#they hate mal btw | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sophiuhhsthots · 2 days ago

Text

LOVE NOTE : three states away

WORD COUNT : 6027

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dean’s phone lights up. it’s mal, it’s always mal. she’s home at bobby’s, while he and sam are in nebraska for something with their dad. she decided not to go, obviously, being that she hates john winchester more than anyone else on the planet.

dean squints at the screen, bleary-eyed and half-drunk from whatever bottom-shelf crap he and sam split in the motel room earlier. sam’s already passed out on the other bed, one arm flung dramatically over his face like he’s in a damn tragedy. the TV’s still on, flickering blue over everything, and the light from his phone cuts through it all like it knows who it’s from.

[1:49AM — my girl]

hey

need bicep pics or i’ll die

he huffs a laugh under his breath, swipes a hand over his mouth. he can hear her in the texts — hear it like her voice is curling around the syllables, syrup-slow and full of that particular bratty demand she’s perfected since they were seventeen.

he types back, thumbs heavy, lazy.

[1:50AM — chew toy]

that a medical emergency?

gonna need a formal diagnosis, babe

but he’s already rolling out of bed, standing in the motel’s yellow bathroom light, angling his phone with the expertise of a man who’s done this before. he flexes, bicep taut, teeth sinking into his bottom lip in a way he knows drives her insane.

click.

another from the front.

another with his shirt pushed up, hint of abs, just to be cruel.

he sends all three without a caption. lets the silence linger.

and then, just to twist the knife:

[1:53AM — chew toy]

you miss me or just the arms?

be honest

he knows she’ll lie. she always does. and he’ll love every damn word of it.

[1:53 AM - my girl]

awooga

just licked my phone btw

she knows he’s smirking proudly right now. so, she decides to humble him a bit.

[1:54 AM - my girl]

mostly ur arms but ig you’re not so bad.

dean’s grin kicks in before he even finishes reading — one of those low, private, deeply entertained ones that makes his shoulders drop and his stomach twist. he leans against the chipped sink like it’s holding him up, phone warm in his hand, heart warmer.

[1:55 AM — chew toy]

“mostly my arms” huh

real sweet talker you are

you try that hard with everyone or am i just lucky

he doesn’t wait for her to respond before tossing in another — his favorite kind of bait:

[1:56 AM — chew toy]

bet if i was there you’d be bitin ‘em

all whiny and pretty and sayin you don’t miss me

with my hand down your shorts

he stares at it for a beat, considering, then shrugs and hits send. the motel hums quietly around him, and sam snores like a dying tractor.

[1:56 AM — chew toy]

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he sends another picture — his hand curled lazily around the back of his neck, bicep flexed, a smirk barely tugging at the corner of his mouth. no caption this time.

[1:57 AM - my girl]

holy fucken shit ur gorg. it’s criminal.

she crawls into his bed, clicking off the bedside lamp.

[1:58 AM - my girl]

i hate you but you’re so damn right i would

also i’m sleeping in ur bed btw

was too lazy to put my sheets on after i washed them

might leave you a lil somethin’

and yes you are lucky it’s because of the gun show that’s the only reason i like you

dean’s hand rakes through his hair, that slow, stunned kind of movement that says goddamn, like she’s under his skin even from three states away. he reads her messages over and over — especially the last one — until his lip’s caught between his teeth and he’s fighting off a groan that would definitely wake sam.

[2:01 AM — chew toy]

what kinda somethin

you talkin like… a rock?

or more like somethin that smells like you and makes me hard?

he paces the motel bathroom, running too hot now, thumbs hovering, not quite done.

[2:02 AM — chew toy]

cuz if it’s the second one

i’m gonna start drivin right now

nebraska to south dakota, no stops, no mercy

he pauses again. then, because he knows her:

[2:03 AM — chew toy]

also

don’t get drool on my pillow

you sleep like a corpse but worse

a really fuckjn hot corpse but still

he pictures her there, curled in his sheets, probably naked just to spite him. smug and bratty and buried in his scent like it’s a comfort she won’t admit to.

[2:04 AM — my girl]

you bitch

also *fuckin

and i do not drool.

i sleep like an angel thank you very much

dean practically chokes on a laugh, biting his knuckle to keep quiet, eyes glinting with the kind of amusement that only she ever drags out of him at two am motel bathrooms, surrounded by mildew and bad decisions. he sinks to the toilet lid, elbows on knees, phone lighting up his face like a ghost.

[2:06 AM — chew toy]

an angel huh

funny, cuz i’ve heard the noises you make in your sleep

like a lil gremlin tryin to possess my mattress

he’s smiling wide now, loose and boyish, totally gone for her in the way that makes him reckless.

[2:07 AM — chew toy]

but yeah sure

a real angel

especially when you’re stealin all the covers and trapping me like a goddamn bear trap

he tacks on a picture — him in bed now, one arm thrown behind his head, sheets low on his hips, still shirtless, that same cocky tilt to his smirk like he knows she’s clutching her phone with fire in her veins.

[2:08 AM — chew toy]

goodnight, brat

sweet dreams in my bed

[2:09 — my girl]

nooo don’t go to bed it’s so early you geriatric freak

stay up

i wanna flirt with you

dean’s head tips back with a groan, grinning like he’s been sucker punched by cupid himself and he likes the bruises. phone clutched to his chest for a second like she might hear the laugh that bubbles up in him — low, hoarse, warm as summer asphalt under his ribs.

[2:10 AM — chew toy]

geriatric freak???

i’m twenty-one you toddler

but go on i guess

flirt away

i’m all ears n biceps

{attachment : 1 image}

he shifts in bed, the mattress creaking beneath him, and takes another photo — this time it’s blurry on purpose, just his hand tugging the waistband of his boxers low enough to make her ache.

[2:11 AM — chew toy]

c’mon, angel

say something filthy

make the old man blush

[2:13 AM — my girl]

holy gilf

gAWDAMN

{attachment : 1 image}

dean freezes the second that little attachment bubble pops up — thumb hovering, heart pounding like he just got shot at. because he knows her. and if she sent a photo after calling him a gilf, it’s not of her face.

he opens it, and groans. out loud. no warning.

it’s her. in his shirt, all soft and rumpled and riding high on her thighs, legs bare, one of them bent just enough to show the curve of something sinful. her hair’s a mess and her lips are pink and her eyes — god, her eyes — half-lidded and smug and sweet all at once. like she knows exactly what she’s doing to him and lives for it.

[2:15 AM — chew toy]

you’re trying to kill me

and honestly

not a bad way to go

he stares at the photo again, thumb brushing the screen. he wants to bite her. wants her in his lap, on his tongue, clawing at his shoulders and laughing into his mouth.

[2:16 AM — chew toy]

i’d wreck you right now if i could

you wouldn’t sleep for a week

all because you called me a gilf

you deserve it

[2:17 AM — my girl]

don’t hate me it turns me on

she smirks in his dark bedroom, her mind never ceasing on ideas of just how to torment him.

[2:19 AM — my girl]

whoops there go my panties

gosh darn things just flew right off

dean’s got a fist in his own hair now, eyes half-lidded, pupils blown, sitting in a dim motel room like he’s been hexed. and maybe he has. maybe her voice lives in his bloodstream now, tangled with the way she laughs, the way she teases, the way she ruins him with nothing but a few shitty texts and a photo he’s gonna be thinking about for years.

he drags his teeth across his bottom lip and types:

[2:20 AM — chew toy]

panties didn’t stand a chance

poor little things

bet they were cute too

lace? cotton? little bow on the front?

doesn’t matter

i’d have em in my pocket right now. or maybe wrapped around my dick

he pauses. closes his eyes. inhales slow.

[2:21 AM — chew toy]

you really want me to lose my mind tonight, huh

say the word and i’ll fuck my hand stupid thinking about that picture

bout how warm you’d be under me

bout how you’d cry for it

[2:22 AM — my girl]

the word

he exhales hard, like she just punched the air right out of him — palms sweaty, throat dry, cock already aching where it presses against the waistband of his boxers. god, she’s evil. nineteen and bratty and sinful and his.

he doesn’t even reply, not with words. not at first.

instead, he finds the voice memo button and hits record. voice low, half-wrecked already:

[2:24 AM — chew toy]

{attachment : voice memo — 0:43}

“you want this, baby? yeah, you do. all that attitude, all that mouth — bet it’d get real soft if i was there, huh? you’d be breathin my name so sweet, so filthy, pullin at my arms like they’re the only thing keepin you grounded. i’d have you cryin in that damn bed you’re stealin from me. you’d be beggin, i know you would. wouldn’t stop ‘til i gave it to you.”

he ends it with a breath — sharp, unsteady.

[2:24 AM — chew toy]

go on then

ruin me right back

[2:25 — my girl]

{attachment : 3 images}

[incoming call — my girl]

accept?

he accepts with a swipe, fingers trembling just slightly, phone pressed to his ear like it’s a lifeline. there’s a beat of silence — thick, charged, the kind that prickles up the back of his neck — and then she’s there, her voice all honeyed static and bedroom hush.

“hi,” she says, soft and smug, and it’s the sexiest fucking thing he’s ever heard.

he sinks further into the motel mattress, free hand gripping the sheets like she’s underneath him already. “jesus christ, mal.”

she giggles. giggles. like she hasn’t been wrecking him from three states away with nothing but texts and one wicked photo. “you sound a little outta breath, old man.”

“you send that and expect me to be fine?” he rasps. “you’ve got a mean streak.”

“i’m sweet,” she purrs. “you said so yourself. your lil angel.”

“you’re a demon in thigh-high socks.”

“wrong. your demon in thigh-high socks.”

his groan is immediate, wrecked and low and involuntary. he lets the phone fall to his chest for a second, like he can’t breathe with her voice so close, then brings it back. “you touchin’ yourself, sweetheart?”

a pause. breath hitching through the speaker. “…yeah.”

he could die. right now. happy, hard, haunted.

“yeah?” he murmurs, palm dragging down over his stomach. “how’s it feel?”

“not the same,” she whispers. “miss your hands. your mouth. it pisses me off that you’re better than me at it. and your fuckin’ voice — jesus, dean, you sound like sex.”

“you’re the one makin’ me sound like this,” he breathes. “you sittin there in my shirt, in my bed, touchin that sweet pussy and callin me names.”

she moans, sharp and desperate, and it goes straight to his spine.

“say it again,” she pants.

“say what?”

“that it’s yours. that i’m yours.”

he groans again, hand gripping his cock now, slow and firm. “you’re mine. mine, mal. fuckin’ branded.” his breath stutters, lips parted against the speaker. “nobody else gets you like this. nobody else gets this mouth.”

“dean—”

“say my name again,” he growls.

“dean,” she gasps.

he’s close, too close, the sound of her falling apart spilling over the line like gasoline on fire. his name in her voice is a fucking prayer, a confession.

“i’m gonna come thinkin about you,” he chokes. “bout those pictures. bout you leavin me somethin sweet on my sheets.”

“do it,” she cries. “do it for me, baby—please—”

he does. with her name in his mouth and her voice in his ears and a photo burned into his memory that he’ll never recover from.

they both go quiet. not awkward. not tense. just quiet, breathless, like the storm just passed and left them in the stillness of something sacred.

after a beat, she hums, satisfied and sleepy. “you still there?”

“barely,” he mumbles, boneless and blissed out.

she laughs, and it’s soft this time. tender.

“told you i’d leave you somethin’.”

“gonna frame that photo,” he says. “put it over my grave.”

“you’re so dramatic.”

“you’re so hot.”

they lie there, hundreds of miles apart, hearts beating like they’re in the same bed.

“love you,” she murmurs. unprompted. small and sure.

his breath catches.

“love you,” he echoes. “always.”

and she falls asleep to the sound of his breathing, steady on the line.

he stays up a bit longer, just thinking of her — naked, snuggled in his bed, that post-orgasmic glow she always seems to don.

the motel room hums in that way only cheap places do — air conditioner buzzing, fridge kicking on with a rattle, the static hush of late-night television still playing to no one. sam mutters in his sleep, rolls over, but dean doesn’t notice. not really. not when his mind’s a thousand miles away, soft-focused on the picture she painted with nothing but her voice and a sin-slick smile.

he can see it like it’s projected on the back of his eyelids — her, tangled in his sheets, all bare limbs and flushed cheeks and that sweet, smug little grin that only shows up after she’s come apart for him. her hair a mess on his pillow, skin still dewy with heat, chest rising slow beneath the fabric of his shirt. his shirt. she always steals it like it’s owed to her, like she belongs in it more than he ever did.

he presses his phone to his chest, feels the thrum of her still there — like she never stopped talking, like her voice is stitched into the lining of his ribs. he swears he can smell her, that warm mix of perfume and sweat and something that’s just her, something wild and unmistakable. makes his throat tight. makes his hands twitch, like they’re reaching for the slope of her hip in the dark.

he’d give anything to be in that bed with her now. to press his lips to her bare shoulder, pull her close, bury himself in the silence that only she makes feel like home. he aches with it. not just the want, not just the heat — but the closeness. the herness of her. loud and soft and maddening in equal measure.

he sighs. rubs a hand over his face. doesn’t even bother to hide the smile that creeps in — slow, private, helpless.

“brat,” he mutters, under his breath, fond as hell.

then he turns off the light and lets the darkness take him, her name the last thing curled against his tongue.

dean’s eyes crack open slow, groggy and thick-lidded, one arm flung over his face like a mirror of how sam looked hours ago. his phone buzzes against his chest where it must’ve slipped down sometime in the night, screen lighting up with her name, and god — just like that, he’s wide awake.

he blinks once. twice. lets the message soak in.

[9:27 AM — my girl]

shit sorry didn’t hang up i swear my phone died

he huffs a laugh, throat dry and voice rough with sleep. phone still warm from being held all night, like it remembers her too. he reads the text again, already grinning, already imagining the mess she probably is — bare legs kicked over his sheets, panic-typing with those frantic thumbs of hers like she just woke up and realized she’d accidentally left a window open into her soul.

he types back, quick and teasing, still smiling like an idiot in yesterday’s boxers:

[9:29 AM — chew toy]

uh huh

so what you’re tellin me is i got to fall asleep to the sound of your breathing

like some lovesick teen in a coming-of-age movie

he rubs at his eyes with the heel of his hand, biting back the flutter in his chest that her name always kicks up. then, after a second,

[9:30 AM — chew toy]

also

you snored

like, a lot

like a lil gremlin trapped in my phone

she doesn’t snore, but he never stops teasing her about it. he hits send with a quiet snort and waits, already knowing she’ll have something ridiculous to say. already loving her more than he knows what to do with.

[9:31 AM — my girl]

tsk tsk

all you do is lie

and liars don’t deserve this but you get it anyway because i’m feeling charitable

{attachment : 1 image}

it’s her, cuddled in his sheets, the black comforter pulled up right under her chin. mr. bunny in hand, a sleepy little smile playing on her lips, and little wrinkles on her cheek from where she laid in one place for too long.

he stares.

like, really stares — everything in him going still and reverent, like she just sent him a damn masterpiece. his girl, curled up in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, clutching that stupid little bunny she’s had since she was a kid, and somehow she’s still the sexiest thing he’s ever seen. that tiny, smug, sleepy smile wrecks him. the sheet-pressed wrinkles on her cheek make his heart seize up in his chest.

he exhales slow. presses his knuckles to his mouth. god, he’s so fucking gone for her.

[9:34 AM — chew toy]

oh my god

you’re not even real

he swipes a hand down his face, groaning out loud.

[9:35 AM — chew toy]

look at you

all smug and cozy and domestic

how the hell am i supposed to fight monsters and be normal after this huh

you’re out here makin me wanna build a damn picket fence

he pauses, then tacks on:

[9:36 AM — chew toy]

mr. bunny made it into the pic too??

unbelievable

no one’s ever looked that cute and been that evil at the same time

and just because he can’t help himself, just because she’s got his heart squeezed in her little fist:

[9:37 AM — chew toy]

love you, you know

even when you steal my bed and send me photos that make me ache in places i didn’t know had nerve endings

he doesn’t send a picture back. not yet. he just stares at hers for another full minute, grinning like a dumbass, feeling warm and ruined and home.

[9:38 AM — my girl]

mommy n baby miss you daddy <3

his head drops back against the crappy motel pillows with a groan so full-bodied it rattles out of his soul. this fucking girl.

he fists the sheet near his hip, laughter bubbling low in his chest, somewhere between unhinged and head-over-heels. she’s insane. she’s insane. and he loves her more than anything on god’s green, godforsaken earth.

[9:39 AM — chew toy]

oh fuck no

i just got a cavity from that text

you tryna give me heart palpitations AND a boner before breakfast?

also fuck, that’s so not fair

he lifts his phone, snaps a selfie — messy hair, pillow crease on his cheek, lashes still heavy from sleep. the kind of photo he wouldn’t send anyone else. the kind of photo that says i’m yours, even when i look like this.

[9:40 AM — chew toy]

daddy misses you too

he’s hard already

needs his girl

you’re lucky i’m not there

i’d have you moanin ‘daddy’ like it’s your full time job

make you say it until your voice goes hoarse and your legs won’t close

a beat. then, because he can’t resist:

[9:41 AM — chew toy]

kiss mommy for me

tell her daddy’s on his way home soon

and he’s bringing a belt

he tosses the phone onto the mattress beside him and scrubs his hands down his face, caught somewhere between laughter and a full-blown meltdown.

then he lets out the softest fucking sound — somewhere between a chuckle and a sigh, all affection, no defense. mommy n baby. she’s insane. she’s his. and god, if he doesn’t miss her so bad it feels like a bruise under his ribs.

he collapses back onto the motel bed, one arm flung across his eyes, phone held to his chest like it’s the only thing tethering him to her.

[9:43 AM — my girl]

dean winchester do not say such things in front of such impressionable young rabbits

dean practically howls, pressing his fist to his mouth to muffle the sound so he doesn’t wake sam, who’s still dead to the world across the room like a goddamn log.

he grabs the phone again, eyes watering from how hard he’s laughing, that warm ache spreading through his chest like sunlight spilling under a door.

[9:43 AM — chew toy]

mr. bunny’s been through worse

you think he didn’t see the way you rode me the other day?

poor bastard was a foot away from the action

traumatized. spiritually ruined.

he deserves hazard pay

[9:44 AM — my girl]

being cucked by a stuffed bunny is wild in retrospect

he can’t stop grinning, thumbs still flying. this is how it always is — fire and filth and affection all tangled up in each other, impossible to separate.

[9:44 AM — chew toy]

i’ll make it up to him

bring him a tiny whiskey bottle or somethin

some bunnycigarettes

a lil therapy

[9:45 AM — my girl]

he says to just bring your ass back here yesterday because he wants siblings

dean chokes — literally chokes — on absolutely nothing, just air and implication and the sheer nerve of her. he drops his phone on his chest, staring at the ceiling like it might offer divine intervention or maybe just a moment of composure. it doesn’t. not when his entire body is tensing with laughter and something warmer, deeper, heavier that curls in his gut like a promise.

he picks the phone back up, still grinning like the absolute menace she’s made him into.

[9:46 AM — chew toy]

mr. bunny is not allowed to talk like that

he’s supposed to be an innocent bystander

not my fluffy little pimp

mal snorts, rolling her eyes at his humor.

[9:47 AM — chew toy]

…also what kinda siblings we talkin here?

like, soft, stuffed cotton ones

or the kind that take 9 months

his smirk turns lazy, dangerous, all teeth and heat and affection he’d never admit out loud.

[9:48 AM — chew toy]

’cause if it’s the second kind

might wanna warn the neighbors

gonna get real loud around here when daddy gets home

[9:49 AM — my girl]

you gonna cuff me for the noise complaint, officer?

dean makes a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh, because goddamn. she’s too quick with it — sweet little menace wrapped in sleepy sheets and filth, and he loves her for it. he drags a hand down his face, already picturing it: her in cuffs, that grin, that look she gets when she’s just begging to be ruined.

[9:50 AM — chew toy]

ma’am, i’m afraid you are the noise complaint

and yeah, i am gonna cuff you

strictly for the safety of the public

and also to see how long you can beg before i give you anything at all

gonna toss my badge on the nightstand

read you your rights with my hand down your panties

like “ma’am, you have the right to get railed”

he pauses, breathing out a laugh, fingers dancing over the screen.

[9:52 AM — chew toy]

no trial. no bail.

life sentence in my lap.

she snickers, rolling onto her front as she types.

[9:53 AM — my girl]

my my. whatever shall i do? what a shame this is.

is there anything i can do, officer?? *bats lashes*

dean stares at the screen, one eyebrow cocked, lip curling slow like a wolf with blood in his teeth. he can see it — her on her stomach, kicking her feet behind her, batting those lashes like she’s not the devil in disguise. she knows what she’s doing. and he’s already a goner.

[9:54 AM — chew toy]

hmm. well, that depends, miss

you willing to cooperate with the investigation?

might go easy on you if you confess to being the sexiest damn girl alive

though i gotta warn you

the punishment for that is pretty severe

might have to handcuff you to the headboard

run a full… thorough body search

he leans back against the headboard, grinning like a sinner in church.

[9:56 AM — chew toy]

and if you ask real nice

maybe i’ll let you kiss my badge before i ruin you

[9:57 AM — my girl]

it’s a good thing i’m a law-abiding citizen, sir.

i just can’t go to jail! i look terrible in orange :(

dean huffs a laugh, low and throaty, thumb already flying across the screen. she’s so damn good at this — playing it up all sweet and fake-innocent, knowing full well she’s the one with the devil on her shoulder and him wrapped around her pinky finger.

[9:58 AM — chew toy]

oh sweetheart

you think you’re not already in trouble?

orange might not be your color

but i bet you’d look real cute in cuffs and nothing else

you keep talkin like that and i will show up at bobby’s

badge, cuffs, the whole damn uniform

gonna kick down your door and say i got a warrant for your arrest

on multiple counts of bein too fuckin pretty

he’s smirking now, biting his bottom lip, imagining the look on her face — those wide, faux-innocent eyes, the gasp, the pout.

[10:00 AM — chew toy]

and the sentence, miss?

you, me, and 40 years of hard fucking labor

[10:01 AM — my girl]

only forty?

he groans under his breath, tossing his head back against the motel headboard with a grin that’s equal parts reverent and wrecked. god, she kills him. every damn time.

[10:02 AM — chew toy]

sweetheart

i was tryin to be generous

but if you’re askin for life without parole…

he pauses. thumbs still. smile curling slow and devilish.

[10:03 AM — chew toy]

guess i’ll just have to make sure you never walk straight again

start servin your sentence tonight

i’m comin to get you.

gonna cuff you to the headboard and read you your rights

real slow. real thorough.

right to remain gagged

anything you moan can and will be used against you in the bedroom of law

[10:05 AM — my girl]

bring bunny some earplugs

[10:06 AM — chew toy]

he’s gettin a tiny lil blindfold too.

poor guy doesn’t need to see what daddy’s about to do to mommy.

her fingers twitch around the phone, teeth digging into her bottom lip like she might bite down hard enough to draw blood. cheeks flushed, legs tangled in the sheets, she kicks them once out of sheer, girlish delight.

[10:07 AM — my girl]

you’re gonna scar him for life

he’s just a baby

but i guess it is a good lesson in what happens

when you misbehave

she tosses the phone aside for a moment, flopping onto her back, grinning so hard it hurts her jaw. when she grabs it again, she’s already laughing.

[10:09 AM — my girl]

think you’re man enough to handle me and bunny at the same time, officer winchester?

[10:10 AM — chew toy]

don’t fear, ma’am, i was trained for this.

she lets out a delighted gasp, dramatic as ever, clutching the phone like it might run away from her. she reads it once, then again, then a third time, giggling into her pillow like a teenager with a summer crush and a secret too big to carry.

[10:11 AM — my girl]

a real hero…

putting in the work to protect and serve

sucking you off is included in community service right?

that’s the law, i read it in one of sam’s stanford books

hope you got the cuffs polished, officer.

[10:13 AM — chew toy]

of course, ma’am. my fuzziest handcuffs, just for you

her toes curl. the smirk on her face turns smug, satisfied, kittenish. she stretches out across his bed like a cat in a sunbeam, the phone cradled in one hand, the other tangled lazily in her hair.

[10:14 AM — my girl]

fuzzy? mm. such a gentleman.

but she prefer when you hold her down yourself

til she’s all sweet and sorry and saying please

{attachment : 1 image}

she grins wickedly and snaps another picture — a close-up this time, of her mouth parted just slightly, a little trail of her fingertip pressed to her bottom lip. the caption: “you gonna teach me a lesson, officer?”

[10:16 AM — chew toy]

fuck you’re so mean. makin me hard at ten in the fucken morning. sam’s five feet away, baby

her laughter is silent and devious, muffled into the pillow she half-buries her face in. she knows exactly what she’s doing, knows he’s squirming in his seat or pacing the motel room like a caged animal, knows sam’s somewhere nearby probably side-eyeing him without a clue.

[10:17 AM — my girl]

poor baby. all stiff n twitchy and nowhere to go.

maybe if you’re good i’ll send you a video.

real quiet. real slow.

you can sneak off to the bathroom like a little perv and think about how you left me all alone.

[10:19 AM — chew toy]

don’t bully me i’ll cum :(

she snorts, kicks her feet up like she’s sixteen again, wicked grin twisting her mouth as she clutches mr. bunny in her arm, all venomous and saccharine.

[10:20 AM — my girl]

you’re so fragile.

baby’s gonna make a mess in his jeans before breakfast?

should i tell you’re a good boy?

rub your back?

tell you what a strong man you are for not nutting the second i texted you?

[10:22 AM — chew toy]

fuck you

his phone vibrates in his hand and he groans — sharp, low, bitten off at the end like it physically hurts. he’s already slouched deeper into the passenger seat, legs spread and jacket bunched around his hips, like somehow that’ll hide the way he’s squirming.

sam doesn’t look up, just mutters, “you good?”

“yeah,” dean grits out. “great. awesome.”

he opens the message.

mal snickers, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip and slipping a hand under the covers.

[10:24 AM — my girl]

yes sir. wanna see?

he reads it and immediately chokes on his coffee — actually coughs, loud enough for sam to glance over with suspicion in his eyes. dean waves him off, muttering some bullshit about “wrong pipe” as he fumbles for his phone under the table, pupils already blown wide, mouth slack.

[10:24 AM — chew toy]

you’re fucken evil

yes

show me what i’m missing, baby

show daddy what’s got his girl squirming in his sheets

bet you’re already wet just thinking about me

cmon. be good. lemme see

[10:26 AM — my girl]

dripping.

{attachment : 1 image}

she chuckles softly, her fingers coming back glistening, arousal stringing between the tips of her lithe middle and ring fingers. she snaps the photo, sending it off.

[10:27 AM — chew toy]

fuck

god, baby, you know exactly what i need to see

you’re killin’ me

he takes a shaky breath, trying not to get too caught up in the heat of it, but it’s impossible. the image she sent has him on edge, barely able to focus on anything other than the burn in his gut. sam’s talking about some random thing, but dean’s too far gone to care, his thumb hovering over his phone, mind only on her.

[10:28 AM — chew toy]

if you keep this up, i swear to god, i’m gonna lose my shit.

fuck

i need to touch you so bad

[10:29 AM — my girl]

already on it, drive safe xo

[10:30 AM — chew toy]

goddamn, i love you.

i’ll be there as fast as i can.

[10:31 AM — my girl]

love you more xx

the words are barely out before he’s already pushing everything aside — his mind, his focus, all of it narrowing on the single thought of getting home to her. the road ahead might be long, but his impatience burns brighter than the headlights. he knows exactly what he’s coming back for.

he doesn’t even get one foot over the threshold before she’s on him.

the door swings open fast and wide, and then she’s there in a flurry of motion and bare legs, oversized tee riding up just enough to make him forget how to breathe. no warning. no hello. just the soft thud of her feet and then she’s airborne, flinging herself into his arms like she’d die if she didn’t.

and he’s ready — always ready when it comes to her. catches her with one arm like it’s muscle memory, like his body knew before his brain did. his bag slips off his shoulder and hits the floor with a heavy thunk but he barely hears it. all he hears is the way she giggles as her legs wrap around his waist, her arms latching around his neck.

and then she’s kissing him — attacking him with kisses, really. quick and messy and everywhere. cheeks, jaw, the corner of his mouth, nose, eyelids. she’s giggling breathlessly against his skin, whispering something like “mine, mine, mine” between kisses, and he’s just standing there with one arm hooked under her thighs and the other cupping the back of her head, dazed and so fucking in love he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“hi,” she murmurs eventually, grinning against his lips, eyes gleaming like sunlight on bourbon.

he huffs out a laugh. “jesus, sweetheart—can i breathe first?”

“nope,” she says, and kisses him again, like she’s trying to make up for every second he was gone.

and he lets her. of course he does.

#sophiuhhwrites #dean winchester #supernatural #dean winchester smut #mallory hawthorne #supernatural smut #he’s so babygirl #mallory hawthorne smut #i want him so bad #(s)creaming #holy fucking shit #wanna wait for him by the door all dolled up

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