just a reminder that dean winchester whimpers and looks up at you in awe with the biggest and sparkliest puppy dog eyes when you sink down onto his pretty pink cock. the feeling of your warmth enveloping his length is just too much; his jaw drops and his lids droop over his hazy eyes. and they roll back into his head when he finishes inside you, shooting his load into your cunt with a pathetic groan. he babbles on about how “you’re so beautiful” and “he’s so lucky” and he only shuts up when you finally kiss him.
FIG!
Hii!, omg you’re such a talented writer I love your work but I was wondering if I could request something reader x Dean, season 1 episode 8
Where reader is super afraid of the bugs (mostly spiders) and Sam and Dean just tease her for it the whole time.
summary. bugs are in town and you are not having it! especially with the winchesters teasing the living hell out of you.
pairing. sam winchester x reader x dean winchester
wordcount. 440
notes. the only spider i will tolerate is the friendly neighborhood peter parker and no other!
You shudder as you step over another squashed bug, your stomach twisting. The entire town is a nightmare—infested with bees, cockroaches, spiders, and every other creepy-crawly creature you’d rather not think about. You don’t care if there’s some ancient curse at play; you just want to be anywhere but here.
Dean and Sam walk ahead of you, Sam flipping through his journal while Dean shines a flashlight into the trees. The air is thick and humid, the kind of night that makes your skin itch.
You hug yourself, scanning your surroundings like something’s going to lunge at you. “I swear, if something drops on me, I’m burning this entire place down.”
Dean smirks. “What, afraid of a few bugs?”
helping stanford!dean with an injury idk where i was going with this thought
SCREAMED YES. down to the details too like the refusing it, the eye contact avoidance, YESSSS.
it also depends on the type of injury, too, because football he'll just have bruised ego and be pouty. but if it's say, like, a hunting thing? where he's already pissy with himself for giving into old habits and breaking his own promises to not fall back into the lifestyle that tormented his childhood? bro would NOTTTTT look at you. he'd give three word replies maximum. he'd want to be left tf along but also knows that it's selfish to ask that when all you wanna do is care for him & take care of him, esp bc the chances that you have any clue why he's shutting you out & shutting down are so minimal.
WEDDING BELLS & 5-STAR HOTELS ─ dean winchester!
. . . or, the first time in a long time dean's stayed in a hotel room without mysterious stains in the carpet or on the sheets.
no warnings <3 just fluff! and newlywed cutesie shit!
dean was so fucking glad you talked him out of a vegas wedding.
the thought of being married by a guy masquerading as elvis presley still sounded funny as shit to him, but he did agree with the sentiment that you deserved this. the grand wedding arch, strung with flowers, the huge cake, every eye of every single one of your loved ones there for you.
you deserved to be spoiled. dean didn't need to be told it to know it, but it was hard for him, sometimes, to remind himself that he could slow down. appreciate things. you'd helped him a lot in that regard, but it was hard to untrain a soldier into being a man again.
"this bed is nice!" you call to him from the bedroom part of your suite, and he actually laughs a little at the sound of it, hearing the little bounce of the mattress springs punctuating your words.
he undoes the tie from around his neck, draping it across the back of the couch, before he circles around it to find you, exactly how he thought you'd be: jumping on the bed like a damn kid.
you looked downright beautiful, even now. especially now. hair released from it's earlier style, flowing dress replaced with a shorter, more manageable one for the after party, your heels strung across the room. you'd even put the veil back on, the end of it catching in the wind as you jumped.
dean leans in the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest, mouth tilted up in amusement. "are we having fun?"
"i'm having fun," you correct, the jumps stilling, your stance a little wobbly trying to balance on the springs, "you're watching me."
dean opens his mouth to say he's always watching you, but he didn't want to come off like a weirdo or anything. you knew you were marrying a weirdo, but, like, there were limits to how much weird a person could take in their partner.
your limit, apparently, was a supernatural hunter with dead parents and a talent at killing things. maybe, actually... you wouldn't have minded to hear about how often he just watched you.
watched you jump on every hotel or motel bed you'd both gotten. watched how your eyelashes fluttered in your sleep. watched as your eyebrows pinched together when you were cleaning the blood off of his face, or, for some godforsaken reason, doing his eyebrows. he was a much gentler, more lenient man since falling in love with the likes of you.
"stop staring at me like that," you laugh, having the audacity to sound sheepish, as if you weren't literally the prettiest person on the damn planet.
dean pushes off of the doorframe to cross the distance between the both of you. once he was close enough, your hands came up to rest on his cheeks, smushing them between your soft palms.
"like what?" he manages to mumble through it.
you lean down to kiss the tip of his nose. dean absolutely does not blush at that, either, shut up. "like you love me or something crazy like that."
"oh, can't love my wife now?" hard to speak through your light hold. easy to argue about loving you.
your hands fall to his, bending at the knee to try and haul his ass up onto the bed, too. "love me from up here." you somehow have even less balance, now, as you step backwards to make room for him on the king-sized bed, and his hand falls to your waist to steady you. "well, isn't this just the rom-com scene of the century."
dean snorts, taking your other hand into his to mimic the stance of your first dance, earlier that evening. "only you would have me dancin' on top of a bed." he pauses, shrugging lightly. "only you would have me dancin' at all."
your smile is wide and knowing. of course it is. he's not kept it a very good secret that you've got him going molten and soft, just for you.
there's no music. no sound at all beyond the hum of the air conditioner and the occasional traffic outside. even the sounds of the other hotel room doors opening and closing seems quieter here, in this moment with you. so he dances with you, keeps you upright on your feet, and doesn't seem to mind at all that this night doesn't seem to have an end in sight.
"told you the bed was nice," you say idly, just as he lowers you into a dip.
dean holds you there for a little bit of time, taking those few seconds to rake his eyes over the pristine white bedspread, and the mountain of pillows. pillows would be on the floor come morning time. sheets and blankets would be wrinkled to all hell. "not a single stain in sight," he agrees, lifting you back up to clutch you to his chest in an embrace, "wanna change that?"
"dean!" you try to scold but laugh instead, your palm flattening on his chest, curling into the white button-up's fabric. "shut up."
"what? it's a rite of passage for hotel sheets."
there's not a denial to follow, so dean breaks into a toothy, shit-eating grin.
"i think it's a great first thing to do, too, with these new wife and husband titles," he hums, mostly to himself, since you aren't arguing with him anymore.
you lift the veil off of your head and settle it on top of his, and dean really is a goddamn sucker now, because he even leans down to make it easier for you to reach. "okay," you sigh, as if you're resigning yourself to the inevitable, your mouth brushing his in a chaste kiss, "on one condition."
dean chases your mouth for a couple of more kisses, while he's got you so close. "and what's that, angel?"
you tug on the end of the veil on his head, now wearing a shit-eating grin of your own. "veil stays on during sex."
maybe he'd married a little weirdo, too.
notes. literally saw this gif on pinterest and immediately had to write something wedding related for my pookie wookie. <3
tags. @figthoughts @jasvtsc @titsout4jackles @deansbite @whisperingwillowxox @bombarda-babe @whyyouegg @bluemerakis @loverslantern @bitchykittenconnoisseur @jensenacklesantidote @keira-kaz2y5 @sthefferrete @depressionbarbie2023 @honeyryewhiskey @ultravi0lence14 @bleuatlas @minettacreekk @moonstruksandco @moodyquesadilla @severe-mental-illness @gibson-g1rl @deansbeer @bluestrd @mccartneyqp @im-bili @chevroletdean @angelblqde @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @momoewn @globetrotter28 @starzify @florchids @ryngzmn @aileenunfiltered @beausling @frosttbitessam @amberlthomas
#needthat
I LOVE THIS SO MUCH
whiskey kisses
or, close is never close enough. dean just needs his hands and lips on his favorite little thing warnings!! birthday sex, drunk, alcohol makes dean say the boldest damn things when he's inside u, 18+ mdni!
The Roadhouse was alive with the kind of chaos only hunters could conjure. Glasses clinked in toasts to survival, stories of hunts both gruesome and glorious were swapped over loud laughter, and the air was thick with the scent of spilled beer and aged whiskey. The jukebox crooned an old rock ballad barely audible over the noise, and Ellen was busy behind the bar, slinging drinks with the practiced ease of someone who’d seen it all.
The overflowing crowd and rowdy cheers raged against the night, all in the name of Dean.
But the man of the hour was nowhere to be seen.
