#spn insert

[drulalovescas]

Sam: lying unconscious

Dean and Cas:

Sam: sitting unconscious

Dean and Cas:

[very-merry-birthday]

Flirt

Summary: Older!Dean doesn't look at you the way you want him to, but you still like to flirt with him. What happens when you finally push him too far.

Warnings: Smut, Age Gap, Older!Dean x Younger!Reader (but it's sweet). Reader has tattoos??

~~~

You enjoyed flirting with the Winchesters.

Sam understood your game quickly. Maybe it was because he was younger than his brother, he realized almost immediately that your age plus your looks put older guys on edge.

Whenever you'd meet up on the road, a hunt putting you in the same town, he'd watch as you'd flirt with the bartender, the motel owner, the witness. You'd look back at him, a knowing smile on his face as he watched you get exactly what you wanted.

Everything but Dean. The one man who Sam knew you wanted more than anyone. Dean handled you with kid gloves, constantly on edge around you, making sure you were safe with your perceived vulnerabilities. The rest of the year you were a badass hunter who could take anything on by yourself, but the second Dean was around he couldn't see you as anything but a little kid, one who should be as far from a hunt as possible.

Sam understood your flirting, understood that with others it was just a means to an end, with him it was a joke, and with Dean... well he knew with Dean it couldn't be more genuine. But you just wished Dean could see that, or could even realize you were flirting in the first place.

The moment you'd shown up to the motel, a six pack under your arm, a grin on your face, you knew this occasion would be a lost cause. You'd gotten a black eye one week earlier, a ragaru with a crowbar leaving you with a purple bruise all the way to your temple, and while it was significantly less swollen now, it was still obvious. The second Dean had caught sight of you'd he'd sighed, starting on a lecture about keeping safe while you'd looked to Sam with desperate eyes, seeking an escape.

"Did ya kill it? The ragaru?" Sam cut his brother off.

"Easy." You replied with a wink.

"That's our girl!" Sam pulled you in to a hug, you hadn't seen each other for months and he'd missed your jokes.

You handed him a bottle, along with your bottle opener, and he clicked it open easily before handing the opener back. You outstretched another bottle to Dean who looked down at you with a frosty expression, "Are you even old enough to drink?"

"How old do you think I am exactly?" You pouted out your bottom lip, looking up at him with big eyes.

"What are you doing here?" Dean took the bottle and turned away to open it himself.

You looked over at Sam with a worth a try expression. He shook his head at you, a smile forming across his face at your halfhearted efforts.

"I was in the area, Sam texted, I came running."

"As you always do." Sam laughed.

"Only for you, honey." You sat down on one of the beds, kicking off your shoes in one movement as you tapped the space next to you for Sam to join. He did, taking a seat as you looked back at Dean, a firm expression on his face.

He took a sip from the bottle before speaking again, "So what's your plan? You got somewhere to stay?"

"Nah, Sam's gonna let me share his bed, aren't ya Sammy?"

Sam looked over at you with a grin.

"No chance-" Dean spoke before his brother was able to.

"Oh, you want me to yourself?" You bit the end of you finger, a fiery expression in your eyes.

"I'll get you a room." He placed the bottle down on the side table and left without another word.

You sighed, exasperated, laying down on the bed and staring up at the damp ceiling.

Sam laughed at the sight, "You shouldn't tease him like that."

"I'm not teasing! If he asked, I'd share a bed with him any day- or any night-"

"I'm gonna stop you there- That's my brother you're talking about."

You looked up at him, your façade gone, "Well then, how've you been?"

"Dean's been driving me crazy- he's been driving himself crazy! You need to move into the bunker already! I know I ask every time but I don't think either of us will cope by ourselves for much longer."

"What, so he can keep me locked away never to hunt again? No chance! He barely wanted me on this one did you see his face?"

"He only does it because he cares about you-"

"-He does it because he thinks I'm a kid." You sighed again, sitting back up and taking a swig of Sam's beer. He let you without a second thought.

"And you? How have you been? Keeping out of trouble I hope?"

"God you sound like a dad!" You rolled your eyes, but watched as a pained wince flashed over his face, "Sorry. I've been good, and yes, keeping out of trouble, apart from this!" You pointed back to your black eye.

"It hurting still?" He squinted slightly to get a better look at it.

"Nothing I haven't dealt with before." You touched it lightly, the swelling gone, just a bruised mark left. You looked back at him, remembering your news, "Hey! I almost forgot, I got a new tattoo!"

Sam grinned. Your tattoos weren't obvious, most of them hidden away under layers of clothes, but you'd shown him a few on a drunk night some months ago, and you'd always appreciated how much interest he'd taken in them. Not because they were hot, or because they were in scandalous places, but just because he was genuinely interested.

"Show me then!" He laughed.

You hopped up, hiking up the back of your shirt and tugging your jeans down only slightly to reveal the small of your back, looking back at him over your shoulder to catch his expression.

"Looks sick," he looked between your face and the tattoo, "but I don't get having a tattoo you can't see yourself?"

You let go of your shirt and turned back to him, "Thought I'd give Dean something to look at when he finally decides to bend me over and-"

"Stop right there!" Both of you stared at each other for a moment before breaking out in laughter. The door opened again and Dean stepped in holding a key between his fingers. You both burst out laughing again as you looked over at him.

He looked confused for a second, and then just sighed, holding up the key with an outstretched hand, "You're next door."

You looked over at Sam again with an amused expression, taking beer out of the six pack and picking up your shoes from the floor. You left, grabbing the key from Dean on the way out, looking back at him before he closed the door, "Thanks."

--

The next day you were up and out as quickly as you could be, not wanting to keep them waiting, or give Dean any excuse to leave you behind. You were already standing by the Impala, still brushing your teeth, as the two men finally left the motel.

Dean eyed you over quickly, enjoying watching you relaxed, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you gave them a lopsided smile. He liked seeing you like this, almost domestic, not that he'd ever admit that to himself let alone to you.

You hocked the toothpaste out of your mouth onto the floor behind you and wiped you mouth with the back of your hand. Sam lent down to give you a side hug as Dean walked past you and found his place in the driver's seat. You followed his lead, climbing into the back.

You and Dean sat in silence as Sam spoke, he started by explaining the case, everything you'd missed before arriving yesterday, what they'd been doing, who'd they'd spoken to. You nodded along, hunting mode fully taking over as you sat serious in the back seat. Then he laid out the plan for the day.

"I'm telling you, she wasn't being completely honest with us, she knows more than she's letting on. I only need five, maybe ten minutes with her and I think she'd be willing to talk to me."

"But there's a cop outside her door?" You pitched up.

"Exactly right." He turned back to you and smiled, "You and Dean just need to distract him for long enough that I can get in there and talk to her, and then we're set."

You looked at Dean, who was watching you closely in the rearview, "Sounds good to me."

You pulled up around the corner of the house and all hopped out, stretching your legs. Sam said his goodbyes, walking round the opposite way to avoid any suspicion. You looked at Dean closely, "What do ya say? I go in, little bit of flirting, see if I can't get the cop away from that door for a bit?"

"I'm not sure that's the best idea." His forehead creased, "I think I should go with you."

You rolled your eyes at his protectiveness, "Right. Well, what do you suggest? You pretend to be my boyfriend, we've broken down and need some help with the car?"

He looked down at himself and then back to you, he didn't have to say anything about the age difference, you knew exactly what he was implying, "I'm not sure that's believable, sweetheart."

He didn't even mean to say the nickname. Something in his brain connecting the word boyfriend and you together pushed it out of him involuntarily. Your stomach still flooded with butterflies, even if you knew it was harmless.

"Well, follow my lead then, I think I have a better idea."

You began to walk away before he could stop you, catching up as you rounded the corner to the house, the cop within sight. He straightened his face, knowing he'd have to go along with whatever you had planned whether he liked it or not.

You marched up to the front door, a meak smile on your face as you tried to act docile, "Hey sorry, do you have a second?" You fluttered your eyelashes at the man.

He was closer to your age than Dean's, not unattractive but not what you were usually into. Well- you were usually only into Dean anyway.

"How can I help?"

"I'm so sorry to do this, we've been driving all night and somethings just happened to the car, we can't seem to work out what's going on and we just need a little help." Dean sidled up next to you as you continued speaking. You held out your hand to the man for a handshake, offering up a fake name you'd used before, and then looked over at Dean, "And this here's my daddy!"

You looked over at him with a grin, a glimmer in your eye only he could see. He didn't want to even begin to do the math on whether that was really possible. He swallowed hard as he looked between you and the cop, before finally relenting and holding out his own hand, "Name's Malcolm."

You almost laughed out loud, the mixture of fake name and the expression on his face too much, but you kept a straight face. You wrapped your arm around his waist, pulling him towards you, "My daddy really ain't much of a mechanic, ya see, it'd be a real big help if you could take a look at it?" You bit your lip, looking the man up and down slow enough that you knew he'd catch you.

You felt Dean tense up beside you, but he didn't say anything.

"Sure, I'll take a look."

You walked around the side of the building, keeping in line with the cop as Dean trailed behind you, trying to catch your eye but you wouldn't let him. You were fully engrossed in the act now, a small touch on the younger man's arm, a lingering look at his lips, you knew everything you were supposed to be doing.

Dean popped the hood for you as he started a mental timer of how long this would have to last before Sam would be done. You knew what an honor it was for Dean to be going along with this, to be using his precious car in the ruse, and you knew you couldn't fuck it up.

"So, this is the engine?" You asked, wide eyed, trying to act perplexed.

Dean didn't like watching you flirt, he never did. Protective, he called it, never jealous. But it was undeniable how much he loved watching you hustle. He almost blew the whole thing with a laugh as he watched you point around the engine, acting like you couldn't tell your alternator from your carburetor. But when your hand landed back on the top of the cops arm, his smile fell again as he swallowed hard.

"Sounds like a fuel pump issue to me." The cop said, turning back to you.

Your doubt almost seeped into your voice, but you let it sounds like naivety, "Fuel pump?"

"Yeah, you and your- ehem- father, could probably just get it replaced by the mechanic in town."

"Ya hear that, daddy?" You looked over at Dean again, widening your eyes to mask your sarcasm, "He says it's a fuel pump issue."

"Does he now?" Dean's jaw clenched.

You turned back to the cop, "Forgive him, he doesn't like to admit how little he knows about cars. Say, how do you know so much anyway?"

Dean watched as you turned back around, looking back into the engine as the man pointed out different sections. He let himself look, it wasn't often that he did, but between the deception and the daddys he couldn't help himself. He looked down at your body, your legs, your ass clad tight in jeans. He let his tongue sit on his bottom lip deep in thought as his eyes trailed over your body.

And that's when he spotted it, as you leant further in, your hand brushing the cop's, he spotted your new tattoo. He swallowed hard. He'd always seen you as innocent. Sure you flirted with guys on cases all the time, but he'd never actually know you to go home with with one. He thought of you as pure, virtuous, maybe even immature. But as he looked down at your tattoo, he felt a growing arousal hit him. He shook his head, trying to clear the thoughts as quickly as they had arrived.

"Mechanic then?" He spoke up quickly, "I mean, you think we should take it to a mechanic?"

"Uh, yeah." The cop looked back over at him. You spun back, confusion on your face, this really didn't seem like enough time.

"Great, thanks." He held out his hand again for the cop to shake it, clearly a sign he'd overstayed his welcome. Your eyes grew larger: confused, angry.

You leant back into the cop, holding the top of his arm gently to stop him walking away, "Say, if we get stuck in this town overnight, where can I come find you?"

The cop looked between you and Dean, you could tell he'd made note of your black eye, "I'm not sure..."

You bit your bottom lip, letting your hand stroke down his arm, "Don't mind him, really, he wouldn't hurt a fly. Just gets a bit... protective of me sometimes."

He looked back at you, as you fluttered your eyelashes once again. "O'Reilly's Bar, downtown, that's where I tend to head after my shift."

You smiled at him as he pulled away, giving Dean a friendly nod before walking back the way he came. Your face dropped once he turned the corner, looking back at Dean, "What the fuck was that?!"

"What was what?!"

"Sam said ten minutes."

"He said five to ten! We've given him more than enough time!"

You let the hood of the car drop with a small clang. Dean winced slightly at the noise.

You both stood pacing for another few minutes, your jaw on edge as you tried to relax. Then you saw Sam turning the corner and you both let out a sigh of relief.

"All good?" Dean questioned once he was close enough.

"Think I've got everything we need!"

You smiled at him, "Had us worried there for a second. Dean, what was that?!" Now you knew Sam was safe, you could let your chastising begin.

"You have a tattoo." Dean spoke quietly, firmly, out of nowhere.

You let out a loud laugh, "I've got a few, what does that matter?"

"I- you've got a tramp stamp!?"

Sam looked between you and Dean, feeling like he was missing something. It didn't help that you felt like you were missing it too.

"Once again, I don't see how that matters?"

"You're a kid, you shouldn't be getting tattoos you're gonna regret! You can't even see it, what's the point?!"

Sam laughed, "Gives a guy something to look at when they bend her over." He looked at you with a knowing smile and you held back another laugh at his reference.

Dean's face dropped, "You're disgusting, dude, you're old enough to be her-"

He stopped himself, swallowing hard. The word daddy was glued between his lips, you knew it, and so did he.

Sam looked between the two of you, the tension sat between you as you eyed each other over cautiously. "I think I'm gonna walk back to the motel."

The concentration on Dean's face broke, "What are you talking about, that'll take hours."

"I just need to stretch my legs, you guys, uh, go on without me." He locked eyes with you, trying to tell you something with his expression that you couldn't completely understand, before turning on his heel and beginning to walk.

You looked at Dean, who looked at Sam, both of you confused but neither of you wanting to leave the moment. Eventually he slid into the driver's side, waiting for you to get in the car so he could start driving.

You both sat in silence as he drove back to the motel, occasionally glancing over at each other when the other wasn't looking. Eventually he broke, looking over at you, "A tattoo?"

"I've got loads, Dean, it's really not a big deal."

"You're just a kid."

"I'm old enough, Dean." The words were slick with implication. But you didn't want implication, you wanted him. You leant over, placing your hand on his thigh, "I'm old enough."

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, jaw clenching. He couldn't hide what he felt for you, he couldn't hide his looks when your back was turned, or the way he'd still smell your perfume in the Impala days after you'd left and miss you. But he knew he wasn't right for you, his life filled with too much danger, the distance between you too large, "I'd wreck you, sweetheart."

You knew what he meant, the solemn expression on his face, but it didn't stop you from looking over at him with a glisten in your eyes, "Maybe that's what I want."

There was a silent beat as you both sat in the moment. Then you pulled back, taking your hand off of his leg and sitting back down, eyes on the road. You were at the motel only a few minutes later, both of you shrouded in tension. He shut off the engine and you both sat, staring out the front window, neither of you willing yourselves to move.

He managed to whisper out the words, not looking at you, "You're just a kid."

You sighed and rolled your eyes. You knew he'd never see you how you wanted him to. The words hit you in the gut, winding you for a moment, making it hard to breathe in the small space.

You opened the car door, stumbling out and making your way to your room. Only a few hours and Sam would be back, then you could finish the hunt and get on with your life. Maybe you wouldn't even wait for him, just pack up and go. Yeah, that sounded good.

You heard the sound of Dean behind you, following your footsteps, but you didn't slow down. Frustration kept you moving, not even turning back.

He only caught up to you by the time you reached the doors to your rooms, grabbing your wrist to stop you going any further. You looked down at his hold, and then back to his face, his jaw tensed, worried lines creased into his forehead. He hooked a finger under your chin as he looked down at you, his eyes darting over your face.

He whispered again, "I'm too dangerous, sweetheart."

"I'm used to danger, Dean." You looked back down at his hand. He wasn't gripping you tight, you could push him away if you wanted, but you didn't want that. You wanted him touching you.

"You deserve someone your own age." His thumb reached out, lightly brushing over your bottom lip. You blinked hard to keep yourself composed as arousal flooded through you.

"I don't want anyone else." You replied back, meekly.

"It would never work." His eyes were firmly placed on your lips as his thumb brushed over them, before looking back at you.

You lowered your voice to match his, "I don't care."

He leant down torturously slowly, looking between your eyes and your lips. You didn't want to move, afraid of scaring him off, but you pushed yourself up only slightly onto your tiptoes to help close the gap between the two of you.

And then his lips were on yours. Soft, hesitant at first. They locked together, fitting into place around each other. He savoured the moment, the feeling of your lips. You held your breath as you leant into him, his hand moving to your jaw holding you tight, afraid that if he let go he might lose the moment. He allowed himself to kiss you deeper, his tongue swiping out to your lip, testing the waters, his other hand reaching for your waist, pulling you closer.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth, exploring you, as your own hand came up to his cheek, feeling his stubble harsh against your fingertips. You felt as he let go of your waist, fumbling with his keys as he tried to open the door to the motel without breaking away from you. You placated him for a moment, continuing to kiss him as you listened to the sound of keys jangling, before breaking away from him, allowing him to look at the door and finally get it open. He blinked hard as he looked down at you again, taking you in, the feeling of you still on his lips.

As you looked at him you could see his mind racing as thoughts filled it, his eyes darting over your body, his forehead beginning to crease without him realizing it. You reached out again before his thoughts could get the better of him, grabbing his shirt and pulling him into the room, your lips back on his, harder, seeking him out.

You were on your knees within seconds, pushing him against the wall and dropping in front of him, fumbling with his belt. His head rolled back instinctively, hitting the wall, as you pulled out his cock, wrapping your mouth around it without a second thought. It took you a moment to adjust to his size, but once you had you began to play with him on your tongue, letting your lips envelope him. And then you pushed your head down, taking him in your mouth, his head hitting the back of your throat as you choked down his salty taste. The sounds of you below him caused his fist to tighten at his side, a loud grunt escaping his lips as he lost all control.

But this isn't how he wanted it, you on your knees praising his cock. What the hell- of course that's what he wanted- but not right now. Right now he needed to show you what a real man could do.

He cupped your cheek gently as you looked up at him. He gave himself one last look at you, swallowing down is cock with wide eyes, before gently pulling you off of him.

You looked at him, confused, as he helped you to your feet, cautious that he'd come to his senses, that he'd tell you it was a mistake. Instead he just let his eyes roam your face.

"Dean, let me keep going-" you wrapped your hand around his cock, desperate for more.

"Next time, darlin'." The idea of a next time set your skin aflame, a flush overwhelming you. "Can I touch you?"

You lead him towards the bed, your lips connected again as you moved, his hands roaming over your body, tugging at the bottom of your shirt. You pulled at your own jeans, desperate to be unclothed as quickly as possible, while Dean broke away for a second to pull your shirt over your head.

He stopped to look down at you as you kicked your jeans off your ankles, taking you in. He'd never allowed himself to look at you like this before, it was always stolen glances, small looks, but now, with you naked except for underwear in front of him, he eyed you greedily. He made note of your tattoos, the ones he didn't know existed an hour ago, as he sought every inch of you, devouring you with his eyes.

He gently guided you down towards the bed, and you pulled him on top of you as you laid down, bodies entwined. He pulled his own shirt off before sinking back against you, skin pressed against skin as he kissed you, his mouth heavier, needier. You guided his head down to your neck, and he kissed messily against your skin. His cock twitched at the idea of putting a hickey on your perfect, innocent neck, of marking his territory.

He let his teeth graze slightly over your skin and you let out a gasp, rolling your head back as your hand combed through his hair. He chuckled lightly against you before biting down, sucking at your neck as you moaned into him. He could feel his cock rock hard in his boxers for you already, and your noises weren't making it any easier.

He pulled back only slightly to catch sight of you again, looking down at your body under him, before looking back to your face, watching him closely, "You're gorgeous."

His finger trailed down your collarbone absentmindedly, and you bit your lip as warmth spread over you. He made easy work of the clasp on your bra and pulled it off of you, his tongue darting out at the sight. Lowering his body down he lightly kissed at your skin here and there as you closed your eyes and relaxed back into the bed, letting the feelings take you over. He nestled between your legs, small kisses dotting your inner thigh, where the desperation to ruin you took him again, and he bit down hard. You let out a small yelp, that quickly turned into a moan as you sunk into the feeling again, his teeth on your skin sending pleasure through you.

He kissed you lightly over your underwear, and you whined quietly, needy. You felt as his finger came up to circle your clit through the fabric, and you pushed your hips up, desperate for his touch.

"You want me, darlin'?" He was half teasing, and half genuinely asking, his eyebrow cocked. You bit your lip as you looked back down at him, nodding enthusiastically. He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear, dragging them down your legs as he sucked in a ragged breath at the sight of you, completely naked below him.

His lips found your knee, then your inner thigh, working his way up dangerously slowly. You whined again for him, showing him how much you wanted him. He looked back up at you with a creased forehead, "You tell me if it's too much for you?"

You wanted to roll your eyes at his caution, but instead only nodded again as you looked down at him between your legs. He slowly pushed a finger into your entrance, a strangled groan escaping his lips as you moaned, your pussy slick around him. He inched in slowly, desperate to feel you, before pulling out just as slow, dragging out your pleasure. Slow, gentle thrusts as your pussy clenched around him.

"Dean- Please..." You pleaded, all you were able to get out, desperate for more.

You felt as he pushed a second finger into you and you gripped the sheets next to you, his movements still gentle, taking his time to stretch you open. And then his mouth was on you, softly lapping up your juices as his tongue roamed your folds. You let out another gasp, tightening your grip on the sheets.

Long strokes with a flat tongue, desperate to taste as much of you as he could, as his fingers gained speed, beginning to thrust in and out of you with ease. And then his tongue darted out, only for a second, to your clit, testing for your movements, your reaction.

You let out a loud gasp, wrapping your legs over his shoulders, needy for his mouth, for his hands. He began moving his fingers faster, building up momentum as you felt your orgasm rising. He kept lapping you up, his whole mouth on you with deliberate movements as you grinded against him, your rutting only pushing him deeper into you.

And then he curled his fingers, only slightly, continuing to thrust into you as he pressed against your g-spot. You felt your whole body clench up as you came, rolling your head back with a loud gasp as waves of pleasure flowed through you and you pulsed below him. He kept his movements steady, letting you ride out your orgasm as he continued to push his fingers into you.

He felt as you relaxed again into the sheets, coming down from your high with heavy breath, your hand moving down to comb through his hair gently.

He broke away from you for a moment, kissing your inner thigh lightly, "That okay? You okay?"

"Yes, Dean!" You laughed, exasperated, "Fuck, that was good!"

His kissing got messier again as he nipped at your skin, small red marks forming along the inside of your thigh that he kissed lightly, acknowledging his handy work. You went to sit up, reaching down to cup his face, but his grip on your legs tightened, keeping you in place as he continued to kiss against your skin.

He pulled you back down, closer to him, as his face moved back towards your pussy, still sensitive as you continued to come down from your orgasm. And then he dove in again, messier, frenzied, desperate to taste you. His tongue moved rapidly against you, and you rolled your head back again, not expecting the pleasure that rocked your body.

He lifted you towards him, your legs over his shoulders, one hand going to the small of your back to support you as he kneeled upright, pulling your ass off of the bed. His whole mouth was on you as he pushed his tongue through your folds, tasting you, his stubble rubbing against you sending your back arching. He sucked lightly at your swollen clit and you let out a pleading gasp, the feeling almost too much. He broke away for only a second to eye up your reaction before pushing back in, his pointed tongue darting out over your clit, not giving you a moment without stimulation.

He circled your bud messily, desperately, as you writhed below him, another orgasm rising quickly. He didn't relent, his need for you overwhelming any other thought as he continued to savor you. His free hand came up to spread your folds apart as he lapped at you, your wetness practically dripping over his chin as he sucked and licked at you.

"Dean- I'm gonna-" you panted out, rolling your head back into the pillow.

Without a response he focused back on your clit, flicking at it with the pointed end of his tongue. He felt your legs tense around him again and sped up his movements, overwhelming your body.

You came again, hard, grinding into him, a shuddering moan escaping your lips. He continued his frenzied movements as you choked out a desperate gasp, blinding pleasure overtaking you.

His movements slowed in time with you, letting you come down slowly from your shattering high. He rested one hand on your stomach, lowering you back down onto the bed, as he continued to slowly lap you up, staying away from your overstimulated clit. He watched you go limp below him as you sunk back into the sheets, your chest rising and falling heavily.

He kissed your thigh lazily as you came to, looking down at the grin spread across his face. "Y' okay, sweetheart?"

"Fuck-" You looked back up at the ceiling.

You heard him chuckling as he knelt back up, looking down at you, yearning for more. He reached out to lightly brush your clit with his thumb and you moved to clamp your legs together instinctively, earning a tsk out of his mouth as he moved his hand away again, "Sensitive?"

You only nodded in response, looking back at him with wide eyes.

"You ready for more?" He looked down at you, and then at his own cock, desperately hard beneath his boxers.

"Yes, Dean- Please-"

He looked down at you again, and then started to move, "I've got a rubber in my wallet-"

You grabbed his wrist, "Just pull out."

He looked at your body, your gorgeous naked body that he couldn't drag his eyes away from, the dark marks starting to form on your inner thigh and neck. He'd come this far, he'd earned you, but he knew he still had an obligation to keep you safe. "-It's in my wallet."

You rolled your eyes with a smile, shaking your head only slightly as he stood up, pulling off the rest of his clothes and fumbling around in the pile until he found his wallet, pulling out the rubber and ripping the packaging quickly with his teeth. A small pit formed, trying to push away your thoughts of where he was planning on using it, who he'd been planning on using it on. He turned back to you and you pulled yourself up instinctively, rolling over with your ass in the air, arching your back with your head buried down in the pillows, ready for him.

You felt him kneel behind you again, his eyes trained on your ass, the tattoo on your lower back, your pussy still pulsing as he trailed his finger over your wetness, causing you to let out another small gasp.

"Not- not like this...", heavy blinks bringing him to his senses.

You looked back over your shoulder, eyeing him carefully, "I thought you were going to wreck me, Winchester."

He broke his eyes away from your ass finally, feeling triumph at his self discipline, "I want to see your face-"

You swallowed hard at his confession, your mind buzzing as he guided you to lay down again, your back sinking into the sheets as he positioned himself above you, holding himself up with one arm next to your head, his other hand lining his cock up to your entrance.

He teased the head of his cock through your folds, as his eyes traced over your face carefully, watching your for your expression, "You sure?"

"Dean- Please-"

His face darkened, "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He pushed into you slowly, his cock stretching you out. You bit your lip, wincing only slightly as you adjusted to his size, but as the pleasure of his movements filled you, you moaned, your shaking hand moving up to his chest as he began to thrust into you.

"You okay?" He watched you carefully.

You smiled in response, pressing your forehead against his, "You're big-"

He half chuckled, masking a genuine question with sarcasm, "Too big?"

"Biggest I've ever had." You laughed lightly, your hand flowing down over his body.

The thought caused a pang of jealousy to hit him, that you'd ever had anyone else, that other men had had you. But as you moaned beneath him, your own hips moving in time with his, guiding him in, he didn't care. Right now you were his, utterly and completely.

He watched your face again, soft grunts escaping his mouth as he thrusted, gaining speed. You felt as his expression tightened, his eyes fixed on the bruise next to your eye. You tried to turn your face away from his gaze but he stopped you, cupping your cheek with his free hand.

Both of you stared at each other for a moment before he pushed his forehead against yours again, "You're mine."

You gasped at the statement, another orgasm rising within you, speeding up your own movements as he began to drive into you harder. His expression softened as his breathing became more strained, "You're mine. And you're safe."

You smiled up at him as you felt your orgasm on the edge, your hands wrapping around his shoulder for leverage as you continued to move under him, your leg wrapping around him to push him into you completely.

You relaxed your forehead against him as you let pleasure dissolve your body, quaking under him as you came. He held his breath as your walls convulsed around his cock, pushing him to his own edge as you leant up for a messy kiss, lips colliding while your orgasm overtook you.

Within moments he was coming himself, breaking away from your kiss to push his face back into your neck, a groan vibrating through him. His thrusting faltered only slightly, and you kept your hips grinding against him as he saw out his release.

You both slowed, panting hard as he pulled his face back in front of yours, small kisses across your cheeks and nose. He kept himself in you for a moment, feeling your walls spasm against his cock as you came down from your high. And then he pulled back out of you again, kneeling in front of you as he pulled the condom off and threw it to one side.

He looked down at you as you closed your eyes, relaxing back down into the sheets below him. He kissed your legs lazily as you lay there, spent. He sucked in another breath, eyes tracing over your body, fixating on the new marks on your neck as his tongue darted out to wet his lip.

"You okay?" He sighed as you sat back up, stretching your body.

You smiled, warmth filling your face, "Yes, Dean, yes I'm okay- more than okay."

He blinked hard, "Sam'll be back soon."

You pouted out your bottom lip, sarcasm dancing behind your eyes, "You think he'll join us if we ask him nice enough?"

Dean's jaw tightened as he rolled his eyes at you, "Put your clothes back on."

You hopped off of the bed, bending down to pick your clothes up off the floor as Dean looked at you, longing still holding him.

You looked back at him over your shoulder as you stood back straight, "You're staring."

"You're beautiful." He climbed off the bed after you, his finger hooked under your chin once again, "You're so beautiful."

A pause. He leant down to kiss your forehead, his voice barely louder than a whisper, "But you need to put your clothes on before Sam gets back. I ain't sharing."

[bettystonewell]

Whatever This Is

Read on AO3 || Main Masterlist

Dean Winchester x Reader

You’ve been sleeping with Dean for weeks. You never established what you were doing, just going with the flow, until a vulnerable moment makes for an awkward tangent to ask and find out 2.3k words

Tags/Warnings: fluff, idiots in love, friends to lovers, miscommunication, menstruation, cramping, embarrassing moment for reader, lil bit of humour, Dean is unfazed and an absolute sweetheart, set somewhere in Season 3

Four AM and you’re freezing your tits off. Miserable. Cramping. You give Dean a petulant pout as he waits patiently on the sidewalk for you. Instant regret when you remember he’s currently the sweetest man on earth, navigating through your wrath in his stride, and doesn’t deserve whatever this is.

It’s not his fault your ovaries are punishing you for another successful thwart at reproduction. Not his fault your body is replicating a thousand knives, stabbing you at once in the same spot, even though you’ve had a dose of tylenol. 

Except it is.

He’s half to blame because he wanted the sex, too. There’s an IUD shoved up in there because you decided long ago that taking the pill was far too risky in this business, and he gets to go in without suiting up thanks to past you. 

You cannot have a kid right now. Not only are you both too young and this is far, far too new, but there’s the little detail about him being sentenced to hell to top things off. And you, stopping at nothing to stop it, when you’re not a whimpering puddle of hormones. 

You’re quite the pair.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” He pries your bundle of soiled clothes from your tight grip and offers out his other hand.

“I can manage from here,” you say, but he shakes his head. Pulls you out Baby’s door and through the one belonging to the laundromat, setting you down on the row of chairs in the middle without another word.

He drapes his leather jacket over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth and whiskey. Sweats, also his, that had hung off your hips, now balloon at your sides.

He’s wearing what he went to sleep in. His hair, still road worn at the back as he feeds your laundry into the machine.  

Your cheeks are warmer. You were all for throwing a tonne of salt on your pjs and lighting them up, but his superhuman powers of simply existing had him rapping on the bathroom door before you’d so much as rinsed the evidence away under the faucet. 

He saunters back over to you and sits down with a groan. Makes a spectacle when he throws his arm over yours and kisses your temple. “You good?” he says, and all you can do is nod. “Nothing to be embarrassed about. S’only natural.”

You lean into him. Let his body further warm yours and your nostrils with the added fruity smell of Tide. “You didn’t bleed all over the place.” 

“Not this time.” He shrugs.

But you’re still not convinced. The blood on the motel sheets didn’t come from your arm or your leg. It came from your hoo-ha, and while he’s right, it’s nothing to be ashamed of because it is perfectly natural. It happened in the same motel room you were sharing with Sam. In the bed you were sharing with Dean. And it happened even though you’d been prepared.

Worst of all, he’d put his hand in it, and while he insisted it wasn’t an issue, you’ve only been sleeping with him for three weeks. Came about after a drunken confession that he was scared shitless ‘bout going to hell, and it kind of stuck. You don’t even know if he is that to you, which makes this ten times worse. 

“Hey.” He nudges you with his hip, squeezes his arm tighter. “We’re busting out of this place today. It’s not like they’ll even remember you if we stay here again.” He tries like that’s the problem.

You know it’s to make you smile, and you appreciate it, you do, but, “That’s not what I’m worried about,” you say. 

“Then what is?” 

He releases his hold on you. Leans forward and back at the same time. Finds the angle that works for him and narrows his gaze at you.

Green eyes pierce your mortified ones, because now you have to tell him, ask him, and you’re licking over your lips, trying to moisten them so the words have something to slip on.

You’re an adult. You got this. Asking what you are to him should be the easiest thing in the world, but there’s that stigma that you’re not worthy. Just a little girl who messes up her bed. Drags her guy friend out in the middle of the night to clean up said mess and watches on as he cleans it up. 

“This.” You splay your arm out in front of you. Wave it around the general expanse of the room you’re in. 

“What? The laundromat?”

“No.” It’s not the place you’re pointing out. Not the wall of washing machines ahead, thirteen of them empty, bar that one, top centre, tumbling your clothes through its big barrel. Not the driers on the other wall, just as big. 

It’s the being here with him. Him sitting here with you waiting. Him acting like boyfriend material, when you don’t know where you stand.

“This,” you say. “Us.”

“Me and you?” His brow furrows. Voice normal, because he still doesn’t get it. 

“Yeah. Us.” You exemplify the you-and-him part with your still flailing arm. 

“Me helping you with your clothes is the problem?” He sits up, though you still feel his eyes on you. 

“Yes.” 

Thank god he gets it now. Only, “How?” he’s asking next, and you could shake him. Why do guys have to be so dumb?

Your hand is moving back and forth between you. You’re stretching to sit up and match him, but it’s cramping your cramping and you’re trying desperately to calm yourself down before saying, “We’re just fooling around. But you’re helping me with my period? It’s a little—”

“You think I’m fooling around?” Dean stands, and though he doesn’t turn around, you don’t need to see his face to know he’s angry. His bowed legs are twitching like they do when he gets mad. 

“It’s not like you’ve asked me out,” you say, defensive. His hot-temper and the pain are a little too much to handle together, but it’s also a little too late to back off now. “We haven’t sat down and talked about this.”

“About us?” He turns, jaw cutting the air. Sharp lines cross his whole face, actually. His brows, the crease between them, his lips, and god those are perfect, and you’re about to lose whatever this was that allowed you to touch them. Taste them, and all you can do is nod.

“What were you expecting me to do? Take you out to some fancy five-star restaurant and buy you lobster?”

Your head rocks to the side. Cheeks rising to squish your lashes as you stare back at him and blink through it. If they were warm before, they’re as hot as the heat pack you’d used earlier during the night before all this occurred. 

“Why—”

“Saw it in a movie once,” he says, words coming out the quickest you’ve heard him speak. The usual gruffness dissipated like he’s de-aged a couple of years by simply standing there. “Snails look gross.” 

“Another movie?”

He nods. 

You wanna ask what the hell he’s been watching, but you’re more concerned by his unusual demeanor. His hands are fidgeting, smoothing his sides. His eyes have dropped to the floor and there’s the whole eating shell…fish thing?

“Look at me,” he says next, but you are. 

You’re seeing his tentative step forward. His arms splayed out like he’s showing you something more than what’s there, and that’s when you realise you’re the one that’s dumb. You’re the one that’s not getting it. 

He didn’t fuss once. Didn’t screw up his nose at you when he realised you weren’t hurt from the hunt like he originally thought. And you’re not saying all the men that have ever been in your life have been grossed out by periods and bodily functions, but Dean exceeded whatever expectation and stereotype you had. 

He’d insisted you stay at the motel while he came here for you, but you were too embarrassed to allow that. Too prudish to let the guy who’s seen all of you up close and personal do something even more intimate than even you’d prefer and now he’s standing there suggesting he’s not good enough? 

“I am looking at you,” you say. “Guess I wasn’t before, but I am now.” 

And even though it still cramps your cramps, you’re standing up and walking over to him. Feeling his jacket clip your sides where his sweats have fallen. You’re clinging to his shirt and pulling him in close so you can kiss those lips of his and taste. 

You’d put your all into it, but his hands are hovering at your waist and you know his eyes are wide open, watching. So you lean back, chew on your cheek, smooth the fabric of his shirt back from where your grip scrunched it up, and, “Sorry,” you whisper. You’re not sure what else to do, but what you’re apologising for is lost on you, too.

It’s not like it’s the first time. He’s kissed you plenty, and not just the peck on your forehead minutes earlier. His mouth has touched every inch of your body, and every inch of him has touched yours, so why is this so damn hard now?

Your chin drops like a scolded child. May as well have with the silence between you. Can’t say the same for the room, but the tumbling of the drum is only making things worse because the clicking of your clothes is acting like a countdown for the timer on the machine and whatever he’s going to do next.

Do you say something? Do you wait for him? Your cheek is going to have a hole in it soon if someone doesn’t say something and thank god, or not, his mouth opens to, but, “Forget I said anything,” you cut in. Shake your head and step away from his space. “I should’ve—”

“Would you just shut up?” His voice booms, and great, there’s that gruffness you were missing. 

Your nose tingles from his stare, and you’re opening your mouth again, but the look he gives you? Eyebrows to the heavens, green eyes looking more amber, like they’ve been lit by a flame? Yeah. You close it, chest heaving as you wait and listen.

“I just,” he says, and it’s quieter. “I thought we were on the same page.”

His fingers reach for yours and he pulls you back. If you were on a boat, you’d be dealing with motion sickness right about now, and truly, it’s how your stomach’s fairing. Just adding more to the discomfort of your middle, and why not? You’ve already given Dean a conniption. What’s one more grievance between the two of you?

“I’m no good, sweetheart. I’m going to hell.”

You want to interject with why that is. That it was a selfless act, but his thumb rubbing over the back of your hand, teed with the softness in his voice and the continual ‘I’m talking here’ glare keeps your lips tight. 

“Can’t say I’d be happy if I saw you picking up some other douchebag at the bar. Like to think I’m the only guy that gets to do your laundry. Least until,” he shrugs. Gives you a rueful smile, “y’know?”  

And you do know. You’re swallowing the ache in your throat, waiting just a little longer to make sure he’s finished before you try again. 

You nod, and it’s solemn, slow. You don’t want to think about it, but the truth is there, hanging over both your heads. An elephant in the room who’s laughing at you and your complaints. Where Dean’s going, he’s going to be feeling a lot more than any tylenol could alleviate, and it really puts things in perspective. 

So, “Yeah,” you say, and though you want to add you don’t want to pick up anyone else but him, ever, it’s a little too real, too involved than whatever this thing is now. You’d rather be trying that kiss again, but first you add, “As long as you’re not doing the same.”

“Cross my heart.” His mouth opens wide as he tugs your arm. Pulls you in and plants his mouth over yours.

It steals your breath away. The way he holds you. Wrapping his arms around your torso and squeezing, gentle enough to not cause you anymore discomfort, but present enough to soak in his warmth and solid form.

His tongue clips your teeth, spreads his morning breath and a taste that you know only from him over your lips. 

Your gut calms. The cramps overpowered by the tingles from his nose, his fingers, chin and arms surrounding you, touching you, and you don’t want it to end. 

But Dean lets go, only by a little. His face stays hovering inches from yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“So have I made myself clear?” he asks. Chuckles when you rap his shoulder. His hand lets go and swipes at a strand of hair that’s probably been sticking out since you woke. Tucks it behind your ear.

You’re a bigger mess than you’ve been letting on, but the gesture returns his grin. 

“Not fooling around?” you say, and he repeats it. Places a kiss on your forehead again, and drags you back to the seats. 

His arm wraps around your shoulders once more and your head leans into his. 

Four AM, and you’re no longer freezing your tits off. Cramping? A little, but the pouts, no longer there. There’s a warmth in your cheeks and one in your heart, though, and you’re sitting with the sweetest guy in the world.

You won’t label it. There’s no need. You know he’s hanging around, at least as long as he can. You just gotta find that loophole. Keep him here with you and Sam, and then who knows? 

Maybe one day you’ll leave this life of visiting laundromats at odd hours because you’ll have a place of your own. 

And then, the only red you’ll see will be the one you’re dealing with now, and the shade that crosses Dean’s nose when he says something real and important.

This started out as another idea for Couple Things involving Dean and his red gym teacher shorts, also at the laundromat, but it developed into what it is now. I’ll probably still write the other version as a part two to this eventually.

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[jollyhunter]

Shower Reliever

⋆ ˚｡⋆ COUPLE Dean Winchester x f!Reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆ WARNINGS SMUT 18+ MDNI, established relationship, menstruating (evil cramps!!), tooth-rotting sweet fluff, mention of blood (light), Dean being dorky and cute, guided masturbation in the shower? (idk how to tag this sryyy), Dean’s misuse of a shower head as a magic wand, no use of Y/N, English isn’t my native language

⋆ ˚｡⋆ SUMMARY It’s that time of the month; Cramps are tormenting you, but Dean’s there to cheer you up and look after you by giving you some relief. ♡ ⋆ ˚｡⋆ WORDS 4,2k

It’s afternoon. Or maybe it’s evening.

How are you supposed to know when you’re surrounded by the bunker’s concrete and artificial light all day?

A pathetic, writhing-weeping blood sacrifice wrapped up in bed sheets like a burrito. That’s what you are. Ready to be served. Honestly, though? Big Hellhound pupper toying with your guts suddenly seems much more appealing than a day ago. At least the doggo wouldn’t take three damn days to rip your innards out.

But you won’t complain. Because right now? Things seemed oddly… okay? It’s almost suspicious.

A deep sigh of relief falls of your lips and you dare to sprawl out on the mattress. Star-fish formation. Plain ceiling staring back down at you.

You’re maybe 5 seconds into your newfound content - and then the little bitch ruins it by raking her peeler down your walls. A sharp hiss presses past your clenched teeth.

Nevermind. Here she goes again.

Peeling your uterus out from the inside. Like Lilith herself is down there, having a feast on your unborn – and very non-existent – baby.

Muffled by Dean’s pillow, you scream. Fuck that time of the month.

Why’s it always that time of the month? Again and again and again.

Why can’t you just get the period twice a year like a bitch and get on with it? It’s not like you signed up for this. In fact, you’d very much like to file a complaint.

Not that Chuck would care. “That bastard knows why he doesn’t own an uterus...” you grumble.

A hot flush shoots through your body. Wheezing takes over your breathing. The bedsheets go flying along some of the pillows you’d burrowed yourself in.

Burning up. Hot. Your body feels like your ovaries decided to have a meltdown.

You roll around the bed, aimlessly. A ball of messy hair. Entangled in the sweat-drenched pyjama you couldn’t get yourself to change from. Arms clutched around your stomach, fingers clawing at the hot-water bag which so far hasn’t done much more than give you third-degree burns and only add to the feverish heat steaming beneath your skin.

When the door to your and Dean’s bedroom opens, you can’t even bring yourself to lift your head. Instead you’re curled up like a salted snail, squirming, each and every noise escaping from you thick with pain.

“Hey baby, ‘m back…” Dean greets you from across the room, his voice dying down as he spots you on the bed just where he'd left you this morning.

Your face plants into the sheets when you double over from another stab to your uterus.

“It’s trying to kill me, Dean,” you whimper into the mattress. Dean’s face contorts at your strangled sound.

“That bad?” It’s a stupid question, and he realizes it the moment it leaves his mouth. Of course it’s bad. You look like hell.

And worst is, it’s been going like this the entire day already. First time Dean’s witnessing it from the start, too. You’d been together for a couple of months now, but you being you, you’d so far managed to slip away just in time before your period kicked down the door.

Now that you moved in with the boys in the bunker that didn’t seem an option any longer.

You watch Dean’s face harden, the way it always does when he starts to feel helpless.

Indeed, Dean could feel the frustration claw on the inside of his chest. To the point he secretly wished your state would just be the aftermath of a hunt gone wrong.

At least he would know what to do then, y’know? Clean your wounds, stitch you back together if needed – maybe it wouldn’t look as neat as when you did it, but it’d do the job – because that’s what he’s good at.

But this? He didn’t quite know how to work with this.

There’s no injury he could just patch up. No swig of whiskey to dampen the pain. No way for him to help. And watching you writhe like you were being tortured from the inside, was killing him.

He sighs. The shopping bag in his hand gets dropped to the floor and he rounds the bed to your side. A frustrated hand ruffles back his hair. His eyes taking in the battlefield you’ve caused. And they come to rest on your crumpled form, smack in the middle of it all.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart…” he mutters softly. And he means it. You know he does. The words were simple, yet you know that if he could, he’d take your pain away in a heartbeat. But he can’t. Because for some reason, despite all the supernatural crap you get to deal with on a daily basis, this isn’t an option.

Damn you Chuck.

You make a sound between a whine and a sigh at the grave conclusion, at which Dean’s eyebrows pull together.

The bed dips down beside you and next moment the warmth of his body presses against your side. He slowly runs his hand over your shoulders to rub your back in soothing circles.

“Anything I can do to make you feel better..?” he asks.

“Rip it out. Use it for your next blood sacrifice. Sell it to Crowley. I don’t care- I don’t want it no more,” you wail while crawling into his lap, your face burying into his grey shirt and the blue jacket that’s partially covering it.

“Jesus,”– Dean laughs softly, his deep voice rumbling under your cheeks –“Yeah, not happening.”

His arms wrap around you to pull you closer. The familiar smell of his fills your senses when you nuzzle your nose into the fabric of his clothes. A combination of his musk, fresh lemon and a hint of sweetness of his cologne clouds your mind.

Your muscles relax for a fraction. Melting into his heavy embrace. It’s odd how just a smell can have such a calming effect. As of right now, you wished you could just climb into his shirt, buttoned-up, and pressed flush against his body. All safe, warm and fuzzy.

But Uterus-Lilith had different plans. The sharp wince you try to bite back, doesn’t go unnoticed by Dean.

“My poor baby… C’mere…” He leans down to place a tender kiss onto your crown while he cradles you on his lap like a wounded animal.

His chin comes to rest on top of your head. Lips press against your hair. “It’ll pass… You’ll feel better soon… My brave girl…” he murmurs softly and you sigh.

Another twinge to your abdomen. Your body jolts, then caves in. Dean startles for a moment but then tightens his arms around you, pulling you up against his chest.

While he continues to rub your back, his other hand begins to card through the back of your hair. “Shhh, it’s okay… I got you…”

“It’s like the damn thing is committing sepukku,” you lament with fingers curled into his shirt. Nose buried in his chest. Trying everything to physically ground you until the cramp goes by.

At that comparison, Dean’s eyebrows shoot up and his lips twitch into a pressed smirk. “Damn it, don’t make me laugh.” His stomach contracts and shakes beneath you.

In response, a disgruntled noise gets huffed into his chest. And Dean can’t help a short, surprised snort.

“Sepukku?” He tries so hard to sound serious and to hold in his chuckles, but finally loses his battle. “Seriously?” He shakes his head lightly and his green eyes crinkle slightly when he continues to tease you, “You telling me, you got a wee little Samurai down there?”

A wee little Samurai throwing a tantrum in your uterus? Okay, that image carried a smile to your lips. Sounds a lot cooler than Lilith feeding on your unborn child.

Unfortunately the wee little Samurai was not amused and rammed its katana once more into your uterus.

Another jolt goes through your body. Another strangled sound follows. You burrow your face even further into his arms in hopes that his smell will just work like some narcotics.

Perhaps it’ll just knock me out when I dig my face deep enough into his shirt? A weird thought. But you guess that’s just what menstrual hormones mixed with pain does.

“Yes,” you wince, “And it failed to conceive a child,” then groan in agony, “So now it wants to punish me for it.”

Now Dean actually has to bite back a hearty laughter. “Oh, sweetie,”– he taps your head lightly with his finger –“Look on the bright side. At least we know I didn't knock you up. It's like a free monthly pregnancy test.“

That jab would have earned him a deadpan glare of yours if it wasn’t for the next attack on your inner walls and your body jerked into his arms this time.

Dean’s light-hearted expression contorts into a pained one. Jaws clenched with a twinge of guilt.

“Want me to get you some painkillers? Or – uh – maybe some whisky?” he inquires, his head tilted down in an attempt to meet your gaze. But your eyes are scrunched up, face still hidden in his bunched up shirt.

“Baby, can you look at me for a sec?” he pleads, while his hands slip underneath to cradle your chin now, coaxing you out of your den. You lift your head, just enough to meet his concerned eyes.

“None of that helps…” you mutter. Although you did wonder whether whiskey might even do the trick. Get the wee little samurai bitch a little tipsy down there, hm? Maybe it would pass out?

No – no, now you’re thinking like Dean. That’s a terrible idea.

“Imagine you’re getting stabbed in the stomach and the blade gets twisted. Repeatedly. For hours.”

Dean winces inwardly at your description. A hand instinctively clutches his stomach. He doesn’t have to imagine what that pain feels like. He knows.

He shakes his head like he’s trying to snap out of some memories from downstairs, his eyes back on you just when you writhe again with a stifled groan.

“Okay, that‘s enough. I‘m getting you off the rack,” he declares and you don’t even get the chance to react when he’s already scooping your curled up form up into his arms.

“W-what? What are you going to do, Dean?” you ask confused while he pulls you to your feet and starts leading you out the bedroom and down the bunker's hallway.

"I'm going to distract you," he replies, glancing back over his shoulder at you while he leads you to the main bathroom, "I did some digging this morning... to see what I could do to help with your period cramps, and it looks like an orgasm might do the trick."

You stop in your tracks. Quick enough for Dean to almost stumble into the bathrooms doorframe.

"N-no," you squeak, eyes wide.

"No, what? No it won't work or no you don't-"

"No, I'm fine."

"So it does work?"

"Well- uh-" you trip over your words when the heat rushes to your cheeks, "It's - it's different when I... uh..."

"Hey, it's okay. Nothing to be ashamed of," he chuckles softly and brings up his hand to cup your cheek, "Is it 'cuz of the blood? You do know I don't care about it, right? You really think I won't touch you just 'cause you're on your period?"

"No, but... it's awkward... and gross..." you mumble, eyes averted as you can feel the heat going both ways now.

Because, even if you wouldn't admit it, you did feel a bit horny. It's just one of those many fluctuating emotions a period entails. In those blessed days, it feels like your mood is being regulated by a pinball machine. And as of right now, it hit the tingling nub at the very bottom.

"Gross? Honey, I've been covered in guts, sludge, crap and all sorts of other nasty stuff. Do you honestly think a little blood's gonna phase me?" He tilts your head up to make you look at him, his lips twitch in amusement but his words are genuine, "You're not gross, sweetheart. Not to me..."

"But-" the next argument forms on your lips when he dives down to muffle them with a kiss. Your cheeks cradled by his large hands. Tender, soft, but enough to shut you up and make you melt into him.

When he finally pulls back, his plump lips still hovering inches from yours, he speaks softly.

“Why don’t you just let me take care of you?”

His green eyes flick back and forth between yours, intense and yet calming. And really, how could you ever say no to him when he looks at you like you'll break his heart if you don't let him help you.

A sudden twinge in your stomach has you hunch over, and it's enough to finally convince you to let go of your tribulations with a weak nod of yours.

“Okay," you wince under your sharp exhale. The pain in your voice has Dean's hands dart down, one to your contracted stomach and one to the small of your back.

"Alright then, c'mon, sweetheart..." he mutters. Then gently guides you towards the shower after he closed and locked the door behind you.

When he notices how your teeth pull at your lower lip the way they always do when you're overthinking things, he grabs both of your hands. He squeezes them to get you to look at him, just to bestow you with one of his trademark grins. Confident, cheeky and oh so lovable.

“You trust me, right? It won't be awkward, promise. Nothing wrong with giving my girl some relief. Besides... This is purely therapeutic,” he quips and winks at you.

Once both of your clothes are piled up in a corner, you pad over the cold tiles and into the shower. Dean slides in after you, his naked body flush against your skin, his body heat a warm welcome in the cold air of the large bathroom. His arms envelop you from behind, one hand splayed out on your stomach to try and sooth your cramps, the other reaching for the shower head to pull it from its holder.

“Lean back, I got you baby,” he assures you while tugging you gently further back into his chest.

He turns on the shower, tests the temperature until it's the perfect heat and then slowly brings it down to the level of your stomach with the spray of water still pointed to the floor.

“Spread your legs a bit for me, sweetie,” he gently nudges his knee between your thighs, coaxing you into a wider stance while he continues to hum above you, “Mhm, that's it. Now just relax and lemme take care of you...”

Dean rests his chin on top of your head, the stubbles tingling your scalp as he does so. The air around you slowly begins to mix with steam while his body holds you close. Save and protected. The world reduced to just the two of you and the warmth hugging you from head to toe. Your thoughts and worries are drowned out by the rhythmic pattering of the droplets hitting the smooth shower floor as the sound echoes off of the tiled bunker walls all around you.

You feel yourself relax against him, despite the occasional, small jolts of pain which keep reminding you of that fact.

At last, a heavy sigh drops off your lips. The signal Dean has been waiting for.

He tugs at the hose, just enough to guide the water up your legs, then your thighs...

When the first jet of water hits right on your bundle of nerves, you almost buckle over with a gasped, “Oh shit-”

Your fingernails bite into the skin of his forearms, drawing a hiss from him. He moves his free hand to your hip, his grip on your squishy flesh gentle but strong. Steadying and grounding you.

“Feels good?” he asks while playing with the angle of the shower head.

You nod. Jolting whenever one of the water jets grazes your sensitive spot.

“Want me to keep goin‘?”

“Mhm,” you hum.

The hand on your hips slides over the bump on your bones and dips down between your legs. Next moment, calloused fingers slip along your folds to spread them open.

You shiver under the touch of his rough fingertips and at the feeling of him coating them in some of your arousal.

He angles the shower head slightly lower now, until a row of water jets skim your entrance. Your breath hitches. Then comes out in a shaky whimper.

Your legs start to go weak, feeling like jello.

Dean gently tugs you up again and pulls your back flush into his chest to keep you upright, making sure he's your anchor in this tidal wave of pleasure he's drowning you in.

“Just let go... that’s it…” he coos, now his head angled to nuzzle his nose against your temple.

Another shockwave travels through your body and tightens your coil even more, to the point it feels like it’s going to explode soon.

Your head drops back onto Dean‘s shoulder. Neck draped over his collarbone, just where his anti-possession tat lays. Shaky and ragged breaths mingle in the damp air of the shower.

“Just relax,” he places a kiss to your temple, his stubbles tingling the wet skin as he murmurs, “I got you.”

His fingers spread you further while he brings the shower head closer, allowing some of the water to push past your entrance.

“Oh fuck- Dean-” you gasp and whine at the same time.

„Language, young lady,“ he chides playfully, „This is purely therapeutical, remember?“

You choke on a giggle when he moves the shower head a fraction lower and the water jet grazes your sensitive nub just the right way, enough to send an intense jolt of pleasure through your body.

“Ah, so that's the magic angle, huh?” Dean laughs softly, his chest rumbling against your back.

“Uh-huh,” you manage to get out in a weak whimper as Dean's making sure to keep the right angle.

The intensity has your nerves on fire, like your core's being hooked up to electricity with hundreds of little needles tingling your most sensitive spot.

“M-move - p-please,” you beg in a shaky voice that has Dean's smile next to your cheek widen.

“Guide me,” he prompts softly, the hand on the shower head waiting for your instructions. You slip your hand along his strong arm, over the bump of his wrist, until you cover his hand with your tender fingers.

Slowly you begin to guide his hand into small, circular motions. The water jets brush your nub now from all sides, the overwhelming sensation enough to make you whimper weakly and your head loll to the side to bury your nose under his jaw.

“Too much?” he asks, his head tips to the side to look down into your eyes. You shake your head, lips parted, eyes half-lidded as they meet his. Hair’s stuck to your damp, flushed, skin, pupils blown wide, gaze intoxicated from pleasure.

The corner of his lips tugs into a smirk at your blissful expression. It's such a stark contrast to what you'd looked like moments ago when you were doubling over from pain. And if it wasn’t for the special circumstances, he’d make sure to keep you in this state all day and night. The growing pressure of his own arousal heavy against your back is evidence of his thoughts.

But this is about you now. His needs will just have to wait for – for… how long did a period even last? A day? Two? Hm, maybe if you’d feel comfortable enough, he wouldn’t need to wait this long. But one step at a time.

When your legs begin to shake, Dean presses his lips to your ear, murmuring into it, deep and hoarse from his own arousal.

“You’re doing so well for me… Now close your eyes, sweetheart. I want you to just relax and feel…”

You don't have to be told twice. The intensity is enough to make your eyes flutter close, squinting them even as your face contorts from the jolts of pleasure coursing through your body like a firework.

“Now I want you to imagine it's my mouth down there...”

While he keeps you distracted with the images he's painting in his husky voice, the hand on your folds leaves you and he reaches for the tap, increasing the water pressure.

“Y'know... the way I like to wrap my lips around you… and suck on that cute little bean 'til you're sobbing.”

“O-oh my God-” you mewl after the hard jet of water swallows your pulsing nub, causing your legs to buckle. The feeling's like a lightning bolt has just hit you. And it just keeps striking. Your other hand darts to his thigh behind you, fingernails biting into his skin in an attempt to ground you. But the jolts of pleasure set the nerves down your legs on hot white fire now, with everything from your stomach downwards tingling.

“That’s the reaction I was hoping for…” he chuckles and keeps going with his sweet words of praise somewhere outside of your clouded mind.

Images of Dean kneeling between your legs pulse under your eyelids. How his broad shoulders shove your knees apart, keeping your legs spread as they begin to fight him from the intensity of his mouth on your core. How the soft flesh of your thighs is squished under the force of his fingers, how you witness the veins on his arms pop as his muscles work relentlessly to prevent you from squirming away. How he holds your gaze the entire time, pupils blown up wide from hunger and lust as they eat away the deep emerald pools circling them.

Ragged breaths leave your lips. Another row of jolts has your body shaking in his arms. Each one driving you closer to your climax until you’re teetering on the edge. When your body begins to fight him and thrash around, Dean quickly tightens his grip around your hips to hold you in place.

He moves his lips to your temple, planting a tender kiss there, prickling stubbles brush the side of your face while he continues to talk you through it.

“You're doing so well... Let go for me, sweetheart... I've got you, I'll catch you, promise.”

Just when you feel yourself tip over, his free hand leaves your core to the constant onslaught of the circling water jets and moves it to your hand. His fingers slide between yours, intertwining them.

Then the tidal wave crashes down on you.

Dean's hand squeezes yours. The corner of his lips still pressed to your temple.

A guttural sound leaves the back of your throat when waves after waves of ecstasy course through you, enough for your knees to give in as your body goes limp.

“Oh- we goin' down?” he jokes softly as he follows your movement.

As promised, Dean catches you right after you've dropped some inches. Chuckling lightly above you as he pulls you back to your feet. Legs still shaky like a newborn foal’s.

“C'mon, bambi...” - he teases and slides the shower head back into place before he wraps both of his arms around your waist and turns you to face you with a soft smile - “…there you go.” You smile back at him, your hands finding purchase on his hips, gaze still a bit woozy.

He brushes a damp strand of hair out of your face, head tilted down to your eye-level, “Hey there, sweetie. You feeling better?”

“Yes,” you sigh, one of relief at the missing pain. At least for the moment. You melt into his embrace, feeling how your wet and naked bodies lock together like a perfect puzzle piece. “So much better.”

“Good, that’s good…” he murmurs into your hair after your forehead had dropped to his chest.

After a moment of peaceful silence, a mischievous grin creeps onto his face.

He clears his throat.

“You want me to battle that wee little samurai with my sword now?”

It takes your dazed mind a moment to catch up with his rather creative innuendo.

Once it hits you, you sputter an amused chuckle, “Please don’t.”

Dean huffs through his nose, feigning disappointment.

“Aw c’mon… Y'know, I’ve always wanted to fight a samurai… I’d make a pretty good Nathan Algren, don’t ya think?” he quips, then his lips quirk into a boyish, innocent grin as he adds, “...and my sword wouldn't mind getting bloody either.”

Now this has you raise your head to meet his cheeky expression and burst out in laughter.

“You do us both a favour and keep your mighty sword in your pants for now, you hear me? Idiot-” you playfully slap his chest, the wet sound echoing off the bathroom tiles. Dean’s grin doesn’t waver, instead his hands on your back slide down your spine until they reach your ass cheeks.

He clicks his tongue.

“Hey, don’t knock it until you’ve tried it, s’all I’m sayin’,” he jabs softly as he pats both your ass cheeks. His eyes crinkle at the corner, and he's got a secret smile on his face, proud of how he made you not only smile, but laugh, despite the hell trip you’re on. Maybe he’s not as helpless as he thought.

His features suddenly harden, eyes narrowed as they dart down to your stomach, a pointed finger now prodding the spot below your bellybutton.

“Now back to you,” he growls, you giggle, and he has to fight to keep a straight face and his voice especially low and warning as he continues, “You leave my girl alone now. Or else I’ll personally come down there and take care of you, Tom Cruise style. You hear me you evil little bitch?”

⋆ ˚｡⋆ J/NOTES May Dean bring some relief to all of you poor, fellow victims of Uterus Lilith. <3

And thank you, @ambiguous-avery for your help with the correct name for the shower head lol 😌

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[castielscaplan]

No Room For Mistakes (dean w.)

Summary: Dean saves you from a hunt gone wrong and some feelings get involved.

Warnings: feelings, angst, reader almost gets hurt on a hunt, dean's angry and worried. the L word is used.

WC: 531

A/N: shout out to my beta @mermaidxatxheart ilysm <3

Read on ao3!

The motel room was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from the neon sign flickering outside the window as the bedside lamps barely shone through the shades. You stood by the table, hands braced against its surface, your breath uneven as the weight of the night settled over you.

You were scared but you'd never admit it. Not even to Dean, though he's the one that had saved your ass from getting killed tonight.

Dean paced near the door, jaw clenched, his fists tight at his sides. The hunt had gone sideways. Way sideways. And you had almost—

"You shouldn’t have gone in alone," Dean’s voice cut through the thick silence, rough with anger.

You exhaled sharply, refusing to turn around. "I didn’t have a choice, Dean."

"Bullshit," he snapped.

You spun to face him, anger all over your face to mask the terror that was quickly subsiding. "It was either that or let an innocent family die, Dean!" Your voice wavered, frustration and exhaustion mixing in.

Dean raked a hand through his hair, his breathing uneven. "You almost died."

"You think I don’t know that?" you shot back. "But I don’t have the luxury of making mistakes. Every move I make could get me killed. It’s just the way it is in this hellfire life! You know this, so do I!"

Dean took a step closer, his green eyes burning with something unreadable—anger, fear, something deeper. "That’s not how this works," he said, voice lower now, but no less intense. "We don’t do this alone. You don’t do this alone. You need to tell me when you're going on goddamn suicide missions!"

You swallowed, the fight in you faltering just a little as you looked away from him. "I knew what I was doing."

Dean shook his head. "Yeah? Then tell me—what would I have done if you didn’t come back?" His voice cracked, just slightly, and it hit you harder than any yell ever could. "Do you think I would ever want to live without you?"

You blinked, suddenly aware of just how close he was now. Close enough that you could see the tightness in his jaw, the way his hands twitched like he wanted to reach for you but wasn’t sure if he should.

Your throat went dry. "Dean…"

He exhaled sharply, then ran a hand down his face, trying to steady himself. "Just—just don’t do that again, okay? I can’t…" He trailed off, looking away.

Something in your chest clenched. You knew Dean. Knew how hard it was for him to say things. But this? This was as close to a confession as you were ever going to get.

So instead of answering, you reached out, your fingers grazing his hand. He flinched—just a little—before finally, finally, he let his fingers curl around yours.

"I’m here," you murmured. "I'm alive. I'm alive all because of you and your overprotectiveness. And I will always be grateful for that."

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, like he was trying to commit that to memory. Then, when he looked at you again, some of the tension had drained from his shoulders.

"Don't scare me like that again, please."

--

//this is your reminder that this is tumblr and reblogs are appreciate and welcome//

[inosukijiro]

✮⋆˙ cuddles with dean

𝘀𝘆𝗻. ━ dean learns to be a little selfish.

𖤐 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 .ᐟ deans my cutie little lovebug and i just want him to sleep peacefully this is my dream and i definitely got carried away writing this (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) okay bye

𖤐 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 .ᐟ fluffy fluff with angst(?). cuddles. mentions of deans time in hell, and his low self-esteem. dean-centric. gender-neutral reader. modern reader in spn. isn’t really season specific, but set anytime after season 4. probably ooc (again). i may have rushed at the end, sorry. 2.68k words. 

   ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

It takes Dean a long time before he ever allows himself to be put in this position — vulnerable, open, seen. It’s not something he does. It’s not something he can do, or at least, not that easily. His life has never really been about him. Every good thing he’d ever done, every ounce of effort or care, it’s always been for someone else: Sam, Dad, the job. He’d never done anything for himself that didn’t somehow bleed into someone else. And even then, it never felt like enough.

Sam is his little brother, his responsibility. He raised him, he bled for him, he died for him. Dean had went to Hell with Sam’s name carved into every broken piece of him. Most people wouldn’t do that. But Dean Winchester isn’t most people. He’s his father's little soldier, the good son, the obedient one. There was never room for anything else. Never any space to figure out who he was outside of someone else's shadow. He didn’t belong to himself. Not when he was Sam’s guard dog. Not when he was John’s perfectly crafted weapon.

Dean hates himself — that much is obvious. He doesn’t need to say it out loud because he’s pretty sure that everyone already has that figured out, even if he wants to pretend that it isn’t true. It shows in the way he moves, the way he talks, the way he tears himself down before anyone else can get the chance to. He calls himself selfish, even though everything he’s ever done has been for the sake of everyone else. But he doesn’t see it that way. Dean never has. To him, sacrificing everything he is was just the bare minimum. That’s what he should do. Because what is he, if not useful? What is he, if not needed?

He’s so used to standing alone, to being the last line between the people he loves and the things that want to tear them apart. He'd rather it be him than anyone else — because somewhere along the way, he decided that his life just doesn't hold the same worth. Not like Sam's. Not like yours. And he hates that it hurts, but he also hates that he even thinks about wanting anything at all. Because wanting is selfish. Needing is selfish. And comfort? That’s not something Dean thinks he’d ever be allowed.

He’s touch-starved. He’s touch-starved in a way that's ingrained deep within his bones, but he’s convinced himself that this is just how it’s supposed to be. That he doesn’t get softness. Doesn’t get warmth. Doesn’t get to be held, or healed, or cared for. And if he ever lets himself want it — if he ever lets someone close enough to see how tired he is — then what does that make him? Weak? Needy? 

Yeah, it takes Dean a long while to let himself be put in this position — in your arms, safe, and loved, and for him to think that maybe he does deserve it. Even if he hasn’t earned it the way he thinks he’s supposed to. When it's so clear that all you want is to give it to him, no strings attached. It’s like coaxing a wild animal – careful, patient, and slow. You never corner Dean with affection, never overwhelm him with your gentle nature he doesn’t think he’s allowed to want. You just exist in his space, solid and steady, a quiet kind of constant that doesn’t ask for anything in return. And maybe that’s what gets to him most, that you don’t expect him to earn your kindness. You’re just there. And over time, that simple act starts to chip away at something inside him, something he didn’t even realize was still breakable.

It started with the smallest things. Your fingers brushing against his whenever you pass him something. The way you rest your hand on his arm when patching him up. They’re nothing, really — just harmless touches that you probably don’t even think about twice. But Dean does. He thinks about them more than he should. At first, he tells himself it's because he's not used to it. But the truth is, he misses it when it's gone. And that terrifies him. Because wanting something for himself? That’s not in the job description. That’s not who he’s supposed to be.

So when you get together and the cuddling starts, it’s always him as the big spoon. Of course it is. That’s who Dean is — the protector, the shield. He doesn’t let himself be held, not yet. He keeps watch even in the deepest of sleeps and in the darkest of nights, as if danger might strike at any moment. But your warmth seeps into him, like sunlight soaking into skin long starved of it. Dean’s drawn to you in a way that he hasn’t been drawn to anyone or anything before. His hand drifts to your chest, his breath soft and calm against your shoulder. It’s never deliberate, not at first, but over time it happens more often — these small, tender trespasses into comfort. And soon one day, without thinking, he simply lets himself fold right into you.

Dean revels in it more than he’ll ever admit. The way he fits so nice and easily in your arms — like he was always meant to be there. His head rests just above your heart, breathing synced with yours in the kind of rhythm that makes the world feel quiet for once. He's tucked into you so firm, your arms wrapping around him to secure him to you. As if in that moment, if something were to come through those motel doors, they would have to pry Dean from your cold dead hands. Because right now, he’s hidden from the world by the comforter that lays gingerly over him. It comes right up to his head, only his hair is visible to anyone that dare to even check. The only person that can truly see him is you. 

And Dean loves the little things that you do. Like how your fingers will trace shapes into the back of his neck, absent-minded and soft, like you’re painting calmness directly into his skin. Sometimes he wonders if you're drawing sigils or love notes, or just letting your touch wander. He doesn’t care what it is, though, just to be clear. He doesn’t care what you do. It leaves him feeling weightless, like his body is finally remembering what it feels like to be safe. That sensation, those tingles running down his spine, are enough to anchor him in the moment. And when everything else in his life has been chaos and guilt, and war — your touch is the one thing that doesn’t ask anything of him.

Which reminds him why he loves your hands. The way they move with such care, so soft it nearly breaks him into pieces. They’re nothing like his own — scarred, calloused, blood-soaked and burned by the weight of a world he never had a choice in. Your hands don’t carry the same kind of grief. They don’t know what it’s like to be dragged through Hell, to scream for years that don’t exist in time, to become the thing he swore he’d never be. He still remembers every second of it, every moment he was the one on the rack — the one being tortured, and worse, becoming the torturer.  And somehow, your hands still touch him like he’s someone worth such devotion.

That’s what gets to him the most. Your hands are from a place far far away, untouched by the things that plague his. There are no hunts or horrors quite like this life. And it’s that contrast that makes his mind wander. Because how could someone like you, with your soft hands and open heart, want someone like him? Someone who hates himself, who always puts others before himself and still believes he’s selfish for wanting anything in return. But even with all of that, even with everything screaming that he shouldn’t take it, he does. 

And you don’t mind. It surprises Dean the most how you completely and effortlessly don’t mind. He keeps waiting for the catch sometimes, for the moment when you pull away or start to expect something in return. But it never comes. Not with you. You let him hold on as tightly as he needs to, let him drape his weight across you like he’s something heavy and fragile all at once. His strong arms lock around your waist, pressing you close like he’s afraid of being pulled away. And even when his body sinks into yours like a living blanket — too warm, too much — you never pull away. If anything, you melt right into him, and he basks in that. In you.

You’d never complain. Dean doesn’t know if anything he does actually bothers you — nothing ever seems to — but that doesn’t stop him from overthinking. He worries about taking too much, about letting himself get too comfortable in a role he was never allowed to want. He questions if he’s too heavy, if he’s clinging too tightly, if maybe it’s selfish to crave softness when his whole life has been about giving it away. Sometimes, all it takes is a subtle shift from you, a stretch or a sigh, and his brain darkens with guilt. He’ll apologize under his breath, pulling back just slightly, ready to undo the comfort he let himself believe he could have. But you notice — of course you notice — and you meet it with tenderness, never rejection.

You resettle without hesitation, like you want him there, and he almost can’t handle how gently you handle him. You stroke the back of his neck with featherlight fingers, your arms curling around his broad frame as if you’re telling him to stay — that he’s safe. You press soft kisses to the crown of his head, murmuring reassurances in a voice that wraps around his heart like a warm blanket. It undoes him. Every single time. 

You might shift again, though this time it's much more gentle and slow, but Dean will barely register it. He’s just barely treading the line of that quiet space between sleep and wakefulness, just conscious enough to feel the warmth of you wrapped around him. And suddenly, a low, involuntary sound escapes him — so low that Sam who’s been long asleep couldn’t hear. It’s soft, almost like a whine, and you’re pretty sure if he were awake enough to notice, he’d probably deny it ever happened. But you do hear it, and it pulls a quiet laugh from your throat; a breathy sound laced with fondness and it tickles at Dean's brain. Though a sleepy pout tugs at your lips, even as you smile, and you lean in close to whisper a little teasing, “What’s wrong, hm?” but you already know. You know exactly what he wants, what he needs, because you’ve come to understand him in ways no one else ever has.

Your hand finds its way into his hair, still a little damp from the shower — the strands soft like clouds and a few curl slightly at the ends. Your fingers scratch lightly at his scalp, in slow and soothing consistent movements, while your other hand rests along his back; drawing slow, tender circles that feel like medicine to his aching and tension-filled body. You coo something nice, something sweet that melts into the space between you. It makes his mind go fuzzy and causes him to drift deeper. You don’t care that he’s heavy, or clingy, or quiet — you just want him to feel good. To be cared for, completely and unconditionally. And in this moment, that’s exactly what he lets you do. He doesn’t fight it. He can’t.

Your kisses are the softest sound he’s ever heard. Little clicks as your lips part from his skin, quiet and sweet and endlessly patient. Every single one makes him burrow closer, hiding his face like he could melt straight into you. He’s not embarrassed, not really — that wouldn’t be the correct word anyway — but his cheeks are warm, and he knows you’re amused by the way your chest rumbles with a quiet laugh. It makes him press in deeper, his face tucked away and eyelashes fluttering against your skin like a shy confession. And you take that as permission, because of course you do; pressing slow kisses across his cheeks, along his brow, the curve of his nose — anywhere your mouth can reach really and Dean just lets you. He can’t quite reach your lips from the angle he’s trapped himself into, he knows that, but he still tries to return the affection anyway. He’ll drowsily nudge kisses against your collarbone, or your shoulder, or anything he can manage.

And you call him such sweet things while you do it. They’re soft pet names that make him ache. Honey. Sweetheart. Words that never felt like they belonged to him before, but somehow, coming from you, feel like they do. He doesn’t know why you calling him sweetie makes his chest tight in a way that isn’t derived from panic or just something bad — but it does. But it’s also the way you say his name that gets him the most. The way it rolls off your tongue, syrupy and lovely, like something precious. You make his name sound beautiful. And Dean doesn’t know how you do it, how you take a name he’s only ever heard barked in anger or strained with urgency and turn it into something tender.

Your hand leaves his back for a moment and he misses the weight of it instantly — until he feels the soft brush of your fingers along his jaw. He sucks in a breath as you trace the edge of it with the back of your knuckle before cupping his cheek, stroking it with the pad of your thumb like he’s something delicate. He leans into it without meaning to, something quiet and needy pulling him into the warmth of your palm. You’re having fun with it, doting on him like he’s your favorite thing — and yeah, he is. He feels it in the way you touch him, in the way you look at him like he’s soft and worth loving. Dean’s never been cherished like this, not even close — and it makes him feel dizzy, overwhelmed in the best way possible. Dizzy and safe. Always safe, always with you.

It melts his heart and terrifies him at the same time. The way you treat him with so much care, so much softness, like he’s something worth keeping. And as much as he craves it, as deeply as his wretched soul aches for it, he still doesn’t believe he’ll ever actually deserve it. He tells himself he should pull away in the last conscious moments he has — but he doesn’t. He won’t. Because he let this happen. He let you in. Let the warmth of your love root itself in him until it was too deep to tear out without causing pain. Until not leaning into it hurt way worse than anything else.

Dean doesn’t know how he ended up here, wrapped up in arms that want nothing from him except for him to exist, but he gave up trying to make sense of it a long time ago. He can’t seem to make himself care about the why, though, not when you don’t seem to either. And maybe that does make him selfish because  he’s finally allowing himself to be. Sure, maybe there’s a whisper of guilt that still creeps into the corners of his mind, but you always chase it out with a kiss, or a soft word, or a tender look. And in these quiet, sacred moments, where his mind is just full of thoughts of you — he can’t think of Hell. He can’t think of all the horrors and pain and suffering. Just you. Sweet and gentle, and wonderful you. And somewhere in the deep dark of the night, Dean wonders why he was so against being selfish sooner.

𖤐 .ᐟ dean winchester hit me up, im always available just lmk (๑>؂•̀๑)

[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]

Florida!!!

Summary: One fishy monster hunt, one sweaty afternoon at the beach, and one innocent popsicle – Florida is fucking hell for Dean.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: +18 language and smut in the form of dirty fantasies, severe pining, one idiot in love, humor, Florida, one popsicle, unresolved ending & feelings

Word Count: 2.8k

A/N: My entry for @chevroletdean's 500 Follower Celebration! Congrats again, lovely, and thank you so much for hosting this challenge and creating this awesome moodboard!! I was immediately inspired (and have wanted to write something set in Florida for an eternity). This was perfect and so much fun! 💛🧡🩵

Main Masterlist || DW Masterlist || Tag List

Florida can eat his ass.

Dean’s decided this at least seventeen times today. He has known this little fact since the first time he set foot here at nineteen, chasing a ghoul through backyards full of pink lawn flamingos and chainlink fences.

And Dean doesn’t mean the good kind of eating ass, either. Nope, he means the swamp-ass, sunburned, get-mauled-by-an-alligator kind.

Because no matter how pretty the scenery looks – sugar-powder beaches and sea-glass tides, slats of the boardwalk bleached bone-white under a honeyed sky – the whole damn state feels cursed.

It’s humid enough to drown standing still, and the sand sticks to everything, including parts of him he’s not ready to confront.

And between the humidity thicker than chowder and the scent of fried seafood and moldy flip-flops lingering like a bad decision, every drone-sized mosquito here is carrying at least three diseases and a vendetta. The crime rate also looks like a Mad Libs page: “Florida Man assaults alligator while wearing tutu and high on bath salts.”

It’s too hot, too wet, and too damn weird and crazy. Every breath here tastes like sweat, regret, and a hint of swamp water.

Florida’s not even a real fucking state. Can’t be.

Dean’s convinced it’s a bad trip someone had in the ‘70s that somehow got voted into the union. The sun feels less like it’s shining and more like it’s attacking. Everyone’s either a retiree, a guy named Skip with a neck tattoo of a flaming dice, or some batshit meth-head who thinks they saw Bigfoot behind the Waffle House.

Dean hates it with every fiber of his being. Florida is Satan’s back porch.

And now, thanks to a string of weird drownings at a no-name beach town outside Destin, Dean is trapped in the sweaty armpit of the country, baking alive in jeans, while trying very hard not to stare at you.

Which is impossible.

Because you’re right next to him in a little turquoise lounge chair and a skimpy bikini the color of wild citrus – or tangerine, maybe. You hum a little tune – that stupid Weezer song that only plays on the radio during summer. You kick your feet lazily in the sun, flashing him a smile so bright he’s pretty sure it could get him legally blinded.

The bikini strings are tied in neat bows at your hips, a popsicle melting bright mango-orange between your fingers, and you’re working the thing over like it owes you goddamn money with the most sinful mouth he’s ever had the misfortune of knowing.

All tanned legs and unapologetic sunshine. A vision of temptation under the molten saffron sun.

Dean sweats. Internally and externally. Better than that: He is cooked. Absolutely fried. Every casual motion of yours is branding itself into his frontal lobe forever.

Your tongue flickers out again – pink and wet and glistening – smoothing a drip from the rounded tip, completely oblivious to the fact that you’re currently starring in every X-rated daydream Dean’s ever had.

His vision whites out at the edges.

You hum absently, flipping through the manila folder in your lap. Your voice floats over, sweet as saltwater taffy. “So,” you say, casual and sunny, “are we thinking mer-creature, or like, a shapeshifter with a thing for boats and aquatic cosplay? Or what if it’s a water demon? Like a kelpie, but more murdery?”

Dean makes a strangled sound that’s supposed to be a word but comes out more like a dog’s dying whimper.

You blink at him. Tilt your head. Wait.

Dean clears his throat. “Yeah. Mer-thing. Whatever.”

“Or,” you muse aloud, tongue darting out again to lap at a drip, “maybe it’s like–… like a water wraith? Something that sucks the breath outta your lungs?”

You pop the popsicle out of your mouth with an obscene little smack. Dean’s mouth works soundlessly. Because all he can imagine is you on your knees, tongue slick against him, big eyes wide and innocent while you–

Focus, he barks at himself. For the love of fucking God, focus, Winchester.

Dean swallows hard, dragging his eyes off your mouth and back down to the battered folder in your lap.

This isn’t normal. He’s doomed. Maybe even cursed.

Yeah, that’s gotta be it. He’s probably been hit with a lust spell. Florida is full of weird shit, right? That would explain why he’s three seconds away from dropping to his knees and offering to be your loyal, desperate, sunburnt servant.

But then again, this isn’t entirely new either.

You’ve been driving him nuts for goddamn years. Laughing too loud at his dumb jokes. Sitting too close in motel beds when you both casually watch movies. Calling him Winchester in that honeyed voice that makes him feel like he’s being dared to fuck up and kiss you.

And still, he’s always been good. Good at pretending. Good at stuffing all that want somewhere deep under rib and bone and battered leather jackets.

But this? This is fucking torture. This is some bikini-clad Greek tragedy, starring one dumbass in boots on a beach who can’t stop fantasizing about licking saltwater off your thighs.

He should be thinking about the case. About that water-witch or whatever the fuck they are hunting this time. He should be thinking about hex bags and salt rounds, not about how your bikini bottoms ride up just a little when you stretch your arms over your head–

Stop it!

You lean forward to show him something on a photocopied page and tap a newspaper clipping about the latest victim – some unlucky fisherman who swore he saw a “golden-scaled woman” before getting dragged into the shallows.

But the little bow at your hip shifts, skin glinting like bronzed sugar under the clear sky. Dean makes a small, wounded noise in his throat, and his brain immediately supplies another vivid fantasy:

You perched in his lap, that bow coming untied with a lazy pull of his fingers, your thighs slick and hot against him, the ocean thundering in the tropical background while you ride him so slow it borders on a religious experience.

He blinks against the burning sun, feels himself slipping again, heat and blood rushing downward. The image hits him so hard he has to adjust himself in his jeans, subtle as a heart attack.

His dick twitches miserably.

He slouches lower, trying to think of anything not filthy – taxes, Sam’s hair care routine, the time Bobby caught him naked in the kitchen with a meatball sub – but it’s useless.

“Dean? You even listening?” you ask, laughing, poking his leg with your sandy toes.

Dean grunts something noncommittal that might be English, jaw clenched so tight he’s surprised his teeth don’t shatter. He tries to answer. Really, he does. But the words get bottlenecked behind the visual of you dragging your tongue slowly up the side of the melting treat.

You bite your lip, thoughtful, tapping the end of the popsicle stick against your mouth. “Maybe it’s something worse,” you continue. “Like a siren who doesn’t seduce you to death, just… I dunno. Sucks you off and leaves you floating.”

Dean’s soul physically leaves his body.

You tilt your head, grinning wickedly. “You want me to suck you off too, Dean?”

Time freezes. The ocean quiets. The gulls still midair. Dean’s pulse slams loud and dizzy in his ears. His world narrows to you, your suntanned legs, the glint of sea-salt crystals on your skin, your bright and glistening mango lips.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You just–

Did you–

He stares at you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “Huh? What?” he croaks, voice pitched embarrassingly high.

You blink at him, then repeat – slowly, sweetly, “I said: Should we check if it sucks the breath outta people like a leech?”

“Uh, yeah,” he croaks. “Suckin’. Life. Outta dudes. Totally.”

You stare at him a second longer, suspicious, before shrugging and going back to the file.

Dean exhales, trying to will his hard-on into submission through sheer force of shame. You’re systematically dismantling his ability to think in complete sentences. His entire brain is on fire.

His internal organs shut down one by one. He drops his head back against the lounge chair, squeezing his green eyes shut. He is too old, too tired, and too desperately in love with you for this shit.

The sun beats down, hot and merciless, painting everything in shades of clementine and burning copper. Apricot umbrellas dot the beach like slices of candy. The ocean blinks lazy and endless, a rolling quilt of bottle-green and blue-fire sapphire. Seagulls wheel overhead, shrieking insults.

Dean’s mind drifts again.

He imagines dragging you down into the frothy surf, your hands curling into his hair, your giggles swallowed by the sea.

He imagines you mouthing at his jeans, impatient and greedy, while the sun sets behind you in a tangle of electric clementine and bruised lapis skies.

He imagines you kneeling between his legs, licking a stripe up the underside of his cock like you’re taste-testing it, humming around him, sweet and filthy and happy about it.

He imagines you under the boardwalk, hips rocking against his like the waves, bikini strings snapping loose with frantic fingers.

He imagines you bent over the hood of the Impala, bikini tangled around your ankles, hands bracing against the hot metal while he rails you like a man possessed.

He imagines your thighs caging his head, that same lazy, teasing look on your face, and him savoring your taste of sugar and salt and heat, while the whole crazy, humid, goddamn state of Florida spins off its axis.

“You’re quiet,” you chirp, tossing a sideways glance at him. “Florida getting to you?”

Dean clears his throat, gruff. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that, sweetheart.”

You raise your sunglasses, peeking at him over the frames. “You know, Winchester, you’re the only guy on this beach dressed like he’s about to sell used beach towels out of the back of a van."

Dean frowns, looking down at himself: worn boots, jeans, his favorite faded black tee with a sun-bleached flannel thrown over it. Practical. Battle-tested. Entirely inappropriate for beachside Florida.

“First of all,” he says, lifting a finger, “this is classic Americana ruggedness. Chicks dig it.”

You lean your head back and laugh, all bright and cruel. “You’re sweating through your ‘Americana ruggedness.’”

Dean scowls, dripping like a busted fire hydrant. “I told you. I’m not gonna wear fucking board shorts like all the other frat boy idiots here.”

You laugh again, the sound bright as bells, and Dean’s heart trips hard enough to hurt.

“You’re gonna die of heatstroke,” you tease. “Right here. Buried in Florida sand. Some old lady’s gonna find your corpse and knit you a ‘Bless Your Heart’ sweater.”

He snorts a chuckle. “I’ll haunt this beach just to piss you off.”

“Promise?” you ask, giving him a cheeky wink.

Dean is about five minutes away from lighting himself on fire. And honestly? Florida would probably consider it normal Tuesday behavior.

Your gaze drifts out to the ocean beyond your feet and sandy calves with a blissful little sigh. “It’s kinda pretty, though, isn’t it?”

Dean looks at you – skin kissed by flame-petals and sunset sugar, hair blowing soft in the briny breeze, popsicle stick clutched between your fingers like a crime scene weapon.

Yeah. Pretty.

Pretty much the goddamn end of him.

“Victim said he saw orange,” you murmur thoughtfully. “Bright, like-… like a koi? A clownfish?”

Dean is about to make a dumb Finding Nemo joke when you lick a bead of melted popsicle off your wrist, slow and absentminded.

And all Dean wants is to dig a hole right here in the sugar-white sand and bury himself alive in this cursed, gator-infested sandpit.

“Dean?”

He snaps back to reality so hard he gets whiplash. “What?” he wheezes.

You arch an eyebrow. “I said, should we check the tide charts? Maybe the creature only comes out during low tide.”

Dean coughs into his fist, face hotter than the sun overhead. “Uh, sure. Tide charts. Definitely. Research.”

But all he can think about is those legs locked around his waist, sand clinging to your thighs as he fucks you into the waves. You moaning into his neck, salty and sweet, fingers yanking at his shirt like you can’t stand to have him dressed another second.

You nibble at the edge of the popsicle, teeth scraping the melting mango sheen, and Dean watches helplessly as a single sticky bead runs down your wrist.

He fantasizes about leaning over, licking it off your skin, trailing his mouth up your arm to your shoulder, your throat, your mouth. He imagines you gasping against him, laughing breathless.

He fantasizes about hauling you out of that chair and onto his lap, mouth on yours, sticky hands sliding under the knot of your bikini top, tugging until you’re bared for him and only him, sunshine turning your skin to gold, and–

Greatly frustrated, Dean runs a hand down his freckled face. Why the fuck can’t he bring himself to stop? You’re unraveling him atom by atom.

But then, the fucking frozen treat drips again, and you lean forward to catch it with your mouth, lips wrapping tight around the end. Dean watches you hollow your cheeks slightly when you suck, head tilted thoughtfully like you’re considering footnotes and not absolutely wrecking his entire being. You pull the melting syrup back again with a soft, wet pop.

At this point, he wants to fucking throw himself into the ocean and let the sharks tear him apart like Hellhounds. He’s pretty sure his soul leaves his body, too.

He grips the arms of his chair so hard they creak in protest, knuckles turning white as he’s trying to tether himself to reality and not his fantasies.

Florida is hell.

You are hell.

And he’s a good man being punished for crimes he hasn’t even committed yet.

Dean shifts in his chair, crossing one leg over the other like that’ll hide the state of emergency going on in his jeans. He’s surprised no one here has asked any questions yet or called fucking 911.

Meanwhile, the world keeps spinning. The ocean rolls in lazy, glassy sheets of turquoise and teal. The sun licks liquid gold down your shoulders. The salt air curls the loose strands of your hair into a halo. And Dean – miserable, desperate, wildly in love – watches you polish off the last inch of your popsicle, tongue flicking the stick clean.

“Earth to Dean,” you sing-song, waving a hand in front of his face and kicking sand lightly at his boots.

Dean jerks back into consciousness. “Yeah?”

“Should we check out the marina witnesses after this?” you ask, tossing your popsicle stick into the trash bucket next to your chair.

Before he can say something catastrophic (like “Marry me right now” or “Please put your mouth on me, I'm begging”), Sam comes jogging up the beach, waving his phone like a savior in flannel.

“Got a lead! Marina worker said he saw something with gills and claws dragging people under.”

Dean launches out of his chair like his ass is on fire. A man escaping execution.

“Awesome. Let’s roll!” he barks, voice too loud and way too eager.

You tuck your notes into your beach bag and sling it over your shoulder, grinning wide and bright as the sunset. The same grin that ruined him long before the bikini did.

You hop up beside him, laughing, brushing sand off your thighs with maddening slow sweeps, and Dean bites back a groan so hard it nearly gives him a hernia.

“You sure you’re okay, Winchester?” you ask, teasing. “You looked like you were about to pass out there for a second.”

“I’m great,” Dean lies, voice strangled, letting the sun melt him into roadkill. “Peachy.”

“You sure? Seriously, you’re a walking heatstroke PSA,” you quip, hip-bumping him lightly as you fall into step beside him.

Dean coughs. “'M fine, sweetheart. Just… dehydration. And Florida. And mermaid murder.”

As you brush past him, the smell of your sunscreen and coconut shampoo punch him square in the gut. Dean follows, trying very, very hard not to watch the way your hips sway like you own the whole damn coastline.

He thinks about how easy it would be to slip his arm around your waist, how natural it would feel to lean in, to kiss you like he’s wanted to for years. Instead, he shoves his hands deep into his jeans pockets and marches grimly through the sand, already planning a quick, ice-cold shower and about eight beers after this job’s done.

Yeah, Florida is one hell of a drug, but you’re the one that fucked him up.

Okay, I may have had way too much fun with torturing Dean here. Forgive me, guys 😂☀️🏝️

Hope you enjoyed this one! 🩵

Tag List Pt. 1:

@alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@lori19 @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @yoobusgoobus @jessjad @dayhsdreaming

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl @leigh70 @brightlilith

@nesnejwritings @samslvrgirl @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @fromcaintodean @barewithme02

@impala67rollingthroughtown @star-yawnznn @spnaquakindgdom @thej2report @americanvenom13

@lamentationsofalonelypotato @supernotnatural2005 @stoneyggirl2 @kr804573 @m0e0v0v

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

Old Faces

Summary: At seventeen, Dean fell hard for the girl in his high school English class. He never got a chance to make a move before he was on the road again. When he bumps into her working the same case as himself, he wants to know how her apple pie life got flipped upside down...

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 1,200ish

Warnings: language

A/N: Enjoy!...

________________

“No Ding Dongs? Are you serious?” you said, standing up with a groan at the mini mart. 

“Sorry. I got the last of them,” said a voice that was vaguely familiar. You spun around, the stranger’s eyes going wide just as fast as yours. “Do I know you? You look so familiar.”

“Y/N Y/L/N,” he said with a big smile. “You grew up to be gorgeous. I would expect nothing less though from Mountainside’s head cheerleader.”

“Ah, we went to high school together,” you said, giving him a smile. “I’m sorry, I can’t remember your name.”

“I wouldn’t expect it. I was only there three weeks. Dean Winchester,” he said.

“The bad boy!” you said with a laugh. “I remember you. You dyed the football team’s pants pink on homecoming night.”

“Yeah,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t the most mature guy back then.”

“You past the bad boy ways?” you said.

“Mostly,” he said with a hand wave. “You live around here?”

“No. I’m just in town for work,” you said.

“Me too,” he said.

“Hey, what ever happened to you? You just left one day out of the blue,” you said.

“My dad had a different job somewhere else. It was pretty normal for us to move around a lot,” he said. 

“Too bad. The cheerleading squad talked about you all the time,” you said. “You would have had your pick of a girlfriend.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure the one I wanted wasn’t available,” he said, giving you a smile. He reached into his basket and pulled out the box of Ding Dongs, tossing them in yours. “Nice seeing you, Y/N.”

“You too, Dean.”

Later That Evening

“Drop it!” you shouted at the dark figure. It mumbled something but you saw a gun get lowered to the ground. The creature turned around but you went wide eyed for the second time that night.

“Y/N?” asked Dean, looking around before settling on you. “Wha...what are...”

“Fucking hell. You’re a hunter,” you said, lowering your gun, Dean dropping his hands. “It makes perfect sense now.”

“You hunt?” he asked.

“Well I-”

You woke up in a motel room, your head throbbing as you sat up, blinking at Dean and someone else.

“Sorry about the concussion. I thought you were the witch,” said the man.

“Nope. Not her,” you groaned, sighing as you tried to get to your feet.

“Take it easy,” said Dean, guiding you to stay on the bed. 

“Did you get the witch?” you asked.

“No,” said Dean. “Sam’s working another lead though. We think she might still be in town.”

“Good,” you said. 

“So you’re a hunter?” he asked.

“As I was saying before Paul Bunyan over there hit me, yes,” you said. “Been one for a while.”

“But you had such a perfect life,” said Dean. 

“Have you ever heard the phrase, keeping up appearances?” you asked. Dean looked over to Sam, both staring at their laps. “Of course. You grew up hunters. You knew how to pretend to be normal kids.”

“Did your parents hunt?” asked Dean. You scoffed and shook your head.

“When I was about thirteen, my parents went out on a date night. The things that came home were not my parents. If I played along and played house like everything was fine, they told me they’d let my parents go. They were demons. My parents died that night I’m pretty sure but I didn’t know any of that. I spent the next five years doing what they wanted, pretending everything was fine,” you said.

“What changed?” asked Dean.

“I found out about hunting, demons...I realized play time was over and I had to get out of there,” you said.

“And I thought we had a messed up childhood,” said Dean, running his hand through his hair.

“So...we teaming up on this witch thing or what?” you asked.

“Uh, sure,” said Dean, Sam nodding his head. “The more the merrier.”

“Sam,” you asked that night while Dean was busy grabbing some food from a fast food place. “Why does Dean keep staring at me?”

“Because you’re Y/N Y/L/N,” said Sam with a little laugh from the front seat of baby. “Dean had the biggest crush in the world on you. He wouldn’t shut up about you for three weeks straight.”

“He had a crush on me?” you asked. “Why?”

“Why does any teenage boy have a crush on the head cheerleader?” said Sam with an eye roll. “He probably thought you were cute.”

“He’s not like...obsessed or something,” you said, Sam immediately shaking his head.

“My guess is he’s just super surprised you turned out to be a hunter,” said Sam.

“Yeah. That’s probably it.”

“Well that went smoother than expected,” you said around midnight, slamming your trunk closed. 

“You should think about getting a partner. They come in handy,” said Dean. You nodded and went to climb in your car when Dean grunted. “Give us a second Sammy?”

“What’s up?” you asked, Dean waiting until Sam was tucked away in the Impala.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Back in high school. I could have helped. I could gotten my dad involved and-”

“I don’t know what you remember about high school but we weren’t friends,” you said.

“No but you did keep the football team from pounding me to death after the pants thing,” he said. 

“It was a harmless prank. I figured the new kid didn’t need to get beaten half to death,” you said.

“Yeah and I said thanks and you made some weird comment and I asked if you were okay and you gave another weird comment and then I never saw you again,” he said.

“I’m sorry. You’re right. I should have gone talking about my demon parents to every kid I didn’t know on the off chance they could help,” you said, crossing your arms. 

“Well...I could have done something,” he said. 

“It wasn’t your problem. I dealt with it and it’s over,” you said.

“You didn’t make a deal, did you?” he asked.

“No. I handled it,” you said. “Is that what’s been eating you all night? You think you didn’t save me back then so you’re responsible?”

“I’m thinking if I had the guts to ask you out, I might have gone over to your house and seen the signs and saved you a lot of crap,” he said.

“Like I said, I handled it,” you said.

“You don’t have to be in this life you know,” he said.

“Neither do you,” you said.

“Yes I do.”

“Me too,” you said.

“Can I at least buy you a beer?” he asked.

“Took you long enough to ask,” you said with a small smile.

“Better late than never.”

______________

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Dean Winchester Masterlist

Main Series - Babylon the Great

There's something wrong with you that's not wrong with other people. You're a hunter, and a damn good one, but you might be a monster.

There might be something in you that needs to be put down. Something broken that can't be fixed.

It's why you've had one rule your whole life. The only thing your father has ever made clear is that, no matter what, you need to stay away from John Winchester. He can't even know you exist, or he'll kill you and never blink.

And when your paths cross a hunt, you should've run, but you didn't. You couldn't. Because you looked at Dean Winchester, and something changed inside of you. Something called you to him, and you can't figure out what it was, but you know it's strong. And you know that, whatever Dean's doing to you, you don't really care to fight it. Things are broken in you, just as much is broken in him, and you fit perfectly together in a way you'll never be able to describe.

But it's more complicated than that, though. The world pulls you and Dean apart again and again.

And you find your way back, again and again.

Mini-Series - Willing to Break

With the Mark of Cain getting out of hand, you and Sam convince Dean to try something different. A spell that won't fix the Mark, but will change it. Make Dean crave good things, things he likes, instead of death and blood.

It doesn't exactly go according to plan.

Mini-Series - Death On A Holiday

This day has happened before. So did the one before it. And the one after it. You're sure of it.

Small things change, but it's always the same, and it always resets the same way, and you can't find a way out.

It's perfect torture, and you don't think there's a way out.

One-Shots

To Need Somebody - After a hunt goes poorly, Dean retreats down a well-tread path of self-loathing

I Could Have You - Dean is hit with a lust spell, and it doesn't seem to only be effecting him. No one's really sure why, and Dean refuses to give in to the curse, so you'll just ride this out.

Falling Into Me - 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.

Hold You Tight In My Mind - You and Dean have an agreement. Best friends who have sex, no strings attached. But when a case goes south, you learn a few things about Dean, specifically his thoughts on the arrangement.

Still You Want Me - Request! Dean's fought the worst evil in the world, but only one thing has really managed to scare him. His pregnant wife.

Every Day That You Want - You have big news for Dean. News you have to tell him, wether he likes it or not. You really hope he likes it, though.

Just Giving In - You're under a very annoying truth curse. The kind of truth curse that will kill you if one very specific, Dean-related truth isn't told. But apparently no one's allowed to just die in peace anymore.

I'll Crawl Home - 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.

What You Do - This isn't a sex curse. It feel like a sex curse, and looks like a sex curse, but it's not. It has a similar cure to a sex curse, but it's not. And Dean can't fix this. But the asshole is still going to try.

No More - Request! Some scars don't really fade. They just fester and rot, remaining unattended in your body because you can't really remember how to heal them. And Dean can't fix this for you. But he can give you somewhere safe to fix yourself.

Where Do You End Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt.3 - Request! You and Dean have found yourself in a body swap situation, and your bodies keep trying to do what they always do.

I Can Be A Virtue - You're so careful about keeping your emotions in check with Dean. You make rules, and keep score, and hold yourself together. But something always has to give.

Only I Can See - Request! Dean knows you. He knows you better than anyone, better than you know you, better than he knows himself. He'd lay down his life for you in a heartbeat, and knows you'd do the same, even if it's not in the same way. But something's… different.

In Sweetness - Request! Preparation for hunts and battles where the fate of the world hinges on his shoulders are easy. Preparation for a baby might be the most complex thing Dean's ever done.

The Heat Grows - Request! It's unfair that Dean can look this good just sitting in traffic. That he can be doing nothing at all and you'll crave him more than oxygen. It's amazing that you can prove that to him, though.

The Flood Brings Clearer Days - Request! You're not cursed. You don't feel anything wrong. If anything, you feel better, because there's a weight lifted off your tongue that lets you say whatever you want. And most of what you want is Dean.

There Comes A Breaking Point - Request! Sam drinks a truth potion, and you and Dean have to deal with the consequences, and very painful and beautiful revelations.

I Never Want It To Be Enough - Request! You and Dean have a date night, and it ends exactly how you wanted it to.

How Do You Know - Request! There are different levels of Dean being drunk, and you've seen all of them. Or at least, you thought you'd seen all of them.

If You Need To Hear It - Request! After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Something To Believe In - You and Dean become parents.

It's Early, Baby - Request! A slow morning gets heated fast.

Along the Line - Request! Friends with benefits doesn't work. You fall out of line and fall in love, trapped in Dean with no hope of escaping. But he might never want you to leave.

Been Keeping It Down - Request! After Dean gets hit with a curse, he starts avoiding you. Sam won't tell you what's wrong, and you love him almost as much as you miss him. Almost as much as he might love you.

And In Health - Request! Making Dean rest when he's sick is a Herculean task. You are more than up for the challenge.

Hold Me (More Like That) - Sorta Request! Dean takes a second to pick up on what you want, but doesn't disappoint once he starts to play your game.

Only Us - Request! After Dean gets back from a long hunt, the only thing he wants to do is see you.

[very-merry-birthday]

And Take 'em Off in Private

Summary: During a drunken night the boys find out your secret- you used to do porn. But how Dean reacts surprises you.

Warnings: Smut!

~~~

You poured the whiskey into the glass, spilling more than you managed to get in, as Sam let out a loud laugh.

"I think-" he laughed again, "- I think you might be drunk Y/N."

You looked around at the three men in front of you. Sam had been laughing for almost three minutes straight, Cas looked like he was about to fall asleep, and Dean had checked out of the conversation long ago.

"I think we're all drunk!"

It wasn't often that you were all able to sit around, multiple drinks deep with nothing else on your minds. One of you always had something going on, somewhere else to be, someone else to see. So when earlier in the day you had realized you'd all be in one place with no where else to go, you'd jumped at the opportunity.

Which is how you found yourselves in the bunker library, none of you able to hold yourselves straight on the uncomfortable upright chairs. Sam and Cas sat opposite one another at the table, both of them trying to keep the conversation flowing, while you'd been making sure everyone's drinks were topped up. Dean had his feet up, listening and watching. His eyes spent most of the time distracted by you, watching your smile, the way you laughed, the way you rolled your eyes whenever Cas started on a drunken ramble. He tried to resist the twang of jealousy every time you reached out to grab Sam's arm for stability, knowing you were only doing it because he was sat next to you. He pictured what it would be like if he was sitting where his younger brother was, your head on his own shoulder instead.

He broke his thought as you looked over to him, a soft smile on your face, holding up the bottle to question whether he wanted more. He pushed his glass forward for you to fill it.

"What I don't get-" you broke eye contact, looking over at Cas, "is how you can get drunk? Don't your- angel powers- stop that?"

"I don't have any powers, Y/N."

You rolled your eyes again, "Fine! Abilities! The cool shit you can do!"

"My abilities don't stop me from feeling the effects of alcohol." While he was definitely less sober than normal, Cas was holding it together remarkably well.

"What can you do then?" You asked. Dean liked that about you, that you were always asking questions. Never to pry, but just because you were interested. Not that he'd ever tell you that.

"He can read your mind." Dean spoke up, wanting to rejoin the conversation.

"No shot you can actually read minds." You laughed, grabbing his hand from across the table and pulling it up to your temple, "What color am I thinking of?"

He gave a cautionary glance around the room, "Green. Dark green."

You looked over to Dean's eyes momentarily, then back to Cas, "That's crazy cool!"

Sam leaned forward, "That's boring dude, tell us all her secrets!"

Your mind flooded as Cas began to speak before anyone could stop him, "Y/N has been in several pornographic films-"

You lept up, your chair going flying behind you. Your head spun as you mind sobered, sweaty palms, prickles at the back of your neck. You looked back at the three men, three sets of eyes now firmly placed on you. Cas looked confused, Sam looked guilty and Dean- you didn't want to even try and understand what his expression meant.

"I didn't think he'd-" Sam began to speak and you lifted up a finger to stop him as the gears in your head continued to spin.

After seconds that felt like hours you began to talk. "Cas, that wasn't your fault- he shouldn't have told you to do that."

Cas nodded slowly, the situation finally dawning on him.

"Sam, apologise to him."

"I'm sorry man, I should have been more clear I was joking."

"Dean-"

He looked up at you, and eyebrow cocked in confusion.

"-actually all of you... If you even think about trying to find one of those videos..."

You trailed off, all of them understanding the threat without you even having to make it. With that you went back to your room, collapsing on the bed and letting embarrassment and drunkenness swallow you up as you fell asleep.

---

The next morning you were woken abruptly by Dean, barging into your room as he had a hundred times before. You shushed him before he even started talking, your head still spinning, heartbeat pounding in your ears.

"We gotta-"

"Shhh!" You buried you head back down on the pillow, trying to block out all light.

He lowered his tone, gently speaking as he sat at the end of the bed. "We've got a case, day's drive or so, if we leave now we'll get there before midnight."

You wrapped the pillow around your head, trying to sink down lower as you mumbled a response, "Hungover- take one of the others."

"I would darlin', but they're even worse off than you. You leave with me now and I'll let you sleep the whole journey?"

---

And that's exactly what you'd done.

Hours rolled by as you slept in the passenger seat, your hangover slowly clearing as the road stretched on. You'd screwed up an old shirt as a pillow, the window down, letting the cool air hit you.

Dean watched you any chance he could get, his eyes flowing over you, allowing himself to stare in a way you'd never let him if you were awake. He looked away as you finally opened your eyes, blinking hard as you adjusted to the light.

"How much longer?" You murmured, taking note of the afternoon sun.

"Couple hours?" He replied, eyes firmly on the road.

You expected him to speak, to mention last night, but he didn't, the silence stretching on in the car. Eventually he riffled around in his cassettes, finding one he knew you wouldn't complain about, and pushing it in.

---

Even once you were in the motel, silence sat between you.

You relaxed back on the tiny bed, flicking through the TV channels as Dean sat on his own bed, cleaning his gun. Night had set in with barely ten words spoken between you all day, embarrassment hitting you whenever you remembered how you'd left last night.

"You okay?" Dean looked over at you, no longer able to deal with the stillness, "After yesterday I mean."

You swallowed hard, "Yeah, it's fine, I shouldn't have reacted like that."

"No, no, we didn't mean to freak you out, we should have come and spoken to you."

"Honestly, Dean, it's fine."

You both sat uncomfortable for a moment.

He clenched his jaw, "D' you wanna talk about it?"

"There's nothing else to say." You looked up at him, his forehead filled with questioning lines, "What do you want to know?"

And just like that, you'd broken the seal.

"I- You- Porn?"

You relaxed back onto the bed, sighing in exasperation, "Eloquent as always, Dean."

"I'm sorry- I don't know what I'm asking- did... did you enjoy it?"

You looked back over to him, a little surprised by his question, "Yeah, yeah I guess I did. I was young, I needed money, not everyone has a bunker to go back to-" you rolled your eyes, mock annoyance, "-but yeah, I enjoyed it."

"But you didn't tell us?"

"I can enjoy it and still not want you to know about it. Do you really think you wouldn't have treated me any different?"

"Course I wouldn't-"

"Yes you would."

You both paused, tension filling the air.

He stood up, walking over to your bed and laying next to you on it, both of you staring up at the ceiling. "What did you enjoy?"

You thought for a moment, "I looked fucking good."

You both let out a laugh, looking at each other, glad to have the tension broken, until Dean spoke again, "You look good now."

You were suddenly aware of how close your face was to his.

"Yeah but in those videos I looked hot- like really fucking hot."

He exhaled sharply, trying to keep his face set, "What did you do?"

"It was mainly just me, you know-"

He cocked an eyebrow, "-getting yourself off?"

You blushed, struggling to stay composed, "Yeah, getting myself off. There was a few videos with other guys- that's what made the most money."

"Did you enjoy them?"

"Yeah, they were always fun! But I enjoyed the ones with just me more. I could just relax, put on a show."

His lips were now dangerously close to yours, sharing each others breath, his eyes dark, "What kind of show?"

"I used to put on something hot, something I'd never wear in real life-"

"Yeah?"

"-Lace, leather, fishnets, silk.... And then I'd tease myself-"

"Hmm?" He inched closer to you.

"I'd play with my tits, my nipples-" all embarrassment had left you, his eyes only encouraging you on, "then my clit-"

"Yeah?"

"I'd push my fingers into myself, god the noises I'd make."

"Darlin'-" His breath was hot against you as he eyed up your lips.

"There's this one video, dressed all in red- people fucking loved that one... It was always between that one, where I used a vibrator, and one where I dressed all in black lace... That was just my fingers-"

"God that's-" His lips were only millimetres from yours, both your eyes beginning to shut.

"I always preferred the one in red..."

"I love the black lace." He leant forward, ready to kiss you.

You pulled back before he'd even realized what he said, confusion filling you, a pit in your stomach growing as you scrambled back off the bed, standing next to it, "What- what did you just say?"

"Look, I-"

"What the fuck did you just say, Dean?!"

"It's not what it sounds like I-"

"You couldn't even wait 24 fucking hours to look them up!" You felt sick, your embarrassment filling you once again, "I can't believe you!"

"I didn't-"

"The one thing I asked you not to do!"

"Seriously I-"

"Fuck you! I can't believe-"

"Can you just listen for one second?" He stood up in front of you, grabbing your shoulders to quiet you, "I found them six months ago."

You swallowed hard, not understanding what he was saying.

"I didn't find out last night, I've known for months."

"I- I don't-"

"I was looking a porn one night and- well I thought, damn that chick looks just like Y/N-"

You blinked hard.

"-And then I watched a couple, coz fuck I needed to see someone who looked like you- and I realized... it was you. I couldn't help myself-"

You tried to turn away but he stopped you.

"-You looked so fucking good, every video was hotter than the last... The things you'd do, the noises you'd make-"

"Dean I don't-"

"Jesus... I didn't want to tell you, I knew you'd be embarrassed- but I didn't think of you any different, sweetheart. I've always know how hot you are, but I've also known how fucking badass you are too."

You let out a small exhaled laugh, the situation finally sinking in. "I can't believe you didn't tell me."

"I'm sorry. I really am. What can I do to make it up to you?"

You eyed him up carefully, the room falling deathly quiet once again.

"Take off your clothes."

His cheeks flushed, "I don't think-"

"You've seen me naked, right? It's the only way to make it fair."

There was a pause between you, both of you watching each other, neither of you saying anything. You'd never seen Dean naked before. Of course you'd seen the odd part of him: his abdomen whenever he'd wipe his face with his shirt, his back whenever you'd have to get changed in the same motel. But never all of him.

And then in one swift motion he pulled his shirt off, revealing his upper half to you proudly with a smile. You took a moment to admire him, your eyes seeking out his body. You looked for the subtle tan lines on his arms, where the sun had beaten down on him; the small scars across his chest, a life of hunting; his strong, solid core. You didn't care he was watching you stare, both of you knew what this was, so you took your time.

You nodded slowly, a way of telling him you were impressed, and looked down to his jeans. He understood what you meant, slowly undoing his belt and pulling down the fly of his pants. You sucked in a breath in anticipation as he leant down to pull them off, kicking them off from around his ankles and standing back up straight to look at you, hands on his hips.

You teased your own eyes, starting at the bottom of his legs, taking him in slowly as you worked your way up. Strong calves, stronger thighs, his gorgeous bow legs. Then you finally allowed yourself to look at what you really wanted, biting your lip as you looked at his black boxers, the clear bulge almost taking your breath away. It was large, and seemed to only be hardening. Dean watched your expression carefully, a grin poking at the corner of his mouth.

You nodded again, looking back up at him to continue.

Doubt shot over his face momentarily at he looked at his own state and then back to you, fully clothed, "Sweetheart, I don't think that's fair."

"Did you see me in my underwear, or did you see me fully naked?"

His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip as he remembered the videos, what you'd worn in them, what you hadn't. He knew he couldn't answer honestly and keep his dignity, "How about this? How about I take these off, and I get to ask you one more question?"

You pretended to weigh up the decision, knowing you'd do anything at this point to get his boxers off, "Yeah, yeah I think I can agree to that."

With that he leant down, pulling his boxers down his legs in one swift motion, before standing back up straight and showing himself to you proudly. Finally you could see his whole body, perfect in every way, his gorgeous cock standing semi-erect as he combed one hand through his hair, looking down at himself and back up at you.

You could barely get your words out, your eyes fixed firmly on his hardness, "W-What was your question?"

He walked up to you, so close you could reach out and touch him as you looked back up to his face, "There's this one video: this guy has you bent over a desk-"

You knew exactly the one he meant, nodding only slightly.

"-and he's going at you from behind and- god you look fucking good, your ass bouncing, taking him so well-"

You could barely think, your mind filling with his words.

"-and you're making these noises- Jesus you don't know how many times I watched that video- these noises that are so fucking hot I don't think I'll ever recover. You tell me, sweetheart, are those noises real?"

You looked back down at him, his cock now fully erect, his hand slowly wrapping around the base of it, stroking it only slightly, and then back up to his face, "Why don't you find out for yourself?"

He smiled for only a second before leaning forward, grabbing your face in his hands. He kissed you desperately, ferociously, his tongue instantly exploring you, his fingers reaching around to the back of your head, your neck, the bottom of your top, tugging at it to pull it off you. You broke apart for only a moment so you could remove your top, and then you were back on each other, hands, lips, tongues.

You let your hands flow over his chest, feeling his muscles as his own hands began working on the fly of your pants, needy to get you in the same unclothed state as him. You helped him pull them down and kicked them off your ankles, both of your bodies pressed against each other, his mouth finding it's way to your neck.

He stepped back to hungrily eye you over, his tongue darting out as he looked at your bra and panties, "You're wearing far too many clothes, darlin'."

You carefully unhooked your bra, sliding it off your arms and dropping it down next to you. Now it was his turn to stare, taking you in. You hooked your thumbs into your underwear, slowly dragging it down, giving him a show you knew he'd like. He sucked in a small breath, stunned by your body.

"Turn around, let me see that ass."

You did as he said, turning around, looking back at him over your shoulder. His eyes dropped, looking you up and down.

You watched him walk up behind you and turned away from him again, facing forward as you felt his naked body press against you, his hard cock firmly against your ass. He kissed your neck gently, sucking lightly at your skin as you leant into him, his finger tracing a line over your shoulders and down your back. Once his hand reached the middle he pushed you forward, guiding you to the end of the bed where you bent over.

He groaned as you got into a steady position for him, your ass sticking out, perfect and ready. He pushed his tip through your soaked folds, and you gripped the bedsheets infront of you, holding back a moan. His hand came down to grab your ass, another groan on his lips at the feeling of your pussy around his cockhead.

He pushed himself into you slowly, stretching you out as you finally let yourself moan. Your noises coaxed him on as he began to thrust into you, his hands wrapping around your hips to give him better control.

You moaned out loudly as he pounded into you, his cock hitting your g-spot, sending your body melting. You buried your face into the mattress, muffling your gasps as he continued to move, gripping your body tighter.

"Louder for me, darlin, let me hear you."

You did as he said, turning your head and letting out another loud moan. You felt your core tightening, desperate for release as he sped up his movements, slamming into you, pushing you to the brink.

You came, hard and fast, loudly gasping. Your hands gripped the sheets, and Dean felt as your pussy tightened around him, watching your back arch in pleasure. Your legs felt weak as he continued to push into you, letting you ride out your orgasm.

As soon as he felt your body relax slightly he pulled out, and you felt as he came on your back, letting out a loud groan, his fingers embedded into your skin.

Both of you stayed still for a moment, panting hard, the pleasure rolling through both of your bodies. You looked back up at him over your shoulder, making eye contact.

"Fuck, sweetheart." He looked down at your arched back, your ass in the air, his cum on your back. He walked away to grab a towel from the motel bathroom and then back to you, lazily running it down your back, giving your ass one last look before you rolled onto your back, allowing yourself to relax into the sheets.

He lay down next to you, both of you breathing hard, his fingers running down your body, sending sparks through you. You looked at him, his forehead creasing as he began to speak, "There's this other video where you're on top- I think I have a question about that one too..."

[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

Chapter 12 - Sentiment

Chapter 13 - Derisionment

Chapter 14 - Announcement

Chapter 15 - Disappointment

Chapter 16 - Ligament

Chapter 17 - Retirement (working title)

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.

[jollyhunter]

24 Kinky Days with Dean x reader - Day 22.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW - MDNI! - includes explicit sexual content, Dean being naughty and goofy, teasing, praise kink, bit of fingering, a lil' spankin', biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v (wrap it before u tap it!), softdom!Dean, Dean guiding you through a new s♡x-position, fluff, aftercare and also there's pizza (yes, that's a warning) - no use of Y/N - there's probably more so just let me know if I missed something - English is not my native language and I’m dead on my feet Contains brief reference to Dec.9 (Whip Stroke) and Dec. 16 (Roll Over Rule)

Summary: Your ideas of 'self-care' couldn't be more contradicting: Dean's craddling a pillow and munching on his cold pizza, while you go through your yoga routine next to the motel bed. The entire time he's watching you stretch and bend and arch your back with lingering eyes... until he decides you've had enough yoga. Time for a 'fun way' to relax.

Words: ~6,500 (yeah, I know, prepare for a lot of teasing, but it'll pay off)

Feedback and reblogs are highly appreciated! Let me know in the comments what your favorite part was! <3 A/N: At this rate, I give up on the order of the prompts / days. 🥲 But I definitely want to complete the challenge! (Sorry for the long wait y'all!)

22nd Dec. - Yoga, Kama Sutra - potato, potahto

“Of course pizza beats yoga.” Dean scoffs, his eyebrows pinched together with a lazy shake of his head in disbelief. Like the audacity of you even questioning the superiority of fast food? Unbelievable.

“But- how can you even compare the two? That’s junk food. And this is like…” You think for a moment until you remember the right term, “Self-care. You should try it once.” You try to argue in hopes that this conversion might still turn to your favour. But you know you’re pulling on threads by now.

“Oh I do self-care.” He retorts gruffly, his eyes flickering down at you. And to proof his point, he stuffs a big bite of pizza into his mouth, munching on it while he continues, his words halfway muffled, “Food and beer’s my self-care, baby.”

“But-” You groan with a roll of your eyes but stop yourself there. If that man wasn’t halfway as fit as he is, you’d at least still have the trump card of health factor left. But truth be told, despite that, you didn’t have any more arguments, and you both knew it.

So in Dean’s eyes that settled it. His way of self-care is superior to yours. End of discussion.

His focus shifts back to his pizza and the old TV boxed in by a pair of wooden chairs. The smell of cold junk food mingles with the musty carpet that's infiltrating your nostrils everytime you get a bit closer to the floor. Gratefully the sweet cinnamon smell of one of those Christmas candles you had lit the moment you returned to your room, covers up most of the motels stale stench.

After Dean has been channel zapping through various Christmas movies, he finally gave in and tossed the remote control aside on the bed. The TV is running some ads in the background now and Dean is on his stomach stuffing his face with pizza, while you are on the ground next to the motel bed, doing your yoga session on a mat. "To relax," as you had explained to him. "Desperately needed after this case had turned out to be a damn goose chase all along." You added. And on top of that, the hard mattress you had to put up with for the past week did little to ease your bad mood or aching back pain.

By now, Dean had become used to your sporadic yoga sessions whenever time allowed it. Although it was still a mystery to him how this ‘weird hippie stuff’ was in any way relaxing to you, he always enjoyed watching you. And he’d made it a habit of his own to comment with a lick over his lips – perhaps even a low, appreciative whistle – and shamelessly lustful eyes taking in every detail of your body as you’re going through your routine, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am? Like jesus – you’re so fuckin’ flexible. Like some friggin’ contortionist. I bet you can even hook your foot behind your head.”

So, naturally, Dean isn’t really paying any attention to the TV. Even though the intro sequence of “Die Hard”, one of his favourite movies, is now playing.

As always his eyes are lingering on your stretchy outfit and how tightly your favourite colour wraps your body, highlighting every curve of yours, no matter where. The thin shimmer of sweat on your exposed skin and the way you seemed so in control and at the same time at peace. To him it felt like a big contrast to the moments of action where you’d cut down a vamp or plunge a stake through a pagan’s ribcage, your movements quick, precise and face and clothings always covered in the red aftermath.

He takes another bite of the pizza, attempting to distract himself, but his gaze keeps drifting back to you. Your rear in the air now as you switch into the Downward Dog pose. The soft moans and heavy breaths that slip your lips makes him chew slower. His mind now imagining you arching your body in other ways rather than yoga moves, while moaning his name and – Damnit, Winchester, get your mind out of the gutter.

“You having fun up there?” Your teasing voice rips right through his rather explicit picture of him going through some yoga poses with you at his mercy and he almost chokes on the mouthful of pizza. He forces it down with a swig of beer, while he gathers his thoughts sufficiently to reply with a cocky smirk, “Just enjoying the view.”

“Of course you do.” You roll your eyes but can’t help a soft chuckle before you switch to another pose.

From the corner of his eyes, he watches how you effortlessly stretch your legs apart just to roll over onto your stomach where you continue with propping yourself up on your hands, arching your back and then tipping your head back while pressing your stomach into the mat.

“Tell ya what,” he suddenly speaks up before he interrupts himself, stuffing the rest of the pizza crust into his mouth and swallowing it down. “You could probably do the whole Kama Sutra without breaking a sweat.”

You hold the Cobra pose when your chest briefly heaves from the huff that slipped your nose. “Horn dog.”

“Yoga, Kama Sutra – potato, potahto.” He snorts with a mocking tone, clearly starting to get annoyed from his fruitless efforts to distract you so far.

He shifts on the bed, propping his head up on the pillow in the crook of his arm to get a new angle on your curves. After watching you for a moment, he decides it’s time for a new approach.

He clears his throat before he muses in a sultry tone, “There’s also better ways to relax than yoga.”

While he licks his greasy fingers clean, he can’t help but appreciate the way the tight fabric of your yoga pants stretch over your curves again.

Still playing deaf, huh? A playful Cheshire smile forms on his lips when he finishes to suck his last digit with a obscene pop. He then continues in a demanding voice, “C’mere.”

“I’m not done yet.” You reply curtly, muffled slightly by the mat, your head now dropped down with your forehead resting on your folded hands.

He lets out an amused hum, “Oh yes you are.”

Within seconds he rolls off the motel bed to move on top of you, straddling your thighs and pressing down on you, pinning you against the mat.

You let out a surprised gasp, “Dean!”

But the only response you get is a cheeky “Heh-heh”.

When you feel his warm hands cup your butt cheeks and starting to squeeze and massage them, you lift your head to glance back over your shoulder at him. You give him your warning ‘seriously now?’ look, which he just deflects with a mock-innocent grin of his that said ‘what?’.

The way his palms squeeze firmly against your butt cheeks makes him let out a low satisfied hum in his throat. One hand moves to rest next to your head, supporting him as he leans down. His breath’s hot against your ear when he mutters, “This’ a lot more fun than that bullshit yoga.”

You want to bite back with a snarky comment about it not being bullshit at all – but your thought gets cancelled the moment his lips brush over the sensitive skin behind your earlobe, tracing a path of open mouthed kisses along the side of your neck. You let out a low shuddering breath, instinctively tilting your head for him.

But then a waft of his junk-food-slash-beer-laced breath hits your face and it instantly makes your nose scrunch up in a cute fashion.

“De, you smell like a dumpster.” You chuckle and reach with your hand over your shoulder to playfully shove his face away.

“Oh yeah?” He retorts with a smirk. Meanwhile his free hand snakes to the inside of your thighs, tight fingers sliding up under the stretchy fabric of your yoga shorts.

“Huh… only one way to solve it.” He mutters before he nips at your hand which had been pushing his face, giving the tip of your middle finger a short sharp bite that makes you gasp and immediately pull away.

He chuckles at your reaction and then straightens up to sit back on your legs. He inches further down to your calves, his eyes darting from his fingers wiggling under your short pants, up to your face again with a smirk on his lips. “I know what you’re thinking, sweetheart…”

Your anticipation’s building quickly. Feeling his fingers tracing so teasingly along the rim of your panties made the heat pool in your stomach and your mind throw all other plans for your remaining yoga session out the backdoor. And he damn well knew it the moment he brushed against the damp stain in the centre of your thin patch of fabric.

But then you let out a frustrated huff. He’d suddenly pulled his hand from between your legs to pat your ass with it, his glinting emerald eyes never leaving yours as he continues with a drawled “Nuh-uh.”

Then he leans over to the bed, his hand sliding into the pizza box where he fishes a remaining slice out. “Open wide.” He orders with a grin as he reaches with his hand over your shoulder. There he prods the tip of the pizza slice against your cheek, “C’mon, down the hatch. Commit a sin for me.” He quips with a feigned serious tone.

When you still look at him with that expression of befuddlement, he chuckles, his grin widening, “Take a bite, sunshine. Your breath’s my breath.”

You’re torn between being turned on by his words in some dirty twisted way and being utterly amused by them. It’s not like you were on a diet – heck, you sometimes eat so much junk food with all the cheap diners you’d hit every day on the road, it was a damn miracle you hadn’t gained weight yet.

“C’mon, Say aaaah.” He hums, still grinning from ear to ear as he prods the pizza slice against your lips.

After an amused snort, you can’t help but crack a grin of your own, “You’re a silly man, Winchester, you know that?” You finally give in and open your mouth enough to take a bite of the cold salami pizza.

“Yeah, but I’m your silly man.” He replies as he discards the pizza slice back into the box.

You swallow the bite down when his finger swipes over your bottom lip to clean away a streak of tomato sauce. His eyes follow his thumb’s movement, his touch gentle but the expression on his face more mischievous when he watches the tip of your tongue licking out to chase his finger to catch the bit of sauce.

You hold each other’s intense gazes, eyes darkened with something more. The sudden shift in atmosphere had you both still in your movements, taking in how the air between you had suddenly charged up.

Dean finally can’t take the tension any more and lets out a low growl from the back of his throat. He withdraws his finger, before giving your cheek a soft pat. “There’s my good girl.”

Your lips curl into a proud smile at his praise, “Only for you.”

A soft chuckle slips over his lips as he straightens up to sit back on your thighs again. His hands run down your back until they wrap around your hips, fingers trailing the hem of your yoga shorts. He hooks his fingers into the elastic band, slowly starting to pull them over your butt cheeks.

Your breath hitches when the cold air makes contact with your exposed rear. Next moment you feel his teeth dig into the soft flesh of your left bum cheek which triggers a short surprised yelp of yours.

“It was just too tempting.” He chuckles against your skin before he lets go of your butt with a wet-smooch to the red mark and straightens up again.

He pats the spot where he’d just claimed you, with his hand, “Lift up your hips, sweetheart.”

As you wiggle underneath him, he gets up on his knees, his weight now lifted off you to aid you with it. He leans forward to get a better hold on the fabric to properly pull the yoga pants along your panties down towards your knees.

“There we go… Now hold still for me, sunshine…” He mutters while his hands move along your skin.

A shiver runs through your body as you feel the only thing between you and him being taken from you, how you feel the fabric brush down your legs until you are completely exposed for him. Exposed and at his mercy. And damn it made your breath hitch from feeling vulnerable, as much as excitement.

After his hands had traveled further down, taking your pants and underwear with him, he discarded the redundant pieces of clothing to the side.

Finally satisfied, Dean slides down your legs again until he’s sitting on your calves, his hands on the back of your thighs. “Now where was my good girl’s cute little butt again.” He comments as he gently palms the soft globes of your cheeks with his smile never leaving his lips.

You groan softly and your eyes flutter closed, your body practically melting into the yoga mat under his touch.

“Oh, right, there it is.” He squeezes, his large hands massaging the flesh before he suddenly gives you a firm spank.

“Jesus-!” You yelp up at the unexpected sharp smack, your eyes wide open now as you whip your head to the side to stare back at him.

“Hey, you’re in prime spanking position here. What am I supposed to do, just admire the view and do nuthin’?” He mutters behind a teasing chuckle, his green eyes glued to the spot on your butt that was now slowly turning a light shade of red where his palm had hit you. “Plus, I know ya like it. Or you want me to get out the leather crop and remind you of our spankin’ session last week?”

Your thighs twitch involuntarily at the reminder of that evening. And the heat in your core is tingling from the vivid memory of that sweet-burning sensation that had taken over your body every time the leather smacked down on your skin.

“Guilty as charged.” You mutter while you have to force a moan back down your throat.

Dean’s lips curl into a cocky grin, “Knew it.”

You playfully narrow your eyes at him as you glance back over your shoulder to keep an eye on his sinful hand. But Dean stays unperturbed, if anything, your warning look just spurs him on even more.

“That’s for looking too damn good in those tight-ass yoga leggings.” He continues, giving your butt another firm slap before he reaches between your legs and your breath catches in your throat. His thumb traces the outline of your dripping folds, “And this-” His fingertips just graze over your centre, “That’s for being my good girl.”

He takes a moment to enjoy your gasp and how your head had dropped to the mat, your breath shaky already. His tongue darts out to lick his lips before he orders in a more gravelly tone, “Now be a good girl and spread your legs for me. I need to taste you.”

A shuddering exhale leaves your mouth, followed by a curse that luckily gets swallowed by the yoga mat you’re breathing into. You bend your knees slightly outward, as far as his hips pinning down your calves allow you to go.

“That’s it sweetheart…” He murmurs before his large hands grab the inside of your thighs, guiding your legs to part even further while his head slowly starts to sink down between them.

Your thighs begin to shiver from his warm breath hitting your soaked slit, desperately begging for his attention. Your hands blindly search for the edge of the mat, your fingers clutching it on each side as you prepare for him to dig into you.

Dean of course notices your anticipation and can’t miss the chance to comment on it.

“You’re gonna grab that mat nice and tight for me, sunshine. And you’re gonna hold still, keep those legs spread, and stay nice and quiet.” He instructs, his tone taking on a more commanding one, but still with a mischievous edge to it.

He then lowers his eyes again to admire the slick flesh between your legs where your folds are already parted, practically gleaming in the dim light of the motel room.

“Damn, look at you all nice and wet and open for me.”

Dean shifts his weight to brace his left elbow on the floor next to your hip, the other hand splayed out on the small of your back to hold you in place.

“You’re like a damn waterfall already, sunshine.” He murmurs in awe. The way your body reacts to him never ceases to fascinate him. He leans in, and you feel his hot breath coming in short puffs as he places a gentle kiss on your hooded clit, before he pulls back again.

As you immediately lift and tilt your head to look at him, he lets out an amused hum, “Now now, head down, sweetheart. Remember, yoga’s about relaxing and focusing on your body.”

“Smartass.” you manage to groan out.

“Eatsass.” he corrects you and before you get to be smart with him again, he proofs his point by suddenly parting your slick folds with his tongue, drawing it all the way up until he pulls it back into his mouth with a smack of his lips.

A low moan ripples through your chest, finally feeling that long desired friction that has you melt into a puddle of a blubbering mess. “Please- Dean- don’t stop- I need more- please-”

He grins at your pleading words and dives right back in. Licking, prodding, tongue lapping across your glistening folds, drinking your juice like its the only thing that keeps him sane. He moves up, his tongue circling your clit before he wraps his lips around it. Your legs suddenly tense up and a pathetic mewling-yelp erupts from your parted lips when he starts to suck at your bud like he’s finishing off a flurry through a thin straw.

Your hips jerk back and involuntarily try to pull away from the onslaught. But in vain as his large palm presses down on the small of your back to keep you in place and in reaction to your attempted escape, he just increases the borderline painful pull on your clit even more.

The foam gives in under your clawing fingers, feeling yourself near your climax. You’re close to a scream - until he finally loosens his grip around your sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re relieved and frustrated at the same time. Your clit’s now swollen and overstimulated and oh so close to pop you off the edge.

“P-please…” you whimper and turn your head to the side against the mat to be able to look back at him, “De… please – I-… I’m so close-”

“You want to come on my face… or my fingers, hm?” Dean hums with a cocky sound to it.

“Both- anything- please,” you beg now, your chest heaving under the weight of your body, your breaths grown ragged and heavy.

“Such a greedy little thing,” he growls, his tone laced with pride, knowing exactly that he can always drive you mad with need if he wants to.

He shifts his weight, his chest resting between your legs and his free hand snaking over your thigh to join him. His fingertips reach between your legs, running through the folds, as he lets his finger circle around your entrance for a moment. At your muffled whimper, he effortlessly pushes his middle finger inside. “But first, I wanna see if I can make those legs of yours quiver from just one finger…” Dean states, his tone low with a raspier edge, and darkened eyes fixed on your dripping hole.

You gasp at his words, his gravel tone sending a shiver down your spine. But after a moment of enduring his finger’s tantalizing strokes, your patience snaps and you regain your voice.

“Oh fuck you.” you groan in protest, your teeth clenched from frustration. One finger after all this teasing? This was just pure torture now and he knew it.

“What? You want me to go in full house?” He chuckles knowingly, enjoying your worn down patience way too much for your liking, “Want me knuckles deep inside you again, is that it?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, but instead quickly jams his index finger inside you, pumping them both in and out while his lips enclose around your clit once more.

You don’t even have the time to gasp for air when you feel your walls clenching and gripping onto his curling fingers. A few seconds of intense onslaught of his is enough to send you flying over the edge with a loud guttural moan. Your nails dig into the mat, your legs are shaking and your walls fluttering around his fingers while he helps you ride out your height.

Once you fall limp and try to catch your breath, Dean slowly withdraws his two fingers to raise them to his mouth and suck them clean. He grins, wiping his face with the back of his hand before his tongue swipes over his lips, kingly as he does so, savouring every last drop of your taste.

He shifts on top of you to move a hand next to your waist on each side, leaning down to grab the hooks of your sports bra between his teeth. With a swift tug, it falls open and he leans in to kiss you between your shoulder blades. You let out a low hum, enjoying the soft affection with eyes fluttered close. He moves again to gently tug the last piece of clothing over your shoulders and arms until he flings it over his shoulder, where it lands next to your other things.

You feel the rough fabric of his shirt graze your skin, and the buckle of his belt makes you shiver when it lowers down on the nape of your back. Just below it, the growing bulge behind his jeans rubs against your butt when he rolls his hips against you.

“You feel how hard I am just because of you?” He murmurs against your skin, the words almost lost in a stifled groan. But you still answer with a low confirming hum. He continues to plant kisses along your back, taking his time to explore every single inch. His lips send small shivers down your spine and all the way to your core again, each one of them like a spark along your fuse.

“Babe?” He mutters between hot kisses lining up to your ear now.

“Mh?” You hum into the yoga mat while tilting your head slightly for him.

“You ever heard of the elephant position?” He asks innocently.

The what? That name earns him a surprised giggle of yours. It was nothing unusual that Dean would randomly hit you up with some sex-position he’d like to try out with you, but this one was a new one to you. “Are you seriously talking about how elephants mate? Or are you trying to impress me with the yoga pose?” You tease him. Clearly he wasn’t talking about the latter. “Or, let me guess, it’s a Kama Sutra thing.”

He plants another open-mouthed kiss right under your ear, “Mmm-hm,” and his throat rumbles against your neck, his lips lingering there for a moment while he murmurs, “That… Ever tried it?”

With the side of his face he nudges your head further aside before he dives down to take the skin of your neck gently between his teeth, pinching it enough to make you gasp.

At his question, though, you look a bit sheepish and you shake your head, “No… is it… good?”

Dean beams at your admission – he simply loves it whenever he can show you something new, especially when he knows how much pleasure it’ll bring you.

He perks his head up like an excited dog, “Oh you’ll love it, baby. I promise. It hits all your super-sensitive spots.” He leans back in to nibble on the soft flesh of your neck before he continues in an eager tone. “You wanna try it?”

“Uh,” you lift your head now to glance back, meeting his glinting green eyes above his wide smile. Your lips curl upwards at the sight of his excitement and you respond, “Yeah, will you, uh, will you show me?”

“Of course, baby.” He leans back to lower his hips on your thighs again, his eyes raking up and down your buck naked body. “I need you to stay just like this- uh – whatever pose this is.”

You chuckle and raise yourself on your elbows. “The sphinx.”

“Yeah, right, okay, sphinx.” He mutters and pushes himself off you for a second, “Stay. Don’t move.”

He reaches for his belt buckle, the sound of the metal clinking while he unbuttons his jeans and slides the denim along his boxers off his hips. The heavy, worn jeans quickly land somewhere next to your yoga outfit, and his shirt follows seconds after.

“Yeah, that’s better.” He mutters to himself before climbing on top of you again, his knees straddling your legs as he lowers himself down. He runs his hands up and down your sides, his firm pecs brushing against your back. “’M not crushing you, am I?” He asks, his tone softer for a moment.

“No, all good. Don’t worry.” You reassure him before you angle your shoulders to nuzzle your nose against his jawline, feeling the scruff prickle your skin.

“Good.” He nuzzles back into your neck, hands trailing down your arms, “Mmmh… you’re so soft, sunshine.” His hands continue their path until they wrap around your wrists and guide your arms up just slightly above your head as your chest slowly lowers back down. He places them there before he murmurs against your ear, “Keep them there for me, baby, keep them right where I can reach them, yeah?”

“Mhm.” You nod and suddenly become aware of the way the tip of his erection brushes against your inner thighs every time he moves.

“Just wanna make sure I know where those hands are.” Dean chuckles and purposely bucks his hips so that his swollen head briefly kisses your entrance.

His hands slowly glide up the inside of your arm, fingertips ghosting over your twitching skin. He brushes them underneath you, hands up the front of your chest, cupping your breasts and slowly kneading the soft flesh in his palms, “Can’t have you squirming and fighting against me while I’m trying to make you feel good, y’know.”

You arch into his hands, needy little sounds of pleasure dripping off your lips. Your core’s burning again, begging to be taken care of.

“I know baby, I know…” he coos between tender kisses, and in spite of his chapped lips, he caresses your shivering skin with soft love letters.

“Dean- please- I-” you start to plead, your voice bouncing off the pink foam you’re panting against.

But Dean finishes for you with his voice dropped to a rougher octave, while still trying to sound soothing for you, “You just want me to pound you mindless into that damn mat… I know… and I can’t wait to make you cry, sunshine… Gonna make you scream my name so loud, the folks at the front desk will hear it and think there’s a whole exorcism going on or somethin’… But first you need a lil’ patience, sweetheart… alright?”

The question was of course rhetorical. Once your boyfriend has his mind set on something, he’ll pull through with it. Or at least that’s how he’d like to describe himself. You of course know that you’ve got him wrapped around your little finger whenever you really want.

“It’ll be worth it, I promise… I’ll make sure you come so hard, you’ll be seeing nuthin’ but stars for a whole minute.” He adds while he withdraws one hand to palm his erection before he lines up behind you.

“But first… I gotta pump your tight bands of muscles up… the ones closest to your sweet, drippin’ entrance– ” He begins to explain but gets interrupted when he pulls a gasp from your lips, thanks to him suddenly biting down on your shoulder.

His words come out slightly muffled as he continues with a growl, “… get them hot ‘n aroused ‘n sore from all my undivided attention… I want you to come just from my cock inside you.”

You feel his tip tease your entrance, circling it but never pushing in like he’s waiting for the right moment. His feet then dip beneath your legs, before his calves and heels press against your thighs to keep them clamped together. “That’s it… keep ‘em nice ‘n tight.” He husks somewhere behind you while he rocks his hips again. His warm breath’s skimming over your sweat-dampened skin sending shivers of goosebumps in its wake.

Once you’re just in perfect position for him, he finally pushes his cock inside you in one smooth motion which draws a low guttural moan out of your throat.

For the next minutes, Dean does as he explained, taking his sweet time to build up your tension at just the right spots.

He pulls the ridged-band along your slick, clenching walls, slow and ordaining. When he feels you twitch, he knows he’s found just the right spot. With deliberate rolling motions of his hips he begins to push and pull the head of his cock along your g-spot.

Your face drops to the mat, a shaky breath rippling out of your throat when you feel him graze your insides. His slow motions are torturous and unbelievably pleasurable at the same time.

His strong thighs bind yours between his own while he increases the friction, now rutting his swollen tip against your tightly grasping entrance.

“You feel that baby?” He whispers huskily, his lips right next to your ear-shell.

“Y-yeah,” you answer weakly, your breath slowly picking up pace to match his hips new rhythm.

Once he notices your entrance shimmy around his shaft, he knows he’s got you just where he wants you. He swiftly pulls his length out, earning himself a frustrated whimper of yours.

“No- no please, don’t stop-” You start to plead but before you know it, he pushes back in. This time without holding any inch back.

“You did so well, being so patient for me…” He begins to mutter against your hair, “I’ll take care of you now. Let go and just feel me, sunshine.”

You groan, arch your back and raise your chest off the floor, holding yourself upright with your elbows. But you quickly notice it’s in fact, Dean, who’s keeping you from collapsing back into your pink mat.

He had his arm wrapped around your torso, pulling your back close to his chest. His large palm slides along your body until it wraps around your soft, plump flesh to cup one of your breasts, your nipple teasingly pinched between his thumb and index finger. He supports you both on his free hand pressed into the foam, the muscles of his biceps flexing relentlessly from the force of his movements.

All the while he keeps snapping his hips against your bum with precise thrusts, each time taking your breath as he meets your cervix. Each collision eliciting a twinge, like a sweet hurt that has your pupils dive under your eyelids.

He switches his supporting arm, the freed hand roaming every part of your body like he’s exploring and worshipping it at the same time. His large palm comes to rest on your ass, splayed out on your soft flesh. Then you feel him slip out of you, shifting his position as he puts some of his weight on your ass now to hold you down when he begins to pound you into the mat again.

“Oh fuck-” The new angle draws a surprised yelp from you.

But Dean quickly comes to soothe you with open mouthed kisses dancing up your spine, his teeth skimming your skin and his lips tasting the sheen of sweat clinging to your body. Arrived at the nape of your neck, he husks out, “Good girl, takin’ every inch of me… lettin’ me fill ya up all the way…” his voice drifts off when his tongue darts out to lick the sensitive spot behind your ears, sending another shiver down your back.

The new pace of his hips is slower but no less intense. He continues to slam his cock past your slick folds, pulling out almost entirely before he rocks his hipbones back into your cheeks. Over and over, each time all the way to the shaft’s base, drawing those guttural moans from your sweet lips which make him growl with pride.

He rasps out groans and praises against your neck, each spurring you on equally, “You’re taking me so well, baby- Fuck- so good for me… my good girl… bein’ so, so perfect, only for me…”

Your moans grow more desperate, breathless, feeling his cock harden against your soft walls. “D-Dean-,” you whimper as your head briefly lolls back to lean into his shoulder just before it drops forward again with a loud shuddering moan sparked by your core.

Your hands start fisting into the crappy motel rug, pulling at the loose threads of it as you desperately search for something to hold onto. Your frantic actions don’t go unnoticed by Dean who’s watching your every hitch in breath and twitch of your muscles, always making sure he doesn’t miss the signs that the pain’s still pleasurable to you.

He quickly shifts his weight as his hand on your ass darts over to your clawing fingers, doing the same with his other. He untangles your fingers from the fabrics, intertwining them with his own while his forearms come to join yours on the pink foam, supporting himself on both elbows now.

He can feel your legs tremble against the weight of his hips, which he uses to plough you into the yoga mat as he slams into you. His movements now erratic and rough. Squelching sounds mix with your combined moaning and panting. Driving each other closer to the edge with every sound.

“Y-you close, baby?” He growls against your ear, already knowing the answer. He can feel your fluttering walls gripping him tightly, “Fuck-” he groans, his hands squeezing yours and pinning them there when your body starts to buckle and shudder beneath him. He’s now driving his cock inside you with primal need.

“Oh God-” you whine, face pressed flush into the foam as you feel the knot in your belly tighten up and your muscles go tense.

“F-fuck yeah- that’s it- squeeze and come on my cock, come for me-” He growls, his voice dropped to a gravelly, rumbling tone. He runs his nose along your neck, across the trail of red marks, when he suddenly sinks his teeth into your flesh once more.

And that does it for you. Your knot explodes into waves of pleasure rippling through your body. Stars take over your vision when you scream his name. Your walls flutter around his cock, pulling him over the edge along you and coating your walls with his warm seeds. The climax keeps crashing down on you in multiple shock waves until your body finally falls limp, your limbs twitching as if you’d been struck by a lightning bolt.

Dean collapses on top of you, his breath ragged and hot as it wafts against your sweaty skin. His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his biceps just barely able to keep his body from completely burying you under his weight.

“Damn… that- wow…” You whisper breathlessly, still trying to regain your vision and collect your thoughts.

“You were amazing, baby.” Dean praises you with a hoarse voice, his lips lingering on your temple.

You tilt your head to catch his lips in a soft, but purposeful kiss. When you pull back just enough to speak, you catch a glimpse of his eyes briefly widen at your words, “No, you are amazing.”

♡

For a moment you both enjoy each other’s soft breaths and the way he hugs you tightly as he wraps his body around you like a heavy blanket. You keep nuzzling your faces into each others hair while you let the silence be filled by your affections. Silence except for the TV which’s now playing the final scenes of “Die Hard” in the background.

After some time, Dean pushes himself off you, gently sitting back down on your bum as he takes in the sight of you in front of him. His hands are kneading the flesh of your ass as he watches you with hooded eyes. Then a cheeky grin begins to form on his lips when he realizes something.

“Y’know, you’re laying down in the perfect position for me to do somethin’.” He states with a full-out grin now.

“Huh-?” Before you can even process what’s happening, his fingers dig into the skin where he knows you’re the most ticklish.

“Dean!!” You squeal like a mouse – but the sound quickly hitches into a high-pitched giggle while you desperately try to wiggle away from him. “St-stop it- y-you jerk!” You stutter between gasps for air and the tears gathering on the rim of your eyes. You kick your legs, throwing him off and not wasting your chance, slipping away to scramble for an escape.

But you quickly find yourself back on the motel rug with a gasp and a thud, thanks to Dean pulling you back by the ankle. His smile has turned into that smug grin of his when he taunts you in a commanding voice, “Where d’you think you’re goin’, hm?”

“Th-that’s- unfair!!” you protest, but your words dissipate in another round of giggles as you turn onto your side, trying to free yourself. But Dean has his calves wrapped around your knee to lock it while his fingers skitter across the heel of your foot. You grapple with his free hand but he effortlessly evades your flailing limbs and grips you by the hip before you get to wiggle away again.

Next moment, you find yourself unceremoniously flipped back onto your stomach and his weight dropped down on your ass to pin you down bellow him. His thighs straddle you, this time reverse as his hands dart out to snatch one of your ankles, bending your leg back so he can continue his assault.

“Unfair? Me?” He lets out a deep chuckle, lips pursed in mock-innocence, his head tilted to glance back down at you over his shoulder. He stills his teasing fingers, waiting for your reaction.

You try to catch your breath while you narrow your watering eyes at him, daring him to go on.

Of course that sly bastard musters the audacity to answer your threat with a wink of his emerald eyes glinting with mischief and his lips flashed into that cocky smirk of his.

“Never.”

A/N: Dean going from goofy to smut to fluff to rough sex and back to fluffy and goofy like 📈 Idk I just see him like this, a caring 'n goofy softdom horn dog who loves it when he can show you new things.

Let me know what you think and if you got to enjoy it my sweet vixens ♡

Masterlist of opened windows:

1st Dec. - Sunshine 2nd Dec. - Spell Book 3rd Dec. - Lights Out 4th Dec. - Tickle 5th Dec. - Dirty UNO 6th Dec. - (TBA) 7th Dec. - Candlelight 8th Dec. - Hex Play 9th Dec. - Whip Stroke 10th Dec. - Barbie World 11th Dec. - Temptation ... (check the masterlist for more!)

Kinky Advent Calendar Tags:

@ariasong11 ♡ @deansjacket ♡ @literallylexa ♡ @lmpala1967 ♡ @foxyjwls007 ♡ @impala67rollingthroughtown ♡ @aylacavebear ♡ @jc-winchester

[castielscaplan]

Seventy Percent (Castiel)

Summary: Castiel feels a warmth he must share with you.

Warnings: Fluff

WC: 906

Read on ao3!

Prompt: "I am approximately 70% asleep right now, and you are interrupting my process." used from this list

The bunker was finally quiet.

The hunt had been long, ugly, and covered in mud. You’d helped gank a banshee, stitched up Dean’s shoulder, convinced a witness not to call the cops, and barely escaped a shower of broken glass. The post-hunt adrenaline had long since burned off, and by the time you finished the last load of laundry, your body ached in places you didn’t even know could ache.

All you wanted was to be horizontal.

Your bed welcomed you like an old friend, and the cool sheets pulled you into a soft, gentle embrace. You’d just sunk into that perfect sweet spot between wakefulness and unconsciousness—the mythical 70% zone—when:

FWUMP.

The unmistakable sound of wings filled the room. A breeze brushed your cheek, and the air shifted.

You didn’t even open your eyes. “Castiel…”

“I didn’t mean to startle you,” came his deep, even voice from far too close to your face. “But this is important.”

You groaned. “Cas. My guy. My ancient celestial being.” You turned your face into the pillow. “I am approximately 70% asleep right now, and you are interrupting my process.”

A pause. “What process?”

You finally lifted your head just enough to glare blearily at him. He was perched on the edge of your bed like a confused gargoyle, trench coat still buttoned up, hands folded in his lap.

“The process of falling asleep,” you mumbled. “It’s delicate. It’s sacred. And you’re stomping around in it like a moose.”

He blinked, unoffended. “I see.”

You dropped your head again, sighing. “Okay. You have one minute. What’s so urgent?”

Castiel shifted slightly on the bed, clearly troubled. “There is a sensation in my chest.”

You blinked, then slowly raised your head again. “…Is it a heart attack? Because if it’s a heart attack, I need more than a minute.”

“No. I don’t believe I’m dying.” He placed a hand flat over his heart. “It feels like… fluttering. But also heavy. I observed it happening when I looked at you earlier. You were asleep on the library couch, and I found myself...unable to leave.”

Your sleepy brain tried to catch up. “You watched me sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Cas…”

“I didn’t stare,” he added quickly. “I just… stayed. In case something tried to harm you.”

Your tired heart melted just a little. “Okay, well. That’s kinda sweet. But why are you here now?”

He tilted his head. “Dean says the sensation may be affection. Or possibly indigestion.”

You laughed, curling into your blanket. “It’s not indigestion. Sounds like a crush, Cas.”

“A crush?” he echoed.

“A crush,” you said, yawning. “Or maybe more. You feel safe when I’m around, yeah?”

He nodded.

“And you care what happens to me?”

His expression softened. “Very much.”

“Then congrats. You’re in love.”

Castiel sat with that for a long moment, then blinked slowly. “Oh.”

You grinned into your pillow. “Yeah. ‘Oh.’”

“Would you like me to leave?” he asked carefully. “I’ve disturbed your sleep process.”

You reached out a hand without even opening your eyes. “No. Come here.”

He hesitated for half a second, then stood and peeled off the trench coat with almost reverent slowness before climbing under the covers beside you.

You immediately tucked yourself into his side, head on his chest, hand fisting the soft fabric of his henley. He was warm—not exactly body heat, but some kind of internal grace-temperature—and solid. Safe.

“This is nice,” he said, sounding slightly stunned.

“You’re nice,” you murmured. “But I swear, Cas, if you start glowing or angel-radioing while I’m asleep…”

“I won’t,” he said solemnly.

And just as you were drifting again, 80% there, the door creaked open.

Dean stood in the doorway in flannel pajama pants and a ratty Zeppelin tee, hair rumpled. He froze like a man who’d just walked in on something sacred and illegal.

Castiel didn’t move. He merely looked over at Dean and said, “She invited me into the bed.”

Dean opened his mouth. Closed it. Raised a finger. Lowered it.

“…Okay, that’s… cool,” he said finally. “Just, uh. Keep the angelic mojo at PG levels, alright? This ain’t a Harlequin novel.”

“Dean,” you mumbled without opening your eyes, “if you say one more word, I’m getting Sam and telling him you sleep with a teddy bear named Zeppelin.”

Dean scowled. “You’re evil.”

“Goodnight.”

He muttered something about ‘damn cosmic beings stealing all the women’ before slinking back into the hallway.

Five minutes later, you heard another knock.

“Cas?” Sam’s voice called softly. “Dean said you’re in bed with Y/N. Is that… real?”

Castiel didn’t miss a beat. “It is. I am currently participating in a ‘sleepover cuddle scenario.’”

There was a brief silence.

“…Good for you, man,” Sam said, and you could hear the genuine warmth in his voice. “She deserves someone who’ll protect her like that.”

Castiel looked down at you, just as you murmured, “You hear that, angel boy? Even Sam ships us.”

He smiled, the expression soft and full of wonder. “Then I am most fortunate.”

You yawned and melted further into his arms. “Next time though… maybe declare your eternal love after I get to 100% asleep, okay?”

“I will take that into consideration,” he whispered, then pressed his lips gently to your forehead.

And this time, you slipped past 70%, past 100%, into perfect sleep—with an angel wrapped around you like the safest blanket in the world.

--

//PLEASE USE THIS AS A REMIDNER TO REBLOG! \\

[supernaturalfreewill]

Sam sank down on the edge of the bed. He couldn't resist gently running his hand over your shoulder in a loving gesture and smiling at your tousled hair on the pillow. You immediately stirred at his touch and blinked awake, looking up at him with sleepy eyes.

"Hi," he whispered, smiling.

You stretched a little and snuggled back under the covers, not tearing your eyes from him. "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?" you said, pouting.

He laughed lightly. "I was gone two days," he said.

"Yeah. So long," you repeated.

"I'm so sorry. Let me try again." Sam cleared his throat dramatically and affected a bad British accent. "My love, my darling, my dearest, I missed you so much I thought I would die. May I please come to bed so I can hold you all night? You are the wind beneath my wings and the sugar in my tea!"

You couldn't help giggling a little. "I guess so," you sighed.

"You guess so?!" he laughed. "I just did all that and I get an 'I guess so'?!"

"I'm sorry, my love, my darling, my dearest," you responded, laughing.

"Alright," Sam replied, rolling his eyes. "Move over." You obliged and he slipped in under the covers with you, immediately pulling you into him and wrapping his arm around you.

"Sam?"

"Hmm?"

"I really did miss you."

He smiled and planted a kiss on your forehead, holding you more tightly. "I missed you too." Prompt: "You've been gone for so long and all you have to say is 'hi'?"