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It wasn’t the first time you’d hunted with Dean. The two of you teamed up whenever you ended up in the same area and he was working a solo case. You helped him, and he helped you. From ghosts to vampires to shapeshifters, you and Dean had faced just about everything together. In the few months you’d known each other, you’d grown close. And it wasn’t exactly a secret that you helped each other “unwind” after hunts. It had started during your very first case together—one cramped motel room, a single bed, and a brutal fight with vampires could do that to two hunters.
Between hunts, he checked in on you every day. He’d call whenever he could steal a moment away from John. Now John had vanished, and Sam was back in the picture. Of course, Dean had told you all about his younger brother—there wasn’t much he kept from you. So, it only felt natural to accept Dean’s invitation to join him and Sam on their hunt for a flesh-hungry rugaru.
Sam had been a little awkward at first, but after a couple of days of sharing a room—and you saving him from becoming the monster’s next entrée—the ice had been broken.
Now both rugarus were dead, and it was time to celebrate—burgers, booze, and board games. Dean had, of course, pushed for strip poker; however, you and Sam talked him down, and a game of Uno was eventually started.
“How about strip Uno?”
“Dean, we’ve been over this. No strip anything,” Sam replied, rolling his eyes at his brother’s relentless urge to turn everything dirty.
One game turned into another. One bottle of beer followed the next. Before long, Sam’s yawns grew more frequent, and he called it a night earlier than expected. You and Dean, both natural night owls, kept drinking and talking. Being around him felt effortless, like you could tell him anything and everything. His gaze stayed fixed on you, steady and intent, making you feel like the center of his world—like everything else faded into the background.
His green eyes never left your face. They drifted from your eyes to your lips, completely fixated on you. At some point, he’d shifted closer, like he was drawn in by an invisible pull. The TV played some old horror flick in the background, Sam’s soft snoring filled the room, and Dean’s low, rumbling chuckle sent a warm, steady comfort through you.
The alcohol had definitely gone to your head. You found yourself giggling at almost everything he said, brushing your hand against his arm whenever you had the chance. And it was obvious he was soaking it all in—he loved the attention, especially when it came from you.
“You know…” you murmured softly, lowering your voice just in case Sam’s snores were faked. “It’s kind of a shame we can’t celebrate another successful hunt the way we usually do.”
Dean’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well… the Impala is always an option,” he suggested with a smirk. “Always wanted to take my baby inside my other baby.”
Dean’s words made your heart flutter—it always happened when he called you that. Baby, sweetheart, good girl. He always knew exactly what to say and when to say it. The truth was, you both reveled in the nicknames he gave you, even if they sometimes made your heart sink. After all, you weren’t together. But in moments like these, that reality faded away. In those moments, you were his—truly and completely—no matter how fleeting they were.
You beamed up at him, his mischief clearly contagious. He rose from the squeaky chair and grabbed his keys and gun from the unsteady table you’d been sitting at, the empty beer bottles, wrappers, and cards long forgotten. Dean reached out, and you instinctively took his hand, letting him guide you.
Slowly and quietly, you made your way through the motel parking lot, weaving between parked cars until you reached the black beast he loved so much—his Impala.
You’d been in his car more times than you could count. Still, nothing much had ever happened there beyond a stolen kiss or a celebratory make-out session before retreating to the motel rooms you always ended up sharing.
Dean opened the back door, the quiet click echoing in the night. You slid onto the backseat with him following close behind. His warmth pressed close as his hands claimed your neck and waist. He kissed you slowly, every touch purposeful and intense. His hands explored your body with possessive intent, while yours traced his shoulders and back, both of you lost in your mutual passion.
Hot breaths soon danced on your neck and throat. Soft lips kissed and nibbled on your skin. Dean’s hands found their way to your still-covered breasts; the rough skin of his palms held onto you tenderly.
“Love the way you feel. Always so soft for me,” Dean muttered against your skin. You moaned in response to his words.
His experienced hands snuck inside your top and he started caressing the skin of your breasts, quickly finding your nipples. Dean rolled them with his long fingers, his lips switching from your lips to your skin almost as if rehearsed. He easily pulled you on top of him, leaving you stunned once again at his strength. Your legs were now straddling his, inviting you to start rocking against his rock-hard manhood, both of you finally getting some relief.
Whimpers left your lips as Dean nearly ripped your top off while taking it. He seemed lost into your body – grunts and hungry looks. His mouth found the lace of your black bra. His hands glued to your hips and he started to grind your core against his fervently.
“Dean, oh-,” you could barely speak at this point, “Feels so-.”
“How does it feel, sweetheart? Tell me,” He knew the effects of touching you like this.
“So good, Dean- Need more. Please.” You begged him with a breathy voice, barely audible over the sound of your grinding against him.
“I got you, baby. You know I always got you.”
His body flipped yours. Your back was resting on the seat while he started to take off your jeans, leaving you in bra and underwear only. After these ministrations, he lowered his own jeans and brought his cock out of his boxers. The size and girth never ceased to amaze you; you were uncertain how you were able to welcome him fully into your core each and every time.
Pulling your panties to the side, a thick finger entered you and you shook with your whole body. Moans escaped your mouth at his rhythmic thrusts. Soon, one finger turned into two. His lips rarely left yours, his own groans muffled by yours.
“Always so wet for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?” Dean teased. “Always such a good girl for me. You’re my good girl, aren’t you? My girl.”
You whimpered in response, your words having trouble making it past your lips, but you tried.
“Y-Yes, yours, Dean. I’m yours.”
The response, which both satisfied him and encouraged him further, made him take his fingers out of you. You then felt the head of his cock graze through your folds. Up and down, up and down, up and down.
Your hands scratched at his back, subconsciously begging him to thrust into you. Dean knew you well, knew your body well. He understood what you were asking of him. Then with one long slow thrust, Dean was fully inside of you.
His movements started off leisurely. He pushed into you completely before taking himself out almost all they before repeating the motion again. You were mewling into his neck. His hands had roamed every inch of your body before they found themselves on each side of your head, holding you steady and softly. He was everywhere; Dean was all that you could see and feel.
His eyes barely left yours. His grunts increased as his pace did. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to exploding with pleasure. His right arm snaked in between your bodies and found your bud. His fingers rubbed it in perfect timing with his thrusts.
“Let me feel you, sweetheart.” His gravelly voice bounced throughout the Impala.
A few seconds after you reached your peak, moaning out his name loudly. The stimulation of his cock, fingers and touch all over your skin was always able to bring you unprecedented pleasure. His fingers came back to your face, this time holding onto your neck – not choking you, but wrapped around your throat in a possessive manner.
Your cries of delight pushed Dean towards his own orgasm. His thrusts were now rougher and erratic. Manly grunts hit your mouth, and you whispered to him, “Inside, Dean, please.”
Almost as if on command, Dean groaned as he shot into you. Warmth spread inside you. You could feel it dripping down your inner thighs.
Dean stayed inside of you; his hands caressed your face. He gave you a gentle kiss.
“You know I meant it, right? That you’re my girl.”