting a lot of those lately. “There was a while where I was pretty sure that he was finally-“ He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Never mind. I’ll talk to him later.”

You sleep in your room again. It’s felt strange, because your body doesn’t seem to like your mattress. It doesn’t relax into it like it should, if you’ve really been sleeping here for years. You keep waking up reaching for the other side of the bed. You keep being unable to fall asleep at all because something feels off. 

He’s still here when you wake up. His arm heavy over your stomach as he presses your back against his chest, his breath hot on your neck. 

You should’ve kicked him out last night. You try to never let him fall asleep next to you, let alone wake up in your bed. It’s cruel to you.

Because now you have to have this, and then let it go. You’ll never be able to wipe the feeling of Dean wrapped around you from your skin, and your muscles will never forget how easy it was to relax when he was holding you. 

When you roll over your hands will always know how to linger on his bare, warm chest. Your fingers will always know how to map his every freckle, even if you were blindfolded and submerged underwater. 

Your heart will always know to slow down when you look at him. Especially like this. He’s peaceful here. His eyelashes fluttering and his lips parted, his brow dropped to yours as he sleeps. 

As he has no way to know that he’s doing it.

He’s vulnerable. Dean’s body is letting him rest with you at his side. It’s letting him fall into a strong sleep with steady breaths and slack muscles, even though there’s something foreign pressed against him.

And that’s why this is cruel. It feeds your hope that this could be more. That Dean could ever see you as you see him, that he’d chose to rest with you because deep down, he loves you like you love him.

Deeply and powerfully. Irrevocably and brutally. Made of gnashing teeth and blood caking your nails, but also simple in loud music and wind, soft in golden streetlamps that cast halos around his head. Concrete. Dependable. You will always love Dean, even if you lose everything else you’ve ever had.

And he will not love you.

And this is cruel.

But you still let your face bury itself in his neck. You still let your nose memorize the evergreen and amber smell of him. You still let his skin leave burning marks on yours, as he stays asleep. 

And you just watch him. 

You have to drag yourself out of bed. You have to give Dean a close-lipped smile when he walks right past you in the kitchen, and not scream when his skin brushes yours.

It’s not foreign. 

It feels like you.

And you’re so lost. 

You don’t ask any questions. The few questions you have asked made Sam sad, like you should already know the answer, and he always does this puppy-dog face that breaks your heart. The only questions you’d really want to ask were questions about Dean. About if Sam talked to him, about why—if you’re as close as Sam claims, if these strange snapshots are true—he won’t even look at you. About how he’d looked at you before.

About how you’d looked at him.

But Sam’s too busy for you to even really consider it. He’s calling Cas and someone named Rowena all the time, he’s researching day and night to try and fix you, and he’s coming up with strange new ways to trigger your memory every day.

“Sit there.” He points to the driver’s seat of the Impala, moving around the hood of the car. “You’re driving.”

You shake your head. “I don’t know how to drive stick-“

“Yeah, you do, Dean- fuck.” Sam groans, rubbing his forehead. “Well, let’s try having you sit in it? Just to see if anything happens?”

You nod, and things do happen. When you put your hand on the gear shift, a phantom of a bigger, calloused one covers it, and suddenly you can drive stick. You don’t even have to think about it, you just can. 

It might be worse when you think about it. Sam makes you drive—telling you to go somewhere and refusing to specify any possible destinations—and whenever you try to actually dwell on what you’re doing, you make a mistake. 

So you let your body take over. You drive the Impala where your hands want you to go, and where they want you to go seems to be a dive bar parking lot.

“Huh.” Sam glances around as you both climb out of the car, a small frown on his face. “I’ve never been here before. I know it’s a stupid question, but do you know where you are?”

“No,” you sigh, letting your feet carry you to the edge of the pavement, letting your knees bend down as you sit on the curb. “Not at all.”

“Shit.” He mutters. “Well, you want a drink while we’re here?”

You nod, Sam goes into the bar, returns with two beers, and drops at your side.

“This is…” Sam glances at you, his voice soft. Apologetic. “I’m really sorry this is happening. I mean, Dean went through something similar a while ago, but at least we had an idea of how to handle that, you know? I’m- I don’t even know where to start here.” He says your name, rolling his bottle between his hands. “All we’ve got is Dean saying you touched a cursed object, but he’s being really weird and when Cas and I went back to the building there was nothing. We’re going to fix this, I promise, but...”

He sighs, trailing off, and you clear your throat. You haven’t just sat with Sam since this—whatever this is—started. This might be your only chance to try to get answers in a way that doesn’t make your skull cave in and your heart burn.

“Can I ask you some stuff?”

Sam nods, and you take a long, slow breath.

“How did I end up here? Doing,” you gesture vaguely to the air. “This.”

A small smile ghosts over Sam’s lips. “Dean and I were hunting a vamp nest, and you were one of the witnesses. You helped us out a little, we told you some stuff about how you deal with vamps, and then you got kidnapped. We- Well, we tried to save you, but by the time we got there you’d kind of saved yourself. You’d covered yourself in dead man’s blood from one of their discarded vics, and none of them would go near you. After it was done, you asked to come with us, and you haven’t left since.”

“And we’re… friends?”

“We are.” Sam says, rubbing his forehead with a sigh. “I mean, I know you and I are. You helped me organize the library when you moved to the bunker. I taught you most of the stuff about the lore, and we made up a game about it. Dean calls it dumb, but he just hates that he’s bad at it. Sometimes you go on runs with me, and then you say you’re never running again. You’re the one who convinced me to ask out my girlfriend-“

You blink at him. “You have a girlfriend?”

“Yeah, Eileen. You’re friends with her too. You’re friends with everybody.” Sam offers you another smile, and this one seems less painful. “Even Rowena likes you. We didn’t have to threaten her to help us out here.”

Even as you return Sam’s smile, a last question eats at your tongue, and you’re too tired, too confused to think better of asking it.

“What about Dean?” You whisper. “Am I friends with him?”

Sam sighs. He seems to do that a lot. 

“Yes. Kind of. I… I don’t know.” He mutters, frowning at the pavement. “It’s complicated. I’m not- This isn’t really my place, you know?”

You swallow. “Does he hate me?”

Sam laughs at that. A loud, full laugh that echoes around the parking lot. 

“No.” He shakes his head, clearly amused by something you don’t understand. “I don’t think either of you could hate each other if you-“

“I fucking hate you!” You scream, shoving his chest. He doesn’t flinch. He never flinches. 

Asshole.

“You’re drunk.” Dean grunts your name, catching your hand against his chest. “We need to go home.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Winchester-“

“Yeah, you are.”

Dean starts to tug you across the parking lot, back to the car, and you hate that you just let him. You always let him. He takes you somewhere and you just follow him like a fucking lapdog. Waiting for him whenever he leaves. Whining and whimpering at the door when he’s gone and lighting up from the inside when he returns. 

Barely getting a treat or a smile when he pays attention to you. Only really getting his attention in brief flashes that build your body to an explosion before leaving you to pick up the pieces yourself. Leaving you alone, wracked with a love he can’t return, mending your own heart until he asks to break it again, and you let him.

“You’re going to sleep it off.” Dean mutters from ahead of you, and there are little blond hairs at the nape of his neck that seem silver and gold in the low light. Just another piece of him that’s impossibly beautiful. Another piece you get to touch but never keep. 

“I don’t need to sleep it off!” You yank your hand from his grip as he tries to guide you into Baby, and drop on the curb with a dramatic sigh. “Just leave me alone, Dean.”

“I am not fucking abandoning you at some sketchy bar-“

“Why not?” You raise your chin at him, narrowing your eyes. “Afraid I’ll find someone else? That I’ll crawl into another bed, and they’ll actually like me, and you’ll lose your favorite pet?”

He scowls. “We’re not having this conversation right now-“

“Why not?! You know it’s the truth, Dean! I’m just, I’m your fucking toy and you hate sharing-“

He says your name in a low warning, but you can’t stop now. This pain has been building up and up in your chest and lungs for years, and now that it’s out it’s volcanic. You couldn’t keep it in if you tried.

“But you’ll never actually care about me! I’m easy for you! That was the fucking deal, right! We’re easy for each other and that’s it, just using each other until one of us fucking dies! You keep acting like I mean nothing and then you get all fucking possessive when I try to get over you-“

“You’re not trying to get over me.” He mutters, not fully meeting your eyes. “You don’t have anything to get over. You’re just fucking wasted-“

“Yeah, I am, because you won’t just say that I matter to you-“

“Of course you matter to me, you’re my friend-“

“You’re not my friend!” You scream, your voice echoing through the parking lot. Your head is starting to spin. “Friends don’t do this to each other!”

You’re dizzy. You feel a little faint. 

And you’d just spend an hour telling Dean you hate him. But he’s still grabbing you and keeping you steady.

You really wish he wouldn’t. It would make it easier to pretend you really did hate him. That just his touch didn’t make you feel safe and cared for, even when the dickhead didn’t really care. 

“You done?” He asks, and you hum, something hot and wet stinging at your eyes.

“I hate you, Dean.” You mumble, even as you slump into him. “I fucking hate you.”

He brushes some hair from your face, and your eyes flutter. “I know you do, babygirl.” He mutters, and you don’t think he knows you’re still awake. “Let’s go home.”

Sam’s frowning at you when the real world comes back into view. And when you whisper that you’d really like to leave, he doesn’t ask questions. He doesn’t even make you drive, or try to talk to you as you stare out the window. 

He doesn’t push for the rest of the day. He shows you a few more things that trigger smaller memories, and you don’t see Dean at all. 

But he’s everywhere. In every memory. You walk through the library as Sam explains a system you allegedly designed, and a memory of you explaining this exact system to Dean flashes through your brain. He’d made jokes, and you’d giggled, and his smile had numbed your brain. You try to make yourself dinner, and suddenly you’re laughing and throwing food at Dean, right before he presses you against the counter with a searing kiss. You wander through the halls and you can hear heavy, controlled steps behind you. You return to your room, and he’s at your side in bed, wearing the same flannel from the memory in the parking lot. Making you drink water and helping you change, muttering low apologies you can’t actually really hear. Tucking you in bed and tracing his hand over your face, grabbing you a trash can to vomit in when you shoot back up, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. 

His whole face is set in that memory, but it’s all hazy. You don’t know if you trust it, because all the other memories have been sharp and clear, but this one is dreamlike. Like even before you lost your memory, you weren’t sure if it was real. The you who all this happened to might have just made this up for herself. Made up Dean holding her hair back and pressing a soft kiss to her brow as she lay back down, even though you can still feel the warmth of his chapped lips in that exact spot. She might have made up Dean smiling at her when she mumbled that she didn’t actually hate him. She might have made up him staying when she begged him to in a soft voice. 

You don’t know. You don’t know anything. You’ve never felt more lost, never been in more pain. Your body is where it’s supposed to be, but your brain isn’t. It’s restless and worried and tearing itself apart, and when you fail to sleep your body knows how to walk through the halls, even as your whole mind spins and shreds itself to pieces.

Sam was sorry this was happening to you, but you don’t know why. You don’t know him. Every time you’ve seen Cas since you’ve returned, he’s asked you questions you don’t know the answers to. Every day your body remembers things, but you don’t. You want to, you want to so bad, but you’re adrift and drowning in a vast, cold ocean and you can’t even remember how you got there. You keep feeling like there’s a lifeline, just out of reach, but you can’t grab it. It’s not in your room, or the kitchen, or the library. It’s nowhere Sam takes you, nowhere you remember how to go.

You feel like something had been guiding you, anchoring you in the waves, and now it’s missing. Vanished from your hands. 

And now you’re lost, and in pain, and alone. Wandering aimlessly through the depths of the bunker in the dead of night, searching for a lighthouse you’re not sure exists.

You walk into the War Room, and Dean’s already there. Glass of whiskey in hand, head tipped back and eyes closed, the fancy headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday blasting music so loud you can hear it from across the room. You walk up behind him and run a gentle hand over his cheeks, and he doesn’t flinch. His eyes just open slowly and find yours in a second, his attention soft as he tugs his headphones down, grabs your hand, and kisses your knuckles. 

“Hi.” You whisper, and he grins.

“Hey.”

“It’s late.” You run a hand through his hair, and he lets you. He’s amazing and horrible, so he lets you have this. “It’s bad for your back to sleep in a chair.”

“Bad for my back?” He chuckles. “I’m not that old, sweetheart-“

“It’s bad for everyone’s back-“

“Sam sleeps in his chair all the time.” Dean raises his brows at you, and you swallow. “You’re not on his ass about it.”

You sigh. You don’t want to entertain this. You’re too tired for the fight that it will lead to. “Please just go sleep in your bed, Dean.”

He hums, and you let him guide you around the chair, until you’re standing between his legs.

“Maybe I will, if you’re there with me.”

“Don’t say that.” You whisper, unable to move away. He’s going to break your heart again. You’re going to let him, because your heart is traitorous and loves being broken by Dean. It just likes that Dean has to touch it to break it. “Please.”

He shakes his head with a long, deep exhale, and doesn’t say another word. 

But he doesn’t go to bed either. He stands up until you’re trapped between his body and the table, and places his whiskey down, his eyes never leaving yours. He’s scanning over your face with an expression like he’s lost, like he’s looking for something he’s desperate to find but terrified to see.

You don’t know if he finds it. 

All you know is that he’s touching you, and you’re molding into him, and whatever he does to you, you’ll allow. 

As long as it’s Dean doing it.

He unplugs his headphone until the music is filling the War Room, picks up his iPod, and changes the song. This one is soft, a gentle melody drowning you in honey and a daze of Dean. You didn’t think he’d own a song like this. It’s slow and romantic, and it flows so easily as he takes one hand in yours, places the other on your hip, and moves you away from the table.

He starts to sway, holding you steady in his arms, and soon you’re dancing. Really dancing, in measured, easy steps that Dean guides you through. You didn’t think he’d know how to do this. You didn’t think he’d ever do it with you.

But you’re lost in him, and you’ve never felt like you’ve belonged anywhere else. You’re drowning in the song, but Dean’s drowning with you, so you know exactly where you are. Trapped in this infinite and fleeting moment, trapped in Dean’s eyes, trapped in the warmth of his light, casting over your body and guiding you wherever you’ll need to be.

When he leans in to kiss you, you don’t push him away. You could never push him away. Your hands only know how to curl in his shirt and your lips only know how to crash into his. Your tongue always craves Dean’s taste of whiskey and pecan, and your body always knows how to catch the small sparks of lighting his touch creates, then throw them through your whole body.

And Dean always kisses you with everything he has, but this is different. It’s not desperate and needy, it’s long and deep and feels like home. When he sucks on your lower lip, it’s like he’s trying to leave a mark. When his steps still and he dips you down, you gasp, and he breathes it in like it’s more than oxygen. When your arms wrap around his neck, he pulls you closer, like you could be absorbed into his body forever. 

When he pulls away—the song long over, the only sounds in the world his ragged breath and your heartbeat in your ears—he still doesn’t speak. And you don’t move. You’ll be a statue until Dean’s command brings your back to life. You’ll be cold marble, sinking down, down, down until he takes your hand and reminds your body how to be.

And that’s pathetic.

But when he squeezes your hand in his, presses a soft kiss on the space between your eyes, and starts to guide you out of the War Room, you don’t even try not to follow him.

Because Dean would never let you stray from where you’re safe. Next to him.

Your legs are carrying you out of the war room, down a path that they remember but you don’t. To a door that your hand aches to push open, into a room where the air is warm but fresh, and an overwhelming smell of amber and evergreen tints against your nostrils. They don’t seem bothered by it. They seem to relax into it, like it’s an anesthetic. 

This must be Dean’s room. If your body couldn’t tell you that, your increasingly fragile brain would still piece it together. It’s obviously lived in—clothing on the floor, sheets messy on the bed, small bits of evidence scattered on the shelves and dresser—and there’s only one lived in room you haven’t entered before. Dean’s.

Sam hadn’t even shown you where it was.

Apparently he hadn’t needed to. Your whole body had pulled you here.

And that’s your shirt, on the bedside table-

Dean peels off your shirt without a word, discarding it to an unseen corner of the room. You fumble with his belt, your need growing and growing with every second his hands map over your body—he’s already explored it, found places you didn’t even know existed yourself, but he never seems to get sick of you—and Dean just chuckles, keeping his brow pressed to yours as he takes care of it himself. His jeans have barely fallen around his ankles when he grabs your face between his hands and kisses you until your knees are weak.

Neither of you are speaking. There’s nothing to say that hasn’t already been screamed or sobbed or snapped, hasn’t been moaned or mumbled or whispered. 

All that left to do is touch each other, like you have a million times before. Like you will a million times again, because you can lie to yourself that one day your patience will run out and you’ll leave, but you know you won’t. Dean’s changed your body on a level that feels deeper than skin. Your heart only knows how to beat for him. Your brain only knows how to think of him. Your hands only know how to palm at his dick, tenting through his boxers, and your lips only know how to part as he groans down your throats.

You fall to your knees, free him from his underwear, wrap your hand around his proud cock, and look up at him with a soft smile. His massive, rough hand has tangled in your hair, his eyes hooded and throat bobbing, and when you take him in your mouth you know exactly how to play him like an instrument. How to suck when he bumps the back of your throat, how to flick your tongue over the head of him, how to squeeze and jerk off the base of his cock where you can’t get him between your lips. You know to keep going as he starts to groan your name in a low warning, because if he wants to cum in your mouth, you’d never stop him.

That’s another taste you’ll always crave. Salty and bitter and so purely Dean, marking you in a way he can’t take back.

But he pulls you off with a firm tug of your hair, wiping a little drool from your lips with his thumb before tilting your head up and crashing his lips into yours. When Dean hauls you to your feet you crumple into him, and when he tosses you onto his bed you giggle, crawling backwards and spreading your legs in a silent offering you’ve given him a million times before, and will never stop giving him as long as he takes it.

And he always takes it. Dean’s eyes always darken, and he always prowls over you. But it’s never like you’re prey. Never like you’re just a body to be taken and notched on a bedpost. 

It’s like you’re something he’s trying to bathe himself in. Like an external piece of him he’s trying to protect and tend to by covering himself in it. It’s why he always dives down between your legs first, keeping you pinned to the bed with a hand on your stomach, shoving his tongue deep into your cunt and pressing his nose on your clit until you’re writhing and suffocating him between your thighs. When he moves to pull that bundle of nerves between his lips—pressing his tongue flat against you and sucking—a coil in your gut snaps, and you drown his face in your release.

Your body only ever does that for Dean.

You don’t think he knows that. And every time you think to tell him, he’s always already moved on. Risen above you and shoving two fingers into your still raw and sensitive pussy, finding the deepest part of you like it’s a magnet, and rubbing on it as he watches you come undone once more. 

He cleans his hands with his mouth, licking them and smirking at you as you reach for him, trying to grip his body and pull it down over yours. He usually takes his time—teasing and edging you until you’re a whining mess—but tonight really is different. His smile on your flushed, already wrecked face isn’t taunting or lustful, it’s relaxed. And he still doesn’t speak, but when he kisses his way over your navel, up your chest—stopping to suck on one nipple as his hand plays with your other breast, because he’s Dean and he can’t help himself—it’s louder than anything else in the world. He’s taking him time because he’s trying to keep you in his bed. He knows that once this is over, you’ll gather your things and leave, like you always do to protect yourself.

So he’s giving you a reason to stay.

He nips and sucks up your throat and over your jaw, plants kisses everywhere on your face but where you’re begging for him, and pins your squirming body to the bed with his full weight before his mouth finally makes its way to yours. 

He’s kissing you into the mattress, kissing you until your lips are swollen and your head is spinning from oxygen deprivation. He only pulls back to watch his hand stroke his cock, right before he guides himself into your dripping, fluttering pussy and bottoms out in one thrust. He lets out a low grunt as you adjust, and when he rolls his hips, you moan.

And he falls right back into you.

From there it’s only Dean. Fucking you until you’re scratching at his chest and putty in his arms, your mouth is slack as he groans and grunts above you. He hikes your thigh up to push his cock in at a deeper angle and marks your neck and shoulders with bites and hickeys that you hope never fade, building his speed until you’re just a squirming, whining mess and he’s slamming into you at a brutal pace. 

He doesn’t slow down when you cum, clenching around his cock and screaming a high whine of his name. He only swallows the sound with a bruising kiss, plunging his tongue down your throat and rutting harder and harder into your cunt. All you can do is take it. You’ll always take it. If this is how to you get to have Dean, you’ll never push him away.

He cums with a roar against your lips, trigging one last, small, shuddering orgasm through your body, and collapses on top of you.

Dean rolls you over until he’s beneath you, caging you against his chest with big, strong arms. He doesn’t pull out—letting his cum drip down and dry on your thighs—and when your look up at him he’s staring at you with a drunken, awestruck expression. 

His eyes are already drooping, his breathing slowing to an even, steady pace as he keeps you trapped against his body. You wish your hands could remember how to pry him away before he falls asleep, because now you’re going to be trapped here for a long, painful night where Dean’s sheathed inside you and you can smell and taste him everywhere, but he’s still not yours to have.

Yet, you can’t move.

And right as his eyes close, he mutters your name. You almost don’t hear it. You’re not sure you did hear it.

“Dean?”

He repeats your name, and it’s barely a breath. 

“Wha-“

“I love you.” He mumbles your name one last time, and you gape at him. He doesn’t even know he’s speaking. “‘m sorry. Love you. Don’t leave.” He buries his face in your hair, and he won’t remember this in the morning. “Please don’t leave me.”

“What are you doing in here.” 

You drag your gaze away from the bed and turn to see Dean, wearing flannel pants and a white sleep shirt. He’s not glaring at you, even though you’ve invaded his room without permission. He just looks weary. Tired.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, rooted to the spot. “I don’t… I don’t know.”

Something pained flashes over his face, and you feel small cracks form across your heart.

“Whatever.” He mutters, walking right past you without another glance. “Get out.”

“No.”

You don’t know why you said that. This isn’t your place to be, especially when Dean doesn’t want anything to do with you. When he doesn’t want you here. But you don’t feel adrift here. And you don’t want to go.

Dean stares at you. “What.”

“I’m not going.” You hug yourself, your eyes moving back to the shirt on the dresser. “That’s my shirt.”

He huffs, rolling his eyes as he mutters to himself. “So a fucking shirt you remember. Awesome.”

You swallow. “Why do you have my shirt, Dean.”

He goes rigid, but doesn’t speak, so you keep going.

“Why won’t you talk to me?” You don’t realize you’re walking forward he’s closer. It feels right. “Sam said-“

“Sam doesn’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Dean grunts, but he doesn’t move away. Even when you move closer. Even as you push on.

“Then you tell me.” You sound like you’re pleading. You kind of are. “Every time I remember something you’re there, but you won’t even look at me! I don’t know who I am, I don’t know what’s going on, and I keep thinking about you but you’re acting like you want nothing to do with me-“

Dean’s jaw clenches, his words pushed through his teeth. “That’s not true.”

“It is! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me!” You feel like you’re going to cry. You haven’t even wanted to cry, not since this began, but something has crashed down inside of you, and this room feels like a safe place to fall apart.

Dean feels like a safe place to fall apart.

“I’m, I’m so lost, and I don’t know what’s going on, and everything keeps coming back to you but I don’t know who you are! You won’t tell me who you are, Sam won’t tell me who you are, and I feel like I’m supposed to know but I don’t! I know who I am but I feel like I’m missing something, and everything hurts, and I just- I need to know-“

Dean grunts your name, and you let out a choked sob.

You’re sick of being lost. You’re sick of not knowing. And when you meet Dean’s eyes they’re like a beacon, and you can’t help but float into them. 

“Who am I to you, Dean?”

“You’re the love of my life.” His voice is hoarse, and his eyes widen slightly at his own answer. You don’t think he expected it. 

“I’m-“

His hands grab your face—holding you so carefully, like he’s practiced this a million time—and you melt into his touch. 

“You’re everything to me, and I- I fucking failed you.” Dean’s thumb traces over your cheekbone, wiping away a tear. “I can’t fix it. I’ve been fucking trying, baby. I promised you I’d try, but I can’t. I- I can’t. I need your help but you’re-“ He makes a low, strangled sound, dropping his brow to yours. It fits perfectly there. “I can’t do this without you. I never tell you that, I never say that I need you, but I do, and I failed you, and now you’re-“

Dean’s whole body shudders, and your arms wrap around him on instinct alone. He falls over you, clinging to you like you’re going to vanish, and-

“You don’t have to do this.” Dean mutters in your ear, and his hug is going to suffocate you, but you don’t care. Maybe he’ll leave an indent on your body. “We can just fucking destroy it-“

“Because trying to destroy cursed objects has worked out so well for us, historically.” You give him a sad, dry smile, and he shakes his head. 

“There’s another way. There’s always another way-“

“We don’t have time for another way. And it won’t be permanent. All curses can be cured.”

“But we don’t even know what the hell this one does!” He shouts, and you don’t wince. He’s not mad at you. “‘Taking what you value most’ could mean anything, could fucking do anything-“

“I know. But it will kill you if I don’t-“

“We don’t know that-“

You do know that. So does Dean. This object latched onto Dean, and it will either leech his life slowly, involuntarily, or take something from you, along with a piece of your memory. And you’ll lose whatever you need to if it keeps Dean safe.

“Listen.” You hold Dean’s gaze, making your voice firm. “Don’t tell Sam and Cas. They’ll get caught on what happened, and you’ll all start fighting, and we can’t afford that. You just need to find what I value, bring it back to me, and I’ll be okay. Got it?”

Dean shakes his head. “How am I supposed to know what you value if you won’t tell me-“

“I don’t know.” You sigh. “I- I honestly can’t think of what I value most, but hopefully you’ll notice something is missing, and you can track it down.” You give him a soft smile. “I believe in you, Dean. And if I’m awake, I’ll try to help you.”

“You won’t remember-“

“It should only take my memories relating the thing. I probably won’t even know anything is wrong.”

“But I’ll know.” He mutters. “And what if I don’t get the thing back to you-“

“You will get it back to me.” You say simply. He’s Dean. You trust him with more than your life. “And I’ll be okay.”

You start to move away, but he doesn’t let you go. He’s pallid and bloodless from the object draining him, but he’s still strong. And you don’t really want to leave him at all. 

“Don’t. Please.” He mutters your name, and it sounds like a prayer. “I’m not worth this, baby.”

“Of course you are.” You smile at him, tears stinging your eyes as you manage to force yourself away. “I love you.”

His eyes widen, and he looks like he wants to say something, but anything he can say will only make you hesitate.

So you turn away.

Right before you touch the object you have a thought. An epiphany that—if your hand wasn’t already pressed on the object’s cool surface—would have made you break down and scream for Dean to make you stop, to drag you away.

But it’s too late. And everything goes dark.

“Dean.”

He leans back to look at you, and you know him. You know everything about him, and it’s destroying your brain and body, trying to break out but trapped down. This pain is horrible.

But Dean is good.

“You love me?”

He swallows, but nods. He seems afraid. Tense under your hands, like you’re going to push him away and he’ll have to just take it.

He won’t. Because you do the only thing you’re certain you know how to do.

You kiss him.

It’s like fireworks, but there’s no electrically you haven’t felt before, no colors you’ve never seen. You’re swept up in his waves and wide fire, but it could never drown or burn you. You’ve adapted to move with it, to breathe in his water and smoke and trust him to bring you exactly where you need to be.

Against his chest, dipping and holding you steady, pouring his all and then some into your body. And your memory doesn’t crash back into you, it just washes over you like rain. 

Dean pulls back, and you smile at him like you always have. Like you always will.

“Hi,” you whisper, and he grins. 

“Hey,” Dean says your name, and you’ve done this dance before.  “Are you-“

You kiss him again, and you know exactly who Dean is. What he is to you, how he loves you in strong, unspoken silence that kills you and cures you all at one, and how you might be built to love him. 

You are.

And he’s built the same way for you.

End Note: Obsessed with love as a thing that happens to you physically, if you can't tell. Thank you for reading!

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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

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[hadesrise]

## one true love !!

summary──── ben feels true love with you, his enemy, and finds himself able to break from the toxic masculinity he surrounded himself with.

pairings──── soldier boy / benjamin x anti-hero!male reader

warnings──── nsfw content, porn with too much feelings, fluff, slight angst, foul language, probably (very definitely) ooc soldier boy, top!reader, sub!bottom!ben, gentle love, praise kink, hair pulling, creampie, fingering, unprotected sex, overstimulation, vibrator, pet names ( love, baby, pup, etc. ), short oral ( r. receiving ), love-making, mating press, missionary, riding, aftercare, light D/S dynamics, pillow talk, a lot of vulnerability, ben proposes to reader unexpectedly, enemies in forbidden love, internalised homophobia, morally grey!reader, possessiveness, homophobic slurs, canon typical misogyny, reader’s anti-hero name is lucifer, reader has magical powers

author’s note──── i might’ve made him too soft and vulnerable, so forewarning that he doesn’t show much of his asshole side in this fic. the ooc warning already says much, i guess?

MINORS DNI !!

Peaceful jazz music and well dressed crowd fills the grand hall decorated in gold curtains, men and women from different wealthy families flaunting around their riches with drinks in hand. Adorned in nothing but expensive attires that feeds off of the poor were most guests that have been invited to celebrate another success of Vought-American with a superhero movie that starred its own team, Payback, while the heroes themselves remained in their pretty little costumes for the publicity and fame.

Cameras, photographers, and journalists lurked in the corner section of the hall, where they’ve been assigned to fulfil their destiny of capturing significant moments that are interesting enough to be written on headlines or shown on television.

Nights like this were when Soldier Boy wanted to beat the shit out of Vought employees for their incapability in making celebrations entertaining. The lack of excitement and chaos infuse Ben with excessive boredom that just gives him the urge to shoot himself in the head, all of its professionalism becoming nothing but a burden and straight up pain in the ass. He’s been hardly enjoying the night, having to put up with Crimson Countess attached to his hip at all times to keep appearances, which he admits is worse than fucking a loose cunt. It didn’t make him feel better that Stan fucking Edgar was watching, making sure things are under control.

The jazz music suddenly stops short with a loud screeching sound that has everyone covering their ears in pain, startled murmurs filling the air as all eyes turned to the stage where a famous band stood, confusion also plastered across their faces. One of them repeatedly presses down on the piano’s key, frowning when it does nothing as if it lost its function all of a sudden. Sensing the panic slowly rise among guests, Stan opens his mouth to speak, only for his words to die in his throat when the lights begin to flicker.

“You know, I’m quite displeased to not have received an invitation.” Deep, resonant, husky voice littered with confidence and cockiness erupt out of nowhere as the flickering lights return to normal, an utterly familiar figure making themselves known.

Gasps, of either excitement or fear, falls from everyone’s lips to your powerful presence that almost immediately caused a shift in atmosphere. Soldier Boy’s breath hitched, feeling his throat dry as he cleared his throat and swallowed.

You don’t miss the quick look of surprise and panic flashing across Stan’s face before they were hidden behind his casual mask of greedy businessman, making the corner of your lips twitch up.

“You’re simply not welcome here, Lucifer.” The man uttered with barely contained irritation despite his best efforts to remain calm, spitting your antihero name — given by, not Vought, but the public themselves — in distaste.

Amusement emerge on your expression, completely unbothered by the antagonistic perspective Stan sees you with.

There’s an underlying overconfidence and arrogance to the way you hold yourself, a man who clearly knows how influential and threatening your own existence is and isn’t even apologetic for it. It wasn’t just for a show — you knew you mattered, knew exactly your worth, and didn’t hide behind the fake persona of a beloved public figure that pretends they’re enjoying a single bit of what they’re doing. Your ego and pride seemingly rivals that of Soldier Boy’s yet yours come more naturally, like you were born with it without the need to develop them in amidst of your life to trick yourself into feeling more relevant. You held charisma, a charm that seems to pull people closer to you despite the dangerous, deceitful, fucking jackass attitude you had that’s supposed to be driving them away. It makes Ben want to either punch your face or suck your cock like a fag whore.

“Fair enough,” You shrugged. “But I certainly make parties more fun. You could learn a couple or two from me.”

Stan’s eye twitches in annoyance at your arrogance; it’s much worse that he can’t use anything to stomp on it because your ego wasn’t fragile like the others. While most men, supe or not, wrap their self-importance in toxic masculinity in order to feel superior than they actually are, you were fully comfortable with yourself. Your emotional capacity was extremely high that developed you to become invincible against criticism or rejection. He can attempt to hurt your feelings, manipulate you, use your own ego against you all he wants — none of it will force you to surrender or submit no matter what because you, quite simply, loved yourself too much to be under power hungry maniacs.

When Stan can’t seem to muster a snarky remark, you smirk and invite yourself in, walking further into the grand hall as you snap your fingers, the white bright lights turning into colourful disco lights with your magic.

You stared at the band members on stage, eyes glowing red, and forcefully overtake their minds to play an upbeat party worth music instead of the boring jazz they did. It’s not that you dislike jazz music, it’s peculiar and beautiful on its own, you’re just not really fond of formal parties where everyone’s required to be in their good behaviours, barely having the time of their life if not to shove their riches down less wealthy people’s throat, which you don’t particularly find amusing or fun at all.

It seems to excite the guests, some of them even beginning to bop their heads to the catchy rhythm, moving their previously still bodies along with the beats. Energy surges through them, life revealing itself within their eyes that was filled with misery before you barged in.

“Let go of the fucking formality, ladies and gentlemen.” You grinned wide with your arms spread open to your sides. “It’s time for a true fun party!”

Ben was in awe when all cheered at your declaration, how quick you were able to turn this entire place into your own playground despite the hosts — authorities — being present, how much of a natural you were at gaining people’s faith and attention without doing more than show up and be yourself.

It should be making him envious; he’s doing all these heroism, model, actor bullshit and hiding behind a perfect macho-man façade to be loved and paid attention to for fuck’s sake, and yet it’s so easy for you to bend people at your own will just by being yourself. He should be pissed as he always did when others get the spotlight more than him, but Ben couldn’t find it in himself to.

How the fuck is he going to be pissed when you look so disgustingly hot doing all of it?

“He’s fucking doing it again,” Countess seethes through gritted teeth, glaring at you. Her little tug on his arm snaps him out of daze as he shifts his gaze to her. “Taking all the attention away from you. With the rate he’s going, I wouldn’t be surprised if he interrupts everything you’re in.”

Ben had to pretend to irritably clench his jaw, and smiled with sarcasm. “As if I’d let him. Fucking asshole needs to be put in his place.”

He knew you heard him when the corner of your lips pulled up in a smirk, one of your brows raising to shoot him a challenging look. It sends a thrill down Ben’s spine as he scowled, giving you a death glare that everyone sees for it is; rage, hatred, despise.

“Pleasure to see you here, Soldier Boy. Crimson Countess.” You greet in a feigned enthusiasm, swiftly taking a cocktail from the waiter that just passed, and approach them in all your glory.

“Fuck you,” Soldier Boy quickly snarled as Countess spits, “Get the fuck away from us.”

Amusement instantly cross your face, nearly making both of them want to punch you. “So much for greeting lovebirds in clown costumes,” You dejectedly say with a hand over your chest for dramatic effect, in contrast to the mocking way in which you spoke. “C’mon, I just made this boring, useless party worth your precious little time. At least now you can stop being a pussy hiding behind an awfully constructed television personality.”

That strikes a nerve in Soldier Boy as his face hardened and a cold look appeared, stepping forward warningly, “I’d choose my next fucking words wisely if I were you.” Countess tugs his arm in a nervous manner while scanning their surroundings, taking notice of people watching your interaction.

You meet his glare with a calm yet daring look and leaned closer, “I wouldn’t. I know I can beat you.” Your eyes glowed in red once again as you grinned confidently.

Ben’s hand twitched, but before he could make a move, a woman approached you from behind and tugged on your elbow, interrupting the little rivalry you had going on. “I’m sorry, do you mind if we dance and have fun for a bit?” She shyly but bravely asked you, not even sparing Soldier Boy a glance.

An unimpressed look flashes in your eyes that only Ben took notice of, the subtle annoyance to the woman for cutting into your rather hostile conversation. You, however, plastered on an emotionless smile within a split second, not giving anyone the chance to see through you. “I’ll lead the way,” You barely looked at him before walking off with her to the centre of the hall where bodies swayed to the beat.

It takes everything in Ben not to square up and make a mess of this party when you started dancing with her, your body dangerously close to hers as she stares at you with a look that made him want to strangle her slim neck. As if you’re a divine sculpture created by Gods, like you’re the entire universe, most precious being to ever exist in this planet, like she knew everything about you when she, in fact, absolutely did not. But he does.

And Ben knows he’ll be screaming your name, holding you impossibly close to him, digging his nails onto your back as you grind into him — everything she wished you’ll do to her — when all of this shit show is over.

At the end of the day, no slut or pussy fucker would come home to you but him; you’ve chosen him despite the countless amount of people throwing themselves pathetically at you, and Ben will make sure he’ll forever be the only one who does.

Lewd squelching, sucking sounds fill the dimly lit bedroom of your home as the stench of sex and arousal surround the air, more prominent due to your and Ben’s enhanced senses. You sat comfortably against the headboard of your shared bed with Ben in between your legs as he sucks and slurps your cock, taking it as far as he can in his mouth and gagging. Tiny muffled moans or groans escape him occasionally, hips grinding against the mattress to stimulate his own aching dick while the vibrator you bought for him nestled deep inside his prepped hole.

“You love my fuckin’ cock so much, don’t you?” You chuckled hoarsely, almost degrading, and Ben shudders. “It’s alright, love. m’not goin’ anywhere.” Your fingers tread through his hair, gently scraping your nails against his scalp, making him groan as his hips stutter.

Maintaining eye contact with you, Ben inhales a deep breath through his nose before taking your cock further down his throat, tears gathering in his eyes when he nearly gagged. A genuine smile adorns your face when he looks at you expectantly, the most beautiful green eyes you’d ever seen holding desperation and self-doubt. Pleading expression that he shows only to you.

“You want me to praise you, pup? Call you good boy?” He whines in response — God, that fucking sound you know he’d rather die than let anyone else hear. Ben doesn’t have any idea how much it affects you, the fact that you’re the only one whom he allows a vulnerable side of him show.

Realising he has to earn what he yearns for, Ben gently wraps his hand around the base of your cock where it didn’t fit and starts to bob his head. You moaned softly, throwing your head back; the sight being such a blessing to Ben’s eyes that makes his own cock throb and needy. He swirls his tongue on the underside of your shaft, his free hand gripping your thigh for support.

“Doin’ so good, love. You’ve gotten better at this,” You cooed, petting his hair and gently thrusting up into his throat. Ben closed his eyes, a blissful look appearing on his face as he relaxed and allowed you to move instead.

The trust and faith Ben has in you makes something explode within your chest, heart swelling in love and adoration at your troubled yet adorable partner.

Building a healthy and trustful relationship with him was more difficult than anything you’ve ever done before, considering the absolute bigotry his father forcefully fed into him and all the unresolved issues he had with himself. Despite the tough and harsh exterior he constantly put on, you had seen right through him when you first met — those broken spirit that yearned to be loved or needed by people hiding behind his douche, Soldier Boy persona, a man that his imbecile of a father always wanted him to be. It amused you as much as it squeezed your chest; one of the first strongest superhero being a fucking attention starved bastard was undeniably funny, but pitiful. It’s also why you fell in love with him.

You’ve accepted that Ben was always going to have a deep rooted homophobia in him, that there won’t be a day where you’ll be seen in the public with him holding hands like star-fucking-crossed lovers, that he’ll always be too much of a pussy to be fully himself — but you never expected him to be so open, comfortable, with you like this to the extent of willingly trusting you with a needy and desperate version of himself.

Benjamin is laying his heart out bare for you to take, and you didn’t know whether you wanted to make love to him or fuck his brains out. You decided with the former.

Confusion settles on Ben’s expression when you gently pushed his shoulders to make him pull away, a sudden worry if he’s done something wrong, but all thoughts flies out the window after you passionately smashed your lips against his and guided him on your lap. Ben gasps when you pulled the vibrator out of his hole and replaced it with your thick fingers, hooking his arms on the back of your neck.

“So good, love. Lookin’ all pretty for me.” He moans at your praise, the compliment making his heart flutter rather than boost his ego.

“s’for you…” They come out in whisper from his lips, littered with slight reluctance around the edge, but you hear it loud and clear. “All for you. I— fuck… just for you,” He grinds on your fingers, crying out when you curled them just right to stimulate his prostate.

You almost feel dizzy for his words that he’s never uttered before.

The utmost pride he upholds made it difficult for Ben to completely submit to you, often being a disobedient brat that needs to be put in his place or a quiet, reserved man that’s embarrassed to be loved by another man which causes him to be tense for the first half of this activity — so seeing him like this, hesitantly yet openly letting you in to his comfort zone, spilling the thoughts he’s always been fearful of admitting, holding you tight to him as if you’d slip from his grasp if he let you go, was pleasantly surprising. Your heart flutters, butterflies filling your stomach as the urge to protect and gently take him apart piece by piece runs like electricity through your veins, fuelling your desire for Ben.

You thrust your digits with gentle pace, Ben’s hips moving on its own to chase the pleasure. “That’s right, baby. All f’me, yeah? My pretty darling?”

The gentleness of your whispered voice and your eyes staring at him with pure love sends shivers down his spine; Ben holds your face and nods, pulling you in for a kiss. You can feel his suppressed fear through his desperate lips, the doubts that lingers in his mind that you might see him differently for being so vulnerable like this, and you quickly silence his thoughts by slipping your tongue inside his mouth.

Ben mewled when you add another digit in him, now having three fingers penetrating his hole, as he breaks the kiss to breathe for air. There’s a hazy look in his tearful eyes when he meets your gaze, “Take care of me, please.”

You groan at the plea, immediately pulling your fingers out to instead align your cock with his entrance. Ben must’ve been waiting for so long because he doesn’t hesitate to sink down on it almost in an instant, a loud collective moan escaping the two of you. Your hands gripped his hips while he rested both hands on your shoulders, and fuck he felt so fucking good. The way his warm, tight velvety walls deliciously clamp around you as if swallowing your cock whole, the way his divinely beautiful body perfectly fit against yours like he was made for you.

“fuck… you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” You praised, kissing up his throat as he threw his head back in pleasure. “Completely mine, so is Soldier Boy. Everythin’ about you, Ben. It’s all mine.”

Ben nods vigorously, gripping the back of your neck and starting to ride you at a perfect pace, tiny sounds escaping his mouth. Slipping his fingers through your hair, he gently tugged on them just enough that had you groaning, and laid his forehead to rest against yours. “Y-yours- ah… Yours as… as much as you’re fucking mine,” He grunts out, possessiveness hanging onto his every word that shot excitement through your body. “No one gets to f-fucking have you… oh fuck—!” He cuts himself off with a strangled moan when you snapped your hips up.

“Yeah? Not even that slut that danced with me on the dance floor?” You teased, smirking.

His bright green eyes seem to darken as he sinks even further down on your cock, forcefully stretching himself out, hissing at the delicious pain. You moaned, wrapping an arm around him to pull him to your chest. “Fuck, especially her.” Ben almost growls, one hand coming up to wrap around your throat, feeling you throb and seemingly get bigger inside him due to it. “You… belong to me, o-only me.”

You hum, moaning softly when he squeezed your jugular just right. “Always, my love.”

Relief washes over his entire body as he begins to roll his hips and move again, leaning down to suck and kiss on your exposed collarbone. “Oh fuck… It’s— a-agh…! Tell me- tell me, please…” He whined desperately.

Ben needed to hear you say it, have the promises of you completely belonging to him nailed into his brain so he’ll never feel insecure or doubtful again. He’ll never admit it, but you always know every little thing that goes on inside his head, those haunting words of his father that seems to have a tight grip over him. You’re the only one that could see right through his soul; someone exactly opposite from his father, someone who fearlessly challenges the normality or ancient traditions, someone who actually have their shit together that enabled you to be mature, wise, unapologetically yourself.

You were extraordinary in every way possible, and Ben knew his inner vulnerable — not quite the man his father wanted him to be — self was safe with you. Always secured. Never judged nor ridiculed, instead embraced perfectly by your strong and warm arms that shields him away from the mental, emotional harm.

He knew you would catch him when he falls. You would keep him and his treasured thoughts safe. You weren’t afraid to love him loudly, wholeheartedly, and Ben allows himself to be brave just this once without thinking about his fears.

Trailing one of your hands up his nape, you pull him back to a searing kiss, pouring all the desire and love into it. Ben melted, his hand on your throat loosening as you gently twist your bodies around to lay him down on the bed without pulling out. He whimpers and chases you when you detached your lips from his, which nearly made your heart explode.

“I belong to you, my love.” You whispered, kissing down his neck and chest, thrusting your cock sensually slow inside him. Nothing quite like the animalistic sex you two usually have due to your powers, but it was more right than ever. “My heart, my body, my soul, my spirit. All for you, belong with you.”

Ben feels as if his heart would hammer right out of his ribcage from how rapid it was beating.

Your soothing yet powerful presence all over the place, hovering over him and embracing every bit of the damaged part of himself that he refused to acknowledge. There’s resistance gnawing on his skin, the unhealthy urge to push you away and guard himself again with a thick wall despite being the one who willingly showed vulnerability, but Ben uses all of his ability to shove it down. He wanted to listen to your overwhelmingly romantic and gentle words that he’s been taught men should never utter, he wanted to be held with so much care like he was your most prized possession, he wanted to be actually loved. For once, he wanted to allow himself to not be drowned in the toxicity his father had force-fed him with.

It doesn’t take you a second to notice him relaxing even further underneath your body, practically leaning onto your existence as the pretty noises escaping his mouth seems to gradually get louder, like he stopped holding himself back.

An awe surrounds your expression, genuinely taken aback by him letting everything go, and a soft sigh of pleasure falls from your lips. “That’s it, baby. You make the most prettiest sound. Don’t hold back,” Cooing gently, you adjust your hips and rolled into him, brushing his prostate at a perfect angle.

Ben keened, arching his back. “Fuuuck… oh, please. Deeper.”

You obliged, keeping the same slow and sensual pace but pushing further inside. “You’re made for me, aren’t you? Just as I’m made for you,” You sharply snap your hips once to emphasise, and he cries out. “We’re one, my love. No one can have me, I come home to you and only to you no matter what.”

His breath hitched, the pleasure and your words sending explosions of euphoria into his brain, nodding mindlessly at your promises. “Y-yes, fuck… I’m- I’m yours, too— ah, hng…” Tears spill from his beautiful green eyes as he spread his legs more wide, one hand grabbing your wrist that was propped beside his head to stabilise your body, almost clinging onto you while the other scratched against the mattress. “F-fucking Christ, always- always yours.”

“I know,” You softly acknowledged. “Always mine, no matter how much some part of you can’t accept it. I can see right through you, love. I understand everything about you.”

“I- oh yes! There, fuck!” Ben sobs when you start picking up your pace, hips bucking against you. “Y-you do… God, you a-always fucking do.”

That causes a grin to spread across your lips before you leaned down to devour him again.

Truth be told, Ben was afraid of how much you saw everything he’s been trying to hide all his life. It takes a bit of his soul every-time he learns to be indifferent, more sick and twisted. The innocence in him had died out long ago, but the desperation of a child never vanquished — the pathetic, ruined and heavily deprived of any love someone that he always forced himself to forget or get rid of, was seen entirely by you without much effort. He didn’t need to say anything, you always understood all the hidden insecurity, longing, pain, and fear nested deep in his mind. You also understood why he was the way he was, why he does what he does, who he had to become.

To be loved is to be seen and understood, he guesses.

A love he’s never thought he’ll ever experience from anyone, let alone his supposed enemy. You gave it to him, though. All so willingly, happily, like he was meant for it, like he was always meant for you.

Strangled, loud moan was forced out of him when your hand wrapped around his achingly hard dick, making him feel dizzy from all the overwhelming desire and pleasure. Every bit of love that emits from your touch sends a frying electricity through his veins, fulfilling his inner thirst that was supposed to be unquenchable.

“Fuck, fuckfuckfuck—!” Ben wails, arching his back and digging his nails on your forearm as your thumb rubbed his sensitive slit and smeared precum all over. “C-close… oh, Christ! Cummin’, cummin’, please—”

“It’s alright, Ben. I got you,” You purred, slamming your hips down on him. “Let go, cum for me.”

As if that’s all the permission he needed, Ben instantly tumbles over the edge with a loud breathy whine as his eyes rolled to the back of his head, sticky loads shooting out from his cock to his stomach. Body spasming and head thrown back, letting his mind-blowing orgasm wave right off of him, still clinging onto you. You gritted your teeth when his hole tightened impossibly around you, feeling yourself throb and ache to release.

Ben — in spite of his cloudy, mushed state of mind as well as hazy and cock-drunk look in his eyes — suddenly wraps both strong legs around your hips to keep you in place, which forces you forward to bury yourself deeper inside him, eliciting a growl of curses from you.

His mouth splits into a dumb, shit-eating grin. “Inside, baby. Fill me up… give me all you got. I need you.” He moves his hips and squeezes down like a fucking expert prostitute, and it’s enough to have you let out a guttural groan as you spilled inside his tight hole.

Ben released a shattered breath, moaning delightfully at your warm cum that taints his insides, his hand that was gripping your forearm moving down to caress his belly where he could feel you finishing.

It makes your breath hitch; the action sparking a deep hidden desire and possessiveness within you that you’ve had shackled for so long in order to not be too greedy.

But Ben, oh your precious Benjamin, pressed down on his perfect belly and whined so brokenly that tugged the strings of your heart, as if he wanted something so unreachable. He attempts to bury his face on the pillow in what you recognised as shame and you quickly hold his face to keep him from hiding from you, subtle concern glimmering in your gentle eyes.

“What’s bothering your mind, love?” You whispered with such carefulness, afraid speaking too loud would break the bubble of sensitivity that surrounded the two of you as you pressed a light kiss on his temple. “You can tell me, Benji. It’s not embarrassing nor shameful.”

Ben’s heart swells at the way you cage him in your protective arms and words, the back of his eyes stinging from the tears that threatened to come out. He doesn’t deserve you; he never did, but you’re so good to him and he doesn’t think he can live without you. No, he knows he can’t live without you.

What would he do without your captivating eyes looking at him with so much passion no one ever gave him before, your gentle voice uttering such carefully crafted words that embraces rather than cut through him, your big and muscular yet warmly protective arms holding him like he was a treasure to behold, your soul healing and rebuilding every damaged bit of his spirit like it was your purpose? What would he do without you?

And fuck, everything would be so much easier if he wasn’t a fucking man. If he wasn’t such a pussy who’s afraid of risking everything.

You gently roll your hips against his, slow and steady, as if to comfort his nerves and overthinking thoughts with a soft pleasure.

Letting out a quiet, breathy sigh, Ben holds your face close and internally fights back against the restraints that wanted to keep him from opening his soul up to you. “We’d be… We’d be so much happier if I wasn’t a fucking man,” His whispered voice breaks at the end.

His heart ached and so did yours, a realisation dwelling on you of how serious Ben actually was with your relationship. It comes off as an unexpected admittance. While you knew he did love you like you love him, you didn’t think it was to this extent of imagining the countless possibilities if either of you was a woman instead, much less he’d think of himself to be the woman. It was odd and so unlike him — true love brings out something within people, you suppose.

Tears glimmered in his green eyes that’s filled by storm of emotions.

Ben hated this, hated you for making him such a crybaby and a pussy, but he’s so in love with you it fucking hurts. He doesn’t know what triggered him to be an annoying, pathetic, insecure loser the moment you held him. God, he’s Soldier Boy for fuck’s sake!

Then, you look at him with so much tenderness like he hung the moon and was the only thing that grounds you down to earth, and Ben realises it’s this.

“You’re such a fucking fool,” You affectionately cursed with a tone barely above whisper before pressing a lingering kiss on his lips. “I wouldn’t have spared you a glance if you weren’t. Women never captivated me, love. Only you.”

Wrapping his arms around your back and burying his face on the crook of your neck, Ben inhales your scent as you gently rock your bodies together. “Love me more,” He almost demands, voice low and trembling.

You smiled, “Of course, Benji.”

Pressing a sweet kiss on his head, you grab the back of his thighs and push them to his muscular chest, Ben’s flexibility despite his well defined physique making it easier for you to fold him. In a swift motion, you slam down on him, beginning to pound away the loud thoughts that made home in his mind. Angelic, high pitched sounds escape Ben’s mouth with each rough thrusts, bordering on pornographic. The blissful look across his face enhance his already ethereal features, and you can’t help but stare intently at him.

“You look so beautiful like this, love. Taking me in so well, letting me cherish you.” You praised, earning a needy whimper from the love of your life. “My Benjamin… my brave soldier.”

At the unexpected pet name, Ben’s body jolts and a choked sob erupted from his throat, suddenly pushed over the edge as he cums undone on his stomach. “F-fuck!”

“G-god, baby…” You groaned, shuddering in pleasure at the way his gummy walls spasms around your girth. “Drivin’ me insane, y’know that? Cummin’ with just my words alone? Shit, wanna fuck you hard and love you at the same time.”

Digging his nails on your back, Ben attached his lips on your collarbone with an intent to leave several possessive marks, making you jut your hips forward. “D-do it, fuck me.” He mumbled breathlessly.

That’s the only permission you needed to let go of your own self-control and just rut into him like an animal, thrusting your cock with more vigour and roughness that forced the headboard to repeatedly bang against the wall. Feeling the way your shaft practically drill into and rearrange his guts that brought immeasurable ecstasy, Ben finds himself finally unable to make out a coherent thought as drools drip down his chin. The two orgasms you milked out of him already left him sensitive enough, his thighs quivering under your grasps.

Lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin and wet squelches filled the room, accompanied by feral noises of both of your moans and grunts.

It’s nearly incomprehensible how you’re able to quickly switch between loving him and treating him like a slut next, a perfect balance to Ben’s constant yearning for admiration or appreciation and his tendency to always be an inconsolable brat that needs to be put back in his place.

He feels so complete and whole, so loved. And so so fucking dumb for your cock. He could stay like this forever without heavy expectations weighing over his head all the time, just taking you whole and letting you ruin his body, looking all pretty and beautiful for you. Yeah, he can do that. Being pretty and sexy has always been a talent of his, after all. He can even learn to cook for you like a fucking perfect, pretty housewife, maybe you’ll stuff him full of your cum again while at it and tell him to keep them in. Fuck, he can do that too. He wants to do that.

“Oh fuck, Ben…” An almost pornographic, low growl rumbles from your chest when he squeezed down on you, his warm walls fluttering against your girth from the imagination. The coil in your stomach tightens as you twitched inside him, too close to your high.

“I- ah—! Please, pleaseplease—!” He babbles, one hand shifting to press your ass and push you in deeper, syllables slightly slurred from how cockdrunk he was.

Understanding his wordless signal, you increase your pace with an angle that drives your instincts wild, a chill running through your spine from the overwhelming pleasure. Seeing Ben completely fall apart and surrender underneath you gives your ego an infinite boost, the powerful man such a sobbing, wrecked, pretty little mess just because of your cock. Drunk in every little euphoria and precious love you feed him. Oh, how fucking adorable and gorgeous he was.

Before long, Ben feels you throb inside him and pulls you in with what little willpower he had left, clumsily slipping his tongue in your mouth, overwhelming you with different sensations of his body against yours. It’s enough to have you harshly ram your hips down in one swift motion and empty yourself inside him, a loud wail of your name leaving Ben’s lips as he finishes as well. You feel his body tremble violently due to overstimulation, breath stuttering.

“You look so fucked out,” You laugh breathlessly, hips softly grinding to ride out your climax. “Still fuckin’ hot when you’re all dumb n’ mindless.”

Petting his disheveled hair, a soft contented hum leaves Ben as he closed his eyes and nuzzled to your touch. The entire erotic sight of his hair sticking to his forehead from the sweat, tears staining his cheeks, hazy look across his eyes, and swollen lips sends amusement and satisfaction through your veins — you definitely fucked whatever self-loathing thoughts he’s had out of his head.

Having completely spilled inside him, you moved to pull out only for Ben to groan in protest. “Stay the fuck in,” He grumbled, panting to catch his breath.

“I need to clean us up, love.” You gently say, but kept yourself sheathed inside him as your lips attach to his neck. “Wanna take care of you properly.”

Ben quietly sighs in content, “You already do.” Before he tilts his head to capture you in a passionate kiss. You slowly pull out of him in amidst of the moment, holding his face and reciprocating with equal passion.

He breathes low and heavy when you start to wipe him up with a wet towel you magically conjured up, running it across his body gently as your other hand massaged his sore hip with such tenderness. Your eyes taking in every part of his physique feels much more innocent now compared to before, deep appreciation and subtle awe flashing across your irises the more you stare, which causes his cheeks to tint slightly. You find it adorable how shy or embarrassed he gets whenever you look at him like he’s something born out of the stars in contrast to the overinflated cockiness he displays when others compliment him; it just proves he feels different, more special with you.

You shoot him a gentle smile that makes his brain shut down and his heart jump.

Christ on a cross, just what did you fucking reduce him into?

“Will you marry me?” The words had left his mouth before he could even process.

You froze, eyes wide as you snapped your gaze to him at the same time his own widened in shock. Fuck, did he just say what he thinks he did? After you fucked him ‘til he couldn’t even speak properly? God, his legs feel wobbly after all that delicious pounding of your dick in his tight little—

His distracting thoughts were interrupted by your hands cupping his cheeks and forcing him to look at you. There’s a bit of doubt lingered across your expression, worried that you mistakenly heard him, and Ben’s gaze softened. “Will you marry me?” He repeats quietly this time with genuine emotion, wiping away your worry.

Excitement and happiness seem to explode within you as you beam; “Yes! Fuck, yes, I’ll marry you.” However, your smile slowly deflates and a foreign look of insecurity replaces the joy surrounding you. “Are you… are you sure? You’re not pushing yourself?”

Confusion spreads across his face, “Why would you think I am?”

“It’s just not that easy to break away from all the homophobia, love.” You softly remind him. “You’re still having a hard time accepting it, could barely even call yourself the right term. You’re afraid, and that’s fine. We can continue on like this. You don’t have to marry me because you feel obligated to.”

Ben frowns, his hand pulling you down to the mattress at his side as he props up on his elbow and stares at you incredulously. “You think I wanna fucking marry you just ‘cause I’m guilty about hiding this? Did it ever occur to you that I actually fuckin’ love you?”

You smile to yourself; what a long way it took for him to just be able to admit that. At least he’s letting himself know he can be vulnerable with you now, compared to when he was convinced you’ll despise his inner self — a big fucking pussy, he says — and completely shut himself off in the beginning.

“Hey,” He grabs your chin to make you pay attention. “I know I still don’t do enough to show you, but I do. I really fucking do, baby.”

You look into his captivating green eyes for a second before releasing a deep breath, “I know. Trust me, you don’t have to do enough to show it, I can already tell. And I love you too.”

Ben nods and kisses your lips, lying down beside you. Your hand instinctually attaches to his waist, caressing his soft skin and shooting warmth throughout his body.

He can’t help but stare at your features, the way you look different now from how you looked at the party you crashed earlier. A certain amount of coldness, hostility and displeasure usually lurked your expression in a daily manner — hidden behind the undeniable charisma and obnoxious arrogance — directed at others that told exactly what their worth to you was; nothing. Ben hasn’t seen a day you were even remotely pleased by someone in the long years of knowing you, the people who attempted to get in your good graces often ended up screwing everything up instead and irritating you enough to kill them off.

But with him, you wouldn’t even spare him a cold glance. Your gaze twinkling with a pleasant spark, always warm, always comforting, always proud. God forbid you look at him with hatred like you’re supposed to. So affectionate for a man who’s been named after the Devil by the idiotic public that only sees what you let them see.

It is then had Ben realised; to him, true love is you.

True love is when you embrace a part of him that he deems undesirable, mend his broken soul, and melt the ice of deep rooted trauma surrounding his heart — it is when Soldier Boy doesn’t drive you away from seeing Benjamin, an ordinary boy from South Philadelphia who desperately wanted to make his father proud. You see them as one, as equally significant parts of him.

Good fucking Lord, he was a gigantic imbecile if he didn’t want to marry you, even if the idea still makes him feel quite… odd. Fuck’s sake, he really needs to learn how to deal with this homophobia bullshit, doesn’t he?

Ben licks his lips anxiously, reluctance plastered on his face. “I… I actually got the rings,” He hesitantly admitted.

Your eyes widened. “You did?”

“I- Jesus Christ, of course I did! I know I don’t fucking do shit like that, okay?” He snapped before quietly muttering, “Just wanted you to believe me when I propose.”

“I do,” You don’t miss to give him comfort, grabbing his hand. Ben’s nerves soothes at your touch. “I just thought we still have a long way to go and you need more time to figure yourself out.”

He shakes his head, “Gotta claim you before some fucker decides you’re free for them.”

“Yeah?” You smirked, raising one eyebrow. “Could’ve gone with a collar, y’know. It would get your point straight across. Plus, it’s more visible.” Tapping your neck to emphasise, which made Ben swallow.

Yeah, you’ll look good with a collar in his colour. You can even wear both. That’ll definitely get his point across to anyone that even looks at you. Maybe next time, he decides.

A mischievous smirk spreads across his lips, “That’ll fucking work best. Think I could put a leash on you too?” He teased, letting out a chuckle and sliding his hand up to your neck and hold you there.

“Mhm, fuck yes,” You almost purred from how pleased you were at the idea.

Ben laughs, lightly squeezing your neck in affection before turning around to rummage through the cabinet on the side of your bed, pulling out a velvet box that’s in the shade of his green. You could tell he was enthusiastic and overwhelmed with emotions from the way his hands slightly trembled, though you made no mention of it to avoid bursting his adorable bubble.

His grin was as bright as the sun on a sunny day when the ring perfectly fits around your finger, already snuggling comfortably on your skin and bringing a weight of new purpose in life. You slip the other ring on his as well, feeling the entanglement of your destiny with one another, the red strings of fate on both of your pinky fingers thickening. It’s a sacred oath that ties you to each other forever.

Warmth spreads around your chest at the fact it’s his first time giving you a gift and it’s something so unexpectedly intimate. A silver engagement ring with a ruby in his shade of green and his name engraved on the inner side; practically a part of his soul, settling itself home around your finger. You shift your gaze to the one he wears — the same silver ring but with a dark red ruby instead, your signature colour, and you assume also have your name engraved on the inner side as well.

A big, significant step for a man who’s constantly afraid of what others think about him, and you couldn’t be more prouder.

Lying back down on the bed together, Ben turns his back on you and scoots closer to your chest, making you smile when he grabbed your wrist to pull your arm over his torso. He always loved being hugged by you from behind despite the fact he’ll never admit it out loud; as much as it sounds pathetic and unmanly, he doesn’t argue with himself of how it gives him safety and protection from the harsh judgmental world. Being in your arms always dissipated the cruel words of his father carved in his mind.

You gently pulled him closer to your body and pressed a kiss on his shoulder blade. “Don’t have to rush about coming out, love. It’ll take more than a simple courage to be open about something considered taboo by our society. You’re still dealing with personal issues, we’ll focus on that for now.”

Ben’s heart warms at your consideration, unable to resist the urge to stick to you like a glue as he leans back on your chest. “How the fuck did you do it? This feels like a pain in the fucking ass,” He muttered disdainfully, though there was a hint of willingness in his tone, like he’s willing to make an effort just for you.

You shrugged, “m’not exactly shaped by my childhood trauma, Benji, and I didn’t like my parents that much. Never really gave a fuck about somethin’ that has no benefit to my life whatsoever.”

“Entitled asshole,” He laughs.

“So are you,” You teased, making you both erupt in loud laughter.

I could get used to this, Ben thinks as genuine happiness glows bright in his heart, your love anchoring him and providing a solid land for him to stand on. Dealing with his own problems doesn’t sound so bad when you’re there for him every step of the way. With your protective arms around his body, both Soldier Boy and Benjamin knew their heart will always be safe with you.

For once, Ben believes he can finally learn to create a family of his own.

Until disaster struck and life suddenly decides to not be fair on someone as fucked up as him — ripping his world apart into shreds in the form of coward, betraying bastards known as his fucking teammates.

© all rights reserved to hadesrise ──── stealing, plagiarising, or using my works for monetary gain is strictly prohibited. ask permission before reposting or translating.

[lostalioth]

𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

→ premise: there existed no such cricumstances in which dean doesnt want your lips against his. bloodied, bruised, even with broken bones, a kiss from his girl makes it all better.

→ pairing: dean winchester x fem!reader

→ warnings: tw: blood, fluff, but some sort of instense making out, established relationship, descriptions of blood and injuries, blood in mouth, nicknames [baby, sweetheart, my girl], reader is described a bit to have anxiety

→ a/n: as always i hope dean isn’t too out of character as i have never written for him! enjoy my loves :) and sorry its short.

A hunt had gone south they got the monster and it was done but Dean was injured, they were headed back to the bunker. That was all Sam spit out over the phone, normally you appreciated his ability to get straight to the point. Currently you were cursing it as he hung up shortly after cause he was the one driving back. You had a million and one questions running through your head and more than half of them weren’t good.

This was the part of the boys going off hunting and you staying back that you hated the most. When one of them got hurt or something went wrong and all you could do was sit there, a chill running down your spine as your blood boiled in your veins, anxiously pacing the living room, trying to not let yourself jump to the worst conclusions which you regularly failed to do.

You used to go on hunts with them and instead of you currently being the one riddled with anxiety, it was Dean. Once the two of you pulled your heads out of your asses (as Sam would say) and realized you’ve had feelings for each other for years, you got together. Being officially together seemed to make Dean's protective nature increase tenfold. He was even more terrified to lose you now than before. He began fussing over you whenever you'd get even the slightest scarpe or bump on a hunt. He would glue himself to your side the whole duration. Forcing you to normally stay back in the motel room when the hunt turned into a more dangerous situation than dean cared to put you in.

You loved Dean but it began to get a bit too tedious to deal with and even Sam made a comment on how overprotective he was being. In an attempt to make hunts go easier and ease your boyfriend's anxiety, once you all situated yourselfs in the bunker you suggested to him that you go out on hunts less, especially when they could now take Cas. Dean jumped at the suggestion but you couldn't blame him.

“I think that's a great idea baby” he said with a kiss to your forehead.

You still helped out, researching things when Sam needed the help, going through old books and files in the library, patching them up when they’d come back with cuts and bruises. You hadn't realized just how jittery you'd be however stuck in the bunker when he was out and especially when they went on far away hunts.

They'd go to the hospital when things were really bad, so you knew if the boys were on their way back then it couldn’t be too bad. The reminder did nothing to sooth your racing thoughts, your heart thumping so hard you could practically hear it pounding in your ears. You didn't know just how long you've been pacing back and forth, too afraid to look up at the clock and realize it's only been a few minutes since Sam called.

You don't hear the sound of baby pulling into the garage, your head is too clouded as you were damn near about to wear a grove down into the old floors. The sound of a door shutting loudly and two sets of heavy footsteps are heard down the hallway. Spinning so quickly on your feet you nearly lose your balance you turn to face the noise. Watching as the brothers emerge from the dark hall, Dean's arm rests on Sam's shoulder almost using him like a human crutch. You let out a small gasp making them stop and both of their eyes snap up to yours, weather you gasped in surprise at the state of your boyfriend or in relief you can’t tell.

“Hi sweetheart, We’re home” Dean tilts his head, his voice laced with his usual sarcasm and deep tone. He pushes off of Sam, clearly able to at least stand on his own, slowly making his way over to you a small limp in his step.

In the blink of an eye you’re rushing into his arms, your soft hands grabbing ahold of his beaten up face and crashing your lips against his. He grunts out a “fuck” in surprise or pain the word dying in his throat turning into a noise as his eyes fall shut and he grabs ahold of your hips. With a sharp tug he pulls your body as close as he can to his, his hands sliding up your sides. His bloodied lips against your plush ones, kissing you like a man starved, a kiss you’ve come accustomed to when he comes home from longer hunts. “Missed you” he hums in a hushed tone into the kiss for only you to hear, making your racing heart only speed up. His blood flows into your opened mouth as the kiss goes on, the metallic taste on your tongue foreign but you were far too relieved he was back in one piece to care about the blood coating your tongue.

Any pain Dean felt after the whole ordeal and from the bumpy ride back to the bunker seemed to fade from his body. He could care less about his brother's presence still in the room or the blood still dripping from his face and that covered his clothes or his split lip. It felt as if all the bruises that were forming on his body were already being kissed away as your soft lips slid against his. The taste of your mouth overcoming the taste of the blood in his, your scent calming his body, reminding him he's finally home again. Your body grounding him.

A rough deep cough stops the moment making the two of you reluctantly pull away, lips swollen and parted as you catch your breath.

“Before this gets any more R-rated maybe we should patch him up and you know clean him up” Sam suggested with a small light hearted chuckle as he walks off to the bathroom to get the first aid kit. You were grateful you remembered just yesterday that it had needed to be restocked. “Sorry Sammy” Dean calls after him, you turn your head away and follow up with a “Sorry not sorry” down the hall after him making a small smirk grow on your boyfriend's face.

Once he's out of eye sight, Dean grabs ahold of your face by lightly squeezing your cheeks and turns your head back to face him. Leaning down to begin softly kissing you again, groaning against your lips when the pain in his body begins to return.

“Who needs a first aid kit, all i need is my girl's kisses” He mumbled softly against your mouth, making you break out into a smile. A small tear slips down your cheek, your breath returning to your lungs and the chill in your spine fading as relief finally settled over your body knowing he's okay.

→ a/n: if you enjoyed please reblog or send me some dean requests id love to write more for him!

[honeyroots]

give you something to cry about, ft. SOLDIER BOY

SYNOPSIS: you disobeyed soldier boy during a mission, so he’s going to remind you just how compliant you can be.

WORD COUNT: 1350 WARNINGS: NSFW (18+) / fem!reader / dacryphilia / toxic secret relationship / age gap / humiliation / face fucking (f receiving) / oral (m receiving) / power play / orgasm denial / slight exhibitionism (they can be heard through the walls) / daddy kink

“You’re careless,” SOLDIER BOY was laying into you, his words sharp as a dagger while his finger waved in your face only an inch from your nose. Ben, unfortunately, was like a ticking time bomb, and you never knew what was going to set him off until he was already at his breaking point. “I don’t know what it is with your generation, but you’re a bunch of fuckin’ idiots. If I tell you something, you do it. That fuckin’ easy, sweetheart.”

The pet name rolled off his tongue sourly, the nickname doused in a bucket of evident distaste. Flinching at the tone of his voice and level in which he was speaking was your natural reaction to the situation. Hughie was always so sweet with you— same thing with Frenchie, M.M, Kimiko… Well, Butcher had his moments, but the point was that you had never been yelled at before. At least not until Ben emerged from that god forbidden cyro-chamber. To your humiliation, and your sensitive nature, tears accumulated at your waterline, causing a blur in your vision. The worst part about the whole thing? Ben was right, you were being careless by defying his orders, but who could blame you when he was so hard to trust.

“Say something,” Ben backed away, dropping his shield to the tiled floor, creating an echo of titanium to bounce between the walls and hone in on you. It was all so overstimulating; the sound of the shield dropping, the anger in his tone, the way you could feel your clothes against your skin. If the overstimulation of your current environment wasn’t enough fuel to the fire, Ben snorted at the sight of your tears, followed by a mock, “You’re crying?”

With as much discretion as possible, your sleeve found its way to your eyes in an attempt to sop up some of the tears threatening to spill over. Clearing your throat, you tried to gain as much courage as you could, but your voice cracked and your words fell flat. “No, I’m not.”

“C’mere,” Ben wrapped his arm around your bicep, his grip a little too tight for comfort and pulled you closer to him. Now standing directly in front of him, chests square with one another, you chewed on the inside of your cheek to combat the quivering of your lip. “I’ll give you something to cry about.”

One of Ben’s fingers pointed at the ground and you knew exactly where he was going with this. No one knew what happened between you and Ben behind closed doors— they didn’t know how you ran to him when you were needy and desperate, or how he would sometimes make you get off by humping his boot. It was a dynamic you couldn’t even fully grasp, and you definitely didn’t need anyone else weighing in on it. With a compliance that came naturally, you sank to your knees, opening your mouth for him as the tears spilled over. Ben was quick to release his shaft from his supe suit, using the tip of his cock to wipe off the droplets streaming down your cheeks. Instead of tears drying on your cheeks, it was now a trail of precum. 

“You’re careless in the field, but when I have you alone, you always listen.” Ben traced the outline of your lips with the tip of his dick, slowly feeding his cock into your mouth. Bit by bit, he pushed against your tongue and grasped his hand behind your head to steady your movements. “Say it. Say you’re gonna listen.”

Moving back, you tried to release him from your mouth to offer a repetition of his words, but he stabilized your head with his hand. Signaling with one flick of his eyebrow that he wanted you to talk around his dick, your words came out muffled, only adding to the humiliation of the situation but the warmth that grew in your lower abdomen didn’t go unnoticed. “G’na listen. Swear.”

“I was so mad at you, but then you started crying… Fuck, it got me so hard.” Ben said, but you weren’t sure the statement was meant for you or if it was his internal monologue slipping out. 

With the kind of meanness only someone like Soldier Boy could possess, he gripped his fingers in your hair, tugging on the roots enough to make you yelp. Using the yelp to his advantage, he filtered more of his cock into your mouth, until his tip was poking the back of your throat. Dry heaving around him, you lurched forward as he gave you a proper face-fucking, and with the growing arousal in your underwear and the unadulterated noises you were making, you realized that this was a power move. It was Ben’s way of telling the team, he had you under his thumb— obedient and desperate for him. Thin walls separated the two of you from the rest of the team, where Hughie, Annie, Kimiko, M.M., Frenchie, and Butcher all sat outside, and with wide eyes, you made the connection.

Ben’s climax was almost immediate when he saw you piece two and two together; he had successfully embarrassed you after you had embarrassed him in the field. The realization flashing in your teary gaze was hard to miss, and exactly what he wanted. Pulling himself almost all the way out, he rocked his hips back into your mouth and shot his climax down your throat. Sputtering around him, you swallowed his seed and removed his shaft from your mouth, feeling like the length of it was never ending as you pulled it out. Watching it bob up, slapping his suit, you wondered if he was going to give you what you needed. It’s not like he needed a refractory period.

Ben grabbed your elbows, hoisting you up to your feet. With a sympathetic gaze, he gently toyed with the button of your jeans, peeling them down just enough for him to place his hand against your slit and collect some of your arousal on his fingers. A breathy-whine sounded from you as he pulled away. Ben looked at his fingers, observing the arousal he had collected in just a few seconds from it pooling in your underwear, he commented, “So wet, baby. It’s uncomfortable, isn’t it?”

Nodding your head in response, you began to loop your fingers around the waistband, getting ready to shimmy out of your pants and offer Ben full access to your body. Clicking his tongue, disapproval coating his facial expression, he offered a demand. “Use your words.”

“It is uncomfortable,” you confirmed, wiping away the semi-dry tears on your face. Part of you didn’t even want to look in the mirror to see how disheveled you must be after that— dried tears crusting to your face, precum present on the apples of your cheeks, swollen lips, and messy hair was expected after that. “Please help me?”

The sympathy etched on his face disappeared in an alarming fashion. Transitioning between a sympathetic look to a devious glare happened in such a manner, you almost didn’t even place the change. Ben’s mouth curved into a smirk, his eyes mischievous as he buttoned the front of your jeans and zipped them back up. 

“That’s real tough, sweetheart. Maybe you’ll remember this next time. Why don’t you go tell the team that dad took care of your mistake? You don’t need to be scolded twice.” Ben swatted you on the butt as you headed toward the door, knowing the thin walls already alerted everyone of what was going on. Eyes clouded with the shame of disappointing Ben, you only nodded in response, realizing that whining and complaining about his denial was only going to get you into a bigger predicament.

“Hey,” Ben grabbed your hand, twirling you around before you had to go face the rest of the team. His lips grazed the top of your ear, the heat of his whisper making your stomach turn, “Don’t look so sad, this is a teaching moment. If you take it like a champ, I’ll give you a reward later.”

[maddie0101]

the storm between us

summary: you can’t stand watching dean flirt with another woman—so you storm out of the bar, walk back to the motel in the pouring rain, and ignore his phone calls. when he finds you, angry and worried, the tension between you suddenly snaps.

tags/warnings: smut (mdni), best friends to lovers, heated argument, jealousy, angst, fluff, basically porn w little plot, worried!dean, angry!dean, angry sex, oral (fem receiving), p in v, dirty talk, overstimulation, squirting, nothing but pure filth in this fic, wrap it b4 you tap it plz, cussing, we love freaky dean! 🙂‍↔️

word count: 5k

note: I wrote this running on four hours of sleep—with a tiny cup of coffee, so I hope this is as decent as I think it is? literally about to put tape on my eyelids to hold them open 😭 but enjoy the pure filth I've written!

It started raining halfway through your walk back from the bar—cold, sharp, and unrelenting.

At first, you didn’t even notice. It wasn’t like the rain could make you feel any worse than you already did. Your skin was still hot, buzzing with anger, frustration, and something deeper that you couldn’t shake.

Dean flirting with a woman at the bar wasn’t anything new. You’d seen it a million times before, the way he always seemed to have that natural charm with everyone. But tonight, it hit different.

You hadn’t meant to just walk out without saying anything, but the moment felt like it swallowed you whole. All you’d needed was air, a little bit of space—anything to escape the sound of her laughter, the way Dean was looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered. It was like a punch to the gut every time he smiled at her.

By the time you made it back to the motel, your clothes were soaked through, clinging to your skin in that uncomfortable, heavy way only rain can manage. Your feet felt like lead as you walked down to the room.

The door to the room creaked when you opened it, and the faint hum of the old heater kicked on, almost like a sigh of relief.

You tossed your jacket by the door without even thinking, the fabric slapping against the floor. The room was dark, almost too quiet, and it felt like everything in it was holding its breath—waiting.

You stood there for a second, letting the stillness settle over you, the weight of everything pressing down. But then you didn’t even get a chance to catch your breath before the door flew open with a bang.

“Where the hell have you been?” Dean’s voice hit you like a slap. His eyes locked on yours, fire burning behind them. His clothes were soaked through too, water dripping down his face and into his eyes, his chest rising and falling like he’d just sprinted a mile.

You crossed your arms over your chest, trying to shield yourself from more than just the cold. Your heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t from the rain—it was from the anger that bled through his voice.

“I walked back,” you muttered, doing your best to sound unaffected. “Not like you were gonna notice.”

Dean shoved his way inside, slamming the door so hard it rattled the frame. “Are you serious right now?”

You couldn’t hold it back. “What?” you snapped, voice sharp. “I didn’t want to interrupt your fucking night.”

His jaw tightened, fists clenching. “You walked off in the middle of nowhere. Alone. In the fucking rain. Without telling me, without answering your phone. What if something happened to you?”

You scoffed. “I can take care of myself, Dean.”

“That’s not the damn point!” His voice cracked, and it hit you harder than you expected. “You think I wouldn’t notice you were gone? You think I wasn’t tearing this goddamn town apart looking for you?”

You stood there, frozen for a second, the weight of his words crashing into you. The room felt too small, too close, and the reality of how exposed you were, how vulnerable, made your chest ache.

Dean’s eyes never left you, but now they flicked over you, lingering on the way your soaked shirt clung to your skin and the hurt in your eyes.

His body was rigid, fists still balled tight at his sides “You think walking off like that was smart?” His voice dropped lower, almost dangerous. But it wasn’t cold—it was trembling with something else. Restraint. Like he was holding back a storm.

You could see the frustration and fear in his eyes, something raw and real. The tension between you two was so thick you could almost touch it.

Dean took a step toward you, his breath coming fast, but he stopped himself. The anger in his voice wasn’t just about the situation—it was everything. And in that moment, it hit you just how much he cared. And maybe, just maybe, how much you mattered to him.

You stood in the middle of the motel room silently, drenched from the storm, chest heaving, arms wrapped tight across your body—but it wasn’t from the cold. It was from the fire crawling up your spine.

“You’re seriously not gonna tell me what the hell that was?” he snapped. “You walk off, don’t answer your phone, vanish into the goddamn night like I’m not gonna notice?”

“Why do you care?” you shot back, eyes burning. “You seemed plenty occupied.”

“You think I wasn’t looking for you?” His voice was rising. “You think I didn’t panic the second I turned around and you were gone?”

“I didn’t ask you to come after me!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to! I always do!”

You flinched, just a little, but your anger flared right back. “You don’t get to act pissed off when I didn’t want to stand there and watch you drool over some other woman like I wasn’t even in the room!”

Dean’s eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring. “That’s what this is about?”

You didn’t answer—just glared at him, your pulse pounding in your ears.

“You think I wanted her?” he growled, stepping toward you. “You think I gave a damn about her when you were sitting there looking at me like I ripped your heart out?”

“Then why the hell do you keep doing this to me?!”

“You don’t get it, do you? You never have!”

“Then spell it out, Dean, because I’m so goddamn tired of pretending this doesn’t mean anything!”

And suddenly, he grabbed you by the waist and slammed his mouth to yours, lips crashing together in a brutal, breathless kiss.

His hands were everywhere—digging into your sides, fisting the fabric of your soaked shirt, pulling you into him like he couldn’t get close enough. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard as you kissed him back with just as much fury. Teeth clashed and your bodies collided, raw, unfiltered, and burning with months—hell, years—of built-up tension.

Dean’s growl rumbled against your lips as he slammed you into the nearest wall. His hips pressed into yours, the heat between you undeniable, and still, your mouths never broke, never slowed. There was no time for air, no time for anything but the frantic push and pull of everything you both had been holding back.

“You make me fucking crazy,” he panted against your jaw, dragging his mouth down your throat. “Every fucking day.”

You gasped, clutching at his shoulders. “Then do something about it.”

Something dark flickered in Dean’s eyes—need, frustration, everything he’d been choking down for years. His hands gripped your thighs tighter, lifting you with a grunt and slamming you back against the wall, mouths crashing again in a brutal, breathless kiss.

He was everywhere. His hands, his mouth, the press of his body—there was no room to think, only feel. His hips rolled against yours, slow at first, but full of pressure and intent. You gasped again as the friction sent a sharp bolt of heat straight through your core.

“You want this?” he growled against your lips, his voice rough and wrecked. “Tell me.”

“Yes,” you breathed, barely recognizing your own voice—so desperate and needy it scared you.

He cursed under his breath, one hand gripping your ass, grinding harder into you now. You felt the hard line of him through his jeans, rubbing against you in all the right, devastatingly wrong ways. Your soaked clothes added to the intensity—everything sliding and pressing, heat bleeding through the chill of the rain.

You whined softly, the sound coming out involuntary leaving your throat before you could stop it.

Dean kissed you again, slower this time but deeper, like he was trying to memorize the way you tasted when you were falling apart. His hips kept moving, grinding into you with a rhythm that had your body straining toward him without thought.

“That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing your jaw. “Just like that.”

Your head dropped back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut, thighs tightening around him. You could feel your body spiraling, every drag of friction building pressure you couldn’t escape from, couldn’t stop chasing.

“Dean—” you whimpered, barely able to speak.

“I know, sweetheart,” he rasped, voice thick. “I know. He wasn’t teasing or smirking. He looked wrecked—just as desperate as you were. His forehead dropped to yours, hips still rocking, and you were both panting like you just ran a marathon.

You clutched at his shoulders, nails digging in, legs trembling. “Please—”

“I’ve got you,” he said hoarsely, voice breaking. “I’ve got you.” Dean kissed you again, slow and searing, like he couldn’t bear to let go of your mouth. “I need you in that bed,” he muttered, voice rough with want. “Need to feel you come for me right.”

You barely had time to respond before he was carrying you across the room, setting you down on the mattress like you were something precious—but the heat in his eyes said he wasn’t done ruining you just yet.

He hovered over you for a breath, gaze flicking over your face like he was memorizing every shiver, every sigh. Then he was on you again, pressing you into the sheets, kissing you like he meant to ruin you. His hips ground into yours just right, and you gasped against his mouth.

“Dean,” you breathed, already unraveling.

He pulled back just enough to look down at you, eyes dark, lips swollen. “You know how long I’ve been thinking about this? About getting you underneath me, stripped down, spread out, begging?” His voice was low and rough, full of heat. “Gonna take my time with you, sweetheart.”

His hands found the hem of your wet shirt, fingers sliding under the fabric as he slowly dragged it up your body. You raised your arms instinctively, heart pounding in your chest, and he peeled it off with a determined, almost desperate urgency. The shirt was discarded without a second thought, but his gaze never left you—eyes dark, burning with need.

With one hand, he reached behind you, unclipping your bra, the straps falling away as if they were nothing. The moment your breasts were exposed, he couldn’t help but pause, his breath catching in his throat. He stared at you, his eyes drinking in the sight, and you could see the raw, desperate hunger in them. He was barely holding it together, like the sight of you was enough to make him lose his mind.

“Fuck,” he muttered, barely able to keep his hands steady. His fingers brushed over your skin, as if he needed to feel you, needing to touch every inch of you now that you were completely in front of him “You’re so fucking perfect.” Dean muttered, like he’d been punched.

He leaned down, pressing a soft kiss between your breasts before dragging his lips slowly up to one of them. His breath was hot against your skin as his mouth moved over the delicate curve, and then, without warning, his teeth grazed lightly against your nipple. A sharp jolt of sensation shot through you, and he couldn’t help but smile at the reaction.

Dean’s hands came up to cup your breasts, fingers flexing, rolling your sensitive flesh between his palms as his mouth followed suit, kissing and sucking, leaving dark, bruising hickeys that would sting the next day. He pulled away for a moment, just enough to watch you squirm, eyes flashing with that devilish glint.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he growled, before his lips returned, more urgent now, sucking harder, biting gently, marking you like you were his. His other hand slid down your side, teasing the waistband of your jeans, his touch light but deliberate—slowly driving you crazy with anticipation.

His mouth moved to your other breast, his fingers working at your nipple as his lips left another hickey, more forceful this time. “You like that, huh?” he whispered between kisses, his voice low and thick with desire. “Tell me you like it.”

You moaned softly, your hands gripping his hair as you arched into him, the teasing sensation driving you mad. Dean just smiled, continuing to mark you, not letting up, until your body was trembling beneath his touch.

His kisses trailed lower, soft and teasing as his mouth ghosted over your stomach. His hands were quick, fingers working at your waistband, unfastening your pants with a slow, deliberate rhythm. “Lift your hips,” he ordered, voice rough, and when you obeyed, he dragged your pants down, taking his sweet time, like he was savoring every second of it.

When he finally got them off, his eyes went straight to what you weren’t wearing underneath, and his breath hitched. “No panties?” he groaned, his voice low and dark, a mix of frustration and something else. “You tryin’ to kill me?”

You smirked, feeling a rush of heat at the intensity in his eyes. “Maybe I am,” you shot back, voice teasing, but the truth was, you were just as desperate for him.

Before you could say anything else, Dean dropped to his knees at the edge of the bed, dragging your legs apart like he couldn’t wait another second. “Look at you,” he murmured, eyes dark as they locked between your thighs. “Drippin’ for me already. You want this, baby? Want my mouth on you?”

“Dean—please.”

That was all he needed to hear. Dean dropped his head, moaning low as he dragged his tongue up your center in one slow, torturous strip. His hands slid under your thighs, lifting you up and holding you wide open for him as his lips latched onto your clit. When he sucked—hard—you cried out, the sound escaping you before you could stop it. Your head fell back against the pillow, body trembling from the force of the pleasure.

“God, you taste so fuckin’ good,” he growled against you. “Could stay here all night, make you come over and over until you forget your own name.”

Your hands shot to his hair, fingers tangling in the mess of it as he devoured you, his mouth working against your skin like he hadn’t eaten in days, desperate and hungry. He licked, sucked, and kissed with an urgency that left you breathless, as if this was the one thing he needed to survive.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he muttered, his voice rough and breathless against your skin as your thighs began to tremble, his hot breath sending shivers across your body. “Ride my face, sweetheart. Let me feel how fucking close you are.”

And you obeyed—hips rolling, your breath catching in your throat as your body strained toward that overwhelming, inevitable edge. His tongue moved faster, rougher, relentless, sending waves of electric pleasure coursing through your veins, pushing you higher with every flick.

“Come for me,” he rasped, voice thick with desire. “Make a mess all over my face. I wanna taste everything.”

And just like that, you shattered—loud, wrecked, and completely undone. Your thighs clamped around his head, your body convulsing as you came so hard, your vision blurred and everything else in the world seemed to fade away. But Dean didn’t stop. His mouth was still on you, licking and sucking through your release, groaning like he was starving, desperate for more—like he couldn’t get enough, like he’d never stop unless you begged him to.

Even as your body still twitched, the aftershocks rippling through you, Dean kept going. His tongue never let up, continuing to tease, to coax, until you thought you might just lose your mind.

“Thought you were done?” he murmured against your soaked skin, breath hot. “Oh, sweetheart… I’m not even close.”

He flicked his tongue over your clit again—light, teasing, just enough to make your hips jerk. A soft whimper caught in your throat, but before you could pull away, his hands gripped your thighs, holding you firmly in place.

His tongue moved in slow, torturous circles, dragging across your sensitive skin, sending waves of pleasure so deep you couldn’t think. Your legs started to shake, muscles trembling from the effort of trying to hold still.

“Too much?” he asked, his voice dark, heavy with something wicked, like he already knew the answer.

You tried to nod, tried to say yes, but all that escaped you was a broken, desperate moan, your body betraying you as you desperately tried to ground yourself in the sensation.

Dean’s grin widened—a wicked thing, full of trouble, the kind that made your heart race in anticipation. “That’s what I thought,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. “You’re gonna beg for it. Again.”

“Then I guess you’d better hold on.” He didn’t give you a second to recover. His mouth was back on you, tongue lapping at your swollen clit with slow, deliberate strokes—just enough pressure to make your body twitch, to send you teetering on the edge again before you could even catch your breath.

Your hands flew to his hair, trying to pull him back, but he only groaned and pushed deeper—tongue fucking you, one hand spreading you open while the other slid up to your chest, rolling your nipple between calloused fingers.

“You’re so fuckin’ sensitive now,” he murmured, almost in awe. “Look at you—shakin’ for me.”

Your body bucked, a second orgasm building fast, sharp, overwhelming. “Dean—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he growled. “You’re gonna come again. Right on my fuckin’ tongue. Give it to me.”

With a loud sob and a helpless cry of his name, your entire body arched off the bed as another orgasm ripped through you, even stronger than the first. Your legs trembled, your lungs burned, and your vision went white at the edges.

Dean only pulled away when you collapsed against the mattress, limp and panting, utterly ruined. He kissed his way back up your body, mouth slick with you, a satisfied smirk tugging at his lips. “You okay, baby?” he asked, voice low—gravel and heat laced with just a hint of concern, like he knew he’d wrecked you and wasn’t quite finished.

You nodded, barely, still trembling beneath him. Dean leaned in, brushing his mouth against your temple. “You’re doin’ so good for me. Such a good girl”

Then he sat back on his heels, and that’s when you really took him in—his hair damp and messy, clothes clinging to him from the rain. Water dripped from his shoulders, his jaw, glistening over the veins in his forearms as he reached for the hem of his soaked flannel.

He peeled the shirt off slowly, deliberately, revealing the solid cut of his chest, the ridges of muscle gleaming with rain. You couldn’t look away, your eyes tracing every line of him.

Dean tossed the shirt aside, watching you, his grin turning smug. “You just gonna stare at me like that?”

You leaned in, voice dripping with desire as you looked him up and down. “Yeah, I am. Just thinking about how badly I want you to fuck me right now.”

Dean’s expression darkened, the cocky grin falling into something more predatory. “Oh, I’ll make you wish you hadn’t said that.”

His hands went to his belt next, unbuckling it with maddening ease. He kicked off his boots and jeans, all slow, deliberate movements like he was giving you a show—and he was. Every soaked piece of fabric hit the floor with a wet slap until he was left in nothing.

You swallowed hard, heart hammering as he looked down at you—completely bare, flushed, and still throbbing from the two orgasms he’d already pulled out of you.

Dean smirked. “Look at you,” he murmured. “Still shaking. You gonna let me in, baby? Even now? When you’re all sensitive and messy and perfect?”

He leaned over you again, slow and warm, body radiating heat. His lips found yours in a lazy kiss, tongue tasting you, teasing, while his hand skimmed down your side and slipped between your thighs again.

You gasped when his fingers brushed over your still-pulsing clit, hips jerking. He pulled back just enough to watch your face.

“Still sensitive, huh?” he whispered, voice rough with want. “Good. I wanna feel you fall apart on me again. Wanna feel you squeeze around me while you’re still all wrecked.”

He nudged your legs apart with his knee, settling between them with a slow roll of his hips. You could feel him now, heavy and hard, dragging against your entrance but not pushing in yet. Not until you begged.

“Tell me you want it,��� he said, voice a rasp, eyes locked on yours. “Tell me you want me to stretch you out, fill you up, make you come one more fuckin’ time.”

You whimpered, legs twitching around his waist, the slick heat of him teasing your entrance making it impossible to think straight. “I want it,” you breathed, barely a whisper.

Dean’s eyes darkened, a low groan vibrating in his chest. “Nah, sweetheart. Say it like you mean it.”

You blinked up at him, flushed and trembling, but when you spoke again, your voice came out clearer—needy. Honest. “I need you, Dean. I want you to fuck me.”

His jaw clenched, eyes locked on yours as he slid forward—slow, thick, deliberate. The stretch burned in the best way, and you gasped, nails digging into his biceps as he filled you inch by inch.

“Oh, fuck,” he hissed through his teeth. “You’re so tight. So fucking wet f'me.” He paused once he was buried to the hilt, letting you adjust, his head dropping to your shoulder as he fought to stay still.

“Feel that?” he rasped. “Feel how deep I am in you right now?”

You nodded, voice caught somewhere between a sob and a moan. “Dean—move, please.”

He lifted his head, that cocky smirk curling at the corner of his mouth again. “Anything for you, baby.”

He pulled out slow, just to the tip, then thrust back in—deep and smooth, grinding his hips against yours so you felt every inch of him. You cried out, overstimulated nerves flaring again, pleasure punching through your core like a live wire.

“That’s it,” he groaned, thrusting again, harder this time. “Fuckin’ take it. You’re doing so good. Such a good girl”

Every stroke was slow enough to drive you insane and deep enough to leave you aching. He knew exactly what he was doing—drawing you to the edge again, letting you feel it build. “You gonna come for me one more time?” he rasped, lips hot on your ear, voice thick and wrecked. “I wanna feel you come all over my cock this time.”

“Fuck—Dean—yes, please, I’m so close—” you gasped, hips jerking beneath him, too sensitive, too needy, but unable to stop. Every drag of him inside you felt like fire, like you were being split apart in the best possible way.

He grunted, grinding into you hard and deep, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slipping between your bodies. His fingers found your clit, and the pressure made your whole body jolt.

“That’s it,” he growled. “God, you’re so fuckin’ wet. Drippin’ down my cock, makin’ a mess all over me.”

You moaned, the words hitting you just as hard as the thrusts. “I—I can’t hold it—Dean, I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” he said through gritted teeth. “You’re gonna give it to me, baby. Come for me. I wanna feel you lose it.”

And then he hit just the right angle, hips snapping up with brutal precision, fingers rubbing you fast, filthy, relentless, and your whole body snapped. Your orgasm hit like a lightning strike, your back arched, a cry ripped from your throat, and then it happened.

You gushed around him, soaking both of you, legs trembling as your body convulsed with pleasure that went beyond anything you’d ever felt.

“Holy fuck,” Dean growled, slamming into you deeper, harder, as you squirted all over him. “That’s it—that’s my fuckin’ girl. Look at this mess you’re makin’. Goddamn, you’re so fuckin’ hot.”

You sobbed his name, barely aware of anything but the pulse of your release and the stretch of him inside you. But Dean didn’t stop or slow, he fucked you through it, messy and rough and so good, chasing his own high now.

“Could watch you do that all night,” he groaned, pace getting erratic. “So fuckin’ tight, fuck—I’m gonna come.”

You grabbed at him, dragging him down for a kiss just as he let go, hips jerking, cock twitching as he spilled inside you. His whole body shuddered, a low moan torn from his chest as he rode it out with one last hard thrust.

“Jesus Christ,” he panted against your mouth. “You just—fuck—you nearly killed me.”

You were shaking, soaked, wrecked in the best way. “Good,” you whispered, grinning breathlessly. “You deserved it.”

Dean chuckled, low and breathless, his forehead resting against yours. He didn’t pull away just yet, instead brushing his lips softly against yours in a kiss that was slower, more tender, but still carried all that heat.

He ran his hand up your thigh, brushing the wet mess between your legs with just a light touch. “Shit… you made such a mess, baby. God, I love it.”

You flushed, the heat spreading through you, and you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped. “Yeah? You liked it when I squirted all over you?”

“Liked it?” Dean shook his head, eyes dark with affection and something else. “Baby, I fuckin’ loved it. You’re unbelievable.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and suddenly, the weight of everything between you two hit. It wasn’t just about the sex—it was everything that had been building, the connection, the pull that had been there from the moment you’d met. The way he couldn’t get enough of you—physically and emotionally. And now, with your bodies still tangled beneath the sheets, it felt like the storm inside you was finally passing, leaving something deeper in its wake.

Dean’s fingers brushed against your skin, tracing soft lines along your side, and you could feel the tension still humming in his movements. He wasn’t just holding you. He was clinging to you, as if he needed the reassurance that you weren’t slipping away.

He let out a breath, his voice thick with emotion, and it made your heart ache. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips just grazing your ear as he spoke. The words were so simple, but they carried so much weight, and you could feel the sincerity in every syllable. “I love you, and I’m sorry for yelling at you. I shouldn’t have done that. I—fuck, I was just scared.”

You blinked up at him, your pulse quickening as you processed his words. The heat between you wasn’t just physical anymore—it was raw, emotional, a need that ran deeper than anything you had expected.

“Scared?” you repeated quietly, lifting your head slightly to meet his gaze.

Dean nodded, his eyes dark and intense, but softened by the regret. “When you left the bar—when I couldn’t find you, I…” He trailed off for a second, trying to collect his thoughts. “I didn’t know what to do. And then I couldn’t get ahold of you? Fuck, I thought I lost you. If anything happened to you, I—I would’ve lost my mind. You mean more to me than I can even say.”

The weight of his words hit you hard, a lump forming in your throat as your chest tightened. You took a shaky breath, your heart racing in your chest, feeling every inch of the vulnerability between you. The fear in his voice, the rawness, it was more than you had expected.

“I love you too, Dean,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I don’t want to lose you either.”

Dean’s eyes softened, and for a moment, the anger, the tension from before. Everything seemed to dissipate. All that was left was this undeniable connection, this pull between you that was stronger than anything else.

He exhaled slowly, his expression a mix of relief and something deeper, something almost painful. “God, you have no idea how much that means to me,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

Without another word, he leaned down, his lips brushing softly against yours. The kiss was slow, tender, barely a whisper of contact, but it held so much. It was the kind of kiss that spoke of everything unsaid, everything felt but never fully expressed.

Dean pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. His eyes searched yours, filled with so much love and something close to pain, as if just looking at you was almost too much.

“I’m so in love with you, it hurts,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. The weight of his confession lingered in the air, and it made your heart flutter, a mix of joy and relief washing over you.

You smiled softly, feeling the same overwhelming love in your chest. “I’m in love with you too, Dean,” you said, your fingers gently tracing his jaw, memorizing the feel of him in this moment. “Always have been.”

Dean let out a breath, his body sinking into yours as he held you close, his arms tight around you, as if he never wanted to let go. “Then I’m never letting you go,” he whispered, his lips grazing your temple. “You’re mine, and I’m never fucking letting you go.”

You smiled against his skin, your heart at peace for the first time in what felt like forever. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Dean kissed you again, this time deeper, a kiss that was all reassurance and love. When he pulled away, he rested his head against yours, his fingers lazily trailing up and down your back. “I don’t deserve you,” he muttered, his voice filled with awe. “But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to show you just how much you mean to me.”

You couldn’t help the soft laugh that bubbled up. “You don’t have to prove anything. I already know. I love you, and that’s enough for me.”

He squeezed you tighter, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as he held you in silence. And for the first time in what felt like forever, everything was perfect.

author’s note:

well, I hope y’all enjoyed this filthy fic I’ve created whilst running off of fumes! (I haven’t proofread it honestly, so I hope it’s up to par) 😅 my hormones are getting the best of me so I decided to write this smutty oneshot 🤣 lmfao. (this was supposed to be a drabble. I swear I’m trying to write more drabbles but I get carried away :)

If you’d like to send in a dean or soldier boy request, please don’t be afraid! ❤︎

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

@freeluigihesbae @aylacavebear @supernotnatural2005 @bettystonewell @lieutenantchaos @bejeweledinterludes @ambiguous-avery @star-yawnznn @exansation @darkrose064 @megara0224 @saturnsooya @miss-marmalade @xo-zeze @kamisobsessed @megara0224

@cupidzbunny @imsiriuslyreal @jollyhunter @kimxwinchester @julsvdamxn @tinas111 @acesdiary @sapphic-destiel @callsign-ember @ladykitana90 @h8aaz (lmk if I’ve missed anyone or if you’d like to be taken off the taglist)

If you would like to be tagged please fill out THIS form and I will add you to the list! ❤︎

my works

© maddie0101 do not copy or repost my works without my permission

[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG SERIES MASTERLIST

Main Masterlist || On AO3 || On Wattpad

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn’t looking for a mate. Not only does he think he doesn’t deserve one, but the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain’t real. He still has free will, and saving you from monsters is just another part of the job.

The demons in your life, though? They’re closer than he realises, more personal, and his inner alpha won’t let him leave you behind with them. But can Dean embrace everything that comes with claiming someone? 18+ only MDNI

Tags: omegaverse, soulmate AU, pregnancy, strangers to lovers, hurt/comfort, SMUT, breeding, claiming, knotting, nesting, angst, fluff, endgame is Dad!Dean (and the parenting skills we all know he has), Protective!Dean, (dual POV), somewhat of a fix-it

WARNING: This story implies/references some potentially triggering topics including domestic abuse, sexual assault, a past miscarriage (chemical pregnancy), and follows the journey of how the characters deal with it. Please consider these carefully before reading. I can’t stress this enough!

A/N: This all started out as a one shot idea of Dean playing with kids and nerf guns. That one shot hasn’t been written yet because my brain wanted to know where the kids came from, but Dean will get his hands on a nerf gun in this fic.

uploading weekly on Fridays 🇦🇺🕕

Chapter 1 - Yearning

Chapter 2 - Harbouring

Chapter 3 - Confronting

Chapter 4 - Familiarising

Chapter 5 - Languishing

Chapter 6 - Domesticating

Chapter 7 - Honeydaying

Chapter 8 - Disconcerting

Chapter 9 - Ruminating

Chapter 10 - Saddling

Chapter 11 - Containment 02/05

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Dissappointment

Chapter 16 -

Chapter 17 -

Chapter 18 -

Chapter 19 -

Chapter 20 -

TIMESTAMPS TBA

EXTRAS/RELATED

Writing Game Snippet

100 Followers Celebration Sneak Peak

WIP WEDNESDAY (20/02) Chapter 16

Please Remember folks, abuse isn’t always physical. It’s also not easy to admit when you’re going through it, or sometimes even realise. Look after yourselves, and keep an eye out for signs from those you love. ❤️

If you'd like to be tagged in this series or any of my other works, please let me know, or you can add yourself HERE

I’ll be tagging all the lovely people signed up for my DEAN TAGLIST too, of course 🥰

[easytiger-xo]

texting dean winchester

Dean <3: hey.. u still looking for a new chair for ur place? Y/N: yea! u find something? Y/N: send pic! Dean <3:

Y/N: um.. thats not a chair..? Dean <3: anythings a chair.. Dean <3: if u sit on it ;) Y/N: wow. Y/N: just wow Y/N: how long u had that joke up ur sleeve? Dean <3: no idea what ur talking about.. Y/N: ok well Y/N: its rly pretty.. Y/N: but how sturdy is it? Dean <3: oh very! Dean <3: built to handle pressure Dean <3: easy to clean if it gets wet.. Dean <3: and very straddle-friendly. Y/N: uh huh Y/N: sounds fancy. Y/N: hows the height? Dean <3: fully adjustable. Dean <3: perfect no matter the angle. Dean <3: ease into it slow... Dean <3: or bounce hard.. Dean <3: this babys not moving an inch. Y/N: stability is important Y/N: but i rly need something i can use for hours.. Dean <3: oh sweetheart Dean <3: this one can take ur weight. Dean <3: all of it. Dean <3: over and over till ur legs shake. Y/N: kinda sounds like a challenge. Dean <3: more like a promise. Dean <3: all u gotta do is sit tight... Dean <3: and hold on. Y/N: god Y/N: i hate when ur not here. Dean <3: i know. Dean <3: but when i get back.. Dean <3: u wont need a chair for a week. Dean <3: just me Dean <3: under u. Y/N: yes PLEASE!! Y/N: ..but after that.. Y/N: can we go shopping for an actual chair? lol Dean <3: of course babe.

❤︎ I just know this man loves a good bit.. especially a dirty one.

credit & links:

✦ read more leaked text here.

⟡ pics from pinterest, edited by me.

⟡ dividers by easytiger-xo.

[dangerousstrawberryshark]

Full Circle

🔥Pairing(s)🔥→ Stepbrother Dean Winchester x Male reader ⚠CW⚠→ stepcest, gay, gay-sex, top Dean Winchester, bottom male reader, possessive Dean, obsessive Dean, choking, spanking, praise kink, rough sex, Dean stalks you, jealous Dean, sort of fluff then smut, anal, anal sex, anal fingering, masochist reader, and Dean is rough but loving. He sabotages your relationships.  🔥Rating🔥→ Explicit  🔥Requested🔥→ Yes

🔥Word Count🔥→: 3.3k

🔥Summary🔥→ Dean has been in love with you since you moved in. It was wrong but he couldn’t help himself. He intimidated all your pursers and made sure you were single. However, he stopped his ministrations when he saw he was ruining your love life. He watched with jealousy as you got into relationships. His moment came when you came crying to him. 

Read before continuing: IF YOU ARE YOUNGER THAN 18 OR ANY OF THE WARNINGS MAKE YOU UNCOMFORTABLE, DO NOT CONTINUE READING! 

This fic doesn’t follow the supernatural timeline!

It was wrong. Anyone who saw it will say it's wrong to love your stepbrother beyond a family bond. Dean didn’t see it like that, though. He defended himself by saying, “We’re given the title of brothers, but we’re not related in any way.” People will still say it's wrong, but at this point, Dean didn’t care. 

Dean still remembers the day you appeared in his life. 

Dean was eighteen when their father announced he was remarrying again and that they’d get a new brother. Dean wasn’t too happy about getting another sibling—he thought he and Sam were enough—but he stayed quiet and didn’t complain. John then gave another announcement that they’d be meeting their new mother and brother. 

The older Winchester was reluctant to meet the addition to the Winchester family. From the information he was given, you were a year younger than him. He was spacing out and blocking external interactions. ‘Why must father’s new wife come with an attachment? It would’ve been better if it was just her… not some “brother” that’s coming.’ Dean cursed as he bit his lip from annoyance even though they hadn’t arrived yet. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t hear his father calling out to him. “Dean! Change that attitude and meet your new brother.”

Dean groaned and sighed as he drank his soda before looking up to meet his new stepbrother. He choked as he made eye contact, hacking as the soda itched his throat the wrong way. His face was flustered from embarrassment as he tried to clean himself. ‘Shit! I wasn’t expecting him to be that…’

The Winchester who was usually confident, charming, and witty embarrassed himself. He was gobsmacked, he didn’t expect you to be cute, handsome, and attractive! Dean never found another man attractive but he was bi-curious; guess he’s bisexual. After his humiliation, Dean introduced himself, attempting to brush off the incident. 

“Well, I guess we’re gonna be stepbrothers! Nice to meet you..” 

XXX 

You were a plague on his mind. You filled his mind every waking day as he tried to push down those feelings for you. It only got worse after the wedding ceremony when you and his new mom moved in. The older Winchester unknowingly began watching your moves; how you acted, dressed, and talked. Every last piece of you made him want you more. 

He went as far as to steal your underwear, jerking his cock to your musky scent. His imagination went full drive, imagining you in various positions. Begging and whining for him while he fucks you to oblivion. Dean had the greatest orgasms in his life, painting himself with his load. 

“Dean! Where is my underwear?” You yelled as you searched your room. This was the fourth time this week that your underwear had gone missing! Other belongings had gone missing like some clothing, pillowcases, and even your toothbrush. 

At first, he was adamant about you, but now he was becoming obsessed with you. Whenever you two spoke together, he cherished those memories and every detail. He started stalking all your social media accounts, gathering every piece of information. His obsession reached the point where he could feel your presence in the room.

Obsession was blooming, but so was possessiveness. 

Dean masked his possessiveness by acting like a concerned older stepbrother, justifying his actions to be out of love and protection for you! He was protecting you from rotten men! So, he invaded every aspect of your life, asking who you’re texting, seeing, or even where you’re going. “I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I just wanna protect you.”

“Aww, you’re worried about me?” You teased. You always wondered what it would feel like to have another sibling, especially one that’s protective. So, you played off Dean’s protectiveness as just a sibling thing. However, Dean was serious, something you couldn’t comprehend. 

When you started attending his university, he began stalking your every move. Jealousy and fury surged through his body as he watched men and women alike talk with you. Your natural charisma and good looks caused more attention to come to you. 

Dean attempted to cease further advancements from other men by making– forcing you– you to be in his group of friends. Using his popularity and large stature, Dean intimidated any of your pursers, blackmailing them, or getting physical. Whenever anyone came close, he pulled you closer to him, wrapping his arms around you possessively like you two were a couple. 

You were flattered by Dean's possessiveness, unaware of his obsession though. He just wanted to protect you! That’s what a good stepbrother does, but it's starting to get out of hand. Because of Dean’s ministrations, you were lacking any type of social interaction or relationships. All the guys you talked to distanced themselves or refused to speak to you again. 

Dean was too blind to see how you were feeling until he heard your cries coming from the dorm. Whenever he looks at you now, you just look depressed– saddened that nobody wants to be near you or be in a relationship. The older Winchester began questioning himself.

After days of contemplating and trying to justify his actions, Dean decided to back off. Even though the deepest parts of his mind were telling him that everything he did was for your safety. Despite his own unpopular opinion, Dean backs off and watches as you engage with other men. It took a lot of willpower to not stomp over there and snatch you from them. 

As a way to channel his jealousy and fury, Dean went to the gym every day as he continued to watch you. The constant routine caused him to become bulky. Many men and women threw themselves at him, and Dean indulged, trying to bury his affection and jealousy. However, none of it worked. Someday, Dean hopes your feelings will come around. 

That day finally came three years later. 

XX(three years later)XX

For three years, Dean watched in agony and jealousy as you got into an intimate relationship with someone who wasn't him. Dean, from day one, said he didn’t approve and made it abundantly clear. He watched like a cuck as the guy was lovey-dovey with you. Even worse, he could hear the sounds of moaning and bed squeaking at night. Admittedly, he did jerk off but only imagined himself being the one fucking you. 

Every day, Dean prayed to whatever God there was for misfortune to strike your relationship. It was an asshole move to pray on the downfall of his stepbrother's relationship, but Dean felt something was wrong with that man. He was later proven right.

“H-He cheated on me! That fucking asshole! I… I did everything…” you yelled as you took all your anger on some pillow before crying and burying your head. 

Dean watched, having the face of a concerned brother but inside, he was ecstatic. This was his chance! He could use this moment to slowly insert himself back into your life. Surely, helping you overcome this massive obstacle would make you fall in love with him! Dean will never cheat on you like that asshole did and could be a better boyfriend, maybe husband. 

Because nobody is gonna pay some guy or girl to come after him!

“Hey, Hey… it's okay. Come here, let me hug you.” Dean says tenderly as he pulls you into his embrace. Your cries muffled into his flannel jacket as the older Winchester soothed your cries. He could hear your rugged breathing calm down as you relaxed into your stepbrother's hold. 

Dean repeated this for the next few days which turned into weeks and months. He did everything to make you forget that man; taking you out to eat, movies, just sitting around and talking, or playing games together and just getting closer. Closer than what’s accepted between stepbrothers. He made sure you blocked the asshole's number and got rid of everything that reminded you of him. 

You were starting to feel something with Dean. You never looked at your stepbrother like that but now you were seeing him differently. His charming smile, funny personality, and bulky body from hours at the gym. You often caught yourself staring at Dean for long periods before turning away embarrassed. 

His biceps flexed, pulling his shirt slightly up to show his happy trail, walking around with no shirt on, or hugging you from behind. You blushed and smiled as Dean’s muscular body pressed against yours, and it was something you didn’t expect to need. These unexpected thoughts led to constant wet dreams– Dean pushing you into the bed, ramming his cock into your ass as he praises you for being a good boy. 

“So fucking good… You’re amazing, baby boy.” Dean groans as he nibbles and kisses your neck as he fucks his cock into your tight ass. His large burly hands roam your body to soothe you from the pain. 

You woke with bad morning wood. 

Everything was going as planned, if anything, faster than Dean anticipated. He could feel you warming up to him and often begging for his attention. You two were hanging out in your room, doing nothing, and the older Winchester felt the time was right.

“Y/n… I feel like this is the right time to tell you. I’ve always loved you ever since we met.” Dean confessed as he got closer. His natural scent filled your nose as his large body was close to yours. The room was turning around, it felt like it was getting hotter as you processed what Dean said. 

You didn’t remember what you said, probably saying you loved him back, but it ended with you and Dean being in a heated kiss. His tongue invaded your mouth as he took the dominant role and pushed you into submission. Feeling your submission, he pulled you onto his lap. 

“D-dean…” You whine as you feel your stepbrother pulling your shirt off. His worn hands roam your body as he touches every crevice. His thick fingers tweaking your nipples, your moans muffled by the kiss. Suddenly, the rest of your clothing was torn off as Dean moved you from his lap to the comfortable bed. 

The cold air touches your cock causing you to moan softly. Looking up at Dean, you could see lust in his eyes and he hastily takes off his clothing, almost tripping. His whole body was only for you to see. He was muscular, with perfect abs and pectorals along with his biceps. Tone thighs as his long cock was erected, acting like a third leg. 

Dean looked down at you, seeing the eagerness in your eyes from seeing his cock. You're shifting comfortably, thrusting your hips upward to get stimulation and spreading your legs further to let Dean get more room. “Look at you… all needy and I barely did anything.” Dean groans as he wraps his hand around your aching cock, giving it slow strokes. Your breath was caught in your throat as you tried to chase the pleasure, thrusting into Dean’s hand for more. Suddenly, a loud slap rang; Dean’s hand leaving a significant handprint. 

Instead of feeling pain, you felt pleasure from being hit. This caused you to thrust more which resulted in Dean slapping your thighs. “Ah? My baby is a fucking masochist? Want me to continue?” Dean purrs as he hears you moaning like a bitch in heat. You nodded desperately, wanting more. He continued his ministration, slapping your thighs until they looked bruised– not that you minded. Your cock was throbbing painfully, coating the older Winchester’s hand with your precum. 

Dean was doing everything to prevent your orgasm: ruining it by pulling away when he feels you were close and squeezing or pinching your cockhead. While it may look painful to others, you were ascending to another reality. Your moans filled the room, and you started begging for more. “P-please… I-I need… god… more. Please! Touch me.” Your whines were music to Dean’s ear as he felt you were ready for the next stage. 

“Darling. Lick my fingers,” Dean says as he shoves his fingers into your mouth. Three thick digits filled your mouth as you lathered them with saliva, slobbering around the digits, tongue swirling. It felt like you were losing air when Dean pulled his fingers out– satisfied by how coated they were. “Good job, darling. Amazing.” the older Winchester says causing you to whine with happiness from his praise. 

Slowly, Dean pushes one finger inside, grinning as he sees you pushing yourself back onto his finger. Your breathing got heavier with only one finger filling you, and flashbacks of your boyfriend filled your vision, but Dean was much better. He was thicker and bigger, speaking about his fingers, you’re nervous about his cock. “Breath, darling. I know you’re eager, but you need to calm down so I stretch you.”  Dean says as he uses his other hand to soothe your thighs. 

Letting a soft “yes” you started relaxing. The tension leaves your body as you feel Dean pressing and pushing two more fingers inside. He was stretching you nicely, reveling in the way you were keen on fucking yourself on his fingers. Dean continued pumping his fingers, loud squelching mixing with your moans and whines. He sees your body squirming and wiggling, trying to get more. 

Dean groans with mild frustration as he tried to find the sweet spot. After wiggling and thrusting his fingers, feeling your hot ass clenching around his digits– “Dean! There! Right there!” 

Bingo

He began abusing your bundle of nerves. The tip of his fingers rammed into your sweet spot as he was milking that spot for your pleasure. Feeling the signals your body was giving, an orgasm, Dean pulled his fingers with a loud pop following. “W-why did you stop?” You whine before Dean gave your ass a harsh slap.

“I want you to cum with my dick inside you,” Dean says as he strokes his cock. Opening your drawer and pulling out a bottle of lube. He put a generous amount on his hands before lathering his aching monster cock with the substance. “Please… fucking, please. Fuck me,” you whine as you gave Dean teary eyes. 

Who was Dean to deny his darling his pleasure? 

Dean grins, slowly thrusting his cock into your ass, pausing when he is fully inside. He wants you to adjust, your ex-boyfriend probably never filled you this much. He was right. Just from him entering, you were on cloud nine. You’ve never been filled or stretched this much. Your ass clenching around Dean’s large cock, trying to pull it deeper. “Fucking hell, darlin'. That pathetic man didn’t fill you this much?” Dean groans as he starts rocking his hips, thrusting in, pulling back, and then slamming into you. 

You were already cockdrunk. The perfect feeling of Dean’s large cock filling you up, cockhead ramming into your bundle of nerves. His rough thrusts caused the bed to squeak which mixed with your loud moans and groans, caused your cries for Dean to rougher. “Fucking slut, darlin’. You feel so fucking good. This ass was made for me.” 

His praises sent you to spiral more. You then feel Dean’s worn hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing it but not hard enough to close your airways. Eye contact was made as Dean looked down– you were fucked beyond your comprehension. Drool seeped through the corners of your mouth, and your eyes rolled back as you gripped the bed sheets. “Who owns you, darlin’?” Dean growls as he grips your hips. 

“Y-you! I’m all yours!” you cried as tears rolled down your face from the stimulation. You were desperately trying to keep up with Dean. With your prostate being consistently abused, you were on the verge of prostate orgasm. 

“Atta, boy. You fucking belong to me. No longer than the pathetic excuse of a man. Only me! That’s all you need! Me…Only I get to see you like this.” Dean growls as his thrust gets sloppier. His breathing was getting heavier, your ass was heaven and it was about to send him there too. “Keep speaking. I wanna hear your voice, keep telling me who you belong to.”

You began babbling that you belonged to him repeatedly. Your mind was completely fucked to the ground. The only thing was pleasure surging through your body, your aching cock throbbing and swinging. 

Dean was internally patting himself on the back. You were wrapped around his finger. His dreams throughout the years were finally coming true. He could have the future he had planned since he was eighteen.

With each bucking and rocking of his hips, you grew closer and closer to your orgasm. Desperate for your orgasm, you began pushing back against him, attempting to match the rhythm of his thrusts. You were driving each other crazy, your bodies covered in sweat, mixing with the stench of sex filling the room. The sound of skin slapping, the symphony of your moans and his groans, and the bed squeaking; heavenly music that Dean could do every day if you were up for that. 

“So fucking good, darlin’. You’re perfect for me. I don’t care if we’re stepbrothers, you were always more than that since the day I met.” Dean moans as his breathing began to hitch, his large cock throbbing. He began praising you, making sure you would come undone. “I-I’m gonna cum… cum with me, darlin’,” Dean whines as he wraps his hand around your cock to ensure you both cum at the same time. 

Both of your breathings got rugged. Your ass trying to milk Dean’s cock off its thick creamy load, and Dean stroking your aching cock while he rams into your prostate. “I-I’m cumming!” Dean growls as he collapses onto your body, biting your shoulder harshly. Your cock exploded, its thick load coating Dean’s hand and your chest. 

Dean roars as he gives one final thrust, his cock throbbing, balls churning its load before his spend was flooding your velvety walls, painting your insides white. He groans as this is the best orgasm in his life. The ecstasy lasted for a few minutes, Dean licking the wound on your shoulder. The iron taste of blood touched his taste buds as he licked it clean. Now, people will know who you belong to. He was going to make sure of that to everyone. 

“I love you darlin’,” Dean says as he pulls his flaccid cock out, a loud squelch and pop echo as a wave of his thick cum gushes out. He bred you well. The older Winchester lay down and pulled you closer to him, wanting you to nuzzle into his body. 

The sounds of ragged breathing as you both calm down from the intense session. You cuddled into Dean’s larger body and you could feel his cum oozing out your abused hole. “I love you too.” You said as you slowly drifted off to sleep, Dean’s heartbeat comforting you. 

Dean was satisfied with how things turned out. He finally got everything he wanted. 

Your feelings and his went in opposite directions, but you both came back in a Full Circle.

THE END

A/N: Hello, my strawberries! Wow, this is the longest fic I made in a while. I do hope you’ll enjoy this. Very special thanks to my proofreader, @sagethegaywitch

TAGLIST: @spnfanboy777 @zamfam4272 @ghostking4m

[ambiguous-avery]

Tangled Sheets

Dean Winchester x fem!Reader/You x Sam Winchester | WC: 8464

Summary: Sam and Dean would give up anything for the other. Even if that includes the girl they’re head over heels for. But did anyone ever think to ask her thoughts on the matter?

Tags/Warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, threesome (no wincest), femme nicknames (pretty girl, good girl), g/n nicknames (baby, sweetheart), reader is AFAB, oral sex (F receiving), vaginal fingering, anal fingering, unprotected P in V/A sex (make safe decisions, friends), double penetration, consent checks via traffic light system, no use of Y/N, no beta we die like men

A/N: Let’s let these three finally have their moment. So here, a story about a girl and her dogs boys idiots. This picks up immediately following Untamed Soul.

Three Hearts, One Flame Masterlist

The motel room was colder than your cocoon in the bathroom and only contributed to your deepening scowl as you crossed your arms over your chest. You had slipped into your pajamas for the night because you were sure that the rough fabric of your jeans would be too much against your still-tingling skin. Decency be damned. It wasn’t like they were anything scandalous. An old-oversized shirt you had stolen from Dean forever ago and sleep-shorts you usually reserved for hot summer nights. Nothing you hadn’t worn around them before. 

Dean had pulled the horribly outdated recliner chair over to the table in the room and was lounging in it, beer in hand. Sam sat opposite of him in a wooden chair that creaked with every little movement. Dean twisted in his chair, turning to look at you and flashed you a grin.

“And you get on my case for long showers. You been in there since we left?” Dean teased. You shifted your weight between your feet, making a very conscious effort to ignore the way his voice rolled over you. Behind Dean, you could see Sam’s gaze drop to your bare legs, and you tried your best not to read into that too much. You had nice legs. You would’ve been offended if he didn’t look.

“It’s a different story when we all draw from the same hot water tank,” you finally said.

“Oh I know all about sharing, sweetheart.” Dean’s gaze caught yours, and you could almost feel the heat from his stare searing into your skin. Why had he said it like that? “Hell, ask anyone, and they’ll tell you I’m a giver.” You quickly averted your eyes, focusing on the peeling wallpaper that decorated the room instead of the images of Dean’s head between your legs that flashed through your mind. Sam cleared his throat.

“Do I need to sleep in the car tonight?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, finishing off his beer and setting the now-empty bottle down.

“Nah, Sammy, we’re just getting started. Come on, take a seat. Got a cold one for you.” Dean said your name as he stood and grabbed three bottles from the mini fridge in the room, setting them down in front of each of you. You sat down in the third chair between them with a sigh. You’d survive the loss of your personal time, but you were definitely locking yourself in your room when you got back to the bunker. You didn’t care what kind of excuse you had to give them to get them to leave you be. Hell, you’d tell them exactly what you planned to get up to if it meant they gave you your precious few hours alone.

“What, you strike out at the bar tonight?” you asked as Dean cracked open his beer.

“Wouldn’t be the same without you there, sweetheart. Figured we’d bring the drinks to you.”

“I think you guys would survive one night without me. We only live together.”

“Aw, don’t tell me you’re sick of us. Stick around. Play a game. Celebrate an easy hunt.”

You glanced at Sam who shot you a look that said Yeah I don’t know what he’s up to either. 

“I couldn’t be sick of you guys even if I tried,” you said softly, a small smile playing on your lips. You really couldn’t imagine hunting without Dean and Sam by your side. “Alright, what are we playing?” Dean smirked like you had just stepped into his perfectly laid trap.

“I was thinking truth or dare.” He reached for the empty bottle and tipped it onto its side. The glass clinked softly against the tabletop. “Whoever the bottle lands on has to do a dare. Or… spill a secret or whatever the truth is.” To your left, Sam scoffed.

“Really, Dean? How old are we?” he asked, raising an eyebrow in bemusement.

“Interesting choice of game, but I’ll bite,” you said, opening your beer. The hiss of escaping carbonation filled the air, and you took a swig, the cold bitterness a refreshing reprieve from the fire that roiled within. Meanwhile, Sam shook his head, a wry smile curving his lips as he resigned himself to Dean’s antics. 

Dean grinned and gave the bottle a spin. You watched with amusement as it twirled on the table, the neck slowing down until it pointed directly at you. Dean’s green eyes gleamed mischievously as he leaned forward.

“Truth or dare, sweetheart?”

With Dean, it was a genuine toss up on whether he’d ask a potentially embarrassing question or give you a harmless dare. The devilish glint in his eye suggested that neither option was going to be wholly safe, and there was a non-zero chance that a dare from him was going to be to flash him or Sam your tits. You would’ve done it. And that was the problem.

“Truth.”

“Alright…” Dean drummed his fingers on the table, clearly having expected that you would pick dare. “What’s your favorite position during sex?”

You heard Sam choke on his beer beside you, and you were thankful when Dean turned his attention to him. It gave you a moment’s reprieve to tamp down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“Dean!” Sam spluttered. You leaned over and clasped Sam’s shoulder, only to immediately regret it because your eyes inadvertently went to his hands that held the beer bottle. Hands that you had imagined doing other things to you mere minutes ago. You pulled your arm back and instead chose to focus on your own drink.

“What? The questions have to be dirty otherwise it’s no fun! And besides, I could’ve asked far worse,” Dean said. You cleared your throat and took another sip of beer, buying yourself a moment to school your features into a neutral expression before replying.

“Cowgirl,” you said simply, and you had to fight every urge to grin as both Winchesters turned to look at you, eyes wide. You sucked your lower lip between your teeth, feigning innocence. And then, because you were still frustrated at Dean for his interruption, you dug your heel in and added, “I like watching people squirm beneath me.” 

Pride swelled in your chest as your words hit the mark dead on. You watched as Dean swallowed thickly before taking a long pull from his beer, and Sam’s Adam’s apple bobbed silently, the pulse in his neck pounding. You could’ve cackled at how perfect their responses were. If this was how the game was going to go, you were all too eager to play it. Dean coughed awkwardly, his typical bravado momentarily faltering as he tried to regain his composure. Sam opened his mouth like he might’ve had something to say then closed it wordlessly.

“My turn, right?” you asked, pretending not to notice their reactions. They each nodded silently. You leaned forward and gave the bottle a spin. It rotated slowly before coming to a stop, pointing at Dean. You smiled sweetly at him. “Truth or dare?”

Maybe it was because he was still recovering from the revelation you had dropped on him, but Dean’s response of, “Truth. I ain’t got nothing to hide, sweetheart,” in a strangled voice was a little surprising. You had fully expected him to pick dare. Nonetheless, you took a moment to think, letting your gaze linger on the way his jaw clenched slightly, the stubble on his chin catching the dim light in the room.

“Alright… where’s the weirdest place you’ve had sex?”

Dean shifted in his chair, trying to maintain his usual cocky demeanor despite the flush creeping up his neck. You could see the brief flicker of uncertainty in his eyes before he masked it with a casual shrug.

“Probably the back of a food delivery truck,” he finally admitted, a smirk tugging at his lips as if he was daring you to ask about details. You couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up at the unexpected answer and the mental image of Dean with his pants around his ankles, ass bared for anyone who might walk. You laughed harder. 

“Seriously?” you chucked, raising an eyebrow. Sam snorted beside you.

“Dude, pretty sure that’s a health code violation,” Sam said while shaking his head.

“Cut me some slack. We could all use some fun every now and again. If you got your nose out of your books every once in a while, maybe you’d experience it.” Dean’s voice carried a hint of challenge to it.

“I have fun, Dean,” Sam said defensively. “It just doesn’t include public sex.”

“Hey, we closed the door. And I’m skeptical that your fun includes any sex.”

“Whatever, Dean.”

The bottle clinked as Dean spun it. Sam glowered at his brother across the table as the bottle pointed at him, and Dean grinned. You watched as Sam’s expression shifted to mild apprehension, but Dean’s heckling must’ve got to him because the apprehension gave way to determination. Sam leaned forward in his seat.

“Truth or dare, bitch?”

“Dare, jerk. Do your worst.”

“Gladly. I dare you to… kiss her.” Dean’s gaze flicked over to you.

Sam’s eyes went wide in surprise, clearly having expected Dean to put him through something ridiculous or demeaning. You felt a rush of heat flood your cheeks as you shifted uncomfortably in your seat, unsure of what the least suspicious reaction would be. Were you supposed to be offended? Shocked? Horrified? Into it? You wouldn’t even have to pretend for that last one.

You shot a quick glance at Sam, but he was already looking away, his cheeks tinged with a light pink hue. Dean watched the exchange with a smug grin, clearly relishing the discomfort he had caused. However, when you looked at him, you were sure there was something more in those green eyes of his. If you weren’t mistaken, it was something akin to longing. A twinge of disappointment and more. You would’ve tried to dig deeper into it, but Sam’s movement in your peripheral vision drew your attention back to him.

“Are you okay with this? You don’t have to if you don’t feel comfortable.” He was looking at you, eyebrows drawn up in concern and something unnamable in his eyes. While there had been no physical change, something about the way Sam was looking at you felt different. More charged. Like the prospect of kissing you had opened some sort of floodgate and there was no way to close it again.

“I’m sure you could make her plenty comfortable, Sammy.”

“Dean...” Sam gave Dean a look for the briefest of moments, and you made the executive decision that the best way to navigate the situation was to be as cool about it as possible. It was just a kiss. A kiss with one of the men you had just imagined fucking you into next week, but a kiss nonetheless.

“You’re not afraid of little ol’ me, are you, Sammy?” you asked, laying the charm on thick. Actually, maybe if you leaned way into it, the boys would be none-the-wiser. Hide your attraction in plain sight, so to speak.

You hadn’t ever called him ‘Sammy’ before. That was a privilege only Dean had, but in the moment, it felt right. Like it fit right in with the teasing tone you took. But when Sam let out a long, audible exhale through his nose and something dangerous flickered in his eyes, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe you had crossed a line. He had never outright said that you were allowed to call him that, and you had seen how defensive he could get about the nickname. The word ‘sorry’ was on the tip of your tongue, but Sam spoke before you could say it.

“Come here.”

It wasn’t what he said that caused your stomach to flip. It was how he said it. Like he was a predator stalking his prey. Like he was on the verge of pouncing. Like he was a wolf calling a lamb to him. You had it backwards. Maybe you were supposed to be afraid of him. And before you knew it, you were out of your chair and standing between his legs after he had scooted away from the table. Even sitting down, he was so damn tall. “You okay with this?” he asked again, the usual, gentle Sam you knew bleeding through whatever personality had taken him over. You nodded numbly.

“Yeah… It’s just a kiss,” you said, more for your sake than his. It didn’t do anything for your heart pounding in your chest.

His hand cupped your cheek, tilting your head to meet his gaze. The air between you crackled with tension as you held your breath, the heat of his hand sinking into you like a balm. He closed the distance between you.

All your fantasies and previous ideas of what kissing Sam Winchester would be like flew out the window in an instant, every one of them a mockery of the real thing. His lips were soft against yours, and you could taste the lingering bitterness of beer. But the kiss was nothing like the playful teasing you had expected from a simple dare. There was something deeper to it, something raw. A silent confession of things left unsaid for far too long. You were sure Sam could hear your heart hammering in your chest as you melted into the kiss, unable to resist the pull of his lips on yours. Your eyes had fluttered shut, and the world around you faded away until all that was left was Sam.

Sam’s hand on your cheek. Sam’s lips against yours. Sam’s comforting, woodsy scent enveloping you like a hug. His fingers tangled in your hair, pulling you closer until you were practically sitting in his lap. Your hands settled against his chest, firm and steady beneath your touch.

Dean’s low whistle shattered the spell between you.

“Alright, I think that’s my cue to make myself scarce,” Dean said with a chuckle, but there was an edge to his voice that didn’t sit right with you. You pulled away, breathless and cheeks flushed. Sam’s gaze found yours, his expression entirely unreadable. You took an unsteady step away from him and turned to look at Dean. You hadn’t been imagining it before. There definitely was something gnawing at him that he wasn’t letting on.

“Where are you going?” you asked as he moved to stand from his seat. He let out a humorless laugh.

“Look, as fun as it is to watch you two dry hump, I’m starting to feel like a third wheel on a bicycle.”

Your stomach lurched. You could feel the balance between the three of you tipping. Everything was going to come crashing down around you. Pandora’s box had been opened, and there was no going back. The phrase “the person who chases two rabbits will catch none,” came to mind, but whoever had said it clearly had never met you. You couldn’t lose them. That might actually kill you.

“Dean,” you said at the same time Sam said your name. You looked back at Sam. He had the same indiscernible thing in his eyes that Dean had, and it was really starting to bug you. Normally you could read these two like books, but right now, it was like someone had taken all the words out and scrambled them. Sam tipped his head in Dean’s direction.

“If he’s feeling left out… then why not give him a kiss too?”

Your jaw went slack, and every thought racing through your head came to an abrupt halt.

Were you dreaming? Did you hear him correctly? Or had that kiss with Sam actually short-circuited your brain?

Dean must’ve been going through a similar thought process because all he could muster was a dumb,

“Huh?”

“Are you joking?” you asked and immediately regretted it. It made it sound like you didn’t want to kiss Dean. Dean looked genuinely hurt.

“No,” Sam said. “Do it. I dare you.” And he purposefully grabbed the bottle on the table and turned it to point at you. You were tempted to point out that that’s not how the game was supposed to work, but Dean spoke first.

“It’s fine. Look, I know you guys got this… thing between you. I’m not gonna get in the way of it.”

“You and her obviously have something more, and I don’t want you guys to not do anything about it because of me,” Sam countered.

“Guys,” you cut in, hoping you didn’t sound as panicked as you felt. They both looked at you, and the weight of their gazes slammed into you with all the force of a semi truck. You stood your ground. “What is going on here?”

“Nothing!” Dean snapped. “You and Sammy have been making heart-eyes at each other for long enough. I figured you needed a little push. Based on that kiss I saw, I was obviously right. So I’m just gonna go take a nice, long drive and maybe get a second room.”

“What are you talking about? You two have been emotionally edging each other for months now! I figured you were taking your time because you liked her and didn’t know how to deal with those feelings.”

“Hello? Guys? I’m right here.”

The realization of what was happening began to sink in, and your mind raced to catch up with your heart. No one spoke. The room suddenly felt too small. Suffocating you with the tension. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing that one wrong move could send everything spiraling out of control.

You looked from Sam to Dean, their expressions mirroring a strange blend of determination and vulnerability. As if they had thrown each others’ cards on the table and now were waiting for you to make a move. You had hit a point of no return, and all that was left was to keep going forward. You took a steadying breath.

“You both like me.” It was a statement, not a question. You knew. “And I like both of you.” The two of them glanced at each other, silently communicating in the way that – despite having been with them for several years at this point – still made you feel like an outsider. “Don’t make me pick. Please. It’d be like telling me to pick my favorite leg and cut the other off.”

Another uncomfortable silence.

Sam was the first to speak, his voice low and filled with emotion that you couldn’t quite place.

“We should’ve talked about this before it got to this point,” he said, his eyes flickering between you and Dean. Dean nodded in agreement, running a hand through his hair in a nervous gesture that was so unlike him.

“So, where do we go from here?” he asked.

“I think we have two options,” you said solemnly. “The first is that I follow through on Sam’s dare. You and I,” you motioned between yourself and Dean “kiss, we call everything even, and we shove this all back in the box that it came out of and never talk about it ever again.” Dean wet his lips.

“And the second option?”

“The second…” Oh God, were you really about to say this? Out loud? To them? “The second option is… we consider that the concept of sharing can extend to people, too.”

Dean let out a slow breath, eyeing you carefully like you were going to say, “Just kidding!” a second later. You didn’t.

“Sharing,” he repeated, the word hanging heavy in the air. “That’s… unconventional.”

“Unconventional, but not impossible,” Sam added quietly, his gaze intense as it bore into you. “We’ve always been good at defying the odds.”

He had a point. The three of you had faced countless challenges together, overcoming obstacles that had once seemed insurmountable. You were confident that there was nothing in the world that could stop the three of you together. But this? This was different. This wasn’t a hunt to complete or a monster to behead. This was potentially a messy knot of emotions with the very real possibility of a disastrous outcome.

“Has it ever even crossed either of your minds?” you asked slowly. They shared a guilty look. Your eyes went wide. “Oh my God, it has!”

“It might’ve been a... passing consideration,” Dean admitted quietly. “But it’s not exactly something that comes up in a normal conversation.” It was Sam’s turn to agree with Dean with a nod. He said,

“But now it’s here, right in front of us.”

“Don’t get me wrong. I understand that this isn’t something that just happens and everyone is okay with everything. But you two are more than worth the fight. What do you guys think? Sam?” You looked at him, sincere determination burning in your eyes. He met you with the calm assurance that you had come to associate with Sam. As though any doubts that he might’ve had were already laid to rest.

“I think that I care about the both of you enough to give this a serious try,” Sam replied, his voice steady and earnest.

“Dean?” You turned your attention to the other Winchester, the one who you felt would be the most resistant to the whole idea. There was a beat before he answered.

“I think Sam gave you a dare that you haven’t followed through with, sweetheart.” And then, Dean flashed you that brilliant smile of his, all teeth and dimples. And fuck if that didn’t go straight to your core.

The tension between the three of you shifted rather than dissipated, remaining charged and heavy.

You took a tentative step towards Dean, keeping a careful eye on each of them as you approached. Sam’s eyes were a challenge, and when you finally were in front of Dean, you reached out, cupping his cheek in your hand. Your gaze met Dean’s, searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. You leaned in slowly, giving him the opportunity to pull away if he changed his mind last minute. Instead, he met you halfway, his lips brushing softly against yours.

It was everything you had hoped for and more. It was nothing you had imagined – it was better. Way better. Couldn’t even begin to describe how much more perfect it was than you had ever pictured in your mind. Kissing Dean was like being wrapped in warmth and safety. He was all passion and confidence and fire, and all you wanted was to let it consume you. And it went deeper than that. There was a hunger shared between you that couldn’t be denied. A desire that was more profound than you could find the words for. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer and sweeping you up in a whirlwind of Dean. He was a storm. Wild. Intense. Powerful. 

Dean’s tongue swiping against your lips. Dean’s scent of leather and whiskey curling around you. Dean’s hand sliding up your back and holding the back of your neck. Your lips parted, and your hands settled on his broad shoulders, all corded muscle and strength beneath your fingers.

You broke the kiss, only because you might have forgotten that breathing was a thing while you lost yourself in the one and only Dean Winchester. His pupils were blown wide as he looked at you in awe, as though he couldn’t believe that the two of you had just kissed. His eyes flicked down to your tongue that darted out to wet your lips.

“You sure you know what you’re getting into, sweetheart?”

Oh, you knew. 

After all the years spent by their sides, how could you not? How could you not know that Sam would treat you so kindly and gently? He was the type who liked to savor his women like a fine wine. You had always imagined that Sam would take his time with you. Pleasure you and fuck you until you couldn’t see straight anymore. And Dean? Dean played rough. He’d tease you. Edge you. Claim you. He was the kind of guy who was always in control, and you would gladly give that to him if he asked. You’d heard enough of his encounters through the paper-thin motel room walls to know that Dean made women sob and whimper.

“If we’re gonna do this,” Sam’s voice cut in, and when your eyes found him, he was your anchor. A grounding point. Ever-steady. Unwavering. You swore you fell for him just a little more every time you looked at him. “We should probably establish a safeword. Or we could use the traffic light system.” You nodded along with him, glancing at Dean out of the corner of your eye. He was doing his best to hide it, but you recognized his expression as the same one he wore when he was trying to piece together something in a case. 

“Green for all good. Yellow for take it slow, and red to stop immediately, right?” you asked just so that everyone was for sure on the same page. Recognition flashed in Dean’s eyes, and he quickly agreed.

With the indulgence of a heated kiss with each of them and the friendship crisis averted – at least for now, – your arousal from your interrupted shower was thrumming through you, singing through your veins like a siren’s song. Tempting you to lose yourself in the two men in front of you. You had tamped down that temptation for far too long. Thankfully, it seemed like Dean was already there with you.

“So, how do you want to do this?” he asked carefully.

“Any way I can get the both of you.” You might’ve been embarrassed at how quickly you responded if they both weren’t looking at you with darkened eyes that suggested that they were already thinking the same thing. You were pretty sure you were going to be the first official case of spontaneous human combustion. Nothing supernatural about it. It was them, your honor. They set you ablaze, and you were absolutely helpless to do anything to stop it.

“Like... at the same time?”

“Yeah,” you breathed, and a smirk tugged at your lips as his breath caught in his throat. “That okay?”

“Uh, yeah, ‘course, totally fine,” he stammered.

“Green?” you prompted. He nodded and repeated, 

“Green. Dark green. Fucking emerald, sweetheart.”

“Sam?” You shifted your attention to him and picked out all the ways you could see his self control unraveling at the seams. The way he watched every little movement. The way his arms were loosely crossed over his chest as though that were the last bastion of composure keeping him in check.

“As a forest, pretty girl.”

And that was all it took.

Dean was on you in a heartbeat, lips crashing against yours like a wave that had spent too long away from the shore. His tongue slid against yours as he slowly backed you towards the bed, only giving you a reprieve when you stumbled backwards onto the mattress with a yelp. He chuckled, following you down and peppering kisses across your cheek before settling himself on your right, propped up on his elbow. 

A gentle hand touched your arm, and you pulled away from Dean slightly, turning to see Sam’s warm gaze meeting yours. You hadn’t heard him move and only barely felt the dip of the mattress as he took up the spot on the other side of you.

“Hey,” he said softly, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Don’t forget about me.”

“Never,” you replied, reaching for his hand. “Come here.”

Sam didn’t need to be told twice. He leaned in, his kiss softer, more tender than Dean’s, but no less intense. It was a kiss that spoke of quiet longing and deep affection, and it made your heart ache in the best way possible. He slid his hand across your stomach before slipping down over your hip and settling on your thigh. You gasped into his mouth as his fingers dragged over your clothed center. At the same time, Dean pressed kisses against your shoulder, his own hand toying with the hem of your shirt before dipping beneath it, his fingers dancing across your skin. He pushed your bra up and cupped your breast, his fingers finding your nipple and teasing it. 

No fantasy of yours could’ve ever prepared you for this. They all paled in comparison. Having Sam and Dean’s hands and lips on you simultaneously was something your brain never could’ve conjured up properly compared to the real thing. And when Sam’s hand found its way beneath the elastic band of your shorts and underwear and found you wet and waiting for him, you felt him smile against your lips.

“Hardly even touched you, pretty girl,” he teased, his voice low.

“I might have gotten a bit of a head start in the shower earlier,” you admitted cheekily. Dean chuckled.

“Oh shit, I interrupted that?”

A witty response died on your tongue as Sam chose that moment to find your clit and roll it between his fingers. You moaned and your eyes fluttered shut as he teased you, fingers sliding through your wetness but never quite dipping into you. And just when you were ready to tell him that you needed more otherwise you might actually die, Sam gave you a quick peck on the lips before he slid down off the end of the bed and kneeled between your legs. He helped you out of your shorts and panties in a smooth motion before you felt his warm breath brushing against your core. He propped one of your legs up and over his shoulder, holding it tight while his other hand splayed over your thigh, holding you open as he leaned forward and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against you.

His tongue. His lips. His fingers digging into your thighs. Your responding cry was high and thready as Sam held you and pressed his tongue flat against your clit, and you would’ve carded your fingers into his hair if Dean hadn’t caught your wrists and pinned them above your head.

“Nuh-uh, sweetheart. We’re the ones touching you right now,” Dean murmured, pressing his lips to your temple. Your head fell back against the comforter. You had always imagined Sam would be good with his tongue. He was so eloquent, so well spoken. But God, you had no idea just how good. He licked a broad stripe from your entrance to your clit before focusing solely on it.

“Fuck, Sam,” you gasped, using the leverage you had on his shoulder to rock your hips against his face. Sam’s grip on you tightened as he worked you over.

Dean grabbed your chin with the hand that wasn’t holding your wrists and turned your face to him. His lips crashed into yours in a bruising kiss, swallowing your moans as Sam continued. The dual sensation was overwhelming – Sam between your legs and Dean’s possessive kiss stealing your breath away. You were drowning in pleasure, caught between them in the only way you ever wanted to be.

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to taste you,” Sam muttered against your thigh, his breath hot against your sensitive skin before he dove back in, sliding two fingers inside you while his tongue circled your clit. Your back arched off the bed, the sensation almost too much to bear.

“Pretty noises from such a pretty girl,” Dean said, his lips trailing down your neck. “Bet you can be louder, though.” His free hand slipped under your shirt again, palming your breast. The rough drag of his calloused hands against your sensitive skin had you gasping for air. His fingers pinched your nipple, and the sharp pain-pleasure turned your next moan into a whimper halfway through. “There you go, sweetheart.”

Your hips bucked as Sam curled his fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made stars dance in your vision. You were so hopelessly trapped between them, caught in the perfect storm that only they were capable of creating. The coil of pleasure within you wound tighter and tighter with every swipe of Sam’s tongue, every twist of Dean’s fingers, every breath hot against your skin.

“F-fuck. Sam, Dean, I–” You couldn’t find the words as Sam’s long fingers pressed deeper, and you felt your thighs begin to tremble around his head.

“You gonna come for us, sweetheart?” Dean’s voice was low and gravelly in your ear, and all you could offer in response was a low whine. “Come then, baby girl.” And dear God, if that wasn’t the hottest command you’d ever received in your life. Your body went rigid as you came apart in their hands, tensing and shuddering as pleasure flooded through your system. Sam worked you through it, his movements slowing as your trembling subsided, pressing gentle kisses to your inner thigh as you came down from your high.

Dean released your wrists, and you immediately reached for Sam, fingers tangling in his hair as he looked up at you from between your legs. His lips were slick with you, hazel eyes dark with desire.

“You taste better than I ever imagined,” he said, voice thick with want. Dean chuckled beside you, pressing a kiss to your shoulder before backing off as Sam crawled back up your body, leaving kisses along your stomach, between your breasts, and finally capturing your lips. Meanwhile, Dean’s hands stroked along your sides, pushing your shirt up as they went. You and Sam maneuvered just enough for Dean to help pull your shirt above your head, and your bra didn’t stand a chance against Sam’s deft fingers.

“Isn’t it a little unfair that I’m the only one naked here?” you asked, your voice still breathy from your orgasm. Dean’s signature smirk returned as he sat back on his heels on the bed, his eyes roaming over your body and taking in every inch of exposed skin with undisguised hunger.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.” You huffed your disagreement and grabbed the front of Dean’s shirt, pulling him in for a kiss.

“Too many clothes,” you whispered against his mouth. Your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his flannel, and he chuckled, helping you push it off over his shoulder before pulling his t-shirt over his head, revealing the broad expanse of his chest and the anti-possession tattoo that matched yours and Sam’s. You turned to Sam next, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “You too.”

Sam complied immediately, ridding himself of his shirt to expose the toned muscles of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth went dry at the sight of both men half-naked before you, something you had only ever dreamed of. The difference between them was stark but no less appealing – Dean’s broader build with more defined muscle versus Sam’s leaner, taller frame.

“How do you want us?” Sam asked, his voice husky with need. You bit your lip, considering the options that lay before you. The endless possibilities. All the ways you could have them both at once.

“I want… both of you. Inside me. At the same time.” Your voice was surprisingly steady considering the request that had just left your lips. You watched as both men’s eyes widened slightly, pupils dilating even further with lust.

“You sure, sweetheart?” Dean asked, his voice strained as he searched your face for any sign of hesitation. “That’s… intense.”

“I’m sure.” You nodded, reaching out to stroke his cheek. Sam’s hand found your hip, his thumb drawing lazy circles against your skin.

“We’ll go slow,” he promised. “Tell us if it’s too much.”

Dean was the first to move, the metallic clink of his belt buckle sending a shiver down your spine as he pushed his jeans and boxers down in one fluid motion. Your breath caught at the sight of him fully naked, his cock hard and leaking. Sam followed suit, standing to remove his remaining clothes. When he straightened up, it was your turn for your eyes to go wide. Sam was… proportional to his height, to say the least.

“Everything you imagined?” Dean asked, noticing your expression.

“So much more,” you managed to reply, reaching out to wrap your fingers around him. Dean hissed through his teeth at the contact, his head falling back as you stroked up his length. There was something intoxicating about having him at your mercy. You didn’t mean to be a tease, but your touch was light and your movements slow as you marveled at the weight of him in your hand.

Sam moved behind you, pressing his chest against your back as his hands slid around to cup your breasts. His cock pressed against the small of your back, hot and heavy.

“You call the shots, baby. Who do you want where?” Sam murmured, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. You mind raced with possibilities, each one more enticing than the last.

“You underneath, Dean behind,” you decided. Both men groaned at your words, and you felt Sam’s cock twitch against you.

“Fuck, I like the way you think,” Dean said. “Probably need lube, though.”

“My bag. Under the bed,” you said. Dean shot you a surprised glance, as though the thought of it genuinely shocked him. “Oh sure. A guy keeps condoms with him and it’s fine, but a girl has lube in her bag, and you’re clutching your pearls?” You gave him a gentle squeeze, and he let out a low exhale.

“Smart girl, always prepared,” Dean smirked, moving off the bed to retrieve it. You watched as he bent down, presenting you with a perfect view of his backside. You couldn’t help the appreciative hum that escaped your lips. Sam chuckled against your neck, and you turned your head to catch his lips in a heated kiss. Sam’s tongue slid against yours as Dean returned, bottle in hand. You felt the mattress dip as Dean settled in front of you, his lips finding the spot just above your collarbone.

Sam settled himself on the bed, reclining against the headboard as he beckoned you to him.

“Come here, pretty girl,” he said, his voice like gravel. You crawled over to him, straddling his thighs as his hands settled on your hips. His cock stood proud between you, and you couldn’t resist reaching down to stroke him, relishing the way his breath hitched when you did. Pre-cum beaded at his tip, and you swiped your thumb over it, spreading the moisture down his length. Sam’s hips bucked involuntarily. His hands squeezed your hips as you positioned yourself over him.

Dean’s hand slid up your back, his chest pressing against you as his lips found the nape of your neck. The feeling of being sandwiched between them was indescribable – all heat and muscle and desperate want. You heard the cap of the lube bottle click open and moments later, you felt Dean’s cool, slick fingers pressing at your ass.

“Anyone ever play with you back here, sweetheart?” he asked, fingers lightly pressing against your hole. You shook your head.

“No, you’re the first.” He let out a low, dark chuckle.

“Fuck, okay. Gonna take good care of you, sweetheart. Promise.”

His finger circled teasingly before pressing inside. You braced your hands on Sam’s shoulders, and Sam leaned forward to kiss your brow as he gently guided you down onto his cock. You each let out simultaneous moans as you sank down, clenching around Sam’s cock and Dean’s finger.

“Such a good girl for us,” Dean said, resting his forehead against your shoulder blade as he worked you open with careful precision. Us. Dean had said ‘us,’ and you’re pretty sure your heart skipped a beat at it. “What’s your color, baby?”

“Green,” you said breathlessly when Sam was fully seated in you. “What’d you say before? Fucking emerald,” you echoed Dean’s sentiment from earlier.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Relax for me, sweetheart.”

You took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing yourself to relax as Dean pressed a second finger into you, the dull burn quickly dissipating. The dual sensation of Sam inside you and Dean' working you open was unlike anything you’d ever experienced. Sam’s hands stroked up and down your sides, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as he watched your face for any sign of discomfort.

“You’re doing so well,” Sam murmured, leaning forward to capture your lips in a tender kiss. “So fucking perfect for us.” There was that word again. Us. This time from Sam. These two were going to be the death of you. Sam’s hips shifted beneath you, and you gasped against his mouth as he hit a spot deep inside you that made your toes curl. His cock throbbed inside you, and you had the very distinct feeling that it was taking all his willpower not to thrust up into you. “Feel okay?”

“So good,” you breathed, rolling your hips experimentally. The movement caused Dean’s fingers to press deeper, and you moaned at the fullness. You whimpered.

“God, you feel incredible,” Dean groaned, carefully pressing a third finger into you. His free hand gripped your hip, steadying you as Sam made shallow thrusts beneath you.

“Dean,” you gasped, pushing back against Dean’s fingers. “Need your cock so bad.” And, really, Dean stood no chance when you said something straight out of his fantasies to him.

“Need me to fuck this pretty ass of yours?” Dean asked, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “Sure you’re ready for that, sweetheart?”

“Please,” you begged, your body trembling with anticipation. Dean withdrew his fingers slowly, and you only had a brief moment to lament the loss before you felt the blunt head of his cock press against you. Both of their grips on you tightened, holding you completely still as Dean smeared the lube over himself.

“Easy now,” Dean murmured, pressing forward at an agonizingly slow pace. “Breathe for me. Just like that. Good girl.”

You leaned forward, burying your face in Sam’s neck and breathing deeply as Dean sank into you. It was a stretch. Intense and just shy of painful. But Dean’s patience and careful movements kept it from tipping into being too much. He paused as the head of his cock disappeared into you.

“Color?” you heard Sam ask.

“Y-yellow,” you panted, “give me a second.” Every muscle in you was pulled taut, adjusting to the new sensation.

“Take all the time you need, sweetheart. No rush,” Dean’s voice was strained but gentle, his hands rubbing soothing circles on your lower back. “We’ve got all night, and we’re not going anywhere.”

Sam’s fingers trailed up to cup your face, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“You’re doing amazing,” he muttered, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips. “So beautiful taking both of us. We’ve got you.”

You focused on your breathing, on the feeling of being completely surrounded by them. You were safe. Safer than you had ever been in your life. Safely nestled between them. Right where you belonged. You could’ve cried from the sheer joy you felt. Sam and Dean and you. That’s all you needed.

The initial discomfort gradually faded, giving way to a fullness that bordered on overwhelming in the best way possible. You shifted experimentally, drawing a grown from both men.

“Green,” you whispered with a small nod. Dean took that as his cue, pressing forward inch by agonizing inch until he was fully seated inside you. The sensations were beyond anything you’d ever imagined. Pleasure. Pressure. Fullness. Your breaths came in short gasps as you adjusted to them both, your body stretched to its limits.

“Fuck, you feel amazing,” Dean groaned, his fingers digging into your skin. “So tight around my cock.”

“Doing okay, pretty girl?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

Sam’s first thrust in while Dean pulled back knocked the air from your lungs. The second one fried whatever circuits were left in your brain. And the third? Well, you never fully recovered from there.

They quickly found a rhythm, one moving in as the other withdrew, never leaving you empty for a single moment. You were helplessly caught in a tide of pleasure, rising and crashing with each thrust. Your senses were overwhelmed. The sound of their labored breathing. The drag of their cocks against your walls. The delicious friction. Sam’s hands on your breasts. Dean’s lips on your neck. The taste of Sam’s skin as you pressed open-mouthed kisses to his neck. The sight of his face contorted in pleasure. The praise from both of them. They each sounded so reverent. In awe.

“Look at you,” Dean panted behind you, his hips snapping forward with increasing urgency. His hands were on your shoulders, pulling you back onto him with every thrust. “Like you were made for this. Made for us.”

Sam’s hands were everywhere – in your hair, on your hips, on your thighs – leaving trails of fire in their wake. His thrusts became more erratic as he chased his release. You felt your own orgasm building, the same coil from before winding tighter with each perfectly timed thrust.

“D-Dean– Sam–” you gasped, your nails digging into Sam’s chest as they pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“That’s it, you got another one for us?” Sam encouraged. “Come on. Let us feel you.”

Sam’s hand slid between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and circling it with practiced precision. That was all it took to send you hurtling over the edge. You cried out their names as you came, your body clenching rhythmically around both of them. The sensation of your walls pulsing around them was too much for Sam, who followed you over the edge with a deep groan, grinding his hips up into you as he filled you with his release. Dean thrust one, twice more before burying himself to the hilt with a strangled moan of your name, his cock twitching as he spilled deep within you.

For a long moment, none of you moved, the room filled only with the sound of heavy breathing as you all came down from your shared high.

“Holy fuck,” Dean muttered, his voice rough, wrecked. His forehead pressed against your shoulder blade. “That was… Jesus Christ.”

“Yeah,” you agreed breathlessly, unable to form more coherent thoughts. Dean carefully withdrew from you with a hiss, and you whimpered at the loss, feeling suddenly empty as he moved away. Sam rubbed a soothing hand along your thigh as Dean disappeared into the bathroom. You heard water running, and moments later, he returned with a warm washcloth.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” Dean said softly, helping lift you off Sam. Your legs were boneless as you collapsed onto the bed between them. Dean’s touch was gentle as he cleaned you up, the warm cloth soothing against your sensitive skin. Sam shifted beside you, pressing a tender kiss to your temple before getting up to clean himself. “You okay?” Dean asked, his voice soft with concern as he stretched out beside you, propping himself up on his elbow. He tossed the washcloth somewhere towards the bathroom. His free hand traced lazy patterns on your stomach.

“Better than okay,” you murmured, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “That was… wow.” Sam returned, sliding into the bed on your other side. The mattress dipped under his weight, and you turned your head to look at him. He brushed stray hair from your face.

“You sure we didn’t hurt you?” Sam asked.

“Just sore in the best way possible,” you assured him, reaching up to touch his cheek. The warmth in Sam’s eyes made your heart flutter. “Worth every ache I’ll feel tomorrow.”

Dean chuckled and draped his arm across your waist.

“Good, ‘cause I’m planning on giving you plenty more reasons to be sore.” His voice held that cocky edge you knew and loved, but there was something softer underneath it now.

“Insatiable,” you teased, turning to press a kiss to his stubbled jaw. “Both of you.”

“Only for you,” Sam said with a soft laugh, his large hand splaying across your stomach, fingers brushing against Dean’s arm. The possessiveness in his touch sent a pleasant shiver through you despite your exhaustion.

“Pretty sure you two have ruined me for anyone else.” You nestled into the pillows, your body deliciously sore in places you’d never felt before.

“That was the plan,” Dean said, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple. There was something different in his eyes now. A softness that hadn’t been there before. Something unguarded and vulnerable, and it made your heart squeeze in your chest.

There was a long silence as the tension from before crept back in. You didn’t want to, but there was a conversation that needed to happen. Sooner rather than later. So you mustered up the courage to voice it.

“So… what happens now?”

Dean’s arm tightened around you almost imperceptible, and Sam’s eyes flicked to Dean before returning to you.

“What do you want to happen?” Sam asked, his voice gentle but serious. The questions hung in the air, heavy with implications and possibilities.

“I want this,” you said simply, looking from one brother to the other. “Not just tonight. Not just sex. I want us.” The admission made you feel vulnerable. Exposed in a way that had nothing to do with your nudity. “I know it’s complicated and messy and probably insane, but–”

“Sweetheart, our whole lives are complicated and messy and insane,” Dean interrupted, a small smile playing on his lips. “What’s one more thing?”

Sam’s hand found yours, his thumb brushing gentle along your knuckles.

“I’ve wanted this – wanted you – for too long to let it go now,” he admitted.

“Same here,” Dean added, propping himself up higher to look at you properly. “This wasn’t just scratching an itch for me. Not with you.” Relief flooded through you, and you felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Good,” you whispered.

It wasn’t always going to be easy. You knew that. You were a hunter for God’s sake. You knew that life was never simple. But this? This strange, beautiful arrangement between the three of you? It was worth fighting tooth and nail for. Worth the inevitable complications and challenges that would come with it.

“We’ll figure it out as we go,” Sam said, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Together,” Dean added, the word carrying more weight behind it. You nodded, warmth spreading through your chest as the realization that these two men – these incredible, frustrating, brave, stubborn men – were yours.

And you were theirs.

---

I just want to say that this is the longest piece I have ever written, and I am seriously so proud of this for once. I was able to set all of my self-doubt aside for this and just write, and I genuinely feel like this is the best piece of work I have ever written in my entire life. I thank you so very much for reading it all the way through. 💜

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

Dean taglist: @aylacavebear @globetrotter28 @bettystonewell @supernotnatural2005 @maddie0101

Both: @jollyhunter @sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth @voodoochildthings @sir-thisisadndserver @colours-of-thewind

Drop a comment, ask away, or add yourself to my taglist!

[waynes-multiverse]

Ok hear me out. I got this idea after the episode of Dean getting his "virginity" back and hooking up with the porn star when he's digging through her dresser and finds the DVD of her ANYWAY

Best friend Dean who's been pining after you for sooo long but doesn't want to fuck it up and lose you. You're hanging out when you ask him to go grab something from your room and he's digging through your drawers looking and accidentally comes across some lingerie and now it's days later and he's so hot and bothered cuz he can't think of anything else (the boy has a serious panty kink lets be honest) and you catch him in your room going through your drawers again and OH

A/N: As I warned y'all, this is a longer DD because, well, the prompt was long, so it's not really my fault. All that backstory took on a life of its own, but I think no one will be mad about it 😅 Again, I had tons of fun with this one! You'll see 🤣

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18/NSWF, a ridiculous heat wave, friends to lovers (Wayne's Version), crack, a panty kink, some sneaky fluff, and some hot lovin' aka smut (oral f & face sitting)

Word Count: 4.5k (whoops)

Main Masterlist || Dirty Drabbles

Cruel Summer

“You open the beaches on the 4th of July, it’s like ringing the dinner bell for Christ’s sake…”

As Jaws flickered across the screen in the Dean Cave, the green-eyed hunter adjusted himself in his seat. Usually, he had perfect control over himself and his feelings for you.

But on some days – like today – when you sat right next to him on the couch in nothing but a loose t-shirt and some short sweatpants, fanning yourself with an old magazine of Busty Asian Beauties as beads of salty sweat collected on your forehead and trickled down your neck, you made it hard for him.

“God, I’m so hot,” you sighed exhaustively and sunk further into the couch cushions, lifting your shirt from your sticky skin to let some cool air to your boobs as a heat wave ravaged through Kansas.

Painfully hard.

“Dean?” You pouted with your best puppy dog look at your best friend.

“Huh?” Dean was in trance, watching you more than the movie, always on the edge of getting caught one of these days.

“We’re out of Sour Patch Kids. I have more in my nightstand. Can you get them for me please?” you asked sweetly. “I don’t wanna move. I might actually die from heat exhaustion.”

Dean sighed and wordlessly rose from his seat. He knew you always kept an array of salty and sweet midnight snacks in your room in case you got hungry and didn’t want to wander into the kitchen in the middle of the night.

Moreover, he was grateful for the break. God knows he couldn’t stand to be around you any longer, or he would’ve been too tempted to rip your clothes off and really make you sweat.

I’ll show her a damn heat exhaustion, he thought with a scoff.

Hastily grabbing the desired snack, his green eyes then caught something red and lacy sticking out from the first drawer of your dresser. The hunter knew the decent and honest thing would’ve been to just keep moving and leave your godforsaken room.

Turn around, as Bonnie Tyler sang. But for some reason, his bright eyes couldn’t resist, his curiosity overtaking him.

Dean opened the drawer with the intention to push the naughty little clothing item back into its place and out of sight. Get rid of the temptation, so to speak. It sounded like the perfect loophole. He got to touch it and look at it, but for a very heroic and noble reason – not because he was a creepy perv, violating his best friend’s privacy.

On some level, Dean knew he’d never stand a chance with you. He wasn’t good enough. He had so much baggage all his suitcases wouldn’t even fit into the bunker.

A damn touch of a pair of panties you weren’t even wearing was all he would ever get from you.

But then his fingers touched the soft and see-through material, his pads tracing every delicate scarlet thread with precision and care. It was game over for him then and there, cursing himself internally for not resisting harder as his cock twitched joyfully in his jeans.

Dean had laid his eyes on you the second you strolled with swinging hips into that diner in Wichita for your very first case together, a werewolf hunt six years ago. And he had managed to get by without an incident for years since then, even when you moved into the bunker, being rather proud of that achievement. He never wanted to lose you as a friend and didn’t dare to cross a line. Ever.

Recently, though, it became more difficult to keep his distance and not let his thoughts wander. His feelings were magma that slowly had filled a volcano over the years. Each time you did something sexy or sweet or goofy or smart, another drop was added. And now, that damn fire mountain was overdue for an eruption – no thanks to that stupid heat wave.

“Thanks,” you said absentmindedly as the hunter handed you the candy but didn’t settle back down. Instead, he stood behind the sofa and leaned his hands on the backrest.

What you didn’t know, though, was that Dean was sporting quite the boner and wouldn’t dare to come into your line of view. He was surprised he could even walk up straight and not like a caveman early in the evolution.

A hunter gathering panties.

“I’m gonna hit the hay,” he told you with a somber clear of his throat. As the fan carried a breeze of your perfume to his nose, his grip tightened on the couch.

You turned in your seat and looked over your shoulder at him, raising a surprised brow. “Already? But the movie’s not over.”

“Yeah, I’m beat,” he excused and tried his best not to look strained. He forced a tight smile to his lips while his little dude celebrated Spring Break in his jeans. “‘Sides, we’ve seen Jaws like a million times now, Y/N.”

It was a cherished summer tradition between the two of you, watching it every 4th of July.

“I guess so.” You shrugged disappointedly, watching your best friend retreat to his room. Truth was, you loved spending time with Dean and held those little traditions close to your heart.

The Winchesters were your family, the only one you ever had. And while some families wore matching pajamas on Christmas morning, you watched the first two Die Hard movies. You would watch Dean’s favorite horror movies on Halloween. Sixteen Candles and High Fidelity on your birthday, Tombstone and The Great Escape on Dean’s, and some lame-ass foreign language documentaries that you both snored through on Sam’s.

Valentine’s Day was a dreaded non-holiday for all three of you, but for the past four years, someone would leave a box of chocolate in front of your door. The salted caramel ones would always be missing, and it always came with the same Forrest Gump quote:

I’m not a smart man, but I know what love is.

You knew the anonymous someone was Dean, and you knew he meant it as a joke. Still, you clung to those little traditions. They might seem silly and stupid to some, but to you, they were your lifeline in a world full of darkness.

So, you felt rather saddened Dean didn’t seem to honor them anymore. It wasn’t just Jaws, either. He’d been withdrawing from you for a while, and you didn’t understand why.

Unbeknownst to you, the green-eyed hunter had kept a lacy souvenir from your room.

Now, Dean had managed to avoid you for four days. Every night since his stealthy excursion, he would lie in his bed with your stolen panties in one hand and his throbbing length in the other, feeling goddamn pathetic for sinking so low.

It was probably so low that even his memory foam mattress would remember it.

With closed eyes, he then imagined how the perky globes of your ass would look like covered in crimson lace. How you would stretch out on his bed on all fours, with your ass high in the air and wiggling in front of him. How his fingers would push the wicked material aside to push into you, taking you deep and hard while you moaned his name.

As he ruined tissue after tissue, the guilt would wash over him as soon as he was done. Call it a post-nut epiphany.

Dean knew it was wrong to think those things. He knew he only made it harder for himself to ever look you into the eyes again. Hell, he barely could do it now, even though a part of him audaciously wondered what other treasures were hiding in that drawer of yours. And more pressingly, what ultimate wealth he would find beneath your clothes. If your lingerie was gold, he’d be a creepy-ass dragon sitting on it.

So, Dean tried to avoid you as best as possible. Mostly because, well…

“God, fuck me,” you groaned exhaustively and opened the refrigerator door, leaning against it as the refreshing cold hit you from behind. On top of that, you held a big bag of frozen peas to your sweaty chest. You already wore the bare minimum – some short denims and a white tank top, your hair up in a messy bun.

“I swear underboob sweat is the worst. Just be glad you don’t have tits,” you complained. “Guys, seriously, can we invest in an AC? This heat wave is killing me! This bunker is like one giant oven…”

You watched as Dean squirmed in his seat as he ate his cereal, looking as uncomfortable as you. Surely, the boys were suffering just as badly during those sweltering temperatures, already forgoing the usual flannels and opting for plain t-shirts instead. How they were still wearing jeans was beyond you. When you first moved in, you protested against Dean’s suggestion of Naked Tuesdays, but these days, you were actually giving it a second thought.

“Well, I’m gonna drive to Kansas City today and see if I can get us an AC. Apparently, they’re all sold out, but I figured maybe with a bit of flirting and some cleavage, I can still get us one,” you explained your plan with a bright smirk and wiggled your eyebrows. “What d’you guys think, huh?”

Dean then abruptly banged his fist on the table, spilling some milk from his bowl on the surface. “For God’s sake, Y/N!”

You frowned in confusion at his unexpected outburst. “What’s up with you? Are you having a heat stroke?”

“Flirting, really?!” the hunter barked, his brow shaped into a deeply furious v.

“What’s wrong with that? Double standard much? You do it all the time to get shit,” you countered and watched his jaw clench in anger.

“I do-... not,” he remarked snappily with a fierce finger drilling into the table, clearly lacking a good argument. Sam cleared his throat in agreement with you, but that only earned him a glare. “And Jesus fucking Christ, would it hurt you to put on some goddamn clothes? You’re not even wearing a bra!”

“Did you not hear my tits rant just now? Of course I’m not! ‘Sides, those boobs are gonna get you an AC, so be a little more grateful to them,” you retorted, annoyed with his attitude. You’d think of all the people in this world, Dean Winchester would understand. (And maybe even appreciate it.) “And how can you even tell, huh?”

“‘Cause science, Y/N! You’re literally cooling your tits! What did you think was gonna happen, huh? Nipples!” he vented outrageously. “This ain’t a strip club!”

“It’s 102 degrees, Dean!” you argued, throwing your arms up. “Look, if I could, I’d even go naked, alright? It’s fucking hot!”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” Dean shook his head and stormed out of the kitchen without any further comment.

Confused, you blinked at the younger Winchester. “What’s up with him?”

But Sam only shrugged, shaking his head. “Uhm, I don’t know,” he replied, although he could take an educated guess, suspecting his brother’s feelings for you as the culprit.

“Well, alright, I’m going to Kansas City,” you decided without wasting another thought on the older Winchester’s strange behavior. “Text me if you guys need something. I can pick it up on my way home.”

Dean knew he was in deep trouble as his bow legs bolted down the bunker’s hallways. He tried so hard to keep it together, but when he saw you, half-naked and panting in front of the fridge, he quite literally lost his coolness in this goddamn heat wave.

The green-eyed hunter understood a thing or two about torture, but this was the worst of all. He’d rather have a demon repeatedly peel off his skin in hellfire than endure a day more of this fucking madness.

If the temperatures didn’t drop soon, it would be a cruel summer ahead of him.

As Dean heard the door to the garage close, he knew you’d left for your trip and exhaled a deep sigh of relief. At least he’d get a few hours of peace.

With the best intentions, he strolled to his bedroom, but as he passed your room on his way, he found the door ajar. Whatever good motives he had up until this point, went quickly out the window right then.

His hand twitched at the thought of more riches, worse than any trigger finger and competing with a California earthquake, and well, so did the dick in his jeans. It was an addiction at this point, an obsession he couldn’t resist nor get rid off. The fact that it was forbidden and wrong only made it even more appealing. The apple in the garden of Eden.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t an anonymous support group for this kind of sickness.

As unbearable shame and guilt collected in his stomach like rainwater in the gutter, his eager hands rummaged through your dresser drawer. There was purple lace and black satin, navy G-strings and white Brazilians. It was never ending, and the hunter couldn’t stop as he picked up each item and let his fantasies roam wild.

God, the things he wanted to do to you were as colorful as your rainbow full of underwear.

“Dean?!”

The green-eyed hunter froze in his place, a white lace panty still bunched up in his large palm. The hair in the back of his neck stood up in shock, a part of him refusing to turn around at the sound of your voice. He was caught red-handed, and he knew it.

“What are you doing in my room?” you prompted, suspiciously cocking an eyebrow. It looked fairly obvious what your best friend was up to, but you didn’t want to accuse him right away, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Frankly, it was quite unbelievable.

“It’s not what it looks like,” Dean replied and swallowed thickly, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he held up his hands like a criminal during an arrest, the evidence still in his grasp.

“Well, it looks like you’re snooping through my lingerie,” you pointed out bluntly.

Dean nodded, guilt-ridden and reluctant. “I can explain.”

“Good,” you said, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m waiting…”

“Right, uhm…”

“Oh, before you scramble for an answer, you should know, though, that I’m aware a pair of red lace panties is missing, and I know the washer didn’t eat them,” you said and raised an expectant brow.

You had a feeling your pervy best friend was behind the mystery of the missing item. Now you knew for sure.

“Man, I always knew you were a kinky son of a bitch, but this is a new level, Dean,” you scolded.

Dean’s gaze dropped to the floor in shame, scratching the nape of his neck. “Look, uhm, there’s no good excuse. I know I fucked up here. I’ll sleep in a motel tonight until I find my own place. You can stay here with Sam, alright? I’ll move out and won’t bother you anymore.”

As he tried to brush past you, you blocked his exit and grabbed his arm. “So, you’re gonna leave? Just like that?”

“What other choice do I have? I don’t wanna make you more uncomfortable,” he stated without glancing at you once. He couldn’t bring himself to look into your eyes and see the disappointment and disgust there. “I know what I did was wrong.”

“Oh, so wrong,” you agreed. “I just figured you wouldn’t run away like a coward and take your punishment like a man, you know? Aren’t you at all curious what I’m wearing right now?”

That was when Dean’s juniper eyes slowly wandered to you and caught your gaze for the first time. You smirked as his breathing became heavy and his look darkened and filled with lust. It seemed like he wanted to rip your clothes off with his goddamn bare teeth like a wild animal.

“I can’t tell if you’re joking or if I’m dreaming,” he admitted, his deep voice part harsh swallow and part nervous chuckle.

“Neither,” you said, biting your bottom lip.

Carefully, you leaned closer, your hands reaching up to cup his scruffy cheeks. Noses nuzzled as your lips ghosted against his with a daring grin. You wouldn’t go further; it was up to Dean to make that final decision.

And then, as no more than a mere second ticked by on the clock, the hunter crashed his lips against yours in a kiss so scorching it made the current heat wave look like an ice age. If you thought you were hot before, now it felt like you were burning in a wildfire.

Dean roughly pushed you against the door, his kiss all teeth and tongue in an uncontrollable frenzy. His dick was hard and thick, straining against his jeans and rubbing along your thigh. Pantingly, you gasped for air and grabbed his hand, guiding it down your body and into your shorts.

“Feel that?” you asked mischievously as his fingers dug through your soaked folds and collected the arousal he caused. A wanton growl left his plush lips. “All for you, baby. You’ve been a bad boy, haven’t you?”

“Shit, yeah, so bad…” Dean rasped huskily against your throat as he worshipped his path down your body, forcing your shirt up till his wet tongue rolled over your pert and still cold nipple.

“Gonna make it up to me, huh? Show me how sorry you are?” you prompted, your fingers raking through his sandy blond and soft hair, eliciting a groan from him every time you tugged a little harder.

Teeth pinched your skin, tongue cherished your taste, and lips left your throat bruised. It was equal parts hot, sweaty, messy, naughty, dirty, and sticky as your bodies rutted against one another, looking for dire release.

With swollen and plumper than before lips, he came back up for air and found your eyes. He kissed you with heated passion once more as if he couldn’t resist to touch you over and over again. He had to restrain himself to be able to speak.

“So, uhm, you sure about this?” Dean asked between labored breaths with an insecure gleam in his green eyes. “‘Cause if we go further, I don’t think I can stop. And I don’t mean just this time but ever… If you want this to be a one time thing, you gotta tell me, sweetheart, so I can mentally prepare myself. I mean, I’ll take what I can get, you know? Not that I care either way… Well, that’s not true. I do care. A lot… But, you know, you’re you, and I’m me, so I’m not delusional. I know there’s no way you would–”

You interrupted his babbling with a kiss, causing the hunter to lose his words. You looked deeply into his eyes and offered him a small smile of comfort.

“Dean, listen to me, okay? ‘Cause this is very important,” you urged, your hands gripping his shirt tightly.

He nodded, gulping anxiously. “O-Okay.”

“You’re incredible,” you said and watched him inhale sharply at your words, blinking at you in disbelief. “Absolutely fucking bonkers incredible. You’re right – you’re you. And thank God you are, because you’re the best, funniest, smartest, kindest, and goddamn hottest man I’ve ever met. I’m tired of you not seeing that. As my boyfriend, I really need to you to see that, alright?”

As Dean pensively took in your words, his brow began to furrow. “Boyfriend?”

The corners of your mouth rose to a beam. “Yeah, boyfriend,” you confirmed. “That’s what you want, right? ‘Cause I’d really like that, too.”

“Uh, yeah, yeah… That’s what I want.” Dean nodded eagerly before another swallow followed. “I mean, among other things…”

You bit your lip, smirking. “What other things?”

“Well, uhm…”

Dean didn’t finish his sentence, his lips impatiently claiming yours instead. He pressed you hungrily back against the door, massive hands sliding down your sides till they hooked into the hem of your denim shorts and ripped them down to your ankles, leaving you only covered in teal lace. He growled shamelessly at the sight, his thick digits eagerly diving inside.

“Wanna be inside you,” he groaned into your ear, thumbing furiously at your clit. “Every hour of every day…”

“We can do that,” you agreed with a giggle, your arms locking around his neck, fingers carding through his hair in the back.

“Wanna feel your mouth around my–” The last word was muffled as he ravaged your neck, but you understood where he was going with this.

“You can do that,” you said with a smile.

“And fuck, I want you to ride my face,” he declared. That demand left you speechless, making even Dean stop for a minute and look at you. “Too far?”

You shook your head and smirked. “I can do that.”

Before Dean’s mind could fathom your words, you shoved him onto the bed, his back hitting the mattress. When you stood before him, slotted between his muscular legs, his gaze trailed up and down your body, memorizing every beautiful curve. As your fingers curled into the waistband of your panties, however, the hunter stopped you.

“Leave ‘em on, sweetheart. Don’t you dare take those off,” he told you, his hands rapaciously reaching out to you.

You played with the hem of your top and smirked, your tongue licking over your lips. “What about this? On or off?”

“Off,” he shot back faster than a bullet leaving a barrel.

“You first,” you demanded and grinned. “Remember, this is still your punishment.”

“God, I love getting punished,” Dean mumbled and slipped out of his shirt. He then swiftly shimmied out of his jeans, discarding each item carelessly around the room.

He then took a deep breath as he tugged the waistband of his boxers, his erection already fighting its way out. “Well, here goes nothing,” the hunter said and pulled his underwear down.

You tilted your head to see his hard cock from a better angle as it sprang against his stomach. Your lips parted in anticipation, wondering what he’d taste like on your tongue and how deep you’d be able to take him. You guessed there’d be a struggle ahead, considering how huge and wide he was.

“Oh, I would not call that monster nothing,” you commented with a scoff, your pussy throbbing with need. “Explains all that BDE.”

Dean blushed. It was cute to watch. “Thank you.”

Giggling, you removed your shirt and tossed it at his face, blinding him for a second. You used that momentum to slide onto the bed and straddle his torso. As his eyes finally found you again, he almost choked on his spit when he gazed up at your perfect tits above him. A primal grunt escaped his throat.

With a mesmerized sparkle in his eyes, his hands trailed up your body and cupped your breasts, massaging them roughly as your panties grew damper by the minute. He then pulled you down to his lips and kissed you breathless before he left them with a boyish smirk on his freckled face.

“Hop on, sweetheart.”

And as if his words hadn’t been enough motivation, his hands wandered to palm your ass and hauled you closer to his mouth. He was an impatient one – or maybe he’d waited years for this and was finally tired of it.

Your knees sunk into the mattress on either side of his stubborn head. His fingers dented your flesh as they grabbed onto your thighs. Yours held onto the headboard for support. You tried not to look down, because then you’d see his big lopsided and full of excitement grin.

The same one he had when you found a diner in Kentucky that advertised the biggest burger in America (it wasn’t). The same one he had when he thought he had run into a member of Metallica at a gas station outside of Phoenix (he didn’t). The same one he had when you and Sam gifted him his own beer brewing station for his last birthday (which tasted horrible, but neither you nor Sam had the heart to tell him).

And now, he had that same grin when he was about to be with you.

As your pussy dripped above him, Dean couldn’t hold back his lewd groans any longer. You didn’t even have to lower yourself; he just dragged you down onto his face all to eagerly. His fingers swiped your panties to the side, and before you could even adjust your grip on the bedpost, his tongue darted into your soaked channel as deeply as he could and sucked you goddamn dry.

With several whimpers, you clenched around his wet muscle. If you were water in the desert, he was parched and drinking to survive.

His nose was buried in your folds, rubbing deliciously against your clit as he lapped your pussy in a vicious attack that left you squirming and moaning to a pornographic degree above him. Because Dean was just that – pure porn.

Instinctively and irresistibly, you ground your cunt against him, the vibrations of his keen groans against your sensitive flesh rocking you to the edge of your climax. He ate you out and devoured you like that damn gigantic burger in Kentucky. And as you dared to blink down and watch him in action, he had the audacity to devilishly smirk up at you with the crinkles around his green eyes alone, gauging your every reaction to his touches as if you were a goddamn movie on a silver screen.

You trembled and quivered and screamed as your orgasm electrified every molecule in your body. You white-knuckled the wood in your grip, your body only held up by Dean’s strong arms because God knows your weak legs were useless now.

As wave after wave washed over you, Dean drank every drop of yours, his tongue never getting enough of your taste. The sounds that filled the room were carnal and obscene.

“Fuck, Dean,” you sighed blissfully and lifted off his face and captured his swollen and red lips in a grateful kiss, your palms finding purchase on his broad shoulders. Your drenched and sensitive cunt settled on his thighs as an egregiously large erection poked your belly and tempted you further.

Dean smirked up at you, all satisfied and confident with his achievement. “I think we have a slight problem, though.”

Your brow knitted, your heart tightening with anxiety. Had you been as disappointing as the burger, beer, and that fake Metallica band member?

But Dean only grinned teasingly at your confused face. “There’s no way I learned my lesson here.”

You snorted and sought out his lips, the kiss giving you a taste of yourself. “We’ll work on that. I might have to nickname you Jaws after this,” you joked.

“Can’t wait for you to explain that one to Sammy.” Dean snorted, chuckling. “Now, how about you hop on again, but this time a little further south, huh?” he proposed with a wiggle of his eyebrows and a suggestive twitch of his cock for emphasis.

You giggled with a few nods. “I can do that.”

Was it worth the words? 😝

For all you newcomers and as a general reminder, Dirty Drabbles are always open. I still have quite a few left, but you're welcome to send more in, and we'll add it to the collection at some point 😎🔥

PUT YOUR DIRTY THOUGHTS HERE

TAGS:

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @imsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou

[supernotnatural2005]

'Ride em' Cowgirl'

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: SMUT!!! 18+ ONLY, swearing, fluff.

AN: Here it is, the requested part 2 of my 'Giddy up Cowboy' Drabble. I'm blown away by all of the love and support on my work lately and had to give you something tasteful in return for all your lovely appreciation. I hope you enjoy ☺️

Tagging: @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog and @rizlowwritessortof

Main Masterlist

The ride back to the motel feels like an eternity. The engine of the Impala hums beneath you, a comforting sound you’ve grown used to over the past few months of hunting with the Winchesters. But tonight, that familiar hum does little to calm the storm that’s building in the air between you and Dean.

Sam sits in the passenger seat, blissfully unaware of the electricity crackling in the space between you and his older brother. His head is turned slightly, eyes focused on his phone as he scrolls through something, probably researching the next hunt. He’s completely oblivious, lost in his world, but you and Dean? You're both caught up in something far more dangerous.

You shift in your seat, the leather of the Impala's interior squeaking slightly beneath you, but it’s nothing compared to the way your body is reacting to the proximity of Dean, to the memory of the words you said back at the bar. "I think I can ride him better." The double meaning of the comment, the tease that you’d laid on him, was still hanging heavily in the air.

You glance at him, his profile visible from the corner of your eye. His jaw is tight, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little too hard, and you can’t help but notice the way his bicep flexes with the tension. The urge to reach over and touch him, to bridge that last bit of space between you, is almost overwhelming.

Sam’s voice pulls you from your thoughts as he glances over his shoulder, a slight grin on his face. “You two are awfully quiet. You sure everything’s alright?”

Dean clears his throat, his voice low, a little too steady. “Yeah, we’re fine, Sammy. Just tired.”

Sam nods, not catching the edge in his brother’s voice, and goes back to whatever he’s reading on his phone. You, however, catch the way Dean’s eyes flicker to you—a brief glance, but enough to make your pulse quicken. You feel that familiar heat rise between you both, the kind that only the two of you understand.

Every mile feels like it stretches on forever. You catch Dean’s gaze again, and this time, his eyes linger a little longer, something raw and unspoken in them. You know he’s struggling to keep his composure, just as you are.

Finally, the motel comes into view. The neon lights of the sign flicker, the soft hum of the parking lot filling the quiet car. Sam lets out a loud yawn and stretches, oblivious to the way the tension between you and Dean has reached its breaking point.

“Man, I’m pretty beat.” Sam says, giving you both a tired smile as he climbs out of the car. You and Dean follow suit, both of you stepping out with a quiet but unmistakable urgency.

Dean’s hand brushes against yours as he walks you to your room—just a few doors before his and Sam’s, and it’s enough to send a shiver down your spine. You both stand there for a moment, looking at your motel room door in front of you, the unspoken weight of everything you've both been avoiding for so long finally sinking in. 

Sam walks on ahead, muttering something about needing to “hit the hay,” and you both watch as he disappears into the room before Dean turns to you, his voice low and controlled. 

"You weren’t kidding earlier, huh?”

"No," you say, your voice just above a whisper, because you can’t take it anymore, and it’s enough to send the heat between you two spiralling. "I wasn’t.”

Dean doesn’t need any more encouragement. He moves first, closing the distance between you two with a single, decisive step. His lips crash against yours, hard and desperate—like he’s been holding back everything he’s been feeling for far too long. 

His mouth is warm and insistent, and you open up to him instinctively, your hands finding their way to the open fabric of his flannel, pulling him even closer. 

You moan into the kiss, clinging to him as if he were your last source of oxygen. Consuming what he was willing to give as long as he was willing to give it. Dean’s hands slide down to your hips, gripping hard enough to leave small fingerprint indents when your tongue slides past his lips. His responding groan is low, bordering on a growl, and he walks you back against your door, his hands unable to stay in one place for too long. 

His touch, his scent, and his delectable mouth were quickly descending you into a state of ecstasy. You were already hooked and desperate for more. 

“Inside.” You mumble against his lips, and he offers you a curt nod before he breaks the kiss, allowing you a moment to breathe as you turn to unlock your door. He’s already pressing himself against you from behind, his hands wandering from your hips to boldly cupping your breasts over your thin t-shirt, beneath your jacket.

It takes you until your third try before you finally stumble inside. Dean quick to kick the door shut with his foot as he ravishes your neck with wet kisses and thumbs at your pebbled nipples poking through your lace bra, risen from both his ministrations and the cool air.

You push back against him and gasp at the feel of his obvious arousal through his jeans. His reaction to you sent a thrill of excitement through you as well as a feeling of pride swelling in your chest. 

"Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve wanted this. Wanted you.” Dean pants into your neck as you roll your hips against him. He presses into you with each roll, making his eyes roll back and his hands move to find purchase on your hips again. 

“I think I have some notion.” You quip with one last push back against him before turning in his arms. You offer him a sly smile and look up at him through your lashes as you trail and hand down his firm chest and over his toned stomach before cupping him through his jeans. His hips instinctively thrust into your palm, and you grant him some relief by adding pressure and rubbing your hand along his length. 

His gaze is stormy as he looks down at you, watching you watch your own hand grope him in wonder. It was one of the hottest things he’d ever seen. Suddenly, he pulls your hand from him, the feeling both incredible yet frustratingly not enough, and you look up at him in question, but he’s quick to reclaim your lips again. 

The urgency from before is back with a vengeance as you claw at each other’s clothes, peeling away layers upon layers between heated kisses, until finally, you’re left in nothing but your panties, and Dean in his boxers. 

His gaze roams over you unapologetically, taking in every curve and scar; your heaving breasts on display with a hunger you’d never seen in another man's eyes before. But there was more behind his desire. There was a look of longing, of wanting this for so long and finally having it, simmering within those pools of green. And you understood. Because you felt the exact same. 

As if in sync, you reached for one another again. Dean’s hands framed your face as he dipped down to kiss you again. This time softer, more tender, making you all but melt into his arms. He walked you backwards, never parting his lips from yours, until the backs of your thighs met the edge of the mattress. 

You pulled away from him then and climbed up onto the bed, with him quickly following, crawling up and over you like a predator stalking his prey. Your head fell back onto the pillows as his firm body covered yours, his mouth quickly attaching itself to your neck, kissing, sucking, and nibbling at the tender flesh until you were bucking your hips up against him. 

He smirks into your neck, loving the fact you were so reactive to him, even by the simplest of touches. He decides to give you some relief and trails his mouth down your body, stopping at your chest. He waited for you to look at him, his warm breath fanning over your perked nipple, and only when you finally meet his gaze does he wrap his lips around your pebbled nub. 

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, watching his eyes fall shut as he sucked and nibbled at your nipple. The sensation was almost overwhelming, and your hips ground for any kind of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs. Your hand slid into his hair, pulling harshly at the soft spikes atop his head, making him groan, and the vibration sent tiny shocks of pleasure throughout your nerve endings. 

He moves onto your other breast, the wetness of your abandoned nipple cooling against the air conditioning unit, softly buzzing in the background, the feeling only adding to the incredible pleasure his mouth was giving your other breast. 

“Fuck, Dean.” You gasp, just as his left hand trailed down your side and sneakily slipped into your panties. Two of his thick digits were quick to find your clit and you shuddered from the contact. He begins to circle your bundle of nerves slowly, much like the motion of his tongue against your nipple. 

You fist his hair again, moaning loudly as he dips an experimental finger into your soaked hole, gathering your wetness and resuming his attention back on your clit. 

“You’re so wet, baby.” He grunts against your chest, frowning in concentration as he picks up his pace. “That all for me?” All you could do was nod and then cry out as his fingers rubbed you faster, sending jolts of pleasure down to the tips of your toes, which soon curled as your body began to tense. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” You repeated it like a mantra, the coil in your belly wound tight and ready to spring. 

“That’s it, baby. Cum all over my fingers.” He husks in your ear, and you look down your body, watching the muscles in his forearm dance with effort from the maddening pace of the hand buried deep in your underwear. The sight was your undoing, and your whole body stiffened. Mouth dropping open in a silent scream, the sound trapped in your throat as your body convulsed and shuddered against him. 

Dean’s hand began to slow with your descent into bliss, coming to a complete stop once you deflated back onto the mattress, completely boneless. 

“Holy shit.” You huffed with an incredulous chuckle because, holy shit. You’re not even sure you’d ever come so hard with your own hand. And if just his fingers could bring you so much pleasure, it left you wondering what else you were in store for. Although you didn’t have to wonder for much longer when Dean shifted beside you and you felt the straining press of his cock against your thigh. 

You turned to him and cupped his cheek with your right hand, pulling him into a slow and sensuous, grateful kiss. He hummed happily against your lips as you rolled him onto his back. His arms coming up to wrap around you, to keep you close as you took his breath away. 

With him distracted, you grasped his tented length, massaging him as best you could through the fabric of his boxers. He broke the kiss and dropped his head back against the pillows, eyes shut tight as you relieved some of the pressure. 

You smiled devilishly at him and rose to your knees beside him. He watched you in wonder as you peeled the last item of clothing from him, helping you by lifting his hips. Your eyes widened in both shock and amazement at the sight of him. Your mouth watered and pussy throbbed, desperate for a taste, for the feel of him inside you. 

You gathered him in your hand, relishing in the warm weight of his impressive cock. Dean released a deep sigh at the feel of your delicate hand slowly, teasingly pumping him. He was as hard as granite, throbbing in your hand, and you marvelled at the way your simple movements had him panting, wanting and desperate beneath you. 

Laying comfortably between his parted thighs, You ran your tongue along the length of him. The deep, responsive moan from him giving you the encouragement to do it again and again until he was slick with your saliva and fisting the sheets beneath him tight. 

“Holy.. shit.” Dean gasped as you took him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around his silky head before sinking your mouth onto him. The action brought with it a salty tang and a variety of praises and profanities. Between your legs, a new wave of wetness coated your already ruined underwear as you worked him over in your mouth and with your hand. 

Looking up at him, he was a sight to behold. His skin glistening, chest heaving, sinful lips parted, and eyes squeezed shut. He was beautiful in every scenario it seemed. 

“Oh God.” Dean’s eyes snapped open then, his body tensing, and he quickly sat up, pulling you from him. You looked at him alarmed, wiping at the spit collected at the corners of your mouth. 

“What? What’’s wrong?” You lay a comforting hand on his shoulder, waiting for him to take a few deep breaths before he released a breathless chuckle.

“You were about to make me cum.” He told you honestly, and you blushed a little, but wondered why he’d stopped you? 

“And?” You giggled softly, though squeaked, when he suddenly manhandled you into his lap. You had to bite back a groan at the feel of his hard length bumping against you through your panites. 

“And? I was promised a ride.” His voice is low and sultry, but his face is filled with his usual boyish, giddy excitement. You giggled and shook your head, realising you’d somehow fallen for a complete dork. 

You cup his scruffy cheeks in your palms and plant a warm kiss against his lips, the smiles on your faces quickly fading as your tongue swept against his, reigniting the ache between your legs and the need for more. 

You reluctantly pull away and slide off of him, removing and kicking away your underwear before climbing back onto him. He welcomes you eagerly, claiming your mouth once again with a kiss filled with passion and ignition. 

You slowly guide him onto his back and pull away breathless. His hands slide from your back to your hips as you sit up, grinning down at him. His green eyes look up at you, dark and entranced, roaming over every inch of you in amazement. 

You bite down on your lip as you settle against him, the wet seam of your pussy covering his length, making you both groan at the contact. You roll your hips experimentally, your head falling back as you steadied yourself against his firm stomach, picking up your pace until you were slick and ready. 

“Fuck sweetheart. You’re a dream.” Dean says breathlessly and with an honest gaze. You smirk down at him, slowing your roll, and he watches you. 

“I think it’s time I make do on that promise.” You tell him. “Think I can last the full 90 minutes?” You tease, and Dean chuckles, rubbing lovingly at your thighs, hips, and up your sides. 

“I have no doubts, baby.” 

In one swift movement, you rise up on your knees and grasp his length, angling him just right before you sink down onto him. Both of your mouths drop open in respective pleasure. You’re slick enough to take him most of the way, only rocking gently a few times until he’s fully sheathed. 

“Fuuck.” He moans, and it’s long and drawn out because Dean can’t quite fathom the feeling of you wrapped tightly around him. He’s been to heaven, hell, and everything in between, but this was something else entirely. The best pie he’d ever tasted, the feeling he got behind the wheel of baby—all things paling in comparison to this moment.

Once the initial stretch of him blurred from pain into pleasure, did you then rise up and slowly slide back down, gasping in almost disbelief at the incredible feel of him inside you. You repeated the movement again and again until you built up a steady rhythm, rocking, rolling, and grinding your hips to find the most intense spots of pleasure. 

All the while Dean let you ride him, watching in awe as you did in fact “ride him better." However, to give you a challenge, he bucked his hips up into you, meeting you thrust for thrust. You held on tightly, eyes rolling back at the much harsher thrusts hitting you just right, but you weren’t about to let him win. 

With one hand firmly planted on his chest, you leaned back, reaching your arm around to fondle his balls. Dean jolted in surprise but moaned deep and loud as you gently caressed them in your palm. You smiled in triumph as he relinquished his thrusts, and you sped up your movements, feeling his balls draw tight. 

“Oh, fuck, oh shit.” His words were breathless and strained as his body tensed, brow furrowing, hands gripping tight onto your hips as he came. Hard. You felt his warm seed coat your walls along with a long, deep groan as you circled your hips, milking every last drop. 

You grinned down at him as he collapsed back onto the bed, panting hard and weightless. You could feel him still twitching inside you, and you involuntary clenched at the sensation, making his head pop back up to look at you. 

His eyes were wild, his chest flushed red, and wordlessly he slid a hand over to your lower stomach, his thumb pressing against your sensitive clit, making you gasp. Dean’s eyes closed at the feeling of you clenching around him but began circling your clit with the digit, watching on in admiration as you slowly rocked your hips into his hand, chasing your own sweet release. 

Dean was a generous lover, but you’d given him a run for his money in that department tonight. It was only common curtesy he had you come again. Even if your pussy was all but strangling his sensitive cock, it felt incredible—a sensation he’d never felt before. He could feel himself hardening again at just the sight and feel of you, surprising you as much as himself. 

“Oh God.” You cried out, your walls fluttering around him as you ground into his hand, his thumb flicking against your clit, harder and faster until you were shaking above him. Then he thrust his hips up, once, twice, three times, and you were falling apart. Your body tensed and twitched above him, your mouth falling open in a silent cry as the white hot pleasure of your orgasm rippled through you.  

“Shit.” Your eyes popped open when you felt it. Warmth spread inside you for a second time as Dean cried out in painful pleasure. Holy shit was all that you could comprehend as he tensed beneath you. 

Shocked silence filled the room as you both stared at one another, catching your breaths, until a chuckle of disbelief slipped from his lips, triggering your own laughter.  

You fell onto his chest, letting his soft cock slip from you with a slight hiss from him. You soothed a hand a long his chest, planting a sweet kiss there before leaning up and coming face to face with him. 

"So, was I…Better?” You wondered curiously, whilst absently playing with his mused, sweat slicked hair. Dean grinned in response and cupped your jaw tenderly. 

"Oh, you so were." He replied before pulling your lips to his. 

AN: Okay so this one was just pure smut! 😂 but let me know what you think? Was this a good tie up for these two 👀

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Falling Into Me

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, Smut (p in v, fingering, oral f receiving), angst, loss of virginity, light fluff, feelings :(, real bad self-image issues

Summary/Warnings: You're a virgin, and it's really not a big deal. Everyone was a virgin once. You're just a virgin longer. Maybe forever, because nobody really seems to be willing to solve that problem for you.

You've never told Sam and Dean, and you don't have any intention to. Ever. But when a hunt goes wrong, Dean finds out. And he might have been keeping something from you as well.

Author's Note: This might be the horniest thing I've ever written. Enjoy <3!

Title from Red Wine Supernova by Chappell Roan

Word Count: 8.9k

You haven’t slept in three days, and it’s starting to be a problem. But you can’t afford to sleep. You can only drink staler and staler coffee, sit at the motel table, and pretend this is a case that, somehow, you’re going to solve. That Dean isn’t grumpier than usual, and Sam doesn’t constantly look like he’s going to kill the next person that dares to have an incorrect idea. It’s why you volunteered for the next round of interviews. You don’t want to be there when one of them snaps and kills the other, and while you wouldn’t love to return to the room and find it covered in blood, at least then you’d have an excuse to call it.

You wouldn’t call it. You’d work the case until it was done, because that’s what you do. And Sam and Dean won’t kill each other, because they’re Sam and Dean. That said, you are expecting a pouting Dean to pacing back and forth outside the room as he waits for you to return, and a grumble about how Sammy said he was being annoying and needed to walk it off. You’re more than prepared to give him a sympathetic smile and ask him if he was being annoying. And he’ll probably protest that he wasn’t, and you’ll raise your brows, and he’ll admit he mighta been drumming really loud while eating the chips.

It’s not an unreasonable expectation. None of you have slept, because this thing is insane. There’s no obvious pattern to the victims, no connections, nothing in line with everything you’ve ever seen. It’s men and woman, a wide age range, no previous coflicts or knowledge of each other in life. There are holes through theirs chests that could be bullet wounds, but obviously aren’t, because Bullets don’t remove the heart from the body. But it’s not werewolves, because werewolves aren’t clean killers like this and every fucking person in this stupid town has passed the silver test. There’s a new kill every night, and a new body every morning, and another reason for you, Sam, and Dean to start screaming every day. Every hour makes you all wired, because it’s closer and closer to another evening where you won’t have caught this asshole and another person will die.

And it’s become really easy to get on each other’s nerves. Sam was mad at Dean because he’d purposefully gotten you all burgers instead of Sam’s rabbit food, you’re mad at Sam because he said you were bad at poker—and you are, but what the fuck—and Dean’s mad at you because-

Dean’s not mad at you. You and Dean don’t really get mad at each other. You understand each other, better than you’ve ever understood anyone else, and it’s the perfect amount of alike that you’ll lend him grace you wouldn’t lend anyone else—including yourself—but you don’t see enough of your own twisting, molding innards to hate him. You mostly see something better. A man that has all the same rotting parts, but has made something out of them while you just waste away in toxins.

And you think Dean sees something similar in you. It’s why you’d been obnoxiously chewing potato chips, right in his ear, and he hadn’t punched you or snatched the bag away from your hands. He’d just rolled his eyes, grabbed one of his own, and started chewing in Sam’s ear.

So you hadn’t really volunteered for interviews so much as been aggressively told by Sam you were doing interviews. And it was only fair Dean met the same fate.

But he hadn’t. And when you opened the door to the room, they both looked happy. 

Dean practically shouts your name when he sees you, wildly gesturing for you to join them at the table. “Sammy found it!” He grins at you almost manically, and it’s a little adorable. “We can finally fucking leave.”

“I might have found it,” Sam corrects, his smile a little more tentative, but still real. “And we can’t leave yet. Not until we actually get the thing-“

“Obviously, dude, but that’ll be soon, instead of in a million years.” Dean looks to you for agreement. “I mean, c’mon. You guys can’t really wanna stay in hicktown Ohio forever?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Good coffee.”

Dean glares at you. “The coffee tastes like ass and you freakin’ know it-“

“Dean.” You give him a flat look. “Do I actually get to know what the monster is?”

Sam sighs. “You’re not gonna like it.”

“I already don’t love it, it’s a monster that’s killed like, ten people-“

“Worse than that.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “It’s sorta like a dragon.”

You, very suddenly, don’t feel really well. Everything is hotter than it had been a second ago, and the walls seem to be closing in as your skin begins to prickle and ache. “Like a dragon?” You ask, forcing your voice to remain steady. “Or a dragon?”

“Like a dragon. Tell her, Sammy.”

Sam shoots Dean a glare—not happy being thrown under the bus—and mutters, “It’s a unicorn.”

You stare at him for a long minute, then shake your head. “It’s a what.”

“Unicorn.” Sam mumbles. “They’re, uh, looks like they’re real.”

“But not Pinky Pie and Disney.” Dean adds, turning Sam’s laptop for you to read. “Real fucking assholes.”

“They hunt virgins.” Sam explains. “To bond with. And it’ll kill anyone who falsely lures it.”

“Stab the poor son of a bitch right through the heart, then pull that sucker right out.” Dean adds, spreading his legs and propping his elbows on his knees. “And it looks like it’ll go after chicks and dudes, any age, so that’s why there’s no pattern. You’re able to fuck, you’re fair game.”

“Oh, cool.” You mutter, a lump starting to form in your throat. “I’m always looking for equal opportunity murderers in the monsters I hunt.” 

“Yeah, well, it’s gonna make it a little harder to find the thing.” Sam grabs his laptop back, frowning at the screen. “It’ll take a human form, then look for a virgin. And it won’t be able to tell until it gets the person’s heartbeat up, so it might be a guy or a girl, depending on who it’s hunting tonight.”

“But,” you glance at Dean, who’s grinning as you start to put it together. “It is hunting tonight.”

“Hunts every night.” Dean says, rubbing his hands together. “And we don’t know where, but we can take some guesses. Split up and look at all the bars in town ’till one of us finds something, then gank this douchebag and get the hell out of here.”

“Split up?” You whisper, something wired and flailing coiling around your guts. “That’s, um, shouldn’t we stick together? If it’ll go after anyone?”

“Not everyone.” Same shrugs. “Low, uh, body counts. I guess. Low enough that it can’t tell immediately.”

“So we just need a bunch of whores?"

Dean snorts. “Well tonight,” he spreads his arms, shooting you a wink that really isn’t helpful right now. “We’re the whores, Sweetheart. We’re safe, and we’re going to kick some unicorn ass.”

It’s a cheesy, stupid thing to say, and usually you’d laugh and crack a joke back. Something about unicorn ass and whores that you can’t really think of right now, because there’s bile in your throat and something heavy fogging over your brain.

“How do we, uh,” your tongue is numb in your mouth, and every word is dragged out of your throat. “How do we kick a unicorn’s ass.”

“Well, we’re looking for electrical malfunctions, golden eyes when it gets, uh, excited, and a refusal to drink anything but water.” Sam frowns at the screen, looking up at you with a half-shrug. “Anything amoral seems to knock it down, so just, uh, swear? Then shoot it with iron. Iron kills it.”

“And, um,” you swallow, tugging at the fabric of your sleeves. “What’s gonna to the virgin? If the unicorn finds it?”

Sam sighs. “They, uh, they seem to use them.”

Dean frowns, leaning around to try and read the screen. “Use them-“ 

“Their purity. Use their purity.” Sam raises his brows, and you can see the exact moment it clicks in Dean’s head. 

“That’s...” Dean trails off, running a hand over his face. “Shit.” 

Sam mutters an agreement, and your mouth feels like sandpaper, your heart beating like it’s trying to escape your chest.

“And after?” You whisper, a little unsure you want to actually ask the question, or know the answer. “After they’re used?” 

“Well, they’re not ‘pure’ anymore.” Sam puts an air quote around pure, and you feel a little sick. “So, uh, stab.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly. You might need to lie down. “Stab.”

Dean looks over you with a drawn brow, his voice low and cautious as he says your name. “Are feelin’ okay-“

“I’m fine.” You remember how to smile, and hope it looks real. Not like your teeth are starting to feel out of place in your mouth, and you can’t seem to find enough spit to choke on. “Let’s get the unicorn ass.”

Dean doesn’t look convinced. Hell, Sam doesn’t look convinced. But they both let it go for now, and you can breathe just a little easier knowing you’re not barreling towards a fight.

But only a little easier. 

Because you’re fucked.

Virginity is a funny thing. It’s just a social construct, but it’s a social construct some monsters seem to take as scripture, making it a hazardous thing to still have in your line of work. 

And you hadn’t meant to be a hazard. It just kind of happened. Because it started as something that was a given to have, then turned into something that you just were a little too busy to lose, before becoming an awkward conversation you’re not willing to have. Something that hangs, silent and sharp, over your head and around your throat. Something that’s now a question of why? Why is it never you? You’re not ugly. You’re even pretty enough that, if you tell someone, they won’t believe you and it’ll all feel worse. You’re even pretty enough that you’ve seen people size you up at bars, but none of them ever approach you.

So it might just be you. You might just have something on your face that gives away that you’re more trouble than you’re worth, a little too rough to touch and not have it sting, telling people stay away. 

And Sam and Dean will never know. You’re already a little younger, a little worse of a hunter, a small problem when they’re obviously trying to take someone to their bed but the girl sees you and makes quick and inaccurate assumptions. Sam is better at brushing them off—She’s like my little sister—but Dean gets red and awkward and suddenly loses all his well-practiced charm. He sulks back to the table, and won’t look you in the eyes for an hour or walk with you back to the bar. You’re honestly shocked neither of them have thrown you to the curb by now, an you’re not going to give them another reason to. Another reason for Sam to make a sad, puppy-eyed pity face and Dean to stare at you like he’s not sure you’re real. Like there’s no way someone could’ve possibility survived as a hunter like this. 

And a small, well-contained part of you wishes Dean would look at you the way he looks at other women. Like they still have beautiful, horrible secrets that he’d love to uncover with only his hands and mouth. 

You’ve got secrets. Dean can’t have them—because they’re a liability and you’re not looking to lose him forever—but you really wish he’d just look at you. Once, really look at you, and not see you. See something so much better, that you think he’s always a little close to finding, that nobody else ever seems willing to try and look for.

You’re a little grateful they left you alone in this backwater dive bar. It would hurt to watch Dean flirt right now, when everything feels raw and wired in your body, and every time someone drops next to you at the bar you feel more and more sick. There are quick, polite conversations with random strangers who sound like they’d rather be anywhere than here, with you, and by the time you’ve repeated your cover story for the eighth time your lungs are wrapped iron and your nails feel like a burden on your fingers.

It’ll be over by tonight. All three of you know what you’re looking for, so the unicorn will be dead before sunrise, and you won’t have to do any explanations about why you’ve been quiet and tense since Dean said like a dragon. Nobody will look at you with pity or confusion, nobody will get hurt, and you won’t end up with a hole in your heart as the only people that have ever seen you to be worth something realize just how wrong they were. That you’re really just a small, useless burden that even a literal monster wouldn’t be able to stomach the presence of-

“You here all by yourself?”

Something sparks in your gut at the voice, coming from off to the side, because for a second you really think it’s Dean. It’s deep, moves through your whole body, and knocks loose something in your lower gut that always makes you feel hungry, but it’s not Dean. When you turn, the man next to you looks like someone ran Dean through a printer too many times and he came out faded. A little too short, not quite as broad, all the pretty scars that make Dean Dean seemingly vanished, and a gleam in his eyes that Dean’s never had. It’s a little more feral, without any playfulness or glowing shadows. Too much yellow instead of green, the cocky smirk just a little off, none of it right. None of it Dean.

“I’m, um,” you frown, because this man even smells like Dean. “I’m waiting for a friend. He’s running late.”

Not-Dean clicks his tongue. “Shame, leaving a pretty girl like you all alone. You want some company until your boyfriend shows up?”

You shake your head, turning your glass around in your hand. “Not my boyfriend. And I’m actually…” You trail off, your eyes falling on the man’s own glass. The clear liquid inside. “You drinking vodka?”

“Am I- Oh, sure.” The man chuckles, raising his drink for you to click. “Here’s to not-boyfriends-“

“Can I have some?”

You watch the man carefully as he looks between you and the glass. “Nah, sweetie, you don’t want this, it’s some strong stuff-“

Sweetie. Not sweetheart. Not Dean, not right, not safe. And something is starting to crawl over your skin and shoot up your spine, making you sit a little taller as your heart pounds louder and louder. 

As Not-Dean licks his lips, and scans over you with yellow eyes that might be shining. 

Fuck.

“I, um, I’m gonna go call my friend.” You start to shift off your seat, pulling your phone slowly out of your pocket. “He should’ve been here a few minutes ago, and I’m worried-“

“C’mon, you haven’t even told me your name.” Not-Dean wiggles his brows, and it looks wrong on his face. “Bet I can guess, if you give me a hint-“

“No, it’s fine, my name is, uh…” you look down at your phone, the screen completely black. You’d charged it before you left.

“Your name?” Not-Dean prompts, grabbing your arm. Holding you near him, at the bar. “I’d really love to learn it. I could teach you a few things in exchange-“

“I was never given a name!” Your voice is a frantic shout, Not-Dean’s eyes narrow, and you do the only thing you can think of. Punch Not-Dean square in the face, yank your arm from his grip, and run. Fucking sprint out of the bar and not allow yourself to falter as you hear a roar that’s a little hoarse and off pitched. Like a horse keen. Like a wounded animal.

Like a monster.

Splitting up had been a terrible fucking idea. Now you’re alone, you don’t have even an idea where Sam and Dean are, and you can’t afford to stop and jack a car because you can hear it in the distance. Hooves, clapping against the pavement, getting closer and closer as you begin to run out of breath. You can’t hide, it can hear you, and you can’t go faster because you already feel faint and everything is beginning to collapse in your body. Muscles tightening and skin crawling and eyes pushing out of your skull, every breath too shallow and every step too short. 

You fall to your knees behind a truck, wrapping a hand around your own throat and trying to force your heartbeat back down. Slow, even breathes that come out in choked gasps, nails digging into your skin as the hooves slow, and you hear a low sputtering sound from somewhere behind you. 

And it’s too quiet. You can’t hear anything but your blood in your ears, and all you can see in the night is the flickering yellow light of a streetlamp in the distance. You squeeze your eyes shut and swallow every breath, hoping you can force yourself out before the unicorn finds you. You don’t want to be used. You don’t want to be alone. You just want Dean, where’s Dean, why the fuck did you let him leave you alone, why didn’t you tell him the truth, why can’t you think of anything else but Dean, where’s Dean-

There’s something hot on your neck, and a large presence at your side. Something like spit is being splattered on your neck, and you can’t contain the vomit when a too-rough hand trails up your arm-

“Get the fuck back, you son of a bitch!”

A loud bang cuts through the air—making you jump out of your skin as a heavy body slumps onto yours—and it sounds like church bells and music. It sounds like Dean. That’s his voice shouting your name, his arms wrapping around your body and carrying you away from the unicorn, his breath fanning over your face as he sits you on the curb and starts to turn your face in his hands.

“Fuck, never should’ve left you, but I didn’t-“ Dean cuts himself off with a huff, and you think he’s talking to himself more than you. “Did the asshole touch you anywhere I can’t see?”

You shake your head, keeping your eye glued shut as you curl your hands in Dean’s shirt. Maybe Dean’s shirt. Not-Dean had been wearing plaid too, and you don’t have the nerve or will to open your eyes and seen if it’s your Dean, or the cheap unicorn knockoff.

“Shit, sweetheart, I need you to talk to me. Sam’s on his way, but we gotta get you out of here-“

“Didn’t touch me.” You whisper, fighting every urge into your body to curl forwards and start sobbing weak and pointless apologies. “I’m okay.”

“You’re okay? You think, fuck-“ Dean’s arm—bigger, warmer, maybe actual Dean—loops around your waist, his voice a little closer to your ear. “Need you to hold onto me, got it? We’re goin’ back to the car, and you gotta, fuck, can you open your damn eyes?”

They fly open, almost on command, and it’s Dean. The smell of whiskey is stronger, more authentic, and his face is sharp in all the right places, and it’s really Dean. 

And he looks pissed. His touch on your body is careful, and his eyes are attentive and sparked with worry, but his jaw is clenched, and his every word is suddenly pushed through his teeth.

“You’re gonna hold onto me.” He orders, holding your wide-eyed gaze with a glower. “I’ll take a better look at you when we get back to the room-“

“Dean, I’m fine-“

“And,” Dean barrels on, as if he didn’t even hear you. “We’re going to have a chat. You’re, I can’t-” he shakes his head scooping you fully into his arms. “Just hold on.”

He sounds pissed. Dean’s rigid and silent the whole ride back to the hotel, his grip white-knuckled and tight on the wheel, and you feel even worse than before. This is it. He had to save you, and he’s going to learn why he had to save you, and he might not kick you out but he won’t look at you the same again. No more ease or awe or comfort or understanding, because Dean’s rotten in places where the mold can be burned away with every good part of him, but you’re just rotten. Just a hideous thing that roars in your chest, just angry and cowardlyand revolting and wrong. You’re just wrong. 

All the panic and paralyzing adrenaline had left your body, so you push yourself out of the Impala on unsteady feet. Dean mutters something about Sam dealing with all the cleanup as he opens to motel room door, watching you shuffle inside with clenched fists and an unreadable expression. You flop onto the bed with a small whine, your body beginning to drown in exhaustion, your gaze locked on the peeling paint of the ceiling as Dean moves around the room out of your view.

“Why’d you come back?” You ask, your voice hoarse and weak, and Dean lets out a long, low exhale from somewhere off to the side.

“You were actin’ really weird.” He grunts. “Didn’t sound like yourself. Weren’t laughing at my jokes, or making fun of Sam. Looked sick every time one of us said stab.”

“I could’ve just been-“

“Don’t.” He snaps, and you crane your neck to see him at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and looking at you. Dean seems to be really looking at you, all of you, and you suddenly really wish he would stop. You’re complete exposed below him, under his glare, and he’s going to see something he hates. Something you don’t have a name for that you’ve never wanted him to see, never wanted him to find. The thing that makes everyone else look away.

But Dean’s attention is like a drug, and you need him to stop before you lose him, but you also never want him to stop watching you. It’s confusing and raw and makes you feel like a live wire, one word or touch or stare away from snapping and bursting into a million sparks.

And Dean’s still looking at you. 

“I didn’t,” you swallow, his eyes like a magnet on yours. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He repeats, his voice lower. Harsher. “You’re not injured.”

You shake your head.

“Good. We need to talk.”

“Dean, I-“

“I’m asking the questions.” Dean leers over you slightly, and you nod again. “Why the fuck did that unicorn seem like it was hunting you.”

He knows the answer. His whole face is already painted in anger, and you know he knows. He just wants to hear you say it.

“Because it was hunting me.”

“Unicorns only hunt virgins.” Dean grunts your name, still not looking away. “You’re not-“

“I am.” You mumble, folding your arms over your own body as you drop back down onto the mattress. “Sorry.”

“Why would you say, fuck- Why in goddamn hell wouldn’t you tell me and Sam-“

“Tell you and Sam what?” You scowl at the ceiling. “That I’m untouched? Pure? Boring-“

“That you’d be in danger!” Dean all but roars, and you don’t flinch, but you do cringe. All the mold in your body feels as if it’s spreading like cancer, because Dean would never hurt you with his hands, but he might be about to curb stomp your heart with only his mouth. “I don’t give a shit about the virgin thing, I care that you were so fucking stupid to go off alone, that you didn’t trust me enough-“

“It’s not about trust, Dean,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes shut again. “And it’s not like you tell me everything-“

“I do! I’ve told you about all the shit in my past, and my fear of flying, and Rhonda Hurley, and that weird freaking dream I had with the mice in top hats-“

“That’s not the same!” You’re pushing back up on your palms, raising your voice to match Dean’s. You just need him to stop yelling at you, to rip the band-aid off and finally give up on you so you can rest. “This isn’t your business-“

“It’s my business if it’s gonna get you fucking killed, Sweetheart. And I coulda helped you-“

“Helped me?” You scoff. “I don’t need your help with this, Winchester, I’ve come to terms with it-“

There was a brief moment where Dean had looked like you’d kicked him, but it vanishes in a second as he gapes at you in disbelief. “To terms with virginity?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, holding his suddenly slack expression with your own glare. “Nobody wants me, it’s not a big deal-“ 

Dean snorts. “There’s no damn way you’re that stupid-“ 

“I am not stupid-“ 

“Yeah? Cause you’re a fucking idiot if you think nobody wants you.”

It’s your turn to gape at him. Your heart stumbles slightly in your chest, your fingers curling into bedsheets, and the world begins to spin as you try and understand his words. “What?”

“You,” Dean takes a firm step forward, drawing your name. “Are a fucking idiot if you think that there’s not one damn person on the planet who wants you.” 

“But-“

“Nah. No freakin’ buts.” He’s closer now, his knees bumping yours as he glowers down at you. “I’ve watched too many hair-gelled losers at bars size you up like they wanna take a bite for you to have buts. Hell, I’ve-“ Dean shakes his head, running a hand over his face. “Shit, there’s just, there’s no way-“

Your face twists back into a scowl. “Fuck off, Dean. It doesn’t matter if you believe me-“

“Oh, I believe you, Sweetheart.” Dean’s eyes flash, nostrils flaring as a low groan leaves his chest, rolling through the air and settling between your legs in an aching heat. “And I finally fucking get it. You just, you have no idea. I thought you just didn’t want it, but you’re just- Shit-“

“Dean,” your voice is soft, a little breathless, and can’t help but rub your thighs together as his hands start to flex at his sides. “I don’t know what you’re talking about-“

“I know,” he mutters, scanning over your body with an almost predatory expression. “I’m not, I just gotta,” his gaze flies back to yours, his voice suddenly stern. “Sam tell you how the unicorn choses its form?”

You blink. “Wha-“

“It takes the form that will be most appealing to the target. To help the asshole get attention quickly. That unicorn,” his voice drop, deeper than you’ve ever heard it, and it takes all the will you have to not start fall back into in the sheets. “Looked kinda like me.”

“I, um, I don’t-“

“Do you want me?” Dean grunts your name, and you make the mistake of dropping your gaze down, to his pants. To where an impressive outline is straining against his jeans. 

“I’d, I mean, I’m not-“ You swallow, everything a dizzying haze of Dean. “Yeah, I think, but you’re not-“

“I’m not what?” He growls, kneeling down to your eye level, trailing a slow hand up your thigh. “Not interested?”

 “Yeah?”

“Wrong.” Dean’s hand moves higher, trailing closer and closer to your center before running back down to your knee. “So incredibly wrong, Sweetheart. I’ve wanted you since, fuck, since I first saw ya’. But you didn’t seem to want me, so I backed off, but if you just didn’t-“ He pauses, his brilliant green eyes suddenly tearing into your soul, unraveling you before he’s even touched bare skin. “Do you? Want me?”

“I already said-“

“You said yeah.” He mutters, rubbing his hand is a slow pattern on your knee. “Need you to say the full thing, before I do anything else.”

Dean’s face is suddenly softer, with something that aches and tugs on your own heart shining through his eyes, and you couldn’t lie to him if you tried. You can lie to yourself, but you can’t lie to Dean. It feels cruel, and wrong, and as if you’d be denying yourself something so good and rare it will never be replicated if you walk away now. 

“I want you,” you whisper. “I’ve wanted you. But I’m not, it’s not going to be good for you. I mean, I know how to take care of that,” you point to the bulge in his pants, pressed slightly against your calf as he crouches before you, and Dean frowns. “But I’ve never, um, you know-“

“You’re not takin’ care of anything.” He says, scanning over your open face with drawn brows. “We’re doing this, it’s gonna be about you.”

“Oh.” There’s a little drool falling out of your mouth, Dean reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, and your voice becomes a squeak. “Okay.”

“If you really wanna,” his mouth curves into a smirk, and you need it on yours now. “Next time, I’ll let you go to town on Little Dean.”

You can’t stop the small giggle escaping your lips, and it turns into a full laugh as Dean’s own grin grows, and nothing really feels that bad anymore. “Little Dean?”

“Compared to the rest of me, yeah.” Dean does a loose gesture at his broad, strong body, his grin growing cocky. Hungry. Starved. “But trust me, gorgeous. Ain’t nothing little about him.”

Your eyes widen, your thighs rubbing together as the need for him becomes almost unbearable, and Dean lets out a deep, low chuckle. 

“You want me, babygirl?”

You nod, and Dean’s eyes narrow as he squeezes his hand on your leg. 

“Need you to say it-“

“Yeah.” You whisper. “Yes, please.”

A grin splits over Dean’s handsome face, and his hand drifts to your stomach, his eyes never leaving yours as he drawls your name. “I’m gonna need to get you ready, so just,” he pushes you slightly, and you fall flat on your back, moving your own hands to hold his against you. “Stay there, look pretty, and let me work.”

You nod, your vision already a little blurred with desire as you stare at the ceiling. Dean draws back, shuffling around at the edge of the bed, and you look up to see his shirt gone. It’s all warm, slightly golden and freckled skin, strong and soft in all the right places. His muscles flex as he takes a long, deep breath, and big, calloused hands lowering to trace over your midriff, his eyes never leaving yours.

“What’d I say about stayin’ there-“

“I, um,” you gasp a little as his hand slips under your shirt, bunching the material and starting to slowly pull it over your chest. “I’ve done other stuff. Just so you know. And I’ve done things to myself-“

“I bet you have,” Dean mutters, wrapping an arm around your waist, holding you carefully against him as he helps you out of your clothing. “Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you, touch you, fucking ruin you-“

You let out a high, needy moan, burying your face in his neck and mumbling against his skin. “Please, Dean, just-“

You cut yourself off with a gasp as his free hand slips into your pants, cupping your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and rubbing back and forth so torturously slow you might fly out of your skin.

“So wet for me already,” he grunts, tugging on your hair until you lean back, meeting his gaze. “Ready?”

You’re not sure what you need to be ready for, but as long as it’s Dean doing it, you’re good. You nod, wrapping your arm around his neck in silent affirmation, and Dean pulls back to pop open the button of your jeans with a single hand, offering himself easier access.

Two broad fingers toy with the hem of your panties, Dean’s eyes almost glittering as his attention falls to where he’s touching you. Watching your body shiver when he glides his thumb over your clothed slit, your hips jerk when he presses down on your clit, your legs stretch as wide as they can when he starts to rub small circles against you.

“Dean,” you whine, your free hand moving to cup his jaw, trying to move his gaze back to yours. “Please, shit-“

“That feel good, babygirl?” Dean starts to quicken his movements, adding small, teasing flicks and pinches that make your eyes roll back in your head. “You like me teasin’ you? Playin’ this pretty fuckin’ pussy until you’re soaked- Fuck-“

You start to grind on Dean’s hand, trying to chase relief while showing him that he didn’t need to play with or tease you. He has you, unraveled on his fingers and desperate for more of him, all of him, whatever he can offer you that will feel like this-

“Shit, you’re dripping.” Dean’s movement on your clit still as he drags his thumb down, resting right over your aching, already sensitive cunt, and pressing into you just enough to make you whimper. “I gotta taste you, Sweetheart, c’mon.”

His gaze shoots back to yours, something a little animalistic in his low, hoarse voice that almost makes you cum on the spot. “Need you hold on, pretty girl, we’re gonna get you out’a these.”

You nod, letting Dean lay you back down on the mattress, lifting your hips as he drags your jeans off your body, taking your underwear with them. Leaving to totally, completely naked on the bed. Vulnerable, entirely at his mercy, with not another place you’d wish to be in the world.

Dean crawls slightly over you, one of his hands tracing up your stomach, palming at your breasts, then rolling your nipple between two, rough, expert fingers. You gasp, arching slightly off the bed, and a low, deep groan rolls from Dean’s chest.

“Holy fuck, Sweetheart. You’re,” Dean cuts himself off, dropping his mouth to your other breast and latching plump, slightly chapped lips around your nipple. Your vision starts to line with light that might be angels coming to take you away, because this has to be heaven. This is better than heaven. Heaven wouldn’t allow such sinful things as Dean groaning against your skin, his boner pressing into your thigh, or his hand kneading at your ass. Someone shouldn’t be allowed to feel this good. This feels like everything, and blissfully nothing, and mostly just Dean.

You must have moaned his name, because he crashes up, fisting a hand in your hair as he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. All teeth and spit and burning need. Dean tastes like coffee and whiskey and syrup and fruit when he shoves his tongue down your throat, and he smells like gunpowder and leather as his weight hold you easily down, and his lips are so soft but so demanding as he practically devours you, and you’re high. He’s not even inside you yet and you’ll never have enough. This isn’t more than what you’ve done before, but Dean’s ruined you with just teasing touches and wet, starved kisses, and you’re starting to worry you might ascend when he actually fucks you.

He starts to kiss and suck a line over your jaw, down your neck, and between your breasts. It’s heavy and wanting, but still so carefully coordinated. Every move Dean makes seems to be calculated, because he nips at your collarbone right as he tugs on your hair, and the sound that leaves you is high and undignified and exactly what he wanted. His chuckle rumbles in his chest—now pressed against your stomach—and all you can do is moan as he continues his perfect torture. Licking one nipple as he pinches the other, dragging two fingers through your folds as he kisses down the plane of your stomach, stopping right at the apex of your thighs with glittering eyes and firm hands, slowly guiding your legs open.

“Shit.” He mutters, warm breath right over your pussy, making your hips jerk slightly. “Goddamn, baby, you’re responsive.“ A wide, smug grin overtakes Dean’s face as he pushes one finger into your pussy, and you squeak. “I’ve been waiting for this.” He growls your name, and starts to pump that finger in and out, the pace so slow and almost painfully good. “God, you have fucking idea how long- How bad-“ Dean groans as you squeeze around him, and adds another finger. “You’re making such pretty sounds, babygirl, better than I ever imagined. Shit, you’re sexier than a fucking dream.”

His eyes drift back to yours, and shiver goes up your spine from how Dean’s looking at you. Really looking at you. Watching your writhe in the sheets and plead for him in weak gasps, watching you at your most vulnerable state, and grinning like he loves what he sees. Like he’s never seen anything better.

“Dean,” you gasp as his fingers pick up speed, starting to scissor inside your dripping cunt, bumping against a tender spot inside of you that seems to sing under his touch. “Oh my god, Dean, please-“

“Such pretty sounds,” Dean grins at you, crooking his fingers against that same spot to rub. “Let’s see if we can make some more.”

Without further warning Dean drops back down, latches his lips onto your clit, and sucks it right into his mouth like candy. It’s almost immediate, how he pulls you from warm pleasure to raw, almost feral desperation. You’re right on the edge, grinding on his face as his stubble burns your inner thighs in the best was possible, his tongue flicking over that pulsing bundle of nerves, his fingers reaching a demanding and brutal pace-

“Fuck, I’m-“ You let out a loud moan as Dean growls against you, pulling at his short, soft hair to try and both move him away as you dangle over the drop, and urge him on to let him catch you when you fall. “Close, Dean, I’m close, please-“

He pulls away, and you almost scream from the loss. You even force yourself up to glare at him, but you’ve barely gotten a steady balance when a high, needy breath escapes you at the sight of him. 

Dean’s towering over you, his pants discarded into another corners of the room, stroking his massive, fully-erect cock in one hand as he scans over your sweaty, flushed body. 

“I wanna fuck you dumb, babygirl.” He grunts, and you can’t really hear him your own Dean-addled brain, so you just gape and moan, and he chuckles. “Shit, looks like we’re already halfway there. You got any words for me-“

“Dean, please.” The words start to fall out of your mouth with the slight drool on your chin, almost as if he’d commanded them. “Please, I need you, need you so bad-“

You spread your legs in offering, and Dean groans. “Fuck, Sweetheart, you can’t just-“ He closes his eyes, running a hand over his face, and there’s a moment before he speaks again where you worry you’ve ruined it. That you’d shown too much, or Dean saw too much, but no matter what this is over before you can even get that huge, glorious cock inside of you- 

“I’m sorry-“

Dean frowns, his brow drawn as he looks down at you. “What the hell are you sorry for.”

“I dunno, I’m just not-“ You swallow. “I’m not good at this, I don’t know what to say-“

He grunts your name, prowling over your body under your trapped between his strong body and the bed, unable to escape his intense, searing gaze. Looking at you, examining you, and not flinching or moving away. “You,” he says, tracing one gentle hand over your cheekbones. “Are fuckin’ amazing at this.” 

You can only gape at him, so he keeps going.

“I’m the one that might fuck this up, Sweetheart. You’re so,” he makes a loose gesture to your body, and you really wish he’d use words, but the look of sheer awe in his eyes will be enough for now. “And I get to do this for you, and I’m not trying to blow my load before you even cum once.”

“I almost came.” You offer him a small smile, your fingers tracing over the sharp line of his jaw. “But you stopped me.”

He lets out a dry chuckle. “Yeah, well, I’m plannin’ to make that up to you. If you still-“

“I want it.” You cut him off quickly, rolling your hips up, right against his cock. “Please, Dean, I really want it.”

He squeezes his eyes shut, dropping a little further down. “Are you-“

“I’m sure.” You guide Dean’s lips back to yours in a soft, almost sweet kiss, and say the words you really hope will snap whatever leash he’s put on himself. “I want you.”

It works. Something flashes in Dean’s eyes, and his hand snakes between your bodies, finding your clit and rolling it in slow circles as he growls in your ear.

“Wanna feel you, babygirl. Fuck you raw. I’m clean, but if you want me to grab a rubber you’re gonna need to keep yourself going while I-“

“No!” You almost yelp, wrapping your arms around him in a desperate attempt to keep him above you. “I mean, I’m clean too, obviously, and I take birth control just for like, lady stuff-“

Dean raises his brows at you. “Lady stuff?”

“It kinda helps with period cramps and-“ You cut yourself off with a moan as Dean flicks your clit, tossing your head back you start to squirm, trying to catch him into you. “Fuck, Dean, please just fuck me-“

“You mean like this?” Dean guides the head of his cock inside you, and your mouth falls open in a silent scream. “Fuck ya’ like this, baby?”

You grind on him, scratching at his back as you plead. “Shit, that’s, Dean that’s good, more-“

“More, baby? You need more already?” His grin is shit-eating, and you’d hit him if the dark look of lust in his eyes, the baritone of his voice being several octaves lower than you’ve ever heard it, and the throbbing ache of him starting to split you open wasn’t rending your limbs only putty in his arms.

“Dean, please-“

You might stop breathing as Dean guides himself fully into you, settling his face in your neck as he bottoms out. There’s a long moment where it’s only Dean’s warmth over and inside you as he gives you time to adjust, groaning against your skin as you squeeze around him.

“Shit, Sweetheart, you’re so tight.” He kisses right behind your ear. ���Feel, fuck, feel so good around my cock, so fuckin’ good-“ He emphasizes his words with one, short thrust that pushes him right against that one spot and makes you whine. “You ready, baby? Ready for me to pound this tight little pussy until you cum all over my cock-“

You almost yank him back down into a desperate, borderline feral kiss, because if he kept talking you might have cum from just the sound of his low, rough voice growling in your ear and rumbling in your chest.

Dean takes a long, ragged breath when he pulls away, and you roll your hips only once. Just enough for him to groans and fall back over you, kissing and sucking on your skin like he thinks you’ll vanish if he doesn’t mark you with his touch. 

Then he starts to move, and you were right. This is heaven. Dean’s moving so slow, pulling almost all the way out before driving back inside, until you’re fully impaled on him—his cock pressed fully against that one spot, making your whole body feel warm and alight, and your head feel a little dizzy—then repeating the movement again. And again. Over and over, so fucking slow, still leaving softer, slightly uneven kisses along your collarbone and grunts against your skin but-

“Dean,” you gasp his name, your nails digging into the muscles of his broad back as he continues to move on you. “Fuck, Dean, go faster, please-“

He rises up to meet your eyes, an unreadable expression on his face that’s made entirely hunger and want, but edged with something a little stronger you don’t understand. “You sure-“

“Yes.” You’re practically whining, scratching at Dean’s skin as you squirm under him, desperate him to really, properly fuck you. “Please, Dean, feels so good, need more, need you-“

He shakes his head slightly. “Don’t wanna hurt you-“

“Not gonna-” you let out a breathy moan as Dean pushes back into you, the movement a little harsher than before, and so fucking good. “You won’t hurt me, please, Dean, fuck-“

“I’m-“

“You said,” you force your eyes to stay on Dean’s, even as he sits deep into you, cock throbbing against that soft spot and making you see stars. “You said you wanted to fuck me, Dean.” You raise your chin, grinding up into his torso until his throat bobs. “Fuck me.”

A low, primal noise leaves Dean’s mouth, and he fully snaps. You might have screamed his name when he began to move again—ramming into you at an unforgiving pace, creaking the bed and bruising your hips as he grabbed at your skin, molding you perfectly into his touch and body—but he swallows the noise with a deep kiss that makes your eyes go unfocused, your whole body slack and only for Dean to play with as he drags you higher. Slamming against that spot, balls slapping onto your ass, one free hand squeezing at your tits before dragging down your side and finding your clit-

“So fucking good, babygirl.” Dean groans into your mouth, and you think you might be floating or falling or flying, but it doesn’t matter because Dean grunting in your east and slamming into your dripping cunt, and that’s the whole world. “Look so good, all ruined and whiny, such a good fucking girl, taking this cock so well, made to be fucked so fucking pretty-“ He pinches your clit, and you whimper his name. “Wanna cum, baby? Wanna fucking soak this cock-“

“Yes,” you gasp, scratching at his back, muscles rippling as he drills into you. Something in you hopes it leaves a mark. That Dean feels you on his back a little forever, just like you know you’re going to feel him in your pussy and on your neck for the rest of your life. “Feels so good, Dean, feels so fucking good, wanna cum so bad-“

“Beg-“

Dean barely grunts your name before you bite on his upper lip, almost screaming into his mouth. “Please, Dean, please, need to cum, wanna cum so bad-“

“Shit, baby, you’re-“ Dean groans, his pace becoming uneven and thrusts slightly staggered, cock twitching deep inside you as he ruts into your aching, clenching pussy-

Dean flicks your clit once, sending your hips almost flying off the bed, and starts to rub you at a frantic, savage pace. 

“Cum with me.” He growls your name, lips ghosting over yours and you stare at him under, cockdrunk, lidded eyes. “C’mon, baby, cum-“

Your scream is hoarse as your orgasm slams into you like a freight train—pure, drug-like bliss washing over your whole body, a soft haze of Dean settling behind your eyes and over your skin—and Dean roars as he slams open, warmth coating inside you and dripping between your thighs, down your ass, and onto the bed.

Dean rolls over, taking you with him, and remains carefully sheathed inside you as your cunt grows sensitive and your breathing slows back down. It helps that he keeps your ear pressed to his bare chest, where you can hear his heart beating. Calm and steady and strong, just as certain and constant as the man it’s inside. 

As the man had been.

You’re not sure what he’s going to be now.

“That, ah,” Dean breaks the silence, his voice low and almost soft. “That do it?”

You smile against him. “If you mean take my virginity, then yeah, I think you did it-“

“No, I mean was it,” He groans, his arm shifting slightly around as his voice drops. “Was it good. For you.”

“Oh.” You nod slowly, trying not to hum like a needy fucking when Dean starts to run his fingers through your hair. “Yeah. Really good.” You stifle a moan as he twitches inside you. “It was awesome. Good, uh, good job?”

“Thanks, Sweetheart.” You can hear to smug grin in his voice, his free hand starting to rub soothingly on your back. “You were pretty fucking awesome yourself.”

There it is. You were pretty awesome. And he’s still inside you. And you need to know if you were awesome enough for something, anything to stick.

“You said, um,” you swallow, staring at his tattoo because you can’t bear to look at his face right now. “You said I could give you a blowjob next time. Did-“ 

“Did I mean it?” 

You nod nervously, and Dean’s whole chest rumbles with his low laugh, rolling right through your body. He grunts your name, and—when you still don’t look at him—hooks a finger under your chin to guide your gaze to his. 

“Look.” He sighs, and this is it. He did you a favor, and that’s it. He won’t stay, nobody stays, why would Dean Winchester be the one to stay- 

“I get it,” you mumble, and wish you would find the will to make your body roll away from his. “You don’t need to explain-“ 

Dean’s grip on you remains firm, and his voice is a deep, amused drawl. It feels a little cruel in your gut, because you’d have really liked more. More would have been the best. You didn’t even need all of Dean, you’d just have really like more. 

“You get it.” He raises his brows, and you nod again. “Sweetheart, you might want to actually hear the explainin’ part before you say anything.”

“I, um-“

“See, I’m a firm believer that all ladies should ride more than one dick in life. Too much of a good thing, ya know?” He winks at you, thrusting slightly up into you, and you flush. “But, if you’re taking applicants for long-term dicks, I’d have to be dumb not to apply. I’m never gonna complain if I get you all to myself.”

You stare at him, your voice barely a whisper. “So, um, you mean-“

“If you’ll have me,” he mutters. “I’ll take you up on that blowjob offer soon. And any other offers you’ve got.”

“Offers,” you swallow. “For long-term dicks?”

He shrugs—tracing a finger over your arm and refusing to meet your eyes—and it might be your turn to make the move. 

“Dean.” You whisper, crawling up his chest just enough for his eyes to easily find yours. “I’d really like you being my long-term dick.”

He frowns. “Sounds stupid when you say it like that-“

You drop down to press a soft, tentative kiss against his lips, and he tenses for only a second before overtaking you. Deepening the kiss with his tongue pushing on your lower lip, groaning when you open for him without a moment’s hesitation, pinning you onto his chest with big, strong arms as you fall fully into him.

Dean pulls back for only a second, searching over your open expression—all affection and need for him, swollen lips and shallow breaths—until he finds what he’s looking for, and his face splits into a wide grin. 

“If you’re lettin’ me,” he says, tucking a little bit of hair behind your ears. “I think I’ll stay your long-term dick for while, Sweetheart.”

“I’m letting you.” You whisper, a small smile pulling on your own lips. “But we need to come up with a better name than long-term dick.”

“Boyfriend?”

You stare at him for a second, unsure if this is real, because Dean just said that word like it was obvious. Not something he’s adamantly refused to be for anyone, ever, for the entire time you’ve known him. He said it like he was waiting to say it. And, looking at him—unfamiliar hope haunting the very deepest part of those perfect eyes, his grin so genuine but filled with nerves—you think he might have been. And all the money and glory and pleasure in the world couldn’t make you tell him no.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Boyfriend’s good.” 

Dean’s grin becomes almost boyish, and this last kiss is sweet. It’s a kiss in the rain, or under bleachers, or on a rooftop with nothing but time and peace around you.

And you and Dean have never had either of those things. 

But you’d really like to and find them. And if it’s with Dean, you really think you could.

End Note: Look at Dean. Being Emotional. I'm so proud of him (I made him do that)

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Taglist

@artemys-ackles @ambiguous-avery @nightxcreature

[teamackles96]

Just Needed A Minute

summary: It's time for your baby shower and Dean is nowhere to be seen.

pairing: Dean Winchester x reader (so much fluff)

wordcount: 1370

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

You couldn’t believe it—it was the day of your baby shower. As a hunter, you never thought this day would come. But here it was. Your mom and Mary had insisted on throwing a party to celebrate your pregnancy, knowing how rarely your families got to gather for something joyful.

A yellow sundress hugged your seven-month bump, flattering the new shape of your body. You’d even curled your hair and put on a touch of makeup—something you rarely had an excuse to do. Smiling at your reflection, you stepped out and made your way to the library, where the party was being held.

The old room had been completely transformed. Blue and pink balloons floated above tables draped in matching streamers and decorations. Your mom and Mary had gone all out, doing their best to make the typically serious space feel warm and welcoming. The soft golden glow from the scattered lamps gave the whole party a cozy, comforting feel.

Your eyes swept over the room, landing on the familiar faces of your loved ones scattered at various stations. Mary, Jody, and your mom were laughing over glasses of wine while decorating baby onesies. The three of them had hit it off instantly—it felt like watching old friends catch up.

Just behind them, at another table, your dad, Bobby, and John appeared to be deep in conversation. It might’ve looked serious if not for the fact that they were each attempting to drink beer from baby bottles. Bobby and John were growing increasingly frustrated with the containers while your dad struggled to hide his amusement.

Across the room, the party games were in full swing. Cas, blindfolded, was doing his best to follow Sam’s instructions on how to change a diaper. You stifled a laugh as Sam tried to keep his voice calm, clearly on the edge of exasperation. Cas, meanwhile, had the diaper completely upside down—but you decided not to mention it.

Next to them, Charlie and Jack were completely engrossed in a jar filled with multicolored dummies. The challenge was simple: guess the number of dummies in the jar. Closest wins. But, of course, those two were taking it way too seriously. Charlie was trying to calculate the volume of each dummy, while Jack attempted to count them one by one through the glass.

And Dean was—

Your gaze drifted around the room. No sign of him.

Rather than interrupt the fun to ask someone, you quietly slipped out to check the kitchen.

You opened the door to find the room empty—except for a single unopened beer resting on the steel counter. You were about to turn and leave when you saw a hand rise slowly from behind the counter, followed by the familiar hiss of a bottle opening.

There he was—Dean Winchester, beer in hand, his lap covered in old photographs. He hadn’t noticed you waddling into the kitchen, too focused on the photo he was holding: a faded image of him and Sam as kids.

“Hiding?” you asked gently.

Dean jumped slightly at your voice, clearly thinking he’d been alone. His green eyes met yours, softening when he realized it was you.

“Hey, sweetheart. I just needed a minute.”

You frowned at the exhaustion in his expression and slowly made your way over to him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I just—” He leaned his head back against the steel cabinet, closing his eyes for a moment.

Your gaze shifted to the photos spread across his lap. They were snapshots of his childhood, a few of you mixed in too. You recognized them—pictures your families had collected for a scrapbook.

You made a decision then—one you would immediately regret—to try sitting on the floor beside him. It took some effort (and a very ungraceful huff), but you managed to settle next to him, surprising him a little.

You nudged a few empty beer bottles aside and laid your head on his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his.

“It’s weird, right?”

“What is?” Dean lifted his head, looking at you.

“Seeing your life through photographs,” you murmured, lifting a picture of him and Sam grinning in the back of the Impala.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I just remember the training, the traveling from motel to motel… It’s nice to see there were some moments worth remembering.”

“Of course there were.” You shifted so your chin rested on his shoulder, looking up at him. His emerald eyes met yours, and you could see there was something he wasn’t saying.

“What’s on your mind, handsome?”

You always noticed the little smile that followed when you called him that—and the faint blush. This time was no different.

Dean was quiet for a beat, and you let him take his time.

“You think…” he started, then stopped himself. He took a breath. “You think I’m gonna be a good dad?”

Your back straightened slightly at the question. Did you think Dean would be a good dad? Of course you did. But the look in his eyes—it broke your heart. He really didn’t believe it.

You glanced through the pile of photos and found one of a young Sam, smiling at the camera, his shaggy hair nearly covering his eyes. You held it up to Dean.

“I think you’re going to be an amazing dad. You know how I know that? Because of Sam.”

Dean looked down at the photo, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“When your parents were out hunting, you looked after your brother. You raised him to be the person he is today. Sam’s a gentle soul, but he’s got this strength—this fire—that comes out when it needs to. He has empathy, real empathy, which is so rare in this life. And he’s smart. I mean… Stanford? Come on.”

Dean let out a small chuckle, eyes still on the photo.

“You made sure that boy ate, slept, got to school. More importantly, you made him feel like he wasn’t alone. You want to know if you’re going to be a good dad?” You reached for his hand. “Just look at Sam.”

Emotion was creeping into your voice—maybe hormones, maybe just love—but you could see it landing. Dean looked at you like he was seeing you for the first time all over again, his own eyes misting over.

“I wouldn’t want to be on this journey with anyone else.”

Tears started slipping down your cheeks. Dean gently cupped your face, his thumbs wiping them away as he leaned in and kissed you.

Even after all these years, that kiss still gave you butterflies.

He rested his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he whispered. “And for the record? I think you’re gonna make an awesome mom.”

You were about to reply when your eyes caught on something in his lap.

“Is that… baby Dean in a bathtub?”

Before you could reach for it, Dean had already snatched the photo up and held it protectively to his chest.

“No.”

“Oh, you looked so cute,” you cooed, reaching to grab it.

“Are you saying I’m not cute now?”

“No, I’m not saying that,” you grinned. “But look at your little cheeks!”

“Uh… guys?” Sam’s voice floated into the room. “We’re about to cut the cake.”

Your eyes lit up. “Ooh, cake. Help me up. Help me up!”

“Okay, okay, calm down.” Dean got to his feet, moving carefully to help you up.

“Dean—it’s cake.”

Once you were on your feet, Dean rested his hands on his hips, staring at you with a grin.

“I love you.”

You beamed. “I love you too.” You reached up to kiss him—only to wince a little.

“Ow.”

The baby had chosen that moment to make their presence known.

Dean immediately dropped to a crouch and kissed your bump. “And I love you,” he said, rubbing your belly affectionately.

You loved when he did that. You couldn’t wait to see him with the baby in his arms. The thought made you smile—one that Dean mirrored perfectly.

It was a moment you could’ve stayed in forever.

But then you remembered.

“Dean… there’s cake.”

“Right!” He ushered you out of the kitchen, his hand resting protectively on your lower back as he stifled a laugh at your excitement.

[honeyroots]

— our little secret ft. SOLDIER BOY

SYNOPSIS: ben is your sneaky link and the sexual chemistry is undeniable.

WARNINGS: NSFW (18+) / sneaky link!ben / daddy kink / borderline fauxcest / squirting / p-in-v / age-gap / consistent hook ups with ben / fem!reader / reader is besties with hughie campbell WORD COUNT: 1110 LOVE NOTE: i posted this on my other account before i restarted so i'm putting it back here

Like clockwork, you showed up at Ben’s place. Just after dinner, right before bed. It was a routine that you had been participating in for a little over a month now, sneaking over to Ben’s and sliding in between his sheets so he could fuck you until it was hard to speak and your body was quivering. You would never admit this, but Ben was the best you ever had. In other words, you were completely dickmatized. 

As soon as Ben let you inside, his fingers were locked onto your belt loop, pulling you closer until your body’s were pressed together. Roughly, because nothing with Ben was ever gentle, he pushed his lips against yours, backing you into the front door to close it. This was the routine, the same one you did every night, the pair of you always up to nothing good. 

In the morning you would sneak out, quietly tiptoeing out the front with your clothes tucked under the wing of your arm, wearing only one of Ben’s shirts and dirty panties from the night before. Sometimes they even had Ben’s dried cum on the ass. 

As one of Hughie Campbell’s best friends, you couldn’t bring yourself to tell anyone about this. Maybe Hughie worked with him, maybe they had a common goal, but you knew how the rest of the boys felt about Ben— especially MM. The worst part about it was that this would be a huge shock to everyone if they found out. You were just too sweet for Soldier Boy, too girlish, too lovely. Every time you had considered coming clean about your late night activities, shame washed through you, feeling like Ben’s on-call whore, which didn’t suit your character at all.

Tonight you were back in Ben’s bed, fileted out like his after dinner snack, “my dessert always shows up on time,” Ben had told you, the look in his eyes already fucked out as he climbed on top of you. 

When you first started hooking up, you really weren’t even sure how it happened. He said something about how you looked too tense, how you took life too seriously. One thing led to another and his fingers were buried deep inside you, whines and moans filtering throughout the room. From that moment on, you were hooked. Drunk on desire and desperate for his approval.

“You ashamed of me?” Ben had you completely undressed at this point, dragging his finger from the base of your chin, down your neck, and over your stomach. He stopped just above your hips, waiting for an answer.

The way he was on top of you gave him all the control, but that’s how he liked it. You couldn’t say you didn’t enjoy it because that would be a damn lie. Being thrown around like Ben’s personal toy is what you looked forward to everyday. Constantly being around Hughie meant that you were often around Soldier Boy, and he knew better than to make suggestive comments toward you around others, but between the both of you, you would share lust-filled glances. It was a longing desire you felt throughout the day, leading up to your late night calls.

“Yes,” you admitted, Ben’s thumbs lingering on your hips while he laced the rest of his fingers around your back. He pulled you closer to the edge of the bed, getting you in your favorite position. You felt mean for being ashamed of your extracurricular activities with Ben, but you knew he liked you a bit ashamed. It was part of the game for him. 

The position you both liked to start in was very basic. Laying on the bed, with your legs dangling over the edge. Ben fit himself in between your legs like a puzzle piece, his hard cock eager to enter you. Propping yourself up, you watched Ben slide his cock into you, eyes dilated as the full length of his shaft disappeared. Ben let out a self-righteous whistle, enjoying the way you always sucked him up desperately. It was his own personal show and he was subscribed to every season.

“What’s there to be ashamed about? You think I’m a bad guy, sweetheart?” The words came out in short breaths, filtered between grunts. You squeezed around so tightly, it was sensory overload for the both of you, but Ben would never admit that you drive him a little crazy. That’s just not who he is, even if he is completely pussy-whipped.

“Uh huh,” you admitted, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. Mouth watering and eyes fluttering, you sunk deeper in the bed as Ben bottomed out. 

“Or is it because you hate that you like older men, huh? You just want a father figure,” Ben grunted, one of his hands pushing your legs from the way they were wrapped around his torso to give him enough room to pull his cock almost all of the way out before slamming back into you.

Father figure. Your stomach turned, hot arousal twisting you up completely as you squeezed around him, your arrival approaching quicker than either of you had anticipated. Ben could get you to finish quickly, but never in just a few thrusts. He was far more experienced than you, knowing exactly what spots to press against, which areas to rub, so when he felt you nearing your first orgasm of the night, his eyebrows perked up while amusement caused a sparkle in his eyes.

“Father figure?” Ben tried again, and he was met with the same reaction of your walls clenching, the slick arousal sliding out of you and coating your ass. It clicked for him, a mischievous smile brewing, “what? You wanna call me dad?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, threatening to spill over the corners. His words, combined with the way he was thrusting inside of you just felt too good and your body didn’t know how else to express the emotion. Quivering underneath him, Ben leaned forward but remained in between your legs. Fingers eagerly moved against your clit, soft and steady as he whispered in your ear, “Dad will take care of ya.”

That’s all he had to say to bring you to the edge, your orgasm washing through you. Although, this orgasm was not like the others Ben had given you, it was much more intense and a lot wetter than the others, spraying against his abdomen. There was an unfamiliar shake in your legs as you gasped for air.

Ben chuckled in disbelief as he looked at his soaked abs, his cock still tucked inside of you. Bringing a thumb to your cheek and wiping the single tear that happened to escape (an act that was so unlike him), he couldn’t help but comment, “don’t worry, darlin’, I’ve always wanted a daughter.”

[maddie0101]

❤︎ that damn skirt ❤︎

summary: ben can’t resist the sight of you in a mini skirt, so he bends you over in the bathroom, taking what he wants.

tags/warnings: smut (mdni), established relationship, p in v, rough sex, slight degradation, slight choking, tension, literally just smut, possessive!ben.

word count: 705 (drabble)

note: my hormones are out of control, so here’s another smut piece I’ve written :) (I’ve had to restrain myself to not continue this and keep it a drabble, lmfao)

You probably should’ve thought twice about wearing that skirt. Not because it wasn’t appropriate, but because of him.

The evening had started off casually enough. You’d invited a few friends over, a laid-back dinner to unwind, a little too much wine flowing. Ben had been tolerable at first, leaning against the kitchen island, keeping to himself, but then you walked in.

That damn skirt.

You’d put it on just to look cute, nothing too special, just your favorite, flowy skirt that hit mid-thigh. But Ben? His eyes never left you. He clocked you immediately. His eyes dragged down your legs, lingered at your hips, and he never really looked away again.

You were teasing him, you knew it. You were enjoying it too—the way his eyes would linger when you bent over to grab something from the counter, the way his hand would grip his drink a little too tightly whenever you laughed. The little glances, the way he clenched his fists.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just a low murmur under his breath every now and then, but you could feel the tension building. And when the laughter started dying down, when your friends were getting tipsy and the music slowed, you felt his gaze grow heavier, hungrier—more possessive.

You finally excused yourself to go to the bathroom, needing a moment to breathe, maybe to escape the palpable tension that was slowly simmering between you. But as soon as you entered, you realized you weren’t alone.

The door slammed shut behind you with a thud, and before you could turn around, Ben stalked in like a man possessed, like he’d been holding back all night and finally lost his grip.

“You think this shit’s funny?” he growled, backing you into the counter. “Wearing that little fuckin’ thing, strutting around like I’m not gonna lose my fuckin’ mind?”

You opened your mouth to say something but his hands were already on you, spinning you around and bending you over the counter before you could get a word out. “Ben—”

“No, baby,” he growled, cutting you off. “Fuckin’ knew what you were doing,” he muttered, dragging your skirt up roughly, bunching it around your waist .“You don’t get to act all innocent now.”

His hands slid down the backs of your thighs, rough palms gripping tight, fingers finding the waistband of your panties and yanking them down without hesitation. You gasped, the cold air hitting your skin, your pulse racing.

“You’ve been teasing me all fuckin’ night,” he said, his fingers brushed between your folds, already slick from the tension that had been building all night.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned, his voice thick with desire.

Before you could respond, he was there, thick and hard, rubbing against you with the kind of control that made your head spin. And then he pushed into you, rough and sudden, the shock of it making you gasp as he filled you completely. You let out a cry, hands scrambling for purchase on the counter.

“Fuck, baby,” Ben groaned, gripping your hips like he was afraid you might disappear. “You’re so fuckin’ tight.”

He started moving, his pace brutal from the start, no buildup, no mercy. Just raw, pent-up frustration and need. Your body rocked with every thrust, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the bathroom.

“You like this, huh?” he grunted. “Me fucking you like this? Bent over the fuckin’ counter with your little skirt still on?”

You moaned loudly, gripping the edge of the sink as he fucked you harder and Ben laughed breathlessly. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” He was relentless, each thrust knocking the air from your lungs, his pace not slowing, only increasing. You could barely keep your eyes open as he fucked you, every inch of you consumed by him.

He leaned over you, chest against your back, hand snaking up to wrap around your throat. Not choking, just holding. “Next time,” he rasped, lips brushing your ear, “I’m not waiting, baby. I don’t give a fuck who’s around. I’ll take you wherever I want. Right in front of everyone if I have to.”

You moaned again, and he growled deep in his throat, fucking into you harder.

author’s note:

It took everything in me not to make this a oneshot or continue the fic 😅 I debated on continuing it or coming up with a better plot but this is how I’m going to leave it. I hope you guys like this one! my hormones are raging rn so I’ve been working on a lot of smut lately 😈

— requests are open.ᐟᅟ please read request rules.ᐟᅟ

tags:

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[bettystonewell]

ANOTHER NOTCH ON HIS BELT

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

Every little part of him is holding onto every little piece of her, and any other woman he’s been lucky enough to escape his life with. Even if it’s only for the night - or - Dean replaces intimacy with sex. MDNI 18+ only 1.2k words

Tags: lil’ bit of SMUT, casual sex, Dean needs a hug, light angst

A/N: Summary inspired by the lyrics of the song “Tough” by Lewis Capaldi.

He loves the sex. 

Needs it. 

Craves it. 

The closeness it gives him. The warmth of someone else surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing below or on top of him. He doesn’t care. 

Even with the scrapes and bruises he doesn’t remember which ugly bastard he ganked giving them to him, he’s not ashamed. He just wants to fill up his heart with affection to get him through the next death he knows is inevitable, no matter how hard he tries.

It’s something he can’t escape, except maybe for the night. Tonight, if he’s lucky.

As she pours him another cup, and places the pie he ordered beside his now empty plate, he pretends not to notice. It doesn’t mean he’s not watching. He just continues to hold the conversation with Sam while listening to her greet someone new.

Her voice carries like silk over the chatter of people and the ringing coming from the door. Her hands are clean, her skin soft and inviting as she pulls out her notepad and pen. 

He flicks his head up to exchange a glance, and she actually winks at him. “Can I get you anything else?” 

“Sammy?” He looks his brother’s way, but brings his gaze back to her the second he’s answered.

“Thanks,” he says and reads the badge pinned to her blouse aloud. “That’s a pretty name.” 

The girls in these dives they eat at are always perfect in his eyes. Their lives are just so, even if they don’t see it. 

No scars, at least not from weapons. Pliable flesh he can sink his fingers into. Grab, smooth, lick, taste. Sweet perfume that would fill a home he knows has things littered with the apple pie life he once thought he wanted. 

He’ll tell no one he still does.

He’ll also never tell Sam that’s the real reason he doesn’t bring them to the motel anymore if he can avoid it. It’s easier to leave them when he wakes up and feels out of place.

She walks away, back to the counter whence she came with hips that sway in time to the tick of the dusty old clock on the wall. Past the other patrons and tables full of more coffee and mediocre food. 

Chicken served in nugget form. Sandwiches lathered in sauce. It may be swill and smell closer to ass than edible, but if he plays his cards well, he’ll be devouring something far better tonight.

“Don’t wait up,” he says after downing the scalding liquid in one go. He’s done with waiting. Just needed the last boost of confidence before he goes in for the kill.

He stands up and grabs his phone. Brushes down his jacket, checking there’s nothing on it from the hunt, and looks up to the smile that caught his eye again. 

She’s watching him.

“Don’t do the hot coffee thing,” Sammy bitches, as he walks away.

But while Dean ignores him, a split second frown sours his face. He refuses to let his baby brother see the remark stings. 

It’s not about dipping his stick in the oil, but he’ll let Sam believe it is. The facade is easier than admitting the truth.

He steps up to the counter, where she’s taking some other chumps order, and raises the cup he never put down to gain her attention. There might be a suave grin thrown her way. Definitely a twinkle in his eye.

“Can I get another, sweetheart? Hot, and…just like you?” There’s a wag of his brow now.

“Sure thing, hun,” she says with a chuckle that makes her even more desirable. She doesn’t know how beautiful she is.

He wants to taste. He wants to touch. He wants her arms wrapped around him while he holds her tight. So he takes the opportunity presented to him. A brush of his fingers on hers when she hands the smooth ceramic back to him. Lingering as he gauges for any reaction. Any hint that she’s interested in being his comfort for the night.

“Thanks,” he says through a grin of goof and charm, and she smiles. Doesn’t even move her hand, and he knows he’s in with a chance.

“Can I get you anything else…?” she asks.

“Dean.” He winks.

“Dean,” she repeats, and he wants to hear it again. Underneath him. On top of him. Legs wrapped ‘round his waist as she chants it into his ear. 

He’d settle for it once if it was on her doorstep, following an ‘I had a good time last night,’ and so he’s bolder. His choice of words, just as. “Any chance you’re getting off soon?”

And she chuckles, hearty and soft. Nods her head in consideration, tongue playing with her cheek as she looks him over nice and slow. “You don’t beat around the bush, huh, Dean?” 

“Depends on the carpets,” he says. 

It’s cheesy and cringe and doesn’t even make much sense, but it works. She’s placing the pot of coffee down, leaning in closer to him, hovering over him a couple of hours later in a room that’s both foreign in foundation and comfort.

Plush bedding that’s clean. No smoke or dust or grime in sight. 

A light that never flickers and appliances that don’t buzz.

There’s a thigh on either side of him, bent at the knees just as he wanted. A sheen of sweat between. Her hands, warm and soft, creep over his skin, tracing patterns with tingles that curl his toes and tense the muscles in his shoulders and glutes.

His arms pull her down on him, pushing himself further into her. Giving her more of him, and she moans. He does, too. The squeeze of her walls on the covered tip of his dick is wonderful, but it’s the look in her eyes that does it for him. 

There’s a connection, now, even if there might be none come morning. This lust that he can mistake for adoration is what he needs. What he craves.

He’s wanted. She feels. Her body is alive, and she cries his name. 

“You like that, baby?” he asks with a snap of his hips, savouring the next sound she makes. If they go another round, he’ll do it again. When he’s alone with just his hand, he’ll chase it with the memory of her trembling lips, thighs and chest.

He’s pulling her tit into his mouth. Wide to capture as much of her smooth skin as he can. He’ll remember the saltiness, too. The way her nipple pebbles as his tongue swipes over and around it. The way her pelvis rocks.

She’s grinding down on him. Her fingers are tugging into his hair, and as her nails scrape down to the nape of his neck, he’s pulling her stomach to his. 

He’s grabbing her ass and raising it up. He’s chasing both their highs.

And when it hits, and he feels his balls tighten, and her around him, squeezing him for all he’s worth, he’s burying his nose into the junction between her hairline and ear. Inhaling the soap and shampoo. Her perfume. The sweat on her skin. He’s taking it all in and holding her tight.

In this moment, she’s his. 

The closeness she gives him. The warmth of her surrounding his hardened body. Touching, feeling, writhing on top of him.

He craves her.

He needs her.

And he’ll continue to, because it’s not just about sex. He loves the intimacy.

@globetrotter28 @ambiguous-avery @arcannaa

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