Open For A Surprise! And By Surprise I Mean What I Know Mr. Sub!dean Winchester Sounds Like (everyone

More Dean x younger!reader who he really cannot stand.

reblog if you’ve read fanfictions that are more professional, better written than some actual novels. I’m trying to see something

The Taste of Us {d.w.}

A/N: This is me losing my smut virginity. Be gentle with me plz!!! Tell me if it’s any good or not.

Warning: semi-public sex?? oral: m & f receiving, pet names, teeth kink?? (if I missed something let me know!!) MDNI 18+ Word count: 1.8k

—

It’s a hot summer night in the Middle of Nowhere, Tennessee. The crickets are chirping, lightning bugs are illuminating the sparsely lit backroads, and the sweet gentle hum of a 1967 Chevy Impala is making its way to your ears. 

You're working the nightshift at a roadside diner that probably loses money staying open twenty-four hours a day, and definitely isn’t paying you enough. There’s only two more hours left of your shift before the next employee shows up. That’s when he comes in, a boy roughly around your age–and he’s unbelievably charming. Rare around these parts.

When the door to the diner closes, you can feel the thick, humid air push towards you. And almost immediately you feel the wind get knocked out of you by the sight of this stranger. Sandy hair, freshly shaven, eyes that could blend into the dense forest surrounding the restaurant; he wore an interesting frog-like necklace? You couldn’t really tell what it was–and what seems to be a wedding ring on one of his pointer fingers. 

He sat away from where you had propped yourself against the counter. You sauntered over there after minutes of painful silence. 

“Long night?”

Dean only lifted his eyes to look at you and gave a weak smile. Comparing his features to the forest is effortless to you. Eyes like the pines, dark circles would blend in with the dirt after it rains, every scar that litters his face resembles the places where lightning hits. His beauty is tragic and unfathomable. 

“Not anymore.” His voice was warmer than how he looked. Seduction covered his eyes like the clouds in the sky.

“Ah, yeah. I bet.” You roll your eyes sarcastically. Tapping your pen against your small notebook, “What can I get ya, darlin’?”

Dean can’t get enough of your accent, he really had to play this right in order not to walk out of here with a raging hard on. He couldn’t imagine waltzing in here again with that kind of embarrassment following him around.

“What’s your name?”

You’ve had more than enough men coming in here looking at you like you’re an object to them. Their smiles that lead to empty, crazy eyes that give you goose-pimples all over. Every. Single. Time. But him? His voice was as sweet as the tea you poured yourself earlier. Dean never breaks eye contact, making you blush. So you told him.

“Such a beautiful name, sweetheart.” He winks at you, then grins as he lowers his head to browse the menu. “Could I have…you?”

If he didn’t look at you like you were the only star in the sky, you definitely would’ve said no. But holy hell, that twinkle in his eyes made you wetter than the spring brings rain. And his teeth. He could sink those canines right into your thighs…

You must’ve been staring too long. He raised his eyebrows and a curious yet defeated expression flooded his features. Mouthing a small “okay” then began to actually look at the menu. 

Shit. Shit. Shit.

“I—I’m sorry. I’m used to old geezers hittin’ on me. Not a fine man like yourself.” Shyness takes over you. You start to tremble from how nervous you are, and the tips of your ears turn even redder.

“No need to be sorry, pretty girl.” He stands up from the stool, leaning so far forward that you can smell a faint hint of Irish Springs on his skin. Mere inches separate your face from his. Dean whispers seductively, “This place usually busy at night?” 

As soon as you shake your head no, he gently places his hand on your cheek, chuckling at how warm it is, then pulling you into the most intimate kiss that has ever touched your lips. It takes you a second to reciprocate before moving at the same tempo. 

God, it’s been forever since you’ve had human contact like this. The two of you synced up so well together, like you’ve done this before. He was too good. So. Good. A small moan escapes from your mouth. 

“Get on the counter fr’ me.”

You obey his command. You pulled yourself up and sat on your shins. The dress you had on rode upwards.

“Sit down and put your feet on the edge.” A light order as his hands trail up and down your exposed thighs.

“Would a please hurt ya, sweet cheeks?”

He teases you back and drawls out, “Pleeaase?”

Again, you do as he says. You just can’t help it, everything about him is alluring. Slowly making your way to the position he wants you at. The two of you don’t break eye contact. Not a fuck would be given by either of you if someone walked in.

He hikes your dress up, smiling at how wide-spread your legs are for him. A serious look washed over him right before he pulled your panties down. A sudden realization. 

“Is this okay?”

How much hotter can he get? You thought.

“What’s your name?”

“Huh? My name? It–it’s Dean…”

“Dean, honey–anything you do to me is more than okay.” You lean back onto your elbows, smirking.

He proceeds with his actions. Placing tender kisses down one thigh, stopping so–so close to your most sensitive area. Then skipping over it to kiss up the other thigh. As if he had read your mind from earlier–when he gets to a meatier part of your leg, Dean sinks his incisors into you and takes your skin between them. Delicately sucking, marking you as his. That’s when you finally begin to relax.

A couple love marks later, without warning, he slides his tongue in you. His warmth makes you jump and squeal–you’ve always been sensitive and ticklish down there, especially if it’s been a while. 

An animalistic grunt comes out of Dean's mouth, into your pussy. You can feel his grin widen against your pelvic bone while his tongue flicks inside you. When you look down at him he’s already staring–desperate for more of what he heard, he moves up to your clit. Massaging it in a side-to-side motion. He sees your eyes roll back and he immediately plunges two of his thick fingers into your slick entrance. Another gasp slips out of you. 

His “come-hither” was perfect—hitting your spot just right. His mouth already knew how to please you. But it was his eyes that made you come undone. Pulling your head back up, you find that Dean had never stopped looking at you.

“You’re so delicious, baby. Fuuck. Could do this all night.”

Tension was building within you. Every muscle was convulsing, one of your legs slipped off of the counter. Dean quickly placed it back up with his free hand.

“That’s it–cum for me.”

You’ve never experienced an orgasm quite like this one. Your swollen clit was throbbing, sending electricity throughout your body. Your walls pulsating around Dean’s fingers–your thick milky cum coated them as he pulled them out of you. He spread them apart and leisurely slipped his digits in his mouth. A delicious sound came from his throat, eyes closing as he savored your taste.

Where did this man come from? Who the fuck cares, you were grateful.

“C’mon, sugar. Your turn.” You pointed to the booth behind him. “Move that table to the side and take a seat.”

That drove him crazy–you taking over. Wanting to pleasure him. It wasn’t often that women told him what to do during sex, but he is more than willing to submit to you. 

“Yes ma’am,” he said with a hint of southern twang. 

The table made a loud shriek as Dean pushed it, making you look behind your shoulder–expecting someone to come from the back of the diner with concern. No one came. You looked out of the window to make sure the parking lot and road were empty. Nothing was out there. Shifting your focus back to Dean, you notice sweat glistening on his forehead. Eyes tracking your every movement. You walk up to him and climb onto his lap, sitting on his hardened length.

“That fucking smile of yours is gunna be the death of me.” You murmur against his ear, and can see the hair on his neck stand up.

His cock wavering in his jeans, trying to find a way to your cunt as you rock your hips and suckle on small areas of his neck. One of his arms wraps around your waist, pulling you in closer while the other wraps around your throat and guides your face towards his. Lips connecting, mouths opening–the taste of your cum still lingers on his tongue. The hand he had on the small of your back reaches for the button on his jeans, but you had other plans.

Jerking away from him, wagging your finger no, then sliding off him to sit on your knees. Glancing up at this devilish man before you, with sex in your eyes. Undoing his jeans for him, he lifts up his lower half to make it easier for you to take them off. His cock springs up. Pre-cum covering his enlarged tip. Your hand making its way to him, spreading his arousal down his shaft in steady, unhurried movements. Dean placed his large palms right under your ears, tugging you towards him. 

“Ask for me, if you want my mouth so badly.”

“Please, sweetheart.”

“What do you want, pretty boy?” You asked, resting your chin on your hand, lightly brushing your lips on his sensitive head.

“Want yr’ mouth around me. Please?” 

The desperation leaking out of him was ecstasy for you. Giving in, you wrap your mouth around his girth. He’s so big. Plunging his dick so far down your throat that you gag on it. Spit dripping down his balls and your chin. In your peripheral vision you see his mouth ajar. It was almost undetectable, but he let out a tiny gasp. 

Removing him from your mouth you beg, “Lemme hear you, Dean…”

Then he lets out the most beautiful moan, making your pussy drip all over again. He grabs the back of your neck and his cock at the same time–ushering himself into you. Desire radiating from him as you lock eyes. Continuing to suck and hum against him, working your hand in circular motions in stride with your mouth. Faster and faster as he begins to buck his hips. 

“Oh fuck, I’m–I’m cumming, baby. Take me out…”

Refusing to listen to him, you don’t stop using the mouth God gave you. The guttural roar that filled the room was your only indicator that he wasn’t in control anymore. His cum shooting to the back of your throat. Dean grabbed the edges of the booth so tightly from you overstimulating him, then he finally took in a sharp breath. Removing his cock from you, you get up and straddle him again. Leaning in to kiss him but he withdraws. A questioning look that reads, did you swallow?

You only nod, then stick your tongue out.

“Good girl.”

Giving you a sensual kiss, slipping his tongue over yours.

“I taste so good in your mouth.”

—

tags! @aylacavebear @daylighted @ambiguous-avery @deans-spinster-witch (if you want to be untagged, there's no judgment!)

"The Superbowl half time was bad it wasn't that hype or enjoyable" it wasn't for you. It was for black people. It wasn't meant to be a fun performance. It was meant to be political art.

03. you're a cowboy like me

ᯓ★ story index abt, you wake up next to dean, trying really hard not to make rash decisions but he keeps looking at you like that and smiling like that and— fuck it. warnings, smut 18+ mdni!, cowboy hat rule, riiiide 'em cowgirl, struggle 2 face feelings, shared showers 2.9k words

The afternoon spills it’s golden warmth into the old house, dust sparkling in the rays cutting through the open windows. Slowly, you stir, finding yourself comfortably tangled up with Dean. Somewhere in your sleep, you ended up tucked between the faded grey cushions of the couch and him—his arm draped loosely over your shoulders, your hand and ear pressed right to the steady beat of his chest.

He’s still out cold, half sitting up with his legs sprawled across the length of the couch, one boot dangling precariously off the edge. His pink lips are just slightly parted, brows softer than you’ve ever seen them. His stetson sits low enough to shield his eyes from the sun, lashes barely visible beneath the brim.

You steal the moment, shamelessly drinking him in: the way his features seem gentler now, all the rough edges smoothed out by sleep. There’s something about seeing him like this that makes your chest ache, just a pinch.

Then his tongue sweeps lazily across his bottom lip, wetting it before they tug up into a smirk. “You keep starin’ at me like that, sweet thing,” he murmurs, his voice rough and low with sleep, “‘nd I’ll start thinkin’ you might be sweet on me.”

You jerk back slightly, caught red-handed, but you recover fast, flashing a coy grin. “Might? Don’t give yourself too much credit, cowboy.”

He chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest beneath your palm, and his arm tightens just slightly before he pulls away, stretching leisurely like he hasn’t a care in the world. “Sure, darlin’,” he teases, tipping his hat back enough to give you a lazy once-over, that boyish grin never leaving his sleepy face. “But if you wanted to cozy up to me all night, you just had to ask.”

Living on the road meant living by your own code—let ‘em chase, but never get caught. It’s become a rule you follow religiously, a line you never cross. 

But for the love of all things holy, this silver-tongued man is staring down at you with that deviant glint in his pretty green eyes, the kind that electrifies your skin, winds you up in the most invasive way. His chest, broad and steady beneath yours, feels like a challenge, and that damn stetson perched atop his dirty blonde, tousled hair only makes it worse—taunting you, daring you to just reach out and take it.

Your eyes lock with his, and for a split second, it feels like he’s peering past your irises and right into the swirl of wicked thoughts dancing in your mind. His gaze falters, dipping to your mouth just as you tug your bottom lip between your teeth. 

Before he can catch on, you snag the hat from his head in one slow, deliberate motion. Settling it atop your own with a smug little tilt.

You meet his stare head-on, fluttering lashes feigning innocence. A slow, low laugh spills from his lips, rich and rough, igniting a flush on your skin.

His thumb brushes up to catch your chin, holding it gently but firm as he leans in, consuming nearly all of the space between. Hungry and honey-eyed, he’s fixed on trailing over your features with a deliberation that sets your pulse racing. “Careful, now.” he murmurs, the warmth of his breath skimming your skin awakens shivers cascading down your spine.

Your gaze flickers, restless and heated, between his open mouth and watchful eyes. “I’m done with careful,” you breathe—and before you can think twice about it—your lips close the gap. 

He leans into the kiss, rushed and messy, as his hand grasps the back of your neck to tug you closer. You climb on top, straddling his dirty blue jeans. A moan escapes you as he bites down on your bottom lip, matching his hasty kiss. Your nails dig into the back of his neck and he grumbles against your mouth.

His hands lose any sense of decency, sliding under your shirt, finger pads roughly digging into the skin of your waist. Deep enough to leave big red hand prints in their wake. Your hips twitch in his grasp, denim rocking against denim with enough pressure to make him groan against your lips. 

His hands shift, hooking under your thighs as he lifts you to maneuver himself to sit properly against the back of the couch. 

Your hands find the cool, silver buckle of his belt and tug, “Woah,” he rasps, mouth still pressed to yours with a breathy laugh, “easy, sweet thing.” His lips move to trail sloppy kisses down your neck, as his hands find the button of your jeans, swiftly popping them open.

He pulls back, his dilated pupils finding yours as one hand roughly grabs your jaw, “I wanna see how pretty you look,” he starts with a tantalizing smirk, eyes trained on yours while his other hand slips down into your heat. You're gasping before he can even finish his sentence, “when you cum.”

Two thick fingers plunge inside, stretching you out and curling just enough to make you whimper. The sound coming from your lips makes his grip on your jaw tighten as a lazy smile crosses his lips. He starts to pump, slow, too slow, and you buck your hips against his hand. 

“So pretty when you’re needy,” he hums as his thumb presses to your clit, circling and working you into a dizzy headed mess. His other hand slips down to your throat, holding you in place as he leans back slightly, just enough to watch your eyes flutter and brows knit while you ride his working hand. 

“Dean,” you whimper, as he works a brutal pace into you. He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches. The pressure in your core builds as he sinks deeper, hitting your sweet spot in a merciless rhythm. You falter, your hands pressing into his chest for stability. 

“Stay just like that,” he mumbles, relaxed against the couch, undoing you with ease, hungry eyes shamelessly watching you lose any semblance of control of yourself. 

Your walls clench around his digits, breath hitching with every rough thrust. The sensation of it all drawing your eyes closed, reeling in the building knot of tension, “Nuh, uh. Look at me—” he demands, voice husky and warm.

“Dean—fuck,” you sigh, opening your eyes to find his, pupils eating the green of his irises as you’re reduced to a whimper wet mess in his hands. 

Your hips sputter and buck as you catch your breath, and he slowly pulls his hands from your jeans. You’re still coming back down when he’s picking you up at the waist, setting you on wobbly legs to tug your jeans loose from your legs. His hands glide over the skin of your thighs, squeezing your ass before pulling you back onto his lap. 

He moves with an eagerness that matches your own, securing your legs around him, his lips are back on yours as you both clumsily undo his belt and tug just enough for his cock to come out—slick and throbbing against your skin. 

He groans against your lips, taking himself in his hands. “Fuck,” he hisses, thrusting into your wetness. The sudden stretch makes you shudder, nails digging into his shoulders as you sink down onto his length, rocking your hips into his. 

His mouth goes to your neck, lapping and biting at the sensitive skin. His hands squeeze your hips, guiding your body up and down against his. 

It’s hot and sticky in the old house, making you feel damn near high as his tip slams against your sweet spot. His movement matches yours, messy—needy. His arms wrap around you as you lean against his chest. 

He steadies your hips with one hand, the other securely locked around your back. Thrusting up into you at a mind-numbing pace. His hand gets tangled in your hair—the pull making your vision go spotty. 

You give into his control, mind swirling with his lips desecrating any bit of your skin he can find, the sound of wet skin slapping against each other filling the room with your whimpering and his muffled groans. 

Your hand wraps around the muscles of his bicep, nails digging deep as the other clutches to the back of his neck. You feel yourself tighten around his cock, moans sputtering out of your lips as your thighs tighten against his hips. His hips sputter, cursing under his breath as the sensation of his cum shooting inside you pushes you over the edge.

Your bodies become a synchronized twitching mess—panting from the come down as you slowly loosen your grip on him. 

Blinking back into reality, you sit up, still too weak to remove yourself from his lap. Dean’s sleepy smile finds you, his hands coming up to brush the stray hairs from your face as he cups your cheeks. “See,” he huffs, managing to find his ammunition for teasing as he grounds himself back to earth, “told you I’d be a gentleman.” 

You roll your eyes, swatting his hands from your face with a tired laugh as you roll off his lap and onto the couch beside him. “That smart mouth of yours is making sense of all the trouble you talk about getting yourself into.” you retort, rising on weak legs to slip back into your clothes. 

“Mhm,” he hums, hardly listening to what you had said, “you sure you need to keep those on?” 

His hand catches your thigh just as you’re pulling the denim over them—interrupting you. He leans over, swollen lips leaving kisses on your skin as you’re swatting at him again. The reaction makes him look up at you with a teasing, dimpled smile. “Sorry—can’t help myself.” 

You bite back a laugh, refusing to encourage his mischief. You can feel his eyes on you as you jump into your jeans, bottoning them back up. Through the window, you can see the afternoon sun moving down onto the horizon. 

“We should probably go find your car,” you sigh, turning on your heel to face him as he finishes up notching his belt. 

“Probably,” he nods, eyes lazily casing the desert sky, “my backseat’s pretty spacious, too, y’know. In case—” 

Your hand goes up, cutting him off as you shake your head. You leave him to chuckle at himself in the living room. 

ᯓ★ 

The sun dips lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the abandoned ranch as you and Dean prepare to leave. The silence between you is tangible, charged with everything you’ve done and nothing you’ve said.

The walk through the desert feels endless, the dusty trail crunching under your boots as the golden glow of the horizon stretches out before you. Dean leads the way, his pace steady, his shoulders broad against the fading light. You follow close behind, the heat of the day clinging to your skin, but the chill of the coming night creeping in.

“You ever think about settlin’ down?” you ask, breaking the quiet.

Dean glances back at you, his lips twitching into a smirk. “You mean, like a white picket fence and apple pie? Doesn’t really suit me.”

“No,” you chuckle, shaking your head. “I mean, somethin’... simpler. A place to call your own, where you don’t have to look over your shoulder every second.”

He doesn’t answer right away, his gaze fixed on the trail ahead. “It’s not in the cards,” he admits finally, his voice low and rough.

You let his words hang in the air, biting back the urge to press further. He’s not the type to linger on dreams he doesn’t think he can have. 

As the sky fades to deep blue and the first stars begin to peek through, you finally see it—Dean’s Impala, tucked away beneath a rocky overhang like a secret he couldn’t bear to lose.

“There she is,” he says, his tone softening as he picks up his pace.

You watch him approach the car, his hand brushing over the hood like he’s greeting an old friend. You can’t help but smile, the sight of him and that car feeling like something whole in a world that’s always breaking.

He opens the trunk, dumping the duffle bag and rummaging through for a blanket, he tosses it over to you. “Get comfortable. We’re better off to cover some miles tonight, get away from the town.”

You take the blanket and slide into the passenger seat as he gets behind the wheel. The air between you feels lighter now, as if the journey through the desert burned away some of the weight you felt at his words from earlier.

The drive is quiet, the radio dialed low, filling the space with the sound of guitar-driven symphonies. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. His jaw is tight, his knuckles white against the steering wheel, but there’s a softness in his eyes when they flick to yours. It’s the kind of look that makes you wonder if he’s holding onto something he can’t bring himself to say.

The hum of the engine and the gentle sway of the Impala lull you into a light sleep, your head resting against the cool window. The sky bleeds from orange into black as you sleep. Dean tries to keep his focus on the road, but a pull he can’t quite make sense of keeps his head turning to you. Checking, every so often. As if you might disappear—be a figment of his imagination—if he doesn’t. 

You’re pulled from the haze by the softest nudge—Dean’s hand on your shoulder, his voice low and rough in the quiet.

“Hey, sleepyhead,” he murmurs, his lips quirking into a small smile as you blink up at him. “Got us a room.”

You yawn, stretching as you step out of the car, the cool night air prickling against your skin. The dingy motel sign flickers overhead, casting faint neon light across Dean’s face. He unlocks the door, holding it open with a smirk as you step inside.

Your eyes land on the lone bed in the center of the room, the sheets pulled tight, and pillows stacked neatly. “One bed, huh?” you remark, raising an eyebrow.

Dean shrugs, leaning casually against the doorframe. “Figured you wouldn’t mind.” His grin turns playful, teasing. “‘M gonna shower, if you wanna join. Wouldn’t wanna waste all that hot water.”

You give him a slow, deliberate once-over, biting back a smile. “Well, aren’t you full of ideas,” you say, turning toward the bathroom.

Dean’s eyes follow you, his confidence faltering for just a second as you slip off your jacket and toss it onto the bed. One step, then another, you trail your fingers to the hem of your shirt and lift it over your head as you walk, letting it fall to the floor without looking back. Next, you wiggle out of your jeans and kick them to the side.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath, scrambling to follow, his boots thudding softly on the floor.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the way his gaze sweeps over you like he’s forgotten how to breathe. “Coming, cowboy?”

His jaw works, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Oh, I’m comin’.”

The bathroom fills with warm steam, and you’re giggling before you’ve even stepped under the water. Dean fumbles with the knobs, his grin boyish, his cheeks flushed. The messy, very much necessary moment back at the old ranch was one thing—standing in front of each other naked and tired from a night’s drive felt like something else entirely.

The awkward air gives way to jokes almost immediately—him teasing you about how you’re hogging the water, you laughing at his terrible singing as he rinses his hair.

It’s easy, light, like the world doesn’t exist beyond the tiled walls and the sound of your laughter.

Afterward, you both dry off, Dean tossing you a shirt he grabbed from his duffel. It hangs loosely on you, the scent of him clinging to the fabric. He watches as you climb into bed, his expression softening before he joins you, sliding in beside you like he belongs there.

For a moment, it’s quiet. The lamp casts a faint glow, the sound of distant crickets filtering through the open window. Dean shifts closer, his arm draping over your waist, his nose brushing against the nape of your neck.

“You make me feel… okay, like I don’t gotta worry so much.” he murmurs, the words almost too soft to hear. “I’d started to forget what that felt like.”

Your chest tightens, but you don’t reply, not with words. Instead, you cover his hand with yours, threading your fingers together.

The steady rhythm of his breathing slows as you drift off, his warmth wrapped around you, his presence a comfort you hadn’t realized you craved.

Sleep comes slowly, your mind swirling with memories of his touch, his warmth, and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. You think about asking him—what happens now?—but the steady rhythm of his breathing tells you he’s already asleep.

Or so you think.

Dean lies awake long after your breathing evens out, his gaze fixed on the cracked ceiling. Outside, the Impala sits ready, the desert wind whispering against its sleek frame.

And as the stars blink down on the quiet motel, Dean makes his decision.

erm sorry if that scene sucked. i. tried. </3 i felt like the rushed needy give it 2 me now vibe made sense idk !! and i just rly think this version of dean is a freak that likes to watch ok ily bye

tags <3 @stanzie @the-fandoms-onceler @floralscented @titsout4jackles

Dean Winchester would HATE Elon Musk

I want to see him experience a cyber truck

Happy spring everyone (it’s 84° f where I’m at🤧)

angels are watching over you or something

if you think dean winchester DOESN'T eat pussy then you need to see a therapist

girls after saying something smart: So yeah