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#supernatural reader insert
luci-in-trenchcoats · 25 days
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The Husband Effect
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Summary: The reader is struck with a love curse that leaves her feeling more than a bit attached to Dean...
Pairing: Dean x reader (eventual)
Word Count: 2,200ish
Warnings: language, angst, love curse, fluff
A/N: Y’all don’t even want to know how old this fic is. Pretty sure it was written during S13. Figured it was time for it to see the light of day!
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“Y/N. Y/N. Giggling woman,” you heard Dean say, clapping his hands together. “Hey! Focus.”
“She’s cursed Dean,” said Sam with a smile. “It was some harmless witchcraft. It’ll wear off soon I’m sure.”
“Is she currently trying to climb into your lap? No?” said Dean, pointing at where he was continually shoving you back from him. “Y/N, stop it.”
“I wanna sit with you,” you whined, throwing your arms over his shoulder, nuzzling your cheek against his.
“This is weird,” said Dean, trying to scoot away, Sam biting back back a laugh. “A little help, Sammy!”
“So she’s a little extra clingy. We’ll put her to bed, she’ll sleep it off and in the morning she can be completely embarrassed about this whole thing,” said Sam.
“Why would I be embarrassed about my Deanie?” you asked, squeezing him harder, Dean rising to his feet.
“Come on, Y/N. Off to bed with you. Now.”
“Good morning,” said Sam to you with a teasing smile. “Sleep well?”
“Like a baby,” you said, giving Dean a big hug when he came in the kitchen. “Good morning!”
“Oh no,” said both boys, grimacing as you smushed yourself into Dean’s chest.
“Get the jaws of life for this one,” said Dean, trying to squirm away while you clung tighter. “Y/N, please let go of me so I can eat breakfast.”
“I’m sorry,” you said releasing him, moving your hand down his arm to hold his hand. “That was silly. Your arms are huge by the way. All muscle and strong. They’re so...mmm.”
“Uh huh,” said Dean, giving Sam a death glare. “Sam, your harmless little curse don’t seem so harmless right now.”
“She should have slept it off,” said Sam, taking a seat at the table, Dean pulling you over into one, resigning himself to the fact he wasn’t getting the hand you were holding back anytime soon. “It must be a different curse.”
“No shit. Figure it out for me, would ya? It’s weird having Y/N act all...cuddly,” said Dean.
“Well, she is a girl, Dean,” said Sam.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” asked Dean, your head resting on his shoulder.
“It means she likes hugs and you know, human affection...like a normal person,” said Sam. “You treat her like a guy sometimes.”
“Again, what does that mean?” asked Dean.
“It means when you tell her to buck up and kill the damn spider herself, she comes and asks me to do it. Or when you don’t help her with heavy stuff. She’s tough, don’t get me wrong, but I get the feeling she doesn’t think you care about her nearly half as much as she does you,” said Sam. “...Maybe that’s why she’s only sticking to you. It’s got something to do with that.”
“Y/N,” said Dean, your head lifting up with a smile. “You know I care about you, right?”
“Of course you silly boy,” you said with a smile, bopping him on the nose. “I love you different than Sammy is all.”
“See? She knows,” said Dean, giving you a smile that made your heart flutter.
“You’re so pretty,” you said, Sam rolling his eyes. 
“Hey, Y/N. Why don’t you eat breakfast and then Dean can spend the whole day with you while I figure out how to fix you, huh?” asked Sam.
“The whole day with Dean? That sounds amazing,” you said, leaning up and giving Dean a kiss on the cheek.
“Please hurry Sam.”
One Week Later
“I want Dean,” you grumbled as Sam brought your dinner by your room. “Please? I need him.”
“Dean’s researching right now, Y/N,” said Sam, locking up the door behind him, spotting your barely eaten lunch. “You need to eat, Y/N or Dean won’t be happy.”
“Why do I have to stay in my room? I’m not doing anything wrong,” you said, Sam sighing as he took a seat.
“You’re making it hard to research out there, Y/N. You...you’re kind of all over Dean,” said Sam. “He’s not used to attention like that and it’s making him uncomfortable.”
“But you love him and you get to be near him,” you said, scrunching up your face. “Tell him I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever he wants. I just want to see him. Please.”
“Sweetie, it’s the curse that’s making you all nuts for Dean, you have-”
“I always liked him and now that I came out and said it he’s scared of me. Tell him I take it back. I’ll really try to be better,” you said. 
“If you eat your dinner, I’ll talk to Dean about coming to see you, alright?” asked Sam, watching as you grabbed your fork. “Good girl.”
“Hi,” you said when you saw your door open, a pair of green eyes peeking in. Everything in you wanted to hop off the bed and run over to give him a hug but you said you’d try to keep it under control.
“Sam said you wanted to see me,” said Dean, hanging by the doorway, watching you start to fidget. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine. Are you okay? Can I do anything for you?” you asked, leaning forward and clenching your hands into fists.
“Just give me a hug before you have a heart attack,” said Dean with a sigh, your body responding before your brain, up and over to wrap him up in your arms. “Better?”
“No,” you said. “You don’t like it.”
“I’d rather have a hug because it’s real, not forced,” said Dean, moving your arms away. 
“It is real,” you said, cocking your head up at him. “I want to hug you.”
“No, the curse is making you think you want to hug me,” said Dean with a smile. “There’s a slight difference there, sweetheart.”
“But I love you. Everything I’ve said or done, I always want to do,” you said. “I just...don’t have a filter to say ‘don’t do that anymore.’”
“It’s a curse and we’ll solve it, alright?” said Dean. “I don’t want you to get upset about it. We’ll figure it out and get everything back to normal around here.”
“Dean,” you said, moving forward again, Dean already with a hand on the door.
“I promise, Y/N.”
“I don’t know why it didn’t work but you shouting at me doesn’t fix it!” yelled Sam, both boys in the middle of screaming at one another as you sat in the library, doing your best to stay in your seat.
“It’s been two weeks, Sam. Look at her. She’s barely keeping it together,” said Dean, waving over in your direction.
“If I was under a love curse and the other person resented me, I might start to get upset too, Dean,” said Sam. You got to your feet, forcing them to move away and for your bedroom, your movements slowing as you hit the edge of the library. “See?”
“I’m just going back to my room, Sam,” you said over your shoulder, frozen in place with the need to stay near Dean. 
“It’s got to be that spell. Figure out what you screwed up,” said Dean, his hand on your arm melting away your bubbling anxiety, replacing it with something soft and warm. Dean didn’t immediately leave when he got you back in your room, instead laying down on your bed, turning on your TV and throwing an arm behind his head.
“What are you doing?” you asked, sitting down next to him, curling into his side with a smile.
“I miss you,” he said, moving his arm around your shoulders, a rush of relief flooding you. “...I’ll take care of you. I know it hurts and yeah I’m not used to all this lovey dovey crap but I’m going to help you through it. If letting you crawl all over me makes you feel better, we’ll do that.”
“Hey, bozos,” said Sam, standing at the end of your bed, stirring you awake. “I didn’t mess it up. It’s on a time delay.”
“Well,” said Dean with a yawn. “How long until it works?”
“Judging by the look on Y/N’s face, it already did,” said Sam. You were glancing at your lap, sitting as far away from Dean as possible. “Are you...”
“I want to be alone, please,” you said, Sam nodding his head and leaving. “You too Dean.”
“It’s okay, it was just a curse,” he said, rubbing a hand up and down your back. “Nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I told you two weeks ago, Dean,” you said, turning your head over your shoulder. “I don’t love you and Sam the same way. It was a love curse, Dean. All I was trying to do this whole damn time was to make you feel loved.“
“I do feel loved,” said Dean.
“You don’t get it. This isn’t something I can explain to you, Dean. Either you get it or you don’t and you obviously don’t so please give me some space today,” you said.
“I get it,” said Dean, grabbing your wrist and spinning you to face him. “It’s been very clear to me since this whole thing started. I don’t want you to want me though.”
“You don’t get to decide that for me. It’s my life,” you said, trying to shake him off. “Dean...”
“It’s different when’s it’s staring you right in the face and you can’t run away, right? To know that deep down that what someone is saying is true?” he asked.
“If you got hit with that curse, what are the odds that everything you’re spewing out is bull and you do want me but are too scared to say it,” you said. Dean was silent, dropping your hands as you nodded your head. “So what do you want to do about this?”
“If you want to...try, I guess I’m cool with that,” said Dean, shrugging like you were discussing dinner.
“Cool with it?” you asked.
“I ain’t turning into a Hallmark card anytime soon,” said Dean, holding up his hands. “But...your hugs aren’t so bad.”
“Ah, yes. Your definitely wooing me, Dean,” you said, shaking your head.
“Y/N, I’m trying,” said Dean.
“I know. We’ll...take it one day at a time.”
One Year Later
“Hey, you guys remember that freaky curse that made Y/N stick to you like glue?” asked Sam at lunch one day. 
“Yeah,” said Dean. “What about it?”
“Well...I translated another spell that references it,” said Sam. “It was used back in the day to help men find wives.”
“That seems like a douche move,” you said, leaning back against the wall, tossing your legs in Dean’s lap.
“No, no. Not like that. It was meant for when a guy loved somebody but was too shy or insecure to say something. If the person didn’t have a reaction, they didn’t feel the same way. If they did, then it sort of proved there was something there,” said Sam.
“It took you a year to find this out?” you asked, Sam shrugging. “Why do I feel like you’re lying Samuel...”
“You know, we never did find out who put such a strangely harmless curse on Y/N either,” said Dean, crossing his arms. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you Sammy?”
“Not a clue,” he said with a smile, glancing back at forth. “Weird, right?”
“I’ll get my fiance to kick your ass you ever pull something like that again,” said Dean.
“I’m really good at kicking ass,” you said, Sam shaking his head.
“I got no idea what you guys are talking about,” said Sam, standing up with a stretch. “I think I’m going to go for a second run while I think about who could have ever done this to you two.”
“Want to destroy him later?” asked Dean, wearing a smirk once he was out of earshot.
“Of course. Not too badly though,” you said.
“Just a touch of destruction for our devious Sammy coming right up,” said Dean with a chuckle. “While we’re at it, it’s been a year since our first date tonight.”
“You got something special planned?” you asked.
“Obviously,” he said. “Mess with Sammy first though?”
“You read my mind.”
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octoberclidan · 2 months
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Can't Say No to You
Request: Could I request one with Sam and Dean (they are all best friends and either Sam or Dean has a crush on y/n; you can choose who!) where they all had just gotten back from a hunt and y/n decides to take a shower and then clean up a little bit around the bunker, and then while she is doing the dishes she’s listening to music on a speaker and she dances/sings along to the music (any choice of music). The boys catch her.. something like that? Sorry it’s such a long request I’ve been trying to look for someone to write this idea :))
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Masterlist
Story:
"I am very much looking forward to getting home", [Y/N] sighed from the passenger seat in the Impala. Dean was driving, as usual, and he nodded in agreement. It had been a quick enough hunt, but the drive back had been a long one, and they were all looking forward to a rest.
"I'm just looking forward to being able to stretch my legs since someone stole my spot", Sam said from behind Dean, and [Y/N] looked around to smile sheepishly at him. "And someone else", he flicked Dean on the back of his head, "let them".
"Hey", Dean reached around to rub the back of his head. "That someone just saved both our asses back there. She can sit up front if she wants".
"Mhmm, she can have whatever she wants, because that someone else can't say no to her". Sam sat back and crossed his arms, and [Y/N] giggled as he reminded her of a child throwing a tantrum.
"Sam, are you saying that you can say no to me?" [Y/N] asked him. He mumbled something and looked out the window. She caught Dean's eye and they shared a quiet laugh at Sam's expense, before she turned up the music and the three of them listened to it for the rest of the ride home. Truth was, neither of the boys could say no to her, because they both had an above-average soft spot for her. Dean's soft spot just may have been slightly bigger and may have run deeper than Sam's, but she had both of them wrapped around her finger, and they knew it.
***
[Y/N] announced that she was taking a long, hot shower first as soon as she got out of the car in the bunker's garage. The boys watched her almost skip off towards the bathroom as they pulled their hunting gear out of the car. "She's gonna be the death of you", Sam chuckled as he closed the trunk.
"What?" Dean asked, pulling her bag up over his shoulder and grabbing his own.
"When was the last time she carried her own bag in from the car?"
"She hurt her arm on the hunt", Dean shrugged, starting to walk out towards the bedrooms.
"You mean that scratch on her elbow? She lost what, two drops of blood? Maybe you should go find her and stitch her up", Sam said as he caught up with Dean.
"Yeah, and who was it that drove to not one, not two, not three, but four different grocery stores last week because we were out of her favourite ice cream?" Dean chuckled and Sam paused for a moment in contemplation before sighing.
"She's gonna be the death of both of us".
***
Later in the evening, Dean was in his room, lounging on his bed and scribbling down some notes in his journal about how the hunt had gone, when he heard music playing. Not just any music, but one of his favourites, Ramble On, a song that made it on to nearly every one of his mix tapes. He closed his journal and tossed it to the end of his bed before getting up and wandering out of his room, following the sound of the song. He stopped outside the entranceway to the kitchen. There she was, one of his cassette players set on the counter beside her, while she was cleaning up some dishes that they'd left behind before the hunt. He watched as she swayed her hips from side to side and nodded her head in time with the beat, and he crossed his arms and smiled as he listened to her humming along. He leaned against the entranceway and watched in adoration, the attraction he felt for her was just different to other women, he couldn't quite name it though.
The song had ended and the next one started playing when he felt a nudge on his shoulder, and he looked over to see Sam chuckling and shaking his head, watching her too. "How is she so carefree, when we hunt monsters for a living?" He asked quietly, and Dean shrugged, thinking about it for a minute.
"I think she just makes time for it. You know, time to just not worry about monsters and demons, just be a girl, listening to music, and screw everything else".
Sam looked at his brother, who's eyes were still glued to [Y/N]. He'd seen desire in Dean's eyes before when talking to attractive women, but this was more than just desire. Sam knew [Y/N] was special to Dean. He turned around to walk back towards his room, but stopped to pat Dean on the back and leaned in towards him. "Tell her how you feel", he said, not waiting for Dean's response and leaving the two of them alone.
Dean waited a moment longer, enjoying the sight in front of him, before he pushed himself off the doorway and stepped down into the kitchen. He walked up behind her and smirked to himself before leaning close to her ear and whispering "Boo". She yelped and twisted around to slap him in the face with a scrubbing brush and frowned as he laughed at her reaction.
"You scared the shit out of me, Dean... Jesus", she shook her head but gave him a small smile as she realised she'd just wet half of his face with her attack. "Sorry", she reached behind her to drop the brush into the sink and grab a towel, and lifted it up to dab his face gently. He studied her face as she did so, and he felt a warmth inside him as she concentrated on the task. She was about to turn around and put it back when he took it from her.
"You have suds on your forehead", he grinned as he started to wipe her face too, and he laughed as she blushed in embarrassment. He threw the towel behind her when he was done, and then hooked his thumb under her chin to tilt her face up towards him, looking to see that he hadn't missed anything. He tucked her hair behind her ear and let his hand stay on her cheek, feeling the warmth from her blush. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch, humming quietly in content.
"How long were you watching me for?" She asked, opening her eyes and looking up at him. Now it was his turn to blush.
"You uh, knew I was there?"
"I'm a hunter, I'm always aware of my surroundings", she smiled up at him. "I don't mind, I like watching you too".
"You do?" He raised an eyebrow at her.
"Mhmm", she nodded. "I like watching when you work on Baby. You know, when you have your sleeves rolled up".
"Really? Why is that?"
"You're nice to look at", she said, looking up into his eyes.
"Yeah... yeah so are you", he said, lowering his hand from her cheek to her neck, wrapping around the back of it. They were standing very close together now, [Y/N] leaning against the counter and Dean's hips pressing into her stomach.
"What would you say if I asked you to kiss me?" She asked, her forwardness raising Dean's eyebrows.
"Well", he chuckled, "you already know I can't say no to you". She grinned up at him as he leaned down, and slowly but firmly, with purpose, pressed his lips to hers. They closed their eyes as [Y/N] wrapped her hands around his waist and Dean held her face between his hands. They fit together perfectly. He broke the kiss for a moment, keeping his eyes closed and leaning his forehead against hers. It was now or never. "[Y/N]... I uh.. I'm not really sure how-".
"I know", she cut him off. "I like you too". Relief flooded through him and he immediately kissed her again. It was like she transfered some of her carefree thoughts to him in that moment, as all he could think about was her, and how happy she made him. Sam was right, she was going to be the death of him, and he welcomed it.
The end
Dean Winchester taglist: @123passwort @janineb86 @k-slla @lyarr24 @candy-coated-misery0731 @jackles010378 @hobby27 @pizzagirlxnsfwx @itburnslikehelltobevega @queenie32 @livingdead-reilly @vmaier12 @littlemadamred @darthysfanfic
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gilverrwrites · 3 months
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Against The Wall (/Bathroom Door)
Pairing: Dean Winchester/AFAB! Reader
Feminine pronouns used.
Plot: Dean and the reader are unable to keep their hands off each other during dinner. They sneak off together for a 'quickie' in the restroom.
Rating: M/18+
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This is a re-written/edited fic I wrote and posted on a now deleted tumblr. If I recall correctly, it was originally a request for 'against the wall' sex.
Please remember: to be kind to yourself.
Content: Swearing, (really cheesy) flirting, established romantic/sexual relationship, nipple play, vaginal fingering, p in v sex, unprotected sex, teasing, dirty talk, semi-public, clothed sex, size difference, biting, (non-sexual) peeing.
Excerpt: "Give me rough and ready any day.”  “Ohhh, don’t worry Darlin’...” Dean smirked, the hand on your thigh slipped to cup you through your jeans as he almost closed the gap between you, his lips less than an inch away. “I intend to.”
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“Why are we staying here? Why didn’t we check in to that place down the road?” You groaned. You couldn’t help but feel like a sore thumb, as you needlessly examined the well-dressed wait staff and their high society patrons. If the side eyes, and tight smiles they shot back at you were anything to go by, they also thought your table stood out.
Attempting to avert your gaze, you glanced over the menu and had to stifle a gasp. Tired and sore from the hunt, you’d collectively decided that it would be faster and easier to just dine at the hotel’s restaurant, but $37 for a burger, FRIES NOT INCLUDED! Daylight robbery! In hindsight, you wished you’d bothered to walk the extra 10 minutes to the nearest greasyspoon, just on principle. Besides, the motel down the road was next door to a pizza joint, double whammy. “It would have been a helluva lot cheaper.”
“Because it was full up. Besides, I thought you’d appreciate somewhere a little more sophisticated.” Dean replied. If the grin on his face, and the hand on your thigh was anything to go by, he didn’t really care where he was, he was just happy for the food and the company. And to be done with the ghouls you’d been hunting down all week. He winked at you as he leaned in and snatched the menu from you, and you giggled when his brows shot up. Likely also outraged at the price of a burger, WITHOUT FRIES.
“Deano, sophisticated; we, are, not.” You stated as matter-of-factly as you could, trying to ignore his hand as it inched higher and higher up your leg.
“Speak for yourself Sweetheart.” He quipped, locking his eyes with yours and wiggling his eyebrows, “I’ve always had a taste for the finer things in life.”
“HA.” You deadpanned, but he didn’t budge. You leaned in closer, lowering your voice to a purr. “Well, not me. Give me rough and ready any day.”
“Ohhh, don’t worry Darlin’...” Dean smirked, the hand on your thigh slipped to cup you through your jeans as he almost closed the gap between you, his lips less than an inch away. “I intend to.”
You would have leaned in to kiss him, had the sound of Sam clearing his throat, signifying his discomfort, not distracted you both. Embarrassed at having forgotten his presence you both leaned back in your chairs. Dean promptly placed both his hands on the table and shot Sam a very unserious thrown.
“Sorry, Sam.” You extended a brief apology and the three of you sat in awkward silence until someone came to take your drink orders.
“I’m going to the ladies’ room.” You announced shortly after the waiter had left. “10 bucks says this place has attendants.” You joked as you stand from the table and walk away.
“Wait up, I gotta take a leak too!” Dean declared. “If they come back for food, just order for his. No green shit.” He instructed his brother before wrapping an arm over your shoulder and following very, very close behind you. You really did need to pee, but if Dean had something else in mind, you wouldn’t object.
Together you manoeuvred your way through the labyrinth of busy tables and ‘atmospherically’ dim hallways until you found a vestibule of doors labelled ‘la toilettes’.
Dean held you at arms-length as he poked his head through one and looked around. From what you could see, it seemed to be a single occupancy bathroom. “Score!” Dean turned to face you as he backed the rest of his body into ‘la toilette’, pulling you in with him. “Plus, no attendant, you owe me 10 bucks.”
The moment you heard the lock click behind you he pounced, arms either side of you, fingers against your scalp, caging you between his firm chest and the door. Your lips crashed together; a shiver ran up your spine as he groaned into your mouth. It wasn’t a soft kiss, it was harsh, demanding, just how you liked it. You snaked your hand under his shirt and ghosted your fingers up until they rested on his chest, there you could feel his heart beating a mile a minute.
Briefly, you felt high on the effect you had on him. The moment abruptly ended when he snatched your waist, twisting you around, and pushing you face first against the cold wood.
In this new position, you could feel the hardness of his cock pressing against your ass, instinctively you reached an arm back to rub against him.
“F-fuck.” Dean spluttered, grinding into your open palm. “You’re so sexy.”
“You’re not too bad yourself.” You replied, “But can we get a move on please.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice.” He rasped, before sinking his teeth into the sensitive skin of your shoulder. Strong hands begin roaming your body. One hand skirts along the curves of your upper body before gliding back up, beneath your shirt, under your bra and begins squeezing at your breast. His calloused fingers pinch at your sensitive nipple, rolling it between the tips of his fingers.
His bite softens, and his tongue flicks against the tender skin before he begins to ghost his lips over your neck, kissing, licking, sucking, marking. Meanwhile, his other hand deftly works on your belt, whipping it open in no time, he nabs the hem of your jeans and yanks down, forcing them down to your knees, underwear following soon after.
You sucked in a breath and arched your back against him when you felt a finger begin running against your slit. A second finger quickly joined, and you withered at the feel of his coarse digits splitting your lips open. The heel of his palm pressed against your clit, sending a shockwave through your body, two fingers gently prodded at your entrance, but he didn’t push in straight away.
Needlessly you rocked against his hand, hoping to garner some friction against your clit, trying to sink yourself onto his fingers, but you just couldn’t quite hit the right spot.
“Dean stop!” You whined. “I need you.”
“Need me?” He chuckled, his hot breath tickling the back of your neck. You knew he had a shit-eating grin on his face, and he was lucky you were too needy to care. “Need me to what?”
“Need you inside me.” You whispered back to him, cheeks ablaze. “Need you to fuck me.”
You felt your hole slowly spread open as his fingers inched in, stretching you around them, but no sooner had it started when he halted again.
“Dean, please!” You begged, and seemingly that was exactly what he needed to hear.
Within seconds his long fingers were buried inside you. Leaving no time to adjust he started pumping in and out, scissoring your insides, while the heel of his hand massaged your sweet spot, both actions sending an unbearable pressure through your body.
It wasn’t long before he slid in a third, and you were seeing stars, panting and rutting as a tight knot surged in your core, your climax was fast approaching, tittering on the edge when Dean abruptly pulled himself from you.
An exasperated cry leaves your lips as you attempt to reach for him, to pull him back but you’re barely able to brush your fingers against his arm. Accepting failure, you spin around to face him, ready to pout at him, to demand an explanation but before you open your mouth his hands are cupping your thighs. He lifts you off your feet, forcing your arched back against the door once again. With some shuffling he managed to bring your knees up, hooking your ankles over his shoulders, his face embedded in your concealed cleavage.
“Hold still.” He instructs, balancing your weight between one hand and the door, as he makes quick work of his belt, jeans, and boxers. You bite your lip, repressing any instinct to wither or jerk as his cock springs free.
“Ready?” He asks, his half-lidded, lusty green eyes gaze up at you as he positions himself at your entrance.
“Ready, and very, very eagerly waiting.” You confirm.
You suck in a breath as he enters you all at once, relaxing his grip on your body slightly so you sink down, taking every single inch of his shaft.
“Fuck.” He shudders against your body, his eyes rolling back already. His voice to low and guttural. “You feel so good. So fucking wet.”
Hands gripped tight against the wall for support, ankles firmly angled against his shoulders, you roll your body, grinding your pussy up and down his cock. His fingers dig tight into your thighs, surely leaving bruises as he savours the feeling.
“Fuck me, Dean.” You plead, rocking on his dick once more. “Need you to fuck me.”
“How could I say no to that.” He groans, adjusting his grip on you, slipping his hands up until they’re wrapped tight around the back of your knees. He slowly leans back, sliding his cock out until only the tip remains inside, before brutally slamming back in. It doesn’t take long for him to find his pace, slow, hard, and so fucking deep.
If he registers the creak of the old wood supporting your back, he clearly didn’t care. Neither of you had really made an effort to disguise what you were doing, why start now?
You were soon twitching at the feel of each thrust, murmuring his name. You didn’t expect to last long after he’d brought you so close once already, and you were right. He rebuilt that tension almost instantly, you felt dizzy, hot and wet. Barely able to feel anything but the throbbing, burning heat between your legs. With one last strangled moan, you tightened around him as you reached your climax.
Dean soon followed behind, the feel of your cunt tightening around his dick setting him off. His muscles clenched around your body, and his pace slowed as he released inside you, grunting with each spurt.
Flushed and panting you both remained in your positions as you came back down. Cum began to seep out of you as Dean softens.
“That was….” Dean pursed his lips as he searched for the right word. A smile spreads across his lips as he seemingly finds it. “That was, awesome.”
“That was awesome.” You reiterated as you began lowering your body. Dean's firm hands steadied your feet return to the floor. He reached down to pull your jeans up for you, but you stopped him, shooing his hands away.
“I really do need to pee!” You answered his puzzled look as you waddled over to the toilet.
“Right!” He laughed, as he pulled up his own trousers. “Plus, you should always pee after sex, right?”
You nodded affirmatively as you did your business. There was something weirdly intimate actually urinating in front of your boyfriend without shame. You really did have nothing to hide, he knew every gross detail.
“We should head back out there.” You said as you finished up. Readjusting your clothes and washing your hands. “Sam will probably think we fell in or something.”
“Nah, he may look it, but he's not that dumb.” Dean joked. “He better have ordered something good, I need more than rabbit food after that.”
“Agreed! Oh, and Dean?”
“Yeah, babe?” He answered as he drapes his arm over you.
You press your head into his shoulder, looking up at him through your lashes. “Round two after dinner?”
“If I ever say no to that, I want you to shoot me.”
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couldyouimagine-that · 3 months
Text
I gotcha
Genre; Hurt/Comfort, the Fluffiest Fluff
Word Count; 1.0k
Warnings; Nothing I can think of, just reader feeling a bit unsteady and getting hugs and care from Dean.
Pairings; Dean Winchester x Reader
It's me, I'm alive! I've finally started watching Supernatural and I just. Love Dean so much. So, have some fluff and comfort!
Masterlist
You leaned back against a heavy oak table, a warm mug slowly cooling to your side. You felt a little unsteady within your mind, an uncomfortable feeling having settled in your stomach. There was no particular reason for it so far as you could tell. Nothing had happened, nothing was wrong (the latest world-ending crisis notwithstanding). You had been trying to talk yourself out of it for a while by this point, to explain away the feeling through rationalisation, but none of it was working. The length of time you had been hovering around the table was evidence enough of that.
With a sigh, you drummed your fingertips against the tabletop then pushed yourself to standing. You took a few steps to take a pointless glance out of the nearest window then turned to eye your mug. Finally, you decided you would have to do something other than just keep standing there. Maybe getting out of your head would be the best thing for you, you thought humourlessly. It was at that exact moment that a sudden flurry of activity arrived at the door. Dean and Sam bundled inside, one slamming the door shut whilst the other knocked into a table. Such an exaggerated groan of pain issued forth that you couldn’t help but smirk in spite of yourself.
The door from the hallway to the kitchen swung open as Sam made a beeline for the fridge. Dean followed, dropping a heavy duffle bag to the floor with a thud and swiping a beer from his brother’s hand as he straightened, completely unsuspecting. Dean flashed him a grin as he began complaining, hands spread in a gesture of come on.
“Sorry, Sammy. Too slow.” He appeared at the doorway to the room you had been deliberating in for you didn’t even know how long, his other hand poised to twist the cap off the beer bottle. “Hey, sweetheart,” Dean murmured, smile bleeding into his rich voice. Sam raised a hand in greeting behind his brother’s head, then announced he was heading off to watch the television.
“Hey, Dean.”
You felt a content warmth in your stomach at the sight of him, no matter how long you’d known each other. You walked straight over and slotted yourself beneath his outstretched arm, looping your arms around his waist and pressing your face to his chest. You felt rather than heard the chuckle rumble through him as he pressed his hand to the back of your neck and head, his other arm moving around your waist to hold you close. You raised your head when he pressed a gentle thumb beneath your jaw, leaning down to leave a lingering kiss against your lips.
The entire world seemed to fall away as you stared into his eyes, pressing yourself flat against him to get as close as you possibly could. When you finally looked away, it was to nose along the edge of his open flannel shirt, taking in great lungfuls of his familiar scent. His eyebrows drew a little closer together at your actions, knowing they usually meant something was wrong. Dean put his beer down on the nearest available surface so that he could wrap his arms around you properly. A great feeling of pride bloomed in his chest at the long, content sigh you gave as he pressed his arms against your lower back and over your shoulders. His lips found their way to the top of your head and your eyes closed at the feeling of his breath moving your hair.
Dean, infamous for making himself tough in a way that forbade him from talking about his feelings, understood your every unspoken word clearly. He began to relinquish his tight hold on you, the one he knew made you feel safe and secure, in favour of running his palms along your back. One eventually traced a path across your collarbone and up to the side of your face, gently cupping your cheek to encourage you to look up and meet his soft gaze.
“Anything you wanna tell me about?” It was asked in such a way that there was no pressure, no judgement. If he had thought you were hurt or in danger it would have been a different story, but he could clearly see you weren’t. You shook your head with a small smile and he ran his thumb over your cheekbone, his expression fond if not still slightly tinged with concern. He pushed that away though, for your sake, hoping you would find some strength in seeing his own. Suddenly sporting a wide grin, he reached down to hook his hands around the backs of your thighs and lifted you up, brightened by your own grin as your automatically wound your legs around his hips.
“What are you doing?!” You got out through your laughter, only for him to lightly swat your leg.
“No questions!” He whisper-yelled, but he was laughing too. In retaliation, he grabbed your by your ribs and threw you up over his shoulder, holding you there easily with an arm around your waist. You had no choice but to hang there, his shoulder digging into your stomach until he finally dropped your down onto your back. You found yourself on Dean’s bed where he soon joined you, laying on his back and pulling you towards him. You ended up half draped over him, propping yourself up on an elbow for a moment to give him a gentle kiss. He gave you a boyish grin as you remained there for a moment, before laying down on top of him.
Dean’s hands resumed their gentle tracing over your back, his head leaning against your own. Your incessant worrying had abated entirely, your mind blissfully calm and filled only with Dean. You placed a hand against his ribs, relaxing into the steady rise and fall of his chest, the regular beating of his heart.
“Just stay with me, darlin’,” he murmured, voice low and soft. “I gotcha.”
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imagineteamfreewill · 4 months
Text
Cursed
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Title: Cursed
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 4.9k
Warnings: Brief heavy drinking, suggested dub con (nothing actually happens besides PG-13 touching, but more is suggested and the reader does not want to participate), cursed Dean, language, angst, a little fluff
Summary: Dean’s cursed after a witch hunt and Sam and Y/N are left to deal with the consequences.
A/N: This is a super random one shot I started writing in 2018 that I just recently found in an old WIP folder. I’ve changed it a lot from what it originally started as, but I hope it’s enjoyable nonetheless. As always, thanks for reading and for supporting me in all the ways you do!
Dividers by @firefly-graphics
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“Dean,” you sigh. You steal the sweaty, half-drunk beer bottle from his hand. “You can’t just drink until you black out!”
He rolls his eyes at you, pulling another bottle from the paper carton beside him. It’s already empty and he huffs in annoyance, setting it aside before grabbing the fourth and final beer from its slot.
“Dean!”
He doesn’t respond, instead choosing to pry the top off the bottle and take a long swig, then let out a satisfied sigh. The bottle cap clatters to the concrete beneath his pool chair. He smacks his lips and you try to disguise your disgust, even if he won’t care either way.
Frustrated, you stomp back to the motel room and push the door open, slamming your room key and the bottle you’d taken away on the table in front of Sam. The door hits the door jamb on the wall before bouncing back and slamming shut with a bang.
“Your brother is going to be the end of me!” you growl. 
Sam looks up, eyebrows raised as he tries to transition his mind from the lore he’s been reading to what you’ve said. “Hmm?”
You groan and run a hand through your hair, inwardly praying for some patience, then look back down at him. “I said,” you begin, unable to even vaguely disguise how you feel, “that your brother is slowly annoying me to death! Please tell me that you have a cure, or at least a counter-curse! I don’t know how much longer I can take this!”
“I haven’t found anything so far,” Sam replies, shaking his head apologetically. He reaches for the beer bottle and you snatch it away, grinding your teeth in frustration. Though you want to take a sip of it yourself to make the next few hours—or days, depending on how long it takes you and Sam to find a cure—easier, you grip it hard in one hand for a second before sighing and putting it back on the edge of the table. Just because Dean was drinking himself to death, doesn’t necessarily mean that his younger brother had to suffer.
“Just… Just figure something out. I need to go back to keeping an eye on Mister R&R out there.” You gesture towards the door, then press the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re exhausted; not only had yesterday’s witch hunt been nothing more than a dead end, but somehow, Dean managed to get himself cursed. It’s up to you and Sam to find the witch and a cure, and Dean’s no help. The curse has left him incapable of doing any actual work, instead convincing him that all he should do for the rest of his life is relax. All you’ve done for the last day and a half is chase after him to make sure that he doesn’t break any laws or get himself hurt.
“We’ll figure it out, Y/N. I promise,” Sam reassures. “Why don’t you try to get some rest? Maybe we can convince Dean to come relax in here. If we’re lucky, he might sleep, too. Sleeping isn’t work—if we spin it the right way he might go for it.”
You nod wearily and pick up the beer again. You dump its contents down the bathroom drain before tossing the empty bottle in the plastic trash can. “Are there any more of those in here?” you ask, heading back out to the main part of the room.
Sam turns in his seat to glance around the room, then shakes his head. “Nope. I think Dean got ‘em all already.” He closes his laptop and pushes the chair back from the table, standing and grabbing your keycard. “You take a shower and I’ll go get Dean. You look like hell.”
Snorting, you send Sam a grateful look and go over to your duffel, where you pull out your bag of toiletries and one of Dean’s old t-shirts. After a second of thought, you grab a pair of shorts, just in case he’s feeling grabby. “Gee, thanks.”
The sound of the door closing is Sam’s response. You shut your eyes for a second, soaking in the still, peaceful silence of the room before going into the bathroom and shutting the door behind you. It’s the first time since yesterday morning that you’ve been alone, and it’s the first time it’s been so quiet, too.
Minutes later, you’re scrubbing yourself down and ignoring the way that the dirty water pools around your feet as you rinse away the grime from the past two days. It feels good to finally be clean. You’re just rinsing off your face and hair when you hear the bathroom door open and you freeze, carefully peeking open an eye to stare at the frosted white shower curtain. The person on the other side doesn’t move, nor do they make a sound.
“Sam?” you ask after a second. “Is that you?”
“Guess again,” Dean replies, a bit too cheerily for your liking.
You can only see his vague silhouette through the shower curtain, but you can clearly picture the arrogant smirk on his face. It’s been one of the few expressions on his face since he’d been cursed. The others in the rotation have left you equally as irritated.
Pursing your lips, you quickly finish rinsing off and turn the knob to shut off the water. “Hand me my towel,” you say, sticking a hand out around the curtain. It’s a request you’ve made many times in the past, yet now it comes out harsher, more like an order or a command than a simple task.
“Why? It’s not like we haven’t seen each other naked before,” Dean counters.
You sigh, your arm dropping slightly as you keep it held out. “Dean, come on. This isn’t you. Please just hand me my towel.”
“Of course it’s me,” he says. “I’m just wondering why my girl won’t let me see her wet and naked. We could have a lot of fun that way…” His fingertips brush your forearm as his silhouette moves closer, and you snatch your arm back.
“You’re cursed, Dean. We’ve talked about this. Now please, hand me my towel.” Dean only hums in response and you growl quietly to yourself before yelling, “Sam! Sam, get in here!”
A moment later, the bathroom door squeaks open again and you hear Sam shout in annoyance.
“Jesus Christ, Dean! Put on some clothes!”
“Of course he’s naked,” you mumble under your breath. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
Dean chuckles and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, trying not to slip and fall. The chill from the bathroom has started to set in now that you’re no longer under hot water, and goosebumps have broken out over your damp skin. You shiver.
“Sam,” you call, a little louder so you can be certain that he’ll hear you. “Sam, please just hand me my towel. Your idiot brother refuses to.”
You feel the rough fabric in your hand as soon as you stick your arm out again, and you quickly yank it inside the shower with you before Dean can snatch it. After wrapping it around yourself, you pull the shower curtain open to find Dean buttoning his jeans, his upper half still bare.
“Thanks for putting pants on,” you say, pushing him out of the way so that you can get to the sink. Hopefully, your praise will incentivize him to do what you ask. Maybe he’ll be more willing to nap that way. It’s only a thread of hope, but you’ll cling to it until it breaks.
You wipe the fog off the mirror with your hand and peer at your reflection for a second before grabbing your comb and starting to comb out your hair, shivering when cold water drips onto your bare shoulders.
“Let me do that,” Dean says. He grabs the comb before you can answer and picks up where you left off, leaving you to hold up your towel in silence. His hands are gentle and for a moment, you forget that he’s cursed. This is something he does for you all the time. It’s one of the ways he shows you that he cares for you, even when he’s wrapped up in his own thoughts or when the two of you are too tired to even talk.
When the thought pops into your head, however, you begin to analyze the situation, trying to figure out exactly how this is helping Dean relax. So far, he’s only done things that help him relax, not others, which means that this somehow has to be more beneficial to him than it is to you.
Narrowing your eyes slightly, you reach up and take the comb from his hands, ignoring the spark of electricity that runs up your arm when your skin brushes against his. “Why are you doing this?” you ask, crossing your arms over the top of your towel as you turn to face him.
Dean shrugs, glancing at his reflection in the mirror behind you. His expression seems more normal than it has since the witch hunt, and you grip the edge of the towel a little tighter, watching him carefully. Has the curse been broken somehow?
“Dunno. I like playing with your hair, I guess.” A familiar, lazy smile crosses his face as he meets your eyes a second later, and he takes a step forward so his hips pin yours against the bathroom counter. “Plus, I know what happens when you get relaxed and you feel taken care of.”
Scoffing, you push Dean off of you and toss the comb down, then grab your shirt and shorts off the counter. “Get out. I need to change. Go…” You pause, frantically wracking your brain for some suggestion he might actually go for. “Go wait for me in bed, okay? Yeah? I’ll come join you in a minute.” You hope that your words sound promising enough, even if you don’t really plan on doing anything with him while he’s cursed. You couldn’t stomach it.
Dean dips his head to stare down at you with the same lazy, drunk smile on his face as before.  “Okay. I’ll be waiting, sweetheart. Don’t take too long.”
He slips out the door, finally leaving you alone, and you quickly push the door shut and flip the lock—something you should’ve done in the first place. You shudder, then glance at your phone on the counter. 
“Come on,” you mutter. “Anything is better than this.”
Reluctantly, you force yourself to pick up the phone and send a short, carefully worded text before setting it aside and changing into your clean clothes. Rowena’s response comes just as soon as you’re dressed, and you close your eyes when you read her message, relieved. After forwarding it to Sam, you carry your things out to the main room, only to find that Dean’s just where he had promised he would be. A quick glance around the room shows that Sam has chosen to make himself scarce, and you silently curse his name in every language you know.
“Hey there, Y/N,” Dean drawls, directing your attention back to him. His jeans are unbuttoned again, though not unzipped, and you swallow the lump in your throat at the sight of his half-naked frame sprawled out on the bed, trying to focus on the task at hand. You need to sleep, and you figure that if Dean is sleeping, he can’t get into any trouble. It’s getting him to sleep that will be the problem.
“Hey,” you casually reply. You set your things down in your bag, taking a minute to rearrange them with your back to Dean. You hear noise coming from the bed as you plug your phone in on the TV stand and you slow your movement, listening as Dean moves the pillows and blankets around to his liking. When you turn around again, the extra pillows are all on the floor and he’s settled in the middle of the bed, his arms crossed over his chest as he regards you with a cocky smile.
“You gonna come over here or what?”
Forcing a smile of your own, you cross the room and grab a pillow off the floor, then crawl into bed with Dean. His hands immediately go for your hips in an attempt to pull you on top of him, but you push them away.
“Roll over,” you say, tucking your wet hair behind your ear. “Let me give you a massage first.”
Dean raises an eyebrow, clearly liking your suggestion, then moves over to lay on his stomach. You get to work, doing your very best to get him to relax as much as possible.
You must’ve massaged Dean’s back and shoulders for an hour before you finally hear him let out a soft snore. Your hands are sore, but relief floods you and you carefully move to the opposite edge of the bed and lay on your stomach. You close your eyes, desperately hoping that you’ll fall asleep quickly so you can get as much rest as possible before he awakes.
When you wake up, you can hear Dean arguing with Sam, their voices hushed despite the anger lacing their words. Slowly, you open your eyes and lie still, listening. You’ve rolled over onto your side in your sleep, so you can stare at the wall and watch their shadows as they argue.
“Dean, you can’t go out right now. Y/N is sleeping and I’m not going with you,” Sam huffs. He’s all at once placating and annoyed with his older brother, the same way a parent who’s fed up with their child’s antics might speak. “I have better things to do than pick up chicks at a bar, including finding something to help break whatever curse you’re under.”
“I don’t need your help, Sammy. I’m fine! And I’m not going to a bar, I’m just going to get some food from the taco place down the street!”
“Really? You’re not cursed? Is that why you were taking up most of the bed and Y/N’s only got the edge? Because that’s not like you, man. You’ve been acting differently since we got back yesterday.”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Dean hisses. “Just drop it.”
You listen intently for whatever Sam has to say in response, but it’s too quiet for you to make out anything. After a minute, the door to the parking lot opens, then slams shut. You don’t hear Sam go after his brother, nor do you hear anyone moving around the room, and you frown against your pillow. 
Confused, you sit up in bed and rub your eyes before going over to the window, carefully pulling the curtain away from the edge so you can peek outside. It’s pitch black outside. You hadn’t glanced at the clock on the nightstand as you’d crawled out of bed, but you’re certain it’s the middle of the night. You’d slept for almost eight hours, which is practically a miracle.
The boys are just outside the door, on the walkway that runs from the motel office and past every room, all the way to the end of the building. They’re still arguing, but Sam looks more shocked than frustrated. The parking lot lights flicker for a second, and when they come back on, you realize that both Sam and Dean are staring at you.
Feeling a bit guilty that you were caught eavesdropping, you drop the curtain. Then, you step over to the door and pull it open so you can stand in the doorway. Though it’s dark out, Sam and Dean are close enough where you can see them clearly in the overhead lights, and you look between them.
“Is everything okay?” you ask.
The two brothers glance at each other, their unspoken conversation ending with Dean’s shoulders slumping, before Sam bitterly answers, “Dean has something he’d like to tell you.”
“Okay…” You turn your attention to Dean, unsure of what to expect.
It takes him a minute to speak up. “I, uh… I wasn’t cursed.”
You stare at him for a second, trying to understand how his behavior the past 36 hours lines up with that statement. “What?”
“There’s no curse. I wasn’t cursed before, and I’m not cursed now. I’m fine,” he says.
Anger is starting to rise up into your chest and you clench your hands into fists. Slowly, in a way you hope will get you the clearest answer possible, you reply, “What do you mean there was no curse? If there’s no curse, then why have you been acting the way you have?”
Dean has the decency to look ashamed, and he looks away to stare at the window leading into the motel office. The employee manning the front desk looks asleep, with one hand propping his head up on the laminate countertop. The vacancy sign in the window flickers. Sam leaves and heads to the Impala, but you only spare him a glance. A few moments later, the car starts up and drives off toward the main part of town. 
“I don’t know. I needed a break from the responsibilities. I wanted to live like there was nothing to worry about, just for a day,” Dean tells you after the parking lot returns to silence once more.
You can’t decide if you’re more shocked at the revelation that he’s not cursed, angry that he’s done what he did, or saddened that Dean felt the way he had, yet he hadn’t felt like he could talk to you about it. You would’ve given him the best day off ever, had you known that’s what he needed. Instead, he’s taken advantage of you and his brother, and he’s treated you poorly in the process. He’s acted like a complete and total selfish asshole.
“I can’t believe you,” you finally scoff. You cross your arms over your chest, but you drop them back down to your sides almost immediately. Angry tears fill your eyes. “You are so selfish! If you had just said something, we could’ve done whatever you’d wanted, but instead, you had to act like you’d been cursed! We were worried sick, Dean!”
You step forward into his space, jabbing a finger at his chest. “I was terrified that we’d never find a cure, and the way you treated me?” You scoff again and shake your head. “Unbelievable. Unbelievable, Dean! I can’t believe you’d treat me like that. I can’t believe you’d treat Sam like that! Do you know that we were this close to making a deal with Rowena?” You bring your hand up between his face and yours, holding your thumb and index finger only an inch apart to emphasize your point. “This close!”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he answers, his voice quiet. He stares down at the sidewalk.
You drop your hand back down your side. “Are you?”
He nods and lifts his head to look up at you. In any other situation, you might’ve broken at the grief in his eyes, but you’re too furious to back down now.
“Y/N, you gotta believe me! If I’d known how out of hand this was going to get, I wouldn’t have done it, but by the time I realized how far I’d taken it, it was too late! I hadn’t thought of a way to get rid of the fake curse without it being too big of an issue, so I had to keep rolling with it.”
You shake your head again, shocked and disgusted that he’d done something so drastic. Throwing up both your hands, you take a step back towards the motel room. “You had to keep rolling with it? I can’t. I can’t deal with this right now! I’m going back to bed.” You turn and start to dig for your keycard in your pajama pocket, even though you know it’s not there.
“We can talk about it whenever you’re ready,” Dean says. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
“You know, I honestly don’t even know if I want to talk to you,” you snap, turning to face him again. “And I’m not sure that there even is a way for you to make this up to me, Dean. This is so far beyond the realm of things that you could’ve done that I can’t even wrap my brain around it!”
You stomp back to the motel room door and yank on the handle. Predictably, it doesn’t budge, and you let out a shriek of frustration. Dean silently offers you his keycard, holding it by your hand though he stands just beyond your view. You snatch it from him and shove it into the slot above the handle. When the light turns green, you shove the door open and step inside, then slam it behind you again, leaving the Dean standing alone on the walkway.
Though you’d said you were going back to bed, you’re too riled up to sleep, so you grab your toiletries and head to the bathroom for your second shower of the day. Thankfully, this is the nicest motel you’ve had in a while. The water pressure may not be great, but the hot water lasts for a long time and there’s nothing suspicious growing anywhere in the bathroom. Once inside, you lock the door behind you and toss your stuff onto the vanity, ignoring it when it slides into the sink instead of staying on the countertop.
As you stand under the hot spray of the shower, you stare hard at the wall. You half-listen to the room, too, just in case Sam or Dean comes back in after you, but mostly you let yourself stew.
Dean’s a great guy. He’s an even better boyfriend, despite all his flaws; he’s attentive, kind, protective (to a fault), and he makes you laugh. He knows when to be gentle and when to leave things be, especially when you’re in a mood. You love him. That thought makes you frown harder, and you cross your arms over your bare chest. You love Dean, but he’s treated you so poorly that you can only doubt if he loves you in the same way. Surely someone couldn’t do something so horrid to someone they loved?
One of the boys knocks on the door and you ignore them. You’d been so wrapped up in your thoughts that you hadn’t heard them enter the room. When they knock again, you roll your eyes and drop your arms, then grab the conditioner.
“What?” you snap.
“Sam came back. We’re going out to get some food. Do you want your usual?” Dean asks.
Huffing, you squirt a handful of conditioner into your palm and close the bottle, and you practically slam it onto the shelf in the shower. It immediately slips off and clatters to the floor, narrowly missing your foot. You curse and leave it there.
“Y/N?” Dean asks again.
“Sure! Fine! Whatever, Dean! Get whatever you want for me, I don’t care!”
“Y/N—”
“Just leave me alone? Okay?”
There’s silence on the other side of the door, and you think for a second that Dean’s actually done what you’ve asked for the first time since the hunt, but then he asks,
“Do you need a break? From me?”
You pause, your hands frozen where they’ve been working the conditioner into your hair, and you stare at the shower curtain for a moment or two while you think over Dean’s words. 
“I don’t know,” you finally reply. “I’m angry, and I’m really fucking hurt. Do you know how exhausted I was, Dean? How worried I was that the second I stopped making sure you didn’t do something stupid, you’d get hurt or arrested? I didn’t shower after the hunt, and I’ve barely eaten anything.
“And when you came in here while I was showering earlier? I was so scared you’d do something that you couldn’t truly agree to. And then, for a minute, when you combed my hair, it was like everything was normal again. I guess it was normal, but I didn’t know that then, did I? And then, after a while, I thought you were doing it just to come onto me, and you played that up. You made me so uncomfortable, Dean, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to stop you from doing something if you were really dead set on having sex with me. If you’d really been cursed, you wouldn’t have been in your right mind to agree to anything, and I would’ve had to live with that thought if something had actually happened! I was so terrified of that, and yet the whole time you were just pretending! Like it was a game to you, or something!”
There’s a strangled noise from the other side of the door and you close your eyes, hands trembling. Dean doesn’t speak again for a minute. When there’s only silence, you start rinsing out your hair, and then you turn off the shower and grab your towel from the bar.
“I don’t know how to make it up to you,” Dean says, startling you as you reach for your comb. It’s exactly where you’d left it last night, after you’d thrown it aside. You stand on the cheap bath mat, holding the tiny plastic comb as you wait for Dean to continue.
“I probably never will, but I want to try. I know I’ve messed up, and I know I did horrible things. You have no idea how horrible I feel and how sick it makes me that I made you so uncomfortable. I should’ve stopped right away. I shouldn’t have even pretended to want that from you. If you can’t forgive me for what I did and how I made you feel, I’ll understand and I’ll leave you alone forever, but I love you, Y/N. I never meant for this to happen. I don’t know what got into me.”
“This isn’t like you, Dean,” you interject, quieter than before. You feel deflated after his speech. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know,” he says, almost pleading with you, as if you have all the answers. You wish you did.
You lean sideways against the door. It’s cold against your shoulder and you hold the towel tighter, staring at your blurred reflection in the foggy mirror. “Why didn’t you just talk to me?” 
“I don’t know. I should’ve. My head’s messed up and I was afraid you wouldn’t react the way I needed you to.”
“It’s okay to feel scared when you talk about how you feel, but we’ve gotta be honest with each other if this is going to work. You have to be honest with the person you’re dating, no matter what. That’s a big thing, Dean.”
“I know.” He pauses. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
The two of you stand there in silence, each of you on opposite sides of the door. Finally, you straighten up and turn the handle. It unlocks automatically and you pull the door open to meet Dean’s eyes. He looks shocked that you’re facing him so soon, and though his eyes flicker down at the white towel you’re still wearing, he mostly just holds your gaze, waiting for you to speak first. His eyes are red and puffy. He’s been crying, and though he’d mentioned that Sam was back, the room is silent.
“This kind of thing can never happen again,” you tell him firmly. “If it does, I’m out. I’m telling Sam that, too, so that if you pull something like this again and then try to find me, he can stop you.”
Dean nods. His voice breaks as he replies, “That’s fair. You deserve to be with someone who’s good for you, even if it’s not me.”
“And we have to talk about how we’re feeling, even if it’s hard. Maybe we should come up with a plan for when you feel this way.” Dean nods again and you look down at the comb in your hands. You pause for a second to collect your thoughts. “Dean, I’m still angry with you, and I probably will be for at least a little while, but I’m also hurt that you felt you couldn’t talk to me. I know Sam probably is too, but I do understand how you feel. You’re not alone in this.”
“I know that now,” he softly answers.
You look up. “Do you?”
He nods. “I’m sorry,” Dean repeats.
“I know.” You look back at the comb, then up at him again. “You can start by combing out my hair and braiding it in those fancy braids you pretend not to know how to do.” You hold out the comb and when Dean opens his mouth to protest, you raise an eyebrow at him. “You wanna fix things? This is step one, Dean.”
He sighs and takes the comb, his shoulders slumped dramatically. There’s a hint of his normal self in his expression now. You step further into the bathroom to allow him room to stand behind you.
Dean’s hands are gentle as he begins to comb out your wet hair. You glance up at him in the mirror. He catches your eye almost right away, then smiles slightly. You smile back, just enough for him to see it before he focuses back on your hair, the first olive branch that you’ve extended him.
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winchester-girl67 · 5 months
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Wild Hearts (Part 1)
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Summary: Y/N tags along to a bonfire on the beach with her brother and his friends. She tries to fit in with them, but winds up finding more of a connection to the guy crashing the party. 
Masterlist
Pairing: AU!Dean x reader 
Square: Age gap @spnfluffbingo Meet cute @spnaubingo “Are you stupid or stupid?” 
Word Count: 3,374 
Warnings: underage, age gap (reader is 16, Dean is 20 but closer to 21), underage drinking, mostly implied physical abuse, past injury (bruising/scars), language, slow burn, a little angst, arguing, maybe a little gaslighting, mutual pining, a kiss to the forehead, fluff 
A/N: Also written for @spnfluffbingo and @spnaubingo. 
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A/N #2: Masterlist summary and warnings have been updated. Please review before reading. 
_____
Your brother grabbed your arm and roughly yanked you back towards the party going on down the beach. "Stop being such a bitc-" 
"Ow! Quit it, jerk." You tried to shake your arm from his grasp but his fingers dug in, "You're hurting me." 
"Don't be such a baby," he growled, stopping far enough away from the bonfire so the crowd of his friends wouldn't overhear. There was a chill in the air and his friends were gathered closer around the flames now. "I told you, if you wanted to tag along you can't just wander off by yourself. Mom would have my ass if something happened to you on my watch." 
"Screw you, I'm not a baby. Let. Go." 
He finally did. 
"They're all ignoring me. I wanna go home." You said, pointing to the mean girls a ways away. 
"Well, I'm not taking you. I'm not ready to leave yet." He said, crossing his arms over his chest with a glare. 
You knew it was a mistake taking a ride from him in the first place, but you didn't have your own car. And you failed your driver's test over the last weekend. Fun way to spend your sixteenth birthday, with your brother mocking you the whole way home. 
"Then I'll walk or call mom to come get me." 
"No, you won't. Unless you want her to know that I was right and you are a baby." He stared you down, "Just have a drink and relax for a bit, maybe it'll loosen you up and people will want to talk to you." He glanced back at the busty blonde he'd been eyeing all night; the girl you knew he came here for. He'd only been following her around like a lost puppy all summer. She waved and gave him a little wink. "Stop being so selfish, Y/N, and maybe we'll get along for once." 
"I'm selfish?!" You scoffed, you'd only sat around watching the sunset and shuffling your feet in the sand for the past couple hours while he chatted up said blonde. His friends weren't the only ones excluding you. Not that you wanted to be in on that conversation, but you thought the night was going to go a little different. You thought it would be like the old days when things between you weren't so tense all the time. "Just leave me alone and go drool already."
"And you wonder why I never wanna hang out with you anymore." He snapped and stalked away, throwing his arm over the blonde's shoulders when he reached her. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight and you heard her giggle echo along the shoreline when he tickled her sides. 
Everyone liked your brother and you tried to be just like him when you were younger. You were only a year apart but it made a world of difference. You didn't even mind wearing his hand-me-downs until you got to high school and got made fun of for it. But you made your peace with it now, you'd always be more of a tomboy and you couldn't be anyone but yourself. Graphic tees, jeans and sneakers were the epitome of comfort and that's what you wore now while the mean girls had skimpy dresses and tank tops that did nothing against the cold breeze that wafted in from over the open water. 
But a drink might help. 
The beer cooler was up the beach from the horny seventeen and eighteen-year-olds, but you didn't have to pass them to fish one out from melted ice. You cracked it open and took a sip, souring your face instantly and spitting it out onto the sand. 
You heard someone chuckle and whipped around. A tall guy with shadows cast on his face stood a few feet away, watching you. You glanced down to the bottle in your hand, then back at him. He followed your eyes, his expression turning stoic before you could read him. 
"What?" You asked. 
"It's kind of an acquired taste." He nodded towards the bottle in your hand and you took another sip, choking it down to prove him wrong. He wasn't wrong. Beer was gross. "Are you okay?" 
"Why wouldn't I be okay?" 
He cocked his head towards your brother who was now chasing the blonde down towards the shoreline. You didn't think they'd go in, since it was nearly winter and the water was freezing this time of year. But he teased her and grabbed her like he was going to drag her out into the icy depths. 
"Oh. Yeah, he's just an asshole is all and I needed a drink." You explained, raising the beer to your lips for a third sip. 
You wanted him to leave already so you could dump the rest out in the bushes. 
"Same," he nodded and chugged the rest of his own beer. "He shouldn't treat you like that, though." 
You didn't think he overheard but he'd certainly seen the two of you, "He's my brother, that's what brothers do." 
You toyed with the label on your beer, peeling it back from the glass. 
"No, it's not." 
He stepped forward, setting his empty bottle in the bin next to the cooler. The light of the bonfire catching his features enough for you to finally see him. The first thing you noticed was that he was not a friend of your brother's. He was older, too, though you couldn't tell by how much. 
He was a party crasher. Probably here for the free beer. 
"Whatever. It's not like he hits me, he just gets mad and pushes me around a little." You said, stepping back a foot when the guy took another step towards you. 
"He shouldn't. That's called abuse." 
"Not when I do the same to him. Then it's called sibling rivalry." 
"I know abuse when I see it." His voice lowered as he shoved his hands in his pockets. His words held a story he wasn't telling and you didn't ask. 
You eyed him again. Between the full moon and the light of the fire you noted a few details that jumped out at you. He wasn't bad looking, actually kind of cute. His eyes held a world's worth of emotion as if he vaulted it up inside himself and swallowed the key. Days old bruising covered the left side of his face, particularly around his jaw, cheekbone, and eye. And he intermittently sucked on the split in his bottom lip that had reopened, probably from when he first smiled at you. 
"Well, your story isn't mine." You said, having had enough of this stranger who thinks he knows your life at a glance. He sighed and looked away, steeling his jaw and rubbing the back of his neck. Your eyes cast down to his stomach when his shirt lifted and your heart sank at the sight. A thick scar stretched up his torso from his hip and disappeared beneath the dark fabric of his shirt, peeking back out around his collarbone where the neck hole had been worn loose. Someone had hurt him, badly; you thought that must've been why he was so conscious towards abuse. "Sorry, I didn't know-" 
"Do you wanna go for a walk?" He asked, meeting your eyes and taking another step forward. 
You didn't back away this time, though he was still a good five feet away at least. 
"Yeah, that sounds like a great idea, taking off with some judgy guy I just met and wandering down a dark secluded beach alone with him. Real smart. Maybe wait until I've had a couple drinks first, then try again." You rolled your eyes making him laugh silently. 
"I don't hurt women. Ever." He said as if it was a law of his own. 
"What about men?" 
"Depends," he shrugged. 
"On?"
"I've never started a fight in my life." He said, answering a question you didn't ask rather than the one you did. 
"Somehow I don't believe you." You squinted up at him, trying to read him. 
"Then why haven't you walked away yet?" He looked at the party continuing around the bonfire and then back at you. "You don't wanna be here any more than I do, so let me show you something."
"I swear if that something is your-" 
He raised his hands from his pockets and smiled, "I promise it's not. You'll like this." 
"You get five minutes and I'm counting. Also, I'm a black belt so don't even think about trying anything." You lied, although he didn't strike you as the violent type despite the evidence on his face and stomach. 
You scanned the beach for your brother, spotting him still engrossed with the blonde, so you knew he wouldn't notice any time soon if you'd left without causing a scene. You dumped your nearly full beer out onto the sand and set it in the bin with the other empty bottles. Ignoring the knowing smirk from the party crasher as you did so. 
"Beer is kind of gross." 
"Yeah, it is." He chuckled, "but it's cheap and gets the job done." 
"I don't see the appeal," you said, following in stride with him down the beach. The sand beneath your sneakers making it hard to keep up with his long legs. "Can you walk slower?" 
"Sorry," he slowed his pace and you easily caught up. "Drink a bit more than a couple of sips next time and you will." 
"I'd rather waste the calories on chocolate, thank you." 
He laughed silently again and sucked the split in his lip, "What's your name?" 
"Uh, Y/N, you?" 
"Dean." He smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets again. "So, how come I haven't seen you around here before, Y/N?" 
"We just moved here," you said, not wanting to explain how you didn't exactly get out much and explore the town over the summer. 
"Then you haven't been to the pier?" He asked, cocking his head towards the end of the beach where you were headed. 
It wasn't so much a pier as it was a small row of shops and a parking lot. Some storefronts were still lit up against the darkened sky and a lighthouse sat on the rocks near the shore. The light at the top swung around and around over the jagged rocks reaching into the water. 
"Seriously? You wanted to show me a lighthouse? That's not exactly special. Lighthouses are a dime a dozen around here, if you haven't noticed." You said a little disappointed and glancing back at the party. 
The bonfire merely a speck amongst the stars along the beach now. If you accounted for the walk back it would definitely stretch over the five minutes you'd promised him and you stopped walking. 
Dean noticed when you fell behind and turned to you. He laughed a little and smiled, "That's not where we're going." 
He reached out to you and grabbed your hand, tugging you gently until you laughed and skipped a step. He was troubled, that was for sure, but you didn't have a reason not to trust him. Not that trust should be given easily without question; but still, you welcomed the warmth of his hand wrapped around yours as he led you across the parking lot and up to one of the shops. 
"Ice cream," you stared up at the sign before Dean pulled you into the store. 
"Mhm," he licked his lips, guiding you up to the display of tubs sitting in the freezer and separating you from the older blonde woman behind the counter. 
She nodded to Dean like she knew him and he smiled back, "Hey, Donna." She didn't react at all to the bruises on his face and your mind started to wander. 
"I was starting to think I wasn't gonna see ya before closing," she said, retying her pink apron as if she was getting ready to close up for the night. 
"You know me better than that," he feigned hurt and wrapped an arm over your shoulders, tugging you into his side. 
You scanned over the flavours, some so bright you wondered if it was possible to taste a colour. "Isn't it kinda cold for ice cream?"
"Never," Dean shook his head like you'd said something foolish. "These shops are seasonal and it's the last night they're open until they close for the winter. You'll have to wait at least four months before you get this again. And trust me, once you try it, winter will feel like an eternity for your tastebuds." 
You smiled, you couldn't argue with that logic, "What flavour should I get?" You asked, assuming he'd probably have tried them all by the looks of it. 
"My favourite is the mocha with all the little chocolate pieces. It's basic, I know, but classic." He pointed to a tub filled with dark brown speckled ice cream. 
"Two mochas, please." You said. 
"Sure thing," Donna said and scooped you out a couple of cups. 
Dean gave your shoulder a squeeze before giving you some space to enjoy your ice cream.  
He kept eyeing you as you took your first bite, then your second, "And?"
"Okay, you're right. It's fudging amazing! Can we get more?" You asked, glancing back at the shop from where you sat outside on a bench under a streetlamp. 
"You still have a whole cup.” He barked out a laugh and you shovelled a few spoonfuls into your mouth. 
A chilled throb wracked through your brain and you paused mid-bite to squeeze your eyes shut and fan at your frozen mouth. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth and just as the feeling started to ebb away you felt hot, sticky lips lay flush against your forehead. Dean’s hand held the back of your head and you blinked open your eyes, feeling warm and fuzzy. 
"Better? My mom used to do that for me when I was a kid. Always seemed to help." He said and tilted his head to the side. 
You weren't sure if it was what he did or the shock of the unexpectedness of it, but it dulled the pain. He hadn't backed up an inch and you could see the gold flecks in his green eyes under the streetlamp. Framed by the yellow edges and purple patches of the bruising next to his left eye. His hair was sandy brown and short but still fell over his forehead and brushed the tips of his ears. And freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose on pale skin. He was pretty cute and different from most of the boys you usually met. 
You nodded and blushed, sneaking another spoonful of mocha ice cream between your lips. He laughed silently and leaned back, picking back up his own cup of ice cream from the bench next to him and digging in. 
"You're strange and kinda wonderful." You said around a bite full, pressing your tongue to the roof of your mouth when the brain-freeze threatened to come back. 
"That's oddly the nicest thing someone's said to me in a very long time." He took a bite and licked his spoon clean. 
"That makes me sad." 
"Makes me happy," he mumbled and smiled. 
"Like I said, strange." 
"Because you're so cool and composed, right?" He's teased, pointing with his spoon. 
"I'm a delight and you know it. That's why you just had to get me away from all those other guys down on the beach. Before they had the chance to notice too, of course." You joked, brushing your hair back when the breeze carried it away. 
"You caught me, I'm a sucker for a girl who tries to bite my head off with one wrong look." 
"You make me sound like a praying mantis." 
"In that case, I guess I'm safe as long as we don't have sex." You both frowned. "Sorry, that was awkward, I swear it sounded funnier in my head. Because you know they only eat their mate after-uh-mating..." He stuck his spoon in his ice cream and stirred until it was smooth like soup, "What?"
"You're blushing," you said, "it's cute." You liked being able to do that to him. "But you should know I'm sixteen." 
"Wait. What?" He looked like you'd just punched him in the gut. "But you were drinking." 
"When did you have your first beer?" 
He thought to himself for a moment, clearly he had been younger than you; then he abandoned his ice cream on the bench beside him. “What about your friends?” 
"Some are eighteen. But most are seventeen, same as my brother, they're his friends." You explained. "Don't ask me how they got the beer." You attempted to lighten the mood but he just stared down at his hands, rubbing at the cuts in his knuckles. "How old are you?" 
“Too old for you,” he shook his head and picked at one of the scabs. “Twenty-one in January.” 
So essentially there was a five year age gap between you. It wouldn’t be a big deal, if only you were older; but for now it didn’t mean you couldn’t be friends. Your gut twisted at the thought of never seeing him again and you could use a friend; and it looked like he could, too. 
Your cell rang and you fished it from your back pocket. Your brother's name sprawled over the screen. 
You sighed and rolled your eyes, then answered, "What do you want?"
"Are you stupid or stupid? Where the fuck did you go?!" He shouted and you were sure Dean could hear, so you turned down the volume on your phone. 
"For a walk." 
"We're leaving." 
That meant the blonde was tagging along, either hitching a ride home with you or your brother was just going to drop you off at home before taking her to park somewhere and... -You didn't want to think about it. Your brother, like that. Gross. 
"Maybe I don't wanna leave yet. I made a friend." Dean mirrored your smile. 
"Find your own way home then..." he grumbled a few choice words and hung up. Asshole.
"Any chance you have a car?" You asked, silencing your phone and shoving it back into your pocket. "I need a ride." 
"Uh- no. But I know where we can get one." Dean said as he checked the time on his wrist. You fingered your ice cream and booped him on the nose. "What was that for?" He laughed and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. 
You shrugged, "Just trying to lighten the mood. You look so sad," you raised his chin with your fingers, "Chin up, Dean." 
"Did you mean that?" He asked. 
You lowered your hand to rest on the bench between you, "Mean what?"
"That we're friends," he asked, chewing on the split in his lip. At this rate you didn't think it would ever heal over. "I mean, that we can be friends." 
"Uh-huh, unless you don't wanna be my friend." You nodded and searched his eyes, some kind of hurt flashing through them. 
"I think that's all we can be. At least, until you have a couple more birthdays." 
Your typical luck, the one guy you could see yourself interested in and he's too old. It was only nearly five years, sure, but you were only sixteen and he'd probably had a lot more experience that you couldn't compare to. But he was cute. 
Window shopping couldn't hurt right, until you had the means to buy. 
"I can wait," you teased and laughed. "But you look like you could use a friend. And I got your back, since I kind of owe you one for introducing me to this ice cream." 
"You don't owe me anything, Y/N." 
You shivered when the ice cream was gone and Dean stripped out of his hoodie, draping it over your shoulders as you walked along the side of the road towards his house. He apparently didn't live far away and if his father was home, he could 'borrow' his car to give you a ride. He actually used air quotes when he said borrow though, so you were a little skeptical. 
_________________________
Part 2
_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33  @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28
SPN: @hobby27
Wild Hearts: @justrealizedimmascifygurl @evieluvsjamie @kimberkingrivers @globetrotter28
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kryptid-writes · 9 months
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Sabotage
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After one too many failed dates, Y/N finds out the real reason Gabriel has sabotaged her love life.
(3.5k)
Warnings: Smutty smut
“Check please,” you politely ask the waitress as she passes by. 
She nods and digs the checkbook out of her apron pocket and leaves it at the edge of the table, next to your empty plates and half finished glasses of red wine. 
You were lucky enough to get a reservation at one of the nicest restaurants in the city that’s typically booked out months in advance, accompanied by your lovely date.
You were skeptical about trying dating apps, claiming “they’re for losers who don’t go outside.” But the Winchester brothers had convinced you to give it a try after the countless dates before that had ended in disaster, to say the least. Dean even helped you set up your profile, choosing the best photos on your camera roll, limited to the ones without the blood and weapons.
You had almost given up in total, on the verge of deleting the app, when you matched with a nice man named Daryll. He’s a few years older with a steady job as a physician and a luxury car. Not to mention that he’s tall and clean shaven, with rich umber skin, and a smile that could light up a room. He’s dreamy, to say the least.
“So…” He trails off with a suggestive smile, taking a meticulous sip of his drink.
“So,” you repeat, your gaze getting lost in his dazzling amber eyes. The tension hangs in the air, cutting through the sound of plates and drinks clinking, and muffled chatter from the other patrons.
“I had a really nice time tonight, we should do this again sometime.” He reaches his hand across the table, resting it on top of yours.
You blush and nod your head. “Yes, I would really like that.”
After a short debate on who will pay, Daryll insists and grabs the check, slipping his sleek metal credit card into the folder. 
The waiter whisks it away and returns shortly, thanking us with a polite smile.
You exit the restaurant with Daryll, the smell of extravagant food fading from your senses as the door shuts behind you. You stop to admire the twinkling stars in the dark summer night sky, a light breeze blowing your hair back in the wind. 
There’s an unspoken debate, as you stand shoulder to shoulder in silence. It’s been a long time since you’ve gotten this far on a date and you're left feeling rather nervous.
You bite down your nerves and decide to speak, choosing not to waste this opportunity. “You know, I have an unopened bottle of Italian Riesling back at my apartment,” you say, looking up at him with hopeful eyes. “It would be a shame for it to go to waste.”
“Riesling?” He chuckles, “Count me in.”
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You fish out your keys from the bottom of your purse and shove it in the lock, with a light jingle, the door opens, revealing the tiny apartment that you call home. “So, this is it,” you say, inviting him in and gesturing for him to sit on the gray loveseat in the living room. 
You hope he doesn’t mind the organized clutter of your apartment. Books, paintings, and houseplants tastefully strewn throughout the rooms. Of course you had hidden away your hunting gear in a small closet, given the small chance the night ending at your place
“It’s nice. Cozy.” He takes off his jacket, hanging it on the coat rack. He takes a seat in front of the roaring fireplace, the warm orange glow illuminating the room and the burning wood giving off a pleasant aroma.
You hastily search your cabinet through the countless bottles of wine until you find the Italian Riesling you have been saving for special occasions. It must’ve been sitting there for god knows how long, but wine gets better with age, right? 
You pour the wine into two of your fanciest glasses, careful not to spill a single drop over the edge. Clicking the button on your stereo that sits on the kitchen counter, the soft sound of classical music fills the room. You pick up the glasses and take a seat next to Daryll, handing him the other one with grace.
“To us,” he says in his smooth voice, lifting his glass in the air.
“To us,” you repeat, clinking your glass in a toast and taking a sip of the wine. The semi-sweet liquid flows down your throat, leaving a dry aftertaste of peaches and grapes.
Daryll scooches closer, placing a hand on your thigh, sending a shiver up your spine. His thumb rubs teasing circles along your skin, your flesh heating up at his touch. 
It’s been a long time since anyone has touched you, let alone someone as attractive as Daryll. Your breathing becomes heavier as you try to quell your growing excitement.
“Tell me, Y/N, do you usually lure men back to your apartment with fancy wine?” He says with a flirty smile, lightly squeezing your thigh.
“Can’t say I’ve had the pleasure before. Why, is it working?” You giggle.
“You know,” he says, brushing a strand of hair out of your face, “I think it is.” He leans in close, his lips just inches from yours, the sexual tension growing by the second.
You close your eyes and lean in, desire burning in the pit of your stomach. Just before you can break the distance, you’re interrupted by the sound of blaring music and flashing lights.
You both jump back at the surprise, looking around at the once calm room turned chaotic. The swirling rainbow lights and reflections from the sizable disco ball dropped from the ceiling dances across the walls. The stereo that previously played peaceful classical music, now plays the best of 70’s disco at the highest volume, so loud that it sounds distorted and rings in your ears.
“What. The. Fuck,” Daryll yells over the music, his face scrunches up in a mixture of confusion and anger.
“I- I can explain!” You yell back, covering your ears as you desperately try to think of a reasonable explanation for the sudden madness. You’re interrupted by the feeling of something small and furry scurrying past your feet, making you gasp and tuck your feet onto the couch cushions. 
A mouse dashes across the floor, barreling directly towards Daryll, catching you both off guard as you’ve never had a rodent problem before. 
Despite carrying himself as a strong, fearless man, he runs for the door in a panicked hurry. “Look, I'm out!” he shouts with a disgusted look and slams the door behind him.
Anger surges through your body as you witness the one successful date you’ve had in months storm out the door, and you know damn well who’s to blame. You grab the stereo, ripping the plug out of the wall and smash it on the ground, the pieces scattering across the floor, halting the music mid track.
“GABRIEL, GET YOUR FEATHERY ASS DOWN HERE!” You yell, shaking with anger, and looking to the ceiling. 
“Hey sugar, you called?” The familiar voice of the mischievous archangel says from behind you.
You turn on your heels to face him. Of course he’s dressed for the occasion, wearing a stupid dress shirt with an obnoxiously loud pattern, the first few buttons undone, exposing the skin of his chest, and black bell bottom pants, with slicked back hair, and a fake mustache. If you didn’t know any better, you’d assume he’d fallen right out of the 70’s.
 The way he stands nonchalantly with an amused smile on his face, leaves you fuming. “What is wrong with you! You ruin everything!” You yell, your face heating up. 
He stares back at you, seemingly amused with your little outburst, conjuring a lollipop in his hand and sucking on it. 
“All I want is one successful date! One!” You point at him angrily, taking a step closer. “First it was the nice girl from the bar that you sent to some alternate reality that definitely scarred her for life, then it was the cute mechanic that took me to the movies who, may I remind you, you released a dozen snakes on him.”
Gabriel snickers, recalling the antics that he found so enjoyable.
“And now, this!” You snap, walking forward til you’re all but a few feet away. You take a deep breath, collecting your emotions. “I get that I'm a hunter, but maybe I don’t want to die alone,” your voice takes on a melancholy tone.
His face softens, his signature cocky smile melting into a frown.
“It’s like you don’t want me to be happy,” you whisper, fighting back the tears that threaten to spill.
“Hey! That’s not true!” Gabriel snaps in an offended tone, suddenly taking this very seriously.
“Then why, Gabriel? Cause I don’t find this funny! At all!” You look up at him with pleading eyes, desperate for some kind of an answer to all this torment. What did you do to deserve this?
He stays silent, but his soft, bashful eyes says it all. 
“Oh,” you whisper, something inside of you clicking, finally connecting the dots that should have been so obvious. “Are you… Jealous?”
He scoffs, looking away, but doesn’t deny it.
“You are! You’re jealous!” You say in disbelief with a shameless smile. 
“No! I just… I just don’t think they deserve you,” he replies, trying to keep his cool demeanor he’s worked so hard to curate. “You deserve someone capable, someone who’s gonna treat you right and take care of you.” He straightens his posture and subtly puffs out his chest, which might have been effective at impressing you, if he wasn’t dressed like the long lost member of the Bee Gees.
“Someone like you?” You say, lifting a brow and stepping closer, now invading his personal space, not that he seems to mind.
“I didn’t say that.” He furrows his brows, taking a daring step forward, nearly closing the distance between the two of you.
“You didn’t deny it either,” you say with a cocky smile.
He stares at you intently, his longing eyes falling to your pink lips.
Feeling a rush of boldness, you lean in close, placing a hand on his chest and whispering in his ear, “If you want to take me on a date, you could just ask.” You pull back smiling.
His face flushes a light pink, his lips curling into a grin. “The night is still young, cupcake, how about we fix this?” He says, ushering to the chaotic room, lights still spinning and remains of the stereo scattered across the apartment.
He snaps his fingers and your apartment is restored to its former glory, this time covered in candles that illuminate the room in romantic lighting. The repaired stereo sits on your counter, soft jazz music playing. Gabriel playfully dances to the music, taking your hands and encouraging you to join him.
You smile, admiring his work and casually sway with him. He always did know a thing or two about style.
He leads you to the loveseat, skillfully pulling you into his lap. With another snap of his fingers, a tray of chocolate covered strawberries appears in front of you, as well as two glasses of strawberry champagne. 
Gabriel is notorious for his love of sugar, always snacking on some kind of candy, even in less than appropriate settings. Lucky for you, you’ve always had a bit of a sweet tooth, and being with Gabe certainly promises more of where this came from in the future.
You take a sip of your drink, the sweet taste of strawberries dancing on your tongue. You smile, maintaining playful eye contact as you swallow. “This is nice Gabe, you should’ve started with this.” You chuckle.
He laughs and rests one hand on your hip, the other grabbing a strawberry. “Now where's the fun in that?” He teases. “Open wide, sugar.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
You blush at the innuendo, but do as he says, chuckling as he guides the tip of the strawberry in your mouth. “Mmm,” you hum in satisfaction as the dark chocolate melts in your mouth, mixing with the sweet flavor of the fresh strawberry, much sweeter than any strawberry you can buy from the supermarket. 
Gabriel smirks at your reaction, taking the rest of the strawberry in his mouth, his eyes lighting up as he savors the flavor, tossing the stem aside. “You have a little something here, cupcake,” Gabriel says flirtatiously. He places his thumb on the corner of your lips, swiping a smidge of chocolate off, his finger lingering on your lips for a moment before he sucks the chocolate off his thumb, never breaking eye contact.
“Th-thanks,” you stutter, suddenly feeling hot and flustered.
“Don’t sweat it.” His eyes fixate on your lips, studying every curve. “You’re gorgeous, you know that?” He asks in a soft, caring tone.
You stare at him in shock, his genuine compliment feeling out of character from his usually sarcastic, dickhead self. “You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply.
He grins like a cheshire cat and pulls you into a kiss, catching you by surprise.
You quickly melt into the kiss, all of your frustration from your failed date melting away. All that matters right now is Gabriel, and God does it feel so right.
He pushes his tongue in your mouth, tangling with yours. The sweet flavors of lingering chocolate and strawberry mix together in the most pleasant way, eliciting a moan from you that only spurs him on.
You tangle your fingers through his golden locks, lightly tugging on the ends, earning a groan from him. You grind down onto his lap as you deepen the kiss.
He reluctantly pulls away for air, both of you out of breath. “You taste so good, sweetstuff,” he purrs, letting his hands roam from your hip and down to your thighs. “But I want to taste you elsewhere,” he whispers seductively, sending a shiver of arousal down your spine.
“Please Gabe,” you beg, desperate for more.
Pleased with your reaction, he lightly peppers kisses from your jaw, down to your throat, licking and nipping as he goes. 
You lean back, giving him access to every inch of your skin.
When he reaches your collarbone, he furrows his brows in frustration at the constriction clothes that hide your body from him. With a snap of his fingers, they’re gone.
You gasp, feeling completely exposed to him, but don’t protest.
He pulls you off his lap and kneels on the floor in front of you, sitting back on his heels. He drinks in your form, completely entranced in your beauty. “Like I said, Gorgeous.” He smiles like a kid on Christmas. 
You blush profusely, but before you can respond, he kisses down your chest and takes your nipple into his mouth. You throw your head back and bite your lip to stifle a moan, the sensation sending arousal straight to your core.
He sucks and bites, lightly rolling the bud between his teeth and tongue. Once he’s satisfied with leaving you a quivering mess, he moves his way down. He kisses from your sternum, to your stomach, and down to your hips.
Your breath hitches in your throat as he places his hands on your thighs and spreads them apart, revealing your aching pussy to him. 
“There’s the good stuff,” he says with a stupid smile that just screams ‘Gabriel’.
“You’re such a dork,” you retort playfully. 
He gives you a flirtatious smirk, before placing kisses on your knee and working his way up your thighs, painfully slow, taking his time to tease you. He maintains deep eye contact with you as he inches ever closer to exactly where you need him most.
You tremble with anticipation, your body aching with arousal, craving him in every way possible.
He kisses to the crook of your thigh, biting down playfully, surely leaving a mark where his teeth dig into your flesh. He kisses right next to your pussy, painfully close, yet not close enough at all.
“Gaaabe,” you whine, tired of his teasing. You run your fingers through his hair and lightly pull, silently egging him on.
He smirks, enjoying keeping you on edge, desperate for him. “You gotta beg for it, sugar. Tell me how much you need it,” he says in a mischievous voice
You clench your jaw. He’s the trickster, of course he would enjoy teasing you. “Please, gabe,” you plead.
He raises his eyebrow, not satisfied with your feeble attempt.
You swallow your pride, the need to feel Gabriel, taking priority over your ego. “Please Gabe, I need you so bad. Please touch me!” You beg him, pulling on his hair.
“Much better,” he purrs. He uses his grace to pin your hands to your side and spread your legs wider, keeping you in place.
You whine in anticipation, trying to grind your hips forward, but you’re completely immobilized by his grace.
He laughs, enjoying watching you helplessly struggle. Deciding to give in, he licks a long stripe up your pussy and swirls tight circles around your clit.
“Oh, Gabe,” you moan, shocks of pleasure send through your every nerve.
He wraps his lips around your clit, sucking with the perfect amount of pressure to drive you crazy. The movements of his tongue goes from planned and strategic to sloppy and passionate, lapping up all your wetness like he’s a man starved.
A string of expletives fall from your mouth as your brain goes foggy, reality and pleasure mixing together and becoming one. 
“Mm… sugar, you taste amazing, better than any candy I've tried, and I've tried them all.” He winks.
“God Gabe, are you trying to kill me?” You pant, your eyes meeting his, pupils blown wide with lust.
He scowls at the mention of his fathers name, but his expression quickly morphs into a cocky grin as an idea dawns on him. He presses his finger against your entrance, teasingly circling it, but never pushing in like you need.
“Please, no more teasing,” you pout, trying to grind down onto his fingers.
He scoffs, looking rather amused. “You have no idea how long you’ve been teasing me, sweetstuff. Seeing you going on dates with other humans, flirting with them right in front of me. This is just a taste of what you’ve put me through,” he says in a low, seductive voice. He pushes in the tip of his finger ever so slightly.
You bite down on your lip. You should feel bad about putting him through that, but all you can focus on right now is the way he’s teasing your aching cunt.
He slowly pushes his finger in to the first knuckle, before pulling out completely.
“No! Please!.. I need you,” you confess with wide eyes.
He smirks, getting exactly what he was looking for and pushes his finger all the way in, eliciting a deep moan from you. He starts slowly fucking you with his finger, building up pace until you’re a writhing, moaning mess.
You fight against his grace, desperately wanting to run your fingers through his hair and kiss him, but the struggle is ultimately useless against the overwhelming power of an archangel. 
He pulls his finger out, and you whine in disappointment that’s quickly cut off by him shoving two fingers into you, fucking you relentlessly. 
His fingers feel like heaven as that burning feeling builds in your stomach, the muscles in your body slowly tightening, reaching the point of no return. His name spills from your mouth over and over like a prayer, as your brain drowns in pleasure
He smiles, knowing just how close you are, and curls his fingers forward, pressing up against your sweet spot.
It’s all over as the coil in your stomach snaps and you cum harder than you ever have in your entire life. “Fuck! Gabe!” You moan loud enough for your neighbors to hear, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Every nerve in your body lights up, your walls spasming around his fingers as you ride out your high. 
“There you go, sugar,” he coo’s, his eyes tracing over every inch of your body, thoroughly enjoying the show. Once you’ve come down from your orgasm, a panting and sweating mess, he releases you from his grace and sucks his fingers into his mouth, his tongue licking off all your cum. “Mm, I could get used to that,” he says with a cocky smile.
“Me too,” you reply, leaning your head back against the couch.
He shuffles onto the couch next to you, pulling you into his arms. He feels a sense of peace and happiness as he finally gets to be with the human he had fallen for long ago.
Bathing in the afterglow, you feel his hard cock pressing against your ass, giving you a sense of pride and a new pang of arousal. You palm him through his jeans and he groans at your touch. 
“Woah, sugar,” he says, removing your hand. “We’ll get to that later. Trust me, tonight is far from over. But for now, you should relax. I’m here to take care of you, and if you let me, I'd like to be with you full time,” he admits, scared of being rejected.
“An archangel boyfriend? Count me in.” You smile, nuzzling your head against his chest.
He pulls you closer and hums in content.
Maybe the happiness you were searching for, has been here all along.
Masterlist
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spnexploration · 1 year
Text
Pack Masterlist
So, I didn't really mean to start a new series when a scene came to me, but we're at over 8k words in the doc now so it's pretty official that I have, in fact, started a new series...
Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison (the werewolf from season 2 "Heart" 😆)
Note: This is not a poly fic but I will be leaning into Pack dynamics where Pack members seek comfort in physical contact with other Pack members. So if you're after something poly you could probably read that into some subtext here, but if you're not into that then don't worry.
Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.
Warnings: canon-level violence, probably a bit of smut, A/B/O dynamics, there will be hugging and sleeping with (literal sleeping, not sex) Pack members who are not your mate. Individual chapters will carry their own warnings.
Supernatural writing masterlist
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(image from google)
Chapter 1
Your newly-found mate, Dean, leaves you in the care of his brother.
Chapter 2
You accompany Sam and Madison on the case.
Chapter 3
Dean explains.
Chapter 4
You go home to sleep.
Chapter 5
You head back to the bunker with the Winchester
Chapter 6
Madison opens your eyes...
Chapter 7
Sam and Dean leave you and Madison in the motel room.
Chapter 8
Sam takes Dean to hospital.
Chapter 9
Sam comes to sit with Dean with you.
Chapter 10
Dean gets out of hospital.
Chapter 11
Dean is suddenly sick.
Chapter 12
Dean remains in the local hospital clinic.
Chapter 13
Dean comes home.
Chapter 14
Dean and you go to the doctor
Chapter 15
You try to follow the doctor's orders
Chapter 16
Miscommunications abound...
Chapter 17
Dean calls a family meeting.
Chapter 18
The reader learns a number of things about her new life.
Chapter 19
You need some air.
Chapter 20
You're feeling better.
Chapter 21
You start learning some lore
Chapter 22
The morning after your night alone.
Chapter 23
Your heat continues.
Chapter 24
You've finally been marked!
Chapter 25
Your heat and Dean's rut are over.
Chapter 26
The Pack heads out on Claire's hunt.
Chapter 27
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uncouth-the-fifth · 1 year
Text
(you are a) natural, baby - p.2
read it on ao3.
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Pairing: Virgin!Sam Winchester/AFAB!Reader (vaguely s1 or 2) Tags/Warnings: sex in the Impala, oral sex (f receiving), whiny/submissive Sam (with hints of the opposite), Sam being a pussy fiend, you get it 💅 Word Count: 16,202. Notes: part two, aka: THE GOOD STUFF. this bad boy has been sitting in my drafts for a hot minute. i thought it would be a fun little Halloween present while I'm between other projects :) pure sam goodness ahead, chaps ✨ enjoy! Ask to be added to my taglists for future posts!
"Every time you go down on me," his hungry, sultry gaze devoured yours, "I get to practice on you, too."
You adjusted your clammy hold around his neck, reminded of the emptiness between your legs. “Every time?”
“Every time,” Sam nodded. “But… mostly… other times, too. Any time. That I want. If you want, of course.”
You panted. “Yeah. A-anytime,” you echoed.
“S’ gonna be… a lot,” Sam warned. His chin dipped, stealing an open-mouthed, burning kiss against your quaking pulse. The sound his mouth made against your flesh was sloppy and hot in ways that would’ve destroyed anyone, but you most of all. “M’ not a quick study, ____. I’m gonna have to… take my time with you.”
“Uh-huh,” you squeaked.
Sam laved his tongue—which was ridiculously, pussy-wettingly broad—in one passionate drag from your collarbones to the center of your throat. “…I’ll have t’ be thorough. You know I only do things the right way, baby.”
Mindless, you squeezed your eyes shut. “I know y’ do,” you whined.
“You might have to coach me.” Sam pressed further, plotting open-mouthed kisses all over your pliant neck, just to make it clear the kind of things that tongue could do. “I wanna do it good for you…”
If you had the wherewithal to step back, you should’ve known that Sam was a quick study. A ridiculously quick study, since you’d had him under your spell for a little under an hour and he was already echoing back all the filthy things you’d said to him. He did learn fast. These next parts… he’d learn these very fast, too, even if you couldn’t keep up. The thought thrilled you. For once, a partner that could match you, surpass you. Sam being that partner… God. It wouldn’t have mattered if Sam was good—honest to God, it wouldn’t have. He could be the shittest partner on the planet, and you would still be here. But he wasn’t. What heroic, selfless feat had you accomplished to get this kind of good karma? To have Sam, and selfishly, for him to want you too?
Sam grinned up at you, feeling that same streak of luckiness. His accent was laden with sex, and hearing it in Sam’s voice—your best friend since childhood—when your head was (mostly) clear made you flush like a schoolgirl. It was every stupid high school fantasy come to life. Like the hot professor you had a crush on had asked to see you after class, but instead of boring homework talk, Sam had bent you over his desk and shoved his hands up your skirt like you wanted him to.
“Can you show me, ___?” Sam tilted his head until your noses were nudging, drawling into the immediate heat of your mouth, “How to make you feel good?”
You were so pumped full of arousal that you could hardly talk. You were aware again that you were topless, since the swell of your chest surged up against Sam’s, like the rest of you. He might’ve palmed you there if it wouldn’t mean peeling you off him, but it was clear that was all Sam could ask for—the shivering shape of you melted entirely against him. That was exactly the prize he’d carved out for himself. The bulb of Sam’s nose was smushed into your cheek and your breath mixed in the hair’s width between your mouths, which waited half open. Sam’s fingers sloped into the curve of your lower back, then up around your hips, tracing your waistband again and again. Jesus, he wanted it.
“You sure you’re a virgin?” You managed, laughing between pants.
Sam nodded, less bashful than he’d been when you’d poked him with that word before. He repeated himself: “But… you’ll show me?”
He was serious. Your legs were shaking without shame now, each tremor pouring straight into your helplessly wet core like you were sitting on a washing machine on its highest setting. You were sure you’d never been wetter in your entire life. It had left your underwear entirely, coating your inner thighs. Sam’s gaze never left yours if he could avoid it, yet you could tell that every fiber of his being was hyper-focussed on that space.
You still couldn’t believe your luck. You leaned back, just enough to get a read on Sam with your eyes instead of your hands, and tested.
“You really want this?” You resisted for his sake. “You don’t need t’ feel pressured or anything like that, okay? This is your first time. It should be about you. If you’re not 100%...”
Sam dipped his head in thought. When he came back up, his brow was set. “I want to try… And this is our first time.”
Your head shook of its own accord, mystified. You brushed your fingers over one of Sam’s dimples and downward, just feeling him, and the soft, yielding skin of your lover’s face. He gazed at you with big puppy eyes, mumbling, “How many times s’ somebody done this for you?”
“A couple,” you answered, purposefully bland. “Mostly, y’know, as a lead up to the big part.”
Sam snorted. “Yeah. The big part. Like that,” he gestured at his lap, “wasn’t the big part. Right.”
You allowed yourself to be smug. “I told you, baby. No complaints.”
Sam kept looking at you with those big, pretty eyes, and with each passing second you felt more like an ice cube in a bowl of hot soup, dissolving completely and effortlessly into him. He nodded. “Tell me what to do.”
You let that request sizzle comfortably under your skin for a moment, before taking Sam’s face between your thumbs and greeting him with a sweet kiss. A deep, pleasured sound seeped out of him, and you deserved some kind of reward for managing to peel yourself off Sam just as he was humming in your ear like that. 
Maybe you're giving yourself away when you giddily order, “Let’s go to the backseat, huh?”
You helped Sam get his jeans back around his waist. This was accomplished with a generous amount of petting, from Sam and from you, squeezing him through his briefs and kissing him a little meaner than you should’ve. Now that you were permitted to touch him, nothing could stop you.
When you bend below the seat to pull the front bench forward, pouring heat across Sam’s lap and bringing your face close enough to nuzzle his dick, he flashes you a look that’s written all over with the bossy Sam you remember. 
Technically you could stay up front, but there were fewer controls to collide with and more space in the back seat. You enjoyed the thought of fucking Sam in the back of the Impala, too… The whole car rocking, the glass fogging up… Dean was going to kill you if he ever found out. A nonsensical part of your mind that had been spoiled too much today almost wanted Dean to know, just so everyone would. Just so it’d be in the air that Sam’s virginity had been taken, and you had been the one to do it.
“Think you can climb over?” You cleared your throat.
Sam waved for you to go first. You weren’t halfway over the bench, sweat-slick and nude but for petal-thin underwear, when Sam darted out the passenger’s side—into the furious rainstorm. Your back hadn’t even hit the other seat by the time Sam was back in the car, but still. The door slammed behind him, softening the sound of the rain. You shuffled up onto your elbows, cursing him, but Sam didn’t care one bit. Just two seconds outside had soaked him from head to toe. Rainwater twisted in his bangs and slithered in long lines down his back, dotting his shoulders. You hadn’t been too diligent putting his pants back on, so the droplets rolled over his hips and into the low waistband of his jeans too. You maneuvered so you were sitting on your calves in the back seat, and Sam paralleled you, wild and determined. He took up half the backseat with his legs alone.
“Don’t give me that look. It was faster,” he mumbled, smiling.
You played annoyed, but then Sam slithered in and kissed you again, greedy and desperate: conditions impossible to pretend in. You give up on scolding him. Getting your arms around his shoulders, you dragged yourself into his lap and struggled a bit on his slippery skin. He helps you the rest of the way. Sam goes the extra mile, too, putting all of your weight on his thighs and rolling his hips up. A little shock of pressure meets you once you’re seated on him.
“Sam,” you yelped.
“You like that?”
He asked as if you weren’t white-knuckling the meat of his shoulders, but you nodded anyway. Throatily, you managed, “Keep going.”
Sam does as told, stirring his bulge up between your legs, making your head loll back until your throat is vertical and you’re purring like a new sportscar. Tortured pleasure throbs up your body. After almost an hour of teasing, of getting off just watching him, even the smallest contact is explosive. You’re honest-to-god quivering. You huffed out deep, rattling breaths and kissed him until your lungs burned. He yields for you—he always does—letting your tongue lick hot through his parted lips. You want him like nothing else. Between your legs, yes, but kissing is closer and you throb every time he surges up in response. Sam is nothing but pretty, senseless noises. It devours you from the inside, how precious and perfect and everything he is, your Sam. Kissing him kickstarts a chemical reaction in your body unlike anything else you’ve ever felt before, soft and musical, like a field of a million fireflies blinking in a hundred ways at night. You rock your body into his and Sam responds every time, the push and pull of your hips rolling to a hypnotic tempo. The next time you withdraw from him to breathe, you stroke his face in both hands, your baby, and kiss him all over until he’s sick of you, kissing his cheek, his chin, his dimples, his jaw, his brow.
Sam had to close both eyes to protect them. “_____,” he whined.
“Quit complainin’,” you drawled, grinning, “let me be obsessed with you.”
Sam squinted, and even in the dark you could see how blown his pupils were. He smiled. “You gonna start kissing up my arm, now? Like in the movies?”
You, of course, took this as a request.
“Oh, cara mia… ”
Collecting his hand in yours, you turned inwards and pushed a deep, lingering kiss into Sam’s palm, then his wrist, looking up at him through your lashes after each devoted press. By the time you were in the middle of his forearm he was sucking in air through his teeth. He’d been playing, but it seemed to be really riling him. You gleamed with delight. You surged one into the center of his elbow, then his warm bicep and up, across his rain-slick shoulder and all the moles there. Sam’s chest heaved. The taut muscles in his arm twitched after each touch, sensitive after so much. Maybe you cheated a bit, skipping straight to his neck after that, but it was a miracle you’d held out any longer. You twisted and plotted open-mouthed, possessive, fervored kisses all over Sam’s throat.
“Oh god,” Sam shudders. His head thudded against the seat. “____. Please.”
The salty tang of sweat and the earthy touch of rain in his taste turned on your lewdest instincts, and all you wanted was Sam’s fingers on you. Inside you. Some part of him, any part of him. Your core blazed with an empty, bottomless feeling. You’d put yourself aside to give your all for Sam, but now the pounding neediness of your arousal was too strong to ignore.
You captured Sam by the wrists and brought his hold over your breasts, moaning, “Touch me.”
Sam gave you a wild look. His warm, huge hands sloped around your ribs and tentatively slid up to cup your tits in both palms. It wasn’t a forceful examination. It’s Sam, greedy and turned on, sure, but he’s nothing but gentle with you, squeezing you feather-light and testing the feel of you in his palms.
“I wanna—” Sam groans, going shy, “I wanna bite you. Can I bite you? Not hard, o-or—”
You're grinning before he can finish. “Fuck yeah.”
Sam goes for the closest thing, your jaw, breathing loud and shaky. Whatever it is about the sound that squeaks out of you unlocks some primal urge in him. Sam bites the meat of your shoulder, using just enough teeth to leave a mark. The stinging pressure is soothed immediately by his hot soft tongue in starved little licks. Sam's learned to just take—both of your tits are squeezed in big, calloused Kansas hands as you're nibbled on.
While you’re sucking new red patches into Sam’s spit-soaked throat, he gives himself one last second to soak in the feel of it before he nudges you away.
“Enough. It’s your—god, s’ your turn,” he insists. “C’mon. Let’s get these off. Please.”
Sam pets at your underwear. Wiping the spit from your chin, you tilted back in Sam’s lap, wincing at even that pressure, and thought. “Al-alright. But… but maybe I should start on my back.”
He pouted. “I wanted to—”
“I know,” you shushed, and grinned filthily over his ridiculousness. “I’ll sit on your face, I promise. But it’ll be better if we start this way, okay? You need to crawl before you can walk here, Sammy.”
You expected Sam to be stubborn as usual, since he insisted on proving himself with everything else. Your resolve was so weak-kneed for him that you probably would’ve let him. It was Sam, begging through sex-swollen lips to just let him fuck you with his mouth, which any reasonable person would’ve crumbled for. And your throbbing, neglected core made you more than reasonable. Instead, Sam went out of his way to surprise you for tonight's hundredth time. He wasn’t always stubborn. He could beg for you to suck his dick like no one else. And, he would forever be keeping you on your toes.
Sam kept you sturdy with both unreasonably huge hands clamped around your hips. Then, he turned up onto his knees, dunking you out of his lap and back onto the seat just hard enough to make you bounce. The Impala creaked in protest. When your spine was flat to the black leather, Sam slithered over you and uttered into your ear, sexy and starved:
“It’s Sam.”
You couldn’t help the grin that transformed your face. Or the senseless, merciless throbbing in your panties. Your hair was a mess around your head (or in general) because of him, and with how dark your eyes were, you must’ve looked a few steps away from rabid. Sam did; he panted above you, his seething, ravenous body hanging over yours like an predator over a prey animal. From this angle, the view of him was fucking spectacular. Sam was a wall of taut, sloping muscle covered in all these pretty little freckles. An old pair of jeans hung uselessly on his hips, open at the zipper around an ardent hard-on. Since all of that apparently wasn’t enough, your center was flush right up against it, so when Sam leans forward you feel—all of it, big and warm and iron-hard for you. Just fuck me already, you almost groaned.
You’d barely thought about your own body since Sam’s had captivated you so much, but it was clear he was just as consumed by you. Mouth watering, Sam dropped his hands to frame your ribcage and just looked at you, awed and enamored with what he was seeing. Who he was looking at.
You gazed up at him the exact same way, biting down a mean grin. “Sam, huh.”
He shot you a dark look, which was just hilarious, since he was still looking at you for guidance.
You reached up and slid your fingers into Sam’s damp, lush bangs, stroking them away from the gleaming eyes you loved. You teased, “That’s what you want me to call you when you eat me out, baby? Sam?”
Sam’s lids slid closed. You brushed over his brow with your thumb, maybe enjoying torturing him a bit too much for your own good. His silhouette snaked up to hang over you, and in the dark Sam oozed affection and love.
“My Sam?” You murmured, “That’s what you want me to scream, huh? When you get that pretty mouth between my legs?” 
A groan bubbled up from his chest, and Sam poured it into the valley between your breasts. In it was the result of more than an hour’s worth of ruthless, unsatiated teasing, plus at least twelve years spent with a painful crush on you. Before Sam did anything else, he removed his worst enemy from the equation. The skimpy black underwear you had worn were on you and then they weren’t. You opened your mouth to rib him for his haste and Sam was already there, kissing you into the seat so furiously the springs squealed. You squealed too, arching up and finding a broad, heated body layered over your own. The untouched backseat was freezing cold, which was just another reason to soak into Sam and Sam’s touch. Now entirely nude, it was painfully obvious how soaking wet you were. You should’ve been lightheaded with how much slick your body was making for Sam.
“S’ what you’re gonna be screamin’ when I make you cum,” he dared.
You did your best not to let the cartoon hearts floating around your head seem too obvious. “Show me.”
Sam hovered over you then, lips parted and eyes shining. “How do I start?”
“Okay, cowboy,” You adjusted yourself on your back, forgetting to tamp down the euphoric, thrilled energy that had already put you on cloud nine just laying there. You’d tried to put a lot of your own feelings aside for Sam, but now that he wanted them you could only willingly hand them over. “When you’re… doing this for somebody, you should—”
“No, no,” Sam shook his head. His bangs tickled your forehead. “I’m not doing this for somebody, I’m doing this for you.” Wetting his lips, he said, “Talk like it’s for you. Please.”
Your blush was not a horny blush or a drunk one, but a result of your stupid, inescapable crush on him. Holy hell. You might’ve been smiling. “...Okay. Sam. To start, just… kiss me all over. Anywhere you want. You don't always have ta’, but it's the warm-up before the—”
“—other big part?” Sam finished.
You nodded as casually as you could. “Yup.”
Sam raised a dry eyebrow. “Want me to kiss you like you kissed me?”
“You like me that much?” You joked.
Sam’s head tilted, eyes alight. “Oh, mon cher… M’ crazy about you.”
So maybe the two of you had watched too much Addams Family as kids, but if this was the result, you couldn’t mind if you tried. Your pounding heart could’ve burst, you loved him so much.
Sam proved what he said. Bent over you, he lingered for a moment, trying to decide where to start. He ended up in his new favorite place. Drinking you in with low eyes, Sam tipped your faces together and met you with a surging, devouring kiss. Instead of the possessive pawing or the filthy groping you had expected, Sam dragged just his fingertips over the slopes of your curves. The gentleness of it somehow gushed with intensity, so just the slightest touch from him had you hissing with want. His fingers were calloused. They pet from the dip of your collarbones all the way down to your belly button in the most sexually agonizing minute of your life, each inch of flesh enjoyed to the absolute fullest. You rolled your hips up, hoping and praying that he’d drag those fingers further, but Sam didn’t. Again: a quick study.
One long finger tapped the softest part of your belly. “...Can I bite you here?”
“Sammy,” you felt your eyes glaze with desire. “You can do anything you want to me.”
The line he’d drawn on your chest tingled hard enough to send every hair on your body on end, so Sam’s mouth—that hot, wet, gorgeous mouth, made to be between a woman’s legs—was a million times more intense. Sam took his time. He got comfortable, urging your thighs apart with his hips, then dutifully bent to kiss your collarbone. Those maddening hands traced down your ribs, then your belly. He applied just enough pressure to make lines in sand. Sam kissed and caressed you like he was sculpting you right there in the car, squeezing your clay-malleable body for its shape. Again, his soft seeping kisses were improved by needy bites.
You knew that you probably shouldn’t compare, but Sam was… Sam was leaps and bounds more passionate than any other partner you’d ever had. This confirmed it: you were madly in love with him, movie-in-love with him, which might’ve made you a bit biased, but it was true. Sam was fucking awesome. He felt fucking awesome. His soft lips seared down the center seam of your ribs with intent, smushing his nose and chin into your breasts, your belly, licking wide stripes over each hollow and nuzzling his face into you. Other men had done something similar, but none of them were him. So none of them had felt nearly as mind-whiting. Maybe it was because Sam had never done this before, but there was something different in how he went about touching. It wasn’t exactly methodical. He was trying to do a good job, but more than that he was trying to juice some real pleasure out of you. For Sam, the act of eating you out wasn’t an obligation. It was a damn pleasure.
You weren’t sure if you believed all the stuff they said about true love, but man, you hoped it would feel like the first time every time with him. Like it did now.
Sam shuffled forward to give the underside of your chin a brief peck, then turned both his hands onto your tits, kneading and appreciating them until you were making the same noises he’d been making earlier. You're drooling like a camgirl when Sam nuzzles his face between them. His eyes flick up to you once, turning audience into performer, and you're left wriggling and bucking when Sam bites the underside of your breast, crazed with an endless appetite for your skin. He really is a biter.
“So soft,” Sam husked. His eyes flicked up at you from below his bangs, instantly making you clench.
Your laugh tinkled like sleighbells. Your whole body blazed with light and energy in ways you didn’t know you could feel, all of it filling you in surging, boundless waves. And every bit of your reactions were so honest. It made you realize just how often you’d lied during sex, before. You ramped up the little pornographic sounds you thought boys liked, bucked when expected, and closed your eyes more. Sam coaxed those whiny little noises from you anyway. With his face smushed into your breasts and those fawn-brown eyes just craving you, you closing yours would be the dumbest missed opportunity of all time.
“Talk to me,” you gasped. “I love it when you— ah .”
“You’re beautiful,” Sam gushed, like he’d been waiting for permission. He gave your left breast one last kiss, then started to crawl down your body in earnest, shocking your system with anticipation. “So damn pretty. And so soft … Losin’ my damn mind, you’re so good, ____… Gonna fuck you with my mouth. Gonna fuck you so good.”
You whimpered, “Yeah, baby?”
He nodded messily. “Mhm. I’ve thought about it,” he sucked saliva back through his teeth, closing his eyes just to revel in the mounting excitement of it, “all day.”
Then Sam’s plush, wet lips pressed open-mouthed into your stomach, kissing your belly button then the skin below, bumping his teeth on you, making you writhe and mewl. He made all these desperate keening sounds into your flesh as he went. Coupled with his panting and his lips puckering and popping as he kissed you, you knew you were fucking done for. The second that tongue laved over you for the first time you’d be three miles over the edge already.
Now that he was so close to where you wanted, you got your fingers in Sam’s luscious hair and tried to reign yourself back. You were embarrassingly close and Sam hadn’t even kissed you there yet. The space between your legs was so desperate it was sore , this strange, hollow soreness that craved something thick to fill it end-to-end. It was damn evil. You didn’t have to rely on fantasy anymore when it came to what could fill you, but you resisted the urge, knowing exactly what it would do to you. One too-intense thought about Sam’s dick… his huge, filling cock, which had felt so good puffing out your cheeks… inside you, scratching that itch… satisfying that soreness in one great thrust… or a dozen… and you might die. You had to hold out. But Sam Winchester was about to eat you alive, so you stood absolutely no chance.
He waited for his next order. Sam must’ve been truly intent on destroying your psyche, since he scraped his nails around your hips and ass as he did. You couldn’t drag your eyes away from his face. Soft, hazel and mouth-frothingly ravenous, Sam’s gaze raked over you in long and possessive drags.
You suppressed the instinct to squirm with Sam watching you like that, directing, “Spread my legs more, then get them where you’re comfortable.”
He was listening before you’d even finished your sentence, bracing two man-paws over the swell of your thighs and pressing them apart. Wetness cloyed just inches away from his fingers. 
“God,” Sam sighed at the sight. He sounded awed, not fully believing his own influence over you: “You’re really, really wet. This whole time…”
You cursed with him, hissing at the freezing air on your exposed pussy. Sam tilted closer and closer to you, drawn in like a magnet, until his hot breath was fanning deliciously close to your core. You choked down a second hiss, wetting your grinning lips, “Yeah. I’ve been half-soaked since this afternoon.”
Sam’s eyes lit up with his scoff, delighted yet sympathetic. “Why? That’s almost half a day.”
“At the laundromat,” you confessed, “n’ we were washin’ everything… you just had that stupid thin t-shirt on and your jeans were so low I knew you weren’t wearing anything under em’… I wanted you to fuck me so bad , Sam, right then and there on the machines. Drag down my leggings and just wail on me…”
Sam’s patchy blush returned in full force. He ducked his head, huffed a breath in disbelief, and pretended he wasn’t entertaining the idea just as thoroughly. “You’re insatiable.”
“Like you aren’t?” You snickered. You flopped backward, hair splayed out behind you and your hands lounging beside your face. “You can’t share a bed with me without practically shoving my hands down your pants, Sammy.”
“It was under my shirt,” he corrected, pinching the meat of your thigh where it was hooked around his. “And—it’s Sam .”
Even that felt shamefully good. You ground into the touch and played up an erotic moan for him, and of course, grinned like an asshole the whole time. “Mmmn, Sam . You don’t know what it does t’ me when you get all demanding.”
Sam dragged in a deep, sucking breath through his nose that almost failed to keep his restraint in check. His palm passed over his bulge in thought, instantly loading you with a truckload of adrenaline. Jesus—like a dog with the dinner bell. Instead of giving up and drilling you into the seats like a part of you wanted right now , Sam’s hands nudged your thighs apart again, patient, and spread your pussy open with his thumbs.
“Jesus fuck , Sam,” you choked.
“You’re so pretty down here.” Sam sounded amused. He makes pretty sound like purty .
“Thank you,” you panted, and somehow kept yourself from shoving Sam’s face where he was staring. “Okay. Okay. When you’re… doing this for a girl—” Sam’s eyebrow raised. “When you’re eating me out, there’s a couple places where it’s gonna feel really good. Like really good. That’s where you need to aim. I know all the tricks, so listen closely.”
Sam nodded, 100% serious. Because of course he was. Your chest felt like it was stuffed full of whizzing sparklers when you held eye-contact, and they went off all at once when Sam neared his face to your sobbing core. Your breath stuttered in your lungs. You realized you couldn’t explain it well enough with words alone, so you brought your hand off the seat and slid it between your legs. A pleased sound jumped out of Sam’s throat. And shit, did all that attention—your finger sliding over yourself, Sam’s thumbs parting you for him to see, and his focus rapt on your cunt—feel fucking great .
Wetting your lips and bracing yourself, you shyly found Sam’s thumb and pressed the blunt of it against your clit. “Right— oh , right here,” you panted.
You guided him around each part, explaining to him through clenched teeth and a little bit of humor. Sam was nothing but a devout student. You couldn’t lie to yourself: it drove you fucking insane, how dedicated Sam was to knowing how to make you feel good. It was so strange but so him—his brow furrowed and his eyes sharpened the way they always did when he was truly absorbing something, listening to you walk him through licking you open. He hung on your every word, storing the knowledge beside his laundry list of demonic omens or hexbag herbs. You were crazy for him. He was crazy.
“...and brace your hand right here when you’re ready.” You modeled for him where to place his palm, right on the height of your pelvic bone. “I might wiggle around, so you might have to—”
Sam was way ahead of you. He snuggled up between your legs, saddled the one closest to the backrest over his shoulder, and hugged that thigh against him. Then the whole breadth of his left palm clamped down on your twitching belly exactly where you’d directed, pinning you to the spot. You yelped. Sam’s smoldering cheek smushed into your inner thigh, and he simpered at you from his new comfortable nest. He blinked slowly on purpose, a cat expressing its love. After all the filth that you’d heard from him, nothing could change your mind that he was the sweetest, most basic definition of goodness there was.
Sam watched you with hungry, devouring eyes, and felt lust pulse in his cock when you smirked down at him. Your dark eyes glittered with challenge and fondness. “Samuel…” you warned.
“Shh,” he said, and did what he’d always wanted to do.
The first kiss of Sam’s mouth to your weeping pussy is… it is…
Your entire body pulls together, thread pulling two pieces of cloth into a single seam, toes curling, fingers knotting, jaw dropped, belly twitching, and back snapping up. The slow open-mouthed kiss finds a little suction around your clit, flooding Sam’s tongue for the first time. He basks in you—in your taste, your reaction. An onslaught of pure enjoyment envelops him, drinking you down. Sam’s brows furrowed up in ecstasy, and the bastard actually grinned into your cunt, satisfaction pouring off him in waves. You watched him and those low eyes watched you, already spellbound. This strange brand of utter happiness consumed his gaze, devouring you with his eyes—and you realize with burning heat crawling up your body that Sam just loved to watch you. He wanted to watch you squirm and twist up into him. He wanted you to enjoy yourself, just so he could feel the effect he had on you in real time. Your pussy sobs in bliss, pulsing and pulsing under painfully soft kisses.
“No wonder you’re so wet,” Sam rasps, “you’re already close, aren’t you?”
You conceded with a pathetic nod, breathing hard.
“All this just from blowing me…” Sam smirks.
That smirk opens up, and so do you—two licks and you’re his, all his, giving yourself over to him completely. Sam accepts you at his own pace. The abused blunts of his free fingertips just barely ghost over your open, trembling thigh, bewitching every cell in your legs. Somehow, the lighter he pets you the more intensely you feel it. Perfect ghostly tingles sizzle hot under your skin—the flesh of your pelvic bone, your core, following Sam’s touch. He’s examining you. Feeling you out. You realize that nobody’s taught him how to activate that sensory secret, so Sam is doing it purely because he wants to.
There’s a dim thought in your mind that the backseat of the Impala is pretty cramped with Sam bent over you like this, so you try to squirm back to give his poor legs some room. Your head doesn’t even glimpse the armrest. There’s a flash of vieny hands and a black jelly bracelet, then you’re ripped forward by both thighs down into Sam’s blazing hot mouth again.
“Sam!” You squeal a laugh. “Haha—ah, oh… ”
Sam remained devoted to your clit, kissing it with the same passion he kissed you. At first he seemed hesitant to go where his intuition was taking him, but you’d made it more than clear that his intuition could fuck you six ways to Sunday if he wanted, so Sam went with his gut. Now, with both of your thighs wrapped around his head, he was truly in his happy place.
Letting his mouth slip open, Sam splayed his tongue and shook his face back and forth between your legs. Your moans were helplessly involuntary. The sight of him alone was enough to make you question how real this was, but the pulses of slippery pressure surging up your cunt confirmed it. Some creature on your last hunt hadn’t missed their chance—meaning this, your highlight reel of reserve Sam fantasies, was your heaven. Sounded about right. You dragged your heavy head off the seat long enough to look at him, only to clench so hard that even Sam felt it. He beamed. Fuck, he was gorgeous. And Sam only looked prettier with your slick drooling down his chin like that.
He was so fucking good. So good. Inexperience be damned, this boy could fucking eat . Even better, he fucked you into a nice, warm, sloppy mess and gorged blatantly on the sight of you the whole time. 
When you mewled and begged, when your back cinched up, when your breasts rolled with your heaving breaths, Sam drunk you in. You were so sweaty that the two of you were sliding on the seats and you probably looked as pleasantly manhandled as you felt, but Sam loved it. Craved it. His eyes were glittering black slits beneath his bangs, just rushing with lust and overwhelming devotion. Laying in that backseat, you were the hottest woman alive—a statue of Venus come to life, plush, naked skin and all—because it was written all over Sam’s taste-drunk face. 
You couldn’t resist stroking your fingers through his sweaty, rain-curled hair, and Sam followed the motion to push a tender kiss into your clit.
Again, his strong, worn hands slid down to cup around the round bottom of your thighs so he could spread you with his thumbs. Sam made a gratified sound in the back of his throat. For a long time he just stared down at your open folds framed by his thick fingers, watching his spit sink into you and getting redder and redder by the second. This was what you meant, thinking his inexperience added something special to this. He had so little reference for what to do, so he acted on craving and instinct alone. And if his instinct was to slot his tongue into you and moan loud enough to shake the car at your taste, then… well…
“Soaking,” he muttered. Sam’s low, dark eyes glittered up at you, “You loved blowing me, didn't you?”
“I do,” you panted.
Sam brought your knees around the back of his head, then rasped: “Tell me how much.”
Perv. You tried to come up with something to say. Something more sexy than revealing, but it was impossible to think, breathe, or talk when Sam started flickering the tip of his tongue over your clit until his jaw was sore. What drools out of your mouth ends up sounding needy and clingy and possessive:
“I love sucking your dick, baby. F-felt so good… so good and big filling up my mouth, pressing into my cheeks… Chokin’ and gaggin’ on it… God. Fucking fuck , Sammy—”
He pinches both your thighs in one mean singe, but his eyes gleam with playfulness.
“— Sam! ” You correct yourself.
Satisfied, he resumes, nudging the long point of his nose into you just for the fun of it. Sam keeps tossing his head back and forth to feel your thighs around his face, and more than once he uses you as earmuffs to thrive in the crushing softness. You know Sam isn’t trying to coax any confessions out of you. All he wants is to make you feel good. But love glows from his eyes and his mouth and his hands. Sam full-on snarls with relish when you squeeze your knees and ankles together behind his head, so he could get anything out of you right now. All he’d have to do is ask: and you would answer in a heartbeat.
“I’m so… oh, fuck fuck fuck—m’ so happy m’ the only girl who’s blown you, Sam… I wanna be the only girl, I wanna be your only girl…”
Sam’s mouth pops off you in shock. He’s the prettiest silhouette, all gleaming spit-white outlines and red-patched shadows. Real horror drops like a rock into your stomach. Shit. You’d read into all of this wrong. Sam just wanted someone he could trust to do this for him, not some idiot crying over him for closeness.
He catches his breath.
“You can be,” Sam croaks, sweetly. “Y-you are.”
Happiness explodes in your chest, but you don’t trust it. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Sam agrees. He slides up your body all of a sudden, long limbs and bull-wide chest coming to hang over you. A big, dimply smile smushes into your cheek. “You’re my girl.”
Just like that. Oh my fucking god.
“I’m your girl?” You repeat, feeling stupid and crazily, madly, obsessively, fatally in love with him at the same time. He’s sober. He’s saying it to you like he means it. Definitely a heaven fantasy.
“Not like… you know. Mine . I don’t own you,” Sam flushes into your neck. He’s so shy . “But. Yeah, mine. My girl. If you… want that.”
You feel the dark car get darker, bathed in quiet, sacred night, so all you have left to see him by is your hands. Sam is miles of smooth, warm skin that smells of a buttery home that nobody could ever take from you. When you relax your legs by his hips and hug him against you, Sam drizzles himself over you like oil in a hot pan. He’s careful not to hurt you so the weight is nothing but good. You both linger there, pressing the tension and anxiety out of each other. His hard-on is trapped between your hips and his jeans, but instead of it being just arousing, there’s an element of plain intimacy there that you suddenly love. Sam’s close to you and you’re close to him. Maybe you’re as touch-starved as he is, because you’re just as quick to slide your naked belly flat to his and get your hands on him. It’s hard to pet someone all over and hide how in love with them you are at the same time, and you’re plain awful at it. Sam too.
“M’ all yours,” you find yourself saying, in disbelief. “You know that.”
Sam does that little breathless laugh you’re pretty sure you’re gonna hear a million times in those seven minutes before you die. He makes a soft rumbling sound as he rises onto all fours again, flushing all the blood in your body back between your legs. The blunt pad of his thumb brushes down to stir your clit, so you’re already pliant and boneless for him when Sam melts down to kiss your whining mouth. It’s a soft and open and wanting kiss, like usual, but you both linger in it for so long that it feels like the first time all over again.
You come out of the kiss giddy, over-teased, and flustered beyond your wildest imagination, so you blurt the first obscene thought that comes to mind. Just to throw him off, per routine.
Pushing your hips into his agonizingly slow touch, you purr, “You gonna fuck me, Sam?”
Sam blinks down at you, serene, and doesn’t change pace. He keeps one lazy hand attending to your sobbing, desperate clit. “Mn-mn,” he shakes his head, and there it is—the patented Winchester panty-dropping smirk, 100% effectiveness guaranteed. “I’m gonna make love to you.”
It is embarrassing enough how hard you throb at a promise so sentimental, so it’s downright mortifying that molten-hot butterflies explode through your crush-pumped body at the sureness in Sam’s face. Not fuck. He’s not going to fuck you—it’s clear in his eyes and the slow circle of his thumb how all that’s for later. Sam’s going to make love to you, because apparently he’s from the fucking fifties, and oh my god, he’s in love with you and he actually means it and you’ve been stupidly calling all of this a game.
Shyer than you’d ever been in your life, you murmured around a cheek-aching smile, “...I think I really want that.”
“So she can be shy with me.”
You gave his shoulder a playful little smack, which just spurs Sam into giving you the hottest, smuggest glare he can manage. With his big, rough thumb keeping you sensitive literally anything he does is fuckin’ life-alert worthy. It’s almost getting to be too much, and it shows in how you squirm into his hand harder than before. Sam coos.
“You’ll have to wait a bit to have me that way,” he apologizes, like that’s something to apologize for. “I still want you on my face.”
“M’ not gonna make it,” you swallow. Just the coarseness of his voice brings you closer. “Sam. It feels—nnngh. I-I’m not gonna…”
“Then I’ll make you cum twice,” he says, simply, and how were girls not crawling all fucking over him everywhere you went?
Sam replaces his thumb with his mouth, but not before sucking off your wetness like it’s melted ice cream. He is full of millions of these soft, tender, greedy urges he’s all too eager to chase, and it is stupid-hot.
Sam indulged one of those urges, pulling your folds open with his thumbs and filling them with his tongue. You shrieked. A happy hum sighed out of him. He was an excellent kisser, but, like always, he was even better for you, slurping and licking until you’re lightheaded. The delicious tension in your body ratcheted up and up toward that white-hot end, tearing straight for it on rumbling racecar wheels. Sam drew circles around your pulsing clit with his velvet tongue, then surged it hard into your weeping center, satisfying, for just an instant, the unforgiving emptiness there. Shit. Now he really knew where you wanted him. A long, savage whine hissed out of you. Fucking hell.
“Oh my god, please , Sam. More, please please please. Fucking—”
Your toes curled into Sam’s bow-taut back. He smushed himself in even harder, nuzzling his nose into you, stirring the bulb around your clit and god , tongue-fucking you in earnest. It was—holy shit, holy fucking shit, you couldn’t even think. All your body knew was open: your legs, for Sam, your body, for Sam, and your pride. You wailed and sobbed like no other man had ever made you before, reduced to shameless pleasure-drowned scraps. Every fiber of your useless, pliant form was heaved toward the center of the universe where your body met his, the black hole, the singularity, back bent, toes and fingers curled to a snapping point, Sam’s mouth oh god his fucking mouth —
“Tell me you’re mine,” Sam begged, licking and licking and licking until you couldn't think, “ Tell me .”
“I’m yours Sam m’ all yours m’ all fuckin’ yours—”
You were his. You came in great, crashing, seizing waves that rippled hot and harmoniously through your entire body, from the curled tips of your toes to your tingling scalp, so intensely—because you were Sam’s, Sam wanted you, he loved you—that you felt dangled over the most thrilling brink of your life. You’d cum enough times in your life to know it wasn’t possible to feel this good—slippery velvet heat good, oh god his mouth good—so it had to be some kind of magic, something close to death, to heaven, and Sam had killed you. If that was what was happening outside the planet-wide fireworks show sizzling and popping behind your closed eyes, you’d have everything you’d ever wanted and more. Sam keeps lapping between your legs a-and what a way to go it is, because you know, instantly, that no other man could even nudge you in the direction of the orgasm Sam had just brought you through. No one else could ever compare. The moment when it all will slow, you’re sure that you’re never going to be the same person again. You’re his. The words sing through your whole fizzing, flashing spirit.
After what felt like hours of delicious, mind-blowing, heart-stealing pleasure, you curled back into the ice-cold relief of the Impala’s leather and gasped for your life.
Sam was still going. His tongue never stopped, scooping in to taste the fruit of his labor. He slurped your orgasm down like he’d been chasing your peak just as fervently as you had, like it was his favorite part of his fantasies and the real slippery wetness of it was a million times better. You keened. Sam persisted. You squirmed away, groaning at the overload of soft tongue and deep hot breaths on your core. Your sex wept for mercy. Sam had reduced you to a weeping, twitching, floundering mess, yet he still wanted more—and you were dying to give it to him, but it was too much to o much too m—
“Sam,” you choked.
It took a push to the face to get through to him, and even then, Sam retreated with a soft mournful sigh. Jesus. He was obsessed with you. You wanted this, him, the aftertaste of him in your mouth, to never fade. So the feeling is definitely mutual.
The air in the Impala cloyed with sticky sweet warmth, coating the windows and the seat with the smell of you and him. Your throat ached from hoarse moaning. Slowly, your soul started to sink back into your body, reminding you again of your situation. A tacky layer of sweat clung to your skin. Your toes and your belly and the muscles of your legs were raw from clenching so hard, and Sam was blowing hot breaths across your tummy as he gathered himself. His damp hair tickled your hip and jesus , your slick was all over his face, smeared down his chin and his nose and his lips most of all. You realized that happy tears had made tracks down your temples. Sam must’ve realized this too, because he rushed to peel himself off your soaked and sticky inner thigh to scoop you up.
“Honey…” he cooed.
You reached out for him and Sam lifted you up himself, completely changing the bloodflow in your body by seating you on his lap. His whole figure was blazing hot, and watching you cum because of him was definitely not helping him cool off. It was an emotional orgasm as much as it was a physical one, so nothing stopped you from rolling your fingers through his floppy bangs or burning kisses into his grin or digging your nails into his firm back. You could feel the raised scratch marks there, bright red and drawn like wing scars down his shoulder-blades. His skin felt ridiculously nice smushed around your own, and Sam was so big and huggable that you disappear in his arms.
“You did so good , Sam,” you croaked, and didn’t bother to wait until you’re not kissing him to talk. “So good. So fuckin’ good. Never came fucking harder in my entire life —” you seared a kiss into his pink mouth, “—holy—” another, “—fucking—” and a third, even deeper, “—shit.”
Sam met you halfway for each, but the moment your assault was over, one big hand supported your jaw as he plants a sweet, slow, sappy one on you that makes you wonder just how necessary condoms are, anyway. He’s laughing to himself the whole time, gleaming with mole-speckled pride.
Draped in his arms like a damsel, you drawled, “You’re a damn natural.”
“You know that after one round?” Sam smirked. He was all too aware that his lips were all glossy from tongue-fucking you, and he licked them without shame when he offered, “I dunno. Maybe I should give it a second go, just to be sure. What do you think?”
Your pussy is raw with millions of zinging overstimulated pulses, but the question buries you under a cement truck’s worth of pure want. 
“...Mmm, I guess you’re right. Better get a bigger testing pool here, Sammy.”
The force of your high is still pulsing in your core, so when Sam growls at you through a laugh, bangs astray, drops onto his back and snaps those man-paws you love around your waist, you throb hard enough to stop your heart. Sam’s hands are beautiful and sinewy in all the right ways, so you can’t help but submit when they, coupled with Sam’s arms, bodily haul you onto his face. You pant, giggle, and try not to crash face-first through the window by catching yourself on the armrest. Sam helps to brace you with a hand curled around your hip and another surged up the flat of your back.
Your thighs aren’t even settled on your calves when his tongue slips into the clutch of your pussy again. The squeal that shocks out of you makes Sam chuckle. (Which you feel up close and personal). His first suckling kisses are so perfect, you swear you could split the leather armrest with your nails. Tense overstimulation ratchets your cramped limbs to a snapping point, until Sam’s insistent lapping draws you��� slowly… into rampant pleasure. Your joints melt into the inside-going-out burn just under your skin. All your worries about choking him dissolve like salt into water; the next rapid flicks of his tongue underline in red, please don’t be gentle .
And fuck, does he look sexy suffocated by your cunt like that. Your thighs swell around his face so prettily, and he’s already so invested that you can’t see his mouth or nose—just feel them all wedged up against you. He closes his eyes to savor that first taste of you again, giving you a flash of soft dark lashes on cheeks flushed hot enough to melt ice. His happy groan vibrates right to your core. Sam is already intimately educated in ways to drive you crazy, so he returns to them straight away. He licks you soft between your folds then darts his tongue hard into your center. If he wants to make you gasp a certain way, he knows where to lay open-mouthed kisses. But above all else, Sam fucks your clit good and sloppy, whorling and flicking his tongue in all the right ways. There's a dim, pussy-throbbing idea in your mind that if this is Sam on round two, you hope you survive this to see round fifty. Or round one hundred. Fuck. You were his.
Silently, you pray to the universe that someone won’t walk past and think you’re being murdered. Heavenly, loudly, hands-to-the-glass murdered.
You burst into tears, it’s so hot all at once. There are big hands kneading you all over and lips sealing warm and familiar around your clit right away—it’s fucking maddening. Dots start to fuzz in the ends of your vision.
Hoarse, you plead, “H-holy, holy fuck, Sammy, please.”
“So sensitive for me,” he hushes. It’s more than true; he parts your soaking folds with one big lave of his tongue, instantly making you sob.
When you’re not being eaten out like a four-course meal, you’re a tough, unshakable hunter, so all this whining desperation makes you yearn for a bit of leverage. Scrambling for something to say that will affect Sam how he’s affecting you, you hiss through a sultry moan and look him straight in the eyes: “Imagine how sensitive I'll be on your cock, Sam.”
Sam smiles dirtily. “I have been.”
An unbidden mewl seeps from your mouth just hearing that, confirming, once and for all, that you’re done for. It's half a moan of pleasure and half a moan of indignation. Of course Sam is better at this than you already. Of course he, of all people, can make you miserably horny with just one sly smile. Fuck him. Hopefully.
For your own survival, your brain filters out everything but him for just an instant. Your own fiery arousal fades to background noise, so you’re left swamped by the sight of him, lips puffy from kissing, his chin glittering, his brow furrowed into cute little creases, the light playing on the low slits of his green-brown-whiskey eyes. Nothing but bliss glowed from his face. Two coarse palms surge down on your trembling hips, pushing your pussy onto Sam’s velvet-wet mouth. You couldn’t escape if you wanted to. He has to be an angel, because these feelings gushing from your vessel are too good to contain or understand.
It was so fucking much but somehow, to your most primal instincts, it’s not enough. Dire need exploded through your every pore. You forgot about holding yourself up straight and root both hands into Sam’s thick, sweaty hair, flushing your blazing cheek and nose against the cold window in the process. Hoarse, ragged moans poured from your mouth. The instant you started to roll across his face, a harsh, lewd noise escaped Sam and he followed those magnificent instincts straight to your next climax. His lips parted and then his whole mouth splayed open, giving you something to rock properly against. Take it, his eyes urged. Take what you want from me.
You do. You roll and grind on his tongue until your pulse is throbbing in your cheeks and echoing in your ears, until Sam’s fingers are bruising your thighs, until he’s just as wild-eyed and lust-crazed as you are, chasing the circle of your hips. Looking down, all the pictures and white noise floating around your mind coalesce into the realization that you’re riding Sam Winchester’s face. A flood of heat burns through your sopping core. If he’d made a mess of you before, then you made the same of him now, your bodies meeting with obscene shlicks and slurps that Sam revels in. He groans like an animal with each slide, only adding to the filthy music.
“ C’mon,” Sam swallows.
The next peak comes even faster than the last, slamming your accelerator hard, tearing faster, faster, faster through you, the dial inside you climbing higher with every mewling breath. And just like before, you’re brought to a place that no other man could even hope to take you. Your sobs were interrupted by a sharp gasp of pleasure. Sam is big, safe, enveloping arms and loving hands and fuck—fucking hell, that perfect tongue, just as wet as your sex, flickering so fast over your clit you swear he’s vibrating. Y-you can’t… god, you can’t even think. You’re so close, so close—so close for Sam, fucking fuck—
“—am Sam Sam Sam Sam Sam please please Sam please— ”
Just as that thrilling rush of throbbing, ecstatic pressure punches through you, Sam takes over, riding you through it. He coasts your hips over his face, sealing his mouth around you and just going for it. Your mind—explodes, just as sweetly as the first time. It does always feel like the first time with him. With Sam taking care of you, your hands scramble for purchase on the sex-fogged window but miss terribly and you end up flushed to it by the forearms, huffing brainless, helpless, wordless nothings into the glass. Your thighs quake, your toes curl, your hips ache, every molecule of tissue in your feeble body surged toward him in ecstasy. Perfect rippling pulses hammered between your legs. You were there.
“Sam,” you sobbed, “Oh god, Sam.”
You came with a voiceless wail. Sam was still his insatiable self, drinking up your slick until you’re squirming and spent. He learned to let you go eventually, as much as it dissapointed him. When he does you feel the outline of huge handprints bruised into your hips, and combined with everything else, with the sticky spit in the creases of your thighs, with being in love with him, you knew if you looked him in the eye right then you could cum all over again.
You do anyway. Sam is already smiling up at you, sex-dazed and shining with spit. There’s so much of it—that special concoction of your slick and his saliva—that it drools down his neck and glitters on his cheeks. He sucks your taste off his swollen lip like it’s the last cool drink of water he’ll ever have. Your fingers had made his hair into a crazy, sultry mess, and behind his bangs, his dark eyes are charged with something hot and powerful. To make matters worse, Sam knows how devastatingly sexy he looks. Between sharp gasps for air, he swirls his tongue across his chin to get another taste of you, and when you’re sitting thick and good in his mouth, the fucker grins. A sly, unsubtle grin. This is everything he’d ever fantasized about.
He’s gonna be the fucking end of you. God.
“You did so good,” Sam murmurs, like you’d been the one to dig in and do all the intense, mind-whiting work. He swallows. ‘Cause he’s only on round two, and nothing in this world could slow Sam Winchester down.
Holy fucking shit. You pressed your forearms into the stinging-cold window to remind yourself that all this was real, then made an attempt to roll off him. It ends before it even starts.
Sam, your quick study, realizes that he’s fucked your legs numb, and helps you unsaddle his face—not before stealing one last kiss between your legs, though. A thready cry squeaks out of you. He coos you through it, and knowing Sam, he is more than willing to have you again, so you’re only half-surprised when he guides you to lay down beside him instead. Big, sweet hands thread through your hair. Sam’s sex-rasped voice satisfies the greatest itch in your mind, and you can hear it through his chest where your cheek is lazily smushed on his skin. Without looking you know that those lanky legs are bent up uncomfortably against the opposite door, so you scooch up and roll Sam onto his side to face you. Because he’s still sensitive, considerate Sam, who can apparently eat pussy for ages, he tries not to suffocate you between him and the seat. You really want him to. After a bit of lazy adjusting and prying your hot skin off the leather bench, you’re sandwiched happily just like that.
And while you’ve shared a bed with Sam before, not once had you even had a taste of what it’s like to snuggle with him. No gap is spared when he closes in, so you’re pressed together in every possible way—your belly against his toned stomach, your face into his cheek, your legs smoothed between his. There’s so much skin and muscle and Sam that you just drown in it. The best part of it is easily his arms. You don’t remember how Sam got one smushed around your head, but his bicep is the perfect pillow and his hand curls around to run his fingers down the side of your neck. His other arm has you in a comfortable vice, hooked around your waist, and for no reason at all his palm comes up to spread between your shoulder blades. Just one of his hands feels like it could cover your entire back. Fucked out as you are, just the notion makes your core feel tight and hot. 
Your first dose of clarity after Sam has tongue-fucked you into not one, but two full-body orgasms, drops the most glorious realization on you of all fucking time: all that? All, what? Two hours of being all over each other? That was just the fucking foreplay.
Into your cheek, Sam whispers, “Th’nk you. M’ real glad it was you, _____.” His whole body swells up with easy happiness, and he teases in a sigh, “My girl…”
Your mind floats back into your body as he says this to you, soft and loving in your ear. Sam keeps going, mumbling about how much he appreciates you, how grateful he is that you’re his first time, and all you can do to keep yourself from blurting out three dangerous words to him is kiss him. Sam moans. You get your fingers into his hair and sear your lips to his, over and over again until Sam’s tilting so far into it that he’s half on top of you. Each kiss is barely a kiss at all, open-mouthed and mostly tongue. It was your turn to be a quick study: when his need for air hits a breaking point, you let him go and drag your tongue from his chin to his jaw, tasting yourself on him with a giddy moan.
Sam stutters your name.
“Too fuckin’ good to me, sweetheart,” you curse, hoarse, “Can’t even—nngh, can’t even think, you made me cum so good.”
Sam hums. “Yeah?”
“Mm-hmm. So fuckin’ good,” you repeat. Riding a wave of possessive desire, you plant a sloppy kiss on him and gush, “You’re all mine. Gonna hoard you like gold, Sammy.” Cupping his jaw in your palm, you hiss for the second time, “Wanna be the only girl you fuck like this,” you pop off his mouth to gasp, “wanna shout in the fuckin’ street that I took your virginity.”
He starts laughing, which dissolves into a deep, bassy moan when Sam meets your next kiss. Coy, he grumbles behind a smile, “Haven’t taken it yet.”
You slither the flats of your hands down on his chest, which is a bit of a squeeze, but feeling the heft of his pecs in each palm is easily worth it. “Then get on your damn back already so I can ride you til’ I pass out.”
Sam groans at the thought. “You’re so vulgar,” he blushes.
“Sammy,” you say near his face, smirking. “You’ve got no idea the kind of dirty shit I’m keeping myself from saying right now.”
His face makes an interesting journey from horny to hornier. “...Well. C’mon. Don’t leave it to my imagination.”
That invitation just begs for you to drool out every disconnected filthy thought you’ve ever had of him in the past year. A buzz of embarrassment seats itself in your gut, but it sits in the skyscraper shadow of your post-three-orgasm arousal, which conquers everything in a hundred-mile radius. You’re easily convinced.
“I’ve had the stupidest, biggest crush on you for the longest time, Sam,” you said. “And since you’ve got back from Stanford, s’ gotten a million times worse. Half the reason m’ so fuckin’ turned on right now is because this is you, not anyone else. Every time I’ve touched myself in the past year, I’ve thought of you, of that fuckin’ horsecock in your pants, of you splitting me open til’ I’m ruined for any other man. I wanna fuck you so hard that we break the shocks on the car and have to explain it to your brother. Wanna fuck you so hard we pass out. But the dumbest, hottest part of it all is that you don’t want to fuck me, you want to make love to me, and I’d totally let you just cause’ you’re you.”
He sucks in a breath.
Sam covers his face, eyes gleaming with love and boiling hot flattery,  “You’re—y-you’re shameless.”
You’re kissed so hard that you think you see stars. In agreement, you sigh, and Sam swallows that too, his kiss wet and devouring. “I love it,” he swears.
Sex should be a pretty passionate activity, but Sam turns it into something beyond. He reduces your body to it’s rawest, most honest instincts, so it’s more than easy to lay out all your feelings on a platter for him. A set of calloused fingers splay around the hinge of your jaw, and Sam’s thumb pushes up your chin so he can take his time with you. The jet-engine lust pumping into the kiss slows. He takes it somewhere else, somewhere you’ve never been with anyone before. Sam punctuates his ragged breathing with sweet, chaste kisses, dipping his head so your lips brush together feather-light, your noses bumping.
“In fact, ‘got a big crush on you too, pretty girl,” Sam husks. His fawn-brown eyes are blown black, like a doe’s. “...You wanna see what I do for the women I crush on?”
Your cheeks hurt from sly smiling. “Funny. You Winchesters think you’re so clever—” 
His hand scrambles across your back, cupping your ribs, then skipping all pretense and shooting straight for the bend of your knee. You assume he’s just aiming to get you closer when he needily jerks your leg over his hip—then the full shape of Sam’s thick, panty-dropping hard-on grinds between your legs, crystal-hard and eager in his boxers.
“Sam!” You squeal.
He’s harder than a guy has ever been for you, and so, so much bigger. Sam’s dick makes a huge, handsome outline in his ridiculously tight jeans.
“Can’t wait any longer,” Sam confesses, shaking all over with restraint, “want you—now. Right now. Please—_____—please please please—”
That desperate, gluttonous emptiness from before rules over you again, and your brain is so fucked out and needy and desperate already that just the thought rearranges the atoms in your body. Having Sam inside you. Before, it was just some fantasy—pasting a Sam mask over sensations that other people had given you. But Sam wasn’t the guy who’d taken your virginity or the others that’d followed. Regardless if it’s the same equation as always, it will be Sam pounding you into the seat and it’ll be Sam losing the rhythm of his thrusts as he cums inside you. He’ll make the prettiest noises buried in you to the hilt. He’ll fuck you—make love to you—good and right. The emptiness in your core is so all-consuming that your muscles twitch and tremble of their own accord, and only Sam, your Sam, could fix that.
The hand by your face gathers your hair out of your eyes and groups it in one fist, not quite pulling, but holding, as Sam starts to saw himself against you recklessly. “Can I?” He slathers your abused throat with kisses, “Please, _____ please can I—?”
“Fuck yes,” you gasp, sinking your nails into his shoulders. “Fuck me, Sammy, baby, god fucking drill me through the seat—”
“Show me how,” Sam demands, wiped of all shame, and holy mary mother of fucking god is it the sexiest thing he’s ever said.
You order him onto his back, and Sam, your dutiful student, immediately listens. He adjusts so his head is propped up on the armrest, reminding you of his fixation with watching you during sex. Each new thing you discover about Sam’s sexual tendencies flies straight into a special locker in your mind, safe where you can (hopefully) revisit them. He’s a whiny, noisy bed partner. His appetite for cunnilingus is bottomless. He feels even bigger than he looks, especially when you wobble up into a kneel on either side of his shuddering thighs.
“Gonna ride you,” you tell him, swallowing down the rush of drool that follows the idea. “You're gonna hold my hips to keep me steady, ‘kay? Pull n’ push with me.”
The thought of any pushing or pulling at all in your position makes something deep in your hollow gut blaze. Twitching with desire, Sam nods. His palms have this coarseness from labor that feels way too sexy on your waist.
Sam squirms under your shadow. His legs are too long to lay vertically along the seat, so they prop up a bit behind you to give your back a comfortable rest. Sam’s blush has graduated in rosy patches down his neck, and holy shit you’d almost forgotten about the freckles underneath. They’re sprinkled all around Sam’s big, trusting doe-eyes and spiral down the center seam of his body. If you think about Sam’s muscles—the miles of tension-squeezed abs and corded ribs, the… fuck, the heavy rise and fall of his pecs… and just… everything, you’ll probably forget a couple of important phone numbers. His chest is peppered with moles too. But in the process of riding his face and sucking his dick, you’d painted Sam’s whole torso with pinkened nail marks. They’re scratched down his abs and pressed in little crescents along his hips. His back being flat to the seat means nothing. Some of the lines there, the epicenter of your marks, creep over his shoulders. No wonder he looks so pleasantly lovesick. You’d really made it clear that he was yours.
He outlines one precious keepsake with his finger as you hang over him. It feels good, being in control again. You’d forgotten Sam was a virgin, since God didn’t give skilled mouths like his to just anybody.
Balancing yourself with a hand on the ceiling, you throw him your sexiest grin and wiggle your hips for him, “I look pretty like this?”
“As a picture,” Sam rasps, fondly.
“Hold that picture in your mind a second, then.”
Halfway between awkwardly bending over the front seat to dig around for the condoms Dean must keep in here, you realize how unsexy you probably look. Then one of Sam’s hands drops onto your thigh, lazily hooked around it for no reason other than to touch you, and you stop worrying altogether about any problem you've ever had.
“Holding…” Sam murmurs, tapping your leg.
After a bit of fishing around the glovebox, you uncover an untouched condom. You turn the wrapper over in your hand, checking it for punctures, and once you’re sure it’s safe, your libido shoves your brain aside and takes the wheel.
You could be sexy about it. You could pounce low on him, ass in the air, and take your time pulling his jeans off til’ he’s truly starving for it. But Sam already is—he’s so desperate to feel you that he keeps rasping it, over and over. Please _____ inside please please, he chokes. Hours and hours of his sweet soft pleading has made you just as rabid, so you tear the condom open with your teeth and jerk his jeans and boxers down in one tug. Your free hand is trembling so hard that you’re thankful Sam lifts his hips to help. His cock slips free and arcs up toward his navel. It’s flushed and handsome, just like before, and seeing it instantly makes the ache in your core fucking starve. The itch crawls within you, fierce with need.
Sam takes one look at you eyeing his cock like that and drags you down to steal a dizzying kiss. His hand covers the whole back of your neck. You get one deep, shattering taste of him before you’re reminded how insanely lucky you are.
“M’ not gonna last, seein’ you on me like this,” he warns the second his lips pop off yours, “Please, _____—”
“Shh, baby,” you soothe. Sam lets you push yourself up again. “Let me go first. I promise you’ll get your chance. Just enjoy yourself, huh?”
“Hard not to.”
Sam slumps back, relieved. His hands slump similarly on your thighs, wasted by exertion, but his eyes gleam with trust and humor and lust in ways that you’ll never forget. The familiar sparks of a Sam rush roll through you, happily married to feelings so new they’re still pounding hard through your chest. He’s gazing up at you and all you can think on loop is, I’m his girl. I’m his girl cause’ he wants me to be his, cause’ he’s thought about it before, wanted me before.
Your legs are jelly. But you’ve never needed anything more than you’ve needed him right now, so you haul yourself up onto your shuddering knees, notch the condom around Sam’s flushed head, and drag it down with you as you saddle him—
—filling yourself with Sam’s cock.
You’re so wet and so needy for him that you just slip right on, almost to the hilt. You settle on him completely when your fucking legs give out. Because. Holy shit. Holy fuck—fucking. God. Holy fucking shit.
Sam’s ragged chant of your name becomes a belly-deep groan. 
Stars spin behind your eyes. Jesus, it’s a stretch, but he more than prepared you for it. The pressure is too blinding for you to blink your spotting vision clear. You’re thrust full-throttle into your other senses instead, which are flooded with nothing but your singularity, the center of your universe, Sam, Sam, Sam. The burn of the first push is barely a thought in the sloppy pile of feelings, pictures, and undeniable want that he’s reduced your mind to. Fuck, does he fill you good. Fuckin’ perfectly. You think your weight drops all the way on his lap, but there’s so much to take that you can’t be sure. His breath catches. His hands claw, scratch, grope around for your hips. When he finds them, you’re ground down on him deep, and—and—gggoddd, that itch. A genuine wail sputters out of you. The spot deep within your core that’s been dying to be just fucking reamed explodes with slippery pleasure. And Sam is so absolutely massive that he brushes up into it with every breath, making you sob with want before either of you even moves.
You bite down on your knuckles, keening, “Sam.”
So full. So full of Sam’s cock. Holy fuck.
Below you Sam is flushed scarlet, his head lolled back, his dark lashes squeezed shut against every perfect rippling pulse squeezing around him. Rough gulps of air drain into his chest. You balance both palms flat to it and dizzily glance between you, where your cunt has greedily swallowed every inch of him you can get. The massive length of him looks like it's disappeared, but for… f-for you, fuck, it's done anything but, twitching in you and filling you snug as a glove. Smaller guys were usually easier to track inside you, so you figured it'd be twice that with someone as big as Sam. He'd be so big that you couldn't not feel every inch of him. Instead, you're turned into a star, a mess of heat and light and energy radiating around a single point too powerful to feel through mortal senses. There's no separation between what's you and what's him. He becomes you. 
Sam stares at the spot where you're stretched tight around him, transfixed and panting and hornier than he's ever been in his entire life. Gazing at him in a haze, you remember what you’d planned to do.
You could sit there until the car was rusted and the asphalt was gray instead of black, just breathing, and with every breath soaking up each twitch and flutter Sam gave you. He moans and shuffles his legs further apart like he’d kill for the same thing. But as fucking delectable as it would be to just grind yourself down on his willing cock forever, Sam deserves more than that his first time. If it was someone else in your position, you’d hope they’d give him a good time—but this responsibility was yours, and you were determined to prove that not one other person in the history of dick-riding could blow Sam’s mind like you could.
“Gonna move, Sammy,” you warn him, and he’s so far gone that he doesn’t even snipe at you for the nickname.
Squeezing him inside you, you caress the hands on your thighs and follow them down to Sam’s shoulders, really kneading him, feeling him, with your hands. The lightest of touches has him squirming with need, so a few piercing clenches one after the other makes him groan open-mouthed. It’s when you lean some of your weight onto your toes and tilt yourself off him that Sam’s breath stalls. He finds it again the moment you drop yourself back on those last few inches, gasping as you start a pattern. Elastic pleasure pools fiery-hot down your inner thighs. You could feel the rolling pulse of Sam's cock as you rocked on his lap, the throb of it filling your whole sparkling body.
Sam curses. “G’nna cum s’ deep inside you, baby…”
You don’t know how it’s possible for him to make you any wetter, but he manages it. Again, you see-saw off and on him, “—shit, s-so deep,” Sam snarls. His neck chords with handsome muscle. Slow pulls turn into rocks. “So deeeeep—”
The pleasure is incomprehensible, whiting out all other pitiful, useless sensations. There’s nothing else but him and his big hands on your back and the curve of his dick swelling thick and hard between your quaking legs. There’s a big difference between him and the other men you’ve had, and already you know exactly what it is—the feeling of him is going to sit hot and satisfied in your gut for damn weeks. Tomorrow you’re going to feel so thoroughly fucked and empty that you’ll never think of anything but Sam ever again. You bite down on your lip and add a little swish to the end of each bounce, and sure enough, Sam chokes on his last groan.
“You fill me up s’ good, Sammy,” you rasp, curling your fingers on his twitching stomach.
“Mm-mm. S’ you,” he echoes, swallowing, “god, s’ all you. Takin’ me perfect.”
He is so fucking wonderful. When you rake your palms down the soft yielding flesh of his middle, Sam’s head thrashes back and he clamps down hard on his tongue, whimpering and keening through his teeth. You get enough leverage on your hands to really start screwing yourself down on him, and every drive is a full-body taste of silky throbbing euphoria. There’s no plan beyond fucking him senseless, yet your hands and your mind are more connected than ever. Fuck, he’s perfect pinned down like that, your brain thinks. Your hands hear this and suddenly you’re pressing Sam’s wrists into the seat beside his head—
“Yes!” He squeals.
Over an hour of foreplay has rid Sam of his last shred of embarrassment. His face, upturned and so pretty that way, advertises a swath of open throat for your taking. His bangs are a sweaty mess all tangled up in his face too, but you can’t get your fingers through them without sacrificing the fuckin’ renaissance painting underneath you. He drapes himself out for you like a girl, his jaw slack and his wrists daintily posed beside his face. 
He is so, so generous and just as smart, since the second he realizes how you want him Sam gives you exactly that. 
His wrists pry free from yours with embarrassing ease. You don’t waste a second sealing the fingers of one hand around them both, and from there it’s just instinct to slam Sam’s bound hands overhead and kiss him stupid. His excited squeak melts from your crown to your toes, adding this electric edge to the mind-numbing heat exploding inside you. This is only the second time you’ve ever felt it, but Sam is long enough to jumpstart the sparkling glittering radiation feeling that makes your pussy see stars. The sharp percussive mewls jumping out of you spiral into something purely animal. When you finally get to brush back Sam’s rain-tangled hair, the dirtiest, happiest grin is waiting for you there.
“____—yes, yes oh my god  ____ yes —” Sam drawls between searing kisses. His head lolls at each vicious bounce.
“So noisy,” you grin.
Sam melts at this small praise, as well as your next kiss. “You like it,” he dizzily smiles.
Of course. Clenching on him hard, you drop into a few mean, fulfilling grinds and tease into his sensitive ear, “Love it when you won’t shut up, Sammy.”
Sam laughs, and despite your experience, you’ve never made a guy laugh during sex, so. Wow. You only have a bit to enjoy it before Sam’s getting his revenge. You feel him plant his heels in the door and then—oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck, he’s slamming up into you, the huge line of his cock sawing without end against the spot tha—t-that… the spot… Your whole body explodes with happy flashes of light. It spurs from you the filthiest, most obscene kinds of moans a man has ever made you make, almost weeping for joy at the perfect velvety pressure flash-flooding your cunt.
“So noisy,” Sam husks back.
That’s the last thing he says for a while, because everything after that dissolves into delectable broken noise. Since he knows you love it so much, Sam chokes and moans until he’s out of breath and slack-jawed. His face fixes up like—well—like he’s being ridden all the way to Texas, sweaty temples lolling against his raised arms. You usually fixated on your partners during sex like this, but only because there wasn’t typically much on your end. Now there’s so much packed into every acute shift that you take it greedily by the handfuls. It’s the sloppiest, hottest, most delectable sex of your entire life. Sam’s brain apparently remains intact despite the nuclear meltdown sizzling through you both, because your low bounces start to be met by fierce upward twists of his hips. New colors join the stars spinning behind your eyes and your pussy throbs with new intensity.
“Mnmmn yes yes yes fucking yes—” you rattle in a sob.
And when your lungs are empty Sam’s still cork-screwing hard against that raw bundle of nerves inside you, stealing the rest of your breath so you’re left hanging there with your mouth open, thunderstruck. For a few breathless beats all you can hear is the percussive wet pull of him plunging into you. He seethes in absolute delight, back curling, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen Sam enjoy something that much. Somebody. You.
A few more heavy grinds and you know you’ll be done with. Your legs burn thigh-to-toe with weighty exhaustion, and even the sweaty muscles in your belly are knotted to a breaking point. Sam’s losing his patience. Most of his writhing is playful, until his wrists really start to twist in your grip for freedom. It would be easy to give Sam what he wants, especially when that means immediately being flipped over, spread apart and fucked senseless, but your tank’s not empty yet.
With the last of your strength, you slam Sam’s hips down onto the seat to keep him in place. (So full so full so fulllll.) A good rippling squeeze lets you feel just how deep he is. He’s not trapped a second before he’s trying to earn back enough room to meet you bounce for thrust. But, again, Sam is a damn genius. You sink him into a kiss that leaves your ribcage singing with love and stir your hips around his lap, murmuring between breaths, you’re perfect Sammy. Every starved inch of him calms for just a moment. When the tension roped in his wrists relaxes, you release them, and Sam melts into everything you give him: the slow, soft kissing, your hands caressing from his forearms to his triceps to his chest, and the heat of him radiating inside you in more ways than one.
On the next circle of your hips, you see it on the horizon: the finish line. Your whole body sings with the urge to fuck yourself on Sam til’ you’re spent, and orgasm number three has made your already thin self-control grow microscopic. Sam takes one look at you, crawling inside and out with fever, and asks to take over.
“Baby,” is all he says, pleading. His voice is so stringy with worn patience that it cracks.
“Yeah,” you rasp. “Please.”
On top of being beautiful and smart and patient, Sam is incredibly merciful. Instead of ruining your life by pulling out and leaving you empty as he fucks around positioning you, Sam sits up, shifts you into the safe bowl of his lap, and lays you both across the slick seat while you’re still connected. Then he does what your Sam apparently does best, and makes love to you.
There’s no shyness this time. Sam greets you with a happy, sloppy, moaning kiss that fills your gut like fire. He drapes over you like a new sky, too broad and big for his own damn good. Then he fills you like fire, until you're a pathetic, keening mess greedily writhing down on the cock you're already full of. Riding him had put into perspective just how long he is, while this position made it jaw-droppingly clear how thick. And vieny. And perfectly curved. One little jostle rubbed all the happy places in your pussy that made your brain melt out of your ears. Sam hasn't even started and the fabric of your reality is already twisting and unknotting. You're drooling and your hair is a nest and your lipgloss smeared off ages ago, dried on Sam's throat and probably Sam's dick, but you can't be bothered to care. One broad palm rakes soft down your belly. Sam coos as he pushes into you, murmuring apologies like you’re not spreading your legs for him as wide as they’ll go. He loves you.
“Always wanted this,” Sam prays, and decides at that moment, for no tactful reason, to start petting your swollen clit with his thumb. “Always wanted you.”
“Mmnn—mee too,” you hiccup. “Ssso muh—much, baby.”
The swath of hot-hot skin previously only available to your hands squishes you against the leather head-to-toe. Sam's arms tremble just trying to hold himself up on his hands, so he gives up all together and smushes himself all over you, especially where it really matters. His hips stir in and in and thank god they never stop. It's almost embarrassing how easily you disappear in Sam's shadow, until you think about it a little harder… get that image of yourself absolutely dwarfed by Sam's back, or Sam's hands, or Sam's fingers… Sam's huge cock… and suddenly... Something deeper than your gut tells you to dig your nails and knees into him for dear life, and that instinct finds its ground fast.
It only takes a few experimental drags for Sam and Sam's sexy ragged breathing to get you where you need to be. With his face nestled in your neck and the powerful line of his body curled over you, he has room to get a hand splayed on your bare thigh—pinning it back for himself—to fuck you honest. You think/hope/pray that Sam is winding up to do just that. He pulls out in a way that makes you both take in a breath, then sinks home with the kind of thorough, aching, agonizing focus that makes you sob openly in the backseat. Because he's well and truly evil he nuzzles in close to your neck with noisy kisses as he goes, and never once closes that perfect mouth.
“So tight,” Sam groans. “Take the whole thing so good,” he praises, genuinely impressed, and you can't help the tingly pride that sits hot in your gut when he says that.
“I do?” You ask, just because you're a cocky asshole.
Entertaining your cockiness, Sam thinks for a minute. “Yeah,” he breathes, then suddenly all that delicious heat sitting pretty inside of you draws out in one pull. Sam shushes your frustrated whining and drawls a single request: “Feel it again.”
At first you're not sure what he means, and no one can exactly blame you, since that's what Sam Winchester and three orgasms can do to the human psyche. He's also fucking pulled out of you, which you rightfully react to like he's just dropped you naked in the Australian wilds and flown off. You haven’t been lonely and empty for more than a second when Sam returns every inch he stole. His bulbous tip spoons through your folds, and everything after that is filling, surging, slick velvet heat so stellar your limbs go numb.
“Hah—ah—hoollee—holy shit,” you stammer.
“Feel it?” Sam hums.
Brain melted, you answer, “Feeeel—?”
“This, _____,” Sam replies, all sweet and patient.
Knowing exactly the kind of puddle he’s reducing you to, Sam does it again. He pulls out fast and sinkssss in, slow and hot while making all sorts of pretty sounds. This time he kisses you as he blows your mind. Considering how Sam’s already mastered staring hungrily at your cunt stretched tight around his base as he sinks in, it’s an uncoordinated kiss. All of his student ambition has been poured by the truckload into fucking you—and reminding you that he is.
“You n’ me,” he whispers, starry-eyed. “Perfect fit.”
In a daze, your hands clamber for something to cling to besides Sam’s poor, abused back. They end up smoothing soft and needily through his silky hair, so it’s a matter of circumstance when Sam starts pumping his hips and you pull so hard that he howls with pleasure. A very happy circumstance. 
Somehow, Sam is lucid enough to still be thinking about the how in all of this. He tests. Slow, stomach-deep, thorough thrusts that blend into wild snapping ones that jellify your surviving senses. Because he apparently doesn’t understand that fucked-out squeals of his name mean harder, Sam asks:
“Want me gentle?” He mumbles pretty against your cheek. “Or more?”
“Plea— please sah—Sammy,” you sob into his hair. “Please go harder. Hard s’ you want. Won’t hurt.”
“Mn—m’ not gonna—can’t hold—” Sam chokes, and whatever he’s trying to say dissolves when he shamelessly licks open your mouth. You’re lovingly kissed, put nose to nose with him, and made victim to Sam’s warm whiskey eyes—
—then you're fucked inside out.
Before you can even suck in a full breath, you’re being deliriously pounded into the trench you and Sam have dug into the seat. Viciously, beautifully pounded, too-good-to-make-noise pounded, arms-locked-still pounded, jaw dropped and toes curling. The kind of sex that’s born from years of wound-up, silent frustration that erupts all at once. Sam’s fingers curl into your thighs like he needs this. Every stroke is life or death, consuming him with an insatiable, maddening craving for more more baby closer s-squeeze me harder so fuckin' pretty n’ warm . Thready sobbing gasps punctuate each thrust, but you're too busy being disassembled atom by erotic atom to know if it's you or him. His dick starts to blaze deliciously hot inside you, closer, closer…
Sam’s teeth snap together. “Oh shit oh shit yes—can’t—get—enough a’ you.”
Your hands are jostled back down to his shoulders, and you feel like if you don’t hold on you might be drilled straight through the crust of the earth. The second you sink your nails into Sam’s back, that’s it. Something in him splits, then his hands are clamping down under your thighs and you’re being bent in half. Knees to your chest, hips curved up, pussy spread for him—everything. Every one of his breaths is coarse with a throaty whimper. He could’ve given out ages ago, but Sam just keeps going, hips pistoning, nails digging, until sweat is beading down his flushed neck and he’s panting with his tongue splayed like a dog. Your ass is going to be all sorts of colors tomorrow morning.
Of course, it’s when you can’t feel your legs and your blazing lungs stop working that the whole Impala starts to rock. The leather seat squeaks on beat and the carriage bounces harder and harder on its shocks. You swear the damn car’s going to flip when Sam’s thrusts stutter, losing their tempo. Sam twists his hand to get two fingers rubbing like lightning at your clit and you’re gone, too exhausted to do anything but cry, blissed-out tears pooling in your collarbones.
“Sammy please,” you weep.
He pants, “Gonna—gonna—”
You're pretty sure that's when the orgasms start. Maybe it’s not just one of them, but a million little zinging ones blending together in one deliciously long stroke. Slick is rolling down your ass and Sam’s cramping thighs, and his voice is muffled in your neck, cursing filthy half-words like he does in your fantasies. You melt helplessly at the seams through it all, clenching on him without end. Sam moans hoarsely through his broken voice and fills you for good. The last of his weight comes crashing down on top of you, beautifully squishing you between a swath of broad chest and the seat. Pinned down, fucked open, and flattened to the leather, you try to stay conscious as Sam’s climax wracks through his whole body—and yours, fused to him in a sloppy puppy-love kiss. Together, your finales hit a fever pitch too fantastic for mortal bodies to handle. It sings through you to him, where Sam’s skin meets your skin, his lips to your lips, the two of you ringing like bells until finally, finally, finally they coalesce into the same vibrating frequency. You’re him and he’s you and holy fuck, Sam Winchester just made stupid, crazy love to you. 
Two heaps of clay, you collapse into each other. Sam’s mussed hair tickles your neck where he’s gulping down deep, rattling breaths. It’s the first thing you notice when you regain your sense of what-fucking-dimension-am-I-in. Each filling inhale presses you down a little, and god should it not be as awesome as it feels. A couple more minutes and Sam could easily suffocate you, which is why you don’t move, content to die as you lived: utterly obsessed with him.
Somehow your brain is still capable of drawing connections to your body, because your fingers are curling into the soft tuft at the back of Sam’s neck of their own accord. An obscenely happy cocktail of endorphins throbs between your spent legs and swirls around in your brain, blissed out. 
Sam pets your waist with just the tips of his fingers. After a long, euphoric sigh, he murmurs with a dizzy smile, “How’s my girl?” 
You’re too out of your mind to speak. All you can think to do is throw your arms around his neck, and Sam, your genius, just gets it. With a lazy pull of his hips, his warmth leaves your very happy core. That itching sense of emptiness starts to ghost through your system the moment he’s gone, though, and you can’t help but sigh at yourself. This is not over. You’re never gonna get enough of him.
Sam handles the condom, then, to your delight, returns to his earlier spot cuddled up between your legs. This time, he’s brought blankets with him. In moments (that fly by even faster in your cum-drunkness), you’ve got a fluffy one propped up under your head and a big, warm body at your front, who squeezes you closer the same way he had before. Sam doesn’t wait a second to squirm his arms under and around you. He gets you all wrapped up in an cozy embrace, only to be consumed by cuddles himself. Greedy and unafraid, you haul the other blanket over you both and hug Sam tight enough to squeeze out a few giggles. 
“That was—” Sam starts, grinning all handsome and sleepy-like.
“Wait, shh,” you stop him. “You hear that?”
Sam tilts his head to listen. He studies you, intent, his whole face swimming with satisfaction. “Huh?”
You twist up in the mess of blankets to kiss Sam’s ear, snickering to yourself. “S’ your brother, revving a chainsaw,” you tell him, dryly, “cause’ he’s gonna fuckin’ kill us for doing this in his car.”
Sam’s eyes drifted peacefully shut. Since he is forever out to get you, one pretty hand of his smooths between your own. He confesses, grinning, “____. Not even that could ruin this for me right now.”
You can’t help it. He flushes your whole body with love in the dumbest way. In a moment of glorious, beautiful weakness, you brush the hair from Sam’s face and murmur, “Guess you are a quick study, then, Sammy, cause' that's how I've felt this whole time…”
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taglist: @cookiemumster1 @lacilou @cevans-winchester @leigh70 @seraphimluxe @emily-roberts @emme-looou @aloneatpeace @williamstop @ornella0910 @chaoticshepardplaid @dakota-dream @lcvecstiel
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Sin, Virtue, and Vice (Castiel)(Smut)
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Characters: Castiel x Fem!Reader
Words: 1.7K+
Warning(s): SMUT!! (18+, please do not read if you are under 18) , Oral (Male receiving) PinV smut, grace play, cockwarming, slight praise kink (if you squint), slight dom!Castiel, smut with no plot, unprotected sex (protect yo selves irl), creampie
A/N: Hi, i got drunk and then wrote most of this idea I have had for awhile LMAO please enjoy, I think it is the best smut I have ever written
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Lust was a sin.
Castiel knew this. If he hadn't of fallen for humanity he probably would have still thought this.
However, if hadn't of fallen, he would not have had the pleasure of the sight before him.
You were kneeling before him, nude, as your hands were gripping on his thighs.
Your pretty, swollen lips were around his throbbing cock. You bobbed your head, your moans vibrating around his dick as he used his grace to place with your clit. Tears were in your eyes as you took him as deep as you could and from him pulling his grace away every time you were so close to an orgasim. You did all this while your eyes were looking up and locking with his. Those beautiful eyes... It almost made him come right then and there. It was a maddening gaze you held, your eyes full of lust and love as you took his dick so well in that pretty mouth.
Wanting to feel more of you, Castiel guided your head away from him, his dick living your mouth with a slight pop noise. He practically hoisted you to your feet and immediately pulled you into a sloppy kiss, tasting his pre-cum on your lips and tongue. Pulled away and signaled for you to lay on the bed, which you happily obliged. You preemptively spread your thighs and wiggled your hips, beckoning him to fill you up. He joined you and positioned himself on his knees, between your legs. He was soaking up the view of you so desperate for him and so desperate for that aching pleasure to be released.
His hands rest on your knees and slowly slid up your inner thigh, sending pleasurable shivers up your spine. One hand stayed at your thigh, slightly squeezing it, while the other rested on top of your pubic mound. His thump slowly swiped along your soaking slit and you let out a soft whine. His thumb slowly entered your folds, and very gently grazed against your sensitive nub, your hips bucking ever-so-slightly. He did it once more to get that same reaction.  It made him almost smirk.
"Please Castiel..." You moaned softly. Your elbows bent and your hands were by your head as you gripped the pillow.
"It is only fair I give you pleasure as you have to me." He cooed, his voice deep and gravely. He removed his hands, positioned himself properly to enter you, and used one to grab his dick and the other to lift your hips off the bed from your lower back with ease. You looked to him with surprise at this but nodded for him to start.
Castiel dipped the tip of his cock, dragging it down from your clit to your soaking hole, causing another whimper to leave your lips. In one slow movement, Cas sunk into your pussy. A moan was caught in your throat as your walls pleasurably accommodated the angel. He didn't stop until your thighs and the bottom half of your ass were against his pelvis area. Your legs instinctively wrap around his waist as Castiels two hands kept your hips still above the mattress while he stayed on his knees, something he has never done before.
Castiel basked in the sight, his head tilting to the side. His blue eyes looked to where your pussy was connected to his flesh, while feeling your walls clench around his dick. He adjusted his hand to keep the position while he rested his other one on your lower stomach. Slowly he let his hand travel upwards on your soft, warm skin; leaning slightly over your form as his hand traveled up your sternum, between your lovely breasts, and to your throat, where his hand gently wrap around it. He wasn't choking you, he just wanted to feel the vibrations of your soft pants and whimpers against his palm. He closed his eyes, letting out a quiet groan as all the sensations sent jolts of electricity through his being; the sounds you made, the feel of your heat around his cock, the smell of sex and the taste of himself still lingering on his tongue.
He felt you wiggle your hips to get some friction, to feel some movement against your aching clit. Immediately he straighten up and used both hands to keep your hips still and firm against him.
"Cas, please!" You whined. The dull ache in your stomach was begging for him to pound into you.
"Patience is a virtue."
"Well, we are currently in a vice, so I don't think it matters." You rasped, earning a chuckle from the angel.
He allowed himself a few more seconds to drink in the view, before he maneuvered himself and your legs. They were now resting on his shoulders as he was leaning over you, cock still buried deep with in you. You lifted your head up and rested your forehead against his. With teasing slowness, he started pulling out, your eyes were watching his cock slowly appear, stopping when his sensitive head was just in side.
Without warning, Castiel thrusted back into you. Your head fell back momentarily as a string of profanities left your mouth, followed by a moan as he began thrusting at a steady pace. You lifted your head once against as pitiful whines were caught in your throat. Castiel blue eyes, full of fire and lust, caught yours and he dipped his head to give you a bruising kiss, your tongues rolling over each other. The angel then sucked on your bottom lip with his mouth before breaking the kiss to allow you air. The sound of flesh slapping against flesh and your breathy moans from the pleasure he gave you made him feel prideful, and now he wanted to feel your pussy clench around him from a deep orgasm.
Castiel shifted his upper half lower onto you, his arms wrapping around your upper back as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, your arms were under his, hugging his upper back while your nails clawed at his back and shoulders. Thanks to his stamina, his thrusts were strong and kept at a solid pace. Sucking on your neck, he used his grace to stimulate your clitoris once more . A choked moan escaped your lips as well as the panting of his name was almost incoherent.
"Fuck- Cas!" You practically sobbed as you felt that tension building within your core. So many stimulations were happening, you felt nearly dizzy.
"Cum for me." Castiel growled, moving his head from your bruising nape, back to staring at your face. He wanted to see your beautiful face as you released around him, it would send him over the edge. His grace swirled around your clit, moving and applying pressure at just right amount. That, his dick pounding into you, and the husky groans that escaped his lips sent numbing tingles through your body.
Then, it hit you. Like a spring being coiled too tight and releasing, white hot pleasure exploded. Your head fell back on the pillow, your mouth open as you choked on a mixture of air and your own moan, your eyes rolling slightly back. You managed to release that moan, along with his name in a gasping breath. You twitched as you felt his grace still on your overly sensitive clit, as you cried out his name once more.
The feeling of your hands gripping onto him, the look of pure ecstasy on your face, and the feeling of your walls pulsating around his sensitive cock caused him to lose control. His grace pulled away from you; his thrust stuttered to a stop while he was deep inside you, his dick twitching as he released his hot seed and filling you up to the brim.
"Such a good girl." He smirked, feeling almost breathless.
He held you tight against his body, his face burred into your neck again while you rested your chin on his shoulder. You both were panting, feeling sweaty. Neither of you wanted to move, feeling completely in love and blissful. You both could feel his cum start to slowly leak from your aching hole, and you both knew there would be a mess if he pulled out, but right now you two were content in holding each other.
"I love you, Castiel." You murmured, moving to signal Cas to raise his head. You looked into his ocean blue eyes with pure adoration and happiness.
"I love you too." His features soften. He leaned down and placed a kiss on your forehead, cheeks, nose, on the corner of your mouth and back on your lips.
"I want to stay like this forever, but life would beckon us away."
"I can always pause time and stay like this." You chuckled at the suggestion but shook your head.
"C'mon, lets shower and get cleaned. Although I have a feeling a mess is going to happen."
"Let it." A ghost of a smirk was on his lips as he moved away from you, sitting up straight before he slowly removed his softening dick out of your hot pussy. His cum immediately started to leak out as predicted, but Castiel didn't rush to keep it from spilling on the sheets. He cocked his head to the side and his intense stare watched as it oozed from your slightly gaping hole.
"Cas..." You felt heat rush to your cheeks. His eyes raked up your form once more met your eyes.
"You are a work of art. You are perfection." He praised. "I would almost say you are heaven sent, but those lustful moans and the scratches on my back would say otherwise."
"You sure know how to charm a girl." You grin and finally sat up. Castiel moved off the bed and helped you up. You clenched your thighs as more cum began to leave your body. "Fuck, how much did you leave in me?" You laughed, then squealed as the angel lifted you in his arms with ease. He strode into the rooms connected bathroom, using his grace to turn on the shower. The water heated up fast and you both entered the shower, Castiel setting you down.
"I love you so much." You repeated, relaxing against his frame as the hot water rained down your bodies. His arms held onto you tight and he nuzzled his face against your head.
"I love you, with all my being." You felt warmth from the shower, from Castiel's body, and from his grace slowly seeping into you. You didn't realize the same was happening to Cas, your soul was intertwining with his grace, as his grace was doing the same with you.
You felt at peace and relaxed, and so did Castiel.
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notinthislife50 · 7 months
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Chapter 16 (smut)
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You both stood in your room, looking awkwardly at each other. Everything you both had been through had always been leading to here, even though neither of you knew it, or neither believed it.
Jensen bought his hand to your cheek and pulled you towards him, kissing you.
When he felt you stiffen, he pulled away.
"We don’t have to do anything," he whispered leaning his forehead against yours.
“I want to," you whispered “I’m just scared,” you confessed.
“Of me?” Jensen asked, looking sad.
“You are the last person in the world I would be scared off,” you smiled reassuringly, but then you stopped, biting your lip in hesitation “I'm scared I will let you down,” you whispered.
“Y/n you could never,” and he kissed you again.
You pushed your body flush with his and gripped his neck, God you have wanted to do this for so long but you never thought it was possible. But here you were, the man you had loved for eternity was finally in your arms.
“Jensen,” you sighed.
Jensen grabbed your hips and walked you with him toward the bed. As the back of his knees hit the mattress he sat down, causing you in turn to straddle his lap.
Your tongues fought for dominance, Your skin burned at the touch of his fingers. it was was to much but not enough. it exceeded all the times you had fantasied about this,
Jensen then kissed down your neck and sucked at your collar bone causing you breath to quicken.
“Is this what you want Y/n, we can take it slow, so if you need me to stop I will,” Jensen asked concerned.
But as soon as you nodded in confirmation, he ran his fingers down your spine, the goosebumps causing you to arch into him.
"I need you to say the words Y/n,” he whispered “Please tell me,”
“Jensen I want you, I have wanted you for a long time,” you tried to reassure him " I don't want to wait anymore.”
“This isn't just a one-night thing for me Y/n, I need you to know that. We do this, it's us from now on,” he confirmed.
Tears fell from your eyes you looked at him and smiled, taking his face in your hands you replied "I am yours Jensen, I have always been yours.”
Jensen crashed his lips against yours in such need. it was the words he had been longing to hear and now you had said them, he needed to show you, to prove to you, he was worthy of them.
All guilt and hesitance were gone when he turned you both, you now lay on the bed. As you both moved up to the pillows, you lifted your hips so he could undress you.
You sighed as he kissed you thigh, both of you still thinking you would awake from this dream. He continued to kiss slowly up your thigh and when his nose touched your clit, making you realise it was real, it was all real.
He slowly made his way towards your centre and you gasped when you feel his tongue slowly and gently graze over you.
“Jensen,” you moaned out loud.
He couldn't help get aroused, you moaning out his name was the best sound he had heard, he wanted to savor this moment for as long as he could.
He repeated the slow action again and when you couldn't take no more teasing you begged “Jensen please, I need more”
Jensen smiled and sped up the pace, nipping and sucking at your clit.
"God jay, I'm gonna come. you hand gripping his hair, causing him to go faster. he needed you to come, he needed to know you were his.
After your orgasm, Jensen crawled back up your body and kissed you tenderly.
You moaned into his lips.
"Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked again, still needing reassurance.
"I just want you,” you smiled at him bumping your nose against his.
He looked down at you for a few seconds, and smiled "You are perfect."
"Jensen.” you sighed, your smile sweet, warm and full of love.
It is what broke Jensen, hearing you say his name like that, was it all it took to claim you.
He kissed with you such force you thought you would die of lack of oxygen, he gently entered you and with one more look at you, you smiled up at him then he trust himself in to you filling you entirely.
Your moans of pleasure were swallowed up by his kisses. You grabbed onto his hips, trying to ground yourself, as he trusted in to you harder.
“Fuck Jensen. feels so good.” you cried out in pleasure.
Jensen knew he wasn't going to last long, he had waited and dreamt of this for a long time, but he needed to make sure your pleasure came first.
He brought his hand down and rubbed soft circles on your clit.
“God.” you voice quivered in ecstasy.
You felt your stomach tighten and your body go rigid and you came screaming his name.
Hearing this Jensen lost all control, he lifted one of your legs over his shoulder and feeling how deep he was he came with a shout of your name.
You both lay for a few seconds and then you laughed “So much for kissing, think you just fucked the guilt out of me.” causing Jensen to collapse in a heap beside you laughing.
@deansgirl79 @suckitands33 @deans-baby-momma @dragony937 @linzerrr @deans-spinster-witch @foxyjwls007 @djs8891 @my-obsession-spn @senjoritanana @encounterthepast @spnbaby-67
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luci-in-trenchcoats · 2 months
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No Such Thing As Monsters
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Summary: Dean is injured on a hunt and at first glance, appears to be fine. Quickly though, the reader and Sam learn something far more serious is going on...
Pairing: Dean x reader
Word Count: 1,200ish
Warnings: language, injury
“Dean,” you said, shaking on his shoulder, his eyes flashing open, fist tightening around his angel blade. “You’re okay. Sam took care of the ghoul. How’re you doing?”
“I feel like I just went through a wall,” he said, shakily getting to his feet, cocking his head at the damaged sheetrock in front of him. “Looks like I did.”
“You sure you okay?” you asked, his head nodding. “Sam’s driving us home, just in case.”
“No arguments from me,” he said, giving Sam a nod when he showed up, following his brother the few blocks over to where you’d parked Baby. Dean grabbed the passenger door, slamming his hand on the roof.
“Dean...” said Sam. Dean scrunched up his face, placing a hand on his head. “Dean.”
“Take me to a hospital,” gritted out Dean, your eyes wide. “Now.”
“What’s wrong?” you said, shoving him in the backseat instead, climbing in beside him as Sam started gunning it for the closest one.
“My head. Something’s wrong. I don’t...just hurry.”
Eight Hours Later
Your excuse of Dean taking a hard fall worked with the doctors but you and Sam were staring at one another after finally getting to see Dean again.
“Let’s talk outside,” said the neurologist, Dean giving you a smile as you followed her out.
“What is wrong with my brother, Sally?” asked Sam the second the door to Dean’s room was shut. 
“Retrograde amnesia as far as I can tell. He remembers certain things like his name, date of birth, address when he was a child. You’re lucky I was on call tonight to take his case. Neuro patients are hard enough, especially one’s that are hunters and have to lie about everything,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Sally, amnesia...isn’t that supposed to fade after a few hours at most?” asked Sam.
“Normally,” she said, taking a deep breath. “My best guess is a combination of lasting amnesia which will be hard to recover from but we can help him...and then he’s repressing all the hunting without realizing. You guys have seen some serious crap I’m sure he’d rather forget.”
“What do you mean repressing?” you asked. 
“I mean, Dean thinks monsters are made up, creatures from stories. He doesn’t know they’re real,” she said. You raised an eyebrow, Sam shaking his head. “He doesn’t remember the ghoul, he doesn’t remember the Vamp you guys took care of for me years ago. Monsters aren’t real to him,” said Sally.
“He’s known monsters were real his whole life,” said Sam.
“Technically, since he was four, almost five,” said Sally. “There was a time when he didn’t think any of this was real so it is possible.”
“You’re telling me Dean thinks he’s five?” you said. “He’s in his thirties.”
“He doesn’t think he’s five. He just doesn’t remember certain things. Like he understands basic long term memories, who his parents are, who Sam is...more recent things he’s blocked out,” she said. “Either by choice or because he really can’t remember.”
“Does he remember me? I only started running with the guys about five years ago,” you said.
“He knows your name and that he loves you but that’s about it. The details are all fuzzy for him. Now Dean’s not exactly what I’d call a normal patient. He’ll get thrown in an institute if he starts remembering here in a hospital and God knows what’ll happen to him in there,” she said.
“What do we do then?” asked Sam, Sally sighing and grabbing a chart from the nurses station.
“He has no bleeding in his head, just a few minor cuts and bruises from his tussle. Take him home, try to get him to remember. Any problems and you guys call me. I’ll get you some materials that help sometimes,” she said.
“What if he doesn’t remember?” said Sam.
“Then he doesn’t. Either way, you need to be there for him. You guys gotta get going. The other neurologist starts his shift in an hour and he’s going to want to look at Dean if he’s still here.”
Dean was quiet on the way home, sitting in the backseat, leaning against the backdoor as he stared out the window. Sam simply went through the motions, making him dinner, sending him to bed after checking his bandages, Dean wearing a confused but happy smile the whole time. 
“Y/N,” said Sam, catching you sipping on a drink the library, stealing the bottle to pour himself some.
“What are we going to do Sam?” you asked. “He’s...”
“Do you remember when I saved you from that fire? You promised you’d do anything I wanted. Anything. I told you maybe someday I’d take you up on it. We both know I was never going to but this...I’m cashing that favor in, Y/N,” he said, taking a long swig.
“Using a spell to get his memories back might be dangerous, Sam,” you said, earning a head shake.
“I’m not talking about that. I’m talking about the fact that my big brother thinks the world is normal. The weight of it isn’t on his shoulders anymore. He’s so light and happy. You’re gonna pack up his stuff, pack up your stuff, and you’re going to take him to a little cabin that used to be Bobby’s. It’s not that far out in the boonies so you’ll have electricity and internet and then...you’re gonna help him get a job, get a job yourself and you two are going to get the hell out of this life,” he said.
“Sam that is not-”
“You’re doing this. If something comes after you, you can protect him. Try it for me. If he starts to remember on his own, come back but please, give it a try.”
Two Days Later
“I thought we lived at the bunker place?” asked Dean, sitting down at your new kitchen table, watching you whip up an easy dinner. 
“We live here now,” you said, stirring the pot, taking a deep breath. 
“What do we do now?” he asked with a smile. “Do I go to work?”
“We’ll find you a new job,” you said, Dean pursing his lips. “What is it Dean?”
“You’re not happy,” he said. “I want to fix it but I don’t remember how to do that.”
“We both have to get used to this new life,” you said, giving him a nod. “We will. I don’t want you to worry about me, Dean.”
“I love you though. Of course I worry about you,” he said with a smirk.
“You don’t even remember my birthday,” you said with a smile.
“I guess I get to learn everything I love about you all over again then,” he said. “I do know I love you. I definitely remember that.”
“I love you too Dean. Every version of you. We’ll get through this too.”
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octoberclidan · 10 months
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Holding Tight
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Request: can you write a fic with dean where he just craves physical attention but not by verbally asking for it? like when dean wakes up from a nightmare he crawls into y/n’s bed and they both just know what to do, like they’ve done it a million times. or after a bad hunt, y/n just hugs dean while he processes his emotions in his own way.
Masterlist
Story:
The car ride back to the motel was quiet. Dean drove, his knuckles white on the steering wheel, Sam stared out the window watching the rain, and [Y/N] sat in the back, her head resting against the back seat, exhausted. No music played, no one spoke, no one wanted to discuss the hunt they had just finished up with. It had been one of [Y/N]'s least favourite monsters; a wendigo. The trio had arrived in a small town full of disappearances a week ago, and it had taken them five days to track down the wendigo's lair. Five days of continuous disappearances, knowing that each day that passed meant finding survivors less and less likely. Everything that could have gone wrong, went wrong. One they found the creature, Sam had been knocked out almost immediately. Dean's gun jammed, and [Y/N]'s lighter wouldn't light when she'd had the chance to set the thing on fire.
When they eventually killed it and went looking for the missing people, only one was still alive, and only barely. They'd gotten the survivor to hospital, but the doctors were sceptical they'd ever recover. Between the week preceding and the week during the Winchesters and [Y/N] being in the town, eighteen people had gone missing. Seventeen people had died on their watch, and the remaining survivor would most likely add to the count within the next couple of days. They were all miserable, but Dean took it the hardest. He always did. To him, if Sam or [Y/N] didn't manage to save someone, then it wasn't their fault. No one can save everyone all of the time. When he couldn't save someone however, it was because he wasn't good enough. He didn't train hard enough, he wasn't fast enough, he wasn't smart enough, he just wasn't enough. [Y/N] looked at the back of his head from her position in the back of the Impala, he was thinking these thoughts so loud she swore she could hear them. It was taking everything in her to not try and tell him it wasn't his fault, but she knew he would shrug her off and only fall deeper into self destruction, so she stayed quiet.
It was one of the rare instances where the motel had a room with three separate beds, usually they'd have to book two rooms, or [Y/N] would have to take the couch, or one of the brothers would end up on the floor. Tonight all three of them were thankful that they'd have each other in the room, even if they weren't talking, and all three were looking forward to the day ending and getting into bed. [Y/N] showered first, trying to be quick and not use up all the hot water while also getting all of the blood and dirt out of her hair and off her body. She tucked herself into her bed straight after while Sam took his turn. She rolled onto her side to face Dean, who was sitting at a little table in the motel room, staring out the window at the rain just as Sam had in the car. She sighed quietly, wishing more than anything that she knew what to say to calm his mind and take the guilt away from him, but she knew he would come to her when he was ready, he always did.
Dean went for his shower as soon as Sam came out. The moment Sam's head hit his pillow, he was out, softly snoring having not even bothered to get under the covers. [Y/N] listened to the sound of the water running in the shower, feeling sad knowing that Dean was in there beating himself up like usual. She rolled onto her back and stared up at the ceiling, the guilt of not saving everyone also weighing on her own shoulders. In some sad toxic thought process that they all shared, it made them all feel worse that they themselves hadn't sustained any major injuries. Sam had been knocked out but given the all clear by the paramedics, and [Y/N] and Dean only had a few scratches and bruises between them. She closed her eyes when she heard the shower turn off, holding her breath in anticipation to find out if Dean was ready to seek comfort in her or if he would choose his own bed and wallow in self pity.
The bathroom door opened, and she heard Dean's footsteps walk to the side of her bed. She opened her eyes and turned her head to the side to look up at him, only just able to make out his features in the low light. He looked broken, his eyes were red having obviously cried in the shower, his shoulders were slumped, and he looked tired. She pulled back the covers and opened her arms in a silent invitation, and he crawled onto the bed, his knees either side of her legs and his hands either side of her shoulders, before he let himself down, lying on top of her. He was shirtless, and his warm body covered hers, his arms snaked around her waist and his head lay on her chest, tucked under her chin. She breathed in, the scent of shampoo in his damp hair just beneath her nose. She felt him sigh and relax on top of her, and she brought her hand up and around to his back, scratching lightly. One of her hands wandered up his spine, along his neck, and into his hair, lightly scratching the top of his head while her other hand drew circles on his back. He tightened his grip around her, as if he was trying to get as close as possible. Her movements slowed as she grew tired, and when she heard his slow and deep breathing she finally let herself drift off to sleep. She knew that in the morning she would wake up in his arms, rather than Dean still be in hers, his masculinity having got the better of him at some stage during the night, so she let herself enjoy holding him while it lasted. She needed this too, being able to hold someone, comfort someone, make them feel safe, it comforted her.
***
Several weeks later, and they had returned to the bunker after another unsuccessful hunt. The two successful hunts they'd had in between didn't seem to matter, only the hunts with less than ideal outcomes stuck in their heads. Sam had gone off to his room as soon as they'd arrived back. Dean had a pretty bad cut on his shoulder and [Y/N] had offered to clean and stitch it up for him, but he'd waved her off, grumbling about how he could do it instead, and disappeared into his room. [Y/N] stared after him as he walked down the corridor, sighing as she knew he was yet again probably stuck in his head, repeating the events of the hunt over and over again, thinking about anything that could possibly be considered a mistake.
She got herself a glass of water from the kitchen, and sat down at the table for a moment, staring into space. As bad as she felt for Dean, she felt emotionally drained too. She'd held someone while they died from a werewolf attack, too far gone to help. Dean had been thrown against a large rock, leading to the gash in his shoulder, and [Y/N] hadn't been able to help. Sam was the one who eventually killed the wolf, and although she knew it couldn't hurt anyone else, it still felt like a failure. When she finished her drink, she washed the glass and began to walk to her room. She passed Dean's room on the way, and stood outside the closed door for a moment, wondering what was going through his head. She sighed, and knocked on the door. In the absence of an answer, she decided to crack it open. Peeking inside, she saw Dean sitting on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands, cleaning supplies sitting beside him untouched.
She quietly opened the door farther and stepped inside before closing in gently behind her. She knelt down in front of Dean, who hadn't acknowledged her presence, and she hooked her finger under his chin, pulling him up to look at her. They locked eyes for a moment before he shook his head and looked away. She took his decision to stay seated as an invitation, and she took the bottle of alcohol and an antiseptic wipe from beside Dean, and got to work. He didn't flinch when she poured the alcohol on his shoulder, and he didn't flinch when she began to sew up the wound either. He just sat there, his face turned away from her. She finished by taping a bandage to his shoulder and closing up the supply kit. She sat down beside him and sighed. "Dean". She whispered.
Dean looked to her and he broke, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her onto his lap so she was straddling him. He leaned his forehead against hers and she felt a tear drip down onto her face. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. She leaned up and kissed his forehead, watching his eyes flutter closed before she dipped her head down, snuggling into his chest. They sat like that in silence for a long time, holding each other tight, before Dean lay back, bringing her down with him. She lay her head on his chest and this time it was Dean who traced circles on [Y/N]'s back, the act of soothing her also soothing himself. The pair fell asleep in each other's arms, sharing the sadness between them lessening the effect on their minds.
***
It was only two nights later when [Y/N] was woken up by the sound of her bedroom door creaking open. Glancing at her clock, it was just after 3am. She didn't need to look around to know that it was Dean who'd just let himself into her room and closed the door. Dean often checked in on [Y/N] during the night, sometimes just quickly glancing in to check that she was breathing before leaving again, sometimes walking over and pulling her covers up, or pulling her shoes off after a long day when she hadn't intended to fall asleep fully clothed. Sometimes he just came in to replace the glass of water she always kept on her bedside table, and sometimes he only came in to gently kiss her forehead, and appreciate how grateful he was to have her in his life.
This night however, Dean needed more than just a quick check or a forehead kiss. She heard him walk over to her bed, and she felt her covers pull back and her bed dip down behind her. Dean pressed his chest against her back and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her in close. He tangled his legs with hers, and rested his chin on the top of her head. She heard him sigh in contentment, and she reached up to stroke her fingers along the hand and arm he had around her waist. He snuggled in closer when he realised that she was awake, holding her as tight as possible without hurting her. He kissed the top of her head and listened as her breathing became slower and deeper. Whether he was holding her tightly or being held by her tightly, he needed it. He needed her and she needed him, they would always know and give each other what they needed.
The end
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gilverrwrites · 5 days
Text
Skinny Dipping
Pairing: Dean WInchester/F!Reader
Authors note: This has the been the hardest, and biggest of my re-mastered fics so far. I’m pretty sure the original was an amalgamation of imagines from supernaturalimagine and dirtysupernaturalimagines but I couldn’t even guess at which imagines exactly. This is like, my 4th public/semi-public fic in like 3 months, I’m starting to feel like this is a kink I didn’t know I had.  Also, Metallica have not cancelled anything, don’t worry. (and I don’t know jack about cars, people that do, please don’t come for me, I really did try, k, thanks, bye.) 💖
Plot: Reader is a mechanic who Dean's been checking in on, and checking out for a while now. Dean has the perfect excuse to see her after baby breaks down nearby.
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Rating: M/18+
Words: 2936
Content: Swearing, consumption of alcohol, reckless drunken/tipsy behaviour, being submerged underwater, skinny dipping, teasing, brief retraining, size-difference, dry-humping, (or I guess wet-humping), semi-public sex, unprotected sex, water sex, mild angst.
Please remember: If you never try, you’ll never know.
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You switch off the radio, listening to the purr of your car's ignition as you pull up behind a familiar black impala. It was a beauty, but it was nothing compared to your ‘70 boss. You watched as its owner climbed out of the front seat and headed towards you.
Its owner being your old friend Dean Winchester. He and his brother had saved you from a coven of witches a few years back, and ever since he’s been popping back into your life every few months. ‘Working on a case nearby’, ‘just passing through’, ‘baby needs a new compressor’. Every visit he laid the flirting on thicker. You weren’t sure if he was just joking around with you, or if he was serious, or if he saw you as a challenge. Either way you’d been making him work for it. Today it just so happened that his car had broken down a few miles out from your shop, the perfect excuse to see you on a Friday night.
You were pulled from your train of thought by a light tapping on your window. You snapped your head to the side to see Dean hovering over your door. His familiar smile set your heart racing. Okay, so maybe his seduction tactics were working, he was hot, who could blame you?
“Is there a problem, officer?” You joked, rolling down your window.
Dean rested an arm on the hood and leaned in. “No, no, just a routine check.” You knew he impersonated officers and agents all the time, but you hadn’t seen it firsthand. It was impressive how easily he slid into character.
“I am, however, gonna have to ask you to step out of the vehicle for a full strip search.”
Act ruined.
“At least buy me drink first.” You quipped.
“If you can help me, I’ll buy you a whole dinner.” He winked and opened the car door from the outside. You raised your brows at him but climbed out anyway before making a b-line for the impala’s engine.
“What’s wrong?” You directed your question to the car in the same tone you would address a small child or animal, gently rubbing a hand across its roof as you walked beside it. "Has someone been neglecting you?”
“Hey!” Dean barked, clearly offended. “I take better care of this baby than I do myself.”
At that you looked back over at him. He’d forgone his usual flannel today, leaving him in a pair of jeans that hugged him in all the right places and a grey t-shirt that clung tight and accentuated his broad chest. By the time your eyes reached his face, Dean was sporting a wicked grin, clearly ecstatic to have caught you checking him out. You avoid his smug gaze by popping the hood of his car to take a look at the engine.
“You weren’t kidding.” You whistled; Dean really was taking care of the thing.  The motor was almost gleaming. You felt his warm hand suddenly press against your lower back and turn to look up at him. The expression on his face could only be described as that of a proud father.
“Yeah.” He agreed before pointing to the main battery with his free hand: “This is the problem. It’s busted.”
“Ah, you’re gonna need a new one. I’m surprised you don’t keep a spare.” 
“Yeah.” To his credit, he looked pretty sheepish. “I normally do, but guess I forgot when the last one went out.”
“I don’t have one.” You said, pursing your lips to express your sympathies.
Dean didn’t respond, biting his lip while he waited for you to continue.
“But I could give you a jump start if you gotta head out soon.” You bring the hood back down and start heading to the boot of your car.
“No good,” Dean calls after you. “I’m not in a rush, but I don’t have enough gas to get me where I’m going.”
“Well… I’ve got a guy. He’s a few towns over. He’s closed at this time.” You inform as you open your boot and pull out your tow rope, flashing it to Dean with a smile. I can tow you into town for tonight, then drive you there and back in the morning.”
“I knew I could count on you!”
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An hour later, you’d slowly but surely managed to drag Dean and his baby back into town, argued with him about him staying at a motel or on your couch (you’d won), and successfully swindled him into buying you that dinner he’d promised. Dinner being take-put pizza and over-priced ice-cream. Now, the two of you were sitting in your backyard, sharing the aforementioned ice-cream and an old bottle of Jack Daniels you’d pulled from the back of your cupboards. 
“So,” Dean began, his speech slurred by the spoon hanging from his mouth. How’s the garage doin’?”
You take a sip of the JD and proceed to suck on your teeth as you consider how to respond.
“Honestly, bad. Ever since that shitty corporate place set up shop down the road, we’ve been going downhill.” You punctuate your statement with another sip from the bottle before offering it to Dean. “I’m keeping it up and running by tooth and claw, but truthfully, it’s probably only got a few months left in it.” 
He gives you a sombre smile as he exchanges the tub of ice cream for the bottle. It's a touchy subject, but you can’t help admiring the way his neck moves as he tilts his head back to drink. You avert your eyes by scooping up the last bit of cold, sugary goodness and placing the empty container on the grass beside you.
“That sucks.” He places a hand on your shoulder, attempting to offer comfort. “That really sucks. Do you have a back-up plan?”
You grab the bottle back from Dean and take another sip before answering.
“I dunno. Sometimes I think about doing what you do. Kinda.” You begin. You don’t miss the way his entire body stiffens before you clarify. “Without the monsters. Just hit the road, get drunk at every bar in the country, visit Disney, become Metallica groupie, an-”
“You know they cancelled that tour, right?” Dean butts in.
“WHAT?” You shake his hand off and stare up at him in disbelief.
“Yeah.” He shrugs. The smile on his face is anything but sympathetic.
“Bastards.” You cross your arms and pout dramatically. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but the laugh that escapes Dean's lips is magical, and you can’t help but join in. When he returns his hand to your shoulder, this time reaching for the furthest from him, thus wrapping himself around you, your skin tingles, and you let yourself fall into him.
As the two of you slowly seize your giggling, Dean checks his watch. He quirks an evocative brow at you when he speaks, “It’s getting late. Maybe we should head inside?”
You mull it over, dramatically swaying your head from side to side before you voice your decision. “Actually, I have a better idea.”
You stand up, offering your hand to Dean, who eyes you sceptically. Nevertheless, he takes the bait, placing his hand in yours and allowing you to lead him toward the footpath just outside your garden.
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“Where are you taking me?” he asks, and you can sense the caution in his voice. You assume it’s the hunter in him being paranoid, and you know for a fact that his free hand is hovering over the knife he keeps tucked into the back of his jeans at all times.
“I’m taking you here,” you answer as you pull him through the last set of trees and onto the shore of the local lake. You scan the surrounding area as you kick off your shoes. Satisfied that nobody is nearby, you start pulling off your trousers.
As you bend down to pull your socks off, you look up at Dean. He’s staring back at you intensely, mouth open, cheeks pink.
When you start pulling your top over your head you feel his fingers lightly brush against your hips. He’d stepped closer, and you’re tempted to touch him back or to reach up and kiss him. But you don’t. Instead, you throw your top over his head and sprint for the water.
“RACE YOU!” You challenge, discarding your bra and panties before you reach the water and forward dive in. Dean follows you moments later with a cannonball that splashes your face just as you’re resurfacing from your own dive.
“Fuck! That’s colder than I expected.” You yell to him.
“I’ll warm you up.” Dean replies as he swims close to you. You let his hands return to your hips, not expecting it when he dunks you back under the water.
You cough and splurge as he brings you back up. You flail your arms around until you find the top of his head, and you cling to him for dear life, but Deans is stronger, taller, and he’s found solid ground to plant his feet onto below the water. He escapes your grip and throws you under again.
“STOP. MERCY!” You yell when you come back up. This time, you use your legs for safety, wrapping them around his hips. You'd be safe if you could just get a grip on his arms. You’d been too distracted to notice his erection until you feel it poking at you. You’re about to make a comment about it, but Dean speaks first.
“You’re cute when you’re scared.” He laughs, you silence him with a swift but playful punch to the chest. In defence he grabs at your wrists, able to trap both in just one of his hands. His other hand slides up your arms, over your shoulder, your neck, until he reaches your cheek. He leisurely rubs his thumb against your wet skin.
You stay like that for a while, watching each other, before you finally ask, “Are you gonna kiss me or what?”
Without any further hesitation Dean lunges forward, forcing his lips against yours. His kiss is hard and animalistic; he skips straight past the pecking and teasing to roaming your mouth with his tongue. His fingers leave your cheek and weave into your hair, holding you against him, his stubble scratches against your skin.
In a play for dominance, you dart your own tongue out, grazing his chapped lips, but he denies you. Instead, he pulls away from your lips, refocusing his attention on nipping and kissing at your jaw, neck, and collarbone.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been imagining this.” He utters onto your skin.
“What, this exact scenario?” You joke.
“Not exactly.” He lets out a breathy chuckle, and the gust of air against your skin makes you tremble.
“Then what?” You challenge. Your inability to touch him is frustrating you. In an attempt to stimulate him back, you grip your legs around him tighter, using him as leverage to grind against him. The tip of his cock doesn’t quite reach your clit, but its added pressure helps it spread your lips. “Tell me.”
He drops his hand from your head, and cups it under your asscheek. Firmly guiding you up and down, assisting you in rutting against his cock. Shakey breaths become grunts, and after a few seconds he releases your wrists so that he can grip you with both hands. Free to move, you shimmy down his body until you can feel his dick brush against your clit with each grind.
“Come on, tell me.” You plead, reaching up to card your fingers through his hair, your grip tightening every time he hits your sweet spot. You know he's not shy, that he’s just getting lost in the feeling, and it pains you to say it, but eventually, you taunt. “I’m not gonna fuck you if you don’t tell me.”
He whimpers at your empty threat but finally confesses. “Just you. Your body, under me. Every night, I think about how you’d look, how you’d feel squirming, moaning my name.”
“Fuck. That’s hot.” You reply and he smiles as you plant your lips against his once again.
“Can I fuck you now?” He asks, speech slurred as he tries to speak between kisses.
“Yes.” You respond instantly, pulling back to look him in the eye. “Please fuck me, Dean.”
He doesn’t hesitate. His grip on your ass is like a vice as he lifts you up slightly. You both work in sync to position yourselves just right until he lowers you onto his cock, slowly pressing into you. There’s some resistance as he stretches your walls, but the sound of his whispered praises helps you relax until he finally bottoms out, stretching you in all the right places.
“Fuck, that feels so good. You took me so well.” He affirms, and even though he’s already balls deep, you can’t help the heat that spreads across your face.
He begins lifting you again before you can respond, sliding you up and down his cock in slow, steady movements. You grip tight to his shoulders and hips with your hands and knees, using them as leverage points to help move your body up and down. Each thrush is slow and shallow, but Dean seems to be loving it; his head rolls back, and he releases breathy moans with every rock.
“Shit.” You shout, holding tighter still when Dean unexpectedly shifts below you, repositioning his legs to a sturdier position. You watch through hazy eyes as he reaches up and grips your hand, before guiding it down the tight space between your bodies. You get the message quickly, and begin rubbing your clit in lazy circles, keeping in time with the pace of Dean's cock.
The added stimulation had your toes curling in no time. When your pussy starts clenching around Dean’s cock, you see the sudden concentration in his face. His brow furrows, and he bites his lip as he focuses on riding you through your orgasm. The sight was the final push you need to take you over the edge.
“Fuck, Dean. Fuck fuck fuck, that feels good.” You cry out as you hit your climax.
“Keep saying my name, baby.” Dean begs as he continues rolling your hips together. You feel his body shake as he starts to struggle with your combined weights as he chases his own release.
You try to assist, desperately pumping yourself up and down despite the newfound sensitivity as you chant his name.
“Fuck, yes baby.” You feel the twitch of his cock inside you. He buries his head in the crook of your neck as he hits his orgasm, rutting his cock as deep as he can as he cums inside you. “oohhh yeah.”
You stay in position for a long time following, holding on tight to each other, listening to each other's breathing as you come back down, until Dean guides your body backwards so that you’re face to face again. “How you feelin’?”
“Good.” You reply with a smile.
“Good.” He grins at you mischievously before plunging backwards into the water, taking you with him.
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“So, was that everything you imagined it to be?”
He purses his lips in thought before teasingly responding. “Eh, it wasn’t bad.”
You both laugh as you lay your head down on Dean's bare chest; his arms envelop your body as you both blankly look up at the stars. You play with the hem of the shirt you’d stolen from him when you emerged from the water and re-dressed.
“You should do it.” Dean says when you're both fully settled down.
“Do what?” You query, popping your head up to look at him, unsure what he’s talking about.
“Hit the road.” He clarifies, revisiting your earlier conversation. “I mean, life on the road isn’t easy or sustainable, trust me, I know.”
“But…” You prompt, knowing fully that he wasn’t going to stop there.
“But it could be fun for a while. If it’s what you wanna do. Hell, I’d totally be a roadie if… you know.”
“I know,” You reply. You’re smiling at him, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. The reminder of your failing business stung, but you didn’t want it to spoil your night. You lean forward, caressing his cheek; his stubble feels rough against your fingers. You gently pull his face forward and plant a chaste kiss on his lips. “I might. I probably will. If it comes to it.”
“I can’t come with you.” He says when you lean away. You hadn’t expected him to want to come with you. Hoped, maybe? But you knew it wasn’t a possibility.
“I know.” You repeat.
He carefully reaches up to run his hand across your damp hair as he pulls you in for another kiss. This one is longer, softer than any you’d shared all night. When you’re done, he lets his head fall back against the ground, and you perch yourself against his chest once more. 
“You’ll still call me though, right?”
“Always.” He replies instantly. “You’re my best girl. Well, second-best girl.”
“The car?” You ask deadpan. Of course, the car is his number one.
“Who else?” He replies shamelessly.
You’re not sure how long you stayed like that, entwined in each other’s arms, spent and damp under the stars, until eventually, you feel your lids growing heavy. You fight it for a while, willing yourself to remain awake, until eventually your tiredness wins out. You cuddle closer into the warmth of Dean's chest as you fall asleep.
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couldyouimagine-that · 2 months
Text
Safe With Me
Genre; hurt/comfort, fluff
Word count; 1.0k
Warnings; talk of nightmares, nothing described.
Pairing; Dean Winchester x Reader
Reader is woken up by a nightmare and asks Dean to let them stay with him.
I hope this is a somewhat relaxing story (I think it is) and also I really enjoyed writing a sleepy Dean. I hope you enjoy!
Masterlist
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You regained consciousness with a deep gasp, adrenaline running through you and your breathing much heavier than it should have been. Your room was dark, the covers on your bed pushed down around your legs where you had no doubt been thrashing in your sleep. you gave yourself a moment to remember where you were, that you were safe and nothing was wrong. It served to calm you a little, but you realised it hadn’t really helped at all when you closed your eyes and were immediately confronted with the horrors from your nightmare. You turned on your side as you started trying to go back to sleep, but the images in your mind’s eye were shockingly vivid and more persistent than you could ever remember a dream being. It was almost like you had never even woken up.
Chased by your own imagination, you lurched towards the switch of the lamp on your bedside table. You were a hardened hunter, acclimatised to violence and risking your life on an almost daily basis – but even you felt a pulse of relief when light flooded your room and there was nothing there but you. You glanced around regardless, just to make sure, and only laying back when you were satisfied that you were truly alone. Then, of course, it was your isolation that became the problem. Each time you closed your eyes, even with the light on, you only saw the returning nightmare. You went through the repeating cycle of trying to sleep and trying not to, even as tiredness began to pull at your eyes, and you eventually realised that rest was going to allude you.
With a tired huff, you sat up on top of the covers and resigned yourself to being completely awake, at least for the moment. You knew you wouldn’t get back to sleep on your own and you didn’t want to run on so little rest for yet another night in a row, which left you with one other option. You did feel a small jolt of nerves at what Dean might think, but it took you very little time to decide that he probably wouldn’t mind. Even if he did, you reasoned, you could talk about it and try to explain it away in the morning when you could think a bit more clearly.
You slipped through your door without wasting another moment and padded along the corridor on bare feet until you got to Dean’s door, knocking a few times before slowly pushing it open. A narrow beam of light shone into his room and you squinted as your eyes adjusted to the lower light on the other side, just able to discern the outline of Dean beneath his comforter. He was laying on his side, one arm visible and the other tucked beneath his pillow. You murmured his name from your place by the door, calling it a little louder when he didn’t stir. You wouldn’t approach him while he was still asleep, knowing you would be met with the barrel of a gun if you woke him too suddenly.
Dean grunted lowly at the third call of his name, shifting slightly more onto his back to look towards you, face screwed up against both the light and the intrusion on his sleep. He blinked once, slowly, eyes still mostly closed.
“Y/N?” You smiled gently at his sleep-roughened voice.
“Hey, Dean.” He pulled himself up a bit further to lean on his elbow, his other arm resting on top of the comforter and across his ribs.
“‘S goin’ on?” Your grip tightened on the door handle as you thought briefly about how silly you were going to sound, but you had already woken him up. It really was too late.
“I um… I had a bad dream.” You scoffed lightly at your own words, the sound self-deprecating. “I just – would it be okay if I slept in here with you?”
Dean flopped onto his back, eyes already closed again, and raised his arm without a word. You pushed his door closed and crossed his room quietly, slipping under the covers like it was the most natural thing in the world. His warmth was a soft comfort as you slotted yourself beneath his arm, sighing in content as he curled it around you and pulled you close to him. You felt a hum reverberate through his chest as his other hand landed on your hip, rubbing up and down a few times. His movements were direct, tiredness allowing his strength to come through just a little more than usual – you liked the feeling.
“S’alright sweetheart,” he murmured, words blurring together. “You’re safe with me.” His breath moved your hair as he pressed his lips to the top of your head, then shifted down in the bed to get comfortable, taking you with him.
Your nightmare didn’t even cross your mind as you closed your eyes, your head resting on one of Dean’s shoulders and your hand running over the other one. His breathing slowed in no time and sleep slowly pulled you under as you listened to Dean’s strong heartbeat, relaxed into the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath you. As he drifted off, his arm became a comfortable weight where it crossed your shoulder and rested over your back. A light smile curved your lips as you felt yourself joining him in a real, restful slumber more quickly than you could ever recall managing before.
Unbeknownst to you, Dean had been able to hold onto a sliver of consciousness for a little while longer, just enough to make sure you fell asleep without meeting any more difficulties or worries. It was only when he squeezed you and got no response that he finally let go of it, secure in the knowledge that he would be there for you if anything frightened you again. The thought of you coming to him when you needed someone made a little warmth bloom fondly in his chest, and he simply enjoyed the feeling of you laying securely in his arms as he finally surrendered to sleep.
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ajvocals43 · 1 year
Note
Heyy, I was wonderings if your requests are open? Would you be interested in writing a Dean x Reader where Sam goes on one of his first dates with Eileen, and he's very nervous; so he asks Dean and Reader to come along with them, maybe add the sentence "It's not a double date. We're just third and fourth wheeling."
Hope you enjoy it.
Love C.
They absolutely are! (even if I only get to respond to them like once a month) I love this idea! Hope this fits that.
Not a Date
Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader
Word Count: 2577
Warnings: poorly connected writing, slight swearing, depictions of blood and gore (if you squint)
A/n: This is sort of a Franken-fic because the beginning of this I wrote forever ago and now got to finish. I've been writing this whenever I had time over the last week so that's why it might feel disjointed but that's how things go sometimes. Also, I love this idea so much and I'm debating a part two.
“Your arm is bleeding.” Dean commented, as we left the abandoned farm in the middle of nowhere. The sun was just barely coming over the horizon, lighting up the surrounding area and revealing how bad my arm truly looked. 
“Oh really? I hadn't noticed that half of my goddamned blood was flowing out of my arm, but thanks for letting me know.” We had just finished with a wendigo hunt and we were both exhausted and dirty. We were both going on 48 hours of no sleep and I didn't know about him but I was about dead on my feet. And on top of that I was bleeding. A lot. Sam was back at the bunker, panicking about his upcoming date with Eileen. The hunt was last minute and small so Dean and I figured we would handle it ourselves as long as I promised Sam we’d be back in time. It was his first real date with her and he was so nervous, it was adorable. I had helped him plan his date down to the last detail. He’d decided on a silent movie marathon at a park in the next town over (even though he’d seen like half of them already). Dean had of course laughed at his brother’s “corniness” but I had to admit that his idea was pretty cute. I had promised Sam that I would be back in time to help him set up his picnic and calm him down before Eileen got there but this hunt had taken more time than we’d expected. And now I was also beaten up and covered in blood. I hadn't gotten captured but I had gotten a pretty nasty gash in my arm from being knocked into some old equipment that I should’ve seen but hadn't. 
“Damn, you’re mean when you're tired.” Dean said as we came up to the car. Rather than respond, I moved to punch him. He dogged as he always did but this time he grabbed the arm that I had extended and pulled me into him. My breath caught at the move especially since usually we tended to keep our distance. Granted, that never seemed to stop the weird charge the air had every time we were in a room together. It was some weirdly strong chemistry that we seemed to have, even though we were completely wrong for each other. He annoyed the hell out of me and I'm sure I did the same for him. Sam had tried to tell me once that it was because we were in love with each other but that was completely ridiculous. We were friends, sure, but we fought constantly. That didn't mean that I wasn't attracted to him though. I mean… how could you not be? He was gorgeous. Strong jaw, tan, freckled skin, candy apple green eyes… What was I saying? Never mind. Like I said, we are totally wrong for each other. Plus I had just gotten out of a relationship (which of course didn't work out because of my feelings for the elder Winchester). And because I didn't want to focus on my failed love life, I focused on the pain, trying to figure out where it was coming from. 
Dean hooked my good arm around his neck and pulled the other up to inspect the damage that seemed to span the whole arm. But that could also be the flow of blood down my arm. The cut didn't feel that big but it was also hard to tell around the rest of the dirt and grime on me. “I'll need to clean this to get a better look at it but for now, here.” He said and started to pull his flannel off. “You need to keep pressure on it until we can get back and I can stitch you up.” I couldn't help but stare at the muscles flexing in his arms as he tied the shirt around the cut. That was until he pulled it tight so it kept pressure. I sucked in a breath and his gaze met mine as my eyes continued up his chest to his eyes. I felt my face heat as he caught me staring but I refused to admit that he got to me in any way. “How's that?” he asked softly. One of his hands dropped to the small of my back to keep me in place while his other turned mine over to check for more damage. 
“Tight,” I said.
“Smartass.” He shot back smiling. It was contagious so of course I followed suit. We were closer than I could remember being in a very long time. I could feel exactly where his hand was on my back holding me to him. Like this weight that was trapping me close to him. But it made me feel safe. 
Realizing that that was a little too close to something I refused to name anymore, I started to pull away. The moment I did though, his hold seemed to tighten. It sent a zing of awareness and excitement through me. I hadn't thought that was possible outside of sappy rom-coms and novels, but I felt it now with Dean. He looked like he was going to say something else but after another moment, he let go. I felt the sting of disappointment run through me but shut it down as soon as it came up. He couldn't know how I felt about him, it would ruin everything. He meant too much to me, they both did. They were all I had left. Dean and I’s relationship being ruined would mean me losing everything I knew. 
So I pulled away, turning to finish unloading my weapons in the trunk. “You’re still going to need stitches when we get back to the motel.” Dean said, walking around to the driver’s side. 
“Ya think?” I asked, sarcastically. His only response was to shake his head and start the car. “Just hurry up so that we can get back to Sam. I promised.” 
 Dean muttered something about me babying his little brother but started the drive back to the motel. 
__________
We made it back to the bunker by late afternoon. My arm hurt like a son of a bitch and I could barely keep my eyes open but I was alive. As soon as I had walked in the door, Sam started bombarding me with questions, most of which were checking what I’d talked to him about on the phone on the way over. Dean surprised me by saving me, making Sam doubt the picnic he’d pack and letting me slip out to get a shower. I thought about it while I was washing myself off under the hot spray. Usually it was a race for who got the first shower and therefore the most hot water, but he didn't even try to fight me for it. As soon as Sam started asking me questions Dean jumped in and steered me towards the door to the hall. I couldn't figure out why since normally we’re the types to push the other in front to deal with the other person while we escape. Not while hunting of course, we cared for each other deeply, the way only those who were connected for a long time did; however, when we were at home, we tended to bicker and act like children. I was the only one who couldn't get it through their thick head that our flirting and bickering was only on a platonic level. There was nothing more to it and there never would be. There was too much at stake. I just needed to get over the stupid feelings I had for him and we could just go back to being our weird makeshift family. 
Once I was clean and my muscles slightly relaxed after a hot shower, I was still exhausted but I felt more ready to take on Sam’s Anxiety. When I walked back into the kitchen Dean seemed about ready to punch his brother in the face. 
 “Who cares? It’s a silent movie. No one is going to be paying attention anyway. The only people that go to silent movies-”
 “How's the food going Sam?” I asked loud enough (hopefully) to cover Dean’s complaining. “It looks like you have quite the spread there.” 
 “Yeah… I can’t seem to decide.” He looked down at all the food that was spread across the island. “I'm sorry, I don't know what’s wrong with me.” 
 I went up to him as I told him, “Don't apologize, Sam. It's sweet. It means you like her.” 
 “I just… I really want this night to go well.” 
 “I know.” I placed my hand on his arm (mainly because I couldn't reach his shoulder without looking awkward) to try and instill some comfort in him. “And for what it’s worth, she likes you too. Right Dean?” I called back. 
 “Yeah, sure.” Dean asked, but he sounded distant. I turned to look at him and saw him looking through the food in the pantry. I shook my head in bemusement (though not that I'd tell him that). “Even if you're being a major dork.” 
Annnnd there it was. I rolled my eyes before I patted Sam on the arm and went to start putting the cold items back in the fridge before they spoiled. 
 “Y/n?” Sam called suddenly. 
 “Yeah?” I asked. 
 “I hate to ask but… there's so much pressure on this and I'd really feel better… if you came with me?” he asked. I was going to refuse but then he added the stupid puppy dog eyes and added “Dean could come too, you guys are friends, it would be like a double date. Please?” 
 I really wanted to say no… but instead what came out of my mouth was “Fine.” he signed with relief before I added “Youre lucky youre basically a little brother to me. AND this isn't a double date. We’re just…third and fourth wheeling. Right?” I aimed towards Dean. 
“Right.” Dean immediately agreed. “Not a date. Definitely NOT a date.” 
 I wasn't going to comment on how my heart dropped a little at his vigorous agreement. I mean… I definitely didn't want to date him but couldn't he be at least a little upset?
 I really needed a boyfriend. I had to stop focusing on Dean and every reaction I had to him. It wasn't going anywhere no matter how much I (or Sam) wanted it to. And with that, I went to find something to wear to our double date. This would be interesting. 
__________
It wasn't interesting in the slightest. Eileen had come by the bunker and Sam was a perfect gentleman. Dean drove us to the park where even though it was getting dark out, it wasn't too chilly. We set up two different blankets, one for the couple and one for the 3rd and 4th wheels and we waited for the movies to start. 
 Sometime around the second movie, Dean and I fell asleep. I have no idea how long it went for or how long we were out, all I remember is waking up to Sam shoving me against my personal heater, irritating the (stitched) gash on my arm, and telling me that they were kicking us out. And then had the shit scared out of me when that heater groaned underneath me at the jostling and tightened its arms around me in an attempt to keep me close and stay asleep. In a moment we both seemed to realize where we were and jumped apart. The cold air chilled my skin and the breeze made me shiver even through my jacket. Dean caught on quickly and handed me the blanket he must have put over us at some point before moving to stand up. He held his hand out to help me up after him. 
 That was new. 
 I took it hesitantly and he helped pull me to my feet before grabbing the blanket that had been on the ground and following Sam and Eileen who were already halfway to the car by the look of it. Only when we hit the edge of the grass did I finally realize he hadn't let go of my hand. And he didn't let go until he opened the passenger side door for me and let me crawl in before closing it behind me. Where was all of this coming from? 
The ride was quiet but my brain was anything but. I couldn't figure out why in the last 12 hours or so why he was suddenly being so… caring. No, that wasn't it. Dean was always caring, it was one of the many reasons I had this big fat crush on him. But today… it was different. From the shower to being my non date helping Sam, to wrapping me in a blanket, even opening the door for me. I was confused to say the least. 
 When we finally returned to the bunker, Sam and Eileen headed down the hall enraptured in some conversation I hadn’t followed. They were cute. I felt bad but I wished that I had that kind of easy relationship with someone. They just seemed to fit so well together and there wasn't any confusion about where they stood with the other. It all just seemed so simple. 
 “I can see the gears turning.” Dean called from the other side of the car as we climbed out of our respective sides. “What’s going through that pretty little head of yours?” 
 I tried very hard to hide the blush that I could feel at being caught, “Nothing.” Nice Y/n. “I'm good, promise-” 
 “Nope, don't try to hide from me.” He came around and grabbed my arm as I started walking inside, pulling me back to him. “What’s going on?” 
 I searched his eyes for anything that would clue me in as to what was going on. All I could find in those beautiful green eyes was concern for me, which, paired with our close proximity, wasn't helping me think straight at all. 
“Tell me.” he commanded softly. 
 There was no way I was going to win this. I knew I would tell him, but I didn't expect what came out of my mouth to be, “Why are you like this?” 
 “I'm sorry…?” he chuckled slightly. 
 “Not like that.” I closed my eyes in exasperation with myself. “It just…today. Why were you so… sweet? I’m confused, I mean… the shirt and the shower and the blanket and even the freaking car door, I-” nothing because suddenly my lips were occupied with Dean’s. His arms wrapped around me and pulled me even closer as his lips continued to dance against mine. Damn. I’d heard them talk about it but they never even got close to actually describing how good a kisser he was. It was unlike anything I’d ever felt before and I wanted to keep kissing him forever. 
 He pulled away softly and my lips chased him slightly. My brain was completely mush after that and barely registered his studying my face, quietly commenting “Cute.” 
 “What…?” I questioned vaguely, still not fully coherent, my eyes stuck to his lips. 
 Said lips rose into his signature smirk before he said cheekily, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” And with that, he reached around, smacked my ass, making me jump, and walked down the hall. 
 What the hell just happened?! 
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